CHAPTER XIX.

_CHOPIN AS A COMPOSER._

As a creative artist, Chopin holds a unique position. Confining himself to the comparatively restricted limits of a single instrument, it is, in the opinion of competent judges, his especial merit to have been not only a thoroughly scientific musician, but also a true poet, whose productions have had the most wide-spread influence on all modern pianoforte composers, an influence not unlike that of Heine in the domain of poetry. Poet and musician alike give us the most perfect emotional pictures in the smallest forms, but with this difference, that while Heineʼs scepticism had a blighting effect on these miniatures, Chopinʼs harmonious disposition was a fructifying energy. How strongly convinced must Chopin have been that his special mission was the embellishment of pianoforte literature, to be able to resist the tempting and seemingly effective help of an orchestra, and to voluntarily restrict himself to one instrument, for which he wrote masterpieces, of their kind incomparable. Liszt justly observes,

[Sidenote: LARGE AND SMALL ART FORMS.]

“We are too much accustomed at the present day to consider great only those composers who have written at least half a dozen Operas and Oratorios, besides Symphonies; demanding, in our folly, everything and more than everything of one musician. However universal this idea may be, its reasonableness is very problematical. We have no wish to contest the hardly won glory or the real superiority of the composers who have adopted the largest forms; all we desire is that, in music, size should be estimated in the same way as in the other arts: a painting, such as the ‘Vision of Ezekiel,’ or ‘The Churchyard,’ by Ruysdaël, twenty inches square, is placed among the chefs-dʼœuvre, and ranks higher than many larger pictures by a Rubens or a Tintoretto. Is Beranger less of a poet because he poured all his thoughts into the narrow limits of a song? Is not Petrarch known chiefly by his sonnets? How many of his readers are acquainted with his poem on Africa? We cannot but believe that the criticism which denies the superiority of an artist like Schubert over one who occupies himself in scoring tame operatic melodies, will disappear; and that, henceforth, we shall consider the quality of the expression whatever may be the size of the form chosen for its vehicle.”

To give a competent analysis of Chopinʼs works (a list of which with the opus numbers appears at the end of this book) would require a volume to itself. I must, therefore, be content with a general survey of his compositions, enlarging more fully on that species whose origin or, at least, whose high development, we owe to his genius.

The human mind is subject to two kinds of influence—internal and external. The former are determined by natural disposition, the latter by family and national associations. From their union proceeds the individuality of the man who is subject to their ever present forces. Individuality can neither protect its works from influences nor change its own nature, because even if it adopts another course, though the result may be a very perfect organization, the traces of earlier impressions can never be obliterated.

It is interesting to watch the growth and development of Chopinʼs talents in relation to the different schools. Although under the influence of none in particular, and not following the guide of any of the leading spirits of the day, he showed a slight and brief preference for Hummel, whom he took as a model, especially with regard to his passage work. We can trace this master in the form of most of Chopinʼs works, while from beginning to end there is an individuality in the choice of thoughts. The leaning to Hummel is chiefly discernible in his rondos; but in the “Don Juan” variations and the fantasia on Polish airs, that boldness and freshness of thought, independence of working, and originality of conception, which at once gave him a prominent position among contemporary composers, are already apparent. His lavish display of sentiment, youthful grace and energy, hopefulness and melancholy, show how unquenchable were the springs of his genius. Indeed so vast was the wealth of his ideas that, as was remarked in referring to his early works, he never repeated the same thought in the same manner, but either by the most tasteful arabesques, or choice changes of harmony, imparted to it at every return a renewed interest. He was very clever in turning to account all the embellishments and _fioritures_ characteristic of the old Italian style of vocal music.

[Sidenote: CHOPINʼS EARLY WORKS.]

Chopinʼs earliest works are undoubtedly the result of the musical tendencies of the age; traditional forms opened to him the gates of the temple where the greatest masters of pianoforte playing sit enthroned. But into these forms he infused his own creative talent. Chopinʼs imagination struck deeper chords than that of other composers; he inaugurated a new era (as he himself wrote to Elsner) and cut a way for himself, not for the sake of surpassing others, but by the unconscious impulse of his own original thoughts. In his youthful years he occasionally availed himself of the resources of the orchestra; but never afterwards except for the Polonaise, op. 22, that brilliant piece which, although in E flat major throughout, begins with a marvellously tender and imaginative introduction in G major. In the orchestral colouring a certain timidity is frequently perceptible, owing, perhaps, to an ignorance of the capacities of the different instruments. He showed a preference for the violoncello; its elegiac tone was in harmony with his own nature. Besides the Polonaise, op. 3, he also composed, with Franchomme, a duet, for piano and ʼcello, on motives from “Robert le Diable” (a work without any special merit, written in accordance with the taste of the day), and shortly before his death, the Sonata in G minor, op. 65, the first movement of which is of surpassing beauty.

