CHAPTER XXIII.
JUNE TO OCTOBER, 1839.
GEORGE SAND AND CHOPIN'S RETURN TO NOHANT.—STATE OF HIS HEALTH.- -HIS POSITION IN HIS FRIEND'S HOUSE.—HER ACCOUNT OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP.—HIS LETTERS TO FONTANA, WHICH, AMONG MANY OTHER MATTERS, TREAT OF HIS COMPOSITIONS AND OF PREPARATIONS TO BE MADE FOR HIS AND GEORGE SAND'S ARRIVAL IN PARIS.
The date of one of George Sand's letters shows that the travellers were settled again at Nohant on the 3rd of June, 1839. Dr. Papet, a rich friend of George Sand's, who practised his art only for the benefit of the poor and his friends, took the convalescent Chopin at once under his care. He declared that his patient showed no longer any symptoms of pulmonary affection, but was suffering merely from a slight chronic laryngeal affection which, although he did not expect to be able to cure it, need not cause any serious alarm.
On returning to Nohant, George Sand had her mind much exercised by the question how to teach her children. She resolved to undertake the task herself, but found she was not suited for it, at any rate, could not acquit herself of it satisfactorily without giving up writing. This question, however, was not the only one that troubled her.
In the irresolution in which I was for a time regarding the arrangement of my life with a view to what would be best for my dear children, a serious question was debated in my conscience. I asked myself if I ought to entertain the idea which Chopin had formed of taking up his abode near me. I should not have hesitated to say "no," had I known then for how short a time the retired life and the solemnity of the country suited his moral and physical health. I still attributed his despair and horror of Majorca to the excitement of fever and the exces de caractere of that place. Nohant offered pleasanter conditions, a less austere retreat, congenial society, and resources in case of illness. Papet was to him an enlightened and kind physician. Fleury, Duteil, Duvernet, and their families, Planet, and especially Rollinat, were dear to him at first sight. All of them loved him also, and felt disposed to spoil him as I did.
Among those with whom the family at Nohant had much intercourse, and who were frequent guests at the chateau, was also an old acquaintance of ours, one who had not grown in wisdom as in age, I mean George Sand's half-brother, Hippolyte Chatiron, who was now again living in Berry, his wife having inherited the estate of Montgivray, situated only half a league from Nohant.
His warmth of manner, his inexhaustible gaiety, the originality of his sallies, his enthusiastic and naive effusions of admiration for the genius of Chopin, the always respectful deference which he showed to him alone, even in the inevitable and terrible apres-boire, found favour with the eminently-aristocratic artist. All, then, went very well at first, and I entertained eventually the idea that Chopin might rest and regain his health by spending a few summers with us, his work necessarily calling him back to Paris in the winter.
However, the prospect of this kind of family union with a newly-made friend caused me to reflect. I felt alarmed at the task which I was about to undertake, and which I had believed would be limited to the journey in Spain.
In short, George Sand presents herself as a sister of mercy, who, prompted by charity, sacrifices her own happiness for that of another. Contemplating the possibility of her son falling ill and herself being thereby deprived of the joys of her work, she exclaims: "What hours of my calm and invigorating life should I be able to devote to another patient, much more difficult to nurse and comfort than Maurice?"
The discussion of this matter by George Sand is so characteristic of her that, lengthy as it is, I cannot refrain from giving it in full.
A kind of terror seized me in presence of a new duty which I was to take upon me. I was not under the illusion of passion. I had for the artist a kind of maternal adoration which was very warm, very real, but which could not for a moment contend with maternal love, the only chaste feeling which may be passionate.
I was still young enough to have perhaps to contend with love, with passion properly so called. This contingency of my age, of my situation, and of the destiny of artistic women, especially when they have a horror of passing diversions, alarmed me much, and, resolved as I was never to submit to any influence which might divert me from my children, I saw a less, but still possible danger in the tender friendship with which Chopin inspired me.
Well, after reflection, this danger disappeared and even assumed an opposite character—that of a preservative against emotions which I no longer wished to know. One duty more in my life, already so full of and so overburdened with work, appeared to me one chance more to attain the austerity towards which I felt myself attracted with a kind of religious enthusiasm.
If this is a sincere confession, we can only wonder at the height of self-deception attainable by the human mind; if, however, it is meant as a justification, we cannot but be surprised at the want of skill displayed by the generally so clever advocate. In fact, George Sand has in no instance been less happy in defending her conduct and in setting forth her immaculate virtuousness. The great words "chastity" and "maternity" are of course not absent. George Sand could as little leave off using them as some people can leave off using oaths. In either case the words imply much more than is intended by those from whose mouths or pens they come. A chaste woman speculating on "real love" and "passing diversions," as George Sand does here, seems to me a strange phenomenon. And how charmingly naive is the remark she makes regarding her relations with Chopin as a "PRESERVATIVE against emotions which she no longer wished to know"! I am afraid the concluding sentence, which in its unction is worthy of Pecksniff, and where she exhibits herself as an ascetic and martyr in all the radiance of saintliness, will not have the desired effect, but will make the reader laugh as loud as Musset is said to have done when she upbraided him with his ungratefulness to her, who had been devoted to him to the utmost bounds of self-abnegation, to the sacrifice of her noblest impulses, to the degradation of her chaste nature.
George Sand, looking back in later years on this period of her life, thought that if she had put into execution her project of becoming the teacher of her children, and of shutting herself up all the year round at Nohant, she would have saved Chopin from the danger which, unknown to her, threatened him—namely, the danger of attaching himself too absolutely to her. At that time, she says, his love was not so great but that absence would have diverted him from it. Nor did she consider his affection exclusive. In fact, she had no doubt that the six months which his profession obliged him to pass every year in Paris would, "after a few days of malaise and tears," have given him back to "his habits of elegance, exquisite success, and intellectual coquetry." The correctness of the facts and the probability of the supposition may be doubted. At any rate, the reasons which led her to assume the non-exclusiveness of Chopin's affection are simply childish. That he spoke to her of a romantic love-affair he had had in Poland, and of sweet attractions he had afterwards experienced in Paris, proves nothing. What she says about his mother having been his only passion is still less to the point. But reasoning avails little, and the strength of Chopin's love was not put to the test. He went, indeed, in the autumn of 1839 to Paris, but not alone; George Sand, professedly for the sake of her children's education, went there likewise. "We were driven by fate," she says, "into the bonds of a long connection, and both of us entered into it unawares." The words "driven by fate," and "entered into it unawares," sound strange, if we remember that they apply not to a young girl who, inexperienced and confiding, had lost herself in the mazes of life, but to a novelist skilled in the reading of human hearts, to a constantly-reasoning and calculating woman, aged 35, who had better reasons than poor Amelia in Schiller's play for saying "I have lived and loved."
