Variations for the orchestra were much praised. I said that
they could only judge what a composer Elsner was after hearing
his Coronation Mass. We leave for Dresden to-morrow at two oʼclock.
I kiss and embrace you. My kindest remembrances to Messrs. Eisner,
Zywny, Matuszynski, Kolberg, Marylski, and Witwicki.
Your FREDERIC.
* * * * *
_Dresden, November 14th, 1830._
I have scarcely found a moment yet to write you a few words. I have
just come from a dinner at which the company were all Poles. I
have crept away to write to you, for the post goes at seven, and I
should much like to see the “Mutes of Portici,” at the Theatre.
We quitted Breslau unwillingly; the society of the gentlemen to
whom Scholtz had given us letters of introduction made our sojourn
in the capital of Silesia very agreeable.
[Sidenote: ARRIVAL IN DRESDEN.]
My first visit in Dresden was to Fräulein Pechwell. She played,
on Friday, at a Musical _Soirée_ at Councillor Kressigʼs, and
procured an _entrée_ for me. The “Mutes” was to be performed the
same evening at the theatre. The choice was difficult; but one must
always be polite to ladies, so I decided for the _Soirée_. Another
important reason with me was, that Signora Palazzesi,[74] the
_prima donna_ of the Italian opera, was expected to be there.
After making a very careful toilet, I had a Sedan chair fetched,
got into the queer, comfortable box, and was carried to the house
where the musical entertainment was to take place. The spirit of
mischief seized me, and I felt a desire to stamp through the bottom
of the chair; however, I forebore.
Arrived at Kressigʼs abode, I sent up my name to Fräulein Pechwell,
whereupon the master of the house appeared, received me with many
compliments, and led me into a room where a number of ladies were
sitting at eight large tables. No flashing of diamonds met my gaze,
but the more modest glitter of a host of steel knitting needles,
which moved ceaselessly in the hands of these industrious ladies.
The number of ladies and of needles was so large that if the ladies
had purposed an attack upon the gentlemen, the latter would have
been in a sorry plight. The only resource left them would have been
to have made weapons of their spectacles, of which there were as
many as there were bald heads.
The clatter of knitting needles and tea cups was suddenly
interrupted by music from the adjoining room. The overture to
“Fra Diavolo” was played first; then Signora Palazzesi sang, in a
magnificent voice, clear as a bell, and with plenty of bravura. I
presented myself to the songstress, which gave me an opportunity of
speaking also to the Musical Director, Rastrelli,[75] who had
accompanied her. With true artistic politeness Rastrelli introduced
me to Signor Rubini, who, with much affability, promised me a
letter to his brother, the famous tenor. I do not need anything
more for Milan. Yesterday, Rubini kindly took me to the Catholic
Church, where a mass was being performed of Morlacchiʼs (bandmaster
here.) This refined and agreeable man remembered me at once,
and, giving me a place beside him, talked to me a long time. At
these Vespers I heard the two celebrated Neapolitan soprani,
Sassaroli and Tarquinio; the violin obligato was played by the
bandmaster, the incomparable Rolla, to whom Soliva had given me
a recommendation. Rolla received me very pleasantly, and said he
would give me a letter to his father, the opera director in Milan.
After hearing Fräulein Pechwell play at the musical _soirée_,
I quietly slipped away to the opera; but only arrived at the
commencement of the fifth act, so refrain from any criticism. I
shall hear it all this evening.
[Sidenote: KIND RECEPTION FROM THE ARTISTS.]
As I was going at the Dresden visiting hour, to call on Klengel, I
met him in front of his house. He knew me directly, and welcomed
me with heart-felt politeness. I have a great respect for him.
Klengel asked me where I lived, and begged me to come and see
him early the next day, as he could not go back with me then. He
advised me to play in public, but I told him, in as friendly a way
as I could, that I should not be here long enough for that. I donʼt
think Dresden would bring me either much fame, or much money, and I
have no time to spare.
General Kniaziewicz, whom I saw at Frau Pruszakʼs, talked about a
concert, but thought with me that I should make little by it.
Yesterday I heard “Tancred,” but could not, on the whole, praise
the performance. Rollaʼs marvellous solo, and the song by Fräulein
von Hähnel, of the Vienna Royal Opera Theatre, had to make up
for the shortcomings of the rest. The King, with his court, were
present; they were, the same morning, at the service in the church,
where a mass, by Baron Miltitz, was performed, under the direction
of Morlacchi. The voices of Messrs. Sassarole, Muschetti, Babnigg,
and Zezi sounded magnificent. I cannot call the composition
original, but well worked out; the royal chamber musicians,
Dotzaceer and Rummer, celebrated violincellists, played their solos
very finely.
I know none of the chief artists intimately, except dear Klengel,
to whom I am sure to play to-morrow. I like to talk to Klengel, for
one always learns something from him.
I saw the Green Arch when I was here before, and once is enough
for me; but I have visited the Picture Gallery again with the
greatest interest; if I lived here I should go every week; there
are pictures in it, the sight of which makes me fancy I hear music.
Good bye for to-day.
Your FREDERIC.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: THE WEEK AT DRESDEN]
_Prague, November 21st, 1830._
The week at Dresden slipped away so quickly that I hardly noticed
how it went. I used to leave my hotel in the best of spirits in the
morning, and did not return till night. When Klengel came to know
me better as a musician, that is, when I had played my Concerto to
him, he said that my playing strongly reminded him of Field, that
my touch was quite unique, and that, although he had already heard
much about me, he had not thought that I was such a _virtuoso_.
I saw—and why should I be ashamed of it?—with pleasure, that these
were sincere compliments; and he gave me a practical proof of their
being so, for scarcely had I left him when he went to Malacchi,
and to Councillor von Lüttichau, who is director general of the
Royal drama, to find out whether, if I stayed four days longer
in Dresden, I could give a concert without any very burdensome
preparations. Klengel assured me afterwards that he did not do
this for me, but for Dresden, and that he should like to force me
into giving a concert. He came to me the next morning and said,
that he had taken all the necessary steps, but that there was no
evening disengaged till next Sunday (this was Wednesday.) The first
performance of “Fra Diavolo” was fixed for Friday, and Rossiniʼs
“La Donna del Lago,” in Italian, for Saturday.
I gave Klengel a hearty welcome, for, indeed, I feel as if I had
known him for years, and he seems to feel the same towards me; he
asked for the score of my Concerto, and took me with him to the
_soirée_ at Frau Niesiolowskaʼs. I also called on Frau Szczerbinin,
but I had stayed so long at Frau Niesiolowskaʼs that by the time I
arrived the company had gone. I was, therefore, asked to dinner the
next day. In the afternoon I went, by invitation, to see Countess
Dobrzycka, who is head governess to Princess Augusta.
The countess was celebrating her birthday, and I had scarcely
offered my congratulations, when two Saxon Princesses entered:
Princess Augusta, only daughter of the late King Frederic Augustus,
surnamed “the Just,” and Princess Maximilian, neé Princess of
Lucca, daughter-in-law of the present King, a pleasant young lady.
[Sidenote: LETTERS FOR ITALY.]
I played before these ladies, whereupon letters were promised me
for Italy, which showed that my playing must have pleased them. Two
letters were in fact sent to my hotel the next day; the Countess
Dobrzycka will send the others after me to Vienna. I gave her my
address there. The letters were addressed to the Queen of the
Sicilies, at Naples, and Princess Ellasino, at Rome. Letters of
recommendation were also promised me to the reigning Duchess of
Lucca, and the Viceroy of Milan, which I was to receive through the
kind care of Kraszewski.
Klengel has just given me a letter to Vienna, where he thinks of
going himself bye and bye. At Frau Niesiolowskaʼs he drank my
health in champagne. The lady of the house teased me a good deal,
and insisted on always calling me “Szopski.”
Rolla is a first-rate violinist, as anyone who knows anything about
violin playing must admit.
Goodbye till you hear from Vienna, which we hope to reach by nine
on Thursday morning.
I pleased General Kniaziewicz very much; he told me that no other
pianist had made such an agreeable impression on him; I tell you
this because I know you will like to hear it.
Your FREDERIC.
* * * * *
_Vienna, December 1st, 1830._
I was greatly delighted with your letter, my dearests, the first
I have received for a month, that is since I parted from you. My
appetite increased a hundred per cent. at once.
“The Wild Man”—as the capital Restaurant where I dine is
called—charged a gulden and some kreuzers for an excellently
prepared fritter; what more would you wish?
Titus was full of joy too, for he received letters from his family.
I thank Celinski for the accompanying note; it vividly recalled
the time when I was still among you; it seemed to me as if I were
sitting at the piano, and Celinski standing opposite to me, looking
at M. Zwyny, who had just offered Linowski a pinch of snuff. Only
Materszynski was wanting to complete the group. Has he recovered
from the fever yet?