Among the works for piano alone, the Sonatas, as being his largest compositions, claim our first attention. The earliest published, as op. 4, dedicated to Elsner, shows a striving after classic forms, but does not give us the idea that the composer was working from inspiration, his wishes and capacities do not seem always to correspond, and the work altogether awakens no lasting interest. The third movement is most worthy of notice, but this does not satisfy us completely; it sounds rather forced and laboured, probably on account of the unusual 5/4 measure. Incomparably more important is the Sonata in B flat minor, op. 35. The anxious character of the first theme is happily contrasted with the exuberant song of the second motive; and the Funeral March could only have been written by one in whose soul the pain and mourning of a whole nation found its echo.

The more dramatic Sonata, in B minor, op. 58, is better adapted by the brilliancy of its ornamentation for a concert performance. The composer seems to have found it difficult to keep the profusion of thought within due proportions, especially in the Adagio. In the development of the first theme in the first movement, there is a want of repose which is only made up for by the wonderful _cantilene_ in D major. Chopin is generally less successful when writing in stricter forms which hamper the bold flight of his fancy. His inventive power and melodic wealth were so abundant that it was irksome to him to work out his themes systematically; and his Sonatas, therefore, with respect to form, sometimes appear unfinished; while in more congenial spheres he could permit his rich imagination to have freer play.

[Sidenote: CHOPINʼS MAZURKAS.]

Chopin was very partial to the dance forms—mazurka, polonaise, waltz, tarantelle, cracovienne, and bolero—which he first truly idealized. Out of the large number of his mazurkas it is difficult to tell to which to award the palm; so wide a scope do they offer for individual taste. Among the best—which, by their gay or melancholy character, appear so diverse but are all alike characterized by the same rhythm—must undoubtedly be reckoned, op. 7, Nos. 2. and 3; op. 17, Nos. 1 and 2; op. 24, No. 2; op. 30, No. 3; op. 33, No. 4, The mazurkas, op. 24, No. 4; op. 50, No. 3; op. 63, No. 3, distinguished by poetical charm and contrapuntal skill, are worthy of mention. Some of those mazurkas are almost more effective which display a tinge of melancholy, as if the composer had only indulged in a momentary diversion and narcotic intoxication to return the more sadly to his original gloom. The most striking mazurka of this class is op. 56, No. 2.

Tradition assigns to the polonaise the following origin. When the dynasty of the Jagiellons died out, Henry of Anjou, son of Catherine de Medicis, afterwards Henry III., was, in 1573, elected King of Poland. The following year he received the representatives of the nation in solemn state at Cracow Castle; and the gentlemen made their wives slowly defile before the king, keeping step to an accompaniment of music. Every time a foreign prince was elected to the throne this ceremony was repeated, and from it was gradually developed the national dance of the polonaise, which has kept its place in Europe up to the present day. In the slow sweeping measure of the polonaise there is much stateliness and gravity, and the turnings and changes seem like the echo of the murmurs from the active life of the old Polish nobility. It used always to be danced with the sabre called “Carabella.” Prince Michael Oginski and afterwards Kurpinski were the first to treat it artistically, a circumstance which contributed in some measure to their reputation; after them, non-Polish composers, such as Beethoven, Schubert, Weber, Spohr, &c., made it into an independent musical form, and wrote works on the model of the polonaise; until Chopin ennobled it with his own poetry and ideal beauty, and once more infused into it a distinctively Polish cast of thought.

[Sidenote: CHOPINʼS POLONAISES.]

Chopinʼs polonaises may be divided into two groups: the one with its marked rhythm, displaying the martial element; the other the dreamy melancholy feeling peculiar to Chopin. To the first order I should assign the polonaises in A major, op. 40, No. 1; F sharp minor, op. 44; and A flat major, op. 53. For simplicity of form and characteristic nationality the preference must be given to the polonaise in A major; although technically inferior and deficient in poetry—for it is _forte_ almost throughout, and the themes are not well contrasted—it is effective on account of its chivalric ring and natural dignity. The grandest and boldest is undoubtedly the F sharp minor polonaise, dedicated to Princess Beauvau, sister to Countess Delphine Potocka. The gloomy colouring and wildly defiant character of the chief theme are suddenly interrupted by a charming _intermezzo_ in the mazurka style. Almost equally marvellous is the dreamy _finale_, in which, while the right hand holds the C sharp—to which the semitone D immediately falls like a heavy _appoggiatura_—in the left hand the energetic theme dies away to the gentlest _pianissimo_. The majestic A flat major polonaise was composed in 1840 after Chopinʼs return from Majorca.