After all this reasoning, moralising, and sentimentalising, it is pleasant to be once more face to face with facts, of which the following letters, written by Chopin to Fontana during the months from June to October, 1839, contain a goodly number. The rather monotonous publishing transactions play here and there again a prominent part, but these Nohant letters are on the whole more interesting than the Majorca letters, and decidedly more varied as regards contents than those he wrote from Marseilles—they tell us much more of the writer's tastes and requirements, and even reveal something of his relationship to George Sand. Chopin, it appears to me, did not take exactly the same view of this relationship as the novelist. What will be read with most interest are Chopin's directions as to the decoration and furnishing of his rooms, the engagement of a valet, the ordering of clothes and a hat, the taking of a house for George Sand, and certain remarks made en passant on composers and other less-known people.
[I.]
…The best part of your letter is your address, which I had already forgotten, and without which I do not know if I would have answered you so soon; but the worst is the death of Albrecht. [FOOTNOTE: See p.27 foot-note 7.]
You wish to know when I shall be back. When the misty and rainy weather begins, for I must breathe fresh air.
Johnnie has left. I don't know if he asked you to forward to me the letters from my parents should any arrive during his absence and be sent to his usual address. Perhaps he thought of it, perhaps not. I should be very sorry if any of them miscarried. It is not long since I had a letter from home, they will not write soon, and by this time he, who is so kind and good, will be in good health and return.
I am composing here a Sonata in B flat minor, in which will be the Funeral March which you have already. There is an allegro, then a "Scherzo" in E flat minor, the "March," and a short "Finale" of about three pages. The left hand unisono with the right hand are gossiping [FOOTNOTE: "Lewa reka unisono z prawa, ogaduja po Marszu."] after the March. I have a new "Nocturne" in G major, which will go along with the Nocturne in G minor, [FOOTNOTE: "Deux Nocturnes," Op.37.] if you remember such a one.
You know that I have four new mazurkas: one from Palma in E minor, three from here in B major, A flat major, and C sharp minor. [FOOTNOTE: Quatre mazurkas, Op. 41.] They seem to me pretty, as the youngest children usually do when the parents grow old.
Otherwise I do nothing; I correct for myself the Parisian edition of Bach; not only the stroke-makers' [FOOTNOTE: In Polish strycharz, the usual meaning of which is "brickmaker." Chopin may have played upon the word. A mistake, however, is likewise possible, as the Polish for engraver is sztycharz.] (engravers') errors, but, I think, the harmonic errors committed by those who pretend to understand Bach. I do not do it with the pretension that I understand him better than they, but from a conviction that I sometimes guess how it ought to be.
You see I have praised myself enough to you.
Now, if Grzymata will visit me (which is doubtful), send me through him Weber for four hands. Also the last of my Ballade in manuscript, as I wish to change something in it. I should like very much to have your copy of the last mazurkas, if you have such a thing, for I do not know if my gallantry went so far as to give you a copy.
Pleyel wrote to me that you were very obliging, and have corrected the Preludes. Do you know how much Wessel paid him for them? It would be well to know this for the future.
My father has written to me that my old sonata has been
published by Haslinger, and that the Germans praise it.
[FOOTNOTE: There must have been some misunderstanding; the
Sonata, Op. 4, was not published till 1851.]
I have now, counting those you have, six manuscripts; the devil take them if they get them for nothing. Pleyel did not do me any service with his offers, for he thereby made Schlesinger indifferent about me. But I hope this will be set right, f wrote to ask him to let me know if he had been paid for the piano sent to Palma, and I did so because the French consul in Majorca, whom I know very well, was to be changed, and had he not been paid, it would have been very difficult for me to settle this affair at such a distance. Fortunately, he is paid, and very liberally, as he wrote to me only last week.
Write to me what sort of lodgings you have. Do you board at the club?
Woyciechowski wrote to me to compose an oratorio. I answered him in the letter to my parents. Why does he build a sugar- refinery and not a monastery of Camaldolites or a nunnery of Dominican sisters!
[2.]
I give you my most hearty thanks for your upright, friendly, not English but Polish soul.
Select paper (wall-paper) such as I had formerly, tourterelle (dove colour), only bright and glossy, for the two rooms, also dark green with not too broad stripes. For the anteroom something else, but still respectable. Nevertheless, if there are any nicer and more fashionable papers that are to your liking, and you think that I also will like them, then take them. I prefer the plain, unpretending, and neat ones to the common shopkeeper's staring colours. Therefore, pearl colour pleases me, for it is neither loud nor does it look vulgar. I thank you for the servant's room, for it is much needed.
Now, as to the furniture: you will make the best of it if you look to it yourself. I did not dare to trouble you with it, but if you will be so kind, take it and arrange it as it ought to be. I shall ask Grzymala to give money for the removal. I shall write to him about it at once. As to the bed and writing- desk, it may be necessary to give them to the cabinet-maker to be renewed. In this case you will take the papers out of the writing-desk, and lock them up somewhere else. I need not tell you what you ought to do. Act as you like and judge what is necessary. Whatever you may do will be well done. You have my full confidence: this is one thing.
Now the second.
You must write to Wessel—doubtless you have already written about the Preludes. Let him know that I have six new manuscripts, for which I want 300 francs each (how many pounds is that?). If you think he would not give so much, let me know first. Inform me also if Probst is in Paris. Further look out for a servant. I should prefer a respectable honest Pole. Tell also Grzymala of it. Stipulate that he is to board himself; no more than 80 francs. I shall not be in Paris before the end of October—keep this, however, to yourself.
My dear friend, the state of Johnnie's health weighs sometimes strangely on my heart. May God give him what he stands in need of, but he should not allow himself to be cheated…However, this is neither here nor there. The greatest truth in the world is that I shall always love you as a most honest and kind man and Johnnie as another.
I embrace you both, write each of you and soon, were it of nothing more than the weather.—Your old more than ever long- nosed
FREDERICK.
[3.]
According to your description and that of Grzymala you have found such capital rooms that we are now thinking you have a lucky hand, and for this reason a man—and he is a great man, being the portier of George's house—who will run about to find a house for her, is ordered to apply to you when he has found a few; and you with your elegant tact (you see how I flatter you) will also examine what he has found, and give your opinion thereon. The main point is that it should be detached, if possible; for instance, a little hotel. Or something in a courtyard, with a view into a garden, or, if there be no garden, into a large court-yard; nota bene, very few lodgers—elegant—not higher than the second story. Perhaps some corps de logis, but small, or something like Perthuis's house, or even smaller. Lastly, should it be in front, the street must not be noisy. In one word, something you judge would be good for her. If it could be near me, so much the better; but if it cannot be, this consideration need not prevent you.
It seems to me that a little hotel in the new streets—such as Clichy, Blanche, or Notre-Dame-de-Lorette, as far as Rue des Martyrs—would be most suitable. Moreover, I send you a list of the streets where Mr. Mardelle—the portier of the Hotel Narbonne, Rue de la Harpe, No. 89, which belongs to George— will look for a house. If in your leisure time you also looked out for something in our part of the town, it would be very nice. Fancy, I don't know why, but we think that you will find something wonderfully good, although it is already late.
