Chapter VI

_INFLUENCE OF THE LAST JOURNEY ON CHOPIN. LETTERS TO TITUS WOYCIECHOWSKI. FAREWELL CONCERT IN WARSAW. CHOPIN LEAVES HIS NATIVE CITY._

The innocent youthful gaiety which accompanied Chopin on his journey was his faithful companion for some time to come. The brilliant success of his two performances in Vienna assured him that he really had talent, and that his parents had not done wrong in allowing him to dedicate himself wholly to art.

He returned from his second journey with wider views and riper judgment. He left off drawing caricatures, with which, in boyish mischief, he had often amused himself in Berlin. He felt, with intense delight, that the wings of his genius were bearing him higher than they did a year ago. With his inborn modesty he was surprised that great musicians should marvel at his playing; he had, indeed, already the courage to defend his opinions when they differed from those of other musicians; but he always spoke with a certain reserve and courtesy, which prevented him from giving offence, nor did he forget to pay the respect which the young man owes to the elder. “That Vienna would lose much if he went away without letting people hear him,” was incomprehensible to the modest youth not yet fully conscious of his talents.

It is characteristic of Chopin that he always began his letters in a clear elegant hand; but, as if overpowered by the rush of thought and feeling, the writing, as he proceeded, grew larger and more hurried. His Polish letters are pithy and natural, and often contain surprisingly original thoughts. A great deal cannot be transcribed into German, although this language bears the palm for the best translations.

Fredericʼs humorous nature was often displayed in the address of a letter. For example, he sent one to his father directed “To the Right Hon. N. Chopin, Professor in Warsaw, and to the dear parents of the son who is in Dresden.” He would often call his sisters “my children” (mojo dzieci), out of tenderness, and add some playful affectionate expressions. He never forgot to send remembrances to his much-honoured teachers, Zwyny and Elsner, nor to gladden his fellow collegians and intimate friends by kind words as reminders of himself.

[Sidenote: CHOPINʼS HEALTH.]

It has become the custom with most of the writers on Chopin to dilate on his weak and exhausted health. The grossest exaggerations have been current on this point, and, as is nearly always the case, more credence has been given to the exaggerations than to the truth. Goethe says truly, “People believe the truth so little because it is so simple.”

It has been said of Chopin that he suffered from his earliest years from an incurable malady which might have caused death at any moment. This may have been the reason why Liszt describes him as very sickly when only a youth of fifteen or sixteen; among other things about him he says:

“* * * * Chopin was more like one of those ideal creations with
which the poetry of the middle ages adorned the Christian temples:
a beautiful angel, with a form pure and slight as a young god of
Olympus, with a face like that of a majestic woman filled with a
divine sorrow, and, as the crown of all, an expression at the same
time tender and severe, chaste and impassioned.

“He daily accustomed himself to think that the hour of his death
was near, and, under the influence of this feeling, he accepted
the careful attentions of a friend, from whom he concealed how
short a time, he believed, remained for him on earth. He possessed
great physical courage, and, if he did not accept with the heroic
carelessness of youth the idea of his approaching end, he at least
cherished the expectation of it with a kind of bitter pleasure.”

These remarks are not applicable to that period of Chopinʼs life, for they are not in accordance with the facts. Chopin neither looked like “a beautiful angel,” “a majestic woman filled with a divine sorrow,” nor “a young god from Olympus;” just as little did he imagine daily “that the hour of his death was near.” On the contrary, his cheerful letters, pervaded with the joy of youth, showed that Frederic had as good health as any other young man of his age. When travelling he saw all that was worth seeing, gave two concerts within a week, paid several visits, was present at long performances at the theatre, and wrote a great many letters besides. Undeniably, Chopin had a delicate constitution, but he was healthy, and strong enough to bear the fatigue of travelling in a diligence.

It was not until ten years later that he was threatened with the illness brought on by the excitement of Paris life. And if Frederic had been sickly, would his parents have permitted their only, tenderly loved son to travel abroad? Would they have consented to an absence of two years—which followed the earlier journeys—if the young artist had been troubled with a dangerous malady? Only in the last years of his life his physical strength was often greatly exhausted, in consequence of the rapid strides of the disease which caused his early death.

Chopinʼs playmate and schoolfellow, Wilhelm von Kolberg, who is still living in Warsaw, affirms that till manhood, Chopin was only ill once, and then from a cold. It is true that after the manner of loving womanly hearts, mother and sisters very much petted their dear Frederic. There was no lack of exhortations to “wrap up carefully in cold damp weather;” he laughed good-humouredly at the instructions, but followed them like an obedient son.

There were moments when, buried in thought, Frederic paid little heed to the outer world, and avoided even his best friends. These were times of communion with his muse, and he would suffer the intervention of no third person.

[Sidenote: CHOPINʼS DISPOSITION.]

In a general way he was fond of pleasure, and delighted to share it with his parents, family and friends. He never marred anyoneʼs enjoyment. If he were among company who wished to dance, he would sit down to the piano without being pressed and play the most charming Mazurkas and other dances. If a bad player were at the piano, he would politely and pleasantly put himself in his place. In after years also, when he lived in Paris and had acquired a European reputation, he was always willing, in the kindest manner, to delight a Polish family with some national dances. As a player he was as indefatigable as the dancers, who in their enthusiasm often did not know how to stop.

