Frederick Chopin, as a Man and Musician Part 10

And has he forgotten his ideal? Oh, no! On the contrary, his pa.s.sion grows stronger every day. This is proved by his frequent allusions to her whom he never names, and by those words of restless yearning and heart-rending despair that cannot be read without exciting a pitiful sympathy. As before long we shall get better acquainted with the lady and hear more of her--she being on the point of leaving the comparative privacy of the Conservatorium for the boards that represent the world--it may be as well to study the symptoms of our friend's interesting malady.

The first mention of the ideal we find in the letter dated October 3, 1829, wherein he says that he has been dreaming of her every night for the past six months, and nevertheless has not yet spoken to her. In these circ.u.mstances he stood in need of one to whom he might confide his joys and sorrows, and as no friend of flesh and blood was at hand, he often addressed himself to the piano. And now let us proceed with our investigation.

March 27, 1830.--At no time have I missed you so much as now.

I have n.o.body to whom I can open my heart.

April 17, 1830.--In my unbearable longing I feel better as soon as I receive a letter from you. To-day this comfort was more necessary than ever. I should like to chase away the thoughts that poison my joyousness; but, in spite of all, it is pleasant to play with them. I don't know myself what I want; perhaps I shall be calmer after writing this letter.

Farther on in the same letter he says:--

How often do I take the night for the day, and the day for the night! How often do I live in a dream and sleep during the day, worse than if I slept, for I feel always the same; and instead of finding refreshment in this stupor, as in sleep, I vex and torment myself so that I cannot gain strength.

It may be easily imagined with what interest one so far gone in love watched the debut of Miss Gladkowska as Agnese in Paer's opera of the same name. Of course he sends a full account of the event to his friend.

She looked better on the stage than in the salon; left nothing to be desired in her tragic acting; managed her voice excellently up to the high j sharp and g; shaded in a wonderful manner, and charmed her slave when she sang an aria with harp accompaniment. The success of the lady, however, was not merely in her lover's imagination, it was real; for at the close of the opera the audience overwhelmed her with never-ending applause. Another pupil of the Conservatorium, Miss Wolkow, made her debut about the same time, discussions of the comparative merits of the two ladies, on the choice of the parts in which they were going to appear next, on the intrigues which had been set on foot for or against them, &c., were the order of the day. Chopin discusses all these matters with great earnestness and at considerable length; and, while not at all stingy in his praise of Miss Wolkow, he takes good care that Miss Gladkowska does not come off a loser:--

Ernemann is of our opinion [writes Chopin] that no singer can easily be compared to Miss Gladkowska, especially as regards just intonation and genuine warmth of feeling, which manifests itself fully only on the stage, and carries away the audience. Miss Wolkow made several times slight mistakes, whereas Miss Gladkowska, although she has only been heard twice in Agnese, did not allow the least doubtful note to pa.s.s her lips.

The warmer applause given to Miss Wolkow did not disturb so staunch a partisan; he put it to the account of Rossini's music which she sang.

When Chopin comes to the end of his account of Miss Gladkowska's first appearance on the stage, he abruptly asks the question: "And what shall I do now?" and answers forthwith: "I will leave next month; first, however, I must rehea.r.s.e my Concerto, for the Rondo is now finished."

But this resolve is a mere flash of energy, and before we have proceeded far we shall come on words which contrast strangely with what we have read just now. Chopin has been talking about his going abroad ever so long, more especially since his return from Vienna, and will go on talking about it for a long time yet. First he intends to leave Warsaw in the winter of 1829-1830; next he makes up his mind to start in the summer of 1830, the question being only whether he shall go to Berlin or Vienna; then in May, 1830, Berlin is already given up, but the time of his departure remains still to be fixed. After this he is induced by the consideration that the Italian Opera season at Vienna does not begin till September to stay at home during the hot summer months. How he continues to put off the evil day of parting from home and friends we shall see as we go on. I called Chopin's vigorously-expressed resolve a flash of energy. Here is what he wrote not much more than a week after (on August 31, 1830):--

I am still here; indeed, I do not feel inclined to go abroad.

