In shape no bigger than an agate-stone

On the fore-finger of an alderman.

Drawn with a team of little atomies

Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep;

Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs,

The cover of the wings of grasshoppers;

The traces of the smallest spider's web;

The collars of the moonshine's watery beams;

Her whip of cricket's bone; the lash of film;

Her waggoner a small grey-coated gnat.

[FOOTNOTE: Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, I., iv., 59-68]

But who does not know the delightful description of the fairy in her

hazel-nut coach, and the amusing story of her frolics and pranks?

By-and-by the nimble motions of the colorature become slower, and

finally glide into the original form of the melody, which, however,

already after the third bar comes to a stand-still, is resumed for a

short phrase, then expires, after a long-drawn chord of the dominant

seventh, on the chord of the tonic, and all is rest and silence.

Alexandre Dumas fils speaks in the "Affaire Clemenceau" of the

"Berceuse" as--

this muted music [musique en sourdine] which penetrated little

by little the atmosphere and enveloped us in one and the same

sensation, comparable perhaps to that which follows a Turkish

bath, when all the senses are confounded in a general

apaisement, when the body, harmoniously broken, has no longer

any other wish than rest, and when, the soul, seeing all the

doors of its prison open, goes wherever it lists, but always

towards the Blue, into the dream-land.

None of Chopin's compositions surpass in masterliness of form and beauty

and poetry of contents his ballades. In them he attains, I think, the

acme of his power as an artist. It is much to be regretted that they

are only four in number--Op. 23, published in June, 1836; Op. 38, in

September, 1840; Op. 47, in November, 1841; and Op 52, in December,

1843. When Schumann reviewed the second ballade he wrote: "Chopin has

already written a piece under the same title, one of his wildest and

most individual compositions." Schumann relates also that the poems of

Mickiewicz incited Chopin to write his ballades, which information he

got from the Polish composer himself. He adds significantly: "A poet,

again, might easily write words to them [Chopin's ballades]. They move

the innermost depth of the soul." Indeed, the "Ballade" (in G minor),

Op. 23, is all over quivering with intensest feeling, full of sighs,

sobs, groans, and passionate ebullitions. The seven introductory bars

(Lento) begin firm, ponderous, and loud, but gradually become looser,

lighter, and softer, terminating with a dissonant chord, which some

editors have thought fit to correct. [FOOTNOTE: For the correctness of

the suspected note we have the testimony of pupils--Gutmann, Mikuli,

&c.] Yet this dissonant E flat may be said to be the emotional key-note

of the whole poem. It is a questioning thought that, like a sudden pain,

shoots through mind and body. And now the story-teller begins his simple

but pathetic tale, heaving every now and then a sigh. After the ritenuto

the matter becomes more affecting; the sighs and groans, yet for a while

kept under restraint, grow louder with the increasing agitation, till at

last the whole being is moved to its very depths. On the uproar of the

passions follows a delicious calm that descends like a heavenly vision

(meno mosso, E flat major). But this does not last, and before long

there comes, in the train of the first theme, an outburst of passion

with mighty upheavings and fearful lulls that presage new eruptions.

Thus the ballade rises and falls on the sea of passion till a mad,

reckless rush (presto con fuoco) brings it to a conclusion. Schumann

tells us a rather interesting fact in his notice of the "Deuxieme

Ballade" (in F major), Op. 38. He heard Chopin play it in Leipzig before

its publication, and at that time the passionate middle parts did

not exist, and the piece closed in F major, now it closes in A minor.

Schumann's opinion of this ballade is, that as a work of art it stands

below the first, yet is not less fantastic and geistreich. If two such

wholly dissimilar things can be compared and weighed in this fashion,

Schumann is very likely right; but I rather think they cannot. The

second ballade possesses beauties in no way inferior to those of the

first. What can be finer than the simple strains of the opening section!

They sound as if they had been drawn from the people's storehouse of

song. The entrance of the presto surprises, and seems out of keeping

with what precedes; but what we hear after the return of the tempo

primo--the development of those simple strains, or rather the

cogitations on them--justifies the presence of the presto. The second

appearance of the latter leads to an urging, restless coda in A minor,

which closes in the same key and pianissimo with a few bars of the

simple, serene, now veiled, first strain. The "Troisieme Ballade" (in A

flat major), Op. 47, does not equal its sisters in emotional intensity,

at any rate, not in emotional tumultuousness. On this occasion the

composer shows himself in a fundamentally caressing mood. But the fine

gradations, the iridescence of feeling, mocks at verbal definition.

Insinuation and persuasion cannot be more irresistible, grace and

affection more seductive. Over everything in melody, harmony, and

rhythm, there is suffused a most exquisite elegance. A quiver of

excitement runs through the whole piece. The syncopations, reversions

of accent, silences on accented parts of the bar (sighs and suspended

respiration, felicitously expressed), which occur very frequently in

this ballade, give much charm and piquancy to it. As an example, I may

mention the bewitching subject in F major of the second section. The

appearances of this subject in different keys and in a new guise are

also very effective. Indeed, one cannot but be struck with wonder at the

ease, refinement, and success with which Chopin handles here the form,

while in almost every work in the larger forms we find him floundering

lamentably. It would be foolish and presumptuous to pronounce this or

that one of the ballades the finest; but one may safely say that

the fourth (in F minor), Op. 52, is fully worthy of her sisters. The

emotional key-note of the piece is longing sadness, and this key-note is

well preserved throughout; there are no long or distant excursions

from it. The variations of the principal subject are more emphatic

restatements of it: the first is more impressive than the original, the

second more eloquently beseeching than either of them. I resist, though

with difficulty, the temptation to point out in detail the interesting

course of the composer's thoughts, and proceed at once to the coda

which, palpitating and swelling with passion, concludes the fourth and,

alas! last ballade.

We have now passed in review not only all the compositions published

by Chopin himself, but also a number of those published without his

authorisation. The publications not brought about by the master himself

were without exception indiscretions; most of them, no doubt, well

meant, but nevertheless regrettable. Whatever Fontana says to the

contrary in the preface to his collection of Chopin's posthumous works,

[FOOTNOTE: The Chopin compositions published by Fontana (in 1855)

comprise the Op. 66-74; the reader will see them enumerated in detail

in the list of cur composer's works at the end of this volume.] the

composer unequivocally expressed the wish that his manuscripts should

not be published. Indeed, no one acquainted with the artistic character

of the master, and the nature of the works published by himself,

could for a moment imagine that the latter would at any time or in any

circumstances have given his consent to the publication of insignificant

and imperfect compositions such as most of those presented to the world

by his ill-advised friend are. Still, besides the "Fantaisie-Impromptu,"

which one would not like to have lost, and one or two mazurkas, which

cannot but be prized, though perhaps less for their artistic than their

human interest, Fontana's collection contains an item which, if it adds

little value to Chopin's musical legacy, attracts at least the attention

of the lover and student of his music-namely, Op. 74, Seventeen Polish

Songs, composed in the years 1824-1844, the only vocal compositions of

this pianist-composer that have got into print. The words of most of

these songs are by his friend Stephen Witwicki; others are by Adam

Mickiewicz, Bogdan Zaleski, and Sigismond Krasinski, poets with all of

whom he was personally acquainted. As to the musical settings, they are

very unequal: a considerable number of them decidedly commonplace--Nos.

1, 5, 8, and also 4 and 12 may be instanced; several, and these

belong to the better ones, exceedingly simple and in the style of

folk-songs--No. 2 consists of a phrase of four bars (accompanied by a

pedal bass and the tonic and dominant harmonies) repeated alternately in

G minor and B flat major; and a few more developed in form and of a more

artistic character. In the symphonies (the preludes, interludes, &c.) of

the songs, we meet now and then with reminiscences from his instrumental

pieces. In one or two cases one notices also pretty tone-painting--for

instance, No. 10, "Horseman before the Battle," and No. 15, "The return

Home" (storm). Among the most noteworthy are: the already-described No.

2; the sweetly-melancholy No. 3; the artistically more dignified No. 9;

the popular No. 13; the weird No. 15; and the impressive, but, by

its terrible monotony, also oppressive No. 17 ("Poland's Dirge"). The

mazurka movement and the augmented fourth degree of the scale (Nos. 2

and 4) present themselves, apart from the emotional contents, as the

most strikingly-national features of these songs. Karasowski states that

many songs sung by the people in Poland are attributed to Chopin, chief

among them one entitled "The third of May."

I must not conclude this chapter without saying something about the

editions of Chopin's works. The original French, German, and English

editions all leave much to be desired in the way of correctness. To

begin with, the composer's manuscripts were very negligently prepared,

and of the German and the English, and even of the French edition, he

did not always see the proofs; and, whether he did or not, he was not

likely to be a good proof-reader, which presupposes a special talent,

or rather disposition. Indeed, that much in the preparation of the

manuscripts for the press and the correction of the proofs was left to

his friends and pupils may be gathered both from his letters and from

other sources. "The first comprehension of the piece," says Schumann,

in speaking of the German edition of the Tarantella, "is, unfortunately,

rendered very difficult by the misprints with which it is really

swarming." Those who assisted Chopin in the work incident to

publication--more especially by copying his autographs--were Fontana,

Wolff, Gutmann, and in later years Mikuli and Tellefsen.

Here I may fitly insert a letter written by Chopin to Maurice

Schlesinger on July 22, 1843 (not 1836, as La Mara supposes), which has

some bearing on the subject under discussion. The Impromptu spoken of is

the third, Op. 51, in G flat major:--

Dear friend,--In the Impromptu which you have issued with the

paper [Gazette musicals] of July 9, there is a confusion in

the paging, which makes my composition unintelligible. Though

I cannot at all pretend to taking the pains which our friend

Moscheles bestows on his works, I consider myself, however,

with regard to your subscribers, in duty bound to ask you on

this occasion to insert in your next number an erratum:--

Page 3--read page 5.

Page 5--read page 3.

If you are too busy or too lazy to write to me, answer me

through the erratum in the paper, and that shall signify to me

that you, Madame Schlesinger, and your children are all well.

--Yours very truly, July 22 [1843].

F. CHOPIN.

The first complete edition of Chopin's works was, according to

Karasowski, [FOOTNOTE: More recently the same firm brought out the works

of Chopin edited by Jean Kleczynski.] that published in 1864, with

the authorisation of the composer's family, by Gebethner and Wolff, of

Warsaw. But the most important editions--namely, critical editions--are

Tellefsen's (I mention them in chronological order), Klindworth's,

Scholtz's, and Breitkopf and Hartel's. Simon Richault, of Paris, the

publisher of the first-named edition, which appeared in 1860, says in

the preface to it that Tellefsen had in his possession a collection

of the works of Chopin corrected by the composer's own hand. As to the

violoncello part of the Polonaise, it was printed as Franchomme always

played it with the composer. The edition was also to be free from all

marks of expression that were not Chopin's own. Notwithstanding all

this, Tellefsen's edition left much to be desired.

My friend and fellow-pupil, Thomas Tellefsen [writes Mikuli],

who, till Chopin's last breath, had the happiness to be in

uninterrupted intercourse with him, was quite in a position to

bring out correctly his master's works in the complete edition

undertaken by him for Richault. Unfortunately, a serious

illness and his death interrupted this labour, so that

numerous misprints remained uncorrected.

[FOOTNOTE: Mikuli's spelling of the name is Telefsen, whereas

it is Tellefsen on the Norwegian's edition of Chopin's works,

in all the dictionaries that mention him, and in the

contemporary newspaper notices and advertisements I have come

across.]

[FOOTNOTE: I do not know how to reconcile this last remark

with the publisher's statement that the edition appeared in

1860 (it was entered at Stationers' Hall on September 20,

1860), and Tellefsen's death at Paris in October, 1874.]

Klindworth's edition, the first volume of which appeared in October,

1873, and the last in March, 1876, at Moscow (P. Jurgenson), in six

volumes, is described on the title-page as "Complete works of Fr.

Chopin critically revised after the original French, German, and

Polish editions, carefully corrected and minutely fingered for pupils."

[FOOTNOTE: This edition has been reprinted by Augener & Co., of London.]