The price she wishes to pay is from 2,000 to 2,500 francs, you might also give a couple of hundred francs more if anything extra fine should turn up. Grzymala and Arago promised to look out for something, but in spite of Grzymala's efforts nothing acceptable has thus far been found. I have written to him that he should employ you also in this business of mine (I say of MINE, for it is just the same as if it were mine). I shall write to him again to-day and tell him that I have asked you to give your help and use all your talents. It is necessary that there should be three bedrooms, two of which must be beside each other and one separated, for instance, by the drawing-room. Adjoining the third there will be required a well-lighted cabinet for her study. The other two may be small, this one, the third, also not very large. Besides this a drawing-room and dining-room in proportion. A pretty large kitchen. Two rooms for the servants, and a coal-cellar. The rooms must of course have inlaid floors, be newly laid, if possible, and require no repairs. But a little hotel or a separate part of a house in a court-yard looking into a garden would be most desirable. There must be tranquillity, quietness, no blacksmith in the neighbourhood. Respectable stairs. The windows exposed to the sun, absolutely to the south. Further, there must be no smoke, no bad odour, but a fine view, a garden, or at least a large court. A garden would be best. In the Faubourg St. Germain are many gardens, also in the Faubourg St. Honore. Find something quickly, something splendid, and near me. As soon as you have any chance, write immediately, don't be lazy; or get hold of Grzymala, go and see, both of you, take et que cela finisse. I send you a plan of the arrangement of the apartments. If you find something like this, draw the plan, or take it at once, which will be better than letting it slip out of your hands.
Mr. Mardelle is a decent man, and no fool, he was not always a portier. He is ordered to go and see you whenever he finds anything. You must also on your part be on the look-out, but let us keep that between us. I embrace you and Johnnie also. You will have our true gratitude when you find a house.
[a diagram of the apartments is inserted here in the letter.]
+————————————————————————————————+ | | | | | | | Study | Bedroom. | Drawing room. | Bedroom. | Servants’ room. | | | | | | | |————————————————————————————————| | | | | | | Dining room | | | | | | |————————————————————————————————| | | | | | | Lobby | | | | | | +————————————————————————————————+
Pas de voisinage, surtout blacksmith, nor anything that belongs to him. For God's sake I beg of you take an active interest in the matter, my dear friend!
[4.]
I thank you for all your kind actions.
In the anteroom you will direct the grey curtains to be hung which were in my cabinet with the piano, and in the bedroom the same that were in the bedroom, only under them the white muslin ones which were under the grey ones.
I should like to have a little press in my bedroom, unless there be not room enough, or the drawing-room be too bare between the windows.
If the little sofa, the same which stood in the dining-room, could be covered with red, with the same stuff with which the chairs are covered, it might be placed in the drawing-room; but as it would be necessary to call in the upholsterer for that, it may be difficult.
It is a good thing that Domaradzki is going to be married, for surely he will give me back the 80 francs after the wedding. I should like also to see Podczaski married, and Nakw. (Nakwaska), and Anthony also. Let this remain between this paper, myself, and you.
Find me a valet. Kiss Madame Leo (surely the first commission will be the more pleasant to you, wherefore I relieve you of the second if you will do the first).
Let me know about Probst, whether he is in Paris or not. Do not forget Wessel. Tell Gutmann that I was much pleased that he asked for me at least once. To Moscheles, should he be in Paris, order to be given an injection of Neukomm's oratorios, prepared with Berlioz's "Cellini" and Doehler's Concerto. Give Johnnie from me for his breakfast moustaches of sphinxes and kidneys of parrots, with tomato sauce powdered with little eggs of the microscopic world. You yourself take a bath in whale's infusion as a rest from all the commissions I give you, for I know that you will do willingly as much as time will permit, and I shall do the same for you when you are married—of which Johnnie will very likely inform me soon. Only not to Ox, for that is my party.
[5.]
My dear friend,—In five, six, or seven days I shall be in Paris. Get things prepared as quickly as possible; if not all, let me find at least the rooms papered and the bed ready.
I am hastening my arrival as the presence of George Sand is necessary on account of a piece to be played. [FOOTNOTE: "Cosima." The first representation, at the Comedie Francaise, did not take place until April, 1840.] But this remains between us. We have fixed our departure for the day after to- morrow; thus, counting a few days for delay, we shall see each other on Wednesday or Thursday.
Besides the different commissions I gave you, especially that in the last letter about her house, which after our arrival will be off your shoulders—but till then, for God's sake, be obliging—besides all this, I say, I forgot to ask you to order for me a hat from my Duport in your street, Chaussee d'Antin. He has my measure, and knows how light I want it and of what kind. Let him give the hat of this year's shape, not too much exaggerated, for I do not know how you are dressing yourself just now. Again, besides this, call in passing at Dautremont's, my tailor's, on the Boulevards, and order him to make me at once a pair of grey trousers. You will yourself select a dark-grey colour for winter trousers; something respectable, not striped, but plain and elastic. You are an Englishman, so you know what I require. Dautremont will be glad to hear that I am coming. Also a quiet black velvet waistcoat, but with very little and no loud pattern, something very quiet but very elegant. Should he not have the best velvet of this kind, let him make a quiet, fine silk waistcoat, but not too much open. If the servant could be got for less than 80 francs, I should prefer it; but as you have already found one, let the matter rest.
My very dear friend, pardon me once more for troubling you, but I must. In a few days we shall see each other, and embrace for all this.
I beg of you, for God's sake, do not say to any Poles that I am coming so soon, nor to any Jewess either, as I should like to reserve myself during the first few days only for you, Grzymala, and Johnnie. Give them my love; to the latter I shall write once more.
I expect that the rooms will be ready. Write constantly to me, three times a day if you like, whether you have anything to say or not. Before leaving here I shall once more write to you.
Monday.
You are inappreciable! Take Rue Pigal [Pigalle], both houses, without asking anybody. Make haste. If by taking both houses you can diminish a little the price, well; if not, take them for 2,500 francs. Do not let them slip out of your hands, for we think them the best and most excellent. SHE regards you as my most logical and best—and I would add: the most splenetic, Anglo-Polish, from my soul beloved—friend.
[6.]
The day after to-morrow, Thursday, at five o'clock in the morning, we start, and on Friday at three, four, certainly at five o'clock, I shall be in Rue Tronchet, No. 5. I beg of you to inform the people there of this, I wrote to Johnnie to-day to retain for me that valet, and order him to wait for me at Rue Tronchet on Friday from noon. Should you have time to call upon me at that time, we would most heartily embrace each other. Once more my and my companion's most sincere thanks for Rue Pigalle.
Now, keep a sharp look-out on the tailor, he must have the clothes ready by Friday morning, so that I can change my clothes as soon as I come. Order him to take them to Rue Tronchet, and deliver them there to the valet Tineau—if I mistake not, that is his name. Likewise the hat from Dupont, [FOOTNOTE: In the preceding letter it was Duport] and for that I shall alter for you the second part of the Polonaise till the last moment of my life. Yesterday's version also may not please you, although I racked my brains with it for at least eighty seconds.
