[FOOTNOTE: After relating that an intimate friend of Chopin's told Miss Stirling of the latter's straitened circumstances, received from her bank-notes to the amount of 25,000 francs, and handed them enclosed in an envelope to the master's portiere with the request to deliver the packet immediately to its address, Madame Audley proceeds with her story (which Franchomme's death prevented me from verifying) thus: "Here, then, was a gleam of light in this darkened sky, and the reassured friends breathed more freely." "But what was my surprise," said M. Franchomme, from whom I have the story, "when some time after I heard Chopin renew his complaints and speak of his distress in the most poignant terms. Becoming impatient, and being quite at a loss as to what was going on," I said at last to him: "But, my dear friend, you have no cause to torment yourself, you can wait for the return of your health, you have money now!"—"I, money!" exclaimed Chopin; "I have nothing."—"How! and these 25,000 francs which were sent you lately?"—"25,000 francs? Where are they? Who sent them to me? I have not received a sou!"—"Ah! really, that is too bad!" Great commotion among the friends. It was evident that the money given to the portiere had not arrived at its destination; but how to be assured of this? and what had become of it? Here was a curious enough fact, as if a little of the marvellous must always be mingled with Chopin's affairs. Paris at that time possessed a much run-after clairvoyant, the celebrated Alexis; they thought of going to consult him. But to get some information it was necessary to put him en rapport, directly or indirectly, with the person suspected. Now this person was, naturally, the portiere. By ruse or by address they got hold of a little scarf that she wore round her neck and placed it in the hands of the clairvoyant. The latter unhesitatingly declared that the 25,000 francs were behind the looking-glass in the loge. The friend who had brought them immediately presented himself to claim them; and our careful portiere, fearing, no doubt, the consequences of a too prolonged sequestration, drew the packet from behind the clock and held it out to him, saying: 'Eh bien, la v'la, vot' lettre!'"]

Chopin, however, refused to accept the whole of the 25,000 francs. According to Madame Rubio, he kept only 1,000 francs, returning the rest to Miss Stirling, whilst Franchomme, on the other hand, said that his friend kept 12,000 francs.

During Chopin's short stay in the Rue Chaillot, M. Charles Gavard, then a very young man, in fact, a youth, spent much of his time with the suffering composer:—

The invalid [he writes] avoided everything that could make me sad, and, to shorten the hours which we passed together, generally begged me to take a book out of his library and to read to him. For the most part he chose some pages out of Voltaire's Dictionnaire Philosophique. He valued very highly the finished form of that clear and concise language, and that so sure judgment on questions of taste. Thus, for instance, I remember that the article on taste was one of the last I read to him.

What M. Gavard says of how slowly, in pain, and often in loneliness, the hours passed for Chopin in the spacious, rooms of his lodgings in the Rue Chaillot, reminds me of a passage in Hector Berlioz's admirable article on his friend in the Journal des Debats (October 27, 1849):—

His weakness and his sufferings had become so great that he could no longer either play the piano or compose; even the slightest conversation fatigued him in an alarming manner. He endeavoured generally to make himself understood as far as possible by signs. Hence the kind of isolation in which he wished to pass the last months of his life, an isolation which many people wrongly interpreted—some attributing it to a scornful pride, others to a melancholic temper, the one as well as the other equally foreign to the character of this, charming artist.

During his stay in the Rue Chaillot Chopin wrote the following note and letter to Franchomme:—

Dear friend,—Send me a little of your Bordeaux. I must take a little wine to-day, and have none. How distrustful I am! Wrap up the bottle, and put your seal on it. For these porters! And I do not know who will take charge of this commission.

Yours, with all my heart.

Sunday after your departure, September 17, 1849.

Dear friend,—I am very sorry that you were not well at Le Mans. Now, however, you are in Touraine, whose sky will have been more favourable to you. I am less well rather than better. MM. Cruveille, Louis, and Blache have had a consultation, and have come to the conclusion that I ought not to travel, but only to take lodgings in the south and remain at Paris. After much seeking, very dear apartments, combining all the desired conditions, have been found in the Place Vendome, No. 12. Albrecht has now his offices there. Meara [FOOTNOTE: This is a very common French equivalent for O'Meara.] has been of great help to me in the search for the apartments. In short, I shall see you all next winter—well housed; my sister remains with me, unless she is urgently required in her own country. I love you, and that is all I can tell you, for I am overcome with sleep and weakness. My sister rejoices at the idea of seeing Madame Franchomme again, and I also do so most sincerely. This shall be as God wills. Kindest regards to M. and Madame Forest. How much I should like to be some days with you! Is Madame de Lauvergeat also at the sea- side? Do not forget to remember me to her, as well as to M. de Lauvergeat. Embrace your little ones. Write me a line. Yours ever. My sister embraces Madame Franchomme.

After a stay of less than six weeks Chopin removed from the Rue Chaillot to the apartments in No. 12, Place Vendome, which M. Albrecht and Dr. O'Meara had succeeded in finding for him. About this time Moscheles came to Paris. Of course he did not fail to inquire after his brother-artist and call at his house. What Moscheles heard and thought may be gathered from the following entry in his diary:-"Unfortunately, we heard of Chopin's critical condition, made ourselves inquiries, and found all the sad news confirmed. Since he has been laid up thus, his sister has been with him. Now the days of the poor fellow are numbered, his sufferings great. Sad lot!" Yes, Chopin's condition had become so hopeless that his relations had been communicated with, and his sister, Louisa Jedrzejewicz, [FOOTNOTE: The same sister who visited him in 1844, passed on that occasion also some time at Nohant, and subsequently is mentioned in a letter of Chopin's to Franchomme.] accompanied by her husband and daughter, had lost no time in coming from Poland to Paris. For the comfort of her presence he was, no doubt, thankful. But he missed and deplored very much during his last illness the absence of his old, trusted physician, Dr. Molin, who had died shortly after the composer's return from England.

The accounts of Chopin's last days—even if we confine ourselves to those given by eye-witnesses—are a mesh of contradictions which it is impossible to wholly disentangle. I shall do my best, but perhaps the most I can hope for is to avoid making confusion worse confounded.

In the first days of October Chopin was already in such a condition that unsupported he could not sit upright. His sister and Gutmann did not leave him for a minute, Chopin holding a hand of the latter almost constantly in one of his. By the 15th of October the voice of the patient had lost its sonority. It was on this day that took place the episode which has so often and variously been described. The Countess Delphine Potocka, between whom and Chopin existed a warm friendship, and who then happened to be at Nice, was no sooner informed of her friend's fatal illness than she hastened to Paris.

When the coming of this dear friend was announced to Chopin [relates M. Gavard], he exclaimed: "Therefore, then, has God delayed so long to call me to Him; He wished to vouchsafe me yet the pleasure of seeing you." Scarcely had she stepped up to him when he expressed the wish that she should let him hear once more the voice which he loved so much. When the priest who prayed beside the bed had granted the request of the dying man, the piano was moved from the adjoining room, and the unhappy Countess, mastering her sorrow and suppressing tier sobs, had to force herself to sing beside the bed where her friend was exhaling his life. I, for my part, heard nothing; I do not know what she sang. This scene, this contrast, this excess of grief had over-powered my-sensibility; I remember only the moment when the death-rattle of the departing one interrupted the Countess in the middle of the second piece. The instrument was quickly removed, and beside the bed remained only the priest who said the prayers for the dying, and the kneeling friends around him.

However, the end was not yet come, indeed, was not to come till two days after. M. Gavard, in saying that he did not hear what the Countess Potocka sang, acts wisely, for those who pretended to have heard it contradict each other outright. Liszt and Karasowski, who follows him, say that the Countess sang the Hymn to the Virgin by Stradella, and a Psalm by Marcello; on the other hand, Gutmann most positively asserted that she sang a Psalm by Marcello and an air by Pergolesi; whereas Franchomme insisted on her having sung an air from Bellini's Beatrice di Tenda, and that only once, and nothing else. As Liszt was not himself present, and does not give the authority for his statement, we may set it, and with it Karasowski's, aside; but the two other statements, made as they were by two musicians who were ear witnesses, leave us in distressing perplexity with regard to what really took place, for between them we cannot choose. Chopin, says M. Gavard, looked forward to his death with serenity.

Some days after his removal to the Place Vendome, Chopin, sitting upright and leaning on the arm of a friend, remained silent for a long time and seemed lost in deep meditation. Suddenly he broke the silence with the words: "Now my death- struggle begins" [Maintenant j'entre en agonie]. The physician, who was feeling his pulse, wished to comfort him with some commonplace words of hope. But Chopin rejoined with a superiority which admitted of no reply: "God shows man a rare favour when He reveals to him the moment of the approach of death; this grace He shows me. Do not disturb me."

M. Gavard relates also that on the 16th October Chopin twice called his friends that were gathered in his apartments around him. "For everyone he had a touching word; I, for my part, shall never forget the tender words he spoke to me." Calling to his side the Princess Czartoryska and Mdlle. Gavard, [FOOTNOTE: A sister of M. Charles Gavard, the pupil to whom Chopin dedicated his Berceuse.] he said to them: "You will play together, you will think of me, and I shall listen to you." And calling to his side Franchomme, he said to the Princess: "I recommend Franchomme to you, you will play Mozart together, and I shall listen to you." [FOOTNOTE: The words are usually reported to have been "Vous jouerez du Mozart en memoire de moi."] "And," added Franchomme when he told me this, "the Princess has always been a good friend to me."

And George Sand? Chopin, as I have already mentioned, said two days before his death to Franchomme: "She had said to me that I would die in no arms but hers" [Elle n'avait dit que je ne mourrais que dans ses bras]. Well, did she not come and fulfil her promise, or, at least, take leave of her friend of many years? Here, again, all is contradiction. M. Gavard writes:—

Among the persons who called and were not admitted was a certain Madame M., who came in the name of George Sand—who was then much occupied with the impending representation of one of her dramas—to inquire after Chopin's state of health. None of us thought it proper to disturb the last moments of the master by the announcement of this somewhat late remembrance.

Gutmann, on the other hand, related that George Sand came to the landing of the staircase and asked him if she might see Chopin; but that he advised her strongly against it, as it was likely to excite the patient too much. Gutmann, however, seems to have been by no means sure about this part of his recollections, for on two occasions he told me that it was Madame Clesinger (George Sand's daughter, Solange) who asked if it was advisable for her mother to come. Madame Clesinger, I may say in passing, was one of those in loving attendance on Chopin, and, as Franchomme told me, present, like himself, when the pianist-composer breathed his last. From the above we gather, at least, that it is very uncertain whether Chopin's desire to see George Sand was frustrated by her heartlessness or the well-meaning interference of his friends.

During this illness of Chopin a great many of his friends and acquaintances, in fact, too many, pressed forward, ready to be of use, anxious to learn what was passing. Happily for the dying man's comfort, most of them were not allowed to enter the room in which he lay.

In the back room [writes M. Gavard] lay the poor sufferer, tormented by fits of breathlessness, and only sitting in bed resting in the arms of a friend could he procure air for his oppressed lungs. It was Gutmann, the strongest among us, who knew best how to manage the patient, and who mostly thus supported him. At the head of his bed sat the Princess Marcelline Czartoryska: she never left him, guessing his most secret wishes, nursing him like a sister of mercy with a serene countenance, which did not betray her deep sorrow. Other friends gave a helping hand or relieved her, everyone according to his power; but most of them stayed in the two adjoining rooms. Everyone had assumed a part; everyone helped as much as he could: one ran to the doctors, to the apothecary; another introduced the persons asked for; a third shut the door on the intruders. To be sure, many who had anything but free entrance came, and called to take leave of him just as if he were about to start on a journey. This anteroom of the dying man, where every one of us hopelessly waited and watched, was like a guard-house or a camp.