Chopinʼs nervous system was so much affected by his illness that, for sometime afterwards, his restless imagination would not permit him to sleep. One night, while playing a work he had just finished, he fancied that the doors opened, and that a great company of Polish knights and noble ladies in the old costume (robe ronde et cornettes) came in and marched past him. He was so much perturbed by this vision that he rushed out through the opposite door and would not return to his room for the rest of the night. Indeed the middle movement in E major, with the long crescendo in the bass, so vividly conjures up an approaching band of knights, galloping over a plain in the pale light of the moon, that one hears in fancy the tramp of the fiery steeds and the clatter of arms.

The second group comprises the polonaises in C sharp and E flat minor, op. 26; the polonaise in C minor, op. 40, No. 2; and three in D minor, B flat major, and F minor, op. 71, published by Fontana. The two first, dedicated to J. Dessauer, are pre-eminent for loftiness of sentiment. They were composed at a time when Chopin was at the summit of his greatness, when his vigorous and original mind, unhampered by trivial considerations about form, created for itself the form best adapted to its conceptions. For example, the first polonaise (C sharp minor) not only has a melody of uncommon beauty, but there is also a rare depth of character in the apparently bold incoherent themes with which the work begins. While the grand rhythmical swing of the first theme depicts manly courage, which is tempered by an erotic love theme, the second subject, with the exception of the lightning-like passages in the right hand, is of a hopeful, soothing character; the D flat major motive closes the happy scene. None of the later polonaises contain a double motion of the melody, as we find in the conclusion of this. The second number of the same opus (E flat minor) is mysterious, gloomy, and shuddering; it seems to picture the suffering Poles banished in chains to Siberia.

The Fantasie-polonaise in A flat major, op. 61, holds a position distinct from either of these groups. It is intended to represent the national struggles and contests, and concludes, therefore, with a pompous hymn of victory. Chopinʼs firm belief in the ultimate triumph of the Polish nation after its many bitter trials—a feeling so well depicted in the poetry of Mickiewicz, Krasinski, and frequently of Slowacki, the greatest poets of that period—speaks out very clearly in this the most finished of his larger pianoforte works.

[Sidenote: ROMANTIC NATURE OF HIS MUSIC.]

It would be foolish to seek in Music for allegory, history, politics, or philosophical deductions. The sphere of music is feeling, through which and to which it speaks, and through feeling unites itself with the poetry of the present day, not only by a common national sentiment, but in nearly all its tones and _nuances_. Chopinʼs music is like poetry, a flower of Romanticism, and it has the same beauties and the same defects as our romantic poetry. It touches the highest and deepest springs of emotion, is original, rich in thoughts and forms; but it suffers from the same exaggerated sentiment and melancholy, and frequently degenerates into nervous debility.

Chopinʼs waltzes (op. 18, 34, 42, 64, 69, and 70), partly because they are the least technically difficult, partly on account of the popularity of this dance form, have become most widely known. Musically considered, they offer less of interest and novelty than his other compositions. What they lose in the rhythm of the dance they gain in innate grace and outward brilliancy, such as no composer hitherto had been able to impart to this form. The most interesting are those which are pervaded by that peculiar melancholy, “schwärmerisch” vein, which is one of the chief charms of Chopinʼs muse. Such are the waltzes in A minor and C sharp minor, the latter inclining in the third and fourth bar to the mazurka measure, for which Chopin always showed a preference.

The four ballads (op. 23, 38, 47, and 52), are among the finest and most original of his works. They contain so much that is new and varied in form that critics long hesitated to what category they should assign them. Some regarded them as a variety of the rondo; others, with more accuracy, called them “poetical stories.” Indeed, there is about them a narrative tone (märchenton) which is particularly well rendered by the 6/4 and 6/8 time, and which makes them differ essentially from the existing forms. Chopin himself said to Schumann, on the occasion of their meeting at Leipsic, that he had been incited to the creation of the ballads by some poems of Mickiewicz. The first and perhaps the best known in G minor, op. 23, is inflamed by wild passion, and claims special admiration for its finish of detail, the second and third have a predominantly idyllic character. The fourth, and technically the most difficult, is, perhaps, for this reason the least known. The critics who, with the exception of Robert Schumann, unanimously condemned Chopinʼs larger works, made a fierce onslaught on this ballad. But, in my opinion, this displays the most poetry and intelligence of them all; and, for a satisfactory interpretation of its manifold beauties, not only considerable mechanical skill, but also subtle musical perception are required.