I have written out my manuscripts in good order. There are six with your Polonaises, not counting the seventh, an impromptu, which may perhaps be worthless—I do not know myself, it is too new. But it would be well if it be not too much in the style of Orlowski, Zimmermann, or Karsko-Konski, [FOOTNOTE: Chopin's countryman, the pianist and composer Antoine Kontski] or Sowinski, or other similar animals. For, according to my reckoning, it might fetch me about 800 francs. That will be seen afterwards.
As you are such a clever man, you might also arrange that no black thoughts and suffocating coughs shall annoy me in the new rooms. Try to make me good. Change, if you can, many episodes of my past. It would also not be a bad thing if I should find a few years of great work accomplished. By this you will greatly oblige me, also if you would make yourself younger or bring about that we had never been born.—Your old
FREDERICK.
CHAPTER XXIV.
1839-1842.
RETURN OF GEORGE SAND AND CHOPIN TO PARIS.—GEORGE SAND IN THE
RUE PIGALLE.—CHOPIN IN THE RUE TRONCHET: REMINISCENCES OF
BRINLEY RICHARDS AND MOSCHELES.—SOIREES AT LEO'S AND ST. CLOUD.-
-CHOPIN JOINS MADAME SAND IN THE RUE PIGALLE.—EXTRACTS FROM
GEORGE SAND'S CORRESPONDANCE; A LETTER OF MADAME SAND'S TO
CHOPIN; BALZAC ANECDOTES.—MADAME SAND AND CHOPIN DO NOT GO TO
NOHANT IN 1840.—COMPOSITIONS OF THIS PERIOD.—ABOUT CHOPIN AS A
PIANIST.—LETTERS WRITTEN TO FONTANA IN THE SUMMER AND AUTUMN OF
1841.
Although Chopin and George Sand came to Paris towards the end of October, 1839, months passed before the latter got into the house which Fontana had taken for her. This we learn from a letter written by her to her friend Gustave Papet, and dated Paris, January, 1840, wherein we read:—
At last I am installed in the Rue Pigalle, 16, only since the last two days, after having fumed, raged, stormed, and sworn at the upholsterers, locksmith, &c., &c. What a long, horrible, unbearable business it is to lodge one's self here!
[FOOTNOTE: In the letter, dated Paris, October, 1839, preceding, in the George Sand "Correspondance," the one from which the above passage is extracted, occur the following words: "Je suis enfin installee chez moi a Paris." Where this chez moi was, I do not know.]
How greatly the interiors of George Sand's pavilions in the Rue Pigalle differed from those of Senor Gomez's villa and the cells in the monastery of Valdemosa, may be gathered from Gutmann's description of two of the apartments.
[FOOTNOTE: I do not guarantee the correctness of all the following details, although I found them in a sketch of Gutmann's life inspired by himself ("Der Lieblings-schuler Chopin's", No. 3 of "Schone Geister," by Bernhard Stavenow, Bremen, 1879), and which he assured me was trustworthy. The reasons of my scepticism are—1, Gutmann's imaginative memory and tendency to show himself off to advantage; 2, Stavenow's love of fine writing and a good story; 3, innumerable misstatements that can be indisputably proved by documents.]
Regarding the small salon, he gives only the general information that it was quaintly fitted up with antique furniture. But of George Sand's own room, which made a deeper impression upon him, he mentions so many particulars—the brown carpet covering the whole floor, the walls hung with a dark-brown ribbed cloth (Ripsstoff), the fine paintings, the carved furniture of dark oak, the brown velvet seats of the chairs, the large square bed, rising but little above the floor, and covered with a Persian rug (Teppich)—that it is easy to picture to ourselves the tout- ensemble of its appearance. Gutmann tells us that he had an early opportunity of making these observations, for Chopin visited his pupil the very day after his arrival (?), and invited him at once to call on George Sand in order to be introduced to her. When Gutmann presented himself in the small salon above alluded to, he found George Sand seated on an ottoman smoking a cigarette. She received the young man with great cordiality, telling him that his master had often spoken to her of him most lovingly. Chopin entered soon after from an adjoining apartment, and then they all went into the dining-room to have dinner. When they were seated again in the cosy salon, and George Sand had lit another cigarette, the conversation, which had touched on a variety of topics, among the rest on Majorca, turned on art. It was then that the authoress said to her friend: "Chop, Chop, show Gutmann my room that he may see the pictures which Eugene Delacroix painted for me."
Chopin on arriving in Paris had taken up his lodgings in the Rue Tronchet, No. 5, and resumed teaching. One of his pupils there was Brinley Richards, who practised under him one of the books of studies. Chopin also assisted the British musician in the publication, by Troupenas, of his first composition, having previously looked over and corrected it. Brinley Richards informed me that Chopin, who played rarely in these lessons, making his corrections and suggestions rather by word of mouth than by example, was very languid, indeed so much so that he looked as if he felt inclined to lie down, and seemed to say: "I wish you would come another time."
About this time, that is in the autumn or early in the winter of 1839, Moscheles came to Paris. We learn from his diary that at Leo's, where he liked best to play, he met for the first time Chopin, who had just returned from the country, and whose acquaintance he was impatient to make. I have already quoted what Moscheles said of Chopin's appearance—namely, that it was exactly like [identificirt mit] his music, both being delicate and dreamy [schwarmerisch]. His remarks on his great contemporary's musical performances are, of course, still more interesting to us.
He played to me at my request, and now for the first time I understand his music, and can also explain to myself the enthusiasm of the ladies. His ad libitum playing, which with the interpreters of his music degenerates into disregard of time, is with him only the most charming originality of execution; the dilettantish harsh modulations which strike me disagreeably when I am playing his compositions no longer shock me, because he glides lightly over them in a fairy-like way with his delicate fingers; his piano is so softly breathed forth that he does not need any strong forte in order to produce the wished-for contrasts; it is for this reason that one does not miss the orchestral-like effects which the German school demands from a pianoforte-player, but allows one's self to be carried away, as by a singer who, little concerned about the accompaniment, entirely follows his feeling. In short, he is an unicum in the world of pianists. He declares that he loves my music very much, and at all events he knows it very well. He played me some studies and his latest work, the "Preludes," and I played him many of my compositions.
In addition to this characterisation of the artist Chopin, Moscheles' notes afford us also some glimpses of the man. "Chopin was lively, merry, nay, exceedingly comical in his imitations of Pixis, Liszt, and a hunchbacked pianoforte-player." Some days afterwards, when Moscheles saw him at his own house, he found him an altogether different Chopin:—
I called on him according to agreement with Ch. and E., who are also quite enthusiastic about him, and who were particularly struck with the "Prelude" in A flat major in 6/8 time with the ever-recurring pedal A flat. Only the Countess O. [Obreskoff] from St. Petersburg, who adores us artists en bloc, was there, and some gentlemen. Chopin's excellent pupil Gutmann played his master's manuscript Scherzo in C sharp minor. Chopin himself played his manuscript Sonata in B flat minor with the Funeral March.
Gutmann relates that Chopin sent for him early in the morning of the day following that on which he paid the above-mentioned visit to George Sand, and said to him:—
Pardon me for disturbing you so early in the morning, but I have just received a note from Moscheles, wherein he expresses his joy at my return to Paris, and announces that he will visit me at five in the afternoon to hear my new compositions. Now I am unfortunately too weak to play my things to him; so you must play. I am chiefly concerned about this Scherzo.