Next month, however, I shall certainly go. Of course, only to follow my vocation and reason, which latter would be in a sorry plight if it were not strong enough to master every other thing in my head.

But that his reason was in a sorry plight may be gathered from a letter dated September 4, 1830, which, moreover, is noteworthy, as in the confessions which it contains are discoverable the key-notes of the princ.i.p.al parts that make up the symphony of his character.

I tell you my ideas become madder and madder every day. I am still sitting here, and cannot make up my mind to fix definitively the day of my departure. I have always a presentiment that I shall leave Warsaw never to return to it; I am convinced that I shall say farewell to my home for ever.

Oh, how sad it must be to die in any other place but where one was born! What a great trial it would be to me to see beside my death-bed an unconcerned physician and paid servant instead of the dear faces of my relatives! Believe me, t.i.tus, I many a time should like to go to you and seek rest for my oppressed heart; but as this is not possible, I often hurry, without knowing why, into the street. But there also nothing allays or diverts my longing. I return home to... long again indescribably... I have not yet rehea.r.s.ed my Concerto; in any case I shall leave all my treasures behind me by Michaelmas.

In Vienna I shall be condemned to sigh and groan! This is the consequence of having no longer a free heart! You who know this indescribable power so well, explain to me the strange feeling which makes men always expect from the following day something better than the preceding day has bestowed upon them? "Do not be so foolis.h.!.+" That is all the answer I can give myself; if you know a better, tell me, pray, pray....

After saying that his plan for the winter is to stay two months in Vienna and pa.s.s the rest of the season in Milan, "if it cannot be helped," he makes some remarks of no particular interest, and then comes back to the old and ever new subject, the cud that humanity has been chewing from the time of Adam and Eve, and will have to chew till the extinction of the race, whether pessimism or optimism be the favoured philosophy.

Since my return I have not yet visited her, and must tell you openly that I often attribute the cause of my distress to her; it seems to me as if people shared this view, and that affords me a certain satisfaction. My father smiles at it; but if he knew all, he would perhaps weep. Indeed, I am seemingly quite contented, whilst my heart....

This is one of the occasions, which occur so frequently in Chopin's letters, where he breaks suddenly off in the course of his emotional outpourings, and subsides into effective silence. On such occasions one would like to see him go to the piano and hear him finish the sentence there. "All I can write to you now is indeed stupid stuff; only the thought of leaving Warsaw..." Another musical opportunity! Where words fail, there music begins.

Only wait, the day will come when you will not fare any better. Man is not always happy; sometimes only a few moments of happiness are granted to him in this life; therefore why should we shun this rapture which cannot last long?

After this the darkness of sadness shades gradually into brighter hues:--

As on the one hand I consider intercourse with the outer world a sacred duty, so, on the other hand, I regard it as a devilish invention, and it would be better if men... but I have said enough!...

The reader knows already the rest of the letter; it is the pa.s.sage in which Chopin's love of fun gets the better of his melancholy, his joyous spirits of his sad heart, and where he warns his friend, as it were with a bright twinkle in his tearful eyes and a smile on his face, not to kiss him at that moment, as he must wash himself. This joking about his friend's dislike to osculation is not without an undercurrent of seriousness; indeed, it is virtually a reproach, but a reproach cast in the most delicate form and attired in feminine coquetry.

On September 18, 1830, Chopin is still in Warsaw. Why he is still there he does not know; but he feels unspeakably happy where he is, and his parents make no objections to this procrastination.

To-morrow I shall hold a rehearsal [of the E minor Concerto]

with quartet, and then drive to--whither? Indeed, I do not feel inclined to go anywhere; but I shall on no account stay in Warsaw. If you have, perhaps, a suspicion that something dear to me retains me here, you are mistaken, like many others. I a.s.sure you I should be ready to make any sacrifice if only my own self were concerned, and I--although I am in love--had yet to keep my unfortunate feelings concealed in my bosom for some years to come.

Is it possible to imagine anything more inconsistent and self-delusive than these ravings of our friend? Farther on in this very lengthy epistle we come first of all once more to the pending question.