[Sidenote: CHOPINʼS NOCTURNES.]

The nocturnes appear, at first sight, to have most affinity with forms already created. Field, for a long time erroneously looked upon as Chopinʼs master, was the author of this form; but the difference of treatment by the two masters is apparent in its very likeness. Field was satisfied with writing tender, poetical, and rather melancholy pieces; while Chopin not only introduced the dramatic element, but displayed, in a striking manner, a marvellous enrichment of harmony and of the resources of pianoforte composition. Compare, for example, Chopinʼs E flat major nocturne, op. 9, with Fieldʼs, in B flat major, and the broad difference is at once perceived. Among Chopinʼs best productions of this kind are the nocturne, op. 15, No. 2 (in doppio movimento); the beautiful D flat major nocturne, op. 27, with its profusion of delicate _fioritures_; and also the one in G minor, op. 37, which keeps up a ceaseless moan, as if harping on some sad thought, until interrupted by a church-like movement in chords whose sadly comforting strains resemble the peacefulness of the grave. The following nocturne, op. 37, No. 2, contains in the middle movement, perhaps the most beautiful melody Chopin ever wrote, to which one can never listen without a sense of the deepest emotion and happiness. Op. 48, No. 1, in C minor, is broad and most imposing with its powerful intermediate movement, which is a thorough departure from the nocturne style. The nocturne, published posthumously as op. 72, was written in 1827, and bears evident traces of that youthful period; op. 62, No. 2, in E major, was written shortly before Chopinʼs death, and is full of refinements of harmony, sweet melody, and reverie.

Almost the same thing may be said of the scherzi as of the ballads: they did not exist before Chopin, or at least not in the same measure of independence, daring boldness, and almost Shaksperian humour. In the most well-known of these in B flat minor, op. 31, the first theme is obstinately gloomy, yet not despondent but defiant; and scarcely less fine is the clever and expressive second subject in A major. To appreciate to the full Chopinʼs creative powers his pianoforte pieces must be compared with those of his contemporaries, for the scherzi still appear so modern that it might well be said they were thirty years in advance of their time.

[Sidenote: THE SCHERZI AND PRELUDES.]

In demonianism and drastic power the B flat minor scherzo, op. 31, resembles those in B minor, op. 20, and in C sharp minor, op. 39; while the one in E minor, op. 54, presents a kindlier face. The rhythm of the scherzi, far more than of the mazurkas, expresses a certain spirited opposition, a fascinating arrogance; and as the dance forms to which the mazurkas and polonaises in part still belonged were completely destroyed by the middle theme, the specimens of the scherzo may be regarded as a wonderfully true expression of Chopinʼs courageous individuality, decisive both outwardly and inwardly, noble, amiable, and poetic.

The preludes (op. 28 and 45) and the four impromptus (op. 29, 36, 51, and 66) show a slight leaning towards the nocturnes—as, for example, the unhappily little known but richly modulated prelude in C sharp minor, op. 45; also the D flat major, op. 28, No. 15, with a splendid middle movement in C sharp minor, and the impromptu in F sharp major, op. 36—and partake partly of the nature of a study—as, for example, the impromptus in A flat major and G flat major, with their melodious middle movements; and the preludes, op. 28, Nos. 1, 3, 8, 16, 19, and 23—and are also in part hasty sketches in which the composer, in spite of the smallness of their dimensions, gives us the most clever imaginative pictures. Some of them—such as those in E minor and B minor—are real gems, and would alone suffice to immortalize the name of Chopin as a poet.

Chopin deserves especial honour for having perfected the study. Some of his studies (op. 10, 25, and “Trois Nouvelles Etudes,”) serve purely technical purposes, such as op. 10, Nos. 1, 2, 4, 8; op. 25, Nos. 6, 8, and No. 3 of the “Trois Nouvelles Etudes;” others are important intellectually, such as op. 10, Nos. 3, 9, 10, 12; op. 25, Nos. 1 and 7; and No. 1 of the “Etudes.”

