I always made my appearance long before my hour and waited.
  One lady after another came out, one more beautiful than the
  other, on one occasion Mdlle. Laure Duperre, the daughter of
  the admiral, whom Chopin accompanied to the staircase, she was
  the most beautiful of all, and as straight as a palm; to her
  Chopin has dedicated two of his most important Nocturnes (in C
  minor and F sharp minor, Op. 48); she was at that time his
  favourite pupil. In the anteroom I often met little Filtsch,
  who, unfortunately, died too young, at the age of thirteen, a
  Hungarian and a genius. He knew how to play Chopin! Of Filtsch
  Liszt said in my presence at a soiree of the Comtesse
  d'Agoult: "When the little one begins to travel, I shall shut
  up my shop" (Quand le petit voyagera, je fermerai boutique). I
  was jealous of Filtsch, Chopin had eyes only for him.

How high an opinion the master had of this talented pupil appears from his assertion that the boy played the E minor Concerto better than he himself. Lenz mentions Filtsch and his playing of the E minor Concerto only in passing in "Die grossen Pianoforte-Virtuosen unserer Zeit," but devotes to them more of his leisure in an article which appeared in the Berliner Musikzeitung (Vol. XXVI.), the amusing gossip of which deserves notice here on account of the light thrown by some of its details on Chopin's ways and the company he received in his salon. On one occasion when Filtsch had given his master particular satisfaction by a tasteful rendering of the second solo of the first movement of the E minor Concerto, Chopin said: "You have played this well, my boy (mon garcon), I must try it myself." Lenz relates that what now followed was indescribable: the little one (der Kleine) burst into tears, and Chopin, who indeed had been telling them the story of his artist life, said, as if speaking to himself, "I have loved it! I have already once played it!" Then, turning to Filtsch, he spoke these words: "Yours is a beautiful artist nature (une belle nature d'artiste), you will become a great artist." Whilst the youthful pianist was studying the Concerto with Chopin, he was never allowed to play more than one solo at a time, the work affecting too much the feelings of the composer, who, moreover, thought that the whole was contained in every one of the solos; and when he at last got leave to perform the whole, an event for which he prepared himself by fasting and prayers of the Roman Catholic Church, and by such reading as was pointed out by his master, practising being forbidden for the time, Chopin said to him: "As you have now mastered the movement so well, we will bring it to a hearing."

The reader must understand that I do not vouch for the strict correctness of Lenz's somewhat melodramatic narrative; and having given this warning I shall, to keep myself free from all responsibility, simply translate the rest of what is yet to be told:—

  Chopin invited a party of ladies, George Sand was one of them,
  and was as quiet as a mouse; moreover, she knew nothing of
  music. The favoured pupils from the highest aristocracy
  appeared with modest demeanour and full of the most profound
  devotion, they glided silently, like gold-fishes in a vase,
  one after another into the salon, and sat down as far as
  possible from the piano, as Chopin liked people to do. Nobody
  spoke, Chopin only nodded, and shook hands with one here and
  there, not with all of them. The square pianoforte, which
  stood in his cabinet, he had placed beside the Pleyel concert
  grand in the salon, not without the most painful embarras to
  him. The most insignificant trifle affected him; he was a noli
  me tangere. He had said once, or rather had thought aloud: "If
  I saw a crack more in the ceiling, I should not be able to
  bring out a note." Chopin poured the whole dreamy, vaporous
  instrumentation of the work into his incomparable
  accompaniment. He played without book. I have never heard
  anything that could be compared to the first tutti, which he
  played alone on the piano. The little one did wonders. The
  whole was an impression for all the rest of one's life. After
  Chopin had briefly dismissed the ladies (he loved praise
  neither for himself nor for others, and only George Sand was
  permitted to embrace Filtsch), he said to the latter, his
  brother, who always accompanied the little one, and me: "We
  have yet to take a walk." It was a command which we received
  with the most respectful bow.

The destination of this walk was Schlesinger's music-shop, where Chopin presented his promising young pupil with the score of Beethoven's "Fidelio":—

  "I am in your debt, you have given me much pleasure to-day. I
  wrote the Concerto in happier days. Receive, my dear little
  friend, this great master-work; read therein as long as you
  live, and remember me also sometimes." The little one was as
  if stunned, and kissed Chopin's hand. We were all deeply
  moved, Chopin himself was so. He disappeared immediately
  through the glass door on a level with the Rue Richelieu, into
  which it leads.

