CHAPTER II.
FREDERICʼS CHILDHOOD. HIS FIRST APPEARANCE IN PUBLIC. IMPROVISATIONS. POLISH NATIONAL SONGS.
N March 1st, 1809, Frederic François Chopin was born, at Zelazowa Wola, a village six miles from Warsaw, belonging to Count Skarbek, in whose house Nicholas Chopin was tutor.[3]
In his earliest years Frederic was so very sensitive to music that he wept whenever he heard it, and was with difficulty restrained. This powerful influence was not a painful one; for Frederic soon showed such a decided love for the piano, that his parents obtained instruction for him, selecting as his master the well-known and excellent teacher, Albert Zywny, of Warsaw. As Frederic was so young, his elder sister shared the music lessons.
Zywny was the first and only director of Fredericʼs precocious musical talents, for the child began to compose before he even knew how to commit his ideas to paper. He would request his master to write down what he improvised, and these first thoughts were afterwards frequently altered and improved by the gifted boy.
Thus early did he indicate his future care in composition, and his truly artistic nature. In a few years Frederic made such progress in pianoforte playing as to excite wonder in all Warsaw drawing rooms. On the occasion of a public concert, for the benefit of the poor, February 24th, 1818, Julius Ursin Miemcewicz, late adjutant to Kosciuszko, and himself a great statesman, poet, historian, and political writer, and other high personages, invited the co-operation of the virtuoso, who had not quite completed his ninth year. Such a request could not be refused, and thus Chopinʼs first step in his artistic career was for a charitable object. A few hours before the performance (he was to play Gyrowetzʼs pianoforte Concerto), “Fritzchen,” as he was called at home, was placed on a chair to be suitably dressed for his first appearance before a large assembly. The child was delighted with his jacket, and especially with the handsome collar. After the concert, his mother, who had not been present, asked, as she embraced him, “what did the public like best?” He naïvely answered: “Oh, mamma, everybody looked only at my collar,” thus showing that he was not vain of his playing.
PATRONIZED BY THE CHIEF ARISTOCRACY. From that evening the flower of the aristocracy vied with each other in patronizing the marvellous boy, whom they regarded as an ornament of their salons. We merely mention the Princes Czartoryski, Sapiecha, Czetwertynski, Lubecki, Radziwill, Counts Skarbek, Wolicki, Pruszak, Hussarzewski, Lempicki. The Princess Czetwertynski introduced him to the Princess Lowicka, the unhappy wife of the Grand Prince Constantin Pawlowicz. Young, bewitchingly beautiful, full of intelligence and grace, her charms won the affections of the Grand Prince, who shunned no sacrifice to make her his own. His passion for this beautiful woman only temporarily modified his harshness and violence, and, in her wretched life, the enjoyment of art was her one solace.
Accustomed in his fatherʼs house to good society, and now having the entrée of the first salons in the capital, refined surroundings became to Frederic a second nature, and gave him the life-long impress of a gentleman. He always had an aversion to coarse people, and avoided anyone who lacked good manners.
Catalini, when passing through Warsaw, became acquainted with the youthful virtuoso, and was delighted with his artistic pianoforte playing. As a grateful recognition of the enjoyment he had afforded her, she presented him with a gold watch, on the back of which was inscribed: “Donné par Madame Catalini à Frédéric Chopin, agé de dix ans.” Fredericʼs earliest compositions were dances, Polonaises, Mazurkas, Waltzes; then he accomplished a March, which he ventured to dedicate to the Grand Prince Constantine. This violent man, the terror of those around him, was often very kind to the little artist; he accepted the dedication very graciously, and desired Frederic to play the piece to him. Fortunately for the young composer the Prince liked it, and he walked up and down while it was being played, smiling and beating time with the utmost complacency. He had the March[4] scored, and it was often performed at the military parade, in the Saxon Square.
Frederic occasionally improvised in the drawing room of the Grand Princess. Noticing his habit of casting up his eyes and gazing at the ceiling, the Prince said to him: “Why do you always look upwards, boy? do you see notes up there?” Probably Chopin saw nothing around him when listening to the voice of his genius.