The work done by Klindworth is one of the greatest merit, and has

received the highest commendations of such men as Liszt and Hans von

Bulow. Objections that can be made to it are, that the fingering,

although excellent, is not always Chopinesque; and that the alteration

of the rhythmically-indefinite small notes of the original into

rhythmically-definite ones, although facilitating the execution for

learners, counteracts the composer's intention. Mikuli holds that an

appeal to Chopin's manuscripts is of no use as they are full of slips

of the pen--wrong notes and values, wrong accidentals and clefs, wrong

slurs and 8va markings, and omissions of dots and chord-intervals. The

original French, German, and English editions he regards likewise as

unreliable. But of them he gives the preference to the French editions,

as the composer oftener saw proofs of them. On the other hand, the

German editions, which, he thinks, came out later than the Paris ones,

contain subsequently-made changes and improvements. [FOOTNOTE: Take

note, however, in connection with this remark, of Chopin's letter of

August 30, 1845, on pp. 119-120 of this volume.] Sometimes, no doubt,

the Paris edition preceded the German one, but not as a rule. The reader

will remember from the letters that Chopin was always anxious that his

works should appear simultaneously in all countries, which, of course,

was not always practicable. Mikuli based his edition (Leipzig: Fr.

Kistner), the preface to which is dated "Lemberg, September, 1879,"

on his own copies, mostly of Parisian editions, copies which Chopin

corrected in the course of his lessons; and on other copies, with

numerous corrections from the hand of the master, which were given him

by the Countess Delphine Potocka. He had also the assistance of Chopin's

pupils the Princess Marcelline Czartoryska and Madame Friederike

Streicher (nee Muller), and also of Madame Dubois and Madame Rubio,

and of the composer's friend Ferdinand Hiller. Mikuli's edition, like

Klindworth's, is fingered, and, as the title-page informs us, "for the

most part according to the author's markings." Hermann Scholtz, who

edited Chopin's works for Peters, of Leipzig, says in the preface (dated

"Dresden, December, 1879") that his critical apparatus consisted of the

original French, German, and English editions, various autographs

(the Preludes, Op. 28; the Scherzo, Op. 54; the Impromptu, Op. 51;

the Nocturnes, Op. 48; the Mazurka, Op. 7, No. 3, and a sketch of the

Mazurka, Op. 30, No. 4), and three volumes of Chopin's compositions

with corrections, additions, and marks of expression by his own

hand, belonging to the master's pupil Madame von Heygendorf (nee von

Konneritz). In addition to these advantages he enjoyed the advice of

M. Mathias, another pupil of Chopin. The critically-revised edition

published (March, 1878--January, 1880) by Breitkopf and Hartel was

edited by Woldemar Bargiel, Johannes Brahms, Auguste Franchomme, Franz

Liszt (the Preludes), Carl Reinecke, and Ernst Rudorff. The prospectus

sets forth that the revision was based on manuscript material

(autographs and proofs with the composer's corrections and additions)

and the original French and German editions; and that Madame Schumann,

M. Franchomme, and friends and pupils of the composer had been helpful

with their counsel. Breitkopf and Hartel's edition is the most complete,

containing besides all the pianoforte solo and ensemble works published

by the composer himself, a greater number of posthumous works (including

the songs) than is to be found in any other edition. Klindworth's is

a purely pianoforte edition, and excludes the trio, the pieces with

violoncello, and the songs. The above enumeration, however, does

not exhaust the existing Chopin editions, which, indeed, are almost

innumerable, as in the last decade almost every publisher, at least,

almost every German publisher, has issued one--among others there are

Schuberth's, edited by Alfred Richter, Kahnt's, edited by S. Jadassohn,

and Steingraber's, edited by Ed. Mertke. [FOOTNOTE: Among earlier

editions I may mention the incomplete OEuvres completes, forming Vols.

21-24 of the Bibliotheque des Pianistes, published by Schonenberger

(Paris, 1860).] Voluminous as the material for a critical edition of

Chopin's works is, its inconclusiveness, which constantly necessitates

appeals to the individual taste and judgment of the editor, precludes

the possibility of an edition that will satisfy all in all cases.

Chopin's pupils, who reject the editing of their master's works by

outsiders, do not accept even the labours of those from among their

midst. These reasons have determined me not to criticise, but simply to

describe, the most notable editions. In speaking of the disputes about

the correctness of the various editions, I cannot help remembering a

remark of Mendelssohn's, of which Wenzel told me. "Mendelssohn said on

one occasion in his naive manner: 'In Chopin's music one really does not

know sometimes whether a thing is right or wrong.'"

CHAPTER XXXI.

CHOPIN'S ARRIVAL IN LONDON.--MUSICAL ASPECT OF THE BRITISH METROPOLIS

IN 1848.--CULTIVATION OF CHOPIN'S MUSIC IN ENGLAND.--CHOPIN AT EVENING

PARTIES, &C.--LETTERS GIVING AN ACCOUNT OF HIS DOINGS AND FEELINGS.--TWO

MATINEES MUSICALES GIVEN BY CHOPIN; CRITICISMS ON THEM.--ANOTHER

LETTER.--KINDNESS SHOWN HIM.--CHOPIN STARTS FOR SCOTLAND.--A LETTER

WRITTEN AT EDINBURGH AND CALDER HOUSE.--HIS SCOTCH FRIENDS AND

ACQUAINTANCES.--HIS STAY AT DR. LYSCHINSKl'S.--PLAYS AT A CONCERT

IN MANCHESTER.--RETURNS TO SCOTLAND, AND GIVES A MATINEE MUSICALE

IN GLASGOW AND IN EDINBURGH.--MORE LETTERS FROM SCOTLAND.--BACK TO

LONDON.--OTHER LETTERS.--PLAYS AT A "GRAND POLISH BALL AND CONCERT"

IN THE GUILDHALL.--LAST LETTER FROM LONDON, AND JOURNEY AND RETURN TO

PARIS.

CHOPIN arrived in London, according to Mr. A. J. Hipkins, on April 21,

1848.

[FOOTNOTE: The indebtedness of two writers on Chopin to Mr. Hipkins has

already been adverted to in the Preface. But his vivid recollection

of Chopin's visit to London in this year, and of the qualities of his

playing, has been found of great value also in other published notices

dealing with this period. The present writer has to thank Mr. Hipkins,

apart from second-hand obligations, for various suggestions, answers to

inquiries, and reading the proof-sheets of this chapter.]

He took up his quarters first at 10, Bentinck Street, but soon removed

to the house indicated in the following letter, written by him to

Franchomme on May 1, 1848:--

Dearest friend,--Here I am, just settled. I have at last a

room--fine and large--where I shall be able to breathe and

play, and the sun visits me to-day for the first time. I feel

less suffocated this morning, but all last week I was good for

nothing. How are you and your wife and the dear children? You

begin at last to become more tranquil, [FOOTNOTE: This, I

think, refers to some loss Franchomme had sustained in his

family] do you not? I have some tiresome visits; my letters of

introduction are not yet delivered. I trifle away my time, and

VOILA. I love you, and once more VOILA.

Yours with all my heart.

My kindest regards to Madame Franchomme.

48, Dover Street.

Write to me, I will write to you also.

Were Chopin now to make his appearance in London, what a stir there

would be in musical society! In 1848 Billet, Osborne, Kalkbrenner,

Halle, and especially Thalberg, who came about the same time across

the channel, caused more curiosity. By the way, England was just then

heroically enduring an artistic invasion such as had never been seen

before; not only from France, but also from Germany and other musical

countries arrived day after day musicians who had found that their

occupation was gone on the Continent, where people could think of

nothing but politics and revolutions. To enumerate all the celebrities

then congregated in the British Metropolis would be beyond my power and

the scope of this publication, but I must at least mention that among

them was no less eminent a creative genius than Berlioz, no less

brilliant a vocal star than Pauline Viardot-Garcia. Of other

high-priests and high-priestesses of the art we shall hear in the

sequel. But although Chopin did not set the Thames on fire, his visit

was not altogether ignored by the press. Especially the Athenaeum (H.

F. Chorley) and the Musical World (J. W. Davison) honoured themselves

by the notice they took of the artist. The former journal not only

announced (on April 29) his arrival, but also some weeks previously (on

April 8) his prospective advent, saying: "M. Chopin's visit is an event

for which we most heartily thank the French Republic."

In those days, and for a long time after, the appreciation and

cultivation of Chopin's music was in England confined to a select few.

Mr. Hipkins told me that he "had to struggle for years to gain adherents

to Chopin's music, while enduring the good-humoured banter of Sterndale

Bennett and J. W. Davison." The latter--the author of An Essay on the

Works of Frederic Chopin (London, 1843), the first publication of some

length on the subject, and a Preface to, or, to be more precise,

a Memoir prefixed to Boosey & Co.'s The Mazurkas and Valses of F.

Chopin--seems to have in later years changed his early good opinion of

the Polish master.

[FOOTNOTE: Two suggestions have been made to me in explanation of this

change of opinion: it may have been due to the fear that the rising

glory of Chopin might dim that of Mendelssohn; or Davison may have taken

umbrage at Chopin's conduct in an affair relative to Mendelssohn. I

shall not discuss the probability of these suggestions, but will say

a few words with regard to the last-mentioned matter. My source of

information is a Paris letter in the Musical World of December 4, 1847.

After the death of Mendelssohn some foreign musicians living in Paris

proposed to send a letter of condolence to Mrs. Mendelssohn. One part

of the letter ran thus: "May it be permitted to us, German artists, far

from our country, to offer," &c. The signatures to it were: Rosenhain,

Kalkbrenner, Panofka, Heller, Halle, Pixis, and Wolff. Chopin when

applied to for his signature wrote: "La lettre venant des Allemands,

comment voulez-vous que je m'arroge le droit de la signer?" One would

think that no reasonable being could take exception to Chopin's conduct

in this affair, and yet the writer in the Musical World comments most

venomously on it.]

The battle fought in the pages of the Musical World in 1841 illustrates

the then state of matters in England. Hostilities commenced on October

28 with a criticism of the Mazurkas, Op. 41. Of its unparalleled nature

the reader shall judge himself:--

Monsieur Frederic Chopin has, by some means or other which we

cannot divine, obtained an enormous reputation, a reputation

but too often refused to composers of ten times his genius. M.

Chopin is by no means a putter down of commonplaces; but he

is, what by many would be esteemed worse, a dealer in the most

absurd and hyperbolical extravagances. It is a striking satire

on the capability for thought possessed by the musical

profession, that so very crude and limited a writer should be

esteemed, as he is very generally, a profound classical

musician. M. Chopin does not want ideas, but they never extend

beyond eight or sixteen bars at the utmost, and then he is

invariably in nubibus... the works of the composer give us

invariably the idea of an enthusiastic school-boy, whose parts

are by no means on a par with his enthusiasm, who WILL be

original whether he CAN or not. There is a clumsiness about

his harmonies in the midst of their affected strangeness, a

sickliness about his melodies despite their evidently FORCED

unlikeness to familiar phrases, an utter ignorance of design

everywhere apparent in his lengthened works...The entire works

of Chopin present a motley surface of ranting hyperbole and

excruciating cacophony. When he is not THUS singular, he is no

better than Strauss or any other waltz compounder... such as

admire Chopin, and they are legion, will admire these

Mazurkas, which are supereminently Chopin-ical; that do NOT

we.

Wessel and Stapleton, the publishers, protested against this shameful

criticism, defending Chopin and adducing the opinions of numerous

musicians in support of their own. But the valorous editor "ventures to

assure the distinguished critics and the publishers that there will

be no difficulty in pointing out a hundred palpable faults, and an

infinitude of meretricious uglinesses, such as, to real taste and

judgment, are intolerable." Three more letters appeared in the following

numbers--two for (Amateur and Professor) and one against (Inquirer)

Chopin; the editor continuing to insist with as much violence as

stupidity that he was right. It is pleasant to turn from this senseless

opposition to the friends and admirers of the master. Of them we learn

something in Davison's Essay on the Works of F. Chopin, from which I

must quote a few passages:--

This Concerto [the E minor] has been made known to the

amateurs of music in England by the artist-like performance of

Messrs. W. H. Holmes, F. B. Jewson, H. B. Richards, R.

Barnett, and other distinguished members of the Royal Academy,

where it is a stock piece...The Concerto [in F minor] has been

made widely known of late by the clever performance of that

true little prodigy Demoiselle Sophie Bohrer....These charming

bagatelles [the Mazurkas] have been made widely known in

England through the instrumentality of Mr. Moscheles, Mr.

Cipriani Potter, Mr. Kiallmark, Madame de Belleville-Oury, Mr.

Henry Field (of Bath), Mr. Werner, and other eminent pianists,

who enthusiastically admire and universally recommend them to

their pupils...To hear one of those eloquent streams of pure

loveliness [the nocturnes] delivered by such pianists as

Edouard Pirkhert, William Holmes, or Henry Field, a pleasure

we frequently enjoyed, is the very transcendency of delight.

