Chapter XI: Appendix: Eight More Letters of Chopin to Titus Woyciechowski

I subjoin a few letters written by Chopin between 1828 and 1831 to his friend Titus Woyciechowski, which I did not think it necessary to insert in the biography:—

I.

_Warsaw, Saturday, December 27th, 1828._

MY DEAREST FRIEND,

Hitherto I have delayed writing to you, but now friendship triumphs
over idleness, and, sleepy as I am, I take up my pen that you may
have this in time for the 1st and the 4th of January. I do not
desire to fill my letter with compliments, good wishes, or trite
jokes, for we both understand each other perfectly—whence my
silence and the laconic nature of this epistle....

The score of my Rondo Cracovienne is ready. The introduction is
almost as funny as I am in my great coat,[47] and the trio is not
quite finished. My parents have just had fitted up for me a little
room, leading by a staircase direct from the _entrée_; there will
be an old _secrétaire_ in it, and I shall make it my den. That
orphan child, the Rondo for two pianos, has found a step-father in
Fontana, (whom you may, perhaps, have seen here; he goes to the
University); he has learnt it after a monthʼs study, and, a short
time ago, we tried it over at Buchholtzʼs to see how it might
sound. I say “might,” for the instruments were not tuned alike, and
our fingers were stiff, so we could have no adequate impression of
the effect of the work. For a week past I have composed nothing
of any value. I run from Ananias to Caiaphas; this evening I was
at Madame Wizegerodʼs, and from there went to a musical _soirée_
at Mlle. Kickaʼs. You know how pleasant it is to be pressed to
improvise when you are tired. I seldom now have such happy thoughts
as when you were with me. And then the wretched instruments one
finds everywhere. I have not found one either in mechanism or tone
anything approaching ours or your sisterʼs.

The Polish theatre opened yesterday with “Preciosa.” The French
have given “Rataplan;” to-day, the “Geldhab,” by Fredro; and
to-morrow, Auberʼs “Maurer und Schlosser” are to be performed.
Somebody or other said to me the other day that you had written to
him. Do not think I am angry with you for not having written to
me for so long; I know you well enough, and do not think anything
of a bit of paper; I should not have scribbled so much nonsense
to-day, but to remind you that you still hold the same place in my
heart, and that I am the same Fritz as ever. You do not like being
kissed, but you must put up with it to-day. We all unite in best
wishes to your mother. Zywny sends warmest remembrances.

Your FREDERIC.

II.

_Warsaw, April 10th, 1830._

(_Anniversary of Emilyʼs death._)

I have been vainly wishing to write to you for some weeks past. I
donʼt know why the time should pass so quickly now. Our musical
season is at its height, Passion week even was disregarded. Last
Monday there was a grand _soirée_ at Philippeusʼs, when Madame
Saurin sang a duet from “Semiramis” very beautifully; I accompanied
Messrs. Soliva and Gresser in a Buffo Duet from Rossiniʼs “Turk in
Italy,” which, by unanimous desire, was repeated. I have sketched
out a programme of the _soirée_ at Lewickiʼs, at which Prince
Galizin is to take part in a quartet by Rode. I shall select
Hummelʼs “La Sentinelle,” and shall finish with my polonaise
with violoncello, to which I have written an Adagio by way of
introduction. I have tried it already, it does not go badly. This
is the latest _salon_ news, and now for the newspaper intelligence,
which is no less important to me, as it includes some most
favourable opinions about myself. I should like to send them to
you. There was an article, two pages long, in the _Warsaw Gazette_,
in which Elsner was very much abused. Soliva told me that he only
avoided the controversy because two of his pupils were shortly
to make a public appearance, otherwise he should certainly have
replied to the attack. It is difficult to describe the whole case
in a few words; I would send you the newspaper if I could, so as to
make the matter quite clear. A word to the wise is sufficient, so I
will give a brief outline of the affair.

My concerts called forth a great many laudatory notices, especially
in the _Polish Courier_, and the _Official Journal_ also gave me a
few words of praise. This was all very well, but one of the numbers
of the latter newspaper, although in perfect good faith, was full
of such absurdities that I felt quite in despair until I read in
the _Gazette Polska_ a refutation of the exaggerated statements
in the _Official Journal_. This paper was mad enough to say that
Poland would one day be as proud of me as Germany is of Mozart; and
that “if I had fallen into the hands of a pedant or a Rossinist
(what a ridiculous expression!) I should never have been what I
am.” Although, indeed, I am nothing yet, the critic is so far right
in saying that if I had not studied with Elsner, I should have done
still less. This taunt at a Rossinist, and praise of Elsner made
somebody so angry[48] that, in an article in the _Warsaw Gazette_,
beginning with Fredroʼs comedy, “Die Freunde,” and ending with
“Grafen Ory,” there was the following paragraph: “Why should any
gratitude be due to Elsner? he does not make pupils off hand,” and
(at my second concert Nowakowskiʼs symphony was performed) “the
Devil even cannot make something out of nothing.”

Thirty-five years ago Elsner wrote a quartet, to which the
publisher, without the authorʼs knowledge, appended the title “Dans
le meilleur gout polonais,” on account of the Polish character of
the Menuet. The present reviewer, without mentioning the composerʼs
name, ridicules this quartet. Soliva says truly that they would
have been just as much justified in abusing “Caecilia,”[49]
especially as, with all kindness and delicacy, they give me some
side thrusts, and the good piece of advice that I should listen to
Rossini but not copy him. No doubt this was said because the other
article remarked that I had a great deal of originality.

I am invited to an Easter breakfast at Minasowiczʼs[50] for the day
after to-morrow; Kurpinski is to be there, and I am very curious
to see how he will behave towards me. You would not believe how
amiable he always is to me. I saw him last Wednesday week at little
Leskiewiczʼs concert. The latter does not play badly, although he
still shows that he is a learner. It seems to me that he will be a
better player than Krogulski, but I have not yet ventured to say
so, though I have been often asked for an opinion.