The works which Fontana published at Schlesingerʼs after Chopinʼs death—Fantasie-impromptu, op. 66: quatre mazurkas, op. 67; quatre mazurkas, op. 68; deux valses, op. 69; trois valses, op. 70; trois polonaises, op. 71; nocturne, marche funèbre, trois ecossaises, op. 72; rondeau pour deux pianos, op. 73; sixteen Polish songs, op. 74—are, with the exception of a few such, as op. 66, which are well worthy of the name of their composer, of less musical value. Chopin wished them to be destroyed after his death, or at least not published. The last mazurka, _senza fine_, composed a few days before he died, is sad, very sad, like the last days of the great master. He showed by this swan-song and by his yearning after the home of his happy youth, that in the very last hour of his creative inspiration he remained faithful to his national music and to his sorely-tried fatherland.

[Sidenote: CHOPINʼS POLISH SONGS.]

The sixteen Polish songs were written without any titles. If he met with any new and beautiful poetry in his native tongue, he would set it to music, not for publication but for his own pleasure. Thus these songs gradually accumulated between 1824 and 1844. Many have been lost because, in spite of the requests of his friends, the composer constantly put off committing them to paper; others were sung in Poland without anything positive being known as to their origin, but it is pretty certainly conjectured that Chopin was their composer. Among these must be mentioned the popular and formerly much sung “The third of May.”

Unimportant in a musical point of view, it could not be expected that they would be diffused beyond the confines of Poland. They sprang from the seed of the later national poetical growth, scattered as if by accident on Chopinʼs receptive soul; they are simple flowers which do not dazzle, but by their sweet perfume and peculiar delicacy delight sympathetic hearts.

APPENDIX.

_EIGHT MORE LETTERS OF CHOPIN TO TITUS WOYCIECHOWSKI._

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

I.

_Warsaw, Saturday, December 27th, 1828._

MY DEAREST FRIEND,

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

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

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

Your FREDERIC.

II.

_Warsaw, April 10th, 1830._

(_Anniversary of Emilyʼs death._)

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

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

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

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

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

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

III.

_Warsaw, April 17th, 1830._

(_Papaʼs birth-day._)

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

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

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

Pray think kindly of me ...

IV.

_Warsaw, June 5th, 1830._

MY DEAR FRIEND,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

V.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

VI.

_Warsaw, September 18th, 1830._

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

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

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

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

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

VII.

_Warsaw, September 22nd, 1830._

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

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

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

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

VIII.

_Paris, December 25th, 1831._

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yours till death,

FREDERIC.

LIST OF CHOPINʼS WORKS.

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

_Op. Nos._

1. Premier Rondeau, C minor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

16. Rondeau, E flat major.

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

18. Grande Valse brillante, E flat major.

19. Bolero, C major.

20. Premier Scherzo.

21. Second Concerto, F minor, avec Orchestre.

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

23. Ballade, G minor.

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

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

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

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

28. Vingt quatre Preludes.

29. Impromptu, A flat major.

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

31. Deuxième Scherzo, B minor.

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

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

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

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

36. Deuxième Impromptu, F sharp major.

37. Deux Nocturnes, G minor, G major.

38. Deuxième Ballade, F major.

39. Troisième Scherzo, C sharp minor.

40. Deux Polonaises, A major, C minor.

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

42. Valse, A flat major.

43. Tarantelle, A flat major.

44. Polonaise, F sharp minor.

45. Prelude, C sharp minor.

46. Allegro de Concert, A major.

47. Troisième Ballade, A flat major.

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

49. Fantaisie, F minor.

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

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

52. Quatrième Ballade, F minor.

53. Huitième Polonaise, A flat major.

54. Scherzo No. 4, E major.

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

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

57. Berceuse, D flat major.

58. Sonate, B minor.

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

60. Barcarolle, F sharp major.

61. Polonaise-Fantaisie, A flat major.

62. Deux Nocturnes, B major, E major.

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

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

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

(_b_) _Posthumous Works._

66. Fantaisie-Impromptu, C sharp minor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

II. _Works without Opus Numbers._

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

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

Mazurka, A minor.

Variations, E major, sur un air national allemand.

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

Mazurka, A minor.

Polonaise G sharp minor.

Valse, E minor.

[59] Mazurka, F sharp major.

Deux Valses Mélancoliques, F minor, B minor.

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

FOOTNOTES:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[16] The Polish Revolution.

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

[18] See Moschelesʼs Life.

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

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

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

[22] “Mendelssohnʼs Letters.” Second Series.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[30] No. 6, B minor.

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

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

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

[34] “Musikalische Studienköpfe.” Leipzig.

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

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

[37] This establishment is not in existence now.