I must say that there are many charming girls in Vienna.
Haslinger received me very kindly, although he would print neither
the Sonata, nor the second Variations, but he shall repent this.
I learned, also, from Haslinger that Fräulein Blahetka is in
Stuttgart with her parents, and that, perhaps, she will not come
back at all this winter.
[Sidenote: PLEASANT LODGINGS IN VIENNA.]
I have taken lodgings with Titus in one of the principal streets,
close to the vegetable market. For three elegant rooms on the third
floor, we pay fifty gulden a month, which is considered cheap here.
An English Admiral is occupying them at present, but he leaves
to-day. Admiral! And I am admired.[76] So the house is a desirable
one, especially as the mistress, a handsome, widowed baroness,
still young, has been—as she says—for some time in Poland, and
heard of me in Warsaw. She knew the family Skarzynski had moved in
good society, and asked Titus if he did not know a beautiful young
lady of the name of Rembielinska.
The presence of this charming and intelligent lady makes the
apartments all the more agreeable, for she likes Poles, and being a
Prussian she regards the Austrians with no great favour.
As soon as we go in Graff, the pianoforte-maker, will send us an
instrument. When I went to see my friend Würfel, he began to talk
immediately about arrangements for a concert. He is a remarkable
man; although too ill to go out he gives lessons at his house. He
spits blood, which has weakened him very much, and yet he talks
of a concert. The poor sufferer told me that the newspapers here
wrote enthusiastically about my F minor Concerto, which I had not
the remotest expectation of. So I shall give a concert, but when,
where, how and what, I do not in the least know.
The change of air has given me a swollen nose, which hindered me
from presenting myself at the Prussian Ambassadorʼs hotel, or at
Countess Rzeiouskaʼs, the _rendezvous_ of all the “haute voleé.”
This lady lives next to Hussarzewskiʼs, where, in spite of my
nose, I have already been two or three times. He is of the same
opinion as Würfel, who advised me to play without honorarium. Dr.
Malfatti[77] welcomed me as warmly as if I had been a relation.
When he read my name on my visiting card, he hastened to me,
embraced me, and said, that Herr Wladislaw Ostrowski had written to
him about me, and that if he could be of any service he was ready
to do anything for me. He said, besides, that he would present me
to Madame Tatzszczew, the Russian Ambassadorʼs wife, and would
manage the necessary introductions; the Court was unfortunately in
mourning for the King of Naples, but he would do what was possible.
He also promised to introduce me to Baron Dunoi, director of the
Musical Society here, who would probably be most useful to me.
Elsnerʼs letter of recommendation to Herr Mittag procured me
another equally agreeable acquaintance, who took a lively interest
in me, and seems to be a person of influence.
I have been to see Czerny, who was as polite as ever, and asked,
“Have you been studying diligently?” He has arranged another
Overture for eight pianos and sixteen players, and seems very happy
about it.
Except Czerny, I have seen none of the pianists this time. I have
been twice to Frau Weyberheim, Frau Wolfʼs sister. I am invited
to the _soirée_ there to-morrow, “en petit cercle des amateurs.”
I shall pay a visit afterwards to Countess Rosalie Rzewuska, who
receives between nine and ten. Hussarzewski has informed her that
I am coming; I shall meet the celebrated Frau Cibini,[78] for whom
Moscheles wrote a duet sonata.
Yesterday I went with my letters to Stametzʼs counting-house, and
was received just as if I had come for money. He handed me a paper,
which notified that I was to go to the police with my card of
permission to stay, and—basta. But perhaps it will be different bye
and bye.
[Sidenote: ADVISED NOT TO GIVE A CONCERT.]
I was also at Banker Geymüllerʼs yesterday, where Titus has to
receive his 6,000 Polish gulden. When he had read my name Herr
Geymüller, without taking any further notice of the letter, said,
it was very agreeable to him to become acquainted with an artist
of such distinction as myself; but he could not advise me to give
a concert here, as there were very many good pianists in the city,
and a great reputation was requisite to make money. Finally, he
remarked, “I cannot help you in any way, the times are too bad.”
I listened with big eyes to this edifying discourse, and when it
was over I replied, that I was not at all sure whether it would
pay to make a public appearance, for I had not yet called upon any
influential people, not even on the Russian Ambassador, to whom I
had a letter from the Grand Prince Constantine.
At that, Herr Geymüller suddenly changed his tactics; but I took my
leave, regretting that I had robbed him of his precious time, and
thought to myself, “Wait you ... Jew.”
I have not been to the bandmaster, Lachner, yet, as I have not room
enough to receive return visits.
We went from the “City of London,” where we had a long bill to pay,
to the “Golden Lamb,” in Leopold Street, where we are still, hoping
that the Englishman will quit the Baronessʼs rooms to-day. “As soon
as we are in our own house,” says Titus, who always tries to make
me assume the position of the haughty patron, “we will introduce
an aristocratic _ton_. Then,” he continued, “we will receive, have
music, and arrange for concerts—but not gratuitous ones.”
I have not yet visited Madame Raayek, Frau von Elkau, Rothschild,
the Vogts, and various other interesting people. To-day I am going
to the Embassy, where I hope to see Baron Meindorf, whom I shall
ask for first, on Hussarzewskiʼs advice, for Baron Meindorf will
tell me when I can best present myself to Herr Tatyszezew.
[Sidenote: OPERA IN VIENNA.]
I have not touched the money which I had from the banker the day
before yesterday. I mean to be very careful of it. I am sorry, my
dear parents, but I must ask you to send me something more at the
end of the month for the journey to Italy, in case my concerts turn
out badly. The theatre is my heaviest expense; but this I regret
the less as Fräulein Heinefetter[79] and Herr Wildt[80] sing nearly
every evening, and are excellent beyond all description. This week
I have heard three entirely new operas: “Fra Diavolo” yesterday,
three days ago “Titus,” and to-day “William Tell.” I certainly
prefer “The Mutes of Portici” to “Fra Diavolo.”
I do not envy Orlowski[81] because he accompanies Lafont. Will the
time come when Lafont shall accompany me? Does the question seem
presumptuous? But if God wills it may come to pass.
Nidecki thinks of staying here the whole winter. All this week I
have done nothing but take care of my nose, go to the opera and
to Graffʼs. I play every afternoon to get my stiff fingers into
working order. I do not know how this week has flown. I have, as
yet, taken no definite steps towards a concert. _A propos_ of that,
do you advise me to play the F minor or E minor concerto? Würfel
thinks my F minor concerto more beautiful than Hummelʼs in A flat
major, which has just been published by Haslinger. Herr Haslinger
is shrewd, trying in a cautious, subtle way, to induce me to let
him have my compositions gratis. Klengel was surprised that he gave
me nothing for the variations. Perhaps Haslinger thinks that if he
treats my works as _bagatelles_, I shall be only too glad to get
them printed; but the time for gratuitous work is over with me; now
it is, pay _bestie_.
Graff advised me to choose the States Deputies Hall, where the
“Spirituel” concerts are given, as the nicest and best place
for my concert. But I must first obtain the permission of Count
Dietrichstein, which, indeed, will not be difficult through
Malfatti.
I am as strong as a lion, and they say I am stouter. Altogether I
am doing well, and I hope, through God, who sent Malfatti to be a
help to me—oh, splendid Malfatti—that I shall do still better.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER X.
_THE INSURRECTION IN WARSAW, AND ITS DISASTROUS EFFECT ON
CHOPINʼS SOJOURN IN VIENNA._
The tyrannical rule and the capricious and despotic temper of the Grand
Prince Constantine, which the nation had borne with indescribable
patience and meekness for fifteen years, at length led to a revolution.
The Constitution framed for Poland at the Vienna Congress was regarded
in St. Petersburg and Moscow as the work of an encroaching Western
Liberalism, and as a revolutionary form of government which threatened
to shake the stability of the Russian monarchy. It was, therefore, the
constant aim of statesmen on the Neva to circumscribe this hateful
Constitution, to make it as far as possible a dead letter, and,
finally, to oppress Poland to the uttermost. For the accomplishment
of these ends, the advisers of the Czar conceived the idea of sending
his brother, the Grand Prince Constantine Pawlowicz, to Warsaw, as
plenipotentiary and military governor.
In St. Petersburg, the character of this cruel, coarse man had
caused the Emperor numberless embarrassments; for the higher State
functionaries found him unbearable.
With the title of commander-in-chief of the whole Polish army,
Prince Constantine received unlimited power of life and death over
the soldiers. He had, at the same time, full authority over all the
officials of the kingdom; practically, the Constitution ceased to
exist; as early as the year 1819, the freedom of the press had been
withdrawn, and a strict censorship established.