Oh! the postman! A letter ... from you! Oh, my dear friend, how
good you are! It is no wonder, however, for I am always thinking of
you. As far as I can gather from your letter, you have only seen
the _Warsaw Courier_; get the _Polish Courier_, and No. 91 of the
_Warsaw Gazette_, if you can. Your advice is good; I had already
given up some invitations for the evening as if in anticipation
of it, for I always think a great deal of you in everything that
I undertake. I do not know whether it is because I have learnt to
think and feel with you, but when I write anything I always want to
know if it pleases you, and my second concerto (E minor) will not
have any value in my eyes until you have heard and approved it.

My third concert, which is being counted on here, will not take
place until shortly before I leave; I think of playing the new
Concerto, which is not yet finished, then, by desire, the Fantasia
on Polish airs, and the Variations dedicated to you, which I am
anxiously awaiting, as the Leipsic fair has already begun, and
Brzezina has received a large consignment of music. The Frenchman
from St. Petersburg, who wanted to treat me with champagne after
my second concert, and whom people took for Field, is a pupil from
the Paris Conservatoire, named Dunst. He has given several concerts
in St. Petersburg, which made a great sensation, so he must play
unusually well. You will, doubtless, think it strange, a Frenchman
from St. Petersburg with a German name. I have the sad piece of
news to add that Orlowski has been making mazurkas and galops on my
themes; but I have begged him not to have them printed.

III.

_Warsaw, April 17th, 1830._

(_Papaʼs birth-day._)

A letter from you gives me some respite from my unendurable
yearning (sehnsucht), and to-day I was more than ever in need of
this consolation. I want to drive away the thoughts which poison my
happiness; yet it gives me pleasure to dally with them; I do not
know what ails me ... perhaps I shall be calmer by the end of this
letter.

I am very pleased to hear that there is some probability of your
coming, for I am going to remain until the meeting of the Diet,
which, as you have doubtless seen by the newspapers, will take
place on the 28th inst., and last a month. The _Warsaw Courier_
has already announced the arrival of Mͩˡˡͤ. Sonntag; Dmuszewski,
the editor, is incorrigible, he is always getting hold of some
story, which he prefixes by saying, “We learn, on good authority,”
&c., &c. When I met him yesterday he told me that he was going to
insert a sonnet addressed to me. I begged him, for heavenʼs sake,
not to do anything so absurd. “It is already printed,” he replied,
with a smile, thinking that I should feel very much delighted and
honoured. Oh, these mistaken favours! Those who envy me will have
another mark to shoot at. With regard to the mazurkas on themes
from my Concerto, mercenary motives have won the day, and they are
already published. I do not care to read anything more that people
may write about me.

Last week I had an idea of coming to see you, but was too busy; I
must work as hard as I can to finish my compositions. If you come
to Warsaw for the meeting of the Diet, you will be at my concert.
I have a presentiment that you will, and if I dream that you do, I
shall firmly believe it.[51] How often do I turn night into day,
and day into night; how often do I wake in dreams, and sleep in
the day; but it is not like sleep, for I always feel the same, and
instead of gaining refreshment, I worry myself, and rack my brains,
till I am quite exhausted.

Pray think kindly of me ...

IV.

_Warsaw, June 5th, 1830._

MY DEAR FRIEND,

You have missed five of Mͩˡˡͤ. Sonntagʼs concerts, but if you
come on the 13th, you will have several opportunities of hearing
her. The 13th will be Sunday, and you will arrive just when I am
at home, trying over the Allegro of the Second Concerto, as I am
making all the use I can of Mˡˡͤ. Sonntagʼs absence. I learnt
from her own pretty lips that she was going to Fischbach,[52] by
invitation from the King of Prussia, and that she would return from
there to us.

I cannot tell you what pleasure I have received from closer
acquaintance with this “heavenly messenger,” as some enthusiasts
justly call her; I am sincerely grateful to Prince Anton Radziwill
for having introduced me. I, unfortunately, got but little benefit
from her weekʼs stay here, for she was bored with wearisome visits
from senators, Woiewodes, castellans, ministers, generals, and
adjutants, who sat staring at her and making dull speeches. She
received them all very kindly, for she is too good-hearted to
be ever unamiable. Yesterday, when she wanted to go out to a
rehearsal, she was actually obliged to shut herself up in her
room, as the servant could not keep the hosts of callers out of
the ante-room. I should not have gone to her had she not sent for
me, on account of Radziwill having asked me to write out a song he
had arranged for her. It consists of variations on an Ukrainian
folk-song (Dumka); the theme and the _finale_ are pretty, but I do
not at all like the middle movement, and Mˡˡͤ. Sonntag approves
of it still less; I have made some alterations, but it wonʼt do
yet. I am glad that she is going after to-dayʼs concert, as I shall
thus be released from this trouble, and when Radziwill comes back
for the close of the Diet, he will, perhaps, have given up his
variations.

Mˡˡͤ. Sonntag is not beautiful, but extremely fascinating;
everyone is enchanted with her voice, which is not particularly
powerful, but splendidly cultivated. Her _diminuendo_ is the _non
plus ultra_, her _portamento_ wonderfully beautiful, and her
chromatic scales, in the upper register especially, unequalled.
She sang us an air by Mercadente very beautifully, and Rodeʼs
variations, especially the last _roulades_, more than excellently.
The variations on a Swiss theme were so much liked that she was
obliged, after repeatedly bowing her acknowledgments, to sing them
_da capo_; and the same thing occurred yesterday after the last
variation by Rode. She sang also the Cavatina from the “Barbier,”
and some airs from the “Diebischen Elster” and the “Freischütz.”
But soon you will be able to judge for yourself of the difference
between her performances and anything that we have heard here
before. One day when I was with her, Soliva brought Mˡˡͤˢ.
Gladkowska and Wolkow to sing to her their duet, closing with the
words “barbara sorte” (you remember it, do you not?) Mˡˡͤ.
Sonntag said to me, in confidence, that both voices were very
beautiful, but rather screamy, and that the young ladies must
change their method of singing altogether, unless they wanted to
run the risk of losing their voices completely in two years. I
heard her say to Mˡˡͤ. Wolkow that she sang with a great deal
of ease and taste, but had “une voix trop aigue.” She invited them
both in the kindest manner to come and see her more often, and
promised to spare no pains to teach them her own method. Is not
that a rare piece of politeness? Indeed, I believe it was exquisite
coquetry which made on me the impression of _naïveté_; for one can
scarcely imagine anyone being so natural unless acquainted with all
the arts of coquetry.