Like all intelligent young men, Frederic returned from his travels with a wider knowledge of human nature. He perceived that the artists, whose acquaintance he had lately made, were not all so amiable and free from envy as he had imagined; he, therefore, clung the closer to the more noble-minded among his compeers, for whom he retained through life a friendly recollection.

Unfortunately, he did not fail to meet with bitter disappointments in later years.

The artists in Vienna looked upon Chopin as a young man with a thorough and most refined musical education, who was not puffed up with vanity, and had no thought of settling in the Imperial city. They were, therefore, favourably disposed towards him, and willingly lent their assistance.

Like every true artist and poet, Chopin was tormented with doubts as to the extent and range of his genius. Some, indeed, who heard him at the concerts which he gave in Vienna, said that his playing was not powerful enough; but with regard to his compositions there was but one opinion. Real connoisseurs of pianoforte playing, truly musical souls, knew how to value the smoothness, certainty, and elegance of his style. The wonderful penetrating and melancholy expression peculiar to Chopinʼs playing, found a response in all poetical minds. He was pre-eminently the pianist for poets, and could not be exalted too highly above the mass, who only desire technical skill and noise; the musicians were especially interested by the character and originality of his compositions. To complete the story of his Vienna experiences, I give two letters to his most intimate friend Woyciechowski.

[Sidenote: HIS GREAT JOURNEY.]

_Warsaw, September 12th, 1829._

DEAREST TITUS,

You would not have heard from me, if I had not met Vicentius
Skarbek, and thereby been reminded that you would be in Warsaw by
the end of this month. I hoped that I should have been able to
tell you personally of my GREAT JOURNEY, for truly and sincerely
I should only be too glad to have a chat with you. But as this is
unfortunately impossible, let me tell you, dear, that I have been
to Cracow, Vienna, Prague, Dresden and Breslau.

We passed the first week at Cracow in taking walks, and visiting
the neighbourhood. Ojcow is very beautiful; but I shall not say
anything, for although you were not there, you know all about it
from Tanskaʼs accurate descriptions. I had good company on my way
to Vienna; if Cracow made so many demands upon me that I could not
find a few moments to think of you and my family, Vienna so utterly
stupefied and infatuated me, that, although a fortnight passed
without my receiving a letter from home, I felt no longing for my
friends. Just imagine my playing twice in the Royal and Imperial
Theatre in so short a time. This is how it came about: my publisher
Haslinger represented to me that it would be of advantage to my
compositions if I were to appear in Vienna; that my name was as yet
unknown, and my music difficult both to play and understand.

I did not yet think of it seriously, and replied:

“That I had not played a note for a fortnight, and so was not
prepared to present myself before a select and critical public.”
In the meantime Count Gallenberg, who writes pretty ballets, and
is manager of the Vienna theatre, came in. Haslinger introduced me
to him as a coward, afraid of appearing in public. The Count very
obligingly placed the theatre at my disposal, but I was shrewd
enough to decline, with thanks. The next day Würfel came in, and
urged me not to bring disgrace on my parents, Elsner, and myself by
neglecting the opportunity of performing in Vienna.

As soon as I had yielded to all this pressure, Würfel at once
undertook the necessary preparations. The next morning bills
announced my concert. It was impossible, therefore, to retreat,
although I did not know how or what I should play. Three
manufacturers proposed to send me pianos, but, owing to the narrow
limits of my lodgings, I was obliged to refuse their offers. What
would have been the use either of my practising a great deal two
days before the concert?

In one day I made the acquaintance of all the great artists
in Vienna, among them Mayseder, Gyrowetz, Lachner, Kreutzer,
Schuppanzigh, &c.

[Sidenote: DÉBUT IN VIENNA.]

The members of the orchestra looked sourly at me during the
rehearsal; they were particularly vexed at my making my _débût_
with new compositions. Then I began the Variations dedicated to
you, which were to come after the Rondo Cracovienne. The Variations
were a success, but the Rondo, owing to the way in which it was
written, went so badly that we were obliged to commence from the
beginning twice. I ought to have put the pauses below instead of
above. Enough; the gentlemen made such wry faces that I felt very
much inclined to announce myself ill in the evening.

Demmar, the manager, noticed the ill-temper of the orchestra, who
do not like Würfel. The latter wished to conduct himself, but the
orchestra declined (I donʼt know why) to play under his lead. Herr
Demmar advised me to improvise, at which proposal the orchestra
stared. I was so much irritated by what had happened that I
consented in despair; and who knows whether my miserable mood and
strange humour were not the cause of the great success I achieved?

The presence of the Viennese public did not excite me at all, and
I sat down, very calmly, to a wonderful instrument of Graffʼs, the
best, perhaps, then in Vienna. Beside me sat a young man, covered
with rouge, who had turned over for me in the Variations, and
plumed himself on having rendered the same service to Moscheles,
Hummel, and Herz. I played, as you may imagine, in a desperate
mood; the Variations, nevertheless, made such an effect that I was
encored enthusiastically. Fräulein Veltheim sang very beautifully.
As to my Improvisation I only know that it was followed by a storm
of applause and many recalls.

