Chapter XI: Further Sojourn in Vienna. the Journey to Munich

FREDERIC CHOPIN TO ELSNER.

_Vienna, January 16th, 1831._

DEAR MONSIEUR ELSNER,

I much regret that your kindness, of which I have had so many
proofs during my journey, has once more made me feel ashamed of
myself, and that you have anticipated me with a letter.

I should have felt it my duty to write to you immediately on my
arrival, but I put off doing so from day to day, feeling almost
certain that my parents would not delay sending you all the news
about me, as I am vain enough to think this would interest you.

I wanted also to wait till I could tell you something definite
about myself; but since the day on which I heard of the terrible
events in the fatherland, I have had but one thought—anxiety and
yearning about my country and my dear ones.

Herr Malfatti has been vainly endeavouring to persuade me that an
artist is, or ought to be, a cosmopolitan. Supposing this to be
so, although I was an artist in the cradle, I am, as a man, a Pole,
and liable to serve as a soldier, so I hope that you will not blame
me for not having thought seriously as yet about arranging for a
concert.

Obstacles surround me on all sides; not only has a succession of
the most miserable concerts quite ruined good music, and rendered
the public distrustful, but the recent affairs in Poland have a
prejudicial effect on my position.

I think, however—and Würfel fully approves my intention—of giving
my first concert during the Carnival. The worthy Würfel is a
constant sufferer. I often see him, and find that he has a pleasant
recollection of you.

I should feel little satisfied with my stay here but for the
interesting acquaintances I have made among the first talent in the
place, such names as Slawick, Merk, Bocklet, &c. The opera is good,
and the Viennese are enchanted with Wildt and Fräulein Heinefetter;
but it is a pity that Duport brings out so few new operas, and is
more careful of his pocket than of art.

Abbé Stadler[1] is loud in his complaints, and says that Vienna is
not what it used to be. He is publishing his Psalms at Mechettiʼs;
I saw the work in manuscript and admired it.

As to your quartet, Joseph Czerny promised faithfully that it
should be ready on St. Josephʼs day. He assured me that up till
now it had been impossible for him to put it in hand, as he is
just bringing out Schubertʼs works, many of which are still in the
press. So I am afraid that yours will be delayed.

As I observed, Czerny is not one of the wealthiest publishers in
this city, and cannot so easily take the risk of printing a work
that is not performed either at “Sperlʼs” or at the “Römische
Kaiser.”

[Sidenote: DEGENERATION OF PUBLIC TASTE.]

Waltzes are here called “works” and Lanner and Strauss, who play
first violin at the performances of these dances, “capellmeister”
(bandmasters.)

I do not mean to say that this is the universal way of speaking,
for there are many who ridicule it; however, scarcely anything
but Waltzes are printed. It seems to me that Mechetti is of an
enterprising turn of mind, and that he will be more likely to take
your Masses, for he intends to publish the scores of the famous
church composers. I spoke about those glorious Masses of yours to
Mechettiʼs book-keeper—an impressible and enlightened Saxon—he
seemed to think something of them, and, according to what I hear,
he does quite as he likes in the business. I am invited out to
dinner to-day to meet Mechetti. I shall talk the matter over
seriously with him, and will write to you about it soon. Haslinger
is now publishing Hummelʼs last Mass, for he lives only for and by
Hummel; but it is said that these latest compositions do not sell
well; and Haslinger, who gave him a large honorarium for them, puts
aside all manuscripts now, and only prints Straussʼs compositions.

Yesterday I was with Nidecki, at Steinkellerʼs, who has written a
libretto for Nidecki. He hopes for great things from this opera, in
which the famous comedian, Schuster, is to appear. In this case,
Nidecki may make a name for himself. I hope that this news will
please you.

You ask, dear Mons. Elsner, why Nidecki studied my second concerto?
He did so solely by his own wish. Knowing that he would have to
play in public before his departure from Vienna, and having nothing
suitable of his own, except the beautiful variations, he asked for
my manuscripts. Meanwhile things have greatly changed; he no longer
appears as a pianoforte _virtuoso_, but as an orchestral composer.
He will be sure to tell you of it himself. I shall take care that
his overture is performed at my concert. You will be proud of us
yet; at any rate you shall not be ashamed of us. The pianist, Aloys
Schmitt, has been cut up by the critics, although he is past forty,
and has been composing for eighteen years.