[FOOTNOTE: Information about the above-named pianists may be

found in the musical biographical dictionaries, with three

exceptions-namely, Kiallmark, Werner, and Pirkhert. George

Frederick Kiallmark (b. November 7, 1804; d. December 13,

1887), a son of the violinist and composer George Kiallmark,

was for many years a leading professor in London. He is said

to have had a thorough appreciation and understanding of

Chopin's genius, and even in his last years played much of

that master's music. He took especial delight in playing

Chopin's Nocturnes, no Sunday ever passed without his family

hearing him play two or three of them.--Louis Werner (whose

real name was Levi) was the son of a wealthy and esteemed

Jewish family living at Clapham. He studied music in London

under Moscheles, and, though not an eminent pianist, was a

good teacher. His amiability assured him a warm welcome in

society.--Eduard Pirkhert died at Vienna, aged 63, on February

28, 1881. To Mr. Ernst Pauer, who is never appealed to in

vain, I am indebted for the following data as well as for the

subject--matter of my notice on Werner: "Eduard Pirkhert, born

at Graz in 1817, was a pupil of Anton Halm and Carl Czerny. He

was a shy and enormously diligent artist, who, however, on

account of his nervousness, played, like Henselt, rarely in

public. His execution was extraordinary and his tone

beautiful. In 1855 he became professor at the Vienna

Conservatorium." Mr. Pauer never heard him play Chopin.]

After this historical excursus let us take up again the record of our

hero's doings and sufferings in London.

Chopin seems to have gone to a great many parties of various kinds, but

he could not always be prevailed upon to give the company a taste of his

artistic quality. Brinley Richards saw him at an evening party at the

house of the politician Milner Gibson, where he did not play, although

he was asked to do so. According to Mr. Hueffer, [FOOTNOTE: Chopin in

Fortnightly Review of September, 1877, reprinted in Musical Studies

(Edinburgh: A. & C. Black, 1880).] he attended, likewise without

playing, an evening party (May 6) at the house of the historian Grote.

Sometimes ill-health prevented him from fulfilling his engagements;

this, for instance, was the case on the occasion of a dinner which

Macready is said to have given in his honour, and to which Thackeray,

Mrs. Procter, Berlioz, and Julius Benedict were invited. On the other

hand, Chopin was heard at the Countess of Blessington's (Gore House,

Kensington) and the Duchess of Sutherland's (Stafford House). On the

latter occasion Benedict played with him a duet of Mozart's. More than

thirty years after, Sir Julius had still a clear recollection of "the

great pains Chopin insisted should be taken in rehearsing it, to make

the rendering of it at the concert as perfect as possible." John

Ella heard Chopin play at Benedict's. Of another of Chopin's private

performances in the spring of 1848 we read in the Supplement du

Dictionnaire de la Conversation, where Fiorentino writes:

We were at most ten or twelve in a homely, comfortable little

salon, equally propitious to conversation and contemplation.

Chopin took the place of Madame Viardot at the piano, and

plunged us into ineffable raptures. I do not know what he

played to us; I do not know how long our ecstasy lasted: we

were no longer on earth; he had transported us into unknown

regions, into a sphere of flame and azure, where the soul,

freed from all corporeal bonds, floats towards the infinite.

This was, alas! the song of the swan.

The sequel will show that the concluding sentence is no more than a

flourish of the pen. Whether Chopin played at Court, as he says in a

letter to Gutmann he expected to do, I have not ascertained. Nor have

I been able to get any information about a dinner which, Karasowski

relates, some forty countrymen of Chopin's got up in his honour when

they heard of his arrival in London. According to this authority the

pianist-composer rose when the proceedings were drawing to an end, and

many speeches extolling him as a musician and patriot had been made,

and spoke, if not these words, to this effect: "My dear countrymen! The

proofs of your attachment and love which you have just given me have

truly moved me. I wish to thank you, but lack the talent of expressing

my feelings in words; I invite you therefore to accompany me to my

lodgings and to receive there my thanks at the piano." The proposal

was received with enthusiasm, and Chopin played to his delighted and

insatiable auditors till two o'clock in the morning. What a crush, these

forty or more people in Chopin's lodgings! However, that is no business

of mine.

[FOOTNOTE: After reading the above, Mr. Hipkins remarked: "I fancy this

dinner resembled the dinner which will go down to posterity as given by

the Hungarians of London to Liszt in [1886], which was really a private

dinner given by Mrs. Bretherton to fifteen people, of whom her children

and mine were four. NO Hungarians."]

The documents--letters and newspaper advertisements and notices--bearing

on this period of Chopin's life are so plentiful that they tell the

story without the help of many additions and explanatory notes. This is

satisfactory, for one grain of fact is more precious than a bushel of

guesses and hearsays.

Chopin to Gutmann; London, 48, Dover Street, Piccadilly,

Saturday, May 6, 1848:--

Dear friend,--Here I am at last, settled in this whirlpool of

London. It is only a few days since I began to breathe; for it

is only a few days since the sun showed itself. I have seen M.

D'Orsay, and notwithstanding all the delay of my letter he

received me very well. Be so good as to thank the duchess for

me and him. I have not yet made all my calls, for many persons

to whom I have letters of introduction are not yet here. Erard

was charming; he sent me a piano. I have a Broadwood and a

Pleyel, which makes three, and yet I do not find time to play

them. I have many visitors, and my days pass like lightning--I

have not even had a moment to write to Pleyel. Let me know how

you are getting on. In what state of mind are you? How are

your people? With my people things are not going well. I am

much vexed about this. In spite of that I must think of making

a public appearance; a proposal has been made to me to play at

the Philharmonic, [FOOTNOTE: "Chopin, we are told," says the

Musical World of May 27, 1848, "was invited to play at the

Philharmonic, but declined."] but I would rather not. I shall

apparently finish off, after playing at Court before the Queen

[chez la reine], by giving a matinee, limited to a number of

persons, at a private residence [hotel particulier]. I wish

that this would terminate thus. But these projects are only

projects in the air. Write to me a great deal about yourself.

--Yours ever, my old Gut.,

CHOPIN.

P.S.--I heard the other evening Mdlle. Lind in La Sonnambula.

[FOOTNOTE: Jenny Lind made her first appearance at Her

Majesty's Theatre in the season 1848, on May 4, as Amina, in

La Sonnambula. The Queen was present on that occasion. Pauline

Garcia made her first appearance, likewise as Amina, at Covent

Garden Theatre, on May 9.] It was very fine; I have made her

acquaintance. Madame Viardot also came to see me. She will

make her debuts at the rival theatre [Covent Garden], likewise

in La Sonnambula. All the pianists of Paris are here. Prudent

played his Concerto at the Philharmonic with little success,

for it is necessary to play classical music there. Thalberg is

engaged for twelve concerts at the theatre where Lind is [Her

Majesty's, Haymarket]. Halle is going to play Mendelssohn at

the rival theatre.

Chopin to his friend Grzymala; Thursday, May 11, 1848:--

I have just come from the Italian Opera, where Jenny Lind

appeared to-day, for the first time, as Sonnambula, and the

Queen showed herself for the first time to the people after a

long retirement. [FOOTNOTE: Chopin must have begun this letter

on the 4th of May, and dated it later on; for on the 11th of

May Jenny Lind sang in La Figlia del Reggimento, and the

presence of the Queen at the performance is not mentioned in

the newspaper accounts of it. See preceding foot-note.] Both

were, of course, of much interest to me; more especially,

however, Wellington, who, like an old, faithful dog in a

cottage, sat in the box below his crowned mistress. I have

also made Jenny Lind's personal acquaintance: when, a few days

afterwards, I paid her a visit, she received me in the most

amiable manner, and sent me an excellent "stall" for the opera

performance. I was capitally seated and heard excellently.

This Swede is indeed an original from top to toe! She does not

show herself in the ordinary light, but in the magic rays of

an aurora borealis. Her singing is infallibly pure and sure;

but what I admired most was her piano, which has an

indescribable charm. "Your

FREDERICK.

Of Chopin's visit Jenny Lind-Goldschmidt had to the last years of her

life a most pleasing and vivid recollection. She sang to him Polskas,

[FOOTNOTE: Polskas are dances of Polish origin, popular in Sweden, whose

introduction dates from the time of the union of the crowns of Sweden

and Poland in 1587.] which delighted him greatly. The way Madame

Goldschmidt spoke of Chopin showed unmistakably that he made the best

possible impression upon her, not only as an artist, but also as a

man--she was sure of his goodness, and that he could not but have been

right in the Sand affair, I mean as regards the rupture. She visited him

when she went in the following year (1849) to Paris.

In his letter to Gutmann, Chopin speaks of his intention to give a

matinee at a private house. And he more than realised it; for he not

only gave one, but two--the first at the house of Mrs. Sartoris (nee

Adelaide Kemble) and the second at the house of Lord Falmouth. Here are

two advertisements which appeared in the Times.

June 15, 1848:--

Monsieur Chopin will give a Matinee musicale, at No. 99, Eaton

Place, on Friday, June 23, to commence at 3 o'clock. A limited

number of tickets, one guinea each, with full particulars, at

Cramer, Beale & Co.'s, 201, Regent Street.

July 3 and 4, 1848:--

Monsieur Chopin begs to announce that his second Matinee

musicale will take place on Friday next, July 7, at the

residence of the Earl of Falmouth, No. 2, St. James's Square.

To commence at half-past 3. Tickets, limited in number, and

full particulars at Cramer, Beale & Co.'s, 201, Regent Street.

The Musical World (July 8, 1848) says about these

performances:--

M. Chopin has lately given two performances of his own

pianoforte music at the residence of Mrs. Sartoris (late Miss

Adelaide Kemble), which seem to have given much pleasure to

his audiences, among whom Mdlle. Lind, who was present at the

first, seems to be the most enthusiastic. We were not present

at either, and, therefore, have nothing to say on the subject.

[FOOTNOTE: Of course, the above-quoted advertisements prove

the reporter to be wrong in this particular; there was only

one at the house of Mrs. Sartoris.]

From an account of the first matinee in the Athenaeum we learn that

Chopin played nocturnes, etudes, mazurkas, two waltzes, and the

Berceuse, but none of his more developed works, such as sonatas,

concertos, scherzos, and ballades. The critic tries to analyse

the master's style of execution--a "mode" in which "delicacy,

picturesqueness, elegance, and humour are blended so as to produce

that rare thing, a new delight"--pointing out his peculiar fingering,

treatment of scale and shake, tempo rubato, &c. But although the critic

speaks no less appreciatively of the playing than of the compositions,

the tenor of the notice of the second matinee (July 15, 1848) shows that

the former left nevertheless something to be desired. "Monsieur Chopin

played better at his second than at his first matinee--not with more

delicacy (that could hardly be), but with more force and brio." Along

with other compositions of his, Chopin played on this occasion his

Scherzo in B flat and his Etude in C sharp minor. Another attraction of

the matinee was the singing of Madame Viardot-Garcia, "who, besides her

inimitable airs with Mdlle. de Mendi, and her queerly-piquant Mazurkas,

gave the Cenerentola rondo, graced with great brilliancy; and a song by

Beethoven, 'Ich denke dein.'"

[FOOTNOTE: No doubt, those Mazurkas by Chopin which, adapting to them

Spanish words, she had arranged for voice and piano. Hiller wrote

mostenthusiastically of these arrangements and her performance of them.]

Mr. Salaman said, at a meeting of the London Musical Association (April

5, 1880), in the course of a discussion on the subject of Chopin, that

he was present at the matinee at the house of Mrs. Sartoris, and would

never forget the concert-giver's playing, especially of the waltz in D

flat. "I remember every bar, how he played it, and the appearance of

his long, attenuated fingers during the time he was playing. [FOOTNOTE:

Their thinness may have made them appear long, but they were not really

so. See Appendix III.] He seemed quite exhausted." Mr. Salaman was

particularly struck by the delicacy and refinement of Chopin's touch,

and the utmost exquisiteness of expression.

To Chopin, as the reader will see in the letter addressed to Franchomme,

and dated August 6th and 11th, these semi-public performances had only

the one redeeming point--that they procured him much-needed money,

otherwise he regarded them as a great annoyance. And this is not to be

wondered at, if we consider the physical weakness under which he was

then labouring. When Chopin went before these matinees to Broadwood's

to try the pianoforte on which he was to play, he had each time to be

carried up the flight of stairs which led to the piano-room. Chopin had

also to be carried upstairs when he came to a concert which his pupil

Lindsay Sloper gave in this year in the Hanover Square Rooms. But

nothing brings his miserable condition so vividly before us as his own

letters.