The Vienna newspapers were lavish in their praise. By universal
desire I played again a week after, congratulating myself that
no one could say now that I was only able to appear once. I was
especially pleased with the performance of the Rondo, because
Gyrowetz, Lachner, and other masters, and even the orchestra were
so delighted—forgive me for saying so—that they recalled me twice.
I was obliged to repeat the Variations (at the special request of
the ladies); Haslinger, too, was so pleased with them that he is
going to bring them out in _Odeon_; a great honour for me, is it
not?

Lichnowski, one of Beethovenʼs friends, wished to lend me his
piano for the concert (this is, indeed, something), as it seemed
to him that mine was too weak. But this was on account of my style
of playing, which pleased the ladies so much; especially Fräulein
Blahetka. It might be that she is favourably disposed towards
me (by the way, she is not yet twenty, a lovely and intelligent
girl). At my departure she honoured me by a composition, with an
inscription in her own handwriting.

The _Wiener Zeitung_ said, in a notice of the second concert, “This
is a young man who knows how to please by entirely original means.
His style differs totally from that of the ordinary concert giver.”
I hope this is satisfactory, especially as the article concludes,
“Herr Chopin to-day again received the most unanimous applause.”
Pardon me for writing such an opinion of myself, but I do so
because it pleases me more than any
amount of praise in the _Warsaw Courier_.

I became quite intimate with Czerny, and often played with him on
two pianos. He is a good-natured man, but nothing more. Klengel,
whom I saw at Pixisʼs, in Prague, I like best of all my artistic
acquaintances. He played his fugues to me (one might call them a
continuation of Bachʼs, there are forty-eight, and as many canons.)
What a contrast to Czerny! Klengel gave me a letter of introduction
to Morlacchi, in Dresden. We visited the Saxon Switzerland, so
rich in natural beauties, and the magnificent picture gallery;
but the Italian Opera had to be given up before my very eyes. I
was, unfortunately, obliged to leave the day on which “Crociato in
Egitto” was to be performed. My only consolation was that I had
already heard it in Vienna.

[Sidenote: STAY IN DRESDEN.]

Frau Pruszak, and her two children, Alexandrine and Constantin, are
in Dresden. I met them the day I left. What a pleasure! They called
out, “Pan Frycek, Pan Frycek;”[46] it was so charming that I should
certainly have stayed but for my companions. Herr Pruszak I met at
Teplitz. Teplitz is a wonderfully beautiful place. I was only there
a day, but went to a soirée at Prince Claryʼs.

I have been too much absorbed in my writing to be able to stop. I
affectionately embrace you, and kiss your lips, if you allow me.

Your FREDERIC.

* * * * *

_Warsaw, October 3rd, 1829._

DEAREST TITUS,

You write that you have read something about my concerts in two
newspapers; if they were Warsaw papers, you could certainly not
have been gratified, for not only is their translation bad, but
they have taken the trouble to distort, to my disparagement,
the comments of the Viennese critics. The Vienna _Sammler_ and
the _Zeitschrift für Literatur_, from which Hube brought me the
extracts, made the most flattering criticisms on my playing and
compositions (pardon me for writing this to you), and called me, in
conclusion, “An independent _virtuoso_, full of delicacy and the
deepest feeling.”[47] If such extracts had fallen into your hands I
should have no occasion to be ashamed.

You will learn from me bye and bye what I think of doing this
winter. In no case shall I remain in Warsaw; where fate will
lead me I do not yet know. Prince and Princess Radziwill have,
in the most polite manner, invited me to Berlin, and offered me
apartments in their palace; but of what use would this be? I have
begun so much work that it would seem the wisest course for me to
remain here. I have also promised to return to Vienna, and a Vienna
paper openly declared that a sojourn in the Imperial city would be
very advantageous to me, and have the best influence on my career.

[Sidenote: CHOPINʼS IDEAL.]

You will, perhaps, think so too; but do not imagine that I am
thinking about Fräulein Blahetka, whom I mentioned in my letter.
I have already—to my misfortune, perhaps—found my ideal, which
I sincerely and loyally worship. Half a year has passed without
exchanging a syllable with her of whom I dream every night. While
thinking of this lovely being I composed the Adagio in my new
Concerto,[48] and early this morning the Waltz, which I send you.
Notice the passage marked +, nobody knows of it but yourself. How
glad I should be if I could play my newest compositions to you, my
dear friend. In the fifth bar of the Trio, the melody in the bass
must rise to the higher E flat in the violin cleff, which, however,
I need not tell you, for you will feel it for yourself.

I have no other news to send than that every Friday there is music
at Kesslerʼs. Yesterday they played, among other things, Spohrʼs
Octett, a wonderful work. I go to Brzezinaʼs[49] every day; he has
nothing new but Pixisʼs Concerto which made no great impression
on me; the Rondo seems the best part of it. You cannot imagine how
dull Warsaw looks. If it were not for the happiness I find with my
family I could not live here.