Mˡˡͤ. Sonntag is a hundred times prettier and nicer _en
deshabille_ than in evening dress, but those who have only seen
her in the concert room are charmed with her beautiful appearance.
On her return she will give concerts until the 22nd instant, when,
she tells me, she thinks of going to St. Petersburg. So make haste,
dear friend, and come at once that you may not miss any more
concerts.

There is a good deal of talk about Pasta coming, and of both
the artists singing together. A French lady pianist, Mˡˡͤ.
Belleville, is here, and intending to give a concert next
Wednesday; her playing is very good, very light and elegant,
ten times better than Worlitzerʼs. She took part in the famous
“soirée musicale” at the Court, when Sonntag sang and Worlitzer
played, though without giving much satisfaction, as I heard from
Kurpinski, who accompanied the great vocalist. A good many people
were surprised (_not_ including myself) that I was not invited
to play.... But some more about Mˡˡͤ. Sonntag. There is a
great deal of new _broderie_ in her execution, which is very
effective, but not so much so as Paganiniʼs; perhaps because it
is of a smaller kind. She seems to bring with her the perfume of
a fresh bouquet, and to caress and play with her voice, but she
rarely moves one to tears. Radziwill, however, thinks that her
impersonation of Desdemona, in the last scene of “Otello,” is such
that no one could refrain from weeping.

I asked her, early this morning, if she would not give us this
scene in costume (for she is a capital actress); she replied that
although she could move an audience to tears, yet acting affected
her so painfully that she had determined to appear on the stage as
seldom as possible.

Come here to rest yourself from your rural cares; when you hear
Mˡˡͤ. Sonntag sing you will wake up to new life and gather fresh
strength for your work. What a pity I cannot send myself instead
of this letter.... Mˡˡͤ. Belleville has played my Variations,
published in Vienna; she knows one of them by heart. To-day
Mˡˡͤ. Sonntag will sing something from “Semiramis.” Her concerts
are short, she sings at the utmost four times, the orchestra
playing between. Indeed one needs to rest after her singing, so
powerful an impression does it produce and so interesting is she as
an artist.

V.

_Warsaw, (I think) September 4th, 1830._

My ideas are growing more and more confused. I am here still, and
cannot make up my mind to fix definitively a day for my departure.
It seems to me as if I were leaving Warsaw for ever; I have a
presentiment that I am bidding an eternal farewell to my home. Oh,
how hard it must be to die anywhere but in oneʼs birth-place. How
could I bear to see around my deathbed, instead of the faces of my
beloved family, an unconcerned doctor and a hired servant. Believe
me, dear Titus, I often long to come to you to ease my heavy heart,
but as I cannot do that I rush out of doors without knowing why.
But that does not calm or satisfy my restless, yearning spirit, and
I go home only to sigh again....

I have not yet tried my Concerto. At any rate I shall have left
my treasure behind me before Michaelmas.[53] In Vienna I shall be
condemned to eternal sighs and languishing. This is so when oneʼs
heart is no longer free. You know very well what that is, but can
you account for that peculiar feeling which makes people always
expect something better from the morrow? “Do not be so foolish,” is
all the answer I can give myself; if you know a better one, pray,
pray tell it me....

These are my plans for the winter: I think of staying two months
in Vienna; then going to Italy and perhaps spending the winter
in Milan. Soliva always conducts the operas in which his pupils
appear; in time, I think, he will unseat Kurpinski; he has
one foot in the stirrup already, and is supported by a doughty
cavalier.[54]

I finish my letter to-day with nothing, indeed with less than
nothing, that is with what I have already said before. It is
half-past eleven, and I am still sitting here _en deshabille_,
although Mariolka will certainly be already waiting to go with
me to dinner at C.ʼs. I have promised to visit Magnuszewski
afterwards, so I shall not be back before four oʼclock to finish
the page, and the sight of the blank paper annoys me.

But I will not worry myself unnecessarily, or I shall never come to
an end, and Mariolka will be disappointed altogether; and, as you
know, I like to make myself agreeable to people of whose good-will
I am assured. I have not been to see her since my return, and I
must confess that I often blame her as the cause of my dejection;
other people seem to be of the same opinion, and this gives me at
last some slight satisfaction. My father smiles, but if he knew all
I think he would weep. I seem quite happy, but my heart....

By this day month you will have no more letters from Warsaw, nor
perhaps from anywhere else; perhaps you will not hear from me again
before we meet. I am writing nothing but nonsense now; only the
thought of leaving Warsaw....

But wait awhile, and perhaps you will yourself be no better off.
Man is never always happy, and very often only a brief period of
happiness is granted him in this world; so why escape from this
dream which cannot last long?

If I sometimes regard intercourse with the world as a sacred duty,
at other times, I consider it a devilish invention, and that it
would be better if mankind ... but enough.... Time flies, and I
must wash ... donʼt kiss me yet ... but you would not kiss me even
if I were anointed with Byzantian oil, unless by some magnetism I
forced you to. Farewell.

VI.