When the appointed time arrived, the Diet was not convoked, and
faithful patriots who dared to express their opinions were imprisoned.
The country swarmed with spies, whose business was to persecute and
punish those who showed the least sign of a desire for freedom. Not
only the actions, but the half-whispered words, and even the thoughts
of the people were betrayed to the Government. Especial severity was
exercised towards the young, whom for their natural love of liberty and
resistance to despotism the Grand Prince hated with all his heart.
To enforce obedience, the most harsh and unjust means were employed,
which could not but embitter the people. The long-cherished wish
of Constantine was that the Polish youth should wear a uniform, be
enlisted in the army, and thus become the obedient tools of his
tyranny. Every young man who devoted himself to science, literature,
or the fine arts, instead of entering the army, was, in his eyes, as
also in those of the ever vigilant police, either a foolish fanatic, or
dangerous to the State. From such proceedings a revolution could not
fail, sooner or later, to ensue.
[Sidenote: OUTBREAK OF THE REVOLUTION.]
Inflamed by the example of the July revolution in Paris, the Polish
youth, whom Constantine hated so intensely, instigated the insurrection
of November 29th, 1830. The army and the whole nation followed the
revolutionary banners, for all classes were equally incensed against
the tyrannical government of the Grand Prince.
At the first news of disquietude in Poland, Titus Woyciechowski at
once left Vienna to enter the army. Frederic wished to do the same,
as he thought that in such circumstances he could not endure to be so
far from his family and friends, and he was only prevented from doing
so by the entreaties of his parents, who knew that their sonʼs health
was not fit for the hardships of war. Chopinʼs family were naturally
undesirous that he should cut short the artistic career on which he had
just entered at so much cost, and in which he had already achieved good
success. But his anxiety about his parents and sisters was so great
that he followed his friend by the extra post, and had he overtaken
him, he would certainly have gone back to Warsaw. Returned to Vienna,
Chopin yielded to his fatherʼs will, and resumed the idea of giving a
concert.
This, however, was not so speedily arranged. The interest of the
Viennese musicians had waxed somewhat faint, and he had no benevolent
or influential friends among the newly-arrived artists. When he played
gratuitously help was readily forthcoming; but the case was altered
now, and Frederic saw himself neglected. It is not impossible, in the
time of Metternich, that people kept aloof from Poles from motives of
prudence; and the energy necessary for overcoming all these obstacles
failed Chopin.
Some of his former acquaintances were ill, others had gone away, and
the rest were afraid that the agreeable, educated, and highly-gifted
artist might settle in Vienna, and thus become a dangerous rival. Many
even were displeased at his success in the drawing rooms. The rapid
succession of military events in Poland frightened most of his patrons
from serving him, while his own mind was more occupied with politics
than music.
Several of Fredericʼs letters, written in a spirit of patriotic
enthusiasm, were destroyed by his parents, in case they should fall
into the hands of the Russian Government, which had even instituted
domiciliary visits. In consequence of the war, much that he wrote never
reached Warsaw at all. The sad condition of his country made a deep
and lasting impression on the mind of the young artist, so sensitive
alike to happiness and sorrow. The gay, buoyant tone of his letters,
which had formerly so delighted their recipients, changed to a certain
discontent and sadness; even his pleasant wit, as the reader will see
by the following correspondence, was frequently turned into bitter
sarcasm.
_Vienna, Wednesday before Christmas-day._
(_I have no almanack at hand, so do not know the day._)
DEAREST PARENTS AND SISTERS,
It was seven weeks, yesterday, since I left you. What for? But it
is so, and cannot be helped.
[Sidenote: DANCING AT THE HOUSE OF A JEWESS.]
I was invited, yesterday, at the very hour that I was conducted to
Wola, to a little dancing party, at the Weiberheimʼs. There were
several handsome young people there, not old-fashioned looking,
that is, not Old Testament-looking.[82]
I was pressed to join the Cotillon; so I went round a few times and
then returned home. The hostess and her amiable daughters had asked
several musical people, but I was not in a humour for playing the
piano.
Herr Likl, who knows Louise, was introduced to me. He is a good,
honest German, and thinks me a great man; so I would not destroy
his good opinion by playing when I was not in the right mood.
I also spoke to Lampiʼs nephew, who knows Papa well. He is a
handsome, agreeable young man, and paints very well. _A propos_ of
painting, Hummel and his son were with me yesterday. The latter
has now almost finished my portrait. It is so good, one cannot
imagine it better. I am sitting in my dressing-gown, with a look
of inspiration which I do not know why the artist should have
given me. The portrait is in quarto size, drawn in chalk, and
looks like a steel engraving. The elder Hummel was exceedingly
polite, and introduced me to his old acquaintance, M. Duport,
director of the Kärthner-Thor Theatre. The latter, who has been
a celebrated dancer, is said to be very stingy; however, he was
exceedingly complaisant to me, thinking, perhaps, that I should
play gratuitously for him. He makes a mistake there! We had a sort
of conference together, but nothing definite was decided on. If
Herr Duport offers too little, I shall give my concert in the large
Redoubt Hall.
Würfel is better; I met Slawick, an excellent violinist,[83] at
his house last week. He is at the most twenty-six, and pleased me
very much. When we left Würfelʼs he asked me if I were going home,
to which I replied in the affirmative. “Come with me instead, to
your countrywomanʼs, Frau Beyerʼs,” said Slawick. I agreed. Now
Kraszewski had sent me, the same day, from Dresden, a letter to
Frau Beyer, but without any address, and Beyer is a common name
in Vienna. So I resolved at once to fetch my letter and go with
Slawick; when, lo and behold! I really went to the right Frau
Beyer. Her husband is a Pole from Odessa. She declared that she had
heard of me, and invited both Slawick and myself to dinner the next
day.
[Sidenote: SLAWICKʼS GOOD PLAYING.]
After dinner Slawick played, and pleased me immensely, more than
any one since Paganini. As my playing was also agreeable to him,
we determined to compose a duet together for violin and piano. I
had thought of doing so in Warsaw. Slawick is, indeed, a great and
talented violinist. When I become acquainted with Merk, we shall be
able to manage a trio. I hope to meet him soon at Mechettiʼs.
Czerny was with me at Diabelliʼs, yesterday; the latter invited me
to a _soirée_ on Monday next, where I am to meet none but artists.
On Sunday there is a soirée at Liklʼs, where the aristocratic
musical world assemble, and the Overture for four performers is to
be given. On Saturday there is to be a performance of old church
music at Kiesewetterʼs (author of a work on music.)
I am living on the fourth floor; some English people took such a
fancy to my abode, that they said they would rent it of me for
eighty gulden; a proposal to which I acceded most willingly. My
young and agreeable hostess, Frau Baroness of Lachmanowicz,
sister-in-law of Frau von Uszakow, has just as roomy apartments
on the fourth storey for twenty gulden, which satisfy me quite
well. I know you will say, “the poor wretch lives in a garret.”
But it is not so; there is another floor between me and the roof,
and eighty gulden are not to be despised either. People visit me
notwithstanding; even Count Hussarzweski took the trouble to mount
up. The street is in an advantageous position for me, in the midst
of the city, close to where I most often want to go. Artaria is at
the left, Mechetti and Haslinger are at my right, and the Royal
Opera Theatre is behind. Could I have anything more convenient?
I have not yet written to Herr Elsner, but I was at Czernyʼs just
now. Up till to-day, the Quartett has not appeared.
Dr. Malfatti scolded me for appearing at Madame Schaschekʼs to
dinner at four instead of two. I am to dine with Malfatti again
next Saturday, and if I am late again, Malfatti will—so he
threatens—subject me to a painful operation.
I can imagine dear Papa looking grave over my frivolity, and want
of respect to my elders; but I will improve. I am proud to say that
Malfatti is really fond of me. Nidecki comes to me every day to
play. If my concerto for two pianos succeeds to my satisfaction,
we are going to play it together in public, but I shall play alone
first.
Haslinger is always pleasant, but does not say a word about
publishing. Shall I go shortly to Italy, or shall I wait?[84]
Dearest Papa, please tell me what are your and dear Mammaʼs wishes.
I daresay Mamma is glad I did not return to Warsaw, but how I
should like to be there! Embrace dear Titus for me, and beg him to
write me a few words.
I know you believe in my affection and deep attachment; but you
can scarcely imagine what a very great delight your letters are to
me. Why is not the post quicker? You will think it natural that I
should be very anxious about you, and impatiently await news of you.
[Sidenote: AN AGREEABLE ACQUAINTANCE.]