EXTENDED AND DISSEVERED CHORDS. From contemporary observers we learn with what perseverance he laboured to overcome the technical difficulties of the pianoforte. Impressed by the good effect of a chord with the dominant in the higher octave, but unable to play it with his small hand, he endeavoured to produce the desired expansion by a mechanical contrivance of his own manufacture, which he kept between his fingers even during the night. He was not led to use this aid by a desire of fame or of forestalling others, in inventing and surmounting new difficulties, but because he perceived the difference between a slurred and a detached chord. These chords became a characteristic feature in Chopinʼs compositions. At first they were thought almost impossible for systematic use, but players grew accustomed to them, and now no pianist finds them unsuited to the capacities of the hand.
The refinement and elegance of Chopinʼs musical ideas, and his obvious desire for the frequent use of extended chords, already reveal his peculiar penchant for new, dissevered chords. Perceiving Fredericʼs uncommon talent for composition, his father had him instructed in counterpoint, as far as was compatible with his preparation for the Warsaw Lyceum, not having as yet entertained the idea of making him an artist. Nicholas Chopin made a most fortunate choice in asking his friend, Elsner, to become Fredericʼs instructor. Teacher and pupil were united till death, in a pure and faithful friendship, such as only the noblest minds can feel. When people remarked to Elsner, as they frequently did, that Frederic under-rated and set aside the customary rules and universal laws of music, and listened only to the dictates of his own fancy, the worthy director of the Conservatoire would reply: “Leave him alone, he does not follow the common way because his talents are uncommon; he does not adhere to the old method because he has one of his own, and his works will reveal an originality hitherto unknown.” This prophecy has been fully fulfilled. A less discerning teacher might have hindered and repressed his pupilʼs efforts, and so quenched the desire for loftier flights. To the astonishment of his friends, Frederic excelled in everything he undertook, and they formed the most brilliant expectations of his future. Extraordinary vivacity of temperament prompted him to incessant activity, and sharpened his innate, irrepressible, and versatile humour. What innumerable tricks he was continually playing on his sisters, schoolfellows, and even on persons of riper years! His youngest sister, Emily, was an active assistant in these merry pranks.
The birthdays of his parents and intimate friends were frequently celebrated by theatrical representations, in which Frederic usually took the most active part. The eminent dramatic artist of that time, Albert Piasecki, who acted as manager at these representations, considered that Chopin, on account of his presence of mind, excellent declamation, and capacity for rapid facial changes, was born to be a great actor. Fredericʼs acting, indeed, often astonished the best connoisseurs. He frequently saved a piece by improvising his own and other parts, when one of the players forgot his rôle, or the prompter failed to assist. It is well known that his talent for musical improvisation contributed in no small degree in after years to his fame.
Having, under the excellent guidance of Elsner, mastered the technicalities of music, Chopin could improvise to an unlimited extent on any given theme, producing the most graceful changes, and drawing the most marvellous effects from the keyboard. In these improvisations, and particularly in those of a later period, Chopin showed himself a true poet, and this explains why poets admired him so ardently and felt inspired by his playing. Those who heard Chopin at such times say that his finest compositions are but a reflex and echo HIS ONE-ACT COMEDY IN VERSE. of his improvisations. When Frederic was fifteen, and Emily eleven, they wrote in honour of their fatherʼs birthday, a one-act comedy, in verse, entitled: “The Mistake; or, the Imaginary Rogue.” Frederic, Isabella, and Emily took the principal parts, the others were divided among the boarders. The comedy is too ephemeral and näive for quotation, but it displayed the intelligence of the youthful authors, and their command of language. In the same year (1824) Frederic entered the fourth class at the Lyceum, and although he frequently indulged in his harmless and always witty pranks, he was one of the best and most talented pupils. He used to make his fellow students laugh by caricaturing the professor of history discoursing on great celebrities. In a lucky moment, he caricatured the director, Mons. Linde, to the life, but unfortunately the drawing fell into the directorʼs hands. This worthy man, who was indulgent to everyone, and especially to the young, returned the paper to Chopin, without a word, having written on it, “the likeness is well drawn.” For a long time Frederic took a delight in catching the ludicrous side of a characteristic figure, and caricaturing it.