_Warsaw, September 18th, 1830._

I donʼt know exactly why I am still here, but I am very happy,
and my parents agree to my remaining. Last Wednesday, I tried my
concerto with quartet accompaniment, but was not quite satisfied
with it. Those who were present at the rehearsal say that the
_finale_ is the most successful movement—perhaps because it is
the most easily understandable. I shall not be able to tell you
till next week how it will sound with the full orchestra, as I am
not going to try it until Wednesday. To-morrow I am going to have
another rehearsal with the quartet accompaniment, and then I shall
go—whither? I have no special attraction anywhere, but at any
rate I shall not stay in Warsaw. If you imagine that some beloved
object keeps me here you are wrong, like a good many other people.
I can assure you that as far as I am concerned, I am ready for any
sacrifice. I love, but I must keep my unhappy passion locked in
my own breast for some years longer. I do not want to start with
you, for the sake of the pleasure of meeting; the moment when we
embrace for the first time on a foreign soil will be more precious
to me than a thousand days of travelling together.

I intended to write a polonaise with orchestral accompaniment;
but have only sketched it out in my head; when it will see the
light I cannot say. The _Wiener Zeitung_ contains a good critique
on my variations, short but comprehensive, and so philosophical
that it is almost impossible to translate. The writer concludes
by saying that the work has not only an external beauty, but an
intrinsic excellence, which will defy the changes of fashion and
make it last for ever. That is indeed a handsome compliment, for
which I shall thank the reviewer when I see him. I am very pleased
with the article, because, while it is not at all exaggerated, it
acknowledges my independence. I should not say so much to any one
but you, but we understand each other so well, that I may venture,
like the merchants, to praise my own wares.

Orlowskiʼs new ballet is to be given to-day for the first time.
There is more talk about the astounding nature of the spectacle
than the originality of the music. I was at great big C.ʼs
yesterday, for his name-day, when I played in Spohrʼs Quintet for
piano, clarionet, bassoon, French horn, and flute.[55] The work is
wonderfully beautiful, but the pianoforte part not very playable.
Everything that Spohr wrote for the piano is very difficult, and
for many of his passages one cannot find any fingering at all.
Instead of commencing at 7 oʼclock, we did not begin playing until
eleven. You are, doubtless, surprised that I was not fast asleep.
But there was a very good reason why I should not be, for among the
guests was a beautiful girl, who vividly reminded me of my ideal.
Just fancy, I stayed till 3 a.m.

I was to have started for Vienna by the Cracow diligence this day
week, but finally gave up the idea,—you can guess why. You may rest
assured that I am no egoist, and as truly as I love you, would make
any sacrifice for other people. For other people, I say, but not
for outside appearance; for public opinion, which has great weight
here, although I am not much influenced by it, regards it as a
misfortune for a man to have a shabby coat, or a rubbed hat. If I
do not succeed in my profession, and wake up some fine morning to
find that I have nothing to eat, you must get a clerkship for me
at Poturzyn.[56] I shall be as happy in a stable as I was in your
castle last summer. As long as I have health and strength I will
gladly work all my days. I have often thought it over whether I was
really lazy, or whether I could do more without physical injury.
Joking apart, I am quite sure that I am not very lazy yet, and
that, if necessary, I could do double what I do.

People often lose the good opinion of others by trying to gain it;
but I do not think that I shall either raise or lower myself in
your estimation, although I do sing my own praises, for there is
mutual sympathy between us. You are not master of your thoughts,
but I can command mine, and when I get an idea into my head, I will
not part with it, anymore than the trees will allow themselves to
be robbed of the green covering which is the charm and beauty
of their life. I, too, keep green in winter, though only in the
head, my heart is red-hot, so it is no wonder the vegetation is so
luxuriant. May God help me? Enough.... Yours for ever.... I have
just discovered what nonsense I have been talking. You see I have
not got over the effects of yesterday, have not had my sleep out,
and am still tired with having danced four mazurkas! Your letters
are tied up with a ribbon given me by my ideal. I am very glad
that two inanimate things agree together so well; it is probably
because, although they do not know each other, they both feel that
they come from hands dear to me.

VII.

_Warsaw, September 22nd, 1830._

I must first explain how it is I am still here. For a fortnight
past my father has objected to my going on account of the
disturbances throughout Germany; in the Rhine provinces, Darmstadt,
Brunswick, Capel, and Saxony, where the new king has already
ascended the throne. It is reported here that there are riots in
Vienna about the meal business; I donʼt know what it is they want,
but it is certain they are fighting over it. There are agitations
also in the Tyrol, while in Italy they are ready to boil over, and
we expect to hear something important every minute. I have not yet
inquired about a pass, but it is thought that I shall only get one
for Austria or Prussia; Italy and France are not to be thought of,
and I know that some, and often all, passports have been refused. I
shall probably go to Vienna in a few weeks, _viâ_ Cracow, for I am
remembered there, and one must strike while the iron is hot.

P. was with me yesterday; he starts early to-morrow, and as I am
going to have a rehearsal of my second Concerto to-day, with full
orchestra (except trumpets and kettledrums), I have invited him to
it, for your sake. He will be able to tell you all about it, and
I know that the smallest particulars will interest you. I am very
sorry that you are not here; Kurpinski, Soliva, and the _élite_
of the musical world will be present, but, with the exception of
course of Elsner, I have not much confidence in their judgment.
I am most curious to know what the bandmaster will think of the
Italian; Czapek of Kessler; Philippeus of Dobrzynski; Molsdorf of
Kaczynski; Ledoux of Soltyk; and Mons. P. of us all. No one has
ever assembled all these gentlemen in one place before; I do it out
of curiosity.

I am very sorry I have to write on a day like this when I cannot
compose myself. It almost drives me out of my mind to think about
myself, and I often go about so buried in thought as to be in
danger of being run over, which, indeed, nearly happened yesterday.
Catching a glimpse of my ideal in church, I rushed out in a state
of happy stupefaction, and it was nearly a quarter of an hour
before I came to myself again. I am quite frightened sometimes at
my own distraction. I should like to send you a few trifles I have
just composed, but donʼt know whether I shall manage to write them
out to-day.