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

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

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

[41] “Histoire de ma vie.” Vol. XIII.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[49] A Polish national opera by Kurpinski.

[50] A Polish poet, died 1849.

[51] Another instance of Chopinʼs inclination to superstition.

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

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

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

[55] Chopin places the instruments in this order.

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

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

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

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

INDEX.

Accent, Exaggeration of, 288.

Adagio in the E minor Concerto, op. 11, 99.

Adagio in 2nd Concerto, 113, 136.

Aelomelodicon, 33.

Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung, 216.

Art Forms, Lisztʼs observations on, 335.

Bach, Sebastian, 289, 290, 329.

Ballade, op. 23, 241.

Ballads, op. 23, 38, 47, 52, 344.

Barcarole, op. 60, 301.

Beethoven, 129, 330, 340.

Beethovenʼs Adagio from the C sharp minor Sonata, 279.

Beethovenʼs Last Trio, 102.

Beethovenʼs Opinions, 142.

Beethovenʼs Pianoforte Concertos, 142.

Beethovenʼs Sonatas, 141.

Beethovenʼs Violin Concerto, 142.

Belleville, Mlle., 359, 360.

Berceuse, op. 57, 301.

Berlioz, 328.

Blahetka, Leopolda, 77.

Bolero, op. 19, 241.

Brodzinski, Casimir, 125.

Broken Chords, 138.

Catalini, 19, 145.

Cavaignac, Gottfried, 327.

Chmiel, 69.

Chopin as a Teacher, 273.

Chopinʼs Imitative Talent, 276.

Chopin, (Emily), 11.

Chopin, (Justine), 8.

Chopin, (Louisa), 11.

Chopin, (Nicholas), 3.

Chord, Detached, 21.

Chord, Slurred, 21.

Cibini, Fräulein, 167.

Clary, The Princess Aloysia von, 83.

Classic School, 328.

Clementiʼs “Gradus ad Parnassum,” 285.

Compositions published in Warsaw, 101.

Concerto in E minor, 119, 217, 246.

Concerto in F minor, 107, 118, 165, 233.

Concertos, 133.

Constantine, 20, 171.

Counterpoint, Knowledge of, 28.

Cramer, 143.

Czerny, 97, 166, 201.

“Dame Blanche,” 69.

Damereau-Cinti, Madame, 236.

Dance Forms, 339.

Dances, 91.

Der Freischütz, 41, 140.

Diminished Chord, 138.

Don Juan Variations, 336.

Dudevant, Aurora, 261.

Dunst, 355.

Earliest Compositions, 19.

Elsner (Joseph Xaver), 15, 21, 212, 233, 352, 354, 367.

Elsnerʼs Echo Variations, 156.

Elsnerʼs Masses, 195.

Etudes, op. 10, 133.

Etude in A flat, No. 10, op. 10, 139.

Etudes, 348.

Fantasia on Polish Airs, 55, 107, 120, 133, 137, 336.

Fantasie Impromptu, op. 66, 348.

Fantasie Polonaise, op. 61, 343.

Faust, 86.

Feeling in Pianoforte playing, 286.

Fétis, 228.

Fidelio, 140.

Field, John, 132, 133, 143.

Fingering, Novelty of, 242.

Fioritures, 337.

Floriani, Lucrezia, 303.

Flotow, 144.

Fontana, Julius, 35.

Form, Newness of, 131.

“Fra Diavolo,” 169.

Franchomme, 338.

Fuchsʼ, Aloys, Collection of Autograph Works, 206.

Funeral March in the Sonata, op. 35, 321, 338.

Gazette Polska, 353.

Gladkowska, 117, 359, 361.

Glasgow, 312.

Gluck, 329.

Grande Polonaise Brillante, op. 22, 241.

Grzymala, Franz, 38.

Gutmann, 307, 320.

Gyrowetzʼs Pianoforte Concerto, 18.

Handel, 329.

Handelʼs “Ode on St. Ceciliaʼs Day,” 50.

Handelʼs Oratorio, 41.

Haydn, 329.

Heine, 263, 334.

Heinefetter, Sabine, 169, 185.

Herz, 143, 231.

Hesse, 155, 201.

Hiller, 231, 233.

Hummel, 60, 143, 196, 336.

Hummelʼs influence, 129.

Hummelʼs “La Sentinelle,” 352.

Impromptu, op. 29, 241.

Impromptu, op. 36, 275.

Improvisation, 23, 29, 58, 68, 71, 95, 260, 279.

Independence of fingers, 285.

