In the beginning of 1847, during a violent scene, of which her daughter was the innocent cause, George Sand brought about a complete rupture. To her unjust reproaches he only replied, “I shall leave your house immediately, and I only desire that my existence may be blotted out from your memory.” To these words George Sand offered no objection, for they were just what she desired, and the same day the artist quitted her for ever.
GUTMANNʼS DEVOTED CARE. Agitation and grief again laid him on a sick bed, and his friends were long and seriously afraid that he would only exchange it for his coffin. Gutmann, his favourite pupil, and one of his best friends, nursed him with the most devoted care; and the deep gratitude of the sufferer was shown by the questions which he continually asked of the friends and acquaintances who came to see him. “How is Gutmann? Is he not very tired? Will it not be too much for him if he sits up with me any longer? I am sorry to give him so much trouble, but there is no one else I like so well to have about me as him.” These were almost the only words he spoke, for his visitors would not let him talk, and did all they could to amuse him and divert his mind.
Through the efforts of the physicians and the indefatigable attentions of Gutmann, Chopin at length somewhat recovered. But the first time he appeared again among his friends he was so much altered that they hardly knew him. The following summer he was apparently much better, and able to compose; but he would not leave Paris, as was his constant habit at that time of year, and was thus deprived of the fresh country air which had always been so beneficial to him.
During the winter of 1847-1848 Chopin was in a very precarious state of health. Political disturbances and other causes made his residence in Paris increasingly unpleasant, and he resolved on visiting England, where he had many very kind friends, who had repeatedly invited him to come whenever he had time. But before leaving the queen of Continental cities he wished to give a farewell public concert.[42] It took place on February 16th, 1848, at the Pleyel Hall, and Chopin could not have desired a more select and distinguished audience, or a more enthusiastic reception.[43] Many of the most exalted personages and the first artists in Paris were present, and throughout the performance all were anxious to testify their respect and admiration for the talented composer, the rare virtuoso and the loveable man. Frederic was deeply affected; this, the last of his Parisian triumphs, was a balsam for many of the wounds of fate which, although gradually healing, were still sometimes very painful.
OVERTHROW OF THE ORLEANISTS. Chopin was greatly shocked by the political events of February 23rd, which overthrew a dynasty, and sent a monarch and his family into exile. From Louis Philippe and his kindred he had experienced nothing but affability and kindness, and Frederic deplored the fate of the Orleanists. At the same time, however, this revolution awakened fresh hopes for his unfortunate country, which he loved as passionately and faithfully as when, a youth in Warsaw, he set to music patriotic songs which it was unsafe to publish. But when he saw that the storm which swept over Europe brought neither freedom nor independence to Poland, he suppressed his longings, and in talking of politics rarely gave vent to the feelings of his over-charged heart.
There was now nothing to prevent his journey to England. His friends, much as they liked his company, did not dissuade him from his purpose, and hoped that he would soon feel at home in London. At the latter end of March, just a month before his departure, he was invited to a soirée by a lady, at whose hospitable house he had, in former days, been a frequent guest. He hesitated before deciding to go, for during the last four years he had not been often seen in the Parisian salons; then, as if moved by an inward premonition, he accepted the invitation.
A lively conversation about Chopin had been going on at Madame H.ʼs before he arrived. A musical connoisseur was describing his meeting with the famous artist at Nohant, and his wonderful playing on the beautiful summer moonlight night. A lady observed: “Chopinʼs spirit pervades the best of Sandʼs romances. Like all highly imaginative writers, she often lost patience over her work, because before she had carried out one plan her mind was advancing to something fresh. To keep herself to her desk and to enable her to write with more care, she would ask her lover to improvise on the piano, and thus, inspired by his playing, she produced her best novels.”
A deep, half audible, sigh escaped from a lady, who, unobserved by the speaker, had stepped softly into the salon from the adjoining room. A flush overspread her pale face, tears stood in her deep mysterious eyes; what could have moved her so profoundly?
Several gentlemen then entered the room, and the lady retreated behind a mass of ivy which formed a convenient screen. She sat there for about an hour, unnoticed except by the hostess, who understood her behaviour. When the company had become more numerous the lady rose, and, walking up to Chopin, with the swinging step peculiar to her, held out her hand. “Frederic,” she murmured, in a voice audible only to him, and standing before him he saw, for the first time, after a long and painful separation, George Sand, repentant, and evidently anxious for reconciliation. His delicate, emaciated, yet still beautiful face, grew deadly pale; for a moment his soft eyes met hers with an inquiring look, and then he turned away and left the room in silence.
WARM RECEPTION IN ENGLAND. Towards the end of April he bade adieu to his friends and set off for London. In England Chopinʼs works already enjoyed a well-deserved esteem and popularity; he was, therefore, everywhere received with unusual marks of respect and with that hearty sympathy which is the best reward of the poet and artist. The hospitality and kindness of his old friends, and the courtesy of his new acquaintances, were very grateful to Fredericʼs sensitive and affectionate nature. He again appeared in society, and hoped that, while pursuing his beloved art amid fresh surroundings, he might forget the woman for whom, notwithstanding all the wrong she had done him, he sometimes ardently longed. He could not, despite all his efforts, erase from his memory the period of almost supernal happiness once created for him by her dazzling intellect, exhaustless fancy, and ardent love, although his reason constantly told him that she was not worthy of a sigh.