M. Gavard probably exaggerates the services of the Princess Czartoryska, but certainly forgets those of the composer's sister. Liszt, no doubt, comes nearer the truth when he says that among those who assembled in the salon adjoining Chopin's bedroom, and in turn came to him and watched his gestures and looks when he had lost his speech, the Princess Marcelline Czartoryska was the most assiduous.

She passed every day a couple of hours with the dying man. She left him at the last only after having prayed for a long time beside him who had just then fled from this world of illusions and sorrows....

After a bad night Chopin felt somewhat better on the morning of the 16th. By several authorities we are informed that on this day, the day after the Potocka episode, the artist received the sacrament which a Polish priest gave him in the presence of many friends. Chopin got worse again in the evening. While the priest was reading the prayers for the dying, he rested silently and with his eyes closed upon Gutmann's shoulder; but at the end of the prayers he opened his eyes wide and said with a loud voice: "Amen."

The Polish priest above mentioned was the Abbe Alexander Jelowicki. Liszt relates that in the absence of the Polish priest who was formerly Chopin's confessor, the Abbe called on his countryman when he heard of his condition, although they had not been on good terms for years. Three times he was sent away by those about Chopin without seeing him. But when he had succeeded in informing Chopin of his wish to see him, the artist received him without delay. After that the Abbe became a daily visitor. One day Chopin told him that he had not confessed for many years, he would do so now. When the confession was over and the last word of the absolution spoken, Chopin embraced his confessor with both arms a la polonaise, and exclaimed: "Thanks! Thanks! Thanks to you I shall not die like a pig." That is what Liszt tells us he had from Abbe Jelowicki's own lips. In the account which the latter has himself given of how Chopin was induced by him to receive the sacrament, induced only after much hesitation, he writes:—

Then I experienced an inexpressible joy mixed with an indescribable anguish. How should I receive this precious soul so as to give it to God? I fell on my knees, and cried to God with all the energy of my faith: "You alone receive it, O my God!" And I held out to Chopin the image of the crucified Saviour, pressing it firmly in his two hands without saying a word. Then fell from his eyes big tears. "Do you believe?" I asked him.—"I believe."—"Do you believe as your mother taught you?"—"As my mother taught me." And, his eyes fixed on the image of his Saviour, he confessed while shedding torrents of tears. Then he received the viaticum and the extreme unction which he asked for himself. After a moment he desired that the sacristan should be given twenty times more than was usually given to him. When I told him that this would be far too much, he replied: "No, no, this is not too much, for what I have received is priceless." From this moment, by God's grace, or rather under the hand of God Himself, he became quite another, and one might almost say he became a saint. On the same day began the death-struggle, which lasted four days and four nights. His patience and resignation to the will of God did not abandon him up to the last minute....

When Chopin's last moments approached he took "nervous cramps" (this was Gutmann's expression in speaking of the matter), and the only thing which seemed to soothe him was Gutmann's clasping his wrists and ankles firmly. Quite near the end Chopin was induced to drink some wine or water by Gutmann, who supported him in his arms while holding the glass to his lips. Chopin drank, and, sinking back, said "Cher ami!" and died. Gutmann preserved the glass with the marks of Chopin's lips on it till the end of his life.

[FOOTNOTE: In B. Stavenow's sketch already more than once alluded to by me, we read that Chopin, after having wetted his lips with the water brought him by Gutmann, raised the latter's hand, kissed it, and with the words "Cher ami!" breathed his last in the arms of his pupil, whose sorrow was so great that Count Gryzmala was obliged to lead him out of the room. Liszt's account is slightly different. "Who is near me?" asked Chopin, with a scarcely audible voice. He bent his head to kiss the hand of Gutmann who supported him, giving up his soul in this last proof of friendship and gratitude. He died as he had lived, loving.]

M. Gavard describes the closing hours of Chopin's life as follows:—

The whole evening of the 16th passed in litanies; we gave the responses, but Chopin remained silent. Only from his difficult breathing could one perceive that he was still alive. That evening two doctors examined him. One of them, Dr. Cruveille, took a candle, and, holding it before Chopin's face, which had become quite black from suffocation, remarked to us that the senses had already ceased to act. But when he asked Chopin whether he suffered, we heard, still quite distinctly, the answer "No longer" [Plus]. This was the last word I heard from his lips. He died painlessly between three and four in the morning [of October 17, 1849]. When I saw him some hours afterwards, the calm of death had given again to his countenance the grand character which we find in the mould taken the same day [by Clesinger], and still more in the simple pencil sketch which was drawn by the hand of a friend, M. Kwiatkowski. This picture of Chopin is the one I like best.

Liszt, too, reports that Chopin's face resumed an unwonted youth, purity, and calm; that his youthful beauty so long eclipsed by suffering reappeared. Common as the phenomenon is, there can be nothing more significant, more impressive, more awful, than this throwing-off in death of the marks of care, hardship, vice, and disease—the corruption of earthly life; than this return to the innocence, serenity, and loveliness of a first and better nature; than this foreshadowing of a higher and more perfect existence. Chopin's love of flowers was not forgotten by those who had cherished and admired him now when his soul and body were parted. "The bed on which he lay," relates Liszt, "the whole room, disappeared under their varied colours; he seemed to repose in a garden." It was a Polish custom, which is not quite obsolete even now, for the dying to choose for themselves the garments in which they wished to be dressed before being laid in the coffin (indeed, some people had their last habiliments prepared long before the approach of their end); and the pious, more especially of the female sex, affected conventual vestments, men generally preferring their official attire. That Chopin chose for his grave-clothes his dress-suit, his official attire, in which he presented himself to his audiences in concert-hall and salon, cannot but be regarded as characteristic of the man, and is perhaps more significant than appears at first sight. But I ought to have said, it would be if it were true that Chopin really expressed the wish. M. Kwiatkowski informed me that this was not so.

For some weeks after, from the 18th October onwards, the French press occupied itself a good deal with the deceased musician. There was not, I think, a single Paris paper of note which did not bring one or more long articles or short notes regretting the loss, describing the end, and estimating the man and artist. But the phenomenal ignorance, exuberance of imagination, and audacity of statement, manifested by almost every one of the writers of these articles and notes are sufficient to destroy one's faith in journalism completely and for ever. Among the offenders were men of great celebrity, chief among them Theophile Gautier (Feuilleton de la Presse, November 5, 1849) and Jules Janin (Feuilleton du Journal des Debuts, October 22, 1849), the latter's performance being absolutely appalling. Indeed, if we must adjudge to French journalists the palm for gracefulness and sprightliness, we cannot withhold it from them for unconscientiousness. Some of the inventions of journalism, I suspect, were subsequently accepted as facts, in some cases perhaps even assimilated as items of their experience, by the friends of the deceased, and finally found their way into AUTHENTIC biography. One of these myths is that Chopin expressed the wish that Mozart's Requiem should be performed at his funeral. Berlioz, one of the many journalists who wrote at the time to this effect, adds (Feuilleton du Journal des Debuts, October 27, 1849) that "His [Chopin's] worthy pupil received this wish with his last sigh." Unfortunately for Berlioz and this pretty story, Gutmann told me that Chopin did not express such a wish; and Franchomme made to me the same statement. I must, [I must, however, not omit to mention here that M. Charles Gavard says that Chopin drew up the programme of his funeral, and asked that on that occasion Mozart's Requiem should be performed.] Also the story about Chopin's wish to be buried beside Bellini is, according to the latter authority, a baseless invention. This is also the place to dispose of the question: What was done with Chopin's MSS.? The reader may know that the composer is said to have caused all his MSS. to be burnt. Now, this is not true. From Franchomme I learned that what actually took place was this. Pleyel asked Chopin what was to be done with the MSS. Chopin replied that they were to be distributed among his friends, that none were to be published, and that fragments were to be destroyed. Of the pianoforte school which Chopin is said to have had the intention to write, nothing but scraps, if anything, can have been found.

M. Gavard pere made the arrangements for the funeral, which, owing to the extensiveness of the preparations, did not take place till the 30th of October. Ready assistance was given by M. Daguerry, the curate of the Madeleine, where the funeral service was to be held; and thanks to him permission was received for the introduction of female singers into the church, without whom the performance of Mozart's Requiem would have been an impossibility.

Numerous equipages [says Eugene Guinot in the Feuilleton du Siecle of November 4] encumbered last Tuesday the large avenues of the Madeleine church, and the crowd besieged the doors of the Temple where one was admitted only on presenting a letter of invitation. Mourning draperies announced a funeral ceremony, and in seeing this external pomp, this concourse of carriages and liveried servants, and this privilege which permitted only the elect to enter the church, the curious congregated on the square asked: "Who is the great lord [grand seigneur] whom they are burying?" As if there were still grands seigneurs! Within, the gathering was brilliant; the elite of Parisian society, all the strangers of distinction which Paris possesses at this moment, were to be found there...

Many writers complain of the exclusiveness which seems to have presided at the sending out of invitations. M. Guinot remarks in reference to this point:

His testamentary executors [executrices] organised this solemnity magnificently. But, be it from premeditation or from forgetfulness, they completely neglected to invite to the ceremony most of the representatives of the musical world. Members of the Institute, celebrated artists, notable writers, tried in vain to elude the watch-word [consigne] and penetrate into the church, where the women were in a very great majority. Some had come from London, Vienna, and Berlin.

In continuation of my account of the funeral service I shall quote from a report in the Daily News of November 2, 1849:—

The coffin was under a catafalque which stood in the middle of the area. The semicircular space behind the steps of the altar was screened by a drapery of black cloth, which being festooned towards the middle, gave a partial view of the vocal and instrumental orchestra, disposed not in the usual form of a gradual ascent from the front to the back, but only on the level of the floor....

The doors of the church were opened at eleven o'clock, and at noon (the time fixed for the commencement of the funeral service) the vast area was filled by an assembly of nearly three thousand persons, all of whom had received special invitations, as being entitled from rank, from station in the world of art and literature, or from friendship for the lamented deceased, to be present on so solemn and melancholy an occasion.

A trustworthy account of the whole ceremony, and especially a clear and full report of the musical part of the service, we find in a letter from the Paris correspondent of The Musical World (November 10, 1849). I shall quote some portions of this letter, accompanying them with elucidatory and supplementary notes:—

The ceremony, which took place on Tuesday (the 30th ult.), at noon, in the church of the Madeleine, was one of the most imposing we ever remember to have witnessed. The great door of the church was hung with black curtains, with the initials of the deceased, "F. C.," emblazoned in silver. On our entry we found the vast area of the modern Parthenon entirely crowded. Nave, aisles, galleries, &c., were alive with human beings who had come to see the last of Frederick Chopin. Many, perhaps, had never heard of him before....In the space that separates the nave from the choir, a lofty mausoleum had been erected, hung with black and silver drapery, with the initials "F.C." emblazoned on the pall. At noon the service began. The orchestra and chorus (both from the Conservatoire, with M. Girard as conductor and the principal singers (Madame Viardot- Garcia, Madame Castellan, Signor Lablache, and M. Alexis Dupont)) were placed at the extreme end of the church, a black drapery concealing them from view.

