George Sand to Mdlle. Rozieres; Nohant, May 9, 1842:—
Quick to work! Your master, the great Chopin, has forgotten
(that for which he nevertheless cares a great deal) to buy a
beautiful present for Francoise, my faithful servant, whom he
adores, and he is very right.
He begs of you therefore to send him, IMMEDIATELY, four yards
of lace, two fingers broad at least, within the price of ten
francs a yard; further, a shawl of whatever material you like,
within the price of forty francs....This, then, is the superb
present which your HONOURED MASTER asks you to get for him,
with an eagerness worthy of the ardour which he carries into
his gifts, and of the impatience which he puts into little
things.
Charles Rollinat, a friend of George Sand's, the brother of one of George Sand's most intimate and valued friends, Francois Rollinat, published in "Le Temps" (September 1, 1874) a charming "Souvenir de Nohant," which shows us the the chateau astir with a more numerous company:—
The hospitality there [he writes] was comfortable, and the
freedom absolute. There were guns and dogs for those who loved
hunting, boats and nets for those who loved fishing, a
splendid garden to walk in. Everyone did as he liked. Liszt
and Chopin composed; Pauline Garcia studied her role of the
"Prophete"; the mistress of the house wrote a romance or a
drama; and it was the same with the others. At six o'clock
they assembled again to dine, and did not part company till
two or three o'clock in the morning.
Chopin rarely played. He could only be prevailed upon to play
when he was sure of perfection. Nothing in the world would
have made him consent to play indifferently. Liszt, on the
contrary, played always, well or badly.
[FOOTNOTE: Charles Rollinat, a younger brother of Francois, went afterwards to Russia, where, according to George Sand (see letter to Edmond Plauchut, April 8, 1874), he was for twenty-five years "professeur de musique et haut enseignement, avec une bonne place du gouvernement." He made a fortune and lost it, retaining only enough to live upon quietly in Italy. He tried then to supplement his scanty income by literary work (translations from the Russian). George Sand, recalling the days of long ago, says: "Il chantait comme on ne chante plus, excepte Pauline [Viardot-Garcia]!">[
Unfortunately, the greater portion of M. Rollinat's so-called Souvenir consists of "poetry WITHOUT truth." Nevertheless, we will not altogether ignore his pretty stories.
One evening when Liszt played a piece of Chopin's with embellishments of his own, the composer became impatient and at last, unable to restrain himself any longer, walked up to Liszt and said with his ENGLISH PHLEGM:—
"I beg of you, my dear friend, if you do me the honour to play
a piece of mine, to play what is written, or to play something
else. It is only Chopin who has the right to alter Chopin."
"Well! play yourself!" said Liszt, rising from his seat a
little irritated,
"With pleasure," said Chopin.
At that moment a moth extinguished the lamp. Chopin would not
have it relighted, and played in the dark. When he had
finished his delighted auditors overwhelmed him with
compliments, and Liszt said:
"Ah, my friend, you were right! The works of a genius like you
are sacred; it is a profanation to meddle with them. You are a
true poet, and I am only a mountebank."
Whereupon Chopin replied: "We have each our genre."
M. Rollinat then proceeds to tell his readers that Chopin, believing he had eclipsed Liszt that evening, boasted of it, and said: "How vexed he was!" It seems that the author felt that this part of the story put a dangerously severe strain on the credulity of his readers, for he thinks it necessary to assure them that these were the ipsissima verba of Chopin. Well, the words in question came to the ears of Liszt, and he resolved at once to have his revenge.
Five days afterwards the friends were again assembled in the same place and at the same time. Liszt asked Chopin to play, and had all the lights put out and all the curtains drawn; but when Chopin was going to the piano, Liszt whispered something in his ear and sat down in his stead. He played the same composition which Chopin had played on the previous occasion, and the audience was again enchanted. At the end of the piece Liszt struck a match and lighted the candles which stood on the piano. Of course general stupefaction ensued.
"What do you say to it?" said Liszt to his rival.
"I say what everyone says; I too believed it was Chopin."
"You see," said the virtuoso rising, "that Liszt can be Chopin
when he likes; but could Chopin be Liszt?"