Frederick Chopin, as a Man and Musician — Complete

by Frederick Niecks

How much stiffness and jerkiness exasperated him may be judged from what Madame Zaleska related to M. Kleczynski. A pupil having played somewhat carelessly the arpeggio at the beginning of the first study (in A flat major) of the second book of Clementi's Preludes et Exercices, the master jumped from his chair and exclaimed: "What is that? Has a dog been barking?" [Qu'est-ce? Est-ce un chien qui vient d'aboyer?] The rudeness of this exclamation will, no doubt, surprise. But polite as Chopin generally was, irritation often got the better of him, more especially in later years when bad health troubled him. Whether he ever went the length of throwing the music from the desk and breaking chairs, as Karasowski says, I do not know and have not heard confirmed by any pupil. Madame Rubio, however, informed me that Chopin was very irritable, and when teaching amateurs used to have always a packet of pencils about him which, to vent his anger, he silently broke into bits. Gutmann told me that in the early stages of his discipleship Chopin sometimes got very angry, and stormed and raged dreadfully; but immediately was kind and tried to soothe his pupil when he saw him distressed and weeping.

To be sure [writes Mikuli], Chopin made great demands on the
talent and diligence of the pupil. Consequently, there were
often des lecons orageuses, as it was called in the school
idiom, and many a beautiful eye left the high altar of the
Cite d'Orleans, Rue St. Lazare, bedewed with tears, without,
on that account, ever bearing the dearly-beloved master the
least grudge. For was not the severity which was not easily
satisfied with anything, the feverish vehemence with which the
master wished to raise his disciples to his own stand-point,
the ceaseless repetition of a passage till it was understood,
a guarantee that he had at heart the progress of the pupil? 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.

Indeed, the pupils were so far from bearing their master the least grudge that, to use M. Marmontel's words, they had more for him than admiration: a veritable idolatry. But it is time that after this excursion—which hardly calls for an excuse—we return to the more important part of our subject, the master's method of teaching.

What concerned Chopin most at the commencement of his
instruction [writes Mikuli] was to free the pupil from every
stiffness and convulsive, cramped movement of the hand, and to
give him thus the first condition of a beautiful style of
playing, souplesse (suppleness), and with it independence of
the fingers. He taught indefatigably that the exercises in
question were no mere mechanical ones, but called for the
intelligence and the whole will of the pupil, on which account
twenty and even forty thoughtless repetitions (up to this time
the arcanum of so many schools) do no good at all, still less
the practising during which, according to Kalkbrenner's
advice, one may occupy one's self simultaneously with some
kind of reading(!).
He feared above all [remarked Madame Dubois to me] the
abrutissement of the pupils. One day he heard me say that I
practised six hours a day. He became quite angry, and forbade
me to practise more than three hours. This was also the advice
of Hummel in his pianoforte school.

To resume Mikuli's narrative:—

Chopin treated very thoroughly the different kinds of touch,
especially the full-toned [tonvolle] legato.
[FOOTNOTE: Karasowski says that Chopin demanded absolutely
from his pupils that they should practise the exercises, and
especially the scales in major and minor, from piano to
fortissimo, staccato as well as legato, and also with a change
of accent, which was to be now on the second, now on the
third, now on the fourth note. Madame Dubois, on the other
hand, is sure she was never told by her master to play the
scales staccato.]
"As gymnastic helps he recommended the bending inward and
outward of the wrist, the repeated touch from the wrist, the
extending of the fingers, but all this with the earnest
warning against over-fatigue. He made his pupils play the
scales with a full tone, as connectedly as possible, very
slowly and only gradually advancing to a quicker TEMPO, and
with metronomic evenness. The passing of the thumb under the
other fingers and the passing of the latter over the former
was to be facilitated by a corresponding turning inward of the
hand. The scales with many black keys (B, F sharp, and D flat)
were first studied, and last, as the most difficult, C major.
In the same sequence he took up Clementi's Preludes et
Exercices, a work which for its utility he esteemed very
highly."
[FOOTNOTE: Kleczynski writes that whatever the degree of
instruction was which Chopin's pupils brought with them, they
had all to play carefully besides the scales the second book
of Clementi's Preludes et Exercices, especially the first in A
flat major.]
According to Chopin the evenness of the scales (also of the
arpeggios) not merely depended on the utmost equal
strengthening of all fingers by means of five-finger exercises
and on a thumb entirely free at the passing under and over,
but rather on a lateral movement (with the elbow hanging quite
down and always easy) of the hand, not by jerks, but
continuously and evenly flowing, which he tried to illustrate
by the glissando over the keyboard. Of studies he gave after
this a selection of Cramer's Etudes, Clementi's Gradus ad
Parnassum, Moscheles' style-studies for the higher development
(which were very sympathetic to him), and J. S. Bach's suites
and some fugues from Das wohltemperirte Clavier. In a certain
way Field's and his own nocturnes numbered likewise with the
studies, for in them the pupil was—partly by the apprehension
of his explanations, partly by observation and imitation (he
played them to the pupil unweariedly)—to learn to know, love,
and execute the beautiful smooth [gebundene] vocal tone and
the legato.
[FOOTNOTE: This statement can only be accepted with much
reserve. Whether Chopin played much or little to his pupil
depended, no doubt, largely on the mood and state of health he
was in at the time, perhaps also on his liking or disliking
the pupil. The late Brinley Richards told me that when he had
lessons from Chopin, the latter rarely played to him, making
his corrections and suggestions mostly by word of mouth.]
With double notes and chords he demanded most strictly
simultaneous striking, breaking was only allowed when it was
indicated by the composer himself; shakes, which he generally
began with the auxiliary note, had not so much to be played
quick as with great evenness the conclusion of the shake
quietly and without precipitation. For the turn (gruppetto)
and the appoggiatura he recommended the great Italian singers
as models. Although he made his pupils play octaves from the
wrist, they must not thereby lose in fulness of tone.