A scene of a very different nature which occurred some years later was described to me by Madame Dubois. This lady, then still Mdlle. O'Meara and a pupil of Chopin's, had in 1847 played, accompanied on a second piano by her master, the latter's Concerto in E minor at a party of Madame de Courbonne's. Madame Girardin, who was among the guests, afterwards wrote most charmingly and eulogistically about the young girl's beauty and talent in one of her Lettres parisiennes, which appeared in La Presse and were subsequently published in a collected form under the title of "Le Vicomte de Launay." Made curious by Madame Girardin's account, and probably also by remarks of Chopin and others, George Sand wished to see the heroine of that much-talked-of letter. Thus it came to pass that one day when Miss O'Meara was having her lesson, George Sand crossed the Square d'Orleans and paid Chopin a visit in his apartments. The master received her with all the grace and amiability he was capable of. Noticing that her pardessus was bespattered with mud, he seemed to be much vexed, and the exquisitely-elegant gentleman (l'homme de toutes les elegances ) began to rub off with his small, white hands the stains which on any other person would have caused him disgust. And Mdlle. O'Meara, child as she still was, watched what was going on from the corner of her eye and thought: "Comme il aime cette femme!" [FOOTNOTE: Madame A. Audley gives an altogether incorrect account of this incident in her FREDERIC CHOPIN. Madame Girardin was not one of the actors, and Mdlle. O'Meara did not think the thoughts attributed to her.]

Whenever Chopin's connection with George Sand is mentioned, one hears a great deal of the misery and nothing or little of the happiness which accrued to him out of it. The years of tenderness and devotion are slurred over and her infidelities, growing indifference, and final desertion are dwelt upon with undue emphasis. Whatever those of Chopin's friends who were not also George Sand's friends may say, we may be sure that his joys outweighed his sorrows. Her resoluteness must have been an invaluable support to so vacillating a character as Chopin's was; and, although their natures were in many respects discordant, the poetic element of hers cannot but have found sympathetic chords in his. Every character has many aspects, but the world is little disposed to see more than one side of George Sand's—namely, that which is most conspicuous by its defiance of law and custom, and finds expression in loud declamation and denunciation. To observe her in one of her more lovable attitudes of mind, we will transport ourselves from Chopin's to her salon.

Louis Enault relates how one evening George Sand, who sometimes thought aloud when with Chopin—this being her way of chatting—spoke of the peacefulness of the country and unfolded a picture of the rural harmonies that had all the charming and negligent grace of a village idyl, bringing, in fact, her beloved Berry to the fireside of the room in the Square d'Orleans.

  "How well you have spoken!" said Chopin naively.

  "You think so?" she replied. "Well, then, set me to music!"
  Hereupon Chopin improvised a veritable pastoral symphony, and
  George Sand placing herself beside him and laying her hand
  gently on his shoulder said: "Go on, velvet fingers [courage,
  doigts de velour]!"

Here is another anecdote of quiet home-life. George Sand had a little dog which was in the habit of turning round and round in the endeavour to catch its tail. One evening when it was thus engaged, she said to Chopin: "If I had your talent, I would compose a pianoforte piece for this dog." Chopin at once sat down at the piano, and improvised the charming Waltz in D flat (Op. 64), which hence has obtained the name of Valse du petit chien. This story is well known among the pupils and friends of the master, but not always told in exactly the same way. According to another version, Chopin improvised the waltz when the little dog was playing with a ball of wool. This variation, however, does not affect the pith of the story.

The following two extracts tell us more about the intimate home-life at Nohant and in the Court d'Orleans than anything we have as yet met with.

  Madame Sand to her son; October 17, 1843:—

  Tell me if Chopin is ill; his letters are short and sad. Take
  care of him if he is ailing. Take a little my place. He would
  take my place with so much zeal if you were ill.
  Madame Sand to her son; November 16, 1843:—

  If you care for the letter which I have written you about her
  [Solange], ask Chopin for it. It was for both of you, and it
  has not given him much pleasure. He has taken it amiss, and
  yet I did not wish to annoy him, God forbid! We shall all see
  each other soon again, and hearty embraces [de bonnes
  bigeades] [FOOTNOTE: Biger is in the Berry dialect "to kiss."]
  all round shall efface all my sermons.

In another of George Sand's letters to her son—it is dated November 28, 1843—we read about Chopin's already often-mentioned valet. Speaking of the foundation of a provincial journal, "L'Eclaireur de l'Indre," by herself and a number of her friends, and of their being on the look-out for an editor who would be content with the modest salary of 2,000 francs, she says:—

  This is hardly more than the wages of Chopin's domestic, and
  to imagine that for this it is possible to find a man of
  talent! First measure of the Committee of Public Safety: we
  shall outlaw Chopin if he allows himself to have lackeys
  salaried like publicists.

Chopin treated George Sand with the greatest respect and devotion; he was always aux petits soins with her. It is characteristic of the man and exemplifies strikingly the delicacy of his taste and feeling that his demeanour in her house showed in no way the intimate relation in which he stood to the mistress of it: he seemed to be a guest like any other occasional visitor. Lenz wishes to make us believe that George Sand's treatment of Chopin was unworthy of the great artist, but his statements are emphatically contradicted by Gutmann, who says that her behaviour towards him was always respectful. If the lively Russian councillor in the passages I am going to translate describes correctly what he heard and saw, he must have witnessed an exceptional occurrence; it is, however, more likely that the bad reception he received from the lady prejudiced him against her.