Oh, how miserable it is to have no one to share your sorrows and
joys, and, when your heart is heavy, to have no soul to whom you
can pour out your woes. You know very well what I mean. How often
do I communicate to my piano all that I would confide to you.

My friend, you must change into a delightful reality my dream of
travelling with you abroad. I do not know what I should do for joy.
But, alas, our ways lie wide apart.

I hope to go to Italy, from Vienna, for my further improvement,
and next winter I am to meet Hube in Paris; but everything may
be altered, as my kind father would like me to go to Berlin, for
which, to say the truth, I have no great desire. If, as I trust, I
go to Vienna, I shall, perhaps, choose the way through Dresden and
Prague, to visit Klengel again; also the famous picture gallery and
the Conservatoire.

I must now leave off, or I shall only weary you with my dry news,
and I do not want to do that. If you would only write me a few
lines, it would give me pleasure for several weeks. Forgive me for
sending you the Waltz, which will make you angry with me in the
end. My intention is to please you.

Your FREDERIC.

The favourable critiques in the Vienna newspapers of Chopinʼs playing awakened universal interest in Warsaw, and caused his father to take counsel with Elsner and other friends about Fredericʼs further training. All agreed on sending the young artist for a longer sojourn abroad. Warsaw offered, indeed, little artistic stimulus to Chopinʼs extraordinary abilities; he passed there for a perfect artist. His compositions, published in Warsaw, are among the best he ever wrote, and if his creative talent grew and matured in later years, his early works bear the true Chopin stamp.

[Sidenote: PROPOSED TOUR TO PARIS AND ITALY.]

Elsnerʼs advice was that Chopin should go to Italy first, then to Paris, and so be away two years in all. From letters to his friend, Titus Woyciechowski, who now resides at his estate Poturzyn, in Poland, and who very kindly furnished these letters, we learn from Frederic himself how he passed the next few years. It is most fortunate for us that his most intimate friend has religiously preserved, as sacred memorials, every line of the talented artist.

_Warsaw, October 20th, 1829._

MY DEAREST TITUS,

You wonʼt know how to make out why such a writing mania has
suddenly seized me, and how it is that, in so short a time, I send
you a third letter.

I start at seven this evening, _per diligence_, for
Wiesiowlowskiʼs, in Posen, and so write to you beforehand, not
knowing how long I shall stay there, though I have only got a
passport for a month. My idea is to return in about a fortnight.
The object of my journey is to see Prince Radziwill, who is living
at his estate not far from Kalitz. He wishes me to go to Berlin,
and live as a guest in his house, &c.; but I cannot see that it
would be of any real, that is to say, artistic use. “Mit grossen
Herren ist nicht gut Kirschen essen.”

My good father will not believe that these invitations are merely
_des belles paroles_.

Forgive me if I repeat myself. I easily forget what I have written,
and often fancy I am giving you news which is really stale.

Kessler gives a musical soirée every Friday; nearly all the
artists here meet together, and play whatever is brought forward,
_prima vista_; so, for example, there were performed, last Friday:
Concerto in C sharp minor, by Ries, with quartet accompaniment;
then Trio in E major, by Hummel; Beethovenʼs last Trio, which I
thought magnificent and impressive; also a Quartet, by Prince Louis
Ferdinand of Prussia, _alias_ Dussek;[50] and singing to conclude
with.

Elsner has praised my Concerto Adagio. He says there is something
new in it. As for the Rondo I do not want any opinion on that at
present, for I am not satisfied with it myself. I wonder whether I
shall finish it when I return.

Thank you very much for your letter, which pleased me exceedingly.
You have the happy gift of cheering and delighting one. You cannot
imagine how despondent I was in the morning, and how my spirits
rose when I received your letter. I embrace you warmly. Many write
this at the end of their letters and scarcely think about it; but
you know, dearest friend, that I do it sincerely, as truly as I am
called “Fritz.” I have composed a Study in my style; when we meet
again I will play it to you.

Your faithful

FREDERIC.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: VISIT TO PRINCE RADZIWILL.]

_Warsaw, Sunday, November 14th, 1829._

DEAREST TITUS,

I received your last letter at Radziwillʼs, at Antonin. I was there
a week, and you cannot think how quickly and pleasantly the time
passed. I travelled back by the last Post, and had great trouble
to get away. As for myself I could have stayed there till I was
driven away, but my occupations, and, above all, my concerto, which
still impatiently awaits its _Finale_, forced me to quit Paradise.

My dear Titus, there were three daughters of Eve there; the young
princesses, extremely amiable, musical, and kind-hearted; and the
Princess, their mother, who knows quite well that the value of a
man does not depend on his descent, is so lady-like and amiable
towards everyone that it is impossible not to honour her.