[FOOTNOTE: This statement is confirmed by one in the Gazette musicals, where we read that the members of the Societe des Concerts "have made themselves the testamentary executors of this wish"—namely, to have Mozart's Requiem performed. Madame Audley, misled, I think, by a dubious phrase of Karasowski's, that has its origin in a by no means dubious phrase of Liszt's, says that Meyerbeer conducted (dirigeait l'ensemble). Liszt speaks of the conducting of the funeral procession.]

When the service commenced the drapery was partially withdrawn and exposed the male executants to view, concealing the women, whose presence, being uncanonical, was being felt, not seen. A solemn march was then struck up by the band, during the performance of which the coffin containing the body of the deceased was slowly carried up the middle of the nave...As soon as the coffin was placed in the mausoleum, Mozart's Requiem was begun...The march that accompanied the body to the mausoleum was Chopin's own composition from his first pianoforte sonata, instrumented for the orchestra by M. Henri Reber.

[FOOTNOTE: Op. 35, the first of those then published, but in reality his second, Op. 4 being the first. Meyerbeer afterwards expressed to M. Charles Gavard his surprise that he had not been asked to do the deceased the homage of scoring the march.]

During the ceremony M. Lefebure-Wely, organist of the Madeleine, performed two of Chopin's preludes [FOOTNOTE: Nos. 4 and 6, in E and B minor] upon the organ...After the service M. Wely played a voluntary, introducing themes from Chopin's compositions, while the crowd dispersed with decorous gravity. The coffin was then carried from the church, all along the Boulevards, to the cemetery of Pere-Lachaise-a distance of three miles at least—Meyerbeer and the other chief mourners, who held the cords, walking on foot, bareheaded.

[FOOTNOTE: Liszt writes that Meyerbeer and Prince Adam Czartoryski conducted the funeral procession, and that Prince Alexander Czartoryski, Delacroix, Franchomme, and Gutmann were the pall-bearers. Karasowski mentions the same gentlemen as pall-bearers; Madame Audley, on the other hand, names Meyerbeer instead of Gutmann. Lastly, Theophile Gautier reported in the Feuilleton de la Presse of November 5, 1849, that MM. Meyerbeer, Eugene Delacroix, Franchomme, and Pleyel held the cords of the pall. The Gazette musicale mentions Franchomme, Delacroix, Meyerbeer, and Czartoryski.]

A vast number of carriages followed...

[FOOTNOTE: "Un grand nombre de voitures de deuil et de voitures particulieres," we read in the Gazette musicals, "ont suivi jusqu'au cimetiere de l'Est, dit du Pere-Lachaise, le pompeux corbillard qui portait le corps du defunt. L'elite des artistes de Paris lui a servi de cortege. Plusieurs dames, ses eleves, en grand deuil, ont suivi le convoi, a pied, jusqu'au champ de repos, ou l'artiste eminent, convaincu, a eu pour oraisons funebres des regrets muets, profondement sentis, qui valent mieux que des discours dans lesquels perce toujours une vanite d'auteur ou d'orateur"]

At Pere-Lachaise, in one of the most secluded spots, near the tombs of Habeneck and Marie Milanollo, the coffin was deposited in a newly-made grave. The friends and admirers took a last look, ladies in deep mourning threw garlands and flowers upon the coffin, and then the gravedigger resumed his work...The ceremony was performed in silence.

One affecting circumstance escaped the attention of our otherwise so acute observer—namely, the sprinkling on the coffin, when the latter had been lowered into the grave, of the Polish earth which, enclosed in a finely-wrought silver cup, loving friends had nearly nineteen years before, in the village of Wola, near Warsaw, given to the departing young and hopeful musician who was never to see his country again.

Chopin's surroundings at Pere-Lachaise are most congenial. Indeed, the neighbourhood forms quite a galaxy of musical talent—close by lie Cherubini, Bellini, Gretry, Boieldieu, Bocquillon-Wilhem, Louis Duport, and several of the Erard family; farther away, Ignace Pleyel, Rodolphe Kreutzer, Pierre Galin, Auguste Panseron, Mehul, and Paer. Some of these, however, had not yet at that time taken possession of their resting-places there, and Bellini has since then (September 15, 1876) been removed by his compatriots, to his birthplace, Catania, in Sicily.

Not the whole of Chopin's body, however, was buried at Pere-Lachaise; his heart was conveyed to his native country and is preserved in the Holy Cross Church at Warsaw, where at the end of 1879 or beginning of 1880 a monument was erected, consisting of a marble bust of the composer in a marble niche. Soon after Chopin's death voluntary contributions were collected, and a committee under Delacroix's presidence was formed, for the erection of a monument, the execution of which was entrusted to Clesinger, the husband of Madame Sand's daughter, Solange. Although the sculptor's general idea is good—a pedestal bearing on its front a medallion, and surmounted by a mourning muse with a neglected lyre in her hand—the realisation leaves much to be desired. This monument was unveiled in October, 1850, on the anniversary of Chopin's death.

[FOOTNOTE: On the pedestal of the monument are to be read besides the words "A. Frederic Chopin" above the medallion, "Ses amis" under the medallion, and the name of the sculptor and the year of its production (J. Clesinger, 1850), the following incorrect biographical data: "Frederic Chopin, ne en Pologne a Zelazowa Wola pres de Varsovie: Fils d'un emigre francais, marie a Mile. Krzyzanowska, fille d'un gentilhomme Polonais."]

The friends of the composer, as we learn from an account in John Bull (October 26, 1850), assembled in the little chapel of Pere-Lachaise, and after a religious service proceeded with the officiating priest at their head to Chopin's grave. The monument was then unveiled, flowers and garlands were scattered over and around it, prayers were said, and M. Wolowski, the deputy, [FOOTNOTE: Louis Francois Michel Raymond Wolowski, political economist, member of the Academie des Sciences Morales, and member of the Constituante. A Pole by birth, he became a naturalised French subject in 1834.] endeavoured to make a speech, but was so much moved that he could only say a few words.

[FOOTNOTE: In the Gazette muticale of October 20, 1850, we read: "Une messe commemorative a ete dite jeudi dernier [i.e., on the 17th] dans la chapelle du cimetiere du Pere-Lachaise a la memoire de Frederic Chopin et pour l'inauguration de son monument funebre."]

The Menestrel of November 3, 1850, informed its readers that in the course of the week (it was on the 30th October at eleven o'clock) an anniversary mass had been celebrated at the Madeleine in honour of Chopin, at which from two to three hundred of his friends were present, and that Franchomme on the violoncello and Lefebure-Wely on the organ had played some of the departed master's preludes, or, to quote our authority literally, "ont redit aux assistants emus les preludes si pleins de melancolie de I'illustre defunt."



EPILOGUE.



We have followed Chopin from his birthplace, Zelazowa Wola, to Warsaw, where he passed his childhood and youth, and received his musical as well as his general education; we have followed him in his holiday sojourns in the country, and on his more distant journeys to Reinerz, Berlin, and Vienna; we have followed him when he left his native country and, for further improvement, settled for a time in the Austrian capital; we have followed him subsequently to Paris, which thenceforth became his home; and we have followed him to his various lodgings there and on the journeys and in the sojourns elsewhere—to 27, Boulevard Poissonniere, to 5 and 38, Chaussee d'Antin, to Aix-la-Chapelle, Carlsbad, Leipzig, Heidelberg, Marienbad, and London, to Majorca, to Nohant, to 5, Rue Tronchet, 16, Rue Pigalle, and 9, Square d'Orleans, to England and Scotland, to 9, Square d'Orleans once more, Rue Chaillot, and 12, Place Vendome; and, lastly, to the Pere-Lachaise cemetery. We have considered him as a pupil at the Warsaw Lyceum and as a student of music under the tuition of Zywny and Elsner; we have considered him as a son and as a brother, as a lover and as a friend, as a man of the world and as a man of business; and we have considered him as a virtuoso, as a teacher, and as a composer. Having done all this, there remains only one thing for me to do—namely, to summarise the thousands of details of the foregoing account, and to point out what this artist was to his and is to our time. But before doing this I ought perhaps to answer a question which the reader may have asked himself. Why have I not expressed an opinion on the moral aspect of Chopin's connection with George Sand? My explanation shall be brief. I abstained from pronouncing judgment because the incomplete evidence did not seem to me to warrant my doing so. A full knowledge of all the conditions and circumstances. I hold to be indispensable if justice is to be done; the rash and ruthless application of precepts drawn from the social conventions of the day are not likely to attain that end. Having done my duty in placing before the reader the ascertainable evidence, I leave him at liberty to decide on it according to his wisdom and charity.

Henri Blaze de Bury describes (in Etudes et Souvenirs) the portrait which Ary Scheffer painted of Chopin in these words:—

It represents him about this epoch [when "neither physical nor moral consumption of any kind prevented him from attending freely to his labours as well as to his pleasures"], slender, and in a nonchalant attitude, gentlemanlike in the highest degree: the forehead superb, the hands of a rare distinction, the eyes small, the nose prominent, but the mouth of an exquisite fineness and gently closed, as if to keep back a melody that wishes to escape.

M. Marmontel, with, "his [Chopin's] admirable portrait" by Delacroix before him, penned the following description:—

This is the Chopin of the last years, ailing, broken by suffering; the physiognomy already marked by the last seal [le sceau supreme], the look dreamy, melancholy, floating between heaven and earth, in the limbos of dream and agony. The attenuated and lengthened features are strongly accentuated: the relief stands out boldly, but the lines of the countenance remain beautiful; the oval of the face, the aquiline nose and its harmonious curve, give to this sickly physiognomy the stamp of poetic distinction peculiar to Chopin.

Poetic distinction, exquisite refinement, and a noble bearing are the characteristics which strike one in all portraits of Chopin, [FOOTNOTE: See Appendix IV.] and which struck the beholder still more strongly in the real Chopin, where they were reinforced by the gracefulness of his movements, and by manners that made people involuntarily treat him as a prince...[FOOTNOTE: See my description of Chopin, based on the most reliable information, in Chapter XX.] And pervading and tincturing every part of the harmonious whole of Chopin's presence there was delicacy, which was indeed the cardinal factor in the shaping not only of his outward conformation, but also of his character, life, and art-practice. Physical delicacy brought with it psychical delicacy, inducing a delicacy of tastes, habits, and manners, which early and continued intercourse with the highest aristocracy confirmed and developed. Many of the charming qualities of the man and artist derive from this delicacy. But it is likewise the source of some of the deficiencies and weaknesses in the man and artist. His exclusiveness, for instance, is, no doubt, chargeable to the superlative sensitiveness which shrank from everything that failed to satisfy his fastidious, exacting nature, and became more and more morbid as delicacy, of which it was a concomitant, degenerated into disease. Yet, notwithstanding the lack of robustness and all it entails, Chopin might have been moderately happy, perhaps even have continued to enjoy moderately good health, if body and soul had been well matched. This, however, was not the case. His thoughts were too big, his passions too violent, for the frail frame that held them; and the former grew bigger and more violent as the latter grew frailer and frailer. He could not realise his aspirations, could not compass his desires, in short, could not fully assert himself. Here, indeed, we have lit upon the tragic motive of Chopin's life-drama, and the key to much that otherwise would be enigmatical, certainly not explicable by delicacy and disease alone. His salon acquaintances, who saw only the polished outside of the man, knew nothing of this disparity and discrepancy; and even the select few of his most intimate friends, from whom he was not always able to conceal the irritation that gnawed at his heart, hardly more than guessed the true state of matters. In fact, had not Chopin been an artist, the tale of his life would have for ever remained a tale untold. But in his art, as an executant and a composer, he revealed all his strength and weakness, all his excellences and insufficiencies, all his aspirations and failures, all his successes and disappointments, all his dreams and realities.