Lenz relates that one day Chopin took him to the salon of Madame Marliani, where there was in the evening always a gathering of friends.

  George Sand [thus runs his account of his first meeting with
  the great novelist] did not say a word when Chopin introduced
  me. This was rude. Just for that reason I seated myself beside
  her. Chopin fluttered about like a little frightened bird in
  its cage, he saw something was going to happen. What had he
  not always feared on this terrain? At the first pause in the
  conversation, which was led by Madame Sand's friend, Madame
  Viardot, the great singer whose acquaintance I was later to
  make in St. Petersburg, Chopin put his arm through mine and
  led me to the piano. Reader! if you play the piano you will
  imagine how I felt!  It was an upright or cottage piano [Steh-
  oder Stutzflugel] of Pleyel's, which people in Paris regard as
  a pianoforte. I played the Invitation in a fragmentary
  fashion, Chopin gave me his hand in the most friendly manner,
  George Sand did not say a word. I seated myself once more
  beside her. I had obviously a purpose. Chopin looked anxiously
  at us across the table, on which was burning the inevitable
  carcel.

  "Are you not coming sometime to St. Petersburg," said I to
  George Sand in the most polite tone, "where you are so much
  read, so highly admired?"

  "I shall never lower myself by visiting a country of slaves!"
  answered George Sand shortly.

  This was indecorous [unanstandig] after she had been uncivil.

  "After all, you are right NOT to come," I replied in the same
  tone; "you might find the door closed!  I was thinking of the
  Emperor Nicholas."

  George Sand looked at me in astonishment, I plunged boldly
  into her large, beautiful, brown, cow-like eyes. Chopin did
  not seem displeased, I knew the movements of his head.

  Instead of giving any answer George Sand rose in a theatrical
  fashion, and strode in the most manly way through the salon to
  the blazing fire. I followed her closely, and seated myself
  for the third time beside her, ready for another attack.

  She would be obliged at last to say something.

  George Sand drew an enormously thick Trabucco cigar out of her
  apron pocket, and called out "Frederic! un fidibus!"

  This offended me for him, that perfect gentleman, my master; I
  understood Liszt's words: "Pauvre Frederic!" in all their
  significance.

  Chopin immediately came up with a fidibus.

  As she was sending forth the first terrible cloud of smoke,
  George Sand honoured me with a word:

  "In St. Petersburg," she began, "I could not even smoke a
  cigar in a drawing-room?"

  "In NO drawing-room have I ever seen anyone smoke a cigar,
  Madame," I answered, not without emphasis, with a bow!

  George Sand fixed her eyes sharply upon me—the thrust had
  gone home!  I looked calmly around me at the good pictures in
  the salon, each of which was lighted up by a separate lamp.
  Chopin had probably heard nothing; he had returned to the
  hostess at the table.

  Pauvre Frederic!  How sorry I was for him, the great artist!
  The next day the Suisse [hall-porter] in the hotel, Mr.
  Armand, said to me: "A gentleman and a lady have been here, I
  said you were not at home, you had not said you would receive
  visitors; the gentleman left his name, he had no card with
  him."  I read: Chopin et Madame Sand. After this I quarrelled
  for two months with Mr. Armand.

George Sand was probably out of humour on the evening in question; that it was not her usual manner of receiving visitors may be gathered from what Chopin said soon after to Lenz when the latter came to him for a lesson. "George Sand," he said, "called with me on you. What a pity you were not at home! I regretted it very much. George Sand thought she had been uncivil to you. You would have seen how amiable she can be. You have pleased her."

Alexander Chodzko, the learned professor of Slavonic literature at the College de France, told me that he was half-a-dozen times at George Sand's house. Her apartments were furnished in a style in favour with young men. First you came into a vestibule where hats, coats, and sticks were left, then into a large salon with a billiard-table. On the mantel-piece were to be found the materials requisite for smoking. George Sand set her guests an example by lighting a cigar. M. Chodzko met there among others the historian and statesman Guizot, the litterateur Francois, and Madame Marliani. If Chopin was not present, George Sand would often ask the servant what he was doing, whether he was working or sleeping, whether he was in good or bad humour. And when he came in all eyes were directed towards him. If he happened to be in good humour George Sand would lead him to the piano, which stood in one of the two smaller apartments adjoining the salon. These smaller apartments were provided with couches for those who wished to talk. Chopin began generally to prelude apathetically and only gradually grew warm, but then his playing was really grand. If, however, he was not in a playing mood, he was often asked to give some of his wonderful mimetic imitations. On such occasions Chopin retired to one of the side-rooms, and when he returned he was irrecognisable. Professor Chodzko remembers seeing him as Frederick the Great.