You know what a lover of music the Prince is. He showed me his
“Faust,” and I found much that is really beautiful in it; some
parts, indeed, show considerable intellectual power. Between
ourselves, I certainly should not have accredited a Stadtholder
with such music. I was struck, among other things, by the scene
where Mephistopheles allures Margaret to the window, by playing the
guitar and singing outside her house, while a Chorale is heard at
the same time in the neighbouring church. This is sure to produce
a great sensation. I only mention this to give you an idea of his
style. He is also a great admirer of Gluck. In the drama, he only
gives importance to music in so far as it depicts the situation or
the feelings, therefore the Overture has no conclusion, but leads
directly to the introduction. The orchestra is always invisible,
placed behind the stage,[51] so as not to distract the attention by
such externals as the conducting, the movements of the musicians,
&c.

[Sidenote: TEACHING A PRINCESS.]

I wrote an “Alla Polacca,” with ʼcello accompaniment during my
visit to Prince Radziwill. It is nothing more than a brilliant
drawing-room piece—suitable for the ladies. I should like Princess
Wanda to practice it. I am supposed to have given her lessons. She
is a beautiful girl of seventeen, and it was charming to direct her
delicate fingers. But, joking apart, she has real musical feeling,
and does not need to be told when to play _crescendo_, _piano_, or
_pianissimo_. Princess Elise was so much interested in my Polonaise
(F minor) that I could not refuse to send for it. Please let me
have it by return of post. I did not wish to be thought impolite,
but I should not like to write it out of my head again, my dearest,
for I should, perhaps, make it very different from the original.
You can picture to yourself the character of the Princess from her
having me play the Polonaise to her every day. The Trio in A flat
major always pleases her particularly.[52] She wishes me much to
go to Berlin in May, so nothing stands in the way of my going to
Vienna in the Winter. It does not seem likely that I shall get off
before December. Papaʼs birthday is on the sixth, which I shall, in
any case, keep with him. I do not think of starting till the middle
of December. I hope also to see you again.

You would not believe what a blank I feel in Warsaw just now. I
have no one to whom I can speak a couple of really confidential
words. You want one of my portraits. I certainly would have sent it
you if I could have stolen one from Princess Elise, who has two in
her album, which, I am assured are very faithful likenesses; but
you, my dearest, need no picture of me. Believe me, I am always
with you and will never forget you to the end of my life.

I remind you once more of the Polonaise; please send it by return.
I have written some studies; I should play them well in your
presence. Last Saturday, Kessler played Hummelʼs E major Concerto,
at the Ressource. Next Saturday, perhaps, I shall play; I shall
choose the Variations dedicated to you.

Your faithful

FREDERIC.

* * * * *

_Warsaw, March 27th, 1830._

I never missed you so much as now. I have no one to whom I can pour
out my heart. A single look from you, after the concert, would
be more to me than the praise of all the critics here. Immediately
on the receipt of your letter, I wanted to describe my first
concert to you; but I was so distracted and busy with preparations
for the second, which took place on Monday, that I was not capable
of collecting my thoughts. I am not, indeed, in a much better mood
to-day, but I cannot delay the sending of this letter any longer,
for the post goes, and who knows when my mind will be at rest again?

[Sidenote: THE FIRST CONCERT IN VIENNA.]

The first concert, for which three days before there was neither
box nor stall to be had, did not, on the whole, make the impression
I had expected. The first Allegro of the F. minor concerto (not
intelligible to everyone) was indeed rewarded with a bravo, but
this was, I think, because the public wished to show that it
knew how to understand and appreciate earnest music. In every
country there are plenty of people who readily assume the airs of
connoisseurs. The Adagio and Rondo made a great effect and were
followed by the heartiest applause and shouts of bravo. But the
Potpurri on Polish songs[53] completely missed its mark. They
applauded indeed, but, evidently, only to show the player they were
not wearied with him.

Kurpinski[54] thought he discovered fresh beauties in my concerto
that evening. Ernemann was entirely satisfied. Elsner regretted
that my piano was not stronger, the bass being, as he thought, not
heard clearly enough.

Those sitting in the gallery or standing in the orchestra appear to
have been most satisfied; there were complaints in the pit of the
playing being too soft. I should very much like to know the gossip
about me at “Kopciuszek.”[55] In consequence of the remarks in the
pit, Mochnacki, after highly praising me—especially for the Adagio
in the _Polish Courier_—advised me, for the future, to use more
power and energy. I knew quite well where this power lay, so at the
second concert I did not play on my own but on a Vienna instrument.
This time the audience, again very large, were perfectly content.
The applause knew no bounds, and I was assured that every note rang
out like a bell, and that I played much more finely than before.
When I appeared, in reply to a recall, they called out “give
another concert.” The Cracovienne produced a tremendous sensation;
there were four rounds of applause. Kurpinski regretted that I had
not played the Polish Fantasia on the Vienna piano, a remark which
Grzymala repeated the other day in the _Polish Courier_. Elsner
says I could not be properly judged of until after the second
concert. I confess, candidly, that I would rather have played on
my own instrument. The Vienna piano was generally regarded as more
appropriate to the size of the building.

[Sidenote: PROGRAMME OF THE FIRST CONCERT.]

