Frederick Chopin, as a Man and Musician — Complete

by Frederick Niecks

In the Edinburgh Courant, which contained on September 30 and on other days an advertisement similar to the Glasgow one (with the addition of a programme, consisting, however, only of the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 6th items of the one above given), there appeared on October 7, 1848, a notice of the concert, a part of which may find a place here:—

This talented pianist gratified his admirers by a performance
on Wednesday evening in the Hopetoun Rooms, where a select and
highly fashionable audience assembled to welcome him on his
first appearance in Edinburgh...Chopin's compositions have
been too long before the musical portion of Europe, and have
been too highly appreciated to require any comment, further
than that they are among the best specimens of classical
excellence in pianoforte music. Of his execution we need say
nothing further than that it is the most finished we have ever
heard. He has neither the ponderosity nor the digital power of
a Mendelssohn, a Thalberg, or Liszt; consequently his
execution would appear less effective in a large room; but as
a chamber pianist he stands unrivalled. Notwithstanding the
amount of musical entertainment already afforded the Edinburgh
public this season, the rooms were filled with an audience
who, by their judicious and well-timed applause, testified
their appreciation of the high talent of Monsieur Chopin.

An Edinburgh correspondent of the Musical World, who signs himself "M.," confirms (October 14, 1848) the statements of the critic of the Courant. From this communication we learn that one of the etudes played was in F minor (probably No. 2 of Op. 25, although there are two others in the same key—No. 9 of Op. 10 and No. 1 of Trois Etudes without opus number). The problematical Andante precede d'un Largo was, no doubt, a juxtaposition of two of his shorter compositions, this title being chosen to vary the programme. From Mr. Hipkins I learned that at this Chopin played frequently the slow movement from his Op. 22, Grande Polonaise preceded d'un Andante Spianato.

And now we will let Chopin again speak for himself.

Chopin to Grzymala; Keir, Perthshire, Sunday, October 1, 1848:—

No post, no railway, also no carriage (not even for taking the
air), no boat, not a dog to be seen—all desolate, desolate!
My dearest friend,—Just at the moment when I had already
begun to write to you on another sheet, your and my sister's
letters were brought to me. Heaven be thanked that cholera has
hitherto spared them. But why do you not write a word about
yourself? and yet to you corresponding is much easier than to
me; for I have been writing to you daily for a whole week
already—namely, since my return from northern Scotland
(Strachur [FOOTNOTE: A small town, eight miles south of
Inveraray, in Argyleshire.])—without getting done. I know,
indeed, that you have an invalid in Versailles; for Rozaria
[FOOTNOTE: Mdlle. de Rozieres.] wrote to me that you had paid
her a visit, and then in great haste had gone to an invalid in
Versailles. I hope it is not your grandfather or grandchild,
or one of your dear neighbours, the Rochanskis. Here one hears
as yet nothing of cholera, but in London it appears already
here and there.
With your letter, which I received at Johnstone Castle, and in
which you informed me that you had been with Soli [FOOTNOTE: I
suppose Solange, Madame Clesinger, George Sand's daughter.] at
the Gymnase Theatre, there came at the same time one from
Edinburgh, from Prince Alexander Czartoryski, with the news
that he and his wife had arrived, and that he would be very
glad to see me. Although tired, I at once took the train and
found them still in Edinburgh. Princess Marcelline was as kind
as she always is to me. The intercourse with them reanimated
me, and gave me strength to play in Glasgow, where the whole
haute volee had gathered for my concert. The weather was
magnificent, and the princely family had even come from
Edinburgh with little Marcel, who is growing nicely, and sings
already my compositions, yes, and even corrects when he hears
someone making mistakes. It was on Wednesday afternoon, at 3
o'clock, and the princely couple did me the kindness to accept
along with me an invitation to a dinner at Johnstone Castle
(by the way, twelve English miles from Glasgow) after the
concert; in this way, then, I passed the whole day with them.
Lord and Lady Murray and the old Lord Torphichen (who had come
a distance of a hundred miles) drove also thither with us, and
the next day all were quite charmed with the amiability of
Princess Marcelline. The princely pair returned to Glasgow,
whence, after a visit to Loch Tamen, [FOOTNOTE: There is no
such loch. Could it possibly be Loch Lomond? Loch Leven seems
to me less likely.] they wished to go back at once to London,
and thence to the Continent. The Prince spoke of you with
sincere kindness. I can very well imagine what your noble soul
must suffer when you see what is now going on in Paris. You
cannot think how I revived, how lively I became that day in
the society of such dear countrymen; but to-day I am again
very depressed. O, this mist! Although, from the window at
which I write, I have before me the most beautiful view of
Stirling Castle—it is the same, as you will remember, which
delighted Robert Bruce—and mountains, lochs, a charming park,
in one word, the view most celebrated for its beauty in
Scotland; I see nothing, except now and then, when the mist
gives way to the sun. The owner of this mansion, whose name is
Stirling, is the uncle of our Scotch ladies, and the head of
the family. I made his acquaintance in London; he is a rich
bachelor, and has a very beautiful picture-gallery, which is
especially distinguished by works of Murillo and other Spanish
masters. He has lately even published a very interesting book
on the Spanish school; he has travelled much (visited also the
East), and is a very intelligent man. All Englishmen of note
who come to Scotland go to him; he has always an open house,
so that there are daily on an average about thirty people at
dinner with him. In this way one has opportunities of seeing
the most different English beauties; lately there was, for
instance, for some days a Mrs. Boston here, but she is already
gone. As to dukes, earls, and lords, one now sees here more of
them than ever, because the Queen has sojourned in Scotland.
Yesterday she passed close by us by rail, as she had to be at
a certain time in London, and there was such a fog on the sea
that she preferred to return from Aberdeen to London by land,
and not (as she had come) by boat—to the great regret of the
navy, which had prepared various festivities for her. It is
said that her consort, Prince Albert, was very much pleased at
this, as he becomes always sea-sick on board, while the Queen,
like a true ruler of the sea, is not inconvenienced by a
voyage. I shall soon have forgotten Polish, speak French like
an Englishman, and English like a Scotchman—in short, like
Jawurek, jumble together five languages. If I do not write to
you a Jeremiad, it is not because you cannot comfort me, but
because you are the only one who knows everything; and if I
once begin to complain, there will be no end to it, and it
will always be in the same key. But it is incorrect when I
say: "always in the same key," for things are getting worse
with me every day. I feel weaker; I cannot compose, not for
want of inclination, but for physical reasons, and because I
am every week in a different place. But what shall I do? At
least, I shall save something for the winter. Invitations I
have in plenty, and cannot even go where I should like, for
instance, to the Duchess of Argyll and Lady Belhaven, as the
season is already too far advanced and too dangerous for my
enfeebled health. I am all the morning unable to do anything,
and when I have dressed myself I feel again so fatigued that I
must rest. After dinner I must sit two hours with the
gentlemen, hear what they say, and see how much they drink.
Meanwhile I feel bored to death. I think of something totally
different, and then go to the drawing-room, where I require
all my strength to revive, for all are anxious to hear me.
Afterwards my good Daniel carries me upstairs to my bedroom,
undresses me, puts me to bed, leaves the candle burning, and
then I am again at liberty to sigh and to dream until morning,
to pass the next day just like the preceding one. When I have
settled down in some measure, I must continue my travels, for
my Scotch ladies do not allow me—to be sure with the best
intentions in the world—any rest. They fetch me to introduce
me to all their relations; they will at last kill me with
their kindness, and I must bear it all out of pure amiability.—
Your
FREDERICK.