Introduction et Polonaise Brillante pour Piano et ʼCello, op. 3, 129.

Iris, The, 133.

Jewish Wedding March, 25.

Kalkbrenner, 143, 221, 231.

Kalkbrennerʼs Concerto, 24.

Klengel, August Alexander, 79, 81, 97, 143, 159, 160, 161.

Klengelʼs 48 Canons and Fugues, 97.

Köhler, 155.

Kreutzer, 146.

Kreutzer, “Das Nachtlager von Granada,” 144.

Kurjer Szafarski, 24, 25.

Kurpinski, 340, 353.

Kurpinskiʼs Szarlatan, 235.

Lablache, 235.

Lachner, 144.

“La ci darem la mano,” op. 2, 130.

La Mara, 287.

Larghetto from the 2nd Concerto, 137.

Left Hand in Pianoforte Playing, 289.

Leiden Christi, 15.

Likl, 175.

Lind, Jenny, 314.

Linde (Madame von), 13.

Lipinski, Charles, 145.

Liszt, 135, 260, 277, 278, 279, 280, 328, 332.

Lortzing, 144.

Louis Ferdinand, Prince, 102.

Majorca, 266.

Majufes, 25, 201.

Malfatti, 166, 170.

Malibran, 235.

“Marquise de Brinvilliers,” The, 236.

Marschner, “Der Templar und die Jüdin,” 144.

Marschner, “Hans Heiling,” 144.

“Matrimonio Segreto,” 50.

Matuszynski, Johann, 151, 300.

Maysederʼs Solos, 66.

Mazurka, Chopinʼs Last, 348.

Mazurkas, 91, 180, 287, 339.

Mazurkas, op. 6 and 7, 131, 339.

Mazurkas, op. 17, 339.

Mazurkas, op. 24, 241, 339.

Mazurkas, op. 30, 339.

Mazurkas, op. 33, 339.

Mazurkas, op. 41, 275.

Mazurkas, op. 50, 339.

Mazurkas, op. 56, 339.

Mazurkas, op. 59, 301, 331.

Mazurkas, op. 63, 301, 339.

Mazurkas, op. 67 and 68, 348.

Mazovians, The, 31.

Memory, Astonishing, of Chopin and Liszt, 280.

Mendelssohn, 143, 249.

Mendelssohn on Chopinʼs Pianoforte playing, 253.

Mendelssohn, Songs without words, No. 1, Book 2, 139.

Merk, 202.

Meyerbeer, 148, 321.

Meyerbeer, “Les Huguenots,” 144.

Meyerbeer, “Ritter des Kreuzes,” 144.

Meyerbeerʼs “Robert le Diable,” 144, 235.

Mickiewicz, 343, 344.

Miemcewicz (Julius Ursin), 18.

Miltitz, Baron, Mass, 160.

Mistake, The, or the “Imaginary Rogue,” 23.

Moscheles, 143,

Moscheles on Chopinʼs Early Works, 242.

Moscheles on Chopinʼs Pianoforte playing, 276.

Moschelesʼ Variations on the Alexander March, 112.

Mozart, 147, 329.

Mozart, Chopinʼs admiration for, 320.

Mozartʼs “Midritate Rè di Ponto,” 147.

Musset, Alfred de, 126.

Mutes of Portici, The, 169.

Nidecki, Thomas, 71.

Nocturne, Marche Funebre, Trois Ecossaises, op. 72, 348.

Nocturnes, op. 9, 132, 345.

Nocturnes, op. 15, 241, 345.

Nocturnes, op. 27, 241, 346.

Nocturnes, op. 37, 275, 346.

Nocturnes, op. 48, 62, 72, 346.

Nourrit, Adolphe, 273.

Nowakowskiʼs Symphony, 353.

Official Journal, 353.

Oginski, Prince Michael, 340.

Onslowʼs “Die Hausirer” (“Le Colporteur”), 50.

Organ, Chopinʼs Preference for the, 8.

Orlowski, Anton, 169, 355.

Overture to “William Tell,” 119.

Paerʼs Agnese, 114.

Paganini, 145, 146.

Pasta, 235.

Pianoforte playing, 92.

Pichon, M., 25.

Pixisʼ Concerto, 100.

Polish Courier, 353, 354.

Polish folk-songs, 331.

Polish Songs, Sixteen, op. 74, 348.

Polonaise, op. 3, 338.

Polonaise, op. 22, 337.

Polonaises, op. 26, 241, 342.

Polonaises, op. 40, 275, 341, 342.