I have made a very agreeable acquaintance, a young man of the name
of Leibenfrost; he is a friend of Kesslerʼs. We meet frequently,
and when I am not invited out we dine together in the city. He
knows Vienna perfectly, and will be sure to take me to see whatever
is worth seeing. For instance, yesterday, we had a splendid walk
to the fortifications; Dukes, Princes, Counts, in a word, all the
aristocracy of Vienna were assembled there. I met Slawick, and we
agreed to choose a Beethoven theme for our Variations.
For some reasons I am very glad that I am here, but for others!...
I am very comfortable in my room; there is a roof opposite, and
the people walking below look like dwarfs. I am most happy,
when I have played to my heartʼs content on Graffʼs magnificent
instrument. Now I am going to sleep with your letters in my hand;
then I shall dream only of you.
The Mazurka was danced, yesterday, at Beyerʼs. Slawick fell down
with his partner, an old Countess with a coarse face and a large
nose, who daintily held her dress in the old-fashioned way, by the
tips of her fingers, her head resting on the flap of his coat. But
all respect to the couple, and to the lady in particular, who is
sensible and entertaining and knows the _usage du monde_.
Among the most popular of the numerous amusements of Vienna are the
Garden Concerts, where Launer and Strauss play waltzes while the
public sup. After every waltz the musicians receive a boisterous
bravo. If an _ad libitum_ is played, introducing favourite operatic
melodies, songs, and dances, the enthusiasm of the Viennese knows
no bounds.
I wanted to send you with this my last Waltz, but the post goes,
and I have no time to write it out, so must wait till another
opportunity. The Mazurkas, too, I must get copied first; but they
are not for dancing.
I do not like to say goodbye already; I would gladly write more. If
you should see Fontana tell him that he shall soon have a letter
from me. Matuszynski will have a long epistle either to-day or by
the next post.
Farewell, my dearests,
Your FREDERIC.
[Sidenote: “SECOND ONLY TO PAGANINI.”]
TO JOHN MATUSZYNSKI.
_Vienna,
Sunday, Christmas Morning._
This time last year I was in the Bernhardine church, to-day I am
sitting in my dressing gown, quite alone; I kiss my sweet ring and
write.[85]
DEAR HÄNSCHEN,
I have just come from hearing the famous violinist, Slawick, who
is second only to Paganini. He takes sixty-nine staccato notes at
one stroke of the bow! It is almost incredible! When I heard him
I wanted to rush home and sketch out some variations for piano
and violin on an Adagio by Beethoven; but a glance at the post
office, which I always pass (that I may ask for letters from home),
diverted my desires.
The tears which this heavenly theme brought to my eyes have
moistened your letter. I long, unspeakably, for a word from you;
you know why.
How any news of my angel of peace always delights me!
How gladly would I touch the strings which should awaken not only
stormy feelings, but the songs whose half echoes still haunt the
shores of the Danube—songs sung by the warriors of King John
Sobieski.
You advised me to choose a poet. But you know that I am an
indecisive being, and only once in my life made a good choice.
I would not willingly be a burden to my father; were I not afraid
of that, I should immediately return to Warsaw. I am often in
such a mood that I curse the moment in which I left my beloved
home. You will, I am sure, understand my condition, and that since
Titus went away too much has fallen suddenly upon me. The numerous
dinners, _soirées_, concerts, and balls I am obliged to attend only
weary me. I am melancholy. I feel so lonely and deserted here, yet
I cannot live as I like. I have to dress, and look cheerful in
drawing rooms; but when I am in my room again, I talk to my piano,
to whom, as my best friend in Vienna, I pour out all my sorrows.
There is not a soul I can unreservedly confide in, and yet I have
to treat everyone as a friend. Plenty of people seem, indeed, to
like me, take my portrait, and seek after my company, but they do
not make up for you. I have lost my peace of mind, and only feel
happy when I can read your letters, think of the monument of King
Sigismund,[86] or look at my precious ring.
[Sidenote: A LOVERʼS ANXIETIES.]
Pray forgive me, dear Hänschen, for writing so complainingly, but
my heart feels lighter when I can thus talk to you, and I have
always told you everything that concerned myself. Did you receive
a short letter from me the day before yesterday? Perhaps my
scribbling is not of much consequence to you as you are at home,
but I read your letters again and again.
Dr. Freyer, having learnt from Schuch that I was in Vienna, has
been to see me two or three times. He gave me a great deal of
interesting news, and was very pleased with your letters, which I
read to him up to a certain passage, which passage made me feel
very sad. Does she really look so changed? Do you think she was
ill? She is of such a sensitive nature that this is not at all
unlikely. But, perhaps, it was only your imagination, or she had
been frightened by something. God forbid that she should suffer
anything on my account! Comfort her, and assure her that as long
as my heart beats I shall not cease to adore her. Tell her that,
after my death, my ashes shall be spread beneath her feet. But
this is not half what you might say to her on my behalf. I would
write to her myself, and, indeed, should have done so long ago, to
escape the torments I endure, but if my letter chanced to fall into
other hands, might it not injure her reputation? So you must be the
interpreter of my thoughts; speak for me, “et jʼen conviendrai.”
These words of yours flashed through me like lightning, when I read
your letter. A Viennese, who happened to be walking with me at the
time, seized me by the arm, and could scarcely hold me in. He could
not make out what had come to me. I could have embraced and kissed
all the passers by, for your first letter had made my heart feel
lighter than it had been for many a day.
I am sure I must be wearying you, my dear friend, but it is
difficult for me to hide from you anything that touches my heart.
The day before yesterday I dined with Frau Beyer, who is also
called Constantia. I enjoy visiting her very much, because she
bears a name so unspeakably dear to me; I even rejoice if one of
her pocket-handkerchiefs or serviettes marked “Constantia” falls
into my hands. Slawick is a friend of hers, and I often go to her
house with him.
Yesterday, as on Christmas Eve, we played in the fore and
afternoon. The weather was spring-like. As I was returning in
the evening from the Baronessʼs circle, I walked slowly into St.
Stephenʼs. I was alone, for Slawick was obliged to go to the
Imperial Chapel. The church was empty, and, to get the full effect
of the lofty and imposing edifice, I leant against a pillar in
the darkest corner. The vastness and splendour of the arching are
indescribable: one must see St. Stephenʼs for oneʼs self. The
profoundest silence, broken only by the resounding steps of the
vergers coming to light the tapers, reigned around.
Before and behind me, indeed everywhere but overhead, were graves,
and I felt my loneliness and desertion as I never had before.
When the lights had burned up, and the cathedral began to fill,
I muffled myself in my cloak (you know how I used to go about in
the Cracow suburb), and hastened off to the Mass at the Imperial
Chapel. Amid a merry crowd, I threaded my way to the palace, where
I heard some sleepy musicians play three movements of a mass. I
returned home at one oʼclock in the morning, and went to bed to
dream of you, of her, and of my dear children.[87]
Next morning I was awakened by an invitation to dinner from
Frau Elkan, a Polish lady, and the wife of a well-known wealthy
banker. The first thing I did that day was to play some melancholy
fantasias, and, after receiving calls from Nidecki, Liebenfrost,
and Steinkeller, I went to dine with Malfatti. This excellent man
thinks of everything; he even goes so far as to provide dishes
cooked in Polish fashion.
[Sidenote: THE STARS OF THE ROYAL OPERA.]
Wildt, the famous tenor, came after dinner. I accompanied him, from
memory, in an air from “Otello,” which he sang admirably. Wildt
and Fraulein Heinefetter are the stars of the Royal opera; the
other singers are not so good as one would expect. But a voice like
Heinefetterʼs is very rare; her intonation also is always pure, her
colouring refined, and, indeed, her singing altogether faultless;
but she is cold; I nearly got my nose frozen in the pit. She looks
particularly handsome as a man. I liked her better in “Otello”
than in “Barbiere,” in which she represented the consummate
coquette, instead of the lively witty girl. As Sextus in “Titus”
she was exceedingly brilliant. In a few days she will appear in
“Der Diebische Elster,” which I am curious to see. Fräulein Wolkow
pleased me better as Rosine in the “Barbiere,” but she certainly
has not the voice of Heinefetter. I wished I had heard Pasta.
You know that I have letters from the Saxon court to the Viceroy
of Milan, but what had I best do? My parents leave me to follow my
own wishes, but I would rather they had given me directions. Shall
I go to Paris? Friends here advise me to stay in Vienna. Or shall I
go home, or stay here and kill myself? Advise me what to do. Please
ask a certain person in Warsaw, who has always had great influence
over me. Tell me her opinion, and I will act upon it.
Let me hear again before you go to the war. Address, Poste
Restante, Vienna. Do go and see my dear parents and Constantia;
and, as long as you are in Warsaw, please pay frequent visits to
my sisters that they may think you are coming to see me, and I am
in the next room; sit with them that they may fancy it is me; in a
word, take my place at home.