All who have had the good fortune to hear Chopin play agree in declaring that one of the most distinctive features of his style of execution was smoothness, and smoothness, as we have seen in the foregoing notes, was also one of the qualities on which he most strenuously insisted in the playing of his pupils. The reader will remember Gutmann's statement to me, mentioned in a previous chapter, that all his master's fingering was calculated for the attainment of this object. Fingering is the mainspring, the determining principle, one might almost say the life and soul, of the pianoforte technique. We shall, therefore, do well to give a moment's consideration to Chopin's fingering, especially as he was one of the boldest and most influential revolutionisers of this important department of the pianistic art. His merits in this as in other respects, his various claims to priority of invention, are only too often overlooked. As at one time all ameliorations in the theory and practice of music were ascribed to Guido of Arezzo, so it is nowadays the fashion to ascribe all improvements and extensions of the pianoforte technique to Liszt, who more than any other pianist drew upon himself the admiration of the world, and who through his pupils continued to make his presence felt even after the close of his career as a virtuoso. But the cause of this false opinion is to be sought not so much in the fact that the brilliancy of his artistic personality threw all his contemporaries into the shade, as in that other fact, that he gathered up into one web the many threads new and old which he found floating about during the years of his development. The difference between Liszt and Chopin lies in this, that the basis of the former's art is universality, that of the latter's, individuality. Of the fingering of the one we may say that it is a system, of that of the other that it is a manner. Probably we have here also touched on the cause of Liszt's success and Chopin's want of success as a teacher. I called Chopin a revolutioniser of fingering, and, I think, his full enfranchisement of the thumb, his breaking-down of all distinctions of rank between the other fingers, in short, the introduction of a liberty sometimes degenerating into licence, justifies the expression. That this master's fingering is occasionally eccentric (presupposing peculiarly flexible hands and a peculiar course of study) cannot be denied; on the whole, however, it is not only well adapted for the proper rendering of his compositions, but also contains valuable contributions to a universal system of fingering. The following particulars by Mikuli will be read with interest, and cannot be misunderstood after what has just now been said on the subject:—

In the notation of fingering, especially of that peculiar to
himself, Chopin was not sparing. Here pianoforte-playing owes
him great innovations which, on account of their expedience,
were soon adopted, notwithstanding the horror with which
authorities like Kalkbrenner at first regarded them. Thus, for
instance, Chopin used without hesitation the thumb on the
black keys, passed it even under the little finger (it is
true, with a distinct inward bend of the wrist), if this could
facilitate the execution and give it more repose and evenness.
With one and the same finger he took often two consecutive
keys (and this not only in gliding down from a black to the
next white key) without the least interruption of the sequence
being noticeable. The passing over each other of the longer
fingers without the aid of the thumb (see Etude, No. 2, Op.
10) he frequently made use of, and not only in passages where
the thumb stationary on a key made this unavoidably necessary.
The fingering of the chromatic thirds based on this (as he
marked it in Etude, No. 5, Op. 25) affords in a much higher
degree than that customary before him the possibility of the
most beautiful legato in the quickest tempo and with a
perfectly quiet hand.

But if with Chopin smoothness was one of the qualities upon which he insisted strenuously in the playing of his pupils, he was by no means satisfied with a mere mechanical perfection. He advised his pupils to undertake betimes thorough theoretical studies, recommending his friend, the composer and theorist Henri Reber as a teacher. He advised them also to cultivate ensemble playing—trios, quartets, &c., if first-class partners could be had, otherwise pianoforte duets. Most urgent, however, he was in his advice to them to hear good singing, and even to learn to sing. To Madame Rubio he said: "You must sing if you wish to play"; and made her take lessons in singing and hear much Italian opera—this last, the lady remarked, Chopin regarded as positively necessary for a pianoforte-player. In this advice we recognise Chopin's ideal of execution: beauty of tone, intelligent phrasing, truthfulness and warmth of expression. The sounds which he drew from the pianoforte were pure tone without the least admixture of anything that might be called noise. "He never thumped," was Gutmann's remark to me. Chopin, according to Mikuli, repeatedly said that when he heard bad phrasing it appeared to him as if some one recited, in a language he did not know, a speech laboriously memorised, not only neglecting to observe the right quantity of the syllables, but perhaps even making full stops in the middle of words. "The badly-phrasing pseudo-musician," he thought, "showed that music was not his mother-tongue, but something foreign, unintelligible to him," and that, consequently, "like that reciter, he must altogether give up the idea of producing any effect on the auditor by his rendering." Chopin hated exaggeration and affectation. His precept was: "Play as you feel." But he hated the want of feeling as much as false feeling. To a pupil whose playing gave evidence of nothing but the possession of fingers, he said emphatically, despairingly: "METTEZ-Y DONc TOUTE VOTRE AME!" (Do put all your soul into it!)

[FOOTNOTE: "In dynamical shading [im nuanciren]," says Mikuli, "he was exceedingly particular about a gradual increase and decrease of loudness." Karasowski writes: "Exaggeration in accentuation was hateful to him, for, in his opinion, it took away the poesy from playing, and gave it a certain didactic pedantry.">[