Chopin to Grzymala, London, July 18, 1848:--

My best thanks for your kind lines and the accompanying letter

from my people. Heaven be thanked, they are all well; but why

are they concerned about me? I cannot become sadder than I am,

a real joy I have not felt for a long time. Indeed, I feel

nothing at all, I only vegetate, waiting patiently for my end.

Next week I go to Scotland to Lord Torphichen, the brother-in-

law of my Scottish friends, the Misses Stirling, who are

already with him (in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh). He wrote

to me and invited me heartily, as did also Lady Murray, an

influential lady of high rank there, who takes an

extraordinary interest in music, not to mention the many

invitations I have received from various parts of England. But

I cannot wander about from one place to another like a

strolling musician; such a vagabond' life is hateful to me,

and not conducive to my health. I intend to remain in Scotland

till the 29th of August, on which day I go as far as

Manchester, where I am engaged to play in public. I shall play

there twice without orchestra, and receive for this 60

[pounds]. The Alboni comes also, but all this does not

interest me--I just seat myself at the piano, and begin to

play. I shall stay during this time with rich manufacturers,

with whom also Neukomm [FOOTNOTE: Karasowski has Narkomm,

which is, of course, either a misreading or a misprint,

probably the former, as it is to be found in all editions of

his book.] has stayed. What I shall do next I don't know yet.

If only someone could foretell whether I shall not fall sick

here during the winter..."Your

FREDERICK.

Had Chopin, when he left Paris, really in view the possibility of

settling in London? There was at the time a rumour of this being the

case. The Athenaeum (April 8, 1848), in the note already adverted to,

said:--"M. Chopin is expected, if not already here--it is even added to

remain in England." But if he embraced the idea at first, he soon began

to loosen his grasp of it, and, before long, abandoned it altogether.

In his then state of health existence would have been a burden anywhere,

but it was a greater one away from his accustomed surroundings.

Moreover, English life to be enjoyable requires a robustness of

constitution, sentimental and intellectual as well as physical, which

the delicately-organised artist, even in his best time, could not boast

of. If London and the rest of Britain was not to the mind of Chopin, it

was not for want of good-will among the people. Chopin's letters show

distinctly that kindness was showered upon him from all sides. And these

letters do not by any means contain a complete roll of those who were

serviceable to him. The name of Frederick Beale, the publisher, for

instance, is not to be found there, and yet he is said, with what truth

I do not know, to have attached himself to the tone-poet.

[FOOTNOTE: Mr. Hipkins heard Chopin play at Broadwood's to Beale the

Waltzes in D flat major and C sharp minor (Nos. 1 and 2 of Op. 64),

subsequently published by Cramer, Beale and Co. But why did the

publisher not bring out the whole opus (three waltzes, not two), which

had already been in print in France and Germany for nine or ten months?

Was his attachment to the composer weaker than his attachment to his

cash-box?]

The attentions of the piano-makers, on the other hand, are duly

remembered. In connection with them I must not forget to record the

fact that Mr. Henry Fowler Broadwood had a concert grand, the first in a

complete iron frame, expressly made for Chopin, who, unfortunately, did

not live to play upon it.

[FOOTNOTE: For particulars about the Broadwood pianos used by Chopin in

England and Scotland (and he used there no others at his public concerts

and principal private entertainments), see the List of John Broadwood

& Sons' Exhibits at the International Inventions Exhibition (1885),

a pamphlet full of interesting information concerning the history and

construction of the pianoforte. It is from the pen of A. J. Hipkins.]

A name one misses with surprise in Chopin's letters is that of his

Norwegian pupil Tellefsen, who came over from Paris to London, and seems

to have devoted himself to his master. [FOOTNOTE: Tellefsen, says

Mr. Hipkins, was nearly always with Chopin.] Of his ever-watchful

ministering friend Miss Stirling and her relations we shall hear more in

the following letters.

Chopin started for Scotland early in August, 1848, for on the 6th August

he writes to Franchomme that he had left London a few days before.

Chopin to Franchomme; Edinburgh, August 6 [1848]. Calder

House, August 11:--

Very dear friend,--I do not know what to say. The best, it

seems to me, is not even to attempt to console you for the

loss of your father. I know your grief--time itself assuages

little such sorrows. I left London a few days ago. I made the

journey to Edinburgh (407 miles) in twelve hours. After having

taken a day's rest in Edinburgh, I went to Calder House,

twelve miles from Edinburgh, the mansion of Lord Torphichen,

brother-in-law of Madame Erskine, where I expect to remain

till the end of the month and to rest after my great doings in

London. I gave two matinees, which it appears have given

pleasure, but which, for all that, did not the less bore me.

Without them, however, I do not know how I could have passed

three months in this dear London, with large apartments

(absolutely necessary), carriage, and valet. My health is not

altogether bad, but I become more feeble, and the air here

does not yet agree with me. Miss Stirling was going to write

to you from London, and asks me to beg you to excuse her. The

fact is that these ladies had many preparations to make before

their journey to Scotland, where they intend to remain some

months. There is in Edinburgh a pupil of yours, Mr. Drechsler,

I believe.

[FOOTNOTE: Louis Drechsler (son of the Dessau violoncellist

Carl Drechsler and uncle of the Edinburgh violoncellist and

conductor Carl Drechsler Hamilton), who came to Edinburgh in

August, 1841, and died there on June 25,1860. From an obituary

notice in a local paper I gather that he studied under

Franchomme in 1845.]

He came to see me in London; he appeared to me a fine young

fellow, and he loves you much. He plays duets [fait de la

musique] with a great lady of this country, Lady Murray, one

of my sexagenarian pupils in London, to whom I have also

promised a visit in her beautiful mansion. [FOOTNOTE: The wife

of Lord (Sir John Archibald) Murray, I think. At any rate,

this lady was very musical and in the habit of playing with

Louis Drechsler.] But I do not know how I shall do it, for I

have promised to be in Manchester on the 28th of August to

play at a concert for 60 pounds. Neukomm is there, and,

provided that he does not improvise on the same day [et pourvu

qu'il ne m'improvise pas le meme jour], I reckon on earning my

60 francs [he means, of course, "60 pounds"].

[FOOTNOTE: Thinking that this remark had some hidden meaning,

I applied to Franchomme for an explanation; but he wrote to me

as follows: "Chopin trouvait que Neukomm etait un musicien

ennuyeux, et il lui etait desagreable de penser que Neukomm

pourrait improviser dans le concert dans lequel il devrait

jouer."]

After that I don't know what will become of me. I should like

very much if they were to give me a pension for life for

having composed nothing, not even an air a la Osborne or

Sowinski (both of them excellent friends), the one an

Irishman, the other a compatriot of mine (I am prouder of them

than of the rejected representative Antoine de Kontski--

Frenchman of the north and animal of the south). [FOOTNOTE:

"Frenchmen of the north" used to be a common appellation of

the Poles.]

After these parentheses, I will tell you truly that I know

[FOOTNOTE: Here probably "not" ought to be added.] what will

become of me in autumn. At any rate, if you get no news from

me do not complain of me, for I think very often of writing to

you. If you see Mdlle. de Rozieres or Grzymala, one or the

other of them will have heard something--if not from me, from

some friends. The park here is very beautiful, the lord of the

manor very excellent, and I am as well as I am permitted to

be. Not one proper musical idea. I am out of my groove; I am

like, for instance, an ass at a masked ball, a chanterelle

[first, i.e., highest string] of a violin on a double bass--

astonished, amazed, lulled to sleep as if I were hearing a

trait [a run or a phrase] of Bodiot [FOOTNOTE: That is,

Charles Nicolas Baudiot (1773-1849), the violoncellist, at one

time professor at the Conservatoire. He published a school and

many compositions for his instrument.] (before the 24th of

February), [FOOTNOTE: The revolution of February 24, 1848.] or

a stroke of the bow of M. Cap [FOOTNOTE: This gentleman was an

amateur player of the violoncello and other stringed

instruments.] (after the June days). [FOOTNOTE: The

insurrection of the Red Republicans on June 23-26, 1848.] I

hope they are still flourishing, for I cannot do without them

in writing. But another real question is, that I hope you have

no friends to deplore in all these terrible affairs. And the

health of Madame Franchomme and of the little children? Write

me a line, and address it to London, care of Mr. Broadwood,

33, Great Pulteney Street, Golden Square. I have here a

perfect (material) tranquillity, and pretty Scotch airs. I

wish I were able to compose a little, were it only to please

these good ladies--Madame Erskine and Mdlle. Stirling. I have

a Broadwood piano in my room, the Pleyel of Miss Stirling in

my salon. I lack neither paper nor pens. I hope that you also

will compose something, and may God grant that I hear it soon

newly born. I have friends in London who advise me to pass

there the winter.--But I shall listen only to my I do not know

what [mon je ne sais quoi]; or, rather, I shall listen to the

last comer--this comes often to the same thing as weighing

well. Adieu dear, dear friend! My most sincere wishes to

Madame Franchomme for her children. I hope that Rene amuses

himself with his bass, that Cecile works well, and that their

little sister always reads her books. Remember me to Madame

Lasserve, I pray you, and correct my orthography as well as my

French.

The following words are written along the margin:--

The people here are ugly, but, it would seem, good. As a

compensation there are charming, apparently mischievous,

cattle, perfect milk, butter, eggs, and tout ce qui s'en suit,

cheese and chickens.

To save the reader from becoming confused by allusions in Chopin's

letters to names of unknown persons and places, I will now say a few

words about the composer's Scotch friends. The Stirlings of Keir,

generally regarded as the principal family of the name, are said to be

descended from Walter de Striveline, Strivelyn, or Strivelyng, Lucas of

Strivelyng (1370-1449) being the first possessor of Keyr. The family was

for about two centuries engaged in the East India and West India trade.

Archibald Stirling, the father of the late baronet, went, as William

Fraser relates in The Stirlings of Keir, like former younger sons,

to Jamaica, where he was a planter for nearly twenty-five years. He

succeeded his brother James in 1831, greatly improved the mansion,

and died in 1847. When Chopin visited Keir it was in the possession of

William Stirling, who, in 1865, became Sir William Stirling-Maxwell (his

mother was a daughter of Sir John Maxwell), and is well-known by his

literary works--Annals of the Artists of Spain (1848), The Cloister Life

of the Emperor Charles V. (1852), Velasquez (1855), &c. He was the uncle

of Jane Stirling and Mrs. Erskine, daughters (the former the youngest

daughter) of John Stirling, of Kippendavie and Kippenross, and friends

of Chopin. W. Hanna, the editor of the Letters of Thomas Erskine of

Linlathen, says that Jane Stirling was a cousin and particular friend

of Thomas Erskine. The latter used in later life to regard her and the

Duchess de Broglie as the most remarkable women he had ever met:--

In her later years she lived much in Paris, and counted among

her friends there Ary Scheffer. In his "Christus Consolator,"

this eminent artist has presented in one of the figures his

ideal of female beauty, and was struck on being first

introduced to Miss Stirling to find in her the almost exact

embodiment of that ideal. She was introduced afterwards in

many of his pictures.

In a letter addressed to Mrs. Schwabe, and dated February 14, 1859, we

read about her:--

She was ill for eight weeks, and suffered a great deal...I

know you will feel this deeply, for you could appreciate the

purity and beauty of that stream of love which flowed through

her whole life. I don't think that I ever knew anyone who

seemed more entirely to have given up self, and devoted her

whole being to the good of others. I remember her birth like

yesterday, and I never saw anything in her but what was

lovable from the beginning to the end of her course.

Lindsay Sloper, who lived in Paris from 1841 to 1846, told me that Miss

Stirling, who was likewise staying there, took for some time lessons

from him. As she wished to become a pupil of Chopin, he spoke to his

master about her. Chopin, Lindsay Sloper said, was pleased with her

playing, and soon began to like her.

[FOOTNOTE: To the above I must append a cautionary foot-note. In his

account to me Lindsay Sloper made two mistakes which prove that his

memory was not one of the most trustworthy, and suggest even the

possibility that his Miss Stirling was a different person from Chopin's

friend. His mistakes were these: he called Mrs. Erskine, who was with

Miss Stirling in Paris, her aunt instead of her sister; and thought

that Miss Stirling was about eighteen years old when he taught her. The

information I shall give farther on seems to show that she was older

rather than younger than Chopin; indeed, Mr Hipkins is of opinion that

she was in 1848 nearer fifty than forty.]