Kindest remembrances to all the collegians, and to your own circle.
For yourself, I beg you to receive the assurance of the unbounded
respect with which I always remain,

Your grateful and faithful pupil,

FREDERIC CHOPIN.

* * * * *

_Vienna, May 14th, 1831._

MY BELOVED PARENTS AND SISTERS,

I have to go on short commons this week, as regards letters, but I
console myself with the thought that I shall hear from you again
next week, and wait patiently, trusting that you are as well in
the country as you were in town. As to myself, I am in excellent
spirits, and feel that good health is the best comforter in
misfortune.

[Sidenote: MALFATTI.]

Perhaps it is Malfattiʼs soups which have given me such strength
that I really feel better than ever. If so it is a two-fold regret
to me that Malfatti and his family are gone into the country. You
cannot imagine what a beautiful villa he lives in; I was there a
week ago with Hummel. Having taken us over his house, he showed us
his garden, and when we were at the top of the hill we had such a
splendid view that we did not want to come down again. Malfatti has
the honour of a visit from the court every year, and I should not
wonder if the Duchess of Anhalt-Cöthen, who is a neighbour of his,
envies him his garden.

On one side you see Vienna lying at your feet, and looking as
if Schönbrunn were joined to it; on the other, high hills
picturesquely dotted with convents and villages. This romantic
panorama makes you quite oblivious of the nearness of the noisy,
bustling Kaiserstadt.

Yesterday I was at the Imperial library with Handler.[2] Do you
know this is my first inspection of what is, perhaps, the richest
collection of musical manuscripts in the world? I can scarcely
imagine that the library in Bologna can be larger and more
systematically arranged than this one.

Now, my dearest ones, picture to yourselves my astonishment at
beholding among the new manuscripts a book entitled “Chopin.”

It was a pretty large volume, elegantly bound; I thought to myself,
I have never heard of any other musician named Chopin, but there
was a certain Champin, and perhaps there has been a mistake in the
spelling. I took out the manuscript and saw my own handwriting.
Haslinger had sent the original of my variations to the library.
This is an absurdity worth remembering.

[Sidenote: FIREWORKS AND RAIN.]

Last Sunday there was to have been a grand display of fireworks,
but the rain spoilt it. It is a remarkable fact that it almost
always rains here when they are going to have fireworks. This
reminds me of the following story: “A gentleman had a handsome
bronze-coloured coat, but whenever he wore it, it rained; so he
went to his tailor to ask him the reason. The tailor was very much
astonished, shook his head, and asked the gentleman to leave the
coat with him for a day or two, as, possibly, the hat, waistcoat
or boots might be the cause of the misfortune. However, it was not
so, for when the tailor went out for a walk in the coat the rain
suddenly poured down, and the poor man was obliged to take a cab,
for he had forgotten his umbrella. Some people thought his wife had
taken it to a coffee-party; but, however that may have been, the
coat was wringing wet. After thinking over this strange occurrence
for a long time it occurred to the tailor that perhaps there was
something strange hidden in the coat. He took out the sleeves,
but found nothing; he undid the tails, then the front, when, lo
and behold! under the lining was a piece of a hand-bill about
some fireworks. This explained all; he took out the paper, and
the coat never brought down any more rain.” Forgive me for again
having nothing new to tell you about myself; I shall hope to have
some more interesting news bye and bye. I most sincerely desire to
fulfil your wishes; hitherto, however, I have found it impossible
to give a concert. What do you think of General Dwernickiʼs victory
at Stoczek?

May God continue to fight for us!

Your FREDERIC.

* * * * *

_Vienna, May 28th 1831._

I have just returned from the post, but once more there is no
letter for me! I received one on Wednesday from Madame Jarocka,
with a postscript from dear Papa, which though very short was very
precious to me. It told me, at least, that you were all well. As to
Marcel and Johann, I beg that they will not write to me at all, if
they are so stingy, that in spite of my request they can only send
a word or two. I am so angry that I feel as if I could send back
their letters without opening them. Of course they will make the
old excuse of want of time! I am the only one who has time to write
so fully every week. But how quickly this precious time passes. It
is already the end of May, and I am still in Vienna, and probably
shall be through June, for Kumelski[3] has been ill and must lay by
again.