Chopin's talent for mimicry, which even such distinguished actors as Bocage and Madame Dorval regarded with admiration, is alluded to by Balzac in his novel "Un Homme d'affaires," where he says of one of the characters that "he is endowed with the same talent for imitating people which Chopin, the pianist, possesses in so high a degree; he represents a personage instantly and with astounding truth." Liszt remarks that Chopin displayed in pantomime an inexhaustible verve drolatique, and often amused himself with reproducing in comical improvisations the musical formulas and peculiar ways of certain virtuosos, whose faces and gestures he at the same time imitated in the most striking manner. These statements are corroborated by the accounts of innumerable eye and ear-witnesses of such performances. One of the most illustrative of these accounts is the following very amusing anecdote. When the Polish musician Nowakowski [FOOTNOTE: He visited Paris in 1838, 1841, and 1846, partly for the purpose of making arrangements for the publication of his compositions, among which are Etudes dedicated to Chopin.] visited Paris, he begged his countryman to bring him in contact with Kalkbrenner, Liszt, and Pixis. Chopin, replying that he need not put himself to the trouble of going in search of these artists if he wished to make their acquaintance, forthwith sat down at the piano and assumed the attitude, imitated the style of playing, and mimicked the mien and gestures, first of Liszt and then of Pixis. Next evening Chopin and Nowakowski went together to the theatre. The former having left the box during one of the intervals, the latter looked round after awhile and saw Pixis sitting beside him. Nowakowski, thinking Chopin was at his favourite game, clapped Pixis familiarly on the shoulder and said: "Leave off, don't imitate now!" The surprise of Pixis and the subsequent confusion of Nowakowski may be easily imagined. When Chopin, who at this moment returned, had been made to understand what had taken place, he laughed heartily, and with the grace peculiar to him knew how to make his friend's and his own excuses. One thing in connection with Chopin's mimicry has to be particularly noted—it is very characteristic of the man. Chopin, we learn from Liszt, while subjecting his features to all kinds of metamorphoses and imitating even the ugly and grotesque, never lost his native grace, "la grimace ne parvenait meme pas a l'enlaidir."

We shall see presently what George Sand has to say about her lover's imitative talent; first, however, we will make ourselves acquainted with the friends with whom she especially associated. Besides Pierre Leroux, Balzac, Pauline Viardot-Garcia, and others who have already been mentioned in the foregoing chapters, she numbered among her most intimate friends the Republican politician and historian Louis Blanc, the Republican litterateur Godefroy Cavaignac, the historian Henri Martin, and the litterateur Louis Viardot, the husband of Pauline Garcia.

[FOOTNOTE: This name reminds me of a passage in Louis Blanc's "Histoire de la Revolution de 1840" (p. 210 of Fifth Edition. Paris, 1880). "A short time before his [Godefroy Cavaignac's] end, he was seized by an extraordinary desire to hear music once more. I knew Chopin. I offered to go to him, and to bring him with me, if the doctor did not oppose it. The entreaties thereupon took the character of a supplication. With the consent, or rather at the urgent prayer, of Madame Cavaignac, I betook myself to Chopin. Madame George Sand was there. She expressed in a touching manner the lively interest with which the invalid inspired her; and Chopin placed himself at my service with much readiness and grace. I conducted him then into the chamber of the dying man, where there was a bad piano. The great artist begins...Suddenly he is interrupted by sobs. Godefroy, in a transport of sensibility which gave him a moment's physical strength, had quite unexpectedly raised himself in his bed of suffering, his face bathed in tears. Chopin stopped, much disturbed; Madame Cavaignac, leaning towards her son, anxiously interrogated him with her eyes. He made an effort to become self-possessed; he attempted to smile, and with a feeble voice said, 'Do not be uneasy, mamma, it is nothing; real childishness...Ah! how beautiful music is, understood thus!' His thought was—we had no difficulty in divining it—that he would no longer hear anything like it in this world, but he refrained from saying so."]

Friends not less esteemed by her than these, but with whom she was less intimate, were the Polish poet Mickiewicz, the famous bass singer Lablache, the excellent pianist and composer Alkan aine, the Italian composer and singing-master Soliva (whom we met already in Warsaw), the philosopher and poet Edgar Quinet, General Guglielmo Pepe (commander-in-chief of the Neapolitan insurrectionary army in 1820-21), and likewise the actor Bocage, the litterateur Ferdinand Francois, the German musician Dessauer, the Spanish politician Mendizabal, the dramatist and journalist Etienne Arago, [FOOTNOTE: The name of Etienne Arago is mentioned in "Ma Vie," but it is that of Emmanuel Arago which occurs frequently in the "Corrcspcndance."] and a number of literary and other personages of less note, of whom I shall mention only Agricol Perdiguier and Gilland, the noble artisan and the ecrivain proletaire, as George Sand calls them.