Chopin [wrote Anton Schindler in 1841] [FOOTNOTE: Beethoven in Paris, p. 71] is the prince of all pianists, poesy itself at the piano... His playing does not impress by powerfulness of touch, by fiery brilliancy, for Chopin's physical condition forbids him every bodily exertion, and spirit and body are constantly at variance and in reciprocal excitement. The cardinal virtue of this great master in pianoforte-playing lies in the perfect truth of the expression of every feeling within his reach [dessen er sich bemeistern darf], which is altogether inimitable and might lead to caricature were imitatior attempted.

Chopin was not a virtuoso in the ordinary sense of the word. His sphere was the reunion intime, not the mixed crowd of concert audiences. If, however, human testimony is worth anything, we may take it as proven that there never was a pianist whose playing exercised a charm equal to that of Chopin. But, as Liszt has said, it is impossible to make those who have not heard him understand this subtle, penetrating charm of an ineffable poesy. If words could give an idea of Chopin's playing, it would be given by such expressions as "legerete impalpable," "palais aeriens de la Fata Morgana," "wundersam und marchenhaft," and other similar ones used with regard to it by men who may safely be accepted as authorities.

As a pianist Chopin was sorely restricted by lack of physical vigour, which obliged him often to merely suggest, and even to leave not a little wholly unexpressed. His range as a composer was much wider, as its limits were those of his spirit. Still, Chopin does not number among those masterminds who gather up and grasp with a strong hand all the acquisitions of the past and present, and mould them into a new and glorious synthesis-the highest achievement possible in art, and not to be accomplished without a liberal share of originality in addition to the comprehensive power. Chopin, then, is not a compeer of Bach, Handel, Mozart, and Beethoven. But if he does not stand on their level, he stands on a level not far below them. And if the inferiority of his intellectual stamina prevented him from achieving what they achieved, his delicate sensibility and romantic imagination enabled him to achieve what they were disqualified from achieving. Of universality there was not a trace in him, but his individuality is one of the most interesting. The artistico-historical importance of Chopin lies in his having added new elements to music, originated means of expression for the communication and discrimination of moods and emotions, and shades of moods and emotions, that up to his time had belonged to the realm of the unuttered and unutterable. Notwithstanding the high estimation in which Chopin is held, it seems to me that his importance for the development of the art is not rated at its full value. His influence on composers for the pianoforte, both as regards style and subject-matter, is generally understood; but the same cannot be said of his less obvious wider influence. Indeed, nothing is more common than to overlook his connection with the main current of musical history altogether, to regard him as a mere hors d'oeuvre in the musical MENU of the universe. My opinion, on the contrary, is that among the notable composers who have lived since the days of Chopin there is not to be found one who has not profited more or less, consciously or unconsciously, directly or indirectly, by this truly creative genius. To trace his influence we must transport ourselves back fifty or sixty years, and see what the state of music then was, what composers expressed and what means of expression they had at their disposal. Much that is now familiar, nay, even commonplace, was then a startling novelty. The appearance of Chopin was so wonderful a phenomenon that it produced quite an electrical effect upon Schumann. "Come," said Berlioz to Legouve in the first years of the fourth decade of this century, "I am going to let you see something which you have never seen, and someone whom you will never forget." This something and someone was Chopin. Mendelssohn being questioned about his enthusiasm for one of this master's preludes replied: "I love it, I cannot tell you how much, or why; except, perhaps, that it is something which I could never have written at all." Of course, Chopin's originality was not universally welcomed and appreciated. Mendelssohn, for instance, was rather repelled than attracted by it; at any rate, in his letters there are to be found frequent expressions of antipathy to Chopin's music, which seemed to him" mannered "(see letter to Moscheles of February 7, 1835). But even the heartless and brainless critic of the Musical World whose nonsense I quoted in Chapter XXXI. admits that Chopin was generally esteemed by the "professed classical musicians," and that the name of the admirers of the master's compositions was legion. To the early popularity of Chopin's music testify also the many arrangements for other instruments (the guitar not excepted) and even for voices (for instance, OEuvres celebres de Chopin, transcrites a une ou deux voix egales par Luigi Bordese) to which his compositions were subjected. This popularity was, however, necessarily limited, limited in extent or intensity. Indeed, popular, in the comprehensive sense of the word, Chopin's compositions can never become. To understand them fully we must have something of the author's nature, something of his delicate sensibility and romantic imagination. To understand him we must, moreover, know something of his life and country. For, as Balzac truly remarked, Chopin was less a musician than une ame qui se rend sensible. In short, his compositions are the "celestial echo of what he had felt, loved, and suffered"; they are his memoirs, his autobiography, which, like that of every poet, assumes the form of "Truth and Poetry."



APPENDICES.



APPENDIX I.

THE GOLDEN AGE OP POLISH MUSIC.

(VOL. I., p. 66.)



As yet it is difficult to speak with any degree of certainty of the early musical history of Poland. Our general histories of music have little or nothing to say on the matter, and a special history exists neither in the Polish nor in any other language. The Abbe Joseph Surzynski, who by his labours is endeavouring to remove the reproach of indifference and ignorance now lying on his countrymen in this respect, says: [FOOTNOTE: In the preface to the Monumenta Musices sacra, selected works of the best composers of classical religious music in Poland, published by him. The first two parts of this publication, respectively issued in 1885 and 1887, contain compositions by Thomas Szadek, Nicolas Zielenski, G. G. Gorczycki, Venceslas, Szamotulski, and Sebastian of Felsztyn.] "The compositions of our old masters are buried in the archives and libraries—no one cares to make them known to the public; many Polish musicians, not even supposing that these compositions exist, are very far from believing that the authors of these pieces deserve to be ranked with the best composers of the Roman Catholic Church. Now, in studying these works, we find in the century of Palestrina and Vittoria among our artists: Marcin ze Lwowa (Martin Leopolita), Christopher Borek, Thomas Szadek, Venceslas Szamotulski, and especially Zielenski and Gomolka—distinguished masters who deserve to be known by the friends of the musical art, either on account of their altogether national genius, or on account of their inspiration and the perfection of the forms which manifest themselves in their compositions." One of the first illustrious names in the history of music in Poland is the German Henry Finck, the chapel-master of the Polish Kings, John Albert (1492-1501) and Alexander (1501-1506). From the fact that this excellent master got his musical education in Poland we may safely conclude—and it is not the only fact which justifies our doing so—that in that country already in the fifteenth century good contrapuntists were to be found. The Abbe Surzynski regards Zielenski as the best of the early composers, having been impressed both by the profound religious inspiration and the classical form of his works. Of Gomolka, who has been called the Polish Palestrina as Sebastian of Felsztyn the Polish Goudimel, the Abbe remarks: "Among the magnificent musical works of Martin Leopolita, Szadek, and Zielenski, the compositions of Gomolka present themselves like miniature water-colours, in which, nevertheless, every line, every colour, betrays the painter of genius. His was a talent thoroughly indigenous—his compositions are of great simplicity; no too complicated combinations of parts, one might even say that they are homophonous; nevertheless what wealth of thought, what beauty of harmony, what profoundness of sentiment do we find there! These simple melodies clothed in pure and truly holy harmonies, written, as Gomolka said himself, not for the Italians, but for the Poles, who are happy in their own country, are the best specimens of the national style. "In speaking of the early Polish church music I must not forget to mention the famous College of the Roratists, [FOOTNOTE: The duties of these singers were to sing Rorate masses and Requiem masses for the royal family. Their name was derived from the opening word of the Introit, "Rorate coeli."] the Polish Sistine Chapel, attached to the Cracow Cathedral. It was founded in 1543 and subsisted till 1760. With the fifteenth of seventeen conductors of the college, Gregor Gorczycki, who died in 1734, passed away the last of the classical school of Polish church music. Music was diligently cultivated in the seventeenth century, especially under the reigns of Sigismund III. (1587-1632), and Wladislaw IV. (1632-1648); but no purpose would be served by crowding these pages with unknown names of musicians about whom only scanty information is available; I may, however, mention the familiar names of three of many Italian composers who, in the seventeenth century, like many more of their countrymen, passed a great part of their lives in Poland—namely, Luca Marenzio, Asprilio Pacelii, and Marco Scacchi.



APPENDIX II.

EARLY PERFORMANCES OF CHOPIN'S WORKS IN GERMANY.

(VOL. I., p. 268.)



The first performance of a composition by Chopin at the Leipzig Gewandhaus took place on October 27, 1831. It was his Op. 1, the variations on La ci darem la mano, which Julius Knorr played at a concert for the benefit of the Pension-fund of the orchestra, but not so as to give the audience pleasure—at least, this was the opinion of Schumann, as may be seen from his letter to Frederick Wieck of January 4, 1832. Chopin relates already on June 5, 1830, that Emilie Belleville knew his variations by heart and had played them in Vienna. Clara Wieck was one of the first who performed Chopin's compositions in public. On September 29, 1833, she played at a Leipzig Gewandhaus concert the last movement of the E minor Concerto, and on May 5, 1834, in the same hall at an extra concert, the whole work and two Etudes. Further information about the introduction and repetitions of Chopin's compositions at the Leipzig Gewandhaus, is to be found in the statistical part (p. 13) of Alfred Dorffel's Die Gewandhausconcerte.



APPENDIX III.

MADAME SCHUMANN ON CHOPIN'S VISIT TO LEIPZIG.

(VOL. I., p. 290.)



Through a kind communication from Madame Schumann I have learned that Wenzel's account does not quite agree with her diary. There she finds written that her father, Friedrich Wieck, felt offended because Chopin, for whose recognition in Germany he had done so much, had not called upon him immediately after his arrival. Chopin made his appearance only two hours before his departure, but then did not find Wieck at home, for he, to avoid Chopin, had gone out and had also taken his daughter Clara with him. When Wieck returned an hour later, he found unexpectedly Chopin still there. Clara had now to play to the visitor. She let him hear Schumann's F sharp minor Sonata, two Etudes by Chopin, and a movement of a Concerto by herself. After this Chopin played his E flat major Nocturne. By degrees Wieck's wrath subsided, and finally he accompanied Chopin to the post-house, and parted from him in the most friendly mood.



APPENDIX IV.

REBECCA DIRICHLET ON CHOPIN AT MARIENBAD.

(VOL. I., p. 309.)



When Rebecca Dirichlet came with her husband to Marienbad, she learnt that Chopin did not show himself, and that his physician and a Polish countess, who completely monopolised him, did not allow him to play. Having, however, heard so much of his playing from her brothers, she was, in order to satisfy her curiosity, even ready to commit the bassesse of presenting herself as the soeur de Messieurs Paul et Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy. As she humorously wrote a few days later: "The bassesse towards Chopin has been committed and has completely failed. Dirichlet went to him, and said that a soeur, &c.—only a mazurka—impossible, mal aux nerfs, mauvais piano—et comment se porte cette chere Madame Hensel, el Paul est marie? heureux couple, &c.—allez vous promener—the first and the last time that we do such a thing."



