One day Tausig, the great pianoforte-virtuoso, promised W. von

Lenz to play him Chopin's "Barcarolle," Op. 60 (published in

September, 1846), adding, "That is a performance which must not

be undertaken before more than two persons. I shall play you my

own self (meinen Menschen). I love the piece, but take it up only

rarely." Lenz, who did not know the barcarolle, thereupon went to

a music-shop and read it through attentively. The piece, however,

did not please him at all; it seemed to him a long movement in

the nocturne-style, a Babel of figuration on a lightly-laid

foundation. But he found that he had made a mistake, and, after

hearing it played by Tausig, confessed that the virtuoso had

infused into the "nine pages of enervating music, of one and the

same long-breathed rhythm (12/8), so much interest, so much

motion, and so much action," that he regretted the long piece was

not longer. And now let us hear what remarks Tausig made with

regard to the barcarolle:--

There are two persons concerned in the affair; it is a love-

scene in a discrete gondola; let us say this mise en scene is

the symbol of a lovers' meeting generally. This is expressed

in the thirds and sixths; the dualism of two notes (persons)

is maintained throughout; all is two-voiced, two-souled. In

this modulation here in C sharp major (superscribed dolce

sfogato), there are kiss and embrace! This is evident! When,

after three bars of introduction, the theme, lightly rocking

in the bass solo, enters in the fourth, this theme is

nevertheless made use of throughout the whole fabric only as

an accompaniment, and on this the cantilena in two parts is

laid; we have thus a continuous, tender dialogue.

Both Lenz's first and last impressions were correct. The form of

the barcarolle is that of most of Chopin's nocturnes--consisting

of three sections, of which the third is a modified repetition of

the first--only everything is on a larger scale, and more worked

out. Unfortunately, the contrast of the middle section is not

great enough to prevent the length, in spite of the excellence of

the contents, from being felt. Thus we must also subscribe to the

"nine pages of enervating music." Still, the barcarolle is one of

the most important of Chopin's compositions in the nocturne-

style. It has distinctive features which decidedly justify and

make valuable its existence. Local colouring is not wanting. The

first section reminded me of Schumann's saying that Chopin in his

melodies leans sometimes over Germany towards Italy. If properly

told, this love-laden romance cannot fail to produce effect.

Of the pieces that bear the name "Berceuse," Chopin's Op. 57

(published in June, 1845) is the finest, or at least one of the

finest and happiest conceptions. It rests on the harmonic basis

of tonic and dominant. The triad of the tonic and the chord of

the dominant seventh divide every bar between them in a brotherly

manner. Only in the twelfth and thirteenth bars from the end (the

whole piece contains seventy) the triad of the subdominant comes

forward, and gives a little breathing time to the triad of the

tonic, the chord of the dominant having already dropped off.

Well, on this basis Chopin builds, or let us rather say, on this

rocking harmonic fluid he sets afloat a charming melody, which is

soon joined by a self-willed second part. Afterwards, this melody

is dissolved into all kinds of fioriture, colorature, and other

trickeries, and they are of such fineness, subtlety, loveliness,

and gracefulness, that one is reminded of Queen Mab, who comes--

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.