I can see already that this letter will be a very wearisome
one, but you have no reason to fear that this is a sign of
indisposition. On the contrary, I am quite well and amusing myself
capitally. To-day I was playing from early in the morning till
two in the afternoon, when I went out to dine and met the worthy
Kandler, who kindly offered to give me letters to Cherubini and
Paër.

I shall visit my invalid in the evening and go to the theatre,
where there is to be a concert at which the violinist Herz is
to perform. He is an Israelite, and made his _débût_ at Fräulein
Henriette Sonntagʼs concert in Warsaw, when he was almost hissed
off the stage. The pianist, Döhler, is also to play some of
Czernyʼs compositions, and in conclusion Herz will give his own
variations on Polish airs. Poor Polish motives, you little think
how they will over-lard you with “Majufes” (Jewish melodies),
giving you the title of “Polish music” to attract the public.

[Sidenote: POLISH MUSIC AND ITS IMITATIONS.]

If you are honest enough to distinguish between real Polish music
and these imitations of it, and to assign a higher position to the
former, you are thought crazy, more especially as Czerny, who is
the oracle of Vienna, has not, as yet, in the manufacture of his
musical tit-bits, included any variations on a Polish theme.

Yesterday afternoon I went with Thalberg to the Evangelical church,
where Hesse, a young organist from Breslau, was to perform before
the most select of Viennese audiences. The _élite_ of the musical
world were present: Stadler, Kiesewetter, Mosel, Seyfried, and
Gyrowitz. Hesse has talent, and understands the management of the
organ; he left an album with me, but I donʼt feel as if I had
originality enough to write anything in it.

On Wednesday I was at Beperʼs with Slawick till 2 oʼclock in the
morning. He is one of the artists here with whom I am really on
friendly and confidential terms. He plays like a second Paganini,
whom, in time, he gives promise of surpassing. I should not think
so, had I not already heard him several times. I am very sorry that
Titus has not made Slawickʼs acquaintance, for he bewitches his
hearers, and moves them to tears; he even made Tiger weep; Prince
G. and Jskr. were much affected by his playing.

How are things going on with you? I am always dreaming of you. Has
not the bloodshed ceased yet? I know what your answer will be:
“Patience.” I constantly console myself with the same thought.

On Thursday there was a _soirée_ at Fuchsʼs, when Limmer, one of
the best artists here, introduced some of his own compositions
for four violoncellos. Merk, as usual, made them more beautiful
than they really were by his playing, which is so full of soul.
We stayed there till 12 oʼclock, for Merk enjoyed playing his
Variations with me. He told me so himself, and it is always a great
pleasure for me to play with him. I think we suit each other very
well.[4] He is the only violoncellist I really respect.

I am curious to know how I shall like Norblin;[5] please do not
forget the letter to him.

[Sidenote: PASSPORT DIFFICULTIES.]

_Vienna, June 25th, 1831._

I am quite well, and that is all that I have to be happy about, for
my departure seems as far off as ever. I have never been in such
a state before. You know how undecided I am, and then obstacles
meet me at every step. I am promised a passport every day, and I
run from Herod to Pontius Pilate simply to get back what I gave
the police to take care of. I received a delightful piece of news
to-day, that my passport had been mislaid somewhere and could
not be found, so I must try to procure a new one. It is strange
that every possible misfortune happens just now to us poor Poles.
Although I am quite ready to start, I cannot.

I have followed Herr Beyerʼs advice and had my passport _viséd_ for
England, although I am only going to Paris. Malfatti will give me
a letter of introduction to his friend, Paër; Kandler has already
mentioned me in the “_Leipziger Musikzeitung_.”

I was not home until midnight yesterday, for it was St. Johnʼs
Day, and Malfattiʼs birth-day. Mechetti wished to give him a
surprise, and had engaged Mlles. Emmering and Lutzer, and Messrs.
Wildt, Cicimara, and your Frederic to give a musical performance
in his honour. This almost deserved to be described as perfect
(“parfait.”) I never heard the Quartet from “Moses” given better;
although Fräulein Gladkowska sang “Oh quante lacrime” with far more
feeling at my farewell concert at Warsaw. Wildt was in excellent
voice, and I acted as _quasi_ conductor.[6]

A considerable crowd was on the terrace of our house, listening
to the concert. The moon shone marvellously, the fountains rose
like columns of pearls, the air was filled with the perfume of
the orange grove; in short, it was an enchanting night, the
surroundings glorious!