Gutmann, who did not yet know the work (Op. 39), thereupon sat down at Chopin's piano, and by dint of hard practising managed to play it at the appointed hour from memory, and to the satisfaction of the composer. Gutmann's account does not tally in several of its details with Moscheles'. As, however, Moscheles does not give us reminiscences, but sober, business-like notes taken down at the time they refer to, and without any attempt at making a nice story, he is the safer authority. Still, thus much at least we may assume to be certain:—Gutmann played the Scherzo, Op. 39, on this occasion, and his rendering of it was such as to induce his master to dedicate it to him.
Comte de Perthuis, the adjutant of King Louis Philippe, who had heard Chopin and Moscheles repeatedly play the latter's Sonata in E flat major for four hands, spoke so much and so enthusiastically about it at Court that the royal family, wishing "to have also the great treat," invited the two artists to come to St. Cloud. The day after this soiree Moscheles wrote in his diary:—
Yesterday was a memorable day…at nine o'clock Chopin and I, with Perthuis and his amiable wife, who had called for us, drove out to St. Cloud in the heaviest showers of rain, and felt so much the more comfortable when we entered the brilliant, well-lighted palace. We passed through many state- rooms into a salon carre, where the royal family was assembled en petit comite. At a round table sat the queen with an elegant work-basket before her (perhaps to embroider a purse for me?); near her were Madame Adelaide, the Duchess of Orleans, and ladies-in-waiting. The noble ladies were as affable as if we had been old acquaintances…Chopin played first a number of nocturnes and studies, and was admired and petted like a favourite. After I also had played some old and new studies, and been honoured with the same applause, we seated ourselves together at the instrument—he again playing the bass, which he always insists on doing. The close attention of the little circle during my E flat major Sonata was interrupted only by the exclamations "divine!" "delicious!" After the Andante the queen whispered to a lady- in-waiting: "Would it not be indiscreet to ask them to play it again?" which naturally was equivalent to a command to repeat it, and so we played it again with increased abandon. In the Finale we gave ourselves up to a musical delirium. Chopin's enthusiasm throughout the whole piece must, I believe, have infected the auditors, who now burst forth into eulogies of us. Chopin played again alone with the same charm, and called forth the same sympathy as before; then I improvised…
[FOOTNOTE: In the "Neue Zeitschrift fur Musik" of November 12, 1839, we read that Chopin improvised on Grisar's "La Folle," Moscheles on themes by Mozart. La Folle is a romance the success of which was so great that a wit called it une folie de salon. It had for some years an extraordinary popularity, and made the composer a reputation.]
To show his gratitude, the king sent the two artists valuable presents: to Chopin a gold cup and saucer, to Moscheles a travelling case. "The king," remarked Chopin, "gave Moscheles a travelling case to get the sooner rid of him." The composer was fond of and had a talent for throwing off sharp and witty sayings; but it is most probable that on this occasion the words were prompted solely by the fancy, and that their ill-nature was only apparent. Or must we assume that the man Moscheles was less congenial to Chopin than the artist? Moscheles was a Jew, and Chopin disliked the Jews. As, however, the tempting opportunity afforded by the nature of the king's present to Moscheles is sufficient to account for Chopin's remark, and no proofs warranting a less creditable explanation are forthcoming, it would be unfair to listen to the suggestions of suspicion.
George Sand tells us in the "Histoire de ma Vie" that Chopin found his rooms in the Rue Tronchet cold and damp, and felt sorely the separation from her. The consequence of this was that the saintly woman, the sister of mercy, took, after some time, pity upon her suffering worshipper, and once more sacrificed herself. Not to misrepresent her account, the only one we have, of this change in the domestic arrangements of the two friends, I shall faithfully transcribe her delicately-worded statements:—
He again began to cough alarmingly, and I saw myself forced either to give in my resignation as nurse, or to pass my life in impossible journeyings to and fro. He, in order to spare me these, came every day to tell me with a troubled face and a feeble voice that he was wonderfully well. He asked if he might dine with us, and he went away in the evening, shivering in his cab. Seeing how he took to heart his exclusion from our family life, I offered to let to him one of the pavilions, a part of which I could give up to him. He joyfully accepted. He had there his room, received there his friends, and gave there his lessons without incommoding me. Maurice had the room above his; I occupied the other pavilion with my daughter.
Let us see if we cannot get some glimpses of the life in the pavilions of the Rue Pigalle, No. 16. In the first months of 1840, George Sand was busy with preparations for the performance of her drama Cosima, moving heaven and earth to bring about the admission of her friend Madame Dorval into the company of the Theatre-Francais, where her piece, in which she wished this lady to take the principal part, was to be performed. Her son Maurice passed his days in the studio of Eugene Delacroix; and Solange gave much time to her lessons, and lost much over her toilet. Of Grzymala we hear that he is always in love with all the beautiful women, and rolls his big eyes at the tall Borgnotte and the little Jacqueline; and that Madame Marliani is always up to her ears in philosophy. This I gathered from George Sand's Correspondance, where, as the reader will see presently, more is to be found.
George Sand to Chopin; Cambrai, August 13, 1840:—
I arrived at noon very tired, for it is 45 and 35 leagues from Paris to this place. We shall relate to you good stories of the bourgeois of Cambrai. They are beaux, they are stupid, they are shopkeepers; they are the sublime of the genre. If the Historical Procession does not console us, we are capable of dying of ennui at the politeness which people show us. We are lodged like princes. But what hosts, what conversations, what dinners! We laugh at them when we are by ourselves, but when we are before the enemy, what a pitiable figure we selves, make! I am no longer desirous to see you come; but I aspire to depart very quickly, and I understand why you do not wish to give concerts. It is not unlikely that Pauline Viardot may not sing the day after to-morrow, for want of a hall. We shall, perhaps, leave a day sooner. I wish I were already far away from the Cambresians, male and female.
Good night! I am going to bed, I am overcome with fatigue.
Love your old woman [votre vieille] as she loves you.
From a letter written two days later to her son, we learn that Madame Viardot after all gave two concerts at Cambrai. But amusing as the letter is, we will pass it over as not concerning us here. Of another letter (September 20,1840), likewise addressed to her son, I shall quote only one passage, although it contains much interesting matter about the friends and visitors of the inmates of the pavilions of the Rue Pigalle, No. 16:—
Balzac came to dine here the day before yesterday. He is quite mad. He has discovered the blue rose, for which the horticultural societies of London and Belgium have promised a reward of 500,000 francs (qui dit, dit-il). He will sell, moreover, every grain at a hundred sous, and for this great botanic production he will lay out only fifty centimes. Hereupon Rollinat asked him naively:—
"Well, why, then, do you not set about it at once?"
To which Balzac replied:
"Oh! because I have so many other things to do; but I shall
set about it one of these days."