You know what the programme of the first concert was.[56] The
second began with a Symphony by Nowakowski[57] (par complaisance)
followed by a repetition of the first Allegro of my Concerto.
Then the Theatre Concert-master, Bulawski, played an Air Varié,
by Beriöt, and I, my Allegro and Rondo again. The second part
commenced with the Rondo Cracovienne. Meier sang an air from
Solivaʼs opera, “Helene and Malvina,” and, in conclusion, I
improvised on the Volkslied “W—miescie dziwne obyczaje,” (there
are strange customs in the town) which very much pleased the
people in the first rows. To be candid I must say that I did not
improvise as I had intended, but, perhaps, that would not have been
so well suited to the audience. I wonder that the Adagio pleased so
generally; from all I hear, it is with reference to this that the
most flattering observations have been made. You must have read the
newspapers, and you will see that the public were very pleased with
me.

A poem, addressed to me, and a large bouquet were sent to my house.
Mazurkas and Waltzes are being arranged on the principal themes
from my Concerto. Brzezina asked for my likeness, but I declined
giving it. This would be too much all at once, besides I do not
like the prospect of butter being wrapped up in the paper on which
I am pourtrayed, as was the case with Lelewelʼs portrait.

Wishes are expressed on all sides that I should give a third
concert, but I have no desire to do so. You would not believe
the excitement one has to go through for some days before the
performance. I hope to finish the first Allegro of the second
Concerto before the vacation, so I shall wait, at any rate, till
after Easter, although I am convinced that I should have a larger
audience than ever this time; for the “haute volée” have hardly
heard me at all yet. At the last concert a stentorian voice called
out from the pit, “Play at the Town Hall,” but I doubt whether
I shall follow this advice; if I play again, it will be in the
theatre. It is not a question of [Sidenote: PROCEEDS OF THE
CONCERTS.] receipts with me, for the Theatre did not bring me in
much. (The cashier, to whom everything was left, did as he liked.)
From both concerts, after all expenses had been deducted, I did not
receive quite 5,000 gulden,[58] although Dmuszewski, editor of the
_Warsaw Courier_, stated that no concert had been so crowded as
mine. Besides, the Town Hall, where the anxieties and arrangements
would be many, would not please everyone. Dobrzynski[59] is vexed
with me for not performing his symphony. Frau W. took it amiss that
I did not reserve a box for her, &c., &c.

I close this letter unwillingly, because I feel as if I had not
told you anything interesting yet. I have reserved all for the
desert which is nothing more than a warm embrace.

Your FREDERIC.

* * * * *

_Warsaw, May 15th, 1830._

You will certainly have wondered that Fritz did not answer your
letter by return of post; but as I could not immediately give the
information you asked for I delayed writing till to-day.

Now listen, my dearest, Henrietta Sonntag is coming to Warsaw
in June, or, perhaps, at the end of May. I am sure you will not
neglect the opportunity of hearing her. Oh, how thankful I am for
it. She must be in Danzig now, and from there she comes to us.
We have several concerts in prospect. Little Worlitzer, pianist
to the King of Prussia, has already been here a fortnight. He
plays very finely, and being of Jewish descent, has many natural
gifts. He has been with me; he is just sixteen; some of the things
he played at our house went famously. His best performance is
Moschelesʼs Variations on the Alexander March. He really plays
those excellently. You would like his style and manner of playing,
although—this to you only—he still lacks much to deserve his
title of Chamber _Virtuoso_. There is also a French pianist here,
Monsieur Standt. He intended giving a concert, but seems lately to
have relinquished the idea.

It is an agreeable piece of musical news that Herr Blahetka, father
of the _pianiste_ in Vienna, will, if I advise him, come here,
when the Diet meets, and give some concerts. But my position is a
difficult one; the man wants to make money, and if it happens that
his hopes are not fulfilled, he will be angry with me. I answered
immediately that I had often been asked whether he would not come,
and that many musicians and lovers of music would be glad to hear
his daughter; but I did not conceal from him that Sonntag would be
here, that Lipinski was coming, that we have only one theatre, and
that the expenses of a concert amount to at least 100 thalers. He
cannot say now that I did not properly inform him of the state of
things. It is very possible that he will come. I should be very
glad, and would do all in my power to get a full house for his
daughter. I would willingly also play with her on two pianos; for
you would not believe how kindly her father interested himself for
me in Vienna.

[Sidenote: THE NEW CONCERTO.]

I do not know yet when I shall commence my journey. I shall
probably be here during the hot months. The Italian Opera does not
begin in Vienna till September, so I have no occasion to hurry. The
Rondo for the new Concerto is not ready yet. I have not been in the
right mood to finish it. When the Allegro and Adagio are quite done
with, I shall not be in any anxiety about the _Finale_.

The Adagio in E major is conceived in a romantic, quiet, half
melancholy spirit. It is to give the impression of the eye resting
on some much loved landscape which awakens pleasant recollections,
such as a lovely spring moon-light night. I have written for the
violins to accompany _con sordini_. Will that have a good effect?
Time will show.

Write and tell me when you are coming back to Warsaw, for it would
be worse than it was the first time if I had to give my concert
without you. You do not know how I love you. Oh, if I could only
prove it! What would I not give to be able to embrace you heartily
once again.

* * * * *

_Warsaw, August 21st, 1830._

This is my second letter to you. You will scarcely think it
possible, but so it is.