I will now describe the room in which we performed. Windows,
reaching from the ceiling to the floor, open on to the terrace,
from whence there is a magnificent view over the whole of Vienna.
Large mirrors hung on the walls; but the room was dimly lighted
which heightened the effect of the moonlight streaming through the
windows; and the roominess of the “cabinet” adjoining the _salon_
on the left gave to the whole dwelling an air of grandeur. The
open-heartedness and politeness of the host, the gay and elegant
company, the sparkling wit, and the excellent supper, made it late
before we separated. I live as frugally as possible, and look at
every penny as I did at the ring[7] when I was in Warsaw. You may
as well sell it, for I have cost you enough already.

The day before yesterday we were on the Kahlen and Leopoldsberg
with Kumelski; and Czapek, who visits me every day and gives me
most substantial proofs of his friendship; he offered to lend me
money for travelling, if I wanted it. It was a magnificent day,
and I never took a more beautiful walk. From the Leopoldsberg
you see the whole of Vienna, Agram, Aspern, Pressburg, and even
Kloster-Neuburg, the castle in which Richard Cœur de Lion was for
some time imprisoned. We had a view also of all the upper part
of the Danube. After breakfast we went to the Kahlenberg, where
King John Sobieski pitched his camp and sent up the rockets which
were to announce to Count Starhemberg, Commandant of Vienna, the
approach of the Polish army. There, too, is the monastery of the
Kamedules, where, before the attack of the Turks, the King knighted
his son Jacob, and himself officiated in the Mass. I have gathered
a leaf for Isabella from the spot which is now covered with
vegetation.

[Sidenote: AN “EASTER-KING.”]

From thence we went, in the evening, to the beautiful valley of
Krappenwald, where we saw a ridiculous boyish frolic, a number of
urchins had covered themselves, from head to foot, with leaves,
and, looking like walking-bushes, crawled from inn to inn. A boy,
covered with leaves, his head adorned with branches, is called
“Easter-king.” This is a customary jest at Easter-tide.

A few days ago I was at a _soirée_ at Aloys Fuchsʼs.[8] He showed
me his rich collection of autograph works (circa 400.) My Rondo[9]
for two pianos was among them. Some of the company present were
desirous of becoming personally acquainted with me. Fuchs gave me a
specimen of Beethovenʼs handwriting.

Your last letter gave me great pleasure, for I saw the handwriting
of all my nearest and dearest ones on one piece of paper. Let me
kiss your hands and feet, which are more charming than any to be
found in Vienna.

* * * * *

_Vienna, Saturday, July 1831._

I saw from your last letter, my dearests, that you have already
learnt to bear misfortune with fortitude. You may be assured that
neither am I so readily cast down. Hope, oh, sweet perennial hope!

[Sidenote: THE CHOLERA.]

I have got my passport at last, but have given up the idea of
starting on Monday. We shall go to Salzburg on Monday and from
there to Münich. I asked for my passport to be _viséd_ for London;
and the police did it at once; but it was kept two days at the
Russian Embassy, and was sent back with permission to travel to
Münich, not to London. It is all the same to me, if Herr Maison the
French Ambassador will sign it. To these troubles another has now
been added. A certificate of health is necessary for crossing the
Bavarian frontier, on account of the cholera. We ran about for half
a day with Kumelski, but got the pass in the afternoon.

We had the pleasure of being at least in good company during our
peregrinations, for Count Alexander Fredro,[10] whom we recognized
from his Polish appearance, his refined manner of speaking, and his
passport, was with us seeking a similar pass for his servant.

The news to-day is that the town of Wilna is taken. It is to be
hoped this is not true.

Everyone is terribly afraid of the cholera, and the precautions
taken are quite ridiculous. Printed prayers are sold, supplicating
God and all the saints to stop the cholera. Nobody ventures to eat
fruit, and most people quit the city.

I leave a Polonaise for the Violoncello with Mechetti.