Stavenow, in Schone Geister (see foot-note, p. 70), tells an anecdote of Balzac, which may find a place here:—
One day Balzac had invited George Sand, Chopin, and Gutmann to dinner. On that occasion he related to them that the next day he would have to meet a bill of 30,000 francs, but that he had not a sou in his pocket. Gutmann asked what he intended to do? "Well," replied Balzac, "what shall I do? I wait quietly. Before to-morrow something unexpected may turn up, and give me the means to pay the sum." Scarcely had he said this when the door bell rang. The servant entered and announced that a gentleman was there who urgently wished to speak with M. Balzac.
Balzac rose and left the room. After a quarter of an hour he
came back in high spirits and said:
"The 30,000 francs are found. My publisher wishes to bring out
a new edition of my works, and he offers me just this sum."
George Sand, Chopin, and Gutmann looked at each other with a
smile, and thought—"Another one!"
George Sand to her son; Paris, September 4, 1840:—
We have had here great shows of troops. They have fione the gendarme and cuisse the national guardsman. All Paris was in agitation, as if there were to be a revolution. Nothing took place, except that some passers-by were knocked down by the police.
There were places in Paris where it was dangerous to pass, as these gentlemen assassinated right and left for the pleasure of getting their hands into practice. Chopin, who will not believe anything, has at last the proof and certainty of it.
Madame Marliani is back. I dined at her house the day before yesterday with the Abbe de Lamennais. Yesterday Leroux dined here. Chopin embraces you a thousand times. He is always qui, qui, qui, me, me, me. Rollinat smokes like a steam-boat. Solange has been good for two or three days, but yesterday she had a fit of temper [acces de fureur]. It is the Rebouls, the English neighbours, people and dogs, who turn her head.
In the summer of 1840 George Sand did not go to Nohant, and Chopin seems to have passed most of, if not all, the time in Paris. From a letter addressed to her half-brother, we learn that the reason of her staying away from her country-seat was a wish to economise:—
If you will guarantee my being able to pass the summer at Nohant for 4,000 francs, I will go. But I have never been there without spending 1,500 francs per month, and as I do not spend here the half of this, it is neither the love of work, nor that of spending, nor that of glory, which makes me stay…
George Sand's fits of economy never lasted very long. At any rate, in the summer of 1841 we find her again at Nohant. But as it is my intention to treat of Chopin's domestic life at Nohant and in Paris with some fulness in special chapters, I shall now turn to his artistic doings.
In 1839 there appeared only one work by Chopin, Op. 28, the "Preludes," but in the two following years as many as sixteen— namely, Op. 35-50. Here is an enumeration of these compositions, with the dates of publication and the dedications.
[FOOTNOTE: Both the absence of dedications in the case of some compositions, and the persons to whom others are dedicated, have a biographical significance. They tell us of the composer's absence from Paris and aristocratic society, and his return to them.]
The "Vingt-quatre Preludes," Op. 28, published in September, 1839, have a twofold dedication, the French and English editions being dedicated a son ami Pleyel, and the German to Mr. J. C. Kessler. The publications of 1840 are: in May—Op. 35, "Sonate" (B flat minor); Op. 36, "Deuxieme Impromptu" (F sharp minor); Op. 37, "Deux Nocturnes" (G minor and G major); in July—Op. 42, "Valse" (A flat major); in September—Op. 38, "Deuxieme Ballade" (F major), dedicated to Mr. R. Schumann; in October—Op. 39, "Troisieme Scherzo" (C sharp minor), dedicated to Mr. A. Gutmann; in November—Op. 40, "Deux Polonaises" (A major and C minor), dedicated to Mr. J. Fontana; and in December—Op. 41, "Quatre Mazurkas" (C sharp and E minor, B and A flat major), dedicated to E. Witwicki. Those of 1841 are: in October—Op. 43, "Tarantelle" (A flat major), without any dedication; and in November—Op. 44, "Polonaise" (F sharp minor), dedicated to Madame la Princesse Charles de Beauvau; Op. 45, "Prelude" (C sharp minor), dedicated to Madame la Princesse Elizabeth Czernicheff; Op. 46, "Allegro de Concert" (A major), dedicated to Mdlle. F. Muller; Op. 47, "Troisieme Ballade" (A flat major), dedicated to Mdlle. P. de Noailles; Op. 48, "Deux Nocturnes" (C minor and F sharp minor), dedicated to Mdlle. L. Duperre; Op. 49, "Fantaisie" (F minor), dedicated to Madame la Princesse C. de Souzzo; and Op. 50, "Trois Mazurkas" (G and A flat major, and C sharp minor), dedicated to Mr. Leon Smitkowski.
Chopin's genius had now reached the most perfect stage of its development, and was radiating with all the intensity of which its nature was capable. Notwithstanding such later creations as the fourth "Ballade," Op. 52, the "Barcarolle," Op. 60, and the "Polonaise," Op. 53, it can hardly be said that the composer surpassed in his subsequent works those which he had published in recent years, works among which were the first three ballades, the preludes, and a number of stirring polonaises and charming nocturnes, mazurkas, and other pieces.
However, not only as a creative artist, but also as an executant, Chopin was at the zenith of his power. His bodily frame had indeed suffered from disease, but as yet it was not seriously injured, at least, not so seriously as to disable him to discharge the functions of a musical interpreter. Moreover, the great majority of his compositions demanded from the executant other qualities than physical strength, which was indispensable in only a few of his works. A writer in the "Menestrel" (April 25, 1841) asks himself the question whether Chopin had progressed as a pianist, and answers: "No, for he troubles himself little about the mechanical secrets of the piano; in him there is no charlatanism; heart and genius alone speak, and in these respects his privileged organisation has nothing to learn." Or rather let us say, Chopin troubled himself enough about the mechanical secrets of the piano, but not for their own sakes: he regarded them not as ends, but as means to ends, and although mechanically he may have made no progress, he had done so poetically. Love and sorrow, those most successful teachers of poets and musicians, had not taught him in vain.
It was a fortunate occurrence that at this period of his career Chopin was induced to give a concert, and equally fortunate that men of knowledge, judgment, and literary ability have left us their impressions of the event. The desirability of replenishing an ever-empty purse, and the instigations of George Sand, were no doubt the chief motive powers which helped the composer to overcome his dislike to playing in public.
"Do you practise when the day of the concert approaches?" asked Lenz. [FOOTNOTE: Die grossen Pianoforte-Virtusen unstrer Zeit, p. 36.] "It is a terrible time for me," was Chopin's answer; "I dislike publicity, but it is part of my position. I shut myself up for a fortnight and play Bach. That is my preparation; I never practise my own compositions." What Gutmann told me confirms these statements. Chopin detested playing in public, and became nervous when the dreaded time approached. He then fidgeted a great deal about his clothes, and felt very unhappy if one or the other article did not quite fit or pinched him a little. On one occasion Chopin, being dissatisfied with his own things, made use of a dress-coat and shirt of his pupil Gutmann. By the way, the latter, who gave me this piece of information, must have been in those days of less bulk, and, I feel inclined to add, of less height, than he was when I became acquainted with him.
