September 12th, 1829.—I embrace you heartily, and kiss you on your lips if you will permit me.
October 20th, 1829.—I embrace you heartily—many a one writes this at the end ol his letter, but most people do so with little thought of what they are writing. But you may believe me, my dearest friend, that I do so sincerely, as truly as my name is Fred.
September 4th, 1830.—Time passes, I must wash myself…do not kiss me now…but you would not kiss me in any case—even if I anointed myself with Byzantine oils—unless I forced you to do so by magnetic means.
Did we not know the writer and the person addressed, one might imagine that the two next extracts were written by a lover to his mistress or vice versa.
November 14th, 1829.—You, my dearest one, do not require my
portrait. Believe me I am always with you, and shall not
forget you till the end of my life.
May 15th, 1830.—You have no idea how much I love you! If I only could prove it to you! What would I not give if I could once again right heartily embrace you!
One day he expresses the wish that he and his friend should travel together. But this was too commonplace a sentiment not to be refined upon. Accordingly we read in a subsequent letter as follows:—
September 18th, 1830.—I should not like to travel with you,
for I look forward with the greatest delight to the moment
when we shall meet abroad and embrace each other; it will be
worth more than a thousand monotonous days passed with you on
the journey.
From another passage in one of these letters we get a good idea
of the influence Titus Woyciechowski exercised on his friend.
April 10, 1830.—Your advice is good. I have already refused some invitations for the evening, as if I had had a presentiment of it—for I think of you in almost everything I undertake. I do not know whether it comes from my having learned from you how to feel and perceive; but when I compose anything I should much like to know whether it pleases you; and I believe that my second Concerto (E minor) will have no value for me until you have heard it and approved of it.
I quoted the above passage to show how Chopin felt that this friendship had been a kind of education to him, and how he valued his friend's opinion of his compositions—he is always anxious to make Titus acquainted with anything new he may have composed. But in this passage there is another very characteristic touch, and it may easily be overlooked, or at least may not receive the attention which it deserves—I allude to what Chopin says of having had "a presentiment." In superstitiousness he is a true child of his country, and all the enlightenment of France did not succeed in weaning him from his belief in dreams, presentiments, good and evil days, lucky and unlucky numbers, &c. This is another romantic feature in the character of the composer; a dangerous one in the pursuit of science, but advantageous rather than otherwise in the pursuit of art. Later on I shall have to return to this subject and relate some anecdotes, here I shall confine myself to quoting a short passage from one of his early letters.