Although some of George Sand's friends were also Chopin's, there can be no doubt that the society which gathered around her was on the whole not congenial to him. Some remarks which Liszt makes with regard to George Sand's salon at Nohant are even more applicable to her salon in Paris.

  An author's relations with the representatives of publicity
  and his dramatic executants, actors and actresses, and with
  those whom he treats with marked attention on account of their
  merits or because they please him; the crossing of incidents,
  the clash and rebound of the infatuations and disagreements
  which result therefrom; were naturally hateful to him [to
  Chopin]. For a long time he endeavoured to escape from them by
  shutting his eyes, by making up his mind not to see anything.
  There happened, however, such things, such catastrophes
  [denouements], as, by shocking too much his delicacy,
  offending too much his habits of the moral and social comme-il-
  faut, ended in rendering his presence at Nohant impossible,
  although he seemed at first to have felt more content [plus de
  repif] there than elsewhere.

These are, of course, only mere surmises, but Liszt, although often wrong as to incidents, is, thanks to his penetrative genius, generally right as to essences. Indeed, if George Sand's surroundings and Chopin's character and tastes are kept in view nothing seems to be more probable than that his over-delicate susceptibilities may have occasionally been shocked by unrestrained vivacity, loud laughter, and perhaps even coarse words; that his uncompromising idealism may have been disturbed by the discordance of literary squabbles, intrigues, and business transactions; that his peaceable, non-speculative, and non-argumentative disposition may have been vexed and wearied by discussions of political, social, religious, literary, and artistic problems. Unless his own art was the subject, Chopin did not take part in discussions. And Liszt tells us that Chopin not only, like most artists, lacked a generalising mind [esprit generalisateur], but showed hardly any inclination for aesthetics, of which he had not even heard much. We may be sure that to Chopin to whom discussions of any kind were distasteful, those of a circle in which, as in that of George Sand, democratic and socialistic, theistic and atheistic views prevailed, were particularly so. For, notwithstanding his bourgeois birth, his sympathies were with the aristocracy; and notwithstanding his neglect of ritual observances, his attachment to the Church of Rome remained unbroken. Chopin does not seem to have concealed his dislike to George Sand's circle; if he did not give audible expression to it, he made it sufficiently manifest by seeking other company. That she was aware of the fact and displeased with it, is evident from what she says of her lover's social habits in Ma Vie. The following excerpt from that work is an important biographical contribution; it is written not without bitterness, but with hardly any exaggeration:—

  He was a man of the world par excellence, not of the too
  formal and too numerous world, but of the intimate world, of
  the salons of twenty persons, of the hour when the crowd goes
  away and the habitues crowd round the artist to wrest from him
  by amiable importunity his purest inspiration. It was then
  only that he exhibited all his genius and all his talent. It
  was then also that after having plunged his audience into a
  profound recueillement or into a painful sadness, for his
  music sometimes discouraged one's soul terribly, especially
  when he improvised, he would suddenly, as if to take away the
  impression and remembrance of his sorrow from others and from
  himself, turn stealthily to a glass, arrange his hair and his
  cravat, and show himself suddenly transformed into a
  phlegmatic Englishman, into an impertinent old man, into a
  sentimental and ridiculous Englishwoman, into a sordid Jew.
  The types were always sad, however comical they might be, but
  perfectly conceived and so delicately rendered that one could
  not grow weary of admiring them.

  All these sublime, charming, or bizarre things that he knew
  how to evolve out of himself made him the soul of select
  society, and there was literally a contest for his company,
  his noble character, his disinterestedness, his self-respect,
  his proper pride, enemy of every vanity of bad taste and of
  every insolent reclame, the security of intercourse with him,
  and the exquisite delicacy of his manners, making him a friend
  equally serious and agreeable.

  To tear Chopin away from so many gdteries, to associate him
  with a simple, uniform, and constantly studious life, him who
  had been brought up on the knees of princesses, was to deprive
  him of that which made him live, of a factitious life, it is
  true, for, like a painted woman, he laid aside in the evening,
  in returning to his home, his verve and his energy, to give
  the night to fever and sleeplessness; but of a life which
  would have been shorter and more animated than that of the
  retirement and of the intimacy restricted to the uniform
  circle of a single family. In Paris he visited several salons
  every day, or he chose at least every evening a different one
  as a milieu. He had thus by turns twenty or thirty salons to
  intoxicate or to charm with his presence.





CHAPTER XXVII.