Leaving the two concerts given by Chopin in 1841 and 1842 to be discussed in detail in the next chapter, I shall now give a translation of the Polish letters which he wrote in the summer and autumn of 1841 to Fontana. The letters numbered 4 and 5 are those already alluded to on p. 24 (foot-note 3) which Karasowski gives as respectively dated by Chopin: "Palma, November 17, 1838"; and "Valdemosa, January 9, 1839." But against these dates militate the contents: the mention of Troupenas, with whom the composer's business connection began only in 1840 (with the Sonata, Op. 35); the mention of the Tarantelle, which was not published until 1841; the mention (contradictory to an earlier inquiry—see p. 30) of the sending back of a valet nowhere else alluded to; the mention of the sending and arrival of a piano, irreconcilable with the circumstances and certain statements in indisputably correctly-dated letters; and, lastly, the absence of all mention of Majorca and the Preludes, those important topics in the letters really from that place and of that time. Karasowski thinks that the letters numbered 1, 2, 3, and 9 were of the year 1838, and those numbered 6, 7, and 8 of the year 1839; but as the "Tarantelle," Op. 43, the "Polonaise," Op. 44, the "Prelude," Op. 45, the "Allegro de Concert," Op. 46, the third "Ballade," Op. 47, the two "Nocturnes," Op. 48, and the "Fantaisie," Op. 49, therein mentioned, were published in 1841, I have no doubt that they are of the year 1841. The mention in the ninth letter of the Rue Pigalle, 16, George Sand's and Chopin's abode in Paris, of Pelletan, the tutor of George Sand's son Maurice, and of the latter's coming to Paris, speaks likewise against 1838 and for 1841, 1840 being out of the question, as neither George Sand nor Chopin was in this year at Nohant. What decides me especially to reject the date 1839 for the seventh letter is that Pauline Garcia had then not yet become the wife of Louis Viardot. There is, moreover, an allusion to a visit of Pauline Viardot to Nohant in the summer of 1841 in one of George Sand's letters (August 13, 1841). In this letter occurs a passage which is important for the dating both of the fifth and the seventh letter. As to the order of succession of the letters, it may be wrong, it certainly does not altogether satisfy me; but it is the result of long and careful weighing of all the pros and cons. I have some doubt about the seventh letter, which, read by the light of George Sand's letter, ought perhaps to be placed after the ninth. But the seventh letter is somewhat of a puzzle. Puzzles, owing to his confused statements and slipshod style, are, however, not a rare thing in Chopin's correspondence. The passage in the above-mentioned letter of George Sand runs thus: "Pauline leaves me on the 16th [of August]; Maurice goes on the 17th to fetch his sister, who should be here on the 23rd."
[I.] Nohant [1841].
My very dear friend,—I arrived here yesterday, Thursday. For Schlesinger [FOOTNOTE: The Paris music-publisher.] I have composed a Prelude in C sharp minor [Op. 45], which is short, as he wished it. Seeing that, like Mechetti's [FOOTNOTE: The Vienna music-publisher.] Beethoven, this has to come out at the New Year, do not yet give my Polonaise to Leo (although you have already transcribed it), for to-morrow I shall send you a letter for Mechetti, in which I shall explain to him that, if he wishes something short, I will give him for the Album instead of the mazurka (which is already old) the NEW prelude. It is well modulated, and I can send it without hesitation. He ought to give me 300 francs for it, n'est-ce pas? Par-dessus le marche he may get the mazurka, only he must not print it in the Album.
Should Troupenas, [FOOTNOTE: Eugene Troupenas, the Paris music- publisher.] that is, Masset, [FOOTNOTE: Masset (his daughter, Madame Colombier, informed me) was the partner of Troupenas, and managed almost the whole business, Troupenas being in weak health, which obliged him to pass the last ten winters of his life at Hyeres.] make any difficulties, do not give him the pieces a farthing cheaper, and tell him that if he does not wish to print them all—which I should not like—I could sell them at a better price to others.
Now of something else.
You will find in the right-hand drawer of my writing-desk (in the place where the cash-box always is) a sealed parcel addressed to Madame Sand. Wrap this parcel in wax-cloth, seal it, and send it by post to Madame Sand's address. Sew on the address with a strong thread, that it may not come off the wax- cloth. It is Madame Sand who asks me to do this. I know you will do it perfectly well. The key, I think, is on the top shelf of the little cabinet with the mirror. If it should not be there, get a locksmith to open the drawer.
I love you as an old friend. Embrace Johnnie.—Your
FREDERICK.
[2.] Nohant [1841].
Thanks for forwarding the parcel. I send you the Prelude, in large characters for Schlesinger and in small characters for Mechetti. Clip the MS. of the Polonaise to the same size, number the pages, and fold it like the Prelude, add to the whole my letter to Mechetti, and deliver it into Leo's own hands, praying him to send it by the first mail, as Mechetti is waiting for it.
The letter to Haslinger [FOOTNOTE: The Vienna music- publisher.] post yourself; and if you do not find Schlesinger at home leave the letter, but do not give him the MS. until he tells you that he accepts the Prelude as a settlement of the account. If he does not wish to acquire the right of publication for London, tell him to inform me of it by letter. Do not forget to add the opus on the Polonaise and the following number on the Prelude—that is, on the copies that are going to Vienna.
I do not know how Czerniszewowa is spelt. Perhaps you will find under the vase or on the little table near the bronze ornament a note from her, from her daughter, or from the governess; if not, I should be glad if you would go—they know you already as my friend—to the Hotel de Londres in the Place Vendome, and beg in my name the young Princess to give you her name in writing and to say whether it is Tscher or Tcher. Or better still, ask for Mdlle. Krause, the governess; tell her that I wish to give the young Princess a surprise; and inquire of her whether it is usual to write Elisabeth and Tschernichef, or ff. [FOOTNOTE: Chopin dedicated the Prelude, Op. 45, to Mdlle. la Princesse Elisabeth Czernicheff.]
If you do not wish to do this, don't be bashful with me, and write that you would rather be excused, in which case I shall find it out by some other means. But do not yet direct Schlesinger to print the title. Tell him I don't know how to spell. Nevertheless, I hope that you will find at my house some note from them on which will be the name….
I conclude because it is time for the mail, and I wish that my letter should reach Vienna without fail this week.
[3.] Nohant, Sunday [1841].
I send you the Tarantella [Op. 43]. Please to copy it. But first go to Schlesinger, or, better still, to Troupenas, and see the collection of Rossini's songs published by Troupenas. In it there is a Tarantella in F. I do not know whether it is written in 6/8 or 12/8 time. As to my composition, it does not matter which way it is written, but I should prefer it to be like Rossini's. Therefore, if the latter be in 12/8 or in C with triplets, make in copying one bar out of two. It will be thus: [here follows one bar of music, bars four and five of the Tarantella as it is printed.] [FOOTNOTE: This is a characteristic instance of Chopin's carelessness in the notation of his music. To write his Tarantella in 12/8 or C would have been an egregious mistake. How Chopin failed to see this is inexplicable to me.]