[Sidenote: ALOYS SCHMITT. THALBERG.]
I am not thinking any more of concert-giving just now. Aloys
Schmitt, the pianist from Frankfort-on-the-Maine, whose studies are
so famous, is here at present. He is something over forty years of
age. I have made his acquaintance, and he promised to come and see
me. He intends giving a concert, and it must be admitted that he
is a clever musician. On musical matters we shall, I think, soon
understand one another.
Thalberg is also here, and playing famously, but he is not the man
for me. He is younger than I am, very popular with the ladies,
makes _pot-pourris_ on the “Mutes,” plays _forte_ and _piano_ with
the pedals, but not with his hands, takes tenths as I do octaves,
and wears diamond studs. He does not at all admire Moscheles; so
it is not surprising that the _tutti_ were the only part of my
concerto that pleased him. He, too, writes concertos.
I finish this letter three days after I began it, and have read
through my stupid scribble again. Pray excuse having to pay
the postage, dear Hänschen. When dining to-day at the Italian
restaurant, I heard some one say, “God made a mistake in creating
Poland.” Is it any wonder that my feelings are more than I can
express? Somebody else said, “There is nothing to be got out of
Poland,” so you ought not to expect anything new from me who am a
Pole.
There is a Frenchman here who makes all kinds of sausages, and
for a month past crowds have gathered round his attractive shop,
for there is something new in it every day. Some people imagine
that they are beholding the remains of the French Revolution, and
look compassionately at the sausages and hams, which hang up like
pictures, or they are indignant at the revolutionary Frenchman
being allowed to open a meat shop, as there were quite enough
pigs in his own country. He is the talk of Vienna, and there is a
general dread that if there should be a disturbance the French will
be at the bottom of it.
I must close, for the time is quite up. Embrace all my dear friends
for me, and be assured that I shall not leave off loving you till
I have ceased to love my parents, my sisters, and her. My dearest,
do write me a few lines soon. You can show this to her if you like.
I am going to Malfattiʼs again to-day, but to the post first. My
parents do not know of my writing to you. You can tell them, only
donʼt show them the letter.
I do not know how to part from my sweet Hänschen. Depart, you
wretch! If W—— loves you as warmly as I do, so would Con ..... No,
I cannot even write the name, my hand is too unworthy. Oh! I should
tear my hair out if I thought she forgot me: I feel a regular
Othello to-day. I was about to fold and seal the letter without
an envelope, forgetting that it was going where everybody reads
Polish. As I have a little space left, I will describe my life here.
I am living on the fourth floor in a handsome street, but I have to
be on the alert if I want to see what passes. When I come home you
will see the room in my new album, young Hummel having kindly made
me a drawing of it. It is spacious, and has five windows, to which
the bed stands opposite. My wonderful piano stands on the right,
the sofa on the left, a looking-glass between the windows, a large
handsome round mahogany table in the middle of the room; the floor
is waxed. Donʼt be alarmed!...
[Sidenote: DIVISION OF THE DAY.]
“The gentleman does not receive in the afternoon,” so I can be
in your midst in thought. The intolerably stupid servant wakes
me early; I rise, take my coffee, which is often cold, because
I forget my breakfast over my music. My German teacher appears
punctually at 9 oʼclock; then I generally write, Hummel comes to
work at my portrait, and Nidecki to study my Concerto. I keep on
my comfortable dressing-gown till 12 oʼclock, at which hour Dr.
Leibenfrost, a lawyer here, comes in to see me. Weather permitting,
I walk with him on the Glacis, then we dine at the “Zum Bömischen
Köchin,” the _rendezvous_ of the students from the Academy, and
afterwards, according to the custom here, we go to one of the best
coffee-houses. Then I make calls, returning home at dusk, when I
throw myself into evening dress, and go to a _soirée_. About 11 or
12 oʼclock (never later) I come home, play, laugh, read, and then
go to bed and dream of you.
My portrait—which is a secret between you and me—is very good. If
you think she would like it I could send it through Schuch, who
will probably leave here with Freyer, about the 15th of next month.
I began to write this letter quite clearly, but I have finished
it in such a way that you will have some trouble in reading it.
Embrace my college friends, and, if possible, get them to write to
me. Kindest love to Elsner.
* * * * *
To the same.
_Vienna,
New Yearʼs Day, 1831._
DEAREST HEART,
Now you have what you wanted. Did you receive the letter, and
deliver any of it? I still regret what I have done. I was full
of sweet hopes, and _now_ I am tormented with doubt and anxiety.
Perhaps she scorns me, or laughs at me! Perhaps—oh, does she love
me? asks my throbbing heart. You good-for-nothing Esculapius. You
were in the theatre with your opera glasses, and did not take your
eyes off her! If that is so, confound it.... Do not make light
of my confidence, but I only write to you for my own sake; you
are not worth the trouble. Now you know all my thoughts. When you
are in your room with your old friends Rostowski, Schuch, Freyer,
Kyjewski, and Hube, imagine that I am enjoying myself with you,
but oh! I feel so strange in writing to you here. It seems as if I
were with you, and what I see and hear around me only a dream. The
voices to which my ear is unaccustomed seem to me only like the
rattling of a carriage, or some other unimportant sound. Only your
or Titusʼs voice could wake me out of my stupor. To-day, life and
death are indifferent to me. Say nothing of this to my parents.
Tell them that I am in capital spirits, that I want for nothing,
am enjoying myself gloriously, and never feel lonely. Tell her the
same, if she laughs at me, but if she asks kindly after me, and
seems anxious about me, whisper to her not to be uneasy, but say
that I am very lonely and unhappy away from her. I am not well, but
do not tell my parents. All my friends are asking what ails me;
“humour,” I sometimes say, but you know what is really the matter.
[Sidenote: FEELS LONELY IN VIENNA.]
At the end of next month I shall go to Paris, if things remain
quiet there. There is no lack of amusements here, but I very seldom
care to participate in them. Merk, the first violinist in Vienna,
has promised me a visit. This is the first of January. Oh, what
a sad beginning of the year for me! I love you dearly. Write as
soon as possible. Is she at Radom? Have you built forts? My poor
parents! How are my friends? I would die for you, for any of you.
Why am I condemned to stay here, lonely and forsaken? You who are
together, can comfort one another in these fearful times. Your
flute will have enough to mourn over? How my piano will weep itself
out!
You write that you are going to take the field with your regiment;
how will you forward the letter? Do not send it by a messenger; be
careful! My parents might—they might misunderstand.
Once more I embrace you. You are going to the war; come back a
colonel. May all go well! Why can I not at least be your drummer?
Excuse this rambling letter, for I feel quite dazed.
Your faithful
FREDERIC[88]
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Speaking of this new Constitution, Fox said, “It is a work, in
which every friend to reasonable liberty must be sincerely interested.”
Burke exclaimed: “Humanity must rejoice and glory when it considers the
change in Poland.”—_Translatorʼs Note._
[2] In a letter to the King of Poland, dated May 23rd, he said, “I
congratulate myself on having had it in my power to maintain the
liberty and independence of the Polish nation, and one of my most
pleasing cares will be to support and draw closer the bond which unites
us.”—_Translatorʼs Note._
[3] All the foreign biographers of Chopin have mistaken the date of
his birth. Even on his monument at Père la Chaise, in Paris, 1810 is
engraven instead of 1809, an error which ought to have been rectified
long ago.
[4] This March was afterwards published in Warsaw, but without the
composerʼs name.
[5] This story is given by Wladislaus Casimir Wocicki in his work
entitled “Cmentarz Powazkowski.”
[6] One of these pupils, Casimir Wodzynski, a property owner, who is
still living, often tells this story.
[7] Chopin generally improvised in the dark, frequently at night, as
then the mind is undisturbed by outward impressions. Then he would bury
himself in the theme heart and soul, and develope from it tone-pictures
full of lofty inspiration and fairy-like poetry.
[8] Another kind of national song is the product of the trained
musician, and being, from its original, majestic, war-like or
sentimental character, easily understandable, it is readily remembered
and rapidly diffused. Everyone sings it to the best of his ability;
but the less-educated, even when they delight in a work of art, seldom
inquire who created it. For example, many people are not aware that
Henry Carey was the author and composer of “God Save the King.”
[9] Julian Klaczko, a contributor to the _Revue des Deux Mondes_.
[10] Brunner and Hoffman were the inventors.
[11] Alexander Rembielinski, an excellent pianist, who died young.