CHOPIN IN HIS SOCIAL RELATIONS: HIS PREDILECTION FOR THE FASHIONABLE SALON SOCIETY (ACCOUNTS BY MADAME GIRARDIN AND BERLIOZ); HIS NEGLECT OF THE SOCIETY OF ARTISTS (ARY SCHEFFER, MARMONTEL, HELLER, SCHULHOFF, THE PARIS CORRESPONDENT OF THE MUSICAL WORLD); APHORISMS BY LISZT ON CHOPIN IN HIS SOCIAL ASPECT.—CHOPIN'S FRIENDSHIPS.—GEORGE SAND, LISZT, LENZ, HELLER, MARMONTEL, AND HILLER ON HIS CHARACTER (IRRITABILITY, FITS OF ANGER—SCENE WITH MEYERBEER—GAIETY AND RAILLERY, LOVE OF SOCIETY, AND LITTLE TASTE FOR READING, PREDILECTION FOR THINGS POLISH).—HIS POLISH, GERMAN, ENGLISH, AND RUSSIAN FRIENDS.—THE PARTY MADE FAMOUS BY LISZT'S ACCOUNT.—HIS INTERCOURSE WITH MUSICIANS (OSBORNE, BERLIOZ, BAILLOT, CHERUBINI, KALKBRENNER, FONTANA, SOWINSKI, WOLFF, MEYERBEER, ALKAN, ETC.).—HIS FRIENDSHIP WITH LISZT.—HIS DISLIKE TO LETTER-WRITING.

George Sand, although one of the cleverest of the literary portrayers who have tried their hand at Chopin, cannot be regarded as one of the most impartial; but it must be admitted that in describing her deserted lover as un homme du monde par excellence, non pas du monde trop officiel, trop nombreux, she says what is confirmed by all who have known him, by his friends, foes, and those that are neither. Aristocratic society, with which he was acquainted from his earliest childhood, had always a great charm for him. When at the beginning of 1833, a little more than two years after his arrival in Paris, he informed his friend Dziewanowski that he moved in the highest society—among ambassadors, princes, and ministers—it is impossible not to see that the fact gives him much satisfaction. Without going so far as to say with a great contemporary of Chopin, Stephen Heller, that the higher you go in society the greater is the ignorance you find, I think that little if any good for either heart or mind can come from intercourse with that section of the people which proudly styles itself "society" (le monde). Many individuals that belong to it possess, no doubt, true nobility, wisdom, and learning, nay, even the majority may possess one or the other or all of them in some degree, but these qualities are so out of keeping with the prevailing frivolity that few have the moral courage to show their better nature. If Chopin imagined that he was fully understood as an artist by society, he was sadly mistaken. Liszt and Heller certainly held that he was not fully understood, and they did not merely surmise or speak from hearsay, for neither of them was a stranger in that quarter, although the latter avoided it as much as possible. What society could and did appreciate in Chopin was his virtuosity, his elegance, and his delicacy. It is not my intention to attempt an enumeration of Chopin's aristocratic friends and acquaintances, but in the dedications of his works the curious will find the most important of them. There, then, we read the names of the Princess Czartoryska, Countess Plater, Countess Potocka, Princesse de Beauvau, Countess Appony, Countess Esterhazy, Comte and Comtesse de Perthuis, Baroness Bronicka, Princess Czernicheff, Princess Souzzo, Countess Mostowska, Countess Czosnowska, Comtesse de Flahault, Baroness von Billing, Baron and Baroness von Stockhausen, Countess von Lobau, Mdlle. de Noailles, &c. And in addition to these we have representatives of the aristocracy of wealth, Madame C. de Rothschild foremost amongst them. Whether the banker Leo with whom and his family Chopin was on very friendly terms may be mentioned in this connection, I do not know. But we must remember that round many of the above names cluster large families. The names of the sisters Countess Potocka and Princesse de Beauvau call up at once that of their mother, Countess Komar. Many of these here enumerated are repeatedly mentioned in the course of this book, some will receive particular attention in the next chapter. Now we will try to get a glimpse of Chopin in society.

Madame de Girardin, after having described in one of her "Lettres parisiennes" (March 7, 1847) [FOOTNOTE: The full title of the work is: "Le Vicomte de Launay—Lettres parisiennes par Mdme. Emile de Girardin." (Paris: Michel Levy freres.)] with what success Mdlle. O'Meara accompanied by her master played his E minor Concerto at a soiree of Madame de Courbonne, proceeds thus:—

  Mdlle. Meara is a pupil of Chopin's. He was there, he was
  present at the triumph of his pupil, the anxious audience asked
  itself: "Shall we hear him?"