To her the composer dedicated his Deux Nocturnes, Op. 55, which he

published in August, 1844. It was thought that she was in love with

Chopin, and there were rumours of their going to be married. Gutmann

informed me that Chopin said to him one day when he was ill: "They have

married me to Miss Stirling; she might as well marry death." Of Miss

Jane Stirling's elder sister Katherine, who, in 1811, married her cousin

James Erskine, and lost her husband already in 1816, Thomas Erskine

says: "She was an admirable woman, faithful and diligent in all duties,

and unwearied in her efforts to help those who needed her help."

Lord Torphichen, at whose residence (Calder House, twelve miles from

Edinburgh) Chopin passed much of his time in Scotland, was, as we learn

from the composer's letters, a brother-in-law of Miss Stirling and Mrs.

Erskine. Johnstone Castle (twelve miles from Glasgow), where Chopin was

also received as a guest, belonged to the Houston family, friends of the

Erskines and Stirlings, but, I think, no relations. The death of

Ludovic Houston, Esq., in 1862, is alluded to in one of Thomas Erskine's

letters.

But Chopin, while in Scotland, was not always staying in manors and

castles, now and then he was housed less aristocratically, though

perhaps not less, nay, probably more, comfortably. Such humbler quarters

he found at the house (10, Warriston Crescent) of Dr. Lyschinski, a

Pole by birth, and a refugee, who after studying medicine in Edinburgh

practised it there until a few years ago when he removed to London.

For the information which I am now going to give I am indebted to Mrs.

Lyschinski. Among those who received Chopin at the Edinburgh railway

station was Dr. Lyschinski who addressed him in Polish. The composer put

up at an hotel (perhaps the London Hotel, in St. Andrew's Square). Next

day--Miss Paterson, a neighbour, having placed her carriage at Chopin's

disposal--Mrs. Lyschinski took him out for a drive. He soon got tired

of the hotel, in fact, felt it quite unbearable, and told the doctor,

to whom he had at once taken a fancy, that he could not do without him.

Whereupon the latter said: "Well, then you must come to my house; and

as it is rather small, you must be satisfied with the nursery." So the

children were sent to a friend's house, and the nursery was made into a

bedroom for the illustrious guest, an adjoining bedroom being prepared

for his servant Daniel, an Irish-Frenchman. Unless the above refers to

Chopin's return to Scotland in September, after his visit to Manchester,

Mrs. Lyschinski confuses her reminiscences a little, for, as the

last-quoted letter proves, he tarried, on his first arrival, only one

day in Edinburgh. But the facts, even if not exactly grouped, are, no

doubt, otherwise correctly remembered. Chopin rose very late in the day,

and in the morning had soup in his room. His hair was curled daily

by the servant, and his shirts, boots, and other things were of the

neatest--in fact, he was a petit-maitre, more vain in dress than any

woman. The maid-servants found themselves strictly excluded from his

room, however indispensable their presence might seem to them in the

interests of neatness and cleanliness. Chopin was so weak that Dr.

Lyschinski had always to carry him upstairs. After dinner he sat before

the fire, often shivering with cold. Then all on a sudden he would cross

the room, seat himself at the piano, and play himself warm. He could

bear neither dictation nor contradiction: if you told him to go to the

fire, he would go to the other end of the room where the piano stood.

Indeed, he was imperious. He once asked Mrs. Lyschinski to sing. She

declined. At this he was astonished and quite angry. "Doctor, would

you take it amiss if I were to force your wife to do it?" The idea of a

woman refusing him anything seemed to him preposterous. Mrs. Lyschinski

says that Chopin was gallant to all ladies alike, but thinks that he had

no heart. She used to tease him about women, saying, for instance, that

Miss Stirling was a particular friend of his. He replied that he had no

particular friends among the ladies, that he gave to all an equal

share of his attention. "Not even George Sand then," she asked, "is

a particular friend?" "Not even George Sand," was the reply. Had Mrs.

Lyschinski known the real state of matters between Chopin and George

Sand, she certainly would not have asked that question. He, however, by

no means always avoided the mention of his faithless love. Speaking

one day of his thinness he remarked that she used to call him mon cher

cadavre. Miss Stirling was much about Chopin. I may mention by the way

that Mrs. Lyschinski told me that Miss Stirling was much older than

Chopin, and her love for him, although passionate, purely Platonic.

Princess Czartoryska arrived some time after Chopin, and accompanied

him, my informant says, wherever he went. But, as we see from one of his

letters, her stay in Scotland was short. The composer was always on the

move. Indeed, Dr. Lyschinski's was hardly more than a pied-a-terre for

him: he never stayed long, and generally came unexpectedly. A number

of places where Chopin was a guest are mentioned in his letters. Mrs.

Lyschinski thinks that he also visited the Duke of Hamilton.

At the end of August and at the end of September and beginning of

October, this idling was interrupted by serious work, and a kind of work

which, at no time to his liking, was particularly irksome in the then

state of his health.

The Manchester Guardian of August 19, 1848, contained the following

advertisement:--

Concert Hall.--The Directors beg to announce to the

Subscribers that a Dress Concert has been fixed for Monday,

the 28th of August next, for which the following performers

have already been engaged: Signora Alboni, Signora Corbari,

Signer Salvi, and Mons. Chopin.

From an account of the concert in the same paper (August 30), the writer

of which declares the concert to have been the most brilliant of the

season, we learn that the orchestra, led by Mr. Seymour, played three

overtures--Weber's Ruler of the Spirits, Beethoven's Prometheus, and

Rossini's Barbiere di Siviglia; and that Chopin performed an Andante

and Scherzo, and a Nocturne, Etudes, and the Berceuse of his own

composition. With regard to Chopin we read in this critique:--

With the more instrumental portion of the audience, Mons.

Chopin was perhaps an equal feature of interest with Alboni,

as he was preceded by a high musical reputation. Chopin

appears to be about thirty years of age. [FOOTNOTE: Chopin,

says Mr. Hipkins, had a young look, although much wasted.] He

is very spare in frame, and there is an almost painful air of

feebleness in his appearance and gait. This vanishes when he

seats himself at the instrument, in which he seems for the

time perfectly absorbed. Chopin's music and style of

performance partake of the same leading characteristics--

refinement rather than vigour--subtle elaboration rather than

simple comprehensiveness in composition--an elegant rapid

touch, rather than a firm, nervous grasp of the instrument.

Both his compositions and playing appear to be the perfection

of chamber music--fit to be associated with the most refined

instrumental quartet and quartet playing--but wanting breadth

and obviousness of design, and executive power, to be

effective in a large hall. These are our impressions from

hearing Mons. Chopin for the first time on Monday evening. He

was warmly applauded by many of the most accomplished amateurs

in the town, and he received an encore in his last piece, a

compliment thus accorded to each of the four London artists

who appeared at the concert.

From the criticism of the Manchester Courier and Lancashire General

Advertiser (August 30, 1848), I cull the following remarks:--

We can, with great sincerity, say that he delighted us. Though

we did not discover in him the vigour of Thalberg, yet there

was a chasteness and purity of style, a correctness of

manipulation combined with a brilliance of touch, and delicate

sensibility of expression which we never heard excelled. He

played in the second act [part]... and elicited a rapturous

encore. He did not, however, repeat any part, but treated the

audience with what appeared to be a fragment of great beauty.

Mr. Osborne, in a paper on Chopin read before the London Musical

Association, says:--

On a tour which I made with Alboni, I met Chopin at

Manchester, where he was announced to play at a grand concert

without orchestra. He begged I should not be present. "You, my

dear Osborne," said he, "who have heard me so often in Paris,

remain with those impressions. My playing will be lost in such

a large room, and my compositions will be ineffective. Your

presence at the concert will be painful both to you and me."

Mr. Osborne told his audience further that notwithstanding this appeal

he was present in a remote corner of the room. I may add that although

he could absent himself from the hall for the time Chopin was playing,

he could not absent himself from the concert, for, as the papers tell

us, he acted as accompanist. The impression which Chopin's performance

on this occasion left upon his friend's mind is described in the

following few sad words: "His playing was too delicate to create

enthusiasm, and I felt truly sorry for him."

Soon after the concert Chopin returned to Scotland. How many days

(between August 23 and September 7?) he remained in Manchester, I do not

know, but it is well known that while staying there he was the guest of

Mr. and Mrs. Salis Schwabe. To Mrs. Salis Schwabe, a lady noted for her

benevolence, Thomas Erskine addressed the letter concerning Miss Jane

Stirling a part of which I quoted on one of the foregoing pages of this

chapter. The reader remembers, of course, Chopin's prospective allusions

to the Manchester concert in his letters to Franchomme (August 6, 1848)

and Grzymala (July 18, 1848).

About a month after the concert at which he played in Manchester, Chopin

gave one of his own in Glasgow. Here is what may be read in the Courier

of September 28 and previous days:--

Monsieur Chopin has the honour to announce that his Matinee

musicals will take place on Wednesday, the 27th September, in

the Merchant Hall, Glasgow. To commence at half-past two

o'clock. Tickets, limited in number, half-a-guinea each, and

full particulars to be had from Mr. Muir Wood, 42, Buchanan

Street.

The net profits of this concert are said to have been 60 pounds. Mr.

Muir Wood relates:--

I was then a comparative stranger in Glasgow, but I was told

that so many private carriages had never been seen at any

concert in the town. In fact, it was the county people who

turned out, with a few of the elite of Glasgow society. Being

a morning concert, the citizens were busy otherwise, and half-

a-guinea was considered too high a sum for their wives and

daughters.

No doubt Chopin's playing and compositions must have been to the good

Glasgow citizens of that day what caviare is to the general. In fact,

Scotland, as regards music, had at that period not yet emerged from its

state of primitive savagery. But if we may believe the learned critic in

the Glasgow Courier, Chopin's matinee was numerously attended, and the

audience, which consisted of "the beauty and fashion, indeed of the

very elite of the West-end," thoroughly enjoyed the playing of the

concert-giver and the singing of Madame Adelasio de Margueritte who

assisted him. I think the reader will be interested by the following

specimen of criticism for more than one reason:--

The performance was certainly of the highest order in point of

musical attainment and artistic skill, and was completely

successful in interesting and delighting everyone present for

an hour and a half. Visited as we now are by the highest

musical talent, by this great player and the other eminent

composer, it must be difficult for each successive candidate

for our patronage and applause to produce in sufficient

quantity that essential element to success--novelty; but M.

Chopin has proved satisfactorily that it is not easy to

estimate the capabilities of the instrument he handles with so

much grace and ingenuity, or limit the skill and power whose

magic touch makes it pour forth its sublime strains to

electrify and delight anew the astonished listener. M.

Chopin's treatment of the pianoforte is peculiar to himself,

and his style blends in beautiful harmony and perfection the

elegant, the picturesque, and the humorous. We cannot at

present descend to practical illustrations in proof of these

observations, but feel persuaded we only express the feelings

of all who attended yesterday when we say that the pianist

produces, without extraordinary effort, not only pleasing, but

new musical delights. Madame Adelasio has a beautiful voice,

which she manages with great ease and occasional brilliancy.

She sang several airs with much taste and great acceptance. We

may mention that all the pieces were rapturously applauded,

and the audience separated with expressions of the highest

gratification.

Clearly this critic was not without judgment, although his literary

taste and skill leave much to be desired. That there were real Chopin

enthusiasts in Glasgow is proved by an effusion, full of praise and

admiration, which the editor received from a correspondent and inserted

on September 30, two days after the above criticism. But, without

indulging our curiosity further, we will now take our leave of Glasgow

and Glasgow critics.

On October 4, Chopin gave an evening concert in Edinburgh. Here is the

programme:--

HOPETOUN ROOMS, QUEEN STREET.

MONSIEUR CHOPIN'S SOIREE MUSICALE.

Programme.

1. Andante et Impromptu.

2. Etudes.

3. Nocturne et Berceuse.

4. Grande Valse Brillante.

5. Andante precede d'un Largo.

6. Preludes, Ballade, Mazurkas et Valses.

To commence at half-past eight o'clock. Tickets,

limited to number, half-a-guinea each. To be had, &c.

Mrs. Lyschinski told me that this concert was chiefly attended by

the nobility. Half-a-guinea had never been charged for admission to a

concert (which is probably overstating the case), and Chopin was little

known. Miss Stirling, who was afraid the hall might not be filled,

bought fifty pounds' worth of tickets. The piano on which Chopin played

(one sent by Broadwood, and used in Glasgow as well as in Edinburgh) was

afterwards sold for 30 pounds above the price. Thus, at any rate, runs

the legend.