I beg of you also to write out everything in full, instead of marking repeats. Be quick, and give it to Leo with my letter to Schubert. [FOOTNOTE: Schuberth, the Hamburg music- publisher.] You know he leaves for Hamburg before the 8th of next month, and I should not like to lose 500 francs.
As regards Troupenas, there is no hurry. If the time of my manuscript is not right, do not deliver the latter, but make a copy of it. Besides this, make a third copy of it for Wessel. It will weary you to copy this nasty thing so often; but I hope I shall not compose anything worse for a long time. I also beg of you to look up the number of the last opus— namely, the last mazurkas, or rather the waltz published by Paccini [FOOTNOTE: Pacini, a Paris music-publisher. He published the Waltz in A flat major, Op. 42, in the summer of 1840, if not earlier.]—and give the following number to the Tarantella.
I am keeping my mind easy, for I know you are willing and clever. I trust you will receive from me no more letters burdened with commissions. Had I not been with only one foot at home before my departure you would have none of these unpleasantnesses. Attend to the Tarantella, give it to Leo, and tell him to keep the money he may receive till I come back. Once more I beg of you to excuse my troubling you so much. To-day I received the letter from my people in Poland you sent me. Tell the portier to give you all the letters addressed to me.
[4.]
My dear friend,—As you are so good, be so to the end. Go to the transport commission-office of Mr. Hamberg et Levistal successeurs de Mr. Corstel fils aine et Cie, rue des Marais St. Martin, No. 51, a Paris, and direct them to send at once to Pleyel for the piano I am to have, so that it may go off the next day. Say at the office that it is to be forwarded par un envoy [sic] accelere et non ordinaire. Such a transport costs of course far more, but is incomparably quicker. It will probably cost five francs per cwt. I shall pay here. Only direct them to give you a receipt, on which they will write how many cwts. the piano weighs, when it leaves, and when it will arrive at Chateauroux. If the piano is conveyed by roulage [land-transport]—which goes straight to Toulouse and leaves goods only on the route—the address must not be a la Chatre, [FOOTNOTE: Instead of "la Chatre" we have in Karasowski's Polish book "la Chatie," which ought to warn us not to attribute all the peculiar French in this letter to Chopin, who surely knew how to spell the name of the town in the neighbourhood of the familiar Nohant.] but Madame Dudevant, a Chateauroux, as I wrote above. [FOOTNOTE: "Address of the piano: Madame Dudevant, a Chateauroux. Bureau Restant chez M. Vollant Patureau." This is what Chopin wrote above.] At the last-mentioned place the agency has been informed, and will forward it at once. You need not send me the receipt, we should require it only in case of some unforeseen reclamation. The correspondent in Chateauroux says that PAR LA VOYE ACCELERE [SIC] it will come from Paris in four days. If this is so, let him bind himself to deliver the piano at Chateauroux in four or five days.
Now to other business.
Should Pleyel make any difficulties, apply to Erard; I think that the latter in all probability ought to be serviceable to you. Only do not act hastily, and first ascertain how the matter really stands.
As to the Tarantella, seal it and send it to Hamburg. To- morrow I shall write you of other affairs, concerning Troupenas, &c.
Embrace Johnnie, and tell him to write.
[5.]
Thanks for all the commissions you have executed so well. To- day, that is on the 9th, I received the piano and the other things. Do not send my little bust to Warsaw, it would frighten them, leave it in the press. Kiss Johnnie for his letter. I shall write him a few lines shortly.
To-morrow I shall very likely send back my old servant, who loses his wits here. He is an honest man and knows how to serve, but he is tiresome, and makes one lose one's patience. I shall send him back, telling him to wait for me in Paris. If he appears at the house, do not be frightened.
Latterly the weather has been only so-so.
The man in Chateauroux was waiting three days for the piano; yesterday, after receiving your letter, I gave orders that he should be recalled. To-day I do not yet know what kind of tone the piano has, as it is not yet unpacked; this great event is to take place to-morrow. As to the delay and misunderstanding in sending it, do not make any inquiries; let the matter rest, it is not worth a quarrel. You did the best you could. A little ill-humour and a few days lost in expectation are not worth a pinch of snuff. Forget, therefore, my commissions and your transaction; next time, if God permits us to live, matters will turn out better.
I write you these few words late at night. Once more I thank you, most obliging of men, for the commissions, which are not yet ended, for now comes the turn of the Troupenas business, which will hang on your shoulders. I shall write to you on this subject more fully some other time, and to-day I wish you good night. But don't have dreams like Johnnie—that I died; but rather dream that I am about to be born, or something of the sort.
In fact, I am feeling now as calm and serene as a baby in swaddling-clothes; and if somebody wished to put me in leading- strings, I should be very glad—nota bene, with a cap thickly lined with wadding on my head, for I feel that at every moment I should stumble and turn upside down. Unfortunately, instead of leading-strings there are probably awaiting me crutches, if I approach old age with my present step. I once dreamt that I was dying in a hospital, and this is so strongly rooted in my mind that I cannot forget it—it is as if I had dreamt it yesterday. If you survive me, you will learn whether we may believe in dreams.
And now I often dream with my eyes open what may be said to have neither rhyme nor reason in it.
That is why I write you such a foolish letter, is it?
Send me soon a letter from my people, and love your old
FREDERICK.
[6.] Nohant [1841].
Thanks for your very kind letter. Unseal all you judge necessary.
Do not give the manuscripts to Troupenas till Schubert has informed you of the day of publication. The answer will very likely come soon through Leo.
What a pity that the Tarantella is gone to Berlin, for, as you know from Schubert's letter, Liszt is mixed up in this monetary affair, and I may have some unpleasantness. He is a thin-skinned Hungarian, and may think that I do not trust him because I directed that the manuscripts should not be given otherwise than for cash. I do not know, but I have a presentiment of a disagreeable mess. Do not say anything about it to the ailing Leo; go and see him if you think it necessary, give him my compliments and thanks (although undeserved), and ask pardon for troubling him so much. After all, it is kind of him to take upon him the forwarding of my things. Give my compliments, also to Pleyel, and ask him to excuse my not writing to him (do not say anything about his sending me a very inferior piano).
I beg of you to put into the letter-box at the Exchange yourself the letter to my parents, but I say do it yourself, and before 4 o'clock. Excuse my troubling you, but you know of what great importance my letter is to my people.
Escudier has very likely sent you that famous album. If you wish you may ask Troupenas to get you a copy as if it were for me; but if you don't wish, say nothing.
[FOOTNOTE: Leon Escudier, I suppose. The brothers Marie and Leon Escudier established a music business in the latter part of the fourth decade of this century; but when soon after both married and divided their common property, Marie got their journal "La France Musicale" and Leon the music-business. They wrote and published together various books on music and musicians.]
Still one more bother.
At your leisure transcribe once more this unlucky Tarantella, which will be sent to Wessel when the day [of publication] is known. If I tire you so much with this Tarentella, you may be sure that it is for the last time. From here, I am sure you will have no more manuscript from me. If there should not be any news from Schubert within a week, please write to me. In that case you would give the manuscript to Troupenas. But I shall write him about it.