APPENDIX V.

PALMA AND VALDEMOSA.

(VOL. II., pp. 22-48.)



The Argosy of 1888 contains a series of Letters from Majorca by Charles W. Wood, illustrated by views of Palma, Valdemosa, and other parts of the island. The illustrations in the April number comprise a general view of the monastery of Valdemosa, and views of one of its courts and of the cloister in which is situated the cell occupied by George Sand and Chopin in the winter of 1838-1839. The cloister has a groined vault, on one side the cell doors, and on the other side, opening on the court, doors and rectangular windows with separate circular windows above them. The letters have been republished in book form (London: Bentley and Sons).



APPENDIX VI.

On Tempo Rubato.

(VOL. II., p. 101.)



An earlier practiser of the tempo rubato than the lady mentioned by Quanz (see Vol. II., p. 101 of this work) was Girolamo Frescobaldi, who speaks of this manner of musical rendering in the preface to Il primo libra di Capricci fatti sopra diversi sogetti et Arie in partitura (1624). An extract from this preface is to be found in A. G. Ritter's Zur Geschichte des Orgelspiels, Vol. I., p. 34. F. X. Haberl remarks in the preface to his collection of pieces by Frescobaldi (Leipzig: Breitkopf and Hartel): "A chief trait of Frescobaldi's genius is the so-called tempo rubato, an absolute freedom in the employment of a quicker and slower tempo."



APPENDIX VII.

CAROLINE HARTMANN.

(VOL. II., p. 171.)



On page 175 of this volume I made an allusion to Spohr in connection with Chopin's pupil Caroline Hartmann. To save the curious reader trouble, I had better point out that the information is to be found in Spohr's autobiography under date Munster, near Colmar, March 26, 1816 (German edition, pp. 245-250; English edition, pp. 229-232). Jacques Hartmann, the father of Caroline, was a cotton manufacturer and an enthusiastic lover of music. He had an orchestra consisting of his family and employes. Spohr calls the father a bassoon-virtuoso; what he says of the daughter will be seen in the following sentences: "His sister and his daughter play the pianoforte. The latter, a child eight years old, is the star of the amateur orchestra. She plays with a dexterity and exactness that are worthy of admiration. I was still more astonished at her fine ear, with which (away from the piano) she recognises the intervals of the most intricate and full dissonant chords which one strikes, and names the notes of which they consist in their sequence. If the child is well guided, she is sure to become one day an excellent artist."



APPENDIX VIII.

MADAME PERUZZI.

(VOL. II., p. 177.)



The reader will be as grateful as I am for the following interesting communications of Madame Peruzzi (nee Elise Eustaphieve, whose father was Russian Consul-General to the United States of America) about her intercourse with Chopin.

"I first met Chopin at the house of the American banker, Samuel Welles, in Paris, where I, like every one present, was enchanted listening to his mazurkas, waltzes, nocturnes, &c., which he played on a wretched square piano. I lived as dame en chambre (a very convenient custom for ladies alone), at a pension, or rather a regular boarding-school, with rooms to let for ladies. The lady of the house was acquainted with many of the musical people, and I had a splendid American grand piano which was placed in the large drawing-room of the establishment, so that I felt quite at home, and there received Chopin, Liszt, and Herz (Miss Herz, his sister, gave lessons in the school), and often played four-hand pieces with them.

"My intimacy with Chopin began after my marriage. He often dined with us, was very fond of my husband, and after dinner we were not at home if any one else came, but remained at our two pianos (Erard had sent me one), playing together, and I used to amuse him by picking out of his music little bits that seemed like questions for him to answer on the other piano. He lived very near us, so we very often passed mornings at his house, where he asked me to play with him all Weber's duets. This was delightful to me, the more so, as he complimented me on my reading and entering at first sight into the spirit of the music. He made me acquainted with the beautiful duet of Moscheles, and was the first with whom I played Hummel's splendid duet. He was a great admirer of Weber. We frequently had morning concerts with double quartet, and Chopin would very kindly turn the leaves for me. He was particularly fond of doing so when I played Hummel's Septet, and was so encouraging. Even when playing to him his own music, he would approve some little thing not indicated and say, 'What a good idea of yours that is!' My husband begged him to give me lessons; but he always refused, and did give them; for I studied so many things with him, among others his two concertos. The one in E minor I once played accompanied by himself on a second piano. We passed many pleasant evenings at Mr. and Madame Leo's house, a very musical one. Madame Moscheles was a niece of theirs. Chopin was fond of going there, where he was quite a pet. He always appeared to best advantage among his most intimate friends. I was one who helped to christen the Berceuse. You ask me in what years I knew Chopin, 1838 is the date of the manuscript in my collection which he gave me after I was married, and the last notes of that little jewel he wrote on the desk of the piano in our presence. He said it would not be published because they would play it....Then he would show how they would play it, which was very funny. It came out after his death, it is a kind of waltz-mazurka [the Valse, Op. 69, No. I], Chopin's intimate friend, Camille Pleyel, called it the story of a D flat, because that note comes in constantly. One morning we took Paganini to hear Chopin, and he was enchanted; they seemed to understand each other so well. When I knew him he was a sufferer and would only occasionally play in public, and then place his piano in the middle of Pleyel's room whilst his admirers were around the piano. His speciality was extreme delicacy, and his pianissimo extraordinary. Every little note was like a bell, so clear. His fingers seemed to be without any bones; but he would bring out certain effects by great elasticity. He got very angry at being accused of not keeping time; calling his left hand his maitre de chapelle and allowing his right to wander about ad libitum."



APPENDIX IX.

MADAME STREICHER'S (nee FRIEDERIKE MULLER) RECOLLECTIONS OF CHOPIN, BASED ON EXTRACTS FROM HER CAREFULLY-KEPT DIARY OF THE YEARS 1839, 1840, AND 1841. (VOL. II., p. 177.)



In March, 1839, I went to Paris, accompanied by a kind aunt, who was a highly-cultured musical connoisseur, animated by the wish to get if possible lessons from Chopin, whose compositions inspired me with enthusiasm. But he was from home and very ill; indeed, it was feared he would not return to Paris even in the winter. However, at last, at last, in October, 1839, he came. I had employed this long time in making myself acquainted with the musical world in Paris, but the more I heard, nay, even admired, the more was my intention to wait till Chopin's return confirmed. And I was quite right.

On the 30th of October, 1839, we, my kind aunt and I, went to him. At that time he lived in Rue Tronchet, No. 5. Anxiously I handed him my letters of introduction from Vienna, and begged him to take me as a pupil. He said very politely, but very formally: "You have played with applause at a matinee at the house of Countess Appony, the wife of the Austrian ambassador, and will hardly require my instruction." I became afraid, for I was wise enough to understand he had not the least inclination to accept me as a pupil. I quickly protested that I knew very well I had still very, very much to learn. And, I added timidly, I should like to be able to play his wondrously-beautiful compositions well. "Oh!" he exclaimed, "it would be sad if people were not in a position to play them well without my instruction." "I certainly am not able to do so," I replied anxiously. "Well, play me something," he said. And in a moment his reserve had vanished. Kindly and indulgently he helped me to overcome my timidity, moved the piano, inquired whether I were comfortably seated, let me play till I had become calm, then gently found fault with my stiff wrist, praised my correct comprehension, and accepted me as a pupil. He arranged for two lessons a week, then turned in the most amiable way to my aunt, excusing himself beforehand if he should often be obliged to change the day and hour of the lesson on account of his delicate health. His servant would always inform us of this.

Alas! he suffered greatly. Feeble, pale, coughing much, he often took opium drops on sugar and gum-water, rubbed his forehead with eau de Cologne, and nevertheless he taught with a patience, perseverance, and zeal which were admirable. His lessons always lasted a full hour, generally he was so kind as to make them longer. Mikuli says: "A holy artistic zeal burnt in him then, every word from his lips was incentive and inspiring. Single lessons often lasted literally for hours at a stretch, till exhaustion overcame master and pupil." There were for me also such blessed lessons. Many a Sunday I began at one o'clock to play at Chopin's, and only at four or five o'clock in the afternoon did he dismiss us. Then he also played, and how splendidly but not only his own compositions, also those of other masters, in order to teach the pupil how they should be performed. One morning he played from memory fourteen Preludes and Fugues of Bach's, and when I expressed my joyful admiration at this unparalleled performance, he replied: "Cela ne s'oublie jamais," and smiling sadly he continued: "Depuis un an je n'ai pas etudie un quart d'heure de sante, je n'ai pas de force, pas d'energie, j'attends toujours un peu de sante pour reprendre tout cela, mais... j'attends encore." We always spoke French together, in spite of his great fondness for the German language and poetry. It is for this reason that I give his sayings in the French language, as I heard them from him. In Paris people had made me afraid, and told me how Chopin caused Clementi, Hummel, Cramer, Moscheles, Beethoven, and Bach to be studied, but not his own compositions. This was not the case. To be sure, I had to study with him the works of the above-mentioned masters, but he also required me to play to him the new and newest compositions of Hiller, Thalberg, and Liszt, &c. And already in the first lesson he placed before me his wondrously—beautiful Preludes and Studies. Indeed, he made me acquainted with many a composition before it had appeared in print.

I heard him often preluding in a wonderfully-beautiful manner. On one occasion when he was entirely absorbed in his playing, completely detached from the world, his servant entered softly and laid a letter on the music-desk. With a cry Chopin left off playing, his hair stood on end—what I had hitherto regarded as impossible I now saw with my own eyes. But this lasted only for a moment.

His playing was always noble and beautiful, his tones always sang, whether in full forte, or in the softest piano. He took infinite pains to teach the pupil this legato, cantabile way of playing. "Il [ou elle] ne sait pas lier deux notes" was his severest censure. He also required adherence to the strictest rhythm, hated all lingering and dragging, misplaced rubatos, as well as exaggerated ritardandos. "Je vous prie de vous asseoir," he said on such an occasion with gentle mockery. And it is just in this respect that people make such terrible mistakes in the execution of his works. In the use of the pedal he had likewise attained the greatest mastery, was uncommonly strict regarding the misuse of it, and said repeatedly to the pupil: "The correct employment of it remains a study for life."

When I played with him the study in C major, the first of those he dedicated to Liszt, he bade me practise it in the mornings very slowly. "Cette etude vous fera du bien," he said. "Si vous l'etudiez comme je l'entends, cela elargit la main, et cela vous donne des gammes d'accords, comme les coups d'archet. Mais souvent malheureusement au lieu d'apprendre tout cela, elle fait desapprendre." I am quite aware that it is a generally-prevalent error, even in our day, that one can only play this study well when one possesses a very large hand. But this is not the case, only a supple hand is required.

Chopin related that in May, 1834, he had taken a trip to Aix-la-Chapelle with Hiller and Mendelssohn. "Welcomed there in a very friendly manner, people asked me when I was introduced: 'You are, I suppose, a brother of the pianist?' I answered in the affirmative, for it amused me, and described my brother the pianist. 'He is tall, strong, has black hair, a black moustache, and a very large hand.'" To those who have seen the slightly-built Chopin and his delicate hand, the joke must have been exceedingly amusing.