I was to start with the Cracow post for Vienna as early as this day week, but finally I have given up that idea--you will understand why. You may be quite sure that I am no egoist, but, as I love you, am also willing to sacrifice anything for the sake of others. For the sake of others, I say, but not for the sake of outward appearance. For public opinion, which is in high esteem among us, but which, you may be sure, does not influence me, goes even so far as to call it a misfortune if one wears a torn coat, a shabby hat, and the like. If I should fail in my career, and have some day nothing to eat, you must appoint me as clerk at Poturzyn.

There, in a room above the stables, I shall be as happy as I was last summer in your castle. As long as I am in vigour and health I shall willingly continue to work all my life. I have often considered the question, whether I am really lazy or whether I could work more without overexerting my strength.

Joking apart, I have convinced myself that I am not the worst idler, and that I am able to work twice as much if necessity demands it.

It often happens that he who wishes to better the opinion which others have formed of him makes it worse; but, I think, as regards you, I can make it neither better nor worse, even if I occasionally praise myself. The sympathy which I have for you forces your heart to have the same sympathetic feelings for me. You are not master of your thoughts, but I command mine; when I have once taken one into my head I do not let it be taken from me, just as the trees do not let themselves be robbed of their green garment which gives them the charm of youth. With me it will be green in winter also, that is, only in the head, but--G.o.d help me--in the heart the greatest ardour, therefore, no one need wonder that the vegetation is so luxuriant. Enough...yours for ever...Only now I notice that I have talked too much nonsense. You see yesterday's impression [he refers to the name-day festivity already mentioned] has not yet quite pa.s.sed away, I am still sleepy and tired, because I danced too many mazurkas.

Around your letters I twine a little ribbon which my ideal once gave me. I am glad the two lifeless things, the letters and the ribbon, agree so well together, probably because, although they do not know each other, they yet feel that they both come from a hand dear to me.

Even the most courteous of mortals, unless he be wholly dest.i.tute of veracity, will hesitate to deny the truth of Chopin's confession that he has been talking nonsense. But apart from the vagueness and illogicalness of several of the statements, the foregoing effusion is curious as a whole: the thoughts turn up one does not know where, how, or why--their course is quite unaccountable; and if they pa.s.sed through his mind in an unbroken connection, he fails to give the slightest indication of it. Still, although Chopin's philosophy of life, poetical rhapsodies, and meditations on love and friends.h.i.+p, may not afford us much light, edification, or pleasure, they help us substantially to realise their author's character, and particularly his temporary mood.

Great as was the magnetic power of the ideal over Chopin, great as was the irresolution of the latter, the long delay of his departure must not be attributed solely to these causes. The disturbed state of Europe after the outbreak of the July revolution in Paris had also something to do with this interminable procrastination. Pa.s.sports could only be had for Prussia and Austria, and even for these countries not by everyone.

In France the excitement had not yet subsided, in Italy it was nearing the boiling point. Nor were Vienna, whither Chopin intended to go first, and the Tyrol, through which he would have to pa.s.s on his way to Milan, altogether quiet. Chopin's father himself, therefore, wished the journey to be postponed for a short time. Nevertheless, our friend writes on September 22 that he will start in a few weeks: his first goal is Vienna, where, he says, they still remember him, and where he will forge the iron as long as it is hot. But now to the climax of Chopin's amorous fever.

I regret very much [he writes on September 22, 1830] that I must write to you when, as to-day, I am unable to collect my thoughts. When I reflect on myself I get into a sad mood, and am in danger of losing my reason. When I am lost in my thoughts--which is often the case with me--horses could trample upon me, and yesterday this nearly happened in the street without my noticing it. Struck in the church by a glance of my ideal, I ran in a moment of pleasant stupor into the street, and it was not till about a quarter of an hour afterwards that I regained my full consciousness; I am sometimes so mad that I am frightened at myself.

The melancholy cast of the letters cited in this chapter must not lead us to think that despondence was the invariable state of Chopin's mind.