Chopin to Gutmann; Calder House, October 16, 1848 (twelve miles from Edinburgh):—

Very dear friend,—What are you doing? How are your people,
your country, your art? you are unjustly severe upon me, for
you know my infirmity in the matter of letter-writing. I have
thought of you much, and on reading the other day that there
was a disturbance at Heidelberg, I tried some thirty rough
draughts [brouillons] in order to send you a line, the end of
them all being to be thrown into the fire. This page will
perhaps reach you and find you happy with your good mother.
Since I had news from you, I have been in Scotland, in this
beautiful country of Walter Scott, with so many memories of
Mary Stuart, the two Charleses, &c. I drag myself from one
lord to another, from one duke to another. I find everywhere,
besides extreme kindness and hospitality without limit,
excellent pianos, beautiful pictures, choice libraries; there
are also hunts, horses, dogs, interminable dinners, and
cellars of which I avail myself less. It is impossible to form
an idea of all the elaborate comfort which reigns in the
English mansions. The Queen having passed this year some weeks
in Scotland, all England followed her, partly out of courtesy,
partly because of the impossibility of going to the disturbed
Continent. Everything here has become doubly splendid, except
the sun, which has done nothing more than usual; moreover, the
winter advances, and I do not know yet what will become of me.
I am writing to you from Lord Torphichen's. In this mansion,
above my apartment, John Knox, the Scotch reformer, dispensed
for the first time the Sacrament. Everything here furnishes
matter for the imagination—a park with hundred-year-old
trees, precipices, walls of the castle in ruins, endless
passages with numberless old ancestors—there is even a
certain Red-cowl which walks there at midnight. I walk there
my incertitude. [II y a meme un certain bonnet rouge, qui s'y
promene a minuit. J'y promene mon incertitude.]
Cholera is coming; there is fog and spleen in London, and no
president in Paris. It does not matter where I go to cough and
suffocate, I shall always love you. Present my respects to
your mother, and all my wishes for the happiness of you all.
Write me a line to the address: Dr. Lishinsky, [FOOTNOTE: The
letter I shall next place before the reader is addressed by
Chopin to "Dr. Lishinski." In an Edinburgh medical directory
the name appeared as Lyszynski.] 10, Warriston Crescent,
Edinburgh, Scotland.—Yours, with all my heart,

CHOPIN.
P.S.—I have played in Edinburgh; the nobility of the
neighbourhood came to hear me; people say the thing went off
well—a little success and money. There were this year in
Scotland Lind, Grisi, Alboni, Mario, Salvi—everybody.

From Chopin's letters may be gathered that he arrived once more in London at the end of October or beginning of November.