Louise writes that Herr Elsner is very pleased with the review;
I am anxious to hear what he will say about the others, as he
was my teacher of composition. I want nothing but more life and
spirit. I often feel low-spirited, but sometimes as cheerful as
at home. When I feel melancholy I go to Madame Schaschekʼs, where
I generally meet several amiable young Polish ladies who always
cheer me up with their kind and hopeful words, so that I begin
to mimic the generals here. This is my last new trick; those who
have seen it are ready to die with laughter. But there are days,
alas! when people do not get two words out of me; then I generally
spend thirty kreuzers in going to Hitzing, or somewhere else in
the neighbourhood of Vienna (for recreation) to divert my mind.
Zacharkiewicz, of Warsaw, was with me, and when his wife saw me at
Schaschekʼs their astonishment knew no bounds at my looking such a
proper fellow. I have only left my whiskers on the right cheek, and
they grow very well; there is no occasion to have them on the left,
as you always sit with your right to the public.

[Sidenote: SLEDGING.]

The good Würfel was with me the day before yesterday; Czapek,
Kumelski, and several others also came, and we went together to
St. Veit, a pretty place, which is more than I can say of Tivoli,
where there is a kind of Caroussel, or rather a rail with sledges,
called a “Rutsch.” It is a childish amusement, but a crowd of
grown persons let themselves roll down the hill in these sledges
without the least object in going. At first I did not at all care
about trying; but as we were eight of us and all good friends, we
began to dare each other to go down first. It was very foolish,
but we all laughed heartily. I went heart and soul into the fun
till it occurred to me that strong healthy men might find some
better employment at a time like the present when there is such a
universal need for protection and defence. Confound our frivolity.

A little while ago Rossiniʼs “Siege of Corinth” was exceedingly
well given, and I was very pleased to have another chance of
hearing the opera. Fräulein Heinefetter, Messrs. Wildt, Binder, and
Forti, in a word, all the best artists in Vienna, were present and
did their utmost. I went to the opera with Czapek, and when it was
over we went to the same restaurant where Beethoven used to take
his supper.

I must say, in case I forget, that I shall probably take rather
more money from Peter the banker than dear papa had arranged for. I
am very economical, but heaven knows I can only do as I am doing,
or I should set off with an empty purse. God keep me from illness;
but if anything did happen to me, you might, perhaps, reproach me
for not having taken more. Forgive me, and remember that I have
lived on this money during May, June, and July, and that I have
to pay more for my dinner now than in winter. I am doing this not
merely of my own accord, but on the good advice of others. I am
very sorry to be obliged to ask you. Papa has already spent more
than a penny on me, and I know how difficult money is to earn.
Believe me, my dearests, it is as hard for me to ask as it is for
you to give. God will help us _punctum_.

It will be a year in October since I received my passport; it will
need, of course, to be renewed; how shall I manage it? Write and
say if you can send me a fresh one. Perhaps that is impossible.

I often run out and visit Hans or Titus. Yesterday I could have
sworn I saw the latter in front of me, but I found it was only a
confounded Prussian!

It is to be hoped these expressions will not give you a bad
impression of the manners I have learnt in Vienna. There is nothing
particular about the style of talk here, except that they say
“Gehorsamer Diener” (your obedient servant) in taking leave, and
pronounce it “Korschamer Diener.” I have acquired no habit that is
truly Viennese; for instance, I cannot play any waltzes, and that
is proof enough.

God give you health. May no more of our friends fall. Poor Gustav!

I dine to-day with Schaschek; I shall wear the studs with the
Polish eagles, and use the pocket-handkerchief with the Kosynier.

I have written a Polonaise, which I must leave here with Würfel.
I received the portrait of our commander-in-chief, General
Skrzynecki, but frightfully spoilt, on account of the cholera. Your
letters have also been cut, and each bears a large sanitary stamp;
so great is the anxiety here.

[Sidenote: LAST OF CHOPINʼS LETTERS TO HIS FAMILY.]

In the last letter, or rather in a few lines, dated July 20th, 1831, Frederic informs his parents that he is going to start the same day with Kumelski, for Münich, through Linz and Salzburg. He writes that he is well, and provided with money, but fears that it will not last out, and asks for some more to be sent to Münich.

These are all that remain of the large collection of Chopinʼs letters preserved by his parents. To the fate which befell the other letters I will refer in the following chapter.