It is more probable that when his heart was saddest he was most disposed to write to his friend his confessions and complaints, as by this means he was enabled to relieve himself to some extent of the burden that oppressed him. At any rate, the agitations of love did not prevent him from cultivating his art, for even at the time when he felt the tyranny of the pa.s.sion most potently, he mentions having composed "some insignificant pieces," as he modestly expresses himself, meaning, no doubt, "short pieces." Meanwhile Chopin had also finished a composition which by no means belongs to the category of "insignificant pieces"--namely, the Concerto in E minor, the completion of which he announces on August 21, 1830. A critical examination of this and other works will be found in a special chapter, at present I shall speak only of its performance and the circ.u.mstances connected with it.

On September 18, 1830, Chopin writes that a few days previously he rehea.r.s.ed the Concerto with quartet accompaniment, but that it does not quite satisfy him:--

Those who were present at the rehearsal say that the Finale is the most successful movement (probably because it is easily intelligible). How it will sound with the orchestra I cannot tell you till next Wednesday, when I shall play the Concerto for the first time in this guise. To-morrow I shall have another rehearsal with quartet.

To a rehearsal with full orchestra, except trumpets and drums (on September 22, 1830), he invited Kurpinski, Soliva, and the select musical world of Warsaw, in whose judgment, however, he professes to have little confidence. Still, he is curious to know how--

the Capellmeister [Kurpinski] will look at the Italian [Soliva], Czapek at Kessler, Filipeus at Dobrzynski, Molsdorf at Kaczynski, Ledoux at Count Sohyk, and Mr. P. at us all. It has never before occurred that all these gentlemen have been a.s.sembled in one place; I alone shall succeed in this, and I do it only out of curiosity!

The musicians in this company, among whom are Poles, Czechs, Germans, Italians, &c., give us a good idea of the mixed character of the musical world of Warsaw, which was not unlike what the musical world of London is still in our day. From the above remark we see that Chopin had neither much respect nor affection for his fellow-musicians; indeed, there is not the slightest sign in his letters that an intimacy existed between him and any one of them. The rehearsals of the Concerto keep Chopin pretty busy, and his head is full of the composition. In the same letter from which I quoted last we find the following pa.s.sage:--

I heartily beg your pardon for my hasty letter of to-day; I have still to run quickly to Elsner in order to make sure that he will come to the rehearsal. Then I have also to provide the desks and mutes, which I had yesterday totally forgotten; without the latter the Adagio would be wholly insignificant, and its success doubtful. The Rondo is effective, the first Allegro vigorous. Cursed self-love! And if it is anyone's fault that I am conceited it is yours, egoist; he who a.s.sociates with such a person becomes like him. But in one point I am as yet unlike you. I can never make up my mind quickly. But I have the firm will and the secret intention actually to depart on Sat.u.r.day week, without pardon, and in spite of lamentations, tears, and complaints.

My music in the trunk, a certain ribbon on my heart, my soul full of anxiety: thus into the post-chaise. To be sure, everywhere in the town tears will flow in streams: from Copernicus to the fountain, from the bank to the column of King Sigismund; but I shall be cold and unfeeling as a stone, and laugh at all those who wish to take such a heart-rending farewell of me!

After the rehearsal of the Concerto with orchestra, which evidently made a good impression upon the much-despised musical world of Warsaw, Chopin resolved to give, or rather his friends resolved for him that he should give, a concert in the theatre on October 11, 1830. Although he is anxious to know what effect his Concerto will produce on the public, he seems little disposed to play at any concert, which may be easily understood if we remember the state of mind he is in.

You can hardly imagine [he writes] how everything here makes me impatient, and bores me, in consequence of the commotion within me against which I cannot struggle.

The third and last of his Warsaw concerts was to be of a more perfect type than the two preceding ones; it was to be one "without those unlucky clarinet and ba.s.soon solos," at that time still so much in vogue. To make up for this quant.i.tative loss Chopin requested the Misses Gladkowska and Wolkow to sing some arias, and obtained, not without much trouble, the requisite permission for them from their master, Soliva, and the Minister of Public Instruction, Mostowski. It was necessary to ask the latter's permission, because the two young ladies were educated as singers at the expense of the State.

The programme of the concert was as follows:--

PART I

1. Symphony by Gorner.

2. First Allegro from the Concerto in E minor, composed and played by Chopin.

3. Aria with Chorus by Soliva, sung by Miss Wolkow.