In the Edinburgh Courant, which contained on September 30 and on other

days an advertisement similar to the Glasgow one (with the addition of a

programme, consisting, however, only of the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 6th items

of the one above given), there appeared on October 7, 1848, a notice of

the concert, a part of which may find a place here:--

This talented pianist gratified his admirers by a performance

on Wednesday evening in the Hopetoun Rooms, where a select and

highly fashionable audience assembled to welcome him on his

first appearance in Edinburgh...Chopin's compositions have

been too long before the musical portion of Europe, and have

been too highly appreciated to require any comment, further

than that they are among the best specimens of classical

excellence in pianoforte music. Of his execution we need say

nothing further than that it is the most finished we have ever

heard. He has neither the ponderosity nor the digital power of

a Mendelssohn, a Thalberg, or Liszt; consequently his

execution would appear less effective in a large room; but as

a chamber pianist he stands unrivalled. Notwithstanding the

amount of musical entertainment already afforded the Edinburgh

public this season, the rooms were filled with an audience

who, by their judicious and well-timed applause, testified

their appreciation of the high talent of Monsieur Chopin.

An Edinburgh correspondent of the Musical World, who signs himself "M.,"

confirms (October 14, 1848) the statements of the critic of the Courant.

From this communication we learn that one of the etudes played was in

F minor (probably No. 2 of Op. 25, although there are two others in

the same key--No. 9 of Op. 10 and No. 1 of Trois Etudes without opus

number). The problematical Andante precede d'un Largo was, no doubt,

a juxtaposition of two of his shorter compositions, this title being

chosen to vary the programme. From Mr. Hipkins I learned that at this

Chopin played frequently the slow movement from his Op. 22, Grande

Polonaise preceded d'un Andante Spianato.

And now we will let Chopin again speak for himself.

Chopin to Grzymala; Keir, Perthshire, Sunday, October 1, 1848:--

No post, no railway, also no carriage (not even for taking the

air), no boat, not a dog to be seen--all desolate, desolate!

My dearest friend,--Just at the moment when I had already

begun to write to you on another sheet, your and my sister's

letters were brought to me. Heaven be thanked that cholera has

hitherto spared them. But why do you not write a word about

yourself? and yet to you corresponding is much easier than to

me; for I have been writing to you daily for a whole week

already--namely, since my return from northern Scotland

(Strachur [FOOTNOTE: A small town, eight miles south of

Inveraray, in Argyleshire.])--without getting done. I know,

indeed, that you have an invalid in Versailles; for Rozaria

[FOOTNOTE: Mdlle. de Rozieres.] wrote to me that you had paid

her a visit, and then in great haste had gone to an invalid in

Versailles. I hope it is not your grandfather or grandchild,

or one of your dear neighbours, the Rochanskis. Here one hears

as yet nothing of cholera, but in London it appears already

here and there.

With your letter, which I received at Johnstone Castle, and in

which you informed me that you had been with Soli [FOOTNOTE: I

suppose Solange, Madame Clesinger, George Sand's daughter.] at

the Gymnase Theatre, there came at the same time one from

Edinburgh, from Prince Alexander Czartoryski, with the news

that he and his wife had arrived, and that he would be very

glad to see me. Although tired, I at once took the train and

found them still in Edinburgh. Princess Marcelline was as kind

as she always is to me. The intercourse with them reanimated

me, and gave me strength to play in Glasgow, where the whole

haute volee had gathered for my concert. The weather was

magnificent, and the princely family had even come from

Edinburgh with little Marcel, who is growing nicely, and sings

already my compositions, yes, and even corrects when he hears

someone making mistakes. It was on Wednesday afternoon, at 3

o'clock, and the princely couple did me the kindness to accept

along with me an invitation to a dinner at Johnstone Castle

(by the way, twelve English miles from Glasgow) after the

concert; in this way, then, I passed the whole day with them.

Lord and Lady Murray and the old Lord Torphichen (who had come

a distance of a hundred miles) drove also thither with us, and

the next day all were quite charmed with the amiability of

Princess Marcelline. The princely pair returned to Glasgow,

whence, after a visit to Loch Tamen, [FOOTNOTE: There is no

such loch. Could it possibly be Loch Lomond? Loch Leven seems

to me less likely.] they wished to go back at once to London,

and thence to the Continent. The Prince spoke of you with

sincere kindness. I can very well imagine what your noble soul

must suffer when you see what is now going on in Paris. You

cannot think how I revived, how lively I became that day in

the society of such dear countrymen; but to-day I am again

very depressed. O, this mist! Although, from the window at

which I write, I have before me the most beautiful view of

Stirling Castle--it is the same, as you will remember, which

delighted Robert Bruce--and mountains, lochs, a charming park,

in one word, the view most celebrated for its beauty in

Scotland; I see nothing, except now and then, when the mist

gives way to the sun. The owner of this mansion, whose name is

Stirling, is the uncle of our Scotch ladies, and the head of

the family. I made his acquaintance in London; he is a rich

bachelor, and has a very beautiful picture-gallery, which is

especially distinguished by works of Murillo and other Spanish

masters. He has lately even published a very interesting book

on the Spanish school; he has travelled much (visited also the

East), and is a very intelligent man. All Englishmen of note

who come to Scotland go to him; he has always an open house,

so that there are daily on an average about thirty people at

dinner with him. In this way one has opportunities of seeing

the most different English beauties; lately there was, for

instance, for some days a Mrs. Boston here, but she is already

gone. As to dukes, earls, and lords, one now sees here more of

them than ever, because the Queen has sojourned in Scotland.

Yesterday she passed close by us by rail, as she had to be at

a certain time in London, and there was such a fog on the sea

that she preferred to return from Aberdeen to London by land,

and not (as she had come) by boat--to the great regret of the

navy, which had prepared various festivities for her. It is

said that her consort, Prince Albert, was very much pleased at

this, as he becomes always sea-sick on board, while the Queen,

like a true ruler of the sea, is not inconvenienced by a

voyage. I shall soon have forgotten Polish, speak French like

an Englishman, and English like a Scotchman--in short, like

Jawurek, jumble together five languages. If I do not write to

you a Jeremiad, it is not because you cannot comfort me, but

because you are the only one who knows everything; and if I

once begin to complain, there will be no end to it, and it

will always be in the same key. But it is incorrect when I

say: "always in the same key," for things are getting worse

with me every day. I feel weaker; I cannot compose, not for

want of inclination, but for physical reasons, and because I

am every week in a different place. But what shall I do? At

least, I shall save something for the winter. Invitations I

have in plenty, and cannot even go where I should like, for

instance, to the Duchess of Argyll and Lady Belhaven, as the

season is already too far advanced and too dangerous for my

enfeebled health. I am all the morning unable to do anything,

and when I have dressed myself I feel again so fatigued that I

must rest. After dinner I must sit two hours with the

gentlemen, hear what they say, and see how much they drink.

Meanwhile I feel bored to death. I think of something totally

different, and then go to the drawing-room, where I require

all my strength to revive, for all are anxious to hear me.

Afterwards my good Daniel carries me upstairs to my bedroom,

undresses me, puts me to bed, leaves the candle burning, and

then I am again at liberty to sigh and to dream until morning,

to pass the next day just like the preceding one. When I have

settled down in some measure, I must continue my travels, for

my Scotch ladies do not allow me--to be sure with the best

intentions in the world--any rest. They fetch me to introduce

me to all their relations; they will at last kill me with

their kindness, and I must bear it all out of pure amiability.--

Your

FREDERICK.

Chopin to Gutmann; Calder House, October 16, 1848 (twelve miles from

Edinburgh):--

Very dear friend,--What are you doing? How are your people,

your country, your art? you are unjustly severe upon me, for

you know my infirmity in the matter of letter-writing. I have

thought of you much, and on reading the other day that there

was a disturbance at Heidelberg, I tried some thirty rough

draughts [brouillons] in order to send you a line, the end of

them all being to be thrown into the fire. This page will

perhaps reach you and find you happy with your good mother.

Since I had news from you, I have been in Scotland, in this

beautiful country of Walter Scott, with so many memories of

Mary Stuart, the two Charleses, &c. I drag myself from one

lord to another, from one duke to another. I find everywhere,

besides extreme kindness and hospitality without limit,

excellent pianos, beautiful pictures, choice libraries; there

are also hunts, horses, dogs, interminable dinners, and

cellars of which I avail myself less. It is impossible to form

an idea of all the elaborate comfort which reigns in the

English mansions. The Queen having passed this year some weeks

in Scotland, all England followed her, partly out of courtesy,

partly because of the impossibility of going to the disturbed

Continent. Everything here has become doubly splendid, except

the sun, which has done nothing more than usual; moreover, the

winter advances, and I do not know yet what will become of me.

I am writing to you from Lord Torphichen's. In this mansion,

above my apartment, John Knox, the Scotch reformer, dispensed

for the first time the Sacrament. Everything here furnishes

matter for the imagination--a park with hundred-year-old

trees, precipices, walls of the castle in ruins, endless

passages with numberless old ancestors--there is even a

certain Red-cowl which walks there at midnight. I walk there

my incertitude. [II y a meme un certain bonnet rouge, qui s'y

promene a minuit. J'y promene mon incertitude.]

Cholera is coming; there is fog and spleen in London, and no

president in Paris. It does not matter where I go to cough and

suffocate, I shall always love you. Present my respects to

your mother, and all my wishes for the happiness of you all.

Write me a line to the address: Dr. Lishinsky, [FOOTNOTE: The

letter I shall next place before the reader is addressed by

Chopin to "Dr. Lishinski." In an Edinburgh medical directory

the name appeared as Lyszynski.] 10, Warriston Crescent,

Edinburgh, Scotland.--Yours, with all my heart,

CHOPIN.

P.S.--I have played in Edinburgh; the nobility of the

neighbourhood came to hear me; people say the thing went off

well--a little success and money. There were this year in

Scotland Lind, Grisi, Alboni, Mario, Salvi--everybody.

From Chopin's letters may be gathered that he arrived once more in

London at the end of October or beginning of November.

Chopin to Dr. Lyschinski; London, November 3, 1848:--

I received yesterday your kind words with the letter from

Heidelberg. I am as perplexed here as when I was with you, and

have the same love in my heart for you as when I was with you.

My respects to your wife and your neighbours. May God bless

you!

I embrace you cordially. I have seen the Princess

[Czartoryska]; they were inquiring about you most kindly.

My present abode is 4, St. James's Place. If anything should

come for me, please send it to that address.

3rd November, 1848.

Pray send the enclosed note to Miss Stirling, who, no doubt,

is still at Barnton.

[FOOTNOTE: In this case, as when writing to Woyciechowski,

Matuszynski, Fontana, Franchomme and Gutmann, Chopin uses in

addressing his correspondent, the pronoun of the second person

singular. Here I may also mention the curious monogram on his

seal: three C's in the form of horns (with mouthpieces and

bells) intertwined.]

The following letter shows in what state of mind and body Chopin was at

the time.

Chopin to Grzymala; London, October [should be November] 17-18, 1848:--

My dearest friend,--For the last eighteen days, that is, since

my arrival in London, I have been ill, and had such a severe

cold in my head (with headache, difficult breathing, and all

my bad symptoms) that I did not get out of doors at all. The

physician visits me daily (a homoeopathist of the name of

Mallan, the same whom my Scotch ladies have and who has here a

great reputation, and is married to a niece of Lady

Gainsborough). He has succeeded in restoring me so far that

yesterday I was able to take part in the Polish Concert and

Ball; I went, however, at once home, after I had gone through

my task. The whole night I could not sleep, as I suffered,

besides cough and asthma, from very violent headache. As yet

the mist has not been very bad, so that, in order to breathe a

little fresh air, I can open the windows of my apartments

notwithstanding the keen cold. I live at No. 4, St. James's

Street, see almost every day the excellent Szulczewski,

Broadwood, Mrs. Erskine, who followed me hither with Mr.

Stirling, and especially Prince Alexander [Czartoryski] and

his wife.

[FOOTNOTE: Charles Francis Szulczewski, son of Charles

Szulczewski, Receiver General for the District of Orlow, born

on January 18, 1814, was educated at the Military School at

Kalisz, served during the War of 1831 in the Corps of

Artillery under General Bem, obtained the Cross of Honour

(virtuti militari) for distinguishing himself at Ostrolenka,

passed the first years of his refugee life in France, and in

1842 took up his residence in London, where, in 1845, he

became Secretary of the Literary Association of the Friends of

Poland. He was promoted for his services to the rank of Major

in the Polish Legion, which was formed in Turkey under the

command of Ladislas Zamoyski, and after the treaty of Paris

(1856) the English Government appointed him to a post in the

War Office. Major Szulczewski, who died on October 18, 1884,

was an ardent patriot, highly esteemed not only by his

countrymen, but also by all others who came in contact with

him, numbering among his friends the late Lord Dudley Stuart

and the late Earl of Harrowby.]