On the 20th of April, 1840, Liszt, who had come back to Paris after extended artistic tours, gave a matinee to an invited audience in Erard's saloon. He played, as he did always, very brilliantly, and the next morning I had to give a minute account to Chopin of what and how he had played. He himself was too unwell to be present. When I spoke of Liszt's artistic self-control and calmness in overcoming the greatest technical difficulties, he exclaimed: "Ainsi il parait que mon avis est juste. La derniere chose c'est la simplicite. Apres avoir epuise toutes les difficultes, apres avoir joue une immense quantite de notes, et de notes, c'est la simplicite qui sort avec tout son charme, comme le dernier sceau de l'art. Quiconque veut arriver de suite a cela n'y parviendra jamais, on ne peut commencer par la fin. II faut avoir etudie beaucoup, meme immensement pour atteindre ce but, ce n'est pas une chose facile. II m'etait impossible," he continued, "d'assister a sa matinee. Avec ma sante ou ne peut rien faire. Je suis toujours embrouille avec mes affaires, de maniere que je n'ai pas un moment libre. Que j'envie les gens forts qui sont d'une sante robuste et qui n'ont rien a faire! Je suis bien fache, je n'ai pas le temps d'etre malade."

When I studied his Trio he drew my attention to some passages which now displeased him, he would now write them differently. At the end of the Trio he said: "How vividly do the days when I composed it rise up in my memory! It was at Posen, in the castle surrounded by vast forests of Prince Radziwill. A small but very select company was gathered together there. In the mornings there was hunting, in the evenings music. Ah! and now," he added sadly, "the Prince, his wife, his son, all, all are dead."

At a soiree (Dec. 20, 1840) he made me play the Sonata with the Funeral March before a large assemblage. On the morning of the same day I had once more to play over to him the Sonata, but was very nervous. "Why do you play less well to-day?" he asked. I replied that I was afraid. "Why? I consider you play it well," he rejoined very gravely, indeed, severely. "But if you wish to play this evening as nobody played before you, and nobody will play after you, well then!"...These words restored my composure. The thought that I played to his satisfaction possessed me also in the evening; I had the happiness of gaining Chopin's approval and the applause of the audience. Then he played with me the Andante of his F minor Concerto, which he accompanied magnificently on the second piano. The entire assemblage assailed him with the request to perform some more of his compositions, which he then did to the delight of all.

For eighteen months (he did not leave Paris this summer) I was allowed to enjoy his instruction. How willingly would I have continued my studies with him longer! But he himself was of opinion that I should now return to my fatherland, pursue my studies unaided, and play much in public. On parting he presented me with the two manuscripts of his C sharp major and E major studies (dedicated to Liszt), and promised to write during his stay in the country a concert-piece and dedicate it to me.

In the end of the year 1844 I went again to Paris, and found Chopin looking somewhat stronger. At that time his friends hoped for the restoration of, or at least for a considerable improvement in, his health.

The promised concert-piece, Op. 46, had to my inexpressible delight been published. I played it to him, and he was satisfied with my playing of it; rejoiced at my successes in Vienna, of which he had been told, exerted himself with the amiability peculiar to him to make me still better known to the musical world of Paris. Thus I learned to know Auber, Halevy, Franchomme, Alkan, and others. But in February, 1845,1 was obliged to return to Vienna; I had pupils there who were waiting for me. On parting he spoke of the possibility of coming there for a short time, and I had quite made up my mind to return for another visit to Paris in eighteen months, in order again to enjoy his valuable instruction and advice. But this, to my deepest regret, was not to be.

I saw Madame Sand in the year 1841 and again in the year 1845 in a box in a theatre, and had an opportunity of admiring her beauty. I never spoke to her.



APPENDIX X.

PORTRAITS OF CHOPIN.



A biography is incomplete without some account of the portraits of the hero or heroine who is the subject of it. M. Mathias regards as the best portrait of Chopin a lithograph by Engelmann after a drawing by Vigneron, of 1833, published by Maurice Schlesinger, of Paris. In a letter to me he writes: "This portrait is marvellous for the absolutely exact idea it gives of Chopin: the graceful fall of the shoulders, the Polish look, the charm of the mouth." Continuing, he says: "Another good likeness of Chopin, but of a later date, between the youthful period and that of his decay, is Bovy's medallion, which gives a very exact idea of the outlines of his hair and nose. Beyond these there exists nothing, all is frightful; for instance, the portrait in Karasowski's book, which has a stupid look." The portrait here alluded to is a lithographic reproduction of a drawing by A. Duval. As a rule, the portraits of Chopin most highly prized by his pupils and acquaintances are those by A. Bovy and T. Kwiatkowski. Madame Dubois, who likes Bovy's medallion best, and next to it the portraits by Kwiatkowski, does not care much for Ary Scheffer's portrait of her master, in whose apartments she had of course frequent opportunities to examine it. "It had the appearance of a ghost [d'un ombre], and was more pale and worn than Chopin himself." Of a bust by Clesinger Madame Dubois remarks that it does not satisfy those who knew Chopin. M. Marmontel writes in a letter to me that the portrait of Chopin by Delacroix in his possession is a powerful sketch painted in oil, "reproducing the great artist in the last period of his life, when he was about to succumb to his chest disease. My dear friend Felix Barrias has been inspired, or, to be more exact, has reproduced this beautiful and poetic face in his picture of the dying Chopin asking the Countess Potocka to sing to him." Gutmann had in his possession two portraits of his master, both pencil drawings; the one by Franz Winterhalter, dated May 2, 1847, the other by Albert Graefle, dated October 19, 1849. The former of these valuable portraits shows Chopin in his decline, the latter on his death-bed. Both seem good likenesses, Graefle's drawing having a strong resemblance with Bovy's medallion.

[FOOTNOTE: The authorship alone is sufficient to make a drawing by George Sand interesting. Madame Dubois says (in a letter written to me) that the portrait, after a drawing of George Sand, contained in the French edition of Chopin's posthumous works, published by Fontana, is not at all a good likeness. Herr Herrmann Scholtz in Dresden has in his possession a faithful copy of a drawing by George Sand made by a nephew of the composer, a painter living at Warsaw. Madame Barcinska, the sister of Chopin, in whose possession the original is, spoke of it as a very good likeness. This picture, however, is not identical with that mentioned by Madame Dubois.]

The portrait by A. Regulski in Szulc's book can only be regarded as a libel on Chopin, and ought perhaps also to be regarded as a libel on the artist. Various portraits in circulation are curiosities rather than helps to a realisation of the outward appearance of Chopin. Schlesinger, of Berlin, published a lithograph after a drawing by Maurir; and Schuberth, of Hamburg, an engraving on steel, and Hofmeister, of Leipzig, a lithograph, after I don't know what original. Several other portraits need not be mentioned, as they are not from life, but more or less fancy portraits based on one or more of the authentic delineations. Bovy's medallion graces Breitkopf and Hartel's Gesammtausgabe and Thematic Catalogue of the master's published works. The portrait by Ary Scheffer may be seen lithographically reproduced by Waldow in the German edition of Chopin's posthumous works, published by Fontana. A wood-cut after the drawing by Graefle appeared in 1879 in the German journal Die Gartenlaube. Prefixed to the first volume of the present biography the reader will find one of the portraits by Kwiatkowski, an etching after a charming pencil drawing in my possession, the reproduction of which the artist has kindly permitted. M. Kwiatkowski has portrayed Chopin frequently, and in many ways and under various circumstances, alive and dead. Messrs. Novello, Ewer & Co. have in their possession a clever water-colour drawing by Kwiatkowski of Chopin on his death-bed. A more elaborate picture by the same artist represents Chopin on his death-bed surrounded by his sister, the Princess Marcellince Czartoryska, Grzymala, the Abbe Jelowicki, and the portrayer. On page 321 of this volume will be found M. Charles Gavard's opinion of two portrayals of Chopin, respectively by Clesinger and Kwiatkowski. In conclusion, I recall to the reader's attention what has been said of the master's appearance and its pictorial and literary reproductions on pp. 65 and 246 of Vol. I. and pp. 100, 135, and 329 of Vol. II.



REMARKS PRELIMINARY TO THE LIST OF CHOPIN'S WORKS.



The original editions were three in number: the German, the French, and the English (see p. 272). To avoid overcrowding, only the names of the original German and French publishers will be given in the following list, with two exceptions, however,—Op. 1 and 5, which were published in Poland (by Brzezina & Co., of Warsaw) long before they made their appearance elsewhere. [FOOTNOTE: What is here said, however, does not apply to Section IV.] Some notes on the publication of the works in England are included in these preliminary remarks.

In the list the publishers will be always placed in the same order—the German first, and the French second (in the two exceptional cases, Op. 1 and 5, they will be second and third). The dates with an asterisk and in parentheses (*) are those at which a copy of the respective works was deposited at the Paris Bibliotheque du Conservatoire de Musique, the dates without an asterisk in parentheses are derived from advertisements in French musical journals; the square brackets [ ] enclose conjectural and approximate dates and additional information; and lastly, the dates without parentheses and without brackets were obtained by me direct from the successors of the original German publishers, and consequently are more exact and trustworthy than the others. In a few cases where the copyright changed hands during the composer's lifetime, and where unacquaintance with this change might give rise to doubts and difficulties, I have indicated the fact.

The publishing firms mentioned in the list are the following:—Maurice Schlesinger, Brandus &Cie. (the successors of M. Schlesinger), Eugene Troupenas & Cie., Joseph Meissonnier, Joseph Meissonnier fils H. Lemoine, Ad. Catelin & Cie. (Editeurs des Compositeurs reunis, Rue Grange Bateliere, No. 26), Pacini (Antonio Francesco Gaetano), Prilipp & Cie. (Aquereurs d'une partie du Fond d'lgn. Pleyel & Cie.), S. Richault (i.e., Charles Simon Richault, to whom succeeded his son Guillaume Simon, who in his turn was succeeded by his son Leon.—Present style: Richault et Cie., Successeurs), and Schonenberger, all of Pans;-Breitkopf & Hartel, Probst-Kistner (since 1836 Friedrich Kistner), Friedrich Hofmeister, and C. F. Peters, of Leipzig;—Ad. M. Schlesinger, Stern & Co.( from 1852 J. Friedlander; later on annexed to Peters, of Leipzig), and Bote and Bock, of Berlin;—Tobias Haslinger, Carl Haslinger quondam Tobias, and Pietro Mechetti (whose widow was succeeded by C. A. Spina), of Vienna;—Schuberth & Co., of Hamburg (now Julius Schuberth, of Leipzig);—B. Schott's Sohne, of Mainz;—Andr. Brzezina & Co. and Gebethner & Wolff, of Warsaw;—J. Wildt and W. Chaberski, of Cracow;—and J. Leitgeber, of Posen.