I beg you to excuse this hasty letter, but I must hasten off to
Elsner to make sure of his presence at the rehearsal. Then I must
see about the desks, and the _sordini_, which I quite forgot
yesterday, but without which the _adagio_ would be nothing. The
_rondo_ is effective, and the first _allegro_ powerful. Confounded
self-love! But if anyone is responsible for my share of it, it is
you. You egoist, who could live with a person like you without
growing like you? However, in one respect I am still unlike: I
can never make a rapid resolution. Still, I have relentlessly
determined on departing next Saturday week, in spite of any amount
of weeping and lamentation. The music in the trunk, the familiar
ribbon on my heart, a mind full of care, and I am off in the post
carriage. Of course the city will flow with tears from Copernicus
to the fountain, and from the bank to King Sigismundʼs column; but
I shall be as cold and insensible as a stone, and laugh at all the
people who want to take such a tender adieu of me....

VIII.

_Paris, December 25th, 1831._

For the second time, my dear Titus, I have to send my birth-day
congratulations from a long, long distance. A look, a pressure of
the hand would say more than a dozen letters, so I will not waste
many words. I cannot write _ex abrupto_, and I have not yet bought
one of the books of congratulations which the boys are shrieking
about the streets at two sous a copy. The Parisians are a strange
people; towards evening you hear nothing but the names of new
books, which consist of three or four pages of printed nonsense.
The youngsters push their wares so well, that in the end, whether
you will or no, you are sure to lay out a sou or two. The following
are some specimens of the titles, “lʼart de faire des amours et de
les conserver ensuite;” “les amours des prêtres;” “lʼArcheveque
de Paris avec Madame la duchesse de Berry,” and hundreds of like
absurdities, which are, however, often very wittily written. It
is really astonishing what means are resorted to for earning a
penny, for there is a great deal of distress in Paris just now, and
money is scarce. There are a good many shabby, desperate looking
men about, and one over-hears some threatening talk about Louis
Philippe and his ministry only hanging by a hair. The populace are
enraged against the Government, and would like to overthrow it, for
the sake of putting an end to the misery abroad; but the latter are
too much on their guard, and the smallest crowd is dispersed by the
mounted gendarmerie. You must know that I am living on the fourth
floor, but in one of the boulevards in the best part of Paris. I
have a balcony over-looking the street, and so have a good view
right and left over the moving masses. General Ramorino has taken
up his quarters exactly opposite in the Cité bergère.[57]

You know, of course, how the Germans everywhere received him, how
in Strasburg the French dragged his carriage in triumph through
the streets; in short, you know all about the enthusiasm of the
populace for our general. Paris did not wish to be behind in
this respect. The “école de médecine” and the “jeune France,” who
wear beards and neckties after a certain pattern, arranged for a
grand demonstration. The ultra sections of every political party
have their peculiar badge: the Carlists wear green waistcoats; the
Republicans, Napoleonists, (these include “la jeune France”) and
the Simonists, who profess a new religion, and have already a great
number of proselytes, wear blue, and so forth. Nearly a thousand
of these enthusiasts paraded the streets with a tri-color banner
to give Ramorino an ovation. Although he was at home he would not
appear in spite of the shouts of “vive les Polonais,” for fear
of offending the government. His adjutant came out and said that
the general was unfortunately unable to receive them, and begged
that they would come another day. But next morning he had gone to
another lodging. A few days later an enormous mob gathered outside
the Pantheon, marched across the Seine towards Ramorinoʼs house,
like an avalanche, increasing in force as they proceeded, till they
reached the Pont neuf where the mounted gendarmes, after several
charges, dispersed them. Although many were wounded a fresh crowd
assembled on the boulevards under my windows, for the purpose of
joining those who came from the other side of the Seine. The police
were powerless, the crowd grew larger and larger, until a division
of infantry and a squadron of hussars arrived, when the commandant
ordered the municipal guard and the troops to clear the streets and
arrest the ringleaders. (This is their free nation!)

The panic spread like lightning: the shops were closed, crowds
congregated at the corners, and the orderlies were hissed as
they galloped about the streets. Every window was crammed with
spectators, as on grand fête-days with us, and the uproar lasted
from 11 a.m. till 11 p.m. I thought once some mischief might have
followed, but about midnight they struck up “allons, enfants de
la patrie,” and went home. I cannot describe to you the effect of
the harsh voices of this excited and discontented mob. Everyone
feared the _émeute_ would begin again next morning, but it did not.
Grenoble alone followed the example of Lyons, but the devil knows
what will come of it.

At a theatre, where only dramas have hitherto been performed, the
whole history of our late revolution is being given, and people
go like mad to see the fights and the national costumes. Mlle.
Plater and some other ladies take the names of Lodoiska, Faniska,
and Floreska, and a General Gigult appears as brother to Countess
Plater.[58] But nothing amazed me so much as the announcement
on the play bill of a small theatre that the mazurka “Dabrowski,
Poland is not lost yet,” would be performed during the entrʼactes.

All I can tell you about my concert is that I must postpone it
until January 15th, as the operatic director, Mons. Véron, refuses
to let me have a vocalist. There is to be a grand concert to-day
at the Italian opera house, in which Malibran, Rubini, Lablache,
Santini, Madame Raimbaux, Madame Schröder, and Madame Casadory are
to appear; Herz and Bériot, with whom Madame Malibran is in love,
will assist in the instrumental portion.