[12] Julius Fontana, pianist and composer, was born in Warsaw, in 1810,
and educated with Chopin at the Conservatoire, under Elsner. In 1830
he entered the army and soon became a lieutenant of artillery. After
the insurrection he emigrated to France; some years later settled in
America, but in 1850 returned to Paris, where he died in 1870. He was
an almost daily guest of Chopinʼs, and knew exactly what compositions
were published at that time; the facts that he gives in the preface
to his edition of Chopinʼs works are, therefore, trustworthy. Besides
many smaller compositions, (Walzes, Studies, Caprices, Fantasias)
which he wrote and published in Paris, he published “Polish National
Melodies” (London); “Comments on Polish Orthography” (Leipsic, 1866);
and “Popular Astronomy” (Posen, 1869.)
[13] It appears as op. 73, in Fontanaʼs collection of the posthumous
works.
[14] Ernemann was a music master, and Bucholtz a pianoforte maker, in
Warsaw.
[15] Professor Jedrzejewicz, Chopinʼs brother-in-law, born 1803, died
in Warsaw, 1853.
[16] A composer, pianist, and _litterateur_, who is still living in
Poland.
[17] September 16th, 1828.
[18] Peter von Winter, born at Mannheim, in 1755, died at Munich, 1825,
was a popular and rather over-rated composer. This opera made a great
sensation.
[19] A long wide street in Warsaw.
[20] George Onslow, born in 1744, at Clermont-Ferrand, was descended
from a noble English family. He was a pupil of Cramer and Dussek, and
besides operas, of which “Der Hausirer” was the favourite, he wrote a
great deal of chamber music, especially some excellent quartets.
[21] A reference to the Warsaw lady singers, who often left out or
altered _coloratures_.
[22] In Polish “your” is “wasz,” pronounced “wasch” or “vache.”
[23] In the summer of 1827, Chopin stayed for several weeks at his
godmotherʼs house, from whence he took a trip to Dantzig, to see the
old trading city which used to belong to Poland. He wished also to make
the acquaintance of the Superintendent Linde, brother of the Principal
of the Warsaw Lyceum, at whose residence Frederic had already met the
sisters of these gentlemen.
[24] J. N. Hummel, born in Pressburg, November 14th, 1782; died in
Weimar, October 17th, 1837.
[25] Clementine Tanska, a famous Polish authoress for the young.
[26] Chopinʼs second sister; she and her husband, M. Barcinski, are
still living in Warsaw.
[27] A nickname given to this prince on account of his extraordinary
small stature, in spite of which he was one of the most able rulers.
A thorough exploration of the Kingʼs Grotto has recently been made by
archæologists, and the bones of prehistoric animals discovered.
[28] Chopin had sent Haslinger for publication, the Variations on “La
ci darem la mano,” op. 2; and the Sonata, op. 4.
[29] Wilhelm Würfel, born in Bohemia, was, for some years, pianoforte
teacher at the Warsaw Conservatoire. In 1826, he became conductor at
the Kärthner Thor Theatre, in Vienna, where he died in 1832.
[30] Charlotte Veltheim was one of the most celebrated bravura singers
of her time (1821—1840), and a much valued member of the Dresden Hof
Theatre. She was a thorough musician, and played the piano very well.
[31] “Chmiel” is a song in the mazurka measure, sung by the Poles at
marriage ceremonies at the moment when the brideʼs sisters place the
cap on her head.
[32] Thomas Nidecki, one of the best pupils at the Warsaw Lyceum,
was sent to Vienna, in 1822, at the public expense to complete his
education. He became bandmaster at the Leopoldstadter Theatre. From
1841 he was bandmaster at the Grand Theatre, in Warsaw, in which City
he died in 1852.
[33] The seal belonged to the waiter, and bore the word “Madeira.”
[34] An old Polish proverb.
[35] The “Wiener Theater Zeitung,” published by Adolph Bäuerle, from
1828 to 1848, was to every artist an important and dreaded publication.
There were then but few papers devoted to art matters, and this
journal was to be found in the clubs and coffee-houses of every town
in Germany. Whoever was praised by the “Wiener Theater Zeitung,” was
a made man. Bäuerle was the composer also of “Staberl, Staberlʼs
Hochzeitstag,” “Aline, Queen of Golconda, or, Vienna in another quarter
of the world,” and “The false Catalini,” pieces which were performed an
immense number of times.
[36] Leopolda Blahetka, born in Vienna, Nov. 15th, 1811, a
distinguished pianoforte _virtuoso_, pupil of Czerny and Moscheles.
She made several artistic _tournées_, winning everywhere the highest
approbation. Her amiability was also much noted.
[37] Waclaw Hanka, a celebrated philologist and Slavonic linguist,
founder of the reviving Czech national life; born in 1791, died in
Prague, 1861.
[38] Especially in the time of Otto the Great the last independent King
of Bohemia, who was conquered by Rudolph of Habsburgh, and died on the
field of March. From 1790 to 1848 the Royal Theatre at Prague was one
of the best and most celebrated in Germany.
[39] August Alexander Klengel, one of the most celebrated pianoforte
_virtuosi_, born January 27th, 1783, was a pupil of Clementi. The
pianoforte studies which he wrote are unsurpassed. He composed besides
ninety-six Canons and Fugues. In 1819 he went as organist to the Royal
Catholic Church in Dresden, and died there in 1852.
[40] Two famous Polish poets.
[41] Princess Aloysia von Clary was an extremely amiable lady. She
was an excellent pianist, and to rare culture united true goodness
of heart. Artists and poets met with the most cordial reception in
her hospitable house, and to extreme old age the Princess took a warm
interest in all artistic matters.
[42] Composer of several short comedies which were performed
successfully in Dresden and Vienna, between the years 1836 and 1848.
[43] I have not found any letters from Breslau. He probably hurried on
as fast as he could, to give his news in person.
[44] The first part of Goetheʼs “Faust” was performed for the first
time, that evening, in Dresden. Louis Tieck had made the necessary
curtailments.
[45] Charles Devrient, eldest of the three brothers, and nephew of the
great Louis Devrient.
[46] The Polish for Frederic.
[47] Edward Hanslick, in his book, “History of Concerts in Vienna,”
uses the same words as the _Sammler_ does about Chopin.
[48] E minor Concerto op. 11.
[49] Book and Music Seller, in Warsaw.
[50] Chopin says what he may have heard reported, for it is well
known that the world rarely credits the nobly born with artistic
talent. Prince Louis Ferdinand was, indeed, Dussekʼs pupil, but he
was not, therefore, helped in his compositions by his teacher. Prince
Ferdinand—called Louis Ferdinand in history, and on the title pages
of his compositions—was of an inventive nature, and what works he has
left are really the produce of his own brain. Full of patriotism and
courage, he took part in the war and fell at Saalfield, October 13th,
1806.
[51] One thinks involuntarily of the Orchestra at the Bayreuth
Festival, in 1876. Yes, yes, “Original fahrʼ him in deiner
Pracht.”—_Goethe._
[52] This polonaise appears as op. 71 in the collection of posthumous
works.
[53] Grand Fantasia on Polish airs, op. 13.
[54] Charles Kurpinski, bandmaster, and composer of several national
operas, was born in 1785, and died in 1857, in Warsaw.
[55] A coffee-house frequented by most of the _literati_; called in
German “Aschenbrodel.”
[56] The following programme was performed in the Warsaw Theatre, March
17th, 1830.
_First Part._
1.—Overture to the Opera “Leszek Bialy,” by Elsner.
2.—Allegro from the F minor Concerto, composed and played by Herr
F. Chopin.
3.—Divertissement for Horn, composed and played by Herr Görner.
4.—Adagio and Rondo, from F minor Concerto, composed and played by
Herr Chopin.
_Second Part._
1.—Overture to the Opera, “Cecilia Piaseczynska,” by Kurpinski.
2.—Variations by Paër, sung by Madame Meier.
3.—Pot-pourri on national songs, by Chopin.
[57] A fellow student of Chopinʼs, born 1800, died in Warsaw 1865.
[58] About 850 Thalers.
[59] Felix Ignaz Dobrzynski, pianist and composer, born 1807, died in
Warsaw, 1865.
[60] Fräulein Gladkowska was the realization of Chopinʼs ideal. His
thoughts of her are interwoven into all the compositions which he wrote
at that time. Dreaming of her, he wrote the Adagio of the E minor
Concerto; his desire of leaving Warsaw vanished; she entirely filled
the soul of the passionate youth of twenty. Constantia Gladkowska, a
pupil of Soliva, was married in 1832, and left the stage, to the great
regret of all connoisseurs.
[61] Fräulein Wotkow, a fellow pupil with Gladkowska, also left the
stage on her marriage, in 1836.
[62] Signore Soliva, an Italian by birth, went to the Warsaw
Conservatoire in 1821 as singing master. When the institution was
closed by the Russian Government, he migrated first to St. Petersburg,
then to Paris, where he died, in 1851. Soliva composed the operas, “La
Testa di bronzo,” “Elena e Mauvina,” and several smaller works.