From 1836 onward the course of the publication of Chopin's works in England can be followed in the advertisement columns of the Musical World. Almost all the master's works were published in England by Wessel. On March 8, 1838, Messrs. Wessel advertised Op. 1-32 with the exception of Op. 4, 11, and 29. This last figure has, no doubt, to be read as 28, as the Preludes could hardly be in print at that time, and the Impromptu, Op. 29, was advertised on October 20, 1837, as OP. 28. With regard to Op. 12 it has to be noted that it represents not the Variations brillantes sur le Rondo favori "Je vends des Scapulaires," but the Grand Duo concertant for piano and violoncello, everywhere else published without opus number. The Studies, Op. 10, were offered to the public "revised with additional fingering by his pupil I. [sic] Fontana." On November 18, 1841, Wessel and Stapleton (the latter having come in as a partner in 1839) advertised Op. 33-43, and subsequently Op. 44-48. On February 22, 1844, they announced that they had "the sole copyright of the COMPLETE and entire works" of Chopin. On May 15, 1845, were advertised Op. 57 and 58; on January 17, 1846, Op. 59; on September 26, 1846, Op. 60, 61, and 62. The partnership with Stapleton having in 1845 been dissolved, the style of the firm was now Wessel & Co. Thenceforth other English publishers came forward with Chopin compositions. On June 3, 1848, Cramer, Beale & Co. advertised Chopin's "New Valses and Mazurkas for the pianoforte"; and on the title-pages of the French edition of Op. 63, 64, and 65 I found the words: "London, Jullien et Cie." But also before this time Wessel seems to have had competitors; for on the title-page of the French edition of Op. 22 may be read: "London, Mori et Lavenu," and on September 20, 1838, Robert Cocks advertised "Five Mazurkas and Three Nocturnes." On September 23, 1848, however, Wessel & Co. call themselves sole proprietors of Chopin's works; and on November 24, 1849, they call themselves Publishers of the Complete Works of Chopin. Information received from Mr. Ashdown, the present proprietor of the business, one of the two successors (Mr. Parry retired in 1882) of Christian Rudolph Wessel, who retired in 1860 and died in 1885, throws some further light on the publication of Chopin's works in England. We have already seen in a former part of this book (p. 117) that Wessel discontinued to deal with Chopin after Op. 62. "Cramer, Beale & Co.," writes Mr. Ashdown, "published the Mazurkas, Op. 63, and two only of the Waltzes, Op. 64; these, being non-copyright in England, Mr. Wessel added to his edition, together with the third waltz of Op. 64. The name of Jullien on the French edition was probably put on in consequence of negotiations for the sale of English copyright having been entered upon, but without result." With the exception of Op. 12 and 65, Wessel published all the works with opus numbers of Chopin that were printed during the composer's lifetime. Cramer, Addison & Beale published the Variations, Op. 12; Chappell, the Trois Nouvelles Etudes; R. Cocks, the posthumous Sonata, Op. 4, and the Variations stir un air allemand without opus number; and Stanley Lucas, Weber & Co., the Seventeen Polish Songs, Op. 74. The present editions issued by the successor of Wessel are either printed from the original plates or re-engraved (which is the case in about half of the number) from the old Wessel copies, with here and there a correction.

Simultaneous publication was aimed at, as we see from Chopin's letters, but the dates of the list show that it was rarely attained. The appearance of the works in France seems to have in most cases preceded that in Germany; in the case of the Tarantelle, Op. 43, I found the English edition first advertised (October 28, 1841). Generally there was approximation if not simultaneity.



I.—WORKS PUBLISHED WITH OPUS NUMBERS DURING THE COMPOSER'S LIFETIME.



DATES ORIGINAL OF GERMAN & FRENCH PUBLICATION TITLES WITH REFERENCES PUBLISHERS.



1825. OP.1. Premier Rondeau [C minor] Brzezina. pour le piano. Dedie a Mme. de A. M. Schlesinger. Linde.—Vol. I, pp. 52, 53-54, M. Schlesinger 55, 112;—Vol. II, p.87

[1830, OP.2. La ci darem la mano [B flat T. Haslinger about March] major] varie pour le piano, avec M. Schlesinger (September accompagnement d'orchestre. Dedie 21, 1834.) a Mr. Woyciechowski.—Vol. I., pp. 53, 62, 95, 96, 97, 99, 100, 101, 105, 112, 116-118, 120, 163, 241; Vol. II., p.87, 212

[1833 in OP.3. Introduction et Polonaise Mechetti print.] brillante [C major], pour piano S. Richault June, 1835) et violincelle Dediee d Mr. Joseph Merk.—Vol.I., pp. 129, 200-201; —Vol. II., p. 87.

Op.4. As this work was published posthumously, it had to be placed in Section III. Nevertheless, it differs from the works with which it is classed in one important respect—it was intended for publication by the composer himself, who sent it to Vienna in 1828.

[1827?] Op.5. Rondeau a la Mazur [F major] Brzezina. May, 1836 pour le piano. Dediee a Mlle. la Hofmeister. Comtesse Alexandrine de Moriolles. Schonenberger. —Vol. I., pp. 54-55, 56, 112, 168; —Vol. II., p.87

Dec., 1832 Op.6. Quatre Mazurkas [F sharp minor Probst-Kistner. (Nov. 23, C Sharp minor, E major, and E flat M. Schlesinger. 1834.) minor] pour le piano. Dediees a Mlle. la Comtesse Pauline Plater. —Vol. I., p. 268;—Vol. II, pp.231- 232.234-239.

Dec.1832 Op.7. Cinq Mazurkas [B flat major, Probst-Kistner (Nov. 23, A minor, F minor, A flat major, and M. Schlesinger. 1834.) C major] pour le piano. Dediees a Mr. Johns.—Vol. I., pp.250,268, 276 (No. 1);—Vol. II, pp. 231-232 234-239.

March, 1833.) Op.8. Premier Trio [G minor] pour Probst-Kistner (Nov. 23, piano, violon, et violoncelle. M. Schlesinger 1834.) Dedie a Mr. le Prince Antonine Radziwill—Vol. I., pp. 62, 88, 112, 113-115, 268;—Vol. II., p. 212,342

Jan. 1833. Op.9. Trois Nocturnes (B flat Probst-Kistner (Nov. 23, minor, E flamajor, and B major] M. Schlesinger 1834.) pour le piano Dedies a Mme. Camille Pleyel—Vol.l.,268; —Vol. II., pp.87. 261-63

August, 1833. Op.10.Douze Grandes Etudes [C major Probst-Kistner (July 6,1833.) A minor, E major, C sharp minor M. Schlesinger G flat major, E flat minor, C [who sold them major, F major, F minor, A flat afterwards to major, E flat major, and C minor] Lemoine]. pour le piano. Dediees a Mr. Fr. Liszt.—Vol. I., p.201,268; Vol. II., p. 55 (No. 5), 251-254.



Sept., 1833 Op.11.Grand Concerto [E minor] pour Probst-Kistner (July 6, le piano avec orchestre. Dedie a M. Schlesinger 1833.) Mr. Fr. Kalkbrenner.—Vol. I., pp 127, 146, 147, 150, 151, 152, 156, 189, 195, 203-208, 210-212, 233, 240, 241, 268, 281; Vol. II., pp. 16, 211

Nov., 1833 Op.12.Variations brillantes [B flat Breitkopf & Hartel (Jan.26, major] pour le piano sur le Rondeau M. Schlesinger 1834) favori de Ludovic de Herold: "Je vends des Scapulaires." Dediees a Mlle. Emma Horsford.—Vol.I.,p.268; Vol. II., p.221.

May, 1834 Op.13.Grande Fantaisie [A major] sur Probst-Kistner (April, des airs polonais, pour le piano M. Schlesinger 1834) avec orchestre. Dediee a Mr. J. P. Pixis—Vol.I., pp. 112,116. 118-120,132,152,197,268; Vol. II., p.212.

July, 1834. Op.14 Krakowiak, Grand Rondeau de Probst-Kistner (June, Concert [F major] pour le piano M. Schlesinger 1834.) avec orchestre. Deidie a Mme. la Princesse Adam Czartoryska. Vol.I.,pp.88,96,97,98,99,101, 102.112,116,118-120,134,268; Vol. II., 233.

Jan., 1834 OP. 15. Trois Nocturnes [F major, F Breitkopf & [Copies sharp major, and G minor] pour le Hartel. sent to piano. Dedies a Mr. Ferd. Hiller.— M. Schlesinger. composer Vol. II., pp. 87, 261, 263 already in Dec., 1833]. (Jan. 12,1834.)

March, OP. 16. Rondeau [E flat major] pour Breitkopf & 1834. le piano. Dedie a Mlle. Caroline Hartel. Hartmann.—Vol. I., p. 269; Vol. M. Schlesinger. II., p. 221.

May, 1834. OP. 17. Quatre Mazurkas [B flat Breitkopf & major, E minor, A flat major, and A Hartel. minor] pour le piano, Dediees a Mme. M. Schlesinger. Lina Freppa.—Vol. I., p. 268; Vol. II., 231-232, 234-239.

July, 1834. OP. 18. Grande Valse [E fiat major] Breitkopf & (June, pour le piano. Dediee a Mlle. Laura Hartel. 1834.*) Harsford [thus in all the editions, M. Schlesinger but should probably be Horsford. See [who sold it Op. 12.]—Vol. I., pp. 268, 273; afterwards to Vol. II., 249. Lemoine].

March, OP. 20. Premier Scherzo [B minor] Breitkopf & 1835. pour le piano. Dedie a Mr. Hartel. (Feb., T.Albrecht.—Vol. I., p. 294; Vol. M. Schlesinger. 1835.*) II., pp. 27,87, 256-257.

April, OP. 21. Second Concerto [F minor] Breitkopf and 1836. pour le piano avec orchestre. Dedie Hartel. (Aug., a Mme. la Comtesse Delphine Potocka. M. Schlesinger. 1836.) —Vol. I., pp. 128, 131-132, 134, 156, 163, 200, 203-210, 212, 241, 294; II., p. 211.

Aug., 1836. OP. 22. Grande Polonaise brillante Breitkopf & (July, [E flat major], precedee d'un Hartel. 1836.*) Andante spianato, pour le piano avec M. Schlesinger. orchestre. Dediee a Mme. la Baronne d'Est.—Vol. I., pp. 201-202, 295; Vol. II., pp. 239-243, 244.

June, 1836. OP. 23. Ballade [G minor] pour le Breitkopf & (July, piano. Dediee a Mr. le Baron de Hartel. 1836.*) Stockhausen.—Vol. I., pp. 294, 295 M. Schlesinger. Vol. II., pp. 87, 268-9.

Nov., 1835. Op. 24 Quatre Mazurkas [G minor, C Breitkopf & (Jan., major, A flat major, and B flat Hartel. 1836.) minor]. Dediees a Mr. le Comte de M. Schlesinger. Perthuis.-Vol. I., pp. 294, 295; Vol. II., pp. 218 (No. 2), 231- 2, 234 9.

Oct., 1837. Op. 25 Douze Etudes [A flat major, F Breitkopf & (Oct.22, minor, F major, A minor, E minor, G Hartel. 1837.) sharp minor, C sharp minor, D flat M. Schlesinger major G flat major, B minor, A minor, [who sold the & C minor] pour le piano. Dediees & copyright Mme. la Comtesse d'Agoult.—Vol. I., afterwards to pp. 276, 295, 310; Vol. II., pp. 15, Lemoine]. 251-4.

July, 1836. Op. 26. Deux Polonaises [C sharp Breitkopf & (July, minor and E flat minor] pour le Hartel. 1836.*) piano. Dediees a Mr. J. Dessauer.— M. Schlesinger. Vol. I., p. 295; Vol. II., pp. 239- 244; 245-6.