Oh, how I wish you were with me.... You cannot think how wretched
it makes me to have no one to whom I can unbosom myself. You know
how fond I am of society, and how easily I make acquaintances.
I have scores of such friends now, but no one with whom I can
sigh. My heart is, so to speak, always beating in “syncopation,”
which torments me, and makes me seek for a pause, for solitude,
so that no one could see me or speak to me all day. It is most
disagreeable that while I am writing to you, the bell rings and
some tedious visitor is announced. Just as I was going to describe
to you a ball, at which I met a divine creature with a rose in
her dark hair, your letter arrived. All the creations of my fancy
disappeared; my thoughts fly to you, I take your hand and weep....
When shall we meet again?... Perhaps never, for in all seriousness
my health is miserable. I seem merry enough perhaps, especially
when among friends, but there is something constantly troubling
me within: melancholy forebodings, restlessness, bad dreams,
sleeplessness, yearning, no pleasure in life, and indifference to
death. It often seems to me as if a torpor came over my spirits; a
heavenly calm descends on my head, and images I cannot get rid of
haunt my imagination, and harass me beyond measure. In short, it
is a mixture of feelings not easily described.... Forgive me, dear
Titus, for pouring it all out to you, but this is enough.... Now
I will go and dress for the dinner that our countrymen are giving
to-day to Ramorino and Langermann.... Your letter gave me a great
deal of news; you wrote four sides and thirty-seven lines; you have
never been so generous before, and I really was so much in need of
something when your letter came.

What you say about my artistic career is very true, and I am
quite convinced of it myself. I drive in my own carriage, but the
coachman is hired. I conclude, or I shall be too late for the post,
for I am all in one, master and servant. Take pity on me, and write
as often as possible.

Yours till death,

FREDERIC.

LIST OF CHOPINʼS WORKS.

I. _Works with opus numbers. (a) Published in his life-time._

_Op. Nos._

1. Premier Rondeau, C minor.

2. La ci darem la mano, B flat major, varié pour le piano, avec
accomp. dʼOrchestre.

3. Introduction et Polonaise brillante, C major, pour piano et
violincelle.

4. Sonate, C minor, pour le piano (œuvre posthume.)

5. Rondeau à la Mazur, F major, pour le piano.

6. Quatre Mazurkas, F sharp minor, C sharp minor, E major, E flat
minor, pour le piano.

7. Cinq Mazurkas, B flat major, A minor, F minor, A flat major, C
major.

8. Premier Trio, G minor, pour piano, violin et violincelle.

9. Trois Nocturnes, B minor, E flat major, B major.

10. Douze Grandes Etudes, C major, A minor, E major, C sharp minor,
G flat major, E flat minor, C major, F major, F minor, A flat
major, E flat major, C minor.

11. Grand Concerto, pour le piano, E minor, avec Orchestre.

12. Variations brillantes, B major, pour le piano, sur le Rondeau
favori de Ludovic de Herold. “Je vends des Scapulaires.”

13. Grande Fantaisie, A major, pour le piano sur des airs polonais,
avec Orchestre.

14. Krakowiak grand rondeau de Concert, F major, pour le piano,
avec Orchestre.

15. Trois Nocturnes, F major, F sharp major, G minor, pour le piano.

16. Rondeau, E flat major.

17. Quatre Mazurkas, B major, E minor, A flat major, A minor.

18. Grande Valse brillante, E flat major.

19. Bolero, C major.

20. Premier Scherzo.

21. Second Concerto, F minor, avec Orchestre.

22. Grande Polonaise brillante, E flat major, précédée dʼun Andante
spianato avec Orchestre.

23. Ballade, G minor.

24. Quatre Mazurkas, G minor, C major, A flat major, B minor.

25. Douze Etudes, A flat major, F minor, F major, A minor, E minor,
G sharp minor, C sharp minor, D flat major, G flat major,
B minor, A minor, C minor.

26. Deux Polonaises, C sharp minor, E flat minor.

27. Deux Nocturnes, C sharp minor, D flat major.

28. Vingt quatre Preludes.

29. Impromptu, A flat major.

30. Quatre Mazurkas, C minor, B minor, D flat major, C sharp minor.

31. Deuxième Scherzo, B minor.

32. Deux Nocturnes, B major, A flat major.

33. Quatre Mazurkas, G sharp minor, D major, C major, B minor.

34. Trois Valses brillantes, A flat major, A minor, F major.

35. Sonate, B minor, avec une Marche funèbre.

36. Deuxième Impromptu, F sharp major.

37. Deux Nocturnes, G minor, G major.

38. Deuxième Ballade, F major.

39. Troisième Scherzo, C sharp minor.

40. Deux Polonaises, A major, C minor.

41. Quatre Mazurkas, C sharp minor, E minor, B major, A flat major.

42. Valse, A flat major.

43. Tarantelle, A flat major.

44. Polonaise, F sharp minor.

45. Prelude, C sharp minor.

46. Allegro de Concert, A major.

47. Troisième Ballade, A flat major.

48. Deux Nocturnes, C minor, F sharp minor.

49. Fantaisie, F minor.

50. Trois Mazurkas, G major, A flat major, C sharp minor.

51. Allegro vivace, Troisième Impromptu, G flat major.

52. Quatrième Ballade, F minor.

53. Huitième Polonaise, A flat major.

54. Scherzo No. 4, E major.

55. Deux Nocturnes, F minor, E flat major.

56. Trois Mazurkas, B major, C major, C minor.

57. Berceuse, D flat major.

58. Sonate, B minor.

59. Trois Mazurkas, A minor, A flat major, F sharp minor.

60. Barcarolle, F sharp major.

61. Polonaise-Fantaisie, A flat major.

62. Deux Nocturnes, B major, E major.

63. Trois Mazurkas, B major, F minor, C sharp minor.

64. Trois Valses, D flat major, C sharp minor, A flat major.

65. Sonate, G minor, pour piano et violincelle.

(_b_) _Posthumous Works._

66. Fantaisie-Impromptu, C sharp minor.

67. Quatre Mazurkas, G major, composed in the year 1835; G minor,
1849; C major, 1835; A minor, 1846.

68. Quatre Mazurkas, C major, 1830; A minor, 1827; F major, 1830; F
minor, 1849.

69. Deux Valses, F minor, 1836; B minor, 1829.

70. Trois Valses, G flat major, 1835; F minor, 1843; D flat major,
1830.

71. Trois Polonaises, D minor, 1827; B major, 1828; F minor, 1829.

72. Nocturne, E minor, 1827. Marche funèbre, C minor, 1829, et
trois Ecossaises, D major, G major, D flat major, 1830.

73. Rondeau, C major, pour deux pianos, 1828.

74. Seventeen Polish Songs (by Witwicki, Mickiewicz, Zaleski, &c.)
with pianoforte accompaniment.

II. _Works without Opus Numbers._

Trois nouvelles Etudes, F minor, A flat major, D flat major,
extraites de la Méthode des Méthodes.