  The fact is that it was for passionate admirers the torment of
  Tantalus to see Chopin going about a whole evening in a salon and
  not to hear him. The mistress of the house took pity on us; she
  was indiscreet, and Chopin played, sang his most delicious songs;
  we set to these joyous or sad airs the words which came into our
  heads; we followed with our thoughts his melodious caprices.
  There were some twenty of us, sincere amateurs, true believers,
  and not a note was lost, not an intention was misunderstood; it
  was not a concert, it was intimate, serious music such as we
  love; he was not a virtuoso who comes and plays the air agreed
  upon and then disappears; he was a beautiful talent, monopolised,
  worried, tormented, without consideration and scruples, whom one
  dared ask for the most beloved airs, and who full of grace and
  charity repeated to you the favourite phrase, in order that you
  might carry it away correct and pure in your memory, and for a
  long time yet feast on it in remembrance. Madame so-and-so said:
  "Please, play this pretty nocturne dedicated to Mdlle.
  Stirling."—The nocturne which I called the dangerous one.—He
  smiled, and played the fatal nocturne. "I," said another lady,
  "should like to hear once played by you this mazurka, so sad and
  so charming." He smiled again, and played the delicious mazurka.
  The most profoundly artful among the ladies sought expedients to
  attain their end: "I am practising the grand sonata which
  commences with this beautiful funeral march," and "I should like
  to know the movement in which the finale ought to be played." He
  smiled a little at the stratagem, and played the finale, of the
  grand sonata, one of the most magnificent pieces which he has
  composed.

Although Madame Girardin's language and opinions are fair specimens of those prevalent in the beatified regions in which Chopin delighted to move, we will not follow her rhapsodic eulogy of his playing. That she cannot be ranked with the connoisseurs is evident from her statement that the sonata BEGINS with the funeral march, and that the FINALE is one of the most magnificent creations of the composer. Notwithstanding Madame Girardin's subsequent remark that Chopin's playing at Madame de Courbonne's was quite an exception, her letter may mislead the reader into the belief that the great pianist was easily induced to sit down at the piano. A more correct idea may be formed of the real state of matters from a passage in an article by Berlioz (Feuilleton du Journal des Debats, October 27, 1849) in which the supremacy of style over matter is a little less absolute than in the lady's elegant chit-chat:—

  A small circle of select auditors, whose real desire to hear
  him was beyond doubt, could alone determine him to approach
  the piano. What emotions he would then call forth! In what
  ardent and melancholy reveries he loved to pour out his soul!
  It was usually towards midnight that he gave himself up with
  the greatest ABANDON, when the big butterflies of the salon
  had left, when the political questions of the day had been
  discussed at length, when all the scandal-mongers were at the
  end of their anecdotes, when all the snares were laid, all the
  perfidies consummated, when one was thoroughly tired of prose,
  then, obedient to the mute petition of some beautiful,
  intelligent eyes, he became a poet, and sang the Ossianic
  loves of the heroes of his dreams, their chivalrous joys, and
  the sorrows of the absent fatherland, his dear Poland always
  ready to conquer and always defeated. But without these
  conditions—the exacting of which for his playing all artists
  must thank him for—it was useless to solicit him. The
  curiosity excited by his fame seemed even to irritate him, and
  he shunned as far as possible the nonsympathetic world when
  chance had led him into it. I remember a cutting saying which
  he let fly one evening at the master of a house where he had
  dined. Scarcely had the company taken coffee when the host,
  approaching Chopin, told him that his fellow-guests who had
  never heard him hoped that he would be so good as to sit down
  at the piano and play them some little thing [quelque petite
  chose]. Chopin excused himself from the very first in a way
  which left not the slightest doubt as to his inclination. But
  when the other insisted, in an almost offensive manner, like a
  man who knows the worth and the object of the dinner which he
  has given, the artist cut the conversation short by saying
  with a weak and broken voice and a fit of coughing: "Ah!
  sir...I have... eaten so little!"

Chopin's predilection for the fashionable salon society led him to neglect the society of artists. That he carried the odi profanum vulgus, et arceo too far cannot for a moment be doubted. For many of those who sought to have intercourse with him were men of no less nobility of sentiment and striving than himself. Chopin offended even Ary Scheffer, the great painter, who admired him and loved him, by promising to spend an evening with him and again and again disappointing him. Musicians, with a few exceptions. Chopin seems always to have been careful to keep at a distance, at least after the first years of his arrival in Paris. This is regrettable especially in the case of the young men who looked up to him with veneration and enthusiasm, and whose feelings were cruelly hurt by the polite but unsympathetic reception he gave them:—

  We have had always a profound admiration for Chopin's talent
  [writes M. Marmontel], and, let us add, a lively sympathy for
  his person. No artist, the intimate disciples not excepted,
  has more studied his compositions, and more caused them to be
  played, and yet our relations with this great musician have
  only been rare and transient. Chopin was surrounded, fawned
  upon, closely watched by a small cenacle of enthusiastic
  friends, who guarded him against importunate visitors and
  admirers of the second order. It was difficult to get access
  to him; and it was necessary, as he said himself to that other
  great artist whose name is Stephen Heller, to try several
  times before one succeeded in meeting him. These trials
  ["essais"] being no more to my taste than to Heller's, I could
  not belong to that little congregation of faithful ones whose
  cult verged on fanaticism.

As to Stephen Heller—who himself told me that he would have liked to be more with Chopin, but was afraid of being regarded as intrusive—Mr. Heller thinks that Chopin had an antipathy to him, which considering the amiable and truly gentlemanly character of this artist seems rather strange.