May, 1836. Op. 27. Deux Nocturnes [C sharp Breitkopf & (July, minor and D flat major] pour le Hartel. 1836.*) piano. Dediees a Mme. la Comtesse M. Schlesinger. d'Appony.-Vol. I., pp. 294, 295; Vol. II., pp. 87, 261, 263-4.

Sept., Op. 28. Vingt-quatre Preludes pour Breitkopf & 1839. le piano. Dediees a son ami Pleyel Hartel. (Sept., [in the French and in the English Ad. Catelin et 1839.*) edition; a Mr. J. C. Kessler in the Cie. German edition. The French edition appeared in two books and without opus number].—Vol. II., pp. 20, 24, 27, 28, 29-30, 30-31, 42-45, 50, 51, 71, 72, 76, 77, 254-6.

Jan., 1838. Op. 29. Impromptu [A flat major] Breitkopf & (Dec., pour le piano. Dedie a Mile, la Hartel. 1837.*) Comtesse de Lobau.—Vol. II., pp. M. Schlesinger. 15, 259.

Jan., 1838. Op. 30. Quatre Mazurkas [C minor, B Breitkopf & (Dec., minor, D flat major, and C sharp Hartel. 1837.*) minor] pour le piano. Dediees a Mme. M. Schlesinger. la Princesse de Wurtemberg, nee Princesse Czartoryska.—Vol. II., pp. 15, 231-2, 234-9.

Feb., 1838. Op. 31. Deuxieme Scherzo [B flat Breitkopf & (Dec., minor] pour le piano. Dedie a Mile, Hartel. 1837.*) la Comtesse Adele de Fursienslein. M. Schlesinger. —Vol. II., pp. 15, 87, 256, 257.

(Dec., OP. 32. Deux Nocturnes [B major and A. M. 1837.*) A flat major] pour le Piano. Dedies Schlesinger. a Mme. la Baronne de Billing.—Vol. M. Schlesinger. II., pp. 15, 87, 264.

Nov., 1838. OP. 33. Quatre Mazurkas [G sharp Breitkopf & (Nov., minor, D major, C major, and B Hartel. 1838.) minor] pour le piano. Dediees a M. Schlesinger. Mlle. la Comtesse Mostowska.—Vol. II., pp. 15, 231-2, 234-9.

Dec., 1838. OP. 34. Trois Valses brillantes [A Breitkopf & (Jan., flat major, A minor, and F major] Hartel. 1839.*) pour le piano. Dediees [No. 1] a M. Schlesinger. Mlle. deThun-Hohenstein; [No. 2] a Mme. G. d'Ivri; [No. 3] d Mile. A. d'Eichthal.—Vol. I., p. 200 (No. I); Vol. II., pp. 15, 30; 248, 249.

May, 1840. OP. 35. Sonate [B flat minor] pour Breitkopf & (May, le piano.—Vol. II., pp. 45, 62, 72, Hartel. 1840.*) 77, 94, 225-8. Troupenas et Cie.

May, 1840. OP. 36. Deuxieme Impromptu [F sharp Breitkopf & (May, minor] pour le piano.—Vol. II., pp. Hartel. 1840.*) 259-60. Troupenas et Cie.

May, 1840. OP. 37. Deux Nocturnes [G minor and Breitkopf & (June, G major] pour le piano.—Vol. II., Hartel. 1840.*) p. 45, 62, 87, 261, 264. Troupenas et Cie.

Sept., OP. 38. Deuxieme Ballade [F major] Breitkopf & 1840. pour le piano. Dediee a Mr. R. Hartel. (Sept., Schumann.—Vol. II., pp. 45, 50, 51, Troupenas et 1840.*) 52,54,77,268,269. Cie.

Oct., 1840. Op. 39. Troisieme Scherzo [C sharp Breitkopf & (Dec., minor] pour le piano. Dedie a Mr. A. Hartel. 1840.*) Gutmann.—Vol. II., pp. 45, 53, 72, Troupenas et 77, 256, 258. Cie.

Nov., 1840. Op. 40. Deux Polonaises [A major and Breitkopf & (Dec., C minor] pour le piano. Dediees a Hartel. 1840.*) Mr. J. Fontana.—Vol. II., pp. 45, Troupenas et 50, 51, 52, 54, 77, 87, 94, 213 (No. Cie. 1), 239-244, 246, 247.

Dec., 1840. Op. 41. Quatre Mazurkas [C sharp Breitkopf & (Dec., minor, E minor, B major, and A flat Hartel. 1840.*) major] pour le piano. Dediees a Mr. Troupenas et E. Witwicki.—Vol. II., pp. 46 (No. Cie. 1), 62, 77, 231-2, 234-9.

July, 1840. Op. 42. Valse [A flat major pour le Breitkopf & piano,—Vol. II., pp. 77, 86, 248, Hartel. 249. Pacini.

(1841. An Op. 43. Tarantella [A flat major] Schuberth & Co. nounced in pour le piano.—Vol. II., pp. 77, Troupenas et Cie. Monatsbe- 82-86, 222. richte on Jan. 1,1842. Paid for by the publisher on July 7, 1841.] (Oct., 1841.*)

(Nov. 28, Op.44. Polonaise [F sharp minor] Merchetti. 1841.) pour le piano. Dediee a Mme. la M. Schlesinger. Princesse Charles de Beauvau.—Vol. II., pp. 77,80, 81,86,239-244,246.

(Nov. 28, Op.45. Prelude [C sharp minor] pour Merchetti. 1841.) piano. Dediee a Mlle. la Prin- M. Schlesinger. cesse Elisabeth Czernicheff.—Vol. II., pp. 77, 80, 81, 256

Jan., 1842. Op.46. Allegro de Concert [A major] Breitkopf & Hartel. (Nov. 28, pour le piano. Dedie a Mlle. F. M. Schlesinger. 1841) Muller—Vol. I., p. 202; Vol.II., pp.77, 86, 87, 177, 223-5.

Jan. 1842 Op.47. Troisieme Ballade [A flat Breitkopf & Hartel. (Nov. 28, major] pour le piano. Dediee a M. Schlesinger. 1841) Mlle. P. de Noailles.—Vol.II., pp.77,87, 92, 268, 269-70.

Jan., 1842 Op.48. Deux Nocturnes [C minor Breitkopf & Hartel. (Nov. 28, and F sharp minor] pour le piano. M. Schlesinger. 1841) Dediees a Mlle. L. Duperre—Vol.II., pp. 77, 87, 88, 262, 265

Jan., 1842 Op.49. Fantaisie [F minor] pour Breitkopf & Hartel. (Nov. 28, le piano Dediee a Mme. la Princesse M. Schlesinger. 1841) C. de Souzzo.—Vol. II., pp. 77,87, 230-1.

[Sept.,1842. Op.50. Trois Mazurkas [G major, Mechetti. Announced A flat major, and C charp minor] M. Schlesinger. in Monats- pour le piano. Dediees a Mr. Leon berichte.] Szmitkowski—Vol.II., p.77,231-2, (Nov.28,1841 234-9. [not again advertised till June 5, 1842, although the preceding numbers were.])

Feb.,1843. Op. 51. Allegro Vivace. Troisieme Hofmeister. (July 9, Impromptu [G flat major] pour le M. Schlesinger. 1843.) piano. Dedie a Mme. la Comtesse Esterhazy.—Vol.II.,pp.121,260.

Feb., 1843. Op. 52. Quatrieme Ballade [F minor] Breitkopf & (Dec. 24, pour le piano. Dediee a Mme. la Hartel. 1843.) Baronne C. de Rothschild.—Vol. II., M. Schlesinger. pp. 77, 121, 268, 270.

Dec., 1843. OP. 53. Huiticmc Polonaise [A flat Breitkopf & (Dec. 24, major] pour le piano. Dediee a Mr. Hartel. 1843.) A. Leo.—Vol. II., pp. 77, 94, 97, M. Schlesinger. 121, 213, 239-244, 247.

Dec., 1843. Op. 54. Scherzo No. 4 [E major] pour Breitkopf & (Dec. 24, le piano. Dedie a Mlle. J. de Hartel. 1843.) Caraman.—Vol. II-, pp. 121, 256, M. Schlesinger. 258-9.

Aug. 1844. Op. 55. Deux Nocturnes [F minor and Breitkopf & (Sept. 22, E flat major] pour le piano. Dedies Hartel. 1844.) a Mlle. J. W. Stirling.—Vol. II., M. Schlesinger. p. 118, 121,262, 265-6.

Aug., 1844. Op. 56. Trois Mazurkas [B major, C Breitkopf & (Sept. 22, major, and C minor] pour le piano. Hartel. 1844.) Dediees a Mlle. C. Maberly.—Vol. M. Schlesinger. II., pp. 118, 121-2, 231-2, 234-9.

May, 1845. Op. 57. Berceuse [D flat major] pour Breitkopf & (June, le piano. Dediee & Mlle. Elise Hartel. 1845.*) Gavard.—Vol. I., p. 119; Vol. II., J. Meissonnier. pp. 118, 122,267-8.

June, 1845. Op.58. Sonate [B minor] pour le Breitkopf & Hartel (June, piano. Dediee a Mme.la Comtesse J. Meissonnier. 1845*) E. de Perthuis.—Vol. II., pp. 118, 122, 228-9.

[Jan., 1846, Op. 59. Trois Mazurkas [A minor, Stern et Cie. announced A flat major, and F sharp minor] Brandus et Cie. in Monats- pour le piano.—Vol.II.,pp. 122, berichte.] 231-2, 234-9. (April, 1846.*)

Dec., 1846 Op.60 Barcarolle [F sharp major] Breitkopf & Hartel (Sept., pour le piano. Dediee a Mme. la Brandus et Cie. 1846) Baronne de Stockhausen-Vol.II, pp.77, 122 266-7.

Dec., 1846. Op.61 Polonaise-Fantaisie [A Breitkopf & Hartel (Sept., flat major] pour le piano. Brandus et Cie. 1846.*) Dediee a Mme. A.Veyret.— Vol.II., pp. 122, 239-244, 248

Dec., 1846. Op. 62. Deux Nocturnes [B major Breitkopf & Hartel. (Sept., and E major] pour le piano. Dedies Brandus et Cie. 1846.*) a Mlle. R. de Konneritz.—Vol. II., pp. 122, 262, 266.

Sept., OP. 63. Trois Mazurkas [B major, F Breitkopf & 1847. minor, and C sharp minor] pour le Hartel. (Oct. 17, piano. Dediees a. Mme. la Comtesse Brandus et Cie. 1847) L. Czosnowska.—Vol. II., pp. 122, 205, 231-2, 234-9.

Sept., OP. 64. Trois Valses [D flat major, Breitkopf & 1847. C sharp minor, and A flat major] Hartel. (Oct. 17, pour le piano. Dediees [No 1] a Mme. Brandus et Cie. 1847) la Comtesse Potocka; [No. 2] a Mme. la Baronne de Rothschild; [No. 3] a Mme. la Baronne Bronicka.— Vol. II., pp. 95, 122, 142 (No. 1), 205, 248, 250-1, 387.

Sept., OP. 65. Sonate [G minor] pour piano Breitkopf & 1847. et violoncelle. Dediee a Mr. A. Hartel. (Oct. 17, Franchomme.—Vol. II., pp. 122, 205, Brandus et Cie. 1847) 206, 207, 211, 229.