He spent his first holidays in Mazovia, at the village of Szafarnia, which belonged to the Dziewanowski estate, where he soon formed a warm and lasting friendship with the children of this distinguished family. To any boy brought up in a city, a stay of several weeks in the country is a time full of freedom and delight; and how infinitely greater would be the enjoyment of a gifted boy like Chopin when, unburdened by school exercises, he can wander through wood and meadow, dreaming of fairies and wood-nymphs. Frederic, who was not at all fond of long, fatiguing walks, loved to lie under a tree, and indulge in beautiful day-dreams. Instead of an ordinary correspondence it occurred to him to bring out a little periodical under the title of the Kurjer Szafarski, on the model of the Warsaw Courier, a paper then published in the capital. Among the memorials of Frederic, collected by the family are two numbers of this little journal, for the year 1824. At the beginning of the first number we read: “On July 15th, M. Pichon (a name Frederic assumed) appeared at the musical assembly at Szafarnia, at which were present several persons, big and little: he played Kalkbrennerʼs Concerto, but this did not produce such a furore, especially among the youthful hearers, as the song which the same gentleman rendered.” It happened that a great many Jews were at that time in the neighbouring village of Oborów (the property of M. Romocki) to buy grain. Frederic invited some of “HE PLAYS LIKE A BORN JEW.” them to his room, and played to them a kind of Jewish wedding March, called “Majufes.” His performance excited such enthusiasm among his guests that they not only began to dance, but earnestly begged him to come to an approaching Jewish marriage, and give them some more of his exquisite music. “He plays,” said the delighted Israelites, “like a born Jew.”[5]
The remainder of the news of the Kurjer Szfarski consisted of humorous descriptions of the daily events of the village. A strange glimpse of the condition of Poland is afforded by the fact, that according to a custom, which even now prevails in Warsaw, each issue of this journal was examined by the government censor, whose business it was to write on every number, “lawful for transmission.” The office was at that time held by Mlle. Louise Dziewanowska, daughter of the proprietor of Szafarnia.
It would be impossible to enumerate all the jokes and harmless mysteries which this famous man indulged in during the happy days of boyhood, but I will mention a few of his merry tricks, for the sake of those who linger with affectionate interest over his early years.
Mons. Romocki, the proprietor of Oborów, once sold his wheat to a Jewish merchant. Hearing of the purchase, Frederic wrote a letter in the Polo-Jewish style, purporting to come from the buyer, and stating that, after mature consideration, he found he should be a loser by the bargain, and, therefore, declined it. The writing was abominable, the spelling full of blunders, but the deception succeeded so well that Romocki was in a frightful rage. He sent for the Jew instantly, and would probably have soundly belaboured the unfortunate merchant had not Frederic confessed his mischievous trick in time. Romocki laughed at the joke, and was on his guard against being taken in again by Frederic. The deeper meaning underlying all the acts of this accomplished man in later years showed itself even here. Romocki was ashamed of his fury, and it is said from that day he very rarely, and only from necessity, took a whip in his hand.
Between 1820 and 1830 there was an Evangelical pastor in Warsaw, named Tetzner, who preached every Sunday in German and Polish alternately, and from his defective knowledge of the language, proclaimed the truths of the gospel in very broken Polish. Being led into his church from curiosity, Frederic was at once struck by the droll speech of the preacher, and carefully noticed every wrongly pronounced word. When he reached home, he constructed a kind of pulpit with tables and chairs, put on a whig, and, summoning the family, delivered a discourse in imitation of the pastorʼs broken Polish, which was so ludicrous that his hearers burst into roars of laughter.
If his fatherʼs pupils made too much noise in the house, Frederic had only to place himself at the piano to produce instant and perfect quiet. One day when Professor Chopin was out there was a frightful scene. Barcinski, the master present, was at his witsʼ end, when Frederic, happily, entered the room.[6] Without deliberation he requested the roisterers to sit down, called in those who were making a noise outside, and promised to improvise an interesting story on the piano, if they would be quite CHILDREN SPELL-BOUND BY HIS PLAYING. quiet. All were instantly as still as death, and Frederic sat down to the instrument and extinguished the lights.[7] He described how robbers approached a house, mounted by ladders to the windows, but were frightened away by a noise within. Without delay they fled on the wings of the wind into a deep, dark wood, where they fell asleep under the starry sky. He played more and more softly, as if trying to lull children to rest, till he found that his hearers had actually fallen asleep. The young artist noiselessly crept out of the room, to his parents and sisters, and asked them to follow him with a light. When the family had amused themselves with the various postures of the sleepers, Frederic sat down again to the piano, and struck a thrilling chord, at which they all sprang up in a fright. A hearty laugh was the finale of this musical joke.