If the details of Karasowski's account of Chopin's and Schulhoff's first meeting are correct, the Polish artist was in his aloofness sometimes even deficient in that common civility which good-breeding and consideration for the feelings of others demand. Premising that Fetis in telling the story is less circumstantial and lays the scene of the incident in the pianoforte-saloon of Pleyel, I shall quote Karasowski's version, as he may have had direct information from Schulhoff, who since 1855 has lived much of his time at Dresden, where Karasowski also resides:—

  Schulhoff came when quite a young man and as yet completely
  unknown to Paris. There he learned that Chopin, who was then
  already very ailing and difficult of access, was coming to the
  pianoforte-manufactory of Mercier to inspect one of the newly-
  invented transposing pianofortes. It was in the year 1844.
  Schulhoff seized the opportunity to become personally
  acquainted with the master, and made his appearance among the
  small party which awaited Chopin. The latter came with an old
  friend, a Russian Capellmeister [Soliva?]. Taking advantage of
  a propitious moment, Schulhoff got himself introduced by one
  of the ladies present. On the latter begging Chopin to allow
  Schulhoff to play him something, the renowned master, who was
  much bothered by dilettante tormentors, signified, somewhat
  displeased, his consent by a slight nod of the head. Schulhoff
  seated himself at the pianoforte, while Chopin, with his back
  turned to him, was leaning against it. But already during the
  short prelude he turned his head attentively towards Schulhoff
  who now performed an Allegro brillant en forme de Senate (Op.
  I), which he had lately composed. With growing interest Chopin
  came nearer and nearer the keyboard and listened to the fine,
  poetic playing of the young Bohemian; his pale features grew
  animated, and by mien and gesture he showed to all who were
  present his lively approbation. When Schulhoff had finished,
  Chopin held out his hand to him with the words: "Vous etes un
  vrai artiste, un collegue!" Some days after Schulhoff paid the
  revered master a visit, and asked him to accept the dedication
  of the composition he had played to him. Chopin thanked him in
  a heart-winning manner, and said in the presence of several
  ladies: "Je suis tres flatte de l'honneur que vous me faites."

The behaviour of Chopin during the latter part of this transaction made, no doubt, amends for that of the earlier. But the ungracious manner in which he granted the young musician permission to play to him, and especially his turning his back to Schulhoff when the latter began to play, are not excused by the fact that he was often bothered by dilettante tormentors.

The Paris correspondent of the Musical World, writing immediately after the death of the composer, describes the feeling which existed among the musicians in the French capital, and also suggests an explanation and excuse. In the number of the paper bearing date November 10, 1849, we read as follows:—

  Owing to his retired way of living and his habitual reserve,
  Chopin had few friends in the profession; and, indeed, spoiled
  from his original nature by the caprice of society, he was too
  apt to treat his brother-artists with a supercilious hauteur,
  which many, his equals, and a few, his superiors, were wont to
  stigmatise as insulting. But from want of sympathy with the
  man, they overlooked the fact that a pulmonary complaint,
  which for years had been gradually wasting him to a shadow,
  rendered him little fit for the enjoyments of society and the
  relaxations of artistic conviviality. In short, Chopin, in
  self-defence, was compelled to live in comparative seclusion,
  but we wholly disbelieve that this isolation had its source in
  unkindness or egotism. We are the more inclined to this
  opinion by the fact that the intimate friends whom he
  possessed in the profession (and some of them were pianists)
  were as devotedly attached to him as the most romantic of his
  aristocratic worshippers.

The reasoning does not seem to me quite conclusive. Would it not have been possible to live in retirement without drawing upon himself the accusation of supercilious hauteur? Moreover, as Chopin was strong enough to frequent fashionable salons, he cannot have been altogether unable to hold intercourse with his brother-artists. And, lastly, who are the pianist friends that were as devotedly attached to him as the most romantic of his aristocratic worshippers? The fact that Chopin became subsequently less social and more reticent than he had been in his early Paris days, confined himself to a very limited number of friends and families, and had relations of an intimate nature with only a very few musicians, cannot, therefore, be attributable to ill-health alone, although that too had, no doubt, something to do with it, directly or indirectly. In short, the allegation that Chopin was "spoiled by the caprice of society," as the above-quoted correspondent puts it, is not only probable, but even very likely. Fastidious by nature and education, he became more so, partly in consequence of his growing physical weakness, and still more through the influence of the society with which, in the exercise of his profession and otherwise, he was in constant contact. His pupils and many of his other admirers, mostly of the female sex and the aristocratic class, accustomed him to adulation and adoration to such an extent as to make these to be regarded by him as necessaries of life. Some excerpts from Liszt's book, which I shall quote here in the form of aphorisms, will help to bring Chopin, in his social aspect, clearly before the reader's eyes:—