Address your letters, please, to Szulczewski. I cannot yet

come to Paris, but I am always considering what is to be done

to return there. Here in these apartments, which for any

healthy man would be good, I cannot remain, although they are

beautifully situated and not dear (four and a half guineas a

week, inclusive of bed, coals, &c.); they are near Lord

Stuart's, [FOOTNOTE: Lord Dudley Cuotts Stuart, a staunch and

generous friend of the Poles.] who has just left me. This

worthy gentleman came to inquire how I felt after last night's

concert. Probably I shall take up my quarters with him,

because he has much larger rooms, in which I can breathe more

freely. En tout cas--inquire, please, whether there are not

somewhere on the Boulevard, in the neighbourhood of the Rue de

la Paix or Rue Royale, apartments to be had on the first etage

with windows towards the south; or, for aught I care, in the

Rue des Mathurin, but not in the Rue Godot or other gloomy,

narrow streets; at any rate, there must be included a room for

the servant. Perhaps Franck's old quarters, which were above

mine, at the excellent Madame Etienne's, in the Square No. 9

(Cite d'Orleans), are unoccupied; for I know from experience

that I cannot keep on my old ones during the winter. If there

were only on the same story a room for the servant, I should

go again and live with Madame Etienne, but I should not like

to let my Daniel go away, as, should I at any time wish or be

able to return to England, he will be acquainted with

everything.

Why I bother you with all this I don't know myself; but I must

think of myself, and, therefore, I beg of you, assist me in

this. I have never cursed anyone, but now I am so weary of

life that I am near cursing Lucrezia! [FOOTNOTE: George Sand.

This allusion after what has been said in a previous chapter

about her novel Lucrezia Floriani needs no further

explanation.] But she suffers too, and suffers more because

she grows daily older in wickedness. What a pity about Soli!

[FOOTNOTE: I suppose Solange, Madame Clesinger, George Sand's

daughter.] Alas! everything is going wrong in this world.

Think only that Arago with the eagle on his breast now

represents France!!! Louis Blanc attracts here nobody's

attention. The deputation of the national guard drove

Caussidier out of the Hotel de la Sablonniere (Leicester

Square) from the table d'hote with the exclamation: "Vous

n'etes pas francais!"

Should you find apartments, let me know at once; but do not

give up the old ones till then.--Your

FREDERICK.

The Polish Ball and Concert alluded to in the above letter deserves our

attention, for on that occasion Chopin was heard for the last time in

public, indeed, his performance there may be truly called the swan's

song.

The following is an advertisement which appeared in the DAILY NEWS of

November 1, 1848:--

Grand Polish Ball and Concert at Guildhall, under Royal and

distinguished patronage, and on a scale of more than usual

magnificence, will take place on Thursday, the 16th of

November, by permission of the Lord Mayor and Corporation of

the City of London; particulars of which will be shortly

announced to the public.

JAMES R. CARR, HONORARY SECRETARY.

The information given in this advertisement is supplemented in one of

November 15:--

The magnificent decorations used on the Lord Mayor's day are,

by permission, preserved. The concert will comprise the most

eminent vocalists. Tickets (refreshments included), for a lady

and gentleman, 21/-; for a gentleman, 15/-; for a lady, 10/6;

to be had of, &c.

On the 17th of November the TIMES had, of course, an account of the

festivity of the preceding night:--

The patrons and patronesses of this annual or rather perennial

demonstration in favour of foreign claims on domestic charity

assembled last night at Guildhall much in the same way as they

assembled last year and on previous occasions, though

certainly not in such numbers, nor in such quality as some

years ago. The great hall was illuminated and decorated as at

the Lord Mayor's banquet. The appearance was brilliant without

being particularly lively.

Then the dancing, Mr. Adams' excellent band, the refreshment rooms, a

few noble Lords, the Lord Mayor, and some of the civic authorities (who

"diversified the plain misters and mistresses who formed the majority"),

the gay costumes of some Highlanders and Spaniards, and Lord Dudley (the

great lion of the evening)--all these are mentioned, but there is not

a word about Chopin. Of the concert we read only that it "was much

the same as on former anniversaries, and at its conclusion many of the

company departed." We learn, moreover, that the net profit was estimated

at less than on former occasions.

The concert for which Chopin, prompted by his patriotism and persuaded

by his friends, lent his assistance, was evidently a subordinate part of

the proceedings in which few took any interest. The newspapers either

do not notice it at all or but very briefly; in any case the great

pianist-composer is ignored. Consequently, very little information is

now to be obtained about this matter. Mr. Lindsay Sloper remembered that

Chopin played among other things the "Etudes" in A flat and F minor (Op.

25, Nos. 1 & 2). But the best account we have of the concert are some

remarks of one present at it which Mr. Hueffer quotes in his essay on

Chopin in "Musical Studies":--

The people, hot from dancing, who went into the room where he

played, were but little in the humour to pay attention, and

anxious to return to their amusement. He was in the last stage

of exhaustion, and the affair resulted in disappointment. His

playing at such a place was a well-intentioned mistake.

What a sad conclusion to a noble artistic career!

Although Chopin was longing for Paris in November, he was still in

London in the following January.

Chopin to Grzymaia; London, Tuesday, January, 1849:--

My dearest friend,--To-day I am again lying almost the whole

day, but Thursday I shall leave the to me unbearable London.

The night from Thursday to Friday I shall remain at Boulogne,

and, I hope, go to bed on Friday night in the Place d'Orleans.

To other ailments is now added neuralgia. Please see that the

sheets and pillows are quite dry and cause fir-nuts to be

bought; Madame Etienne is not to spare anything, so that I may

warm myself when I arrive. I have written to Drozewski that he

is to provide carpets and curtains. I shall pay the paper-

hanger Perrichon at once after my arrival. Tell Pleyel to send

me a piano on Thursday; let it be closed and a nosegay of

violets be bought, so that there may be a nice fragrance in

the salon. I should like to find a little poesy in my rooms

and in my bedroom, where I in all probability shall lie down

for a long time.

Friday evening, then, I expect to be in Paris; a day longer

here, and I shall go mad or die! My Scotch ladies are good,

but so tedious that--God have mercy on us! They have so

attached themselves to me that I cannot easily get rid of

them; only Princess Marcelline [Czartoryska] and her family,

and the excellent Szulczewski keep me alive. Have fires

lighted in all rooms and the dust removed--perhaps I may yet

recover.--Yours ever,

FREDERICK.

Mr. Niedzwiecki told me that he travelled with Chopin, who was

accompanied by his servant, from London to Paris.

[FOOTNOTE: Leonard Niedzwiecki, born in the Kingdom of Poland in 1807,

joined the National Army in 1830, distinguished himself on several

battlefields, came in 1832 as a refugee to England, made there a

livelihood by literary work and acted as honorary librarian of the

Literary Association of the friends of Poland, left about 1845 London

for Paris and became Private Secretary, first to General Count Ladislas

Zamoyski, and after the Count's death to the widowed Countess. M.

Niedzwiecki, who is also librarian of the Polish Library at Paris, now

devotes all his time to historical and philological research.]

The three had a compartment to themselves. During the journey the

invalid suffered greatly from frequent attacks of breathlessness. Chopin

was delighted when he saw Boulogne. How hateful England and the English

were to him is shown by the following anecdote. When they had left

Boulogne and Chopin had been for some time looking at the landscape

through which they were passing, he said to Mr. Niedzwiecki: "Do you see

the cattle in this meadow? Ca a plus d'intelligence que les Anglais."

Let us not be wroth at poor Chopin: he was then irritated by his

troubles, and always anything but a cosmopolitan.

CHAPTER XXXII.

DETERIORATION OF CHOPIN'S STATE OF HEALTH.--TWO LETTERS.--REMOVES FROM

THE SQUARE D'ORLEANS TO THE RUE CHAILLOT.--PECUNIARY CIRCUMSTANCES.--A

CURIOUS STORY.--REMINISCENCES AND LETTERS CONNECTED WITH CHOPIN'S STAY

IN THE RUE CHAILLOT.--REMOVES TO NO. 12, PLACE VENDOME.--LAST DAYS, AND

DEATH.--FUNERAL.--LAST RESTING-PLACE.--MONUMENT AND COMMEMORATION IN

1850.

The physical condition in which we saw Chopin in the preceding chapter

was not the outcome of a newly-contracted disease, but only an acuter

phase of that old disease from which he had been suffering more or less

for at least twelve years, and which in all probability he inherited

from his father, who like himself died of a chest and heart complaint.

[FOOTNOTE: My authority for this statement is Dr. Lyschinski, who must

have got his information either from Chopin himself or his mother. That

Chopin's youngest sister, Emilia, died of consumption in early life

cannot but be regarded as a significant fact.] Long before Chopin went

in search of health to Majorca, ominous symptoms showed themselves; and

when he returned from the south, he was only partly restored, not cured.

My attachment [writes George Sand in "Ma Vie"] could work this

miracle of making him a little calm and happy, only because

God had approved of it by preserving a little of his health.

He declined, however, visibly, and I knew no longer what

remedies to employ in order to combat the growing irritation

of his nerves. The death of his friend Dr. Matuszynski, then

that of his own father, [FOOTNOTE: Nicholas Chopin died on May

3, 1844. About Matuszynski's death see page 158.] were to him

two terrible blows. The Catholic dogma throws on death

horrible terrors. Chopin, instead of dreaming for these pure

souls a better world, had only dreadful visions, and I was

obliged to pass very many nights in a room adjoining his,

always ready to rise a hundred times from my work in order to

drive away the spectres of his sleep and wakefulness. The idea

of his own death appeared to him accompanied with all the

superstitious imaginings of Slavonic poetry. As a Pole he

lived under the nightmare of legends. The phantoms called him,

clasped him, and, instead of seeing his father and his friend

smile at him in the ray of faith, he repelled their fleshless

faces from his own and struggled under the grasp of their icy

hands.

But a far more terrible blow than the deaths of his friend and his

father was his desertion by George Sand, and we may be sure that it

aggravated his disease a hundredfold. To be convinced of this we have

only to remember his curse on Lucrezia (see the letter to Grzymala of

November 17-18, 1848).

Jules Janin, in an obituary notice, says of Chopin that "he lived ten

years, ten miraculous years, with a breath ready to fly away" (il a vecu

dix ans, dix ans de miracle, d'un souffle pret a s'envoler). Another

writer remarks: "In seeing him [Chopin] so puny, thin, and pale, one

thought for a. long time that he was dying, and then one got accustomed

to the idea that he could live always so." Stephen Heller in chatting to

me about Chopin expressed the same idea in different words: "Chopin was

often reported to have died, so often, indeed, that people would not

believe the news when he was really dead." There was in Chopin for many

years, especially since 1837, a constant flux and reflux of life. To

repeat another remark of Heller's: "Now he was ill, and then again one

saw him walking on the boulevards in a thin coat." A married sister of

Gutmann's remembers that Chopin had already, in 1843-4, to be carried

upstairs, when he visited her mother, who in that year was staying with

her children in Paris; to walk upstairs, even with assistance, would

have been impossible to him.

For a long time [writes M. Charles Gavard] Chopin had been,

moving about with difficulty, and only went out to have

himself carried to a few faithful friends. He visited them by

no means in order that they might share his misery, on the

contrary, he seemed even to forget his troubles, and at sight

of the family life, and in the midst of the demonstrations of

love which he called forth from everyone, he found new impulse

and new strength to live.

[FOOTNOTE: In a manuscript now before me, containing

reminiscences of the last months of Chopin's life. Karasowski,

at whose disposal the author placed his manuscript, copies

LITERALY, in the twelfth chapter of his Chopin biography, page

after page, without the customary quotation marks.]