Grand Duo concertant, E major, pour piano et violincelle sur des
thêmes de “Robert le Diable,” par F. Chopin et A. Franchomme.

Mazurka, A minor.

Variations, E major, sur un air national allemand.

Hexaméron. The last variation alone No. 6, E major, composed by
Chopin.

Mazurka, A minor.

Polonaise G sharp minor.

Valse, E minor.

[59] Mazurka, F sharp major.

Deux Valses Mélancoliques, F minor, B minor.

⁂ _The names of the foreign publishers appended to the above list have been omitted as unnecessary for English readers; nor has it been deemed desirable to give the alphabetical list of persons mentioned in the Work._

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Maximilian Stadler, born at Molk, in Lower Austria, August 4th, 1748, was an excellent pianist and organist. His ecclesiastical compositions were extremely popular in Vienna. In the last years of his life he was much occupied in writing on art, history, and science. He died universally esteemed and beloved in Vienna, November 8th, 1833.

[2] An author and musical _connoisseur_, born in 1792, died of cholera September, 1831.

[3] An esteemed friend, who was to accompany Chopin to Paris.

[4] Chopin dedicated to Merk his “Introduction et Polonaise Brillante pour piano et violoncello,” (op. 3.)

[5] M. L. Peter Norblin, born in Warsaw, 1781, was first violoncellist at the Grand Opera in Paris, and teacher at the Conservatoire. He died 1852.

[6] “Cicimara said, there was no one in Vienna, who accompanied as well as I did. I thought to myself, I have been convinced of this a long time. Hush.”—(Remark of Chopinʼs.)

[7] The ring presented by the Emperor Alexandra I. See Chap. III.

[8] Aloys Fuchs, born 1799 in Austrio-Silesia, was for some time musical historiographer and antiquarian at the Austrian Royal Chapel. He possessed a great many autographs and portraits; and scores of the masters of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries; also Mozartʼs compositions, in his own handwriting. Fuchs played the violoncello very well, and was one of Beethovenʼs intimate friends. At the sale of Beethovenʼs property, Fuchs bought, among other manuscripts, one of the sketch books, which he sent, as a mark of respect, to Mendelssohn. Another of these books was bought by Meyerbeerʼs brother, William Beer. Fuchsʼs fine collection was dispersed at his death, in 1852.

[9] This Rondo appeared among the posthumous works, as op. 73.

[10] Alexander Count Von Fredro, born 1793, celebrated as a writer of excellent comedies, and called by his countrymen, the Polish Molière, began his literary labours with a translation of Goetheʼs “Clavigo.” His comedies sparkle with original ideas, and are an ornament to the national stage. He died at Lemberg, July 14th, 1876.

[11] The Pleyel piano sent from Scotland in 1858, was fortunately in the possession of Chopinʼs niece, Madame Ciechomska, who lived in the country.

[12] There is a notice of this concert, probably by Kandler, in No. 38 of the _Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung_ for September 21st, 1831. It says, “Frederic Chopin, whose visit, last year, showed him to be a pianist of the first rank, has given a concert here. The performance of his new Concerto, which is of an earnest character, gave us no occasion to alter our first opinion. So sincere a worshipper of true art is worthy of all honour.” Other Vienna journals spoke in the same manner of his compositions, and praised his skilful and expressive playing; but these acknowledgments did not satisfy the hopes and wishes of the young artist.

[13] Leipsic was foremost in this. Many German poets also expressed their sympathy with the oppressed Polish nation in spirited songs.

[14] Lokietek and Laskonogi were Kings of Poland, and so called, the former on account of his small size, the latter because he had spindle legs. Elsner wrote an opera, in 1818, entitled “Lokietek,” which was very successful.

[15] This friend says that the later letters, from Paris, are all lost, with the exception of two little notes written in the year of Chopinʼs death, the last he wrote to Woyciechowski.

[16] The Polish Revolution.

[17] An opera by Kurpinski, performed with great success in Warsaw.

[18] See Moschelesʼs Life.

[19] This work was first performed in England at one of the trials for the Kingʼs Scholarship, at the Royal Academy of Music.—_Translatorʼs Note._

[20] The author says, in a note, that he does not know to what critique or to which Mazurkas Elsner refers. There are eight sets of these “cabinet pictures,” as Liszt calls them, and, as one of Chopinʼs most enthusiastic critics remarks, they vividly portray his patriotic and home feelings. He calls them green spots in the desert, quaint snatches of melancholy song, outpourings of an unworldly and trustful soul, musical floods of tears and gushes of pure joyfulness.—_Translatorʼs Note._

[21] The God of festive mirth is represented in the Greek mythology as a winged youth.

[22] “Mendelssohnʼs Letters.” Second Series.

[23] This letter bears no date, but was probably written about the end of September, 1835. It is to be found in the autograph collection of Hermann Scholtz, at Dresden.

[24] “Eine Biographie,” von Joseph Wilhelm von Wasietewski, Dresden, 1869.

[25] In what was formerly called the Reichenbach, but now the Gerhard Gardens, there is a monument of Prince Poniatowski, who was drowned in the Elster, October 19th, 1813.