I wrote to you directly after my prosperous return to Warsaw, but
as my parents stopped at Count Skarbekʼs, at Zelazowa Wola, I, of
course stopped too, and in the hurry forgot to post my letter. But
there is nothing bad in the world that has not some good in it.

Perhaps I shall not weary you so much with this as with the last
letter, when I had the image of your quiet country life, which I
had just quitted, constantly before my eyes. I may say, truly, that
I recall it with delight; I always feel a certain longing after
your beautiful country seat. I do not forget the weeping willow,
that Arbaleta! Oh, with what pleasure do I remember it! You have
teased me enough about it to punish me for all my sins. Let me tell
you what I have done since you left, and what is settled about my
departure.

[Sidenote: CONSTANTIA GLADKOWSKA.]

I was especially interested with Paërʼs opera, “Agnese,” because
Fräulein Gladkowska made her _débût_ in it. She looks better on the
stage than in a drawing-room. Her first-rate tragic acting leaves
nothing to be desired, and her vocalization, even to the high F
sharp or G, is excellent. Her _nuances_ are wonderful, and if her
voice was rather tremulous at first, through nervousness, she sang
afterwards with certainty and smoothness. The opera was curtailed
which, perhaps, did not make it seem so tedious to me. The harp
romance which Fräulein Gladkowska sang in the second act was very
fine. I was quite enraptured. She was recalled at the conclusion of
the opera, and greeted with unbounded ovations.[60]

In a weekʼs time Fräulein Watkow[61] is to play the _rôle_ of
Fiorilla, in the opera of “Il Turco in Italia,” which will be sure
to please the public better. A great many people blame the opera of
“Agnese,” without knowing why.

I do not contend that Soliva[62] might have chosen something better
for Gladkowska; “Vestalin” would, perhaps, have been more suitable,
but “Agnese” is beautiful also; the music has many good points,
which the young _debutante_ brought out capitally.

And now what am I to do?

I start next month, but I must first try my Concerto, for the Rondo
is ready now.

* * * * *

_Warsaw, August 31st, 1830._

It was high time for your letter to arrive, for as soon as I
received it, I lost my catarrh. Would that my letters might be
endowed with the same miraculous power.

I still stay here, and nothing, indeed, attracts me abroad. But I
am certain to go next month, in obedience to my calling, and my
reason, which must be weak, if it were not strong enough to conquer
all other inclinations.

This week I must try the whole of the E minor Concerto, with
quartet accompaniment, to give me confidence, as Elsner says the
first orchestral trial will not go well. Last Saturday, I tried
the Trio, and, perhaps, because I had not heard it for so long,
was satisfied with myself. “Happy man,” you will say, wonʼt you?
It then struck me that it would be better to use the Viola instead
of the Violin, as the first string predominates in the Violin, and
in my Trio is hardly used at all. The viola would, I think, accord
better with the ʼcello. The Trio will then be ready to print. So
much about myself. Now something as to the other musicians.

[Sidenote: FRÄULEIN WOTKOW.]

Last Saturday, Soliva brought forward his second pupil, Fräulein
Wotkow, who delighted the whole house with her natural grace and
good acting, also with her beautiful eyes and pearly teeth. She was
more charming on the stage than any of our actresses. I scarcely
recognized her voice at first, she was so agitated. But she acted
so excellently, no one would have supposed her to be a _debutante_.
Notwithstanding the encores and the enormous applause she received,
she did not overcome her embarassment till the second act, when the
capabilities of her voice revealed themselves, though not quite so
fully as at the rehearsal, and at the performance the day before
yesterday.

In vocal ability Fräulein Wotkow is far surpassed by Fräulein
Gladkowska. If I had not myself heard the former I should not have
believed there could be such a difference between two singers.
Ernemann shares our opinion, that it is not easy to find a singer
equal to Gladkowska, especially in the bell-like purity of her
intonation, and true warmth of feeling, which are only properly
displayed on the stage. She entrances her hearers. Wotkow made
several slight mistakes, whilst with Gladkowska one did not hear a
single note that was in the least doubtful, although she has only
performed twice in “Agnese.”

When I saw the two vocalists the day before yesterday and presented
your compliments to them, they were evidently gratified and
commissioned me to thank you.

Wotkowʼs reception was warmer than Gladkowskaʼs, which Soliva
did not seem to like. He said to me, yesterday, that he did not
wish Wotkow to win more applause than her fellow pupil. I think
a considerable share of the approbation is to be ascribed to the
character which pleases the public better (captivated also by the
young girlʼs beauty) than the tragic misery of the unhappy daughter
in Paerʼs opera. Gladkowska is to appear shortly in the “Diebischen
Elster,” but this “shortly” will last till I am over the mountains.
Perhaps you will then be in Warsaw, and will give me your opinion
of the performance. Her third _rôle_ is to be “Vestalin.”