[63] His poems have been translated into nearly every living language,
perhaps with most success into German. They have a peculiar colouring,
are full of poetic inspiration, and rich in thought.
[64] See Schillingʼs Universal Lexicon of Music.
[65] John Field, born in Dublin, in 1782, a pupil of Clementi, was one
of the greatest and most celebrated pianists of his time. In 1804,
he went to St. Petersburg, where, except for some artistic tours, he
resided till 1820. He died in Moscow in 1837.
[66] I will not refer to the other works produced between 1824-9, and
first published after Chopinʼs death by Julius Fontana, as the composer
did not himself desire their publication.
[67] From 1827 to 1832 there was only one performance of a Beethoven
Symphony at the “Spirituel” concerts. The one given was the C minor.
(See Hanslickʼs “Geschichte des Concertwesens in Wien.”)
[68] Dionys Weber, born 1771, died 1842, founded the Prague
Conservatoire in 1811. He was a good composer and an excellent teacher.
Under his management the Prague Conservatoire became one of the best in
Europe.
[69] Born January 31st, 1797, died November 18th, 1828. His grave is
close to Beethovenʼs.
[70] Charles Lipinski, born at Rdzyn, in Poland, in 1790, was as
great a violinist as Chopin was a pianist. He enjoyed a considerable
reputation; but as a composer is so far surpassed by Chopin that the
two can only be mentioned together as Polandʼs greatest _virtuosi_.
Lipinski died in 1861, at his estate in Galicia, after holding, for
more than twenty years, the post of chef dʼorchestre at Dresden.
[71] Rudolph Kreutzer, not to be confounded with Conradin Kreutzer,
was born in 1766, at Versailles, of German parents. He was a great
_virtuoso_, wrote several brilliant Concertos, and some incomparable
studies. He died in 1831, at Geneva.
[72] An Imperial Mark.
[73] Adolf Friedrich Hesse, born in Breslau 1809, died there 1863, was
one of the most distinguished of organists and organ composers. He was
a pupil of Köhler, whom he afterwards succeeded. By long artistic tours
he acquired a brilliant reputation. In 1844 he was invited to Paris for
the opening of the great organ in the church of St. Eustache.
[74] Mathilde Palazzesi, an excellent Italian singer, was engaged by
Morlacchi, at Dresden, in 1828, where she remained till the closing of
the Italian Opera, in 1832.
[75] Joseph Rastrelli was musical director of the Royal Opera in
Dresden from 1823 to 1842. He was an excellent conductor, and a good
composer. His operas, “Salvator Rosa,” and “Bertha of Bretagne,” both
achieved success.
[76] N.B.—Do not show this letter lest I may be thought vain. (Chopinʼs
own observation.)
[77] Malfatti, royal physician in ordinary, and a very famous doctor in
his time.
[78] Fräulein Cibini was a daughter of Leopold Kozeluck, who, after
Mozartʼs death, became Royal Court Composer. She herself was an
accomplished pianist, afterwards lady-in-waiting to the Empress Anna
Maria. She nursed the Emperor Ferdinand in his severe illness, and died
at the Hradschin, in 1860, highly esteemed as a faithful servant by the
Imperial pair.
[79] Sabine Heinefetter, the most famous and distinguished of the
three sisters, who all excelled as great singers; in Milan, even among
Italians, she shone as a star of the first magnitude. Circumstances
obliged her to leave the stage while still in full possession of her
powers.
[80] Franz Wildt, the most celebrated, and in truth the best tenor
singer the German opera possessed from 1820 to 1845. His voice and
training were alike first-rate.
[81] Anton Orlowski, a fellow-student of Chopinʼs, a talented musician,
afterwards chapel-master at Rouen. Born in Warsaw 1811, died 1861.
[82] Viz., not Jewish.
[83] Joseph Slawick, born in Bohemia in 1806, studied at the Prague
Conservatoire, under Pixis, at the expense of Count Wrbna; he died at
Pesth in 1833, just as he was about to commence a long artistic tour.
[84] A reference, perhaps, to the disturbances then prevailing in the
Peninsular.
[85] Fräulein Constantia Gladkowska was in the habit of going to the
Bernhardine Church, which was close to the Conservatoire.
[86] The Conservatoire, where Constantia boarded, was near the statue
of King Sigismund.
[87] Chopin often called his sisters his children.
[88] This letter, written on two loose sheets, was found enclosed
in one to his parents, which had no envelope, and was only slightly
sealed. Frederic had written under the direction these words to his
sisters, “You are requested not to break the seal, and not to be
inquisitive, like old women.”
INDEX.
Accent, Exaggeration of, 288.
Adagio in the E minor Concerto, op. 11, 99.
Adagio in 2nd Concerto, 113, 136.
Aelomelodicon, 33.
Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung, 216.
Art Forms, Lisztʼs observations on, 335.
Bach, Sebastian, 289, 290, 329.
Ballade, op. 23, 241.
Ballads, op. 23, 38, 47, 52, 344.
Barcarole, op. 60, 301.
Beethoven, 129, 330, 340.
Beethovenʼs Adagio from the C sharp minor Sonata, 279.
Beethovenʼs Last Trio, 102.
Beethovenʼs Opinions, 142.
Beethovenʼs Pianoforte Concertos, 142.
Beethovenʼs Sonatas, 141.
Beethovenʼs Violin Concerto, 142.
Belleville, Mlle., 359, 360.
Berceuse, op. 57, 301.
Berlioz, 328.
Blahetka, Leopolda, 77.
Bolero, op. 19, 241.
Brodzinski, Casimir, 125.
Broken Chords, 138.
Catalini, 19, 145.
Cavaignac, Gottfried, 327.
Chmiel, 69.
Chopin as a Teacher, 273.
Chopinʼs Imitative Talent, 276.
Chopin, (Emily), 11.
Chopin, (Justine), 8.
Chopin, (Louisa), 11.
Chopin, (Nicholas), 3.
Chord, Detached, 21.
Chord, Slurred, 21.
Cibini, Fräulein, 167.
Clary, The Princess Aloysia von, 83.
Classic School, 328.
Clementiʼs “Gradus ad Parnassum,” 285.
Compositions published in Warsaw, 101.
Concerto in E minor, 119, 217, 246.
Concerto in F minor, 107, 118, 165, 233.
Concertos, 133.
Constantine, 20, 171.
Counterpoint, Knowledge of, 28.
Cramer, 143.
Czerny, 97, 166, 201.
“Dame Blanche,” 69.
Damereau-Cinti, Madame, 236.
Dance Forms, 339.
Dances, 91.
Der Freischütz, 41, 140.
Diminished Chord, 138.
Don Juan Variations, 336.
Dudevant, Aurora, 261.
Dunst, 355.
Earliest Compositions, 19.
Elsner (Joseph Xaver), 15, 21, 212, 233, 352, 354, 367.
Elsnerʼs Echo Variations, 156.
Elsnerʼs Masses, 195.
Etudes, op. 10, 133.
Etude in A flat, No. 10, op. 10, 139.
Etudes, 348.
Fantasia on Polish Airs, 55, 107, 120, 133, 137, 336.
Fantasie Impromptu, op. 66, 348.
Fantasie Polonaise, op. 61, 343.
Faust, 86.
Feeling in Pianoforte playing, 286.
Fétis, 228.
Fidelio, 140.
Field, John, 132, 133, 143.
Fingering, Novelty of, 242.
Fioritures, 337.
Floriani, Lucrezia, 303.
Flotow, 144.
Fontana, Julius, 35.
Form, Newness of, 131.
“Fra Diavolo,” 169.
Franchomme, 338.
Fuchsʼ, Aloys, Collection of Autograph Works, 206.
Funeral March in the Sonata, op. 35, 321, 338.
Gazette Polska, 353.
Gladkowska, 117, 359, 361.
Glasgow, 312.
Gluck, 329.
Grande Polonaise Brillante, op. 22, 241.
Grzymala, Franz, 38.
Gutmann, 307, 320.
Gyrowetzʼs Pianoforte Concerto, 18.
Handel, 329.
Handelʼs “Ode on St. Ceciliaʼs Day,” 50.
Handelʼs Oratorio, 41.
Haydn, 329.
Heine, 263, 334.
Heinefetter, Sabine, 169, 185.
Herz, 143, 231.
Hesse, 155, 201.
Hiller, 231, 233.
Hummel, 60, 143, 196, 336.
Hummelʼs influence, 129.
Hummelʼs “La Sentinelle,” 352.
Impromptu, op. 29, 241.
Impromptu, op. 36, 275.
Improvisation, 23, 29, 58, 68, 71, 95, 260, 279.
Independence of fingers, 285.
Introduction et Polonaise Brillante pour Piano et ʼCello, op. 3, 129.