[26] Hiller wrote some beautiful verses full of deep feeling for the festival in memory of Chopin, held at Düsseldorf, November 3rd, 1849.

[27] In the same year Chopin paid a short visit to London in company with Camillo Pleyel and Stanislas Kozmian, senior.

[28] “Histoire de ma vie.” Vol. III. chap. 6 and 7.

[29] The middle movement, for example, of No. 15 in D flat major.

[30] No. 6, B minor.

[31] Adolphe Nourrit, the greatest tenor of his day, born at Montpelier, March 3rd, 1802, threw himself out of a window, in Naples, March 3rd, 1839, because he fancied he was not receiving so much applause as formerly.

[32] These compositions are: second impromptu, op. 36; two nocturnes, op. 37; scherzo (C sharp minor), op. 39; two polonaises, op. 40; four mazurkas, op. 41; valse, op. 42; tarantelle, op. 43; &c., &c.

[33] Chopin relates this in a letter to his parents, which I myself read, but which, unfortunately, is among those that were destroyed.

[34] “Musikalische Studienköpfe.” Leipzig.

[35] Lenz once said to Chopin, “Do you study much just before a concert?” He answered, “It is a dreadful time for me; I do not like public life, but it is a part of my profession. I shut myself up for a fortnight and play Bach. That is my preparation. I do not practise my own compositions.”

[36] Liszt said of him: “If he travels I shall shut up shop.” (Lenzʼs “Great Pianists of the present day.”)

[37] This establishment is not in existence now.

[38] Published by S. Richault, in Paris, and by Stern & Co., Berlin.

[39] Alexander Thies, born in Warsaw, 1804, died in Paris, 1846, a Polish pianist and State functionary. He published, in addition to many scientific articles in home and foreign journals, “Dernier Mot sur le pouvoir social” (Paris, 1836), “Code civil de lʼempire de Russie” (Paris, 1841), “Précis des notions historiques sur la formation du corps des lois russes” (Petersbourg, 1843.)

[40] From December, 1840, till March, 1844, Mickiewicz lectured at the Collège de France, on Slavic literature. His wide-spread fame and his ability as a lecturer attracted crowded audiences. But he sank into a morbid mysticism, and talked of a visionary millennium instead of literature, and was, on that account, suspended by the authorities. His lectures are published under the title of “Les slaves. Cours professé au Collège de France.” (Paris, 1849.)

[41] “Histoire de ma vie.” Vol. XIII.

[42] It cannot be said that Chopin obtruded himself on the public notice; for, from 1834 to 1848, he only gave one public concert (Feb. 21st, 1842) with the assistance of Viardot-Garcia and Franchomme, when Chopin performed the following compositions: Ballade (A flat major); three mazurkas (A flat, B, A minor); three studies (A flat, F minor, C minor); prelude (D flat); impromptu (G flat); nocturne (D flat.) As this concert naturally made a much better impression than the first given in the Italian theatre, on account of Chopinʼs poetical and expressive playing, he held _séances_ in the Pleyel Hall nearly every year, when he always played alone, and his admirers and friends paid twenty francs for their tickets.

[43] Chopinʼs last concert began with one of Mozartʼs trios, in which Alard and Franchomme took part. Then Chopin played his new ʼcello-sonata in G minor (op. 65), and some smaller pieces—studies, preludes, mazurkas, and waltzes.

[44] Chopin always wanted flowers about him, and, if possible, violets.

[45] A facsimile of the original draught of the E minor prelude will be found at the end of this volume.

[46] It is inexplicable why Liszt should have frequently spoken of his “blue eyes.”

[47] A very long winter overcoat, made by Boy, in which his friends said he cut a very comical figure.

[48] The bandmaster Kurpinski, who because he gave scarcely any operas but Rossiniʼs, was often called a Rossinist. There is no doubt that he wrote the anonymous article referred to.

[49] A Polish national opera by Kurpinski.

[50] A Polish poet, died 1849.

[51] Another instance of Chopinʼs inclination to superstition.

[52] A castle of the King of Prussia, beautifully situated at the foot of the Riesengebirge.

[53] A reference to his attachment to Mlle. Gladkowska.

[54] General Rozniecki, who was then president of the National Theatre.

[55] Chopin places the instruments in this order.

[56] Mons. Woyciechowskiʼs estate, where he is still living.

[57] Girolamo Ramorino, illegitimate son of Marshal Lannes, was born in Genoa, 1792; he left his country for political reasons, and entered the French army, to take part in the war against Austria and Russia. During the Restoration he lived in Savoy. When the revolution broke out in Piedmont in 1821, he bravely and successfully commanded the insurgent forces. When the disturbances were over he went to France, and in 1830, to Warsaw, when he became colonel in the Polish army. He distinguished himself in several battles and soon obtained the rank of General. At the end of August, 1831, he was ordered to lead 20,000 men against the Russian general, Rosen, on the right bank of the Vistula, and to victual Warsaw. But he failed shamefully. He might easily have beaten Rosen and relieved Warsaw; but, owing to his carelessness, and neglect of the Commander-in-chiefʼs orders, he did not reach the besieged city in time. Instead, therefore, of an ovation he deserved the utmost contempt and reprobation, as the main cause of the miseries which from that time fell thick and fast upon Poland. But Nemesis at length overtook him. In the beginning of 1849, he entered the Sardinian army, and took the command of the fifth (Lombard) division; but he once more disobeyed orders, and opened the way for the Austrians into Piedmont. He was imprisoned, tried by court-martial, and shot at Piazza dʼArmi, near Turin, May 22nd, 1849.

[58] Countess Emilie Plater, a young Polish heroine, who, during the revolution of 1831, served as a soldier, assumed manʼs attire and entered General Gielgudʼs division. (The French altered the name to Gigult.) She died during a flight. Her biography has been fully written by Straszewicz.

[59] The authorship of this piece is regarded as doubtful. G.

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.

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