Edouard Wolff told me that, in the latter part of Chopin's life, he

did not leave the carriage when he had any business at Schlesinger's

music-shop; a shopman came out to the composer, who kept himself closely

wrapped in his blue mantle. The following reminiscence is, like some of

the preceding ones, somewhat vague with regard to time. Stephen Heller

met Chopin shortly before the latter fell ill. On being asked where he

was going, Chopin replied that he was on his way to buy a new carpet,

his old one having got worn, and then he complained of his legs

beginning to swell. And Stephen Heller saw indeed that there were lumps

of swelling. M. Mathias, describing to me his master as he saw him in

1847, wrote: "It was a painful spectacle to see Chopin at that time;

he was the picture of exhaustion--the back bent, the head bowed

forward--but always amiable and full of distinction." That Chopin was

no longer in a condition to compose (he published nothing after October,

1847), and that playing in public was torture to him and an effort

beyond his strength, we have already seen. But this was not all the

misery; he was also unable to teach. Thus all his sources of income were

cut off. From Chopin's pupil Madame Rubio (nee Vera de Kologrivof) I

learned that latterly when her master was ill and could not give many

lessons, he sent to her several of his pupils, among whom was also Miss

Stirling, who then came to him only once a week instead of oftener. But

after his return from England Chopin was no longer able to teach at

all. [FOOTNOTE: "When languor [son mal de langueur] took hold of him,"

relates Henri Blaze de Bury in "Etudes et Souvenirs," "Chopin gave his

lessons, stretched on a sofa, having within reach a piano of which he

made use for demonstration."] This is what Franchomme told me, and he,

in the last years especially, was intimately acquainted with Chopin,

and knew all about his financial affairs, of which we shall hear more

presently.

As we saw from the letter quoted at the end of the last chapter, Chopin

took up his quarters in the Square d'Orleans, No. 9. He, however, did

not find there the recovery of his health, of which he spoke in the

concluding sentences. Indeed, Chopin knew perfectly by that time that

the game was lost. Hope showed herself to him now and then, but very

dimly and doubtfully. Nothing proves the gravity of his illness and his

utter prostration so much as the following letters in which he informs

his Titus, the dearest friend of his youth, that he cannot go and meet

him in Belgium.

Chopin to Titus Woyciechowski; Paris, August 20, 1849:--

Square d'Orleans, Rue St. Lazare, No 9.

My dearest friend,--Nothing but my being so ill as I really am

could prevent me from leaving Paris and hastening to meet you

at Ostend; but I hope that God will permit you to come to me.

The doctors do not permit me to travel. I drink Pyrenean

waters in my own room. But your presence would do me more good

than any kind of medicine.--Yours unto death,

FREDERICK.

Paris, September 12, 1849.

My dear Titus,--I had too little time to see about the permit

for your coming here; [FOOTNOTE: As a Russian subject,

Woyciechowski required a special permission from the Rusian

authorities to visit Paris, which was not readily granted to

Poles.] I cannot go after it myself, for the half of my time I

lie in bed. But I have asked one of my friends, who has very

great influence, to undertake this for me; I shall not hear

anything certain, about it till Saturday. I should have liked

to go by rail to the frontier, as far as Valenciennes, to see

you again; but the doctors do not permit me to leave Paris,

because a few days ago I could not get as far as Ville

d'Avraye, near Versailles, where I have a goddaughter. For the

same reason they do not send me this winter to a warmer

climate. It is, then, illness that retains me; were I only

tolerably well I should certainly have visited you in Belgium.

Perhaps you may manage to come here. I am not egotistic enough

to ask you to come only on my account; for, as I am ill, you

would have with me weary hours and disappointments, but,

perhaps, also hours of comfort, and of beautiful reminiscences

of our youth, and I wish only that our time together may be a

time of happiness.--Yours ever,

FREDERICK.

When Chopin wrote the second of the above letters he was staying in

a part of Paris more suitable for summer quarters than the Square

d'Orleans--namely, in the Rue Chaillot, whither he had removed in the

end of August.

The Rue Chaillot [writes M. Charles Gavard] was then a very

quiet street, where one thought one's self rather in the

province than in the capital. A large court-yard led to

Chopin's apartments on the second story and with a view of

Paris, which can be seen from the height of Chaillot.

The friends who found these apartments for the invalid composer made

him believe that the rent was only 200 francs. But in reality it was 400

francs, and a Russian lady, Countess Obreskoff, [FOOTNOTE: Madame Rubio,

differing in this one particular from Franchomme, said that Chopin paid

100 francs and Countess Obreskoff 200.] paid one half of it. When Chopin

expressed surprise at the lowness of the rent, he was told that lodgings

were cheap in summer.

This last story prompts me to say a few words about Chopin's pecuniary

circumstances, and naturally leads me to another story, one more like

romance than reality. Chopin was a bad manager, or rather he was no

manager at all. He spent inconsiderately, and neglecting to adapt his

expenditure to his income, he was again and again under the necessity of

adapting his income to his expenditure. Hence those borrowings of money

from friends, those higglings with and dunnings of publishers, in short,

all those meannesses which were unworthy of so distinguished an artist,

and irreconcilable with his character of grand seigneur. Chopin's income

was more than sufficient to provide him with all reasonable comforts;

but he spent money like a giddy-headed, capricious woman, and

unfortunately for him had not a fond father or husband to pay the debts

thus incurred. Knowing in what an unsatisfactory state his financial

affairs were when he was earning money by teaching and publishing, we

can have no difficulty in imagining into what straits he must have been

driven by the absolute cessation of work and the consequent cessation of

income. The little he had saved in England and Scotland was soon gone,

gone unawares; indeed, the discovery of the fact came to him as a

surprise. What was to be done? Franchomme, his right hand, and his

head too, in business and money matters--and now, of course, more than

ever--was at his wits' end. He discussed the disquieting, threatening

problem with some friends of Chopin, and through one of them the

composer's destitution came to the knowledge of Miss Stirling. She cut

the Gordian knot by sending her master 25,000 francs. [FOOTNOTE: M.

Charles Gavard says 20,000 francs.] This noble gift, however; did not at

once reach the hands of Chopin. When Franchomme, who knew what had been

done, visited Chopin a few days afterwards, the invalid lamented as on

previous occasions his impecuniosity, and in answer to the questions of

his astonished friend stated that he had received nothing. The enquiries

which were forthwith set on foot led to the envelope with the precious

enclosure being found untouched in the clock of the portiere, who

intentionally or unintentionally had omitted to deliver it. The story

is told in various ways, the above is the skeleton of apparently

solid facts. I will now make the reader acquainted with the hitherto

unpublished account of Madame Rubio, who declared solemnly that her

version was correct in every detail. Franchomme's version, as given in

Madame Audley's book on Chopin, differs in several points from that

of Madame Rubio; I shall, therefore, reproduce it for comparison in a

foot-note.

One day in 1849 Franchomme came to Madame Rubio, and said that something

must be done to get money for Chopin. Madame Rubio thereupon went to

Miss Stirling to acquaint her with the state of matters. When Miss

Stirling heard of Chopin's want of money, she was amazed, and told her

visitor that some time before she had, without the knowledge of anyone,

sent Chopin 25,000 francs in a packet which, in order to conceal

the sender, she got addressed and sealed in a shop. The ladies made

enquiries as to the whereabouts of the money, but without result. A

Scotch gentleman, a novelist (Madame Rubio had forgotten the name at the

time she told the story, but was sure she would recall it, and no doubt

would have done so, had not her sudden death soon after [FOOTNOTE: In

the summer of 1880] intervened), proposed to consult the clairvoyant

Alexandre. [FOOTNOTE: Madame Rubio always called the clairvoyant thus.

See another name farther on.] The latter on being applied to told them

that the packet along with a letter had been delivered to the portiere

who had it then in her possession, but that he could not say more until

he got some of her hair. One evening when the portiere was bathing

Chopin's feet, he--who had in the meantime been communicated

with--talked to her about her hair and asked her to let him cut off one

lock. She allowed him to do so, and thus Alexandre was enabled to say

that the money was in the clock in the portiere's room. Having got this

information, they went to the woman and asked her for the packet. She

turned pale, and, drawing it out of the clock, said that at the time she

forgot to give it to Chopin, and when she remembered it afterwards was

afraid to do so. The packet of notes was unopened. Madame Rubio supposed

that the portiere thought Chopin would soon die and that then she might

keep the contents of the parcel.

[FOOTNOTE: After relating that an intimate friend of Chopin's told Miss

Stirling of the latter's straitened circumstances, received from her

bank-notes to the amount of 25,000 francs, and handed them enclosed in

an envelope to the master's portiere with the request to deliver the

packet immediately to its address, Madame Audley proceeds with her story

(which Franchomme's death prevented me from verifying) thus: "Here,

then, was a gleam of light in this darkened sky, and the reassured

friends breathed more freely." "But what was my surprise," said M.

Franchomme, from whom I have the story, "when some time after I heard

Chopin renew his complaints and speak of his distress in the most

poignant terms. Becoming impatient, and being quite at a loss as to what

was going on," I said at last to him: "But, my dear friend, you have no

cause to torment yourself, you can wait for the return of your

health, you have money now!"--"I, money!" exclaimed Chopin; "I

have nothing."--"How! and these 25,000 francs which were sent you

lately?"--"25,000 francs? Where are they? Who sent them to me? I have

not received a sou!"--"Ah! really, that is too bad!" Great commotion

among the friends. It was evident that the money given to the portiere

had not arrived at its destination; but how to be assured of this? and

what had become of it? Here was a curious enough fact, as if a little

of the marvellous must always be mingled with Chopin's affairs. Paris at

that time possessed a much run-after clairvoyant, the celebrated Alexis;

they thought of going to consult him. But to get some information it was

necessary to put him en rapport, directly or indirectly, with the person

suspected. Now this person was, naturally, the portiere. By ruse or by

address they got hold of a little scarf that she wore round her neck

and placed it in the hands of the clairvoyant. The latter unhesitatingly

declared that the 25,000 francs were behind the looking-glass in the

loge. The friend who had brought them immediately presented himself

to claim them; and our careful portiere, fearing, no doubt, the

consequences of a too prolonged sequestration, drew the packet from

behind the clock and held it out to him, saying: 'Eh bien, la v'la, vot'

lettre!'"]

Chopin, however, refused to accept the whole of the 25,000 francs.

According to Madame Rubio, he kept only 1,000 francs, returning the rest

to Miss Stirling, whilst Franchomme, on the other hand, said that his

friend kept 12,000 francs.

During Chopin's short stay in the Rue Chaillot, M. Charles Gavard, then

a very young man, in fact, a youth, spent much of his time with the

suffering composer:--

The invalid [he writes] avoided everything that could make me

sad, and, to shorten the hours which we passed together,

generally begged me to take a book out of his library and to

read to him. For the most part he chose some pages out of

Voltaire's Dictionnaire Philosophique. He valued very highly

the finished form of that clear and concise language, and that

so sure judgment on questions of taste. Thus, for instance, I

remember that the article on taste was one of the last I read

to him.

What M. Gavard says of how slowly, in pain, and often in loneliness, the

hours passed for Chopin in the spacious, rooms of his lodgings in the

Rue Chaillot, reminds me of a passage in Hector Berlioz's admirable

article on his friend in the Journal des Debats (October 27, 1849):--

His weakness and his sufferings had become so great that he

could no longer either play the piano or compose; even the

slightest conversation fatigued him in an alarming manner. He

endeavoured generally to make himself understood as far as

possible by signs. Hence the kind of isolation in which he

wished to pass the last months of his life, an isolation which

many people wrongly interpreted--some attributing it to a

scornful pride, others to a melancholic temper, the one as

well as the other equally foreign to the character of this,

charming artist.

During his stay in the Rue Chaillot Chopin wrote the following note and

letter to Franchomme:--

Dear friend,--Send me a little of your Bordeaux. I must take a

little wine to-day, and have none. How distrustful I am! Wrap

up the bottle, and put your seal on it. For these porters! And

I do not know who will take charge of this commission.

Yours, with all my heart.

Sunday after your departure, September 17, 1849.

Dear friend,--I am very sorry that you were not well at Le

Mans. Now, however, you are in Touraine, whose sky will have

been more favourable to you. I am less well rather than

better. MM. Cruveille, Louis, and Blache have had a

consultation, and have come to the conclusion that I ought not

to travel, but only to take lodgings in the south and remain

at Paris. After much seeking, very dear apartments, combining

all the desired conditions, have been found in the Place

Vendome, No. 12. Albrecht has now his offices there. Meara

[FOOTNOTE: This is a very common French equivalent for

O'Meara.] has been of great help to me in the search for the

apartments. In short, I shall see you all next winter--well

housed; my sister remains with me, unless she is urgently

required in her own country. I love you, and that is all I can

tell you, for I am overcome with sleep and weakness. My sister

rejoices at the idea of seeing Madame Franchomme again, and I

also do so most sincerely. This shall be as God wills. Kindest

regards to M. and Madame Forest. How much I should like to be

some days with you! Is Madame de Lauvergeat also at the sea-

side? Do not forget to remember me to her, as well as to M. de

Lauvergeat. Embrace your little ones. Write me a line. Yours

ever. My sister embraces Madame Franchomme.