Polonaises, op. 44, 341.

Polonaises, op. 53, 301, 341.

Polonaises, op. 71, 342, 348.

Polonaise in F minor, op. 71, 105.

Polonaise Fantasia, op. 61, 301.

Polonaise, Origin of the, 340.

Potocka, The Countess Delphine, 248, 318, 319.

Preludes, 347.

Preludes in B minor and E minor, 321.

Radziwill, Prince Anton, 36.

Radziwillʼs, (Prince), Faust, 104.

Rellstab, 133.

Ries, Die Räuberbraut, 227.

“Robert le Diable,” 338.

Romanticism, 343.

Romantic School, 328.

Rondeau pour deux Pianos, op. 73, 348.

Rondo à la Mazur, op. 5, 34, 137.

Rondo Cracovienne, 65, 95, 108, 133, 137, 350.

Rondo, op. 1, ded. to Madame Linde, 13, 34, 128.

Rondo in C for 2 Pianos, op. 73, 43, 351.

Rossini, 140.

Rubini, 235.

Salieri, 148.

Sammler, The Vienna, 98.

Sand, George, 261, 265, 297, 298, 302, 307, 310, 311, 315, 327.

Sarmatian Melodies, 126.

Scherzi, 346, 347.

Scherzo, op. 20, 241.

Scherzo in C sharp minor, op. 39, 275.

Schmitt, Aloys, 187.

Schnabel, 154.

Scholtz, Herman, on Chopinʼs Earliest Compositions, 136.

Schubert, 143, 330, 340.

Schulhoff, Julius, 293.

Schumann, Article in the Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung, 129.

Schumannʼs “Gesammelte Schriften über Musik und Musiker,” 134.

Schumann, Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, 243.

Schumann on Chopinʼs “Ballade,” 257.

Schumannʼs Romance in F sharp, 139.

Schuppanzigh, 141.

Slavonic folk-songs, 30, 32.

Slawick, 177, 201.

Soliva, 115.

Sonata in C minor, op. 4, 64, 129, 137, 338.

Sonata in B flat minor, op. 35, 338.

Sonata in B minor, op. 58, 301, 338.

Sonata in G minor, op. 65, 301, 338.

Sonntag, Mlle., 358, 360.

Spohr, 227, 340.

Spohrʼs “Azor and Zemire,” 144.

Spohrʼs disparagement of Paganini, 145.

Spohrʼs Faust, 144.

Spohrʼs “Jessonda,” 144.

Spohrʼs Octett, 99.

Spohrʼs Quintett for Piano, Clarionet, Bassoon, French Horn and Flute, 364.

Spontiniʼs “Ferdinand Cortez,” 47, 50.

Stadler, The Abbé, 194.

Stirlingʼs, Miss, Chopin Museum, 212.

Stradellaʼs Hymn to the Virgin, 319.

Studies, 138, 348.

Study in C minor, 138, 218.

Tarantelle, op. 43, 275.

Tarnowski, Count Stanislas, 303.

Tempo rubato, 289.

Thalberg, 143, 187.

Thies, Alexander, 297.

“Third of May, The,” 349.

Touch, Cultivation of, 285.

Trio in G minor, op. 8, 43, 44, 129.

Urban, 245.

Valse, op. 42, 275.

Valses, op. 69, and 70, 348.

Variations on “La ci darem la mano,” op. 2, 64, 129, 137.

Variations brillantes, op. 12, 133.

Variations, ded. to Woyciechowski, 94, 106.

Veltheim, Charlotte, 68.

Vienna, The Imperial Library of, 198.

Violoncello, Chopinʼs preference for, 337.

Wagner, 139.

Waltzes, op. 18, 34, 42, 64, 69, 70, 344.

Warsaw Courier, 354, 356.

Warsaw Gazette, 352, 353, 354.

Weber, 340.

Weber, Dionys, 143.

Weiglʼs “Schweizerfamilie,” 144.

Wély, Lefébure, 321.

Wieck, Clara, 131, 252.

Wieck, Frederic, Letter of, 251.

Wiener Theater Zeitung, 76, 97, 364.

Wildt, Franz, 169, 185.

Winterʼs “Das unterbrochene Opferfest,” 46, 144.

Wodzynski, Maria, 255.

Worlitzer, 112.

Wockow, Fräulein, 116, 117, 359.

Würfel, 165.

Zeitschrift für Literatur, 98.

Zwyny, (Adalbert), 14.

G. HILL, STEAM PRINTER, 154, WESTMINSTER BRIDGE ROAD S.E.