* * * * *

_Warsaw, October 5th, 1830._

I was longing very much for your letter, which has somewhat
soothed me. You cannot conceive how impatient and wearied (a
feeling I cannot struggle against) I am of everything here. After
the orchestral trial of my second Concerto, it was decided that
I should appear with it at the Theatre on Monday, 11th instant.
Although this does not quite suit me, I am curious to know what
effect the composition will have on the public. I hope the Rondo
will produce a good impression generally. Soliva said, “il
vous fait beaucoup dʼhonneur;” Kurpinski thought it contained
originality, and Elsner an especially piquant rhythm. To arrange
a good concert, in the true sense of the word, and to avoid the
unfortunate clarionet and flageolet solos, Mdlles. Gladkowska and
Wotkow will give some solo numbers. As to overtures I will not have
the one either to “Leszek,” or to “Lodoiska,” but that to “William
Tell.”

You would hardly imagine the difficulty I had to obtain permission
for the ladies to sing. The Italian granted it readily, but I had
to go to a higher authority still: to the Minister Mostowski, who
finally agreed, for it makes no difference to him. I do not know
yet what they will sing, but Soliva tells me that a chorus will be
necessary for one of the arias.

I am certain not to be in Warsaw a week after the concert. My
trunk is bought, the outfit ready, the score corrected, the pocket
handkerchiefs hemmed, the new stockings and the new coat tried on,
&c. Only the leave-taking remains, and that is the hardest of all.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: THE CONCERT “A PERFECT SUCCESS.”]

_Warsaw, October 12th, 1830._

MY DEAREST,

The concert, yesterday, was a perfect success; I hasten to inform
you of it. I was not in the least anxious, and played as if I had
been at home. The hall was crammed. Görnerʼs symphony opened the
ball; then I played the first Allegro from the E minor Concerto;
the notes seemed to roll along of themselves on the Streicher
piano. A roar of applause followed. Soliva was very satisfied;
he conducted his Aria, with chorus, which was very well sung by
Fräulein Wotkow. She looked like a fairy in her light blue dress.
After this Aria came my Adagio and Rondo, and then the usual
interval. Connoisseurs and lovers of music came on to the stage and
complimented me on my playing, in the most flattering manner.

The second part began with the _Tell_ Overture. Soliva conducted
capitally, and the impression it produced was deep and abiding.
The Italian was really so good to me that I owe him my everlasting
gratitude. He afterwards conducted the Cavatina from “La Donna del
Lago,” which Fräulein Gladkowska sung. She wore a white dress, had
roses in her hair, and looked charmingly beautiful. She has never
sung as she did last evening, except in the air in “Agnese.” “O,
quanto lagrime per te versai,” and the “tutto detesto” were heard
splendidly, even to the low B. Zielinski declared that this B alone
was worth a thousand ducats.

When I had led the ladies from the stage I played my Fantasia
on National Airs. This time I understood myself, the orchestra
understood me, and the public understood us both. The Mazovian air,
at the end, made a great sensation. I was so rapturously applauded
that I had to appear four times to bow my thanks. And, be assured,
I did it quite gracefully, for Brandt had fully instructed me. If
Soliva had not taken my score home and corrected it, and, as
conductor, restrained me when I wanted to run away, I do not know
what would have happened. He kept us all so splendidly in check
that I never played so comfortably with an orchestra before. The
Streicher piano was very much liked, but Fräulein Wotkow still more.

I am thinking of nothing but my packing up. On Saturday or
Wednesday I go out into the wide world.

Ever your truly affectionate

FREDERIC.

This last concert, therefore, called forth the most favourable and enthusiastic notices of Chopin. The Warsaw newspapers were all full of his praises. They compared him to the chief European _virtuosi_, and prophesied the most brilliant future, saying that some day Poland would be justly proud of the great pianist and composer, &c., &c.

The sad but very important day in the life of a young artist, that on which he leaves his fatherʼs house, drew near. Frederic had to part, for a lengthened period, from all that was dearest to him, home, parents, sisters, and also from that lovely young artiste, the ideal object of his enthusiastic love. He was to leave her, and, alas! for ever.

[Sidenote: CHOPIN LEAVES WARSAW.]

On November 2nd, 1830, he said adieu to his beloved parents, who gave him their blessing, and embraced his sisters with tearful eyes. From Warsaw he went first to Kalisz, where he expected to meet his friend, Titus Woyciechowski, to travel with him to Vienna, through Breslau and Dresden. A circle of friends, of which the venerable Elsner was one, accompanied Frederic to Wola (the first village beyond Warsaw) where the pupils of the Conservatoire awaited him and sang a cantata, composed for the occasion by Elsner. At the banquet given there in his honour, a silver goblet, of artistic workmanship filled to the brim with his native earth, was presented to him. The sight of this beautiful and ingenious gift caused the shining, art-loving eyes of Frederic to fill with tears of the deepest emotion.

“May you, wherever you go, never forget your fatherland, or cease to love it with a warm and faithful heart,” said the friend who presented him the goblet in the name of them all. “Think of Poland, think of your friends, who are proud to call you their countryman, who expect great things from you, whose wishes and prayers accompany you.”

The young artist once more pressed the hand of each, and then turned his steps onwards. Before him lay the wide, checkered, unknown world; but the consciousness of a true aim and a green blossoming hope sustained him.