Further on in his life we meet with a companion picture to this story, which affords us an excellent example of Fredericʼs talent for improvisation, profound knowledge of counterpoint, and mastery over all technical difficulties. Like all gifted and accomplished musicians, he showed an especial preference for the organ as offering wide scope for the freest improvisation. It was customary for the students of the Warsaw University to assemble about eleven in the morning for service at the Wizytek Church, at which artists and dilettanti performed vocal masses with and without orchestral accompaniments.
Chopin sometimes sat in the choir and played the organ. One day when the celebrant had sung the “Oremus,” Frederic improvised, in a highly ingenious manner, on the motive of the portion of the mass already performed, working out the fundamental thought with the most interesting combinations and contrapuntal devices. The choristers and band, spell-bound by the magic power of his fancy, left their desks, and surrounded the player, listening with rapt attention, as if they had been in the concert room rather than the church. The priest, at the altar, patiently awaited the conclusion, but the sacristan rushed angrily into the choir, exclaiming: “what the d—— are you doing? The priest has twice intoned, Per omnia sæcula sæculorum, the ministrant has rung repeatedly, and still you keep on playing. The superior who sent me is out HIS REVERIE IN CHURCH. of all patience.” Chopin awoke from his reverïe, and his hands lay motionless on the keys. Although his wonderful improvisations generally cost him but little trouble, he spared no pains when preparing a work for publication. When absorbed by a thought he would brood over it for hours and days in perfect silence and solitude. What passed in the soul of the tone-poet at these seasons cannot be described; with such psychological conditions the imaginative can sympathise, and all who are sensible to the influences of poetry and art may in some measure understand.
Chopin had an instrument in his bed-room, and often worked far on into the night; sometimes when the rest of the household were asleep, he would spring out of bed, rush to his piano, and strike a few chords, developing some immatured thought, or resolving some imperfect harmony. Then he would lie down, but only to rise and do the same thing again, daylight frequently finding him thus occupied. The servants, by whom Frederic was much beloved, but who could not understand such proceedings, shook their heads compassionately, and said, “The poor young gentlemanʼs mind is affected.”
When on an excursion with his father to the suburbs, or spending his holidays in the country, he always listened attentively to the song of the reaper, and the tune of the peasant fiddler, fixing in his memory and delighting to idealise these frequently original and expressive melodies. He often wondered who was the creator of the beautiful melodies interwoven in the Mazurkas, Cracoviennes, and Polonaises, and how the Polish peasants learnt to sing and play the violin with such purity. No one could give him any information. Indeed both the words and melodies of these songs are the creation of several minds. An artless, spontaneous melody, poured forth by one person, is altered, and perhaps improved, by another, and so passes from mouth to mouth till finally it becomes a possession of all the people. Slavonic folk-songs differ greatly from the Romance and Germanic; they are historical records of the feelings, customs, and character of the people.[8]
MAZOVIAN MUSICIANS. Chopin was born and bred in Mazovia, a peculiarly music-loving province. A distinguished Polish writer[9] says: “The love of song characterizes the Slavonic above all other races; the rudest peasant could be allured to the end of the world by his national songs.” The Mazovians have such an intense love for music that they sing about the commonest affairs of life, readily perceiving their pleasing and touching phases. The predilection of the Poles for these songs is often a matter of pecuniary profit, for a beggar, with some talent in singing and playing the violin, has no difficulty in obtaining alms. During the great festivals—Easter, Whitsuntide, and Christmas—men and women walk about the Mazovian villages, singing and playing appropriate dances, and everywhere they are warmly received, gladly listened to, and not sparingly rewarded. Nearly all these songs originated in the cottage, their composers were men who could neither read nor write, and whose names will always remain unknown.
Poetical perception and sensibility to the beauties of nature are evidently innate in the Polish character; they are susceptibilities which neither prosaic work, the cares of daily life, nor even the burden of more than a century of national suffering have had power to blunt.
In his childhood Chopin had imbedded these folk-songs in his memory, and, impressed by their peculiar beauty, he frequently interwove some especial favorite into his own compositions. He first gave the national dance tune a truly beautiful and perfect form by adorning it with interesting harmonies and poetical arabesques.