Iris, The, 133.
Jewish Wedding March, 25.
Kalkbrenner, 143, 221, 231.
Kalkbrennerʼs Concerto, 24.
Klengel, August Alexander, 79, 81, 97, 143, 159, 160, 161.
Klengelʼs 48 Canons and Fugues, 97.
Köhler, 155.
Kreutzer, 146.
Kreutzer, “Das Nachtlager von Granada,” 144.
Kurjer Szafarski, 24, 25.
Kurpinski, 340, 353.
Kurpinskiʼs Szarlatan, 235.
Lablache, 235.
Lachner, 144.
“La ci darem la mano,” op. 2, 130.
La Mara, 287.
Larghetto from the 2nd Concerto, 137.
Left Hand in Pianoforte Playing, 289.
Leiden Christi, 15.
Likl, 175.
Lind, Jenny, 314.
Linde (Madame von), 13.
Lipinski, Charles, 145.
Liszt, 135, 260, 277, 278, 279, 280, 328, 332.
Lortzing, 144.
Louis Ferdinand, Prince, 102.
Majorca, 266.
Majufes, 25, 201.
Malfatti, 166, 170.
Malibran, 235.
“Marquise de Brinvilliers,” The, 236.
Marschner, “Der Templar und die Jüdin,” 144.
Marschner, “Hans Heiling,” 144.
“Matrimonio Segreto,” 50.
Matuszynski, Johann, 151, 300.
Maysederʼs Solos, 66.
Mazurka, Chopinʼs Last, 348.
Mazurkas, 91, 180, 287, 339.
Mazurkas, op. 6 and 7, 131, 339.
Mazurkas, op. 17, 339.
Mazurkas, op. 24, 241, 339.
Mazurkas, op. 30, 339.
Mazurkas, op. 33, 339.
Mazurkas, op. 41, 275.
Mazurkas, op. 50, 339.
Mazurkas, op. 56, 339.
Mazurkas, op. 59, 301, 331.
Mazurkas, op. 63, 301, 339.
Mazurkas, op. 67 and 68, 348.
Mazovians, The, 31.
Memory, Astonishing, of Chopin and Liszt, 280.
Mendelssohn, 143, 249.
Mendelssohn on Chopinʼs Pianoforte playing, 253.
Mendelssohn, Songs without words, No. 1, Book 2, 139.
Merk, 202.
Meyerbeer, 148, 321.
Meyerbeer, “Les Huguenots,” 144.
Meyerbeer, “Ritter des Kreuzes,” 144.
Meyerbeerʼs “Robert le Diable,” 144, 235.
Mickiewicz, 343, 344.
Miemcewicz (Julius Ursin), 18.
Miltitz, Baron, Mass, 160.
Mistake, The, or the “Imaginary Rogue,” 23.
Moscheles, 143,
Moscheles on Chopinʼs Early Works, 242.
Moscheles on Chopinʼs Pianoforte playing, 276.
Moschelesʼ Variations on the Alexander March, 112.
Mozart, 147, 329.
Mozart, Chopinʼs admiration for, 320.
Mozartʼs “Midritate Rè di Ponto,” 147.
Musset, Alfred de, 126.
Mutes of Portici, The, 169.
Nidecki, Thomas, 71.
Nocturne, Marche Funebre, Trois Ecossaises, op. 72, 348.
Nocturnes, op. 9, 132, 345.
Nocturnes, op. 15, 241, 345.
Nocturnes, op. 27, 241, 346.
Nocturnes, op. 37, 275, 346.
Nocturnes, op. 48, 62, 72, 346.
Nourrit, Adolphe, 273.
Nowakowskiʼs Symphony, 353.
Official Journal, 353.
Oginski, Prince Michael, 340.
Onslowʼs “Die Hausirer” (“Le Colporteur”), 50.
Organ, Chopinʼs Preference for the, 8.
Orlowski, Anton, 169, 355.
Overture to “William Tell,” 119.
Paerʼs Agnese, 114.
Paganini, 145, 146.
Pasta, 235.
Pianoforte playing, 92.
Pichon, M., 25.
Pixisʼ Concerto, 100.
Polish Courier, 353, 354.
Polish folk-songs, 331.
Polish Songs, Sixteen, op. 74, 348.
Polonaise, op. 3, 338.
Polonaise, op. 22, 337.
Polonaises, op. 26, 241, 342.
Polonaises, op. 40, 275, 341, 342.
Polonaises, op. 44, 341.
Polonaises, op. 53, 301, 341.
Polonaises, op. 71, 342, 348.
Polonaise in F minor, op. 71, 105.
Polonaise Fantasia, op. 61, 301.
Polonaise, Origin of the, 340.
Potocka, The Countess Delphine, 248, 318, 319.
Preludes, 347.
Preludes in B minor and E minor, 321.
Radziwill, Prince Anton, 36.
Radziwillʼs, (Prince), Faust, 104.
Rellstab, 133.
Ries, Die Räuberbraut, 227.
“Robert le Diable,” 338.
Romanticism, 343.
Romantic School, 328.
Rondeau pour deux Pianos, op. 73, 348.
Rondo à la Mazur, op. 5, 34, 137.
Rondo Cracovienne, 65, 95, 108, 133, 137, 350.
Rondo, op. 1, ded. to Madame Linde, 13, 34, 128.
Rondo in C for 2 Pianos, op. 73, 43, 351.
Rossini, 140.
Rubini, 235.
Salieri, 148.
Sammler, The Vienna, 98.
Sand, George, 261, 265, 297, 298, 302, 307, 310, 311, 315, 327.
Sarmatian Melodies, 126.
Scherzi, 346, 347.
Scherzo, op. 20, 241.
Scherzo in C sharp minor, op. 39, 275.
Schmitt, Aloys, 187.
Schnabel, 154.
Scholtz, Herman, on Chopinʼs Earliest Compositions, 136.
Schubert, 143, 330, 340.
Schulhoff, Julius, 293.
Schumann, Article in the Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung, 129.
Schumannʼs “Gesammelte Schriften über Musik und Musiker,” 134.
Schumann, Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, 243.
Schumann on Chopinʼs “Ballade,” 257.
Schumannʼs Romance in F sharp, 139.
Schuppanzigh, 141.
Slavonic folk-songs, 30, 32.
Slawick, 177, 201.
Soliva, 115.
Sonata in C minor, op. 4, 64, 129, 137, 338.
Sonata in B flat minor, op. 35, 338.
Sonata in B minor, op. 58, 301, 338.
Sonata in G minor, op. 65, 301, 338.
Sonntag, Mlle., 358, 360.
Spohr, 227, 340.
Spohrʼs “Azor and Zemire,” 144.
Spohrʼs disparagement of Paganini, 145.
Spohrʼs Faust, 144.
Spohrʼs “Jessonda,” 144.
Spohrʼs Octett, 99.
Spohrʼs Quintett for Piano, Clarionet, Bassoon, French Horn and Flute,
364.
Spontiniʼs “Ferdinand Cortez,” 47, 50.
Stadler, The Abbé, 194.
Stirlingʼs, Miss, Chopin Museum, 212.
Stradellaʼs Hymn to the Virgin, 319.
Studies, 138, 348.
Study in C minor, 138, 218.
Tarantelle, op. 43, 275.
Tarnowski, Count Stanislas, 303.
Tempo rubato, 289.
Thalberg, 143, 187.
Thies, Alexander, 297.
“Third of May, The,” 349.
Touch, Cultivation of, 285.
Trio in G minor, op. 8, 43, 44, 129.
Urban, 245.
Valse, op. 42, 275.
Valses, op. 69, and 70, 348.
Variations on “La ci darem la mano,” op. 2, 64, 129, 137.
Variations brillantes, op. 12, 133.
Variations, ded. to Woyciechowski, 94, 106.
Veltheim, Charlotte, 68.
Vienna, The Imperial Library of, 198.
Violoncello, Chopinʼs preference for, 337.
Wagner, 139.
Waltzes, op. 18, 34, 42, 64, 69, 70, 344.
Warsaw Courier, 354, 356.
Warsaw Gazette, 352, 353, 354.
Weber, 340.
Weber, Dionys, 143.
Weiglʼs “Schweizerfamilie,” 144.
Wély, Lefébure, 321.
Wieck, Clara, 131, 252.
Wieck, Frederic, Letter of, 251.
Wiener Theater Zeitung, 76, 97, 364.
Wildt, Franz, 169, 185.
Winterʼs “Das unterbrochene Opferfest,” 46, 144.
Wodzynski, Maria, 255.
Worlitzer, 112.
Wockow, Fräulein, 116, 117, 359.
Würfel, 165.
Zeitschrift für Literatur, 98.
Zwyny, (Adalbert), 14.