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LIFE OF CHOPIN

by Franz Liszt (Translated from the French by Martha Walker Cook)

TABLE OF CONTENTS

INFORMATION ABOUT THIS E-TEXT EDITION
DEDICATION OF THE TRANSLATION TO JAN PYCHOWSKI
PREFACE
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII

INFORMATION ABOUT THIS E-TEXT EDITION

The following is an e-text of "Life of Chopin," written by Franz
Liszt and translated from the french by Martha Walker Cook. The
original edition was published in 1863; a fourth, revised edition
(1880) was used in making this e-text. This e-text reproduces the
fourth edition essentially unabridged, with original spellings
intact, numerous typographical errors corrected, and words
italicized in the original text capitalized in this e-text. In
making this e-text, each page was cut out of the original book
with an x-acto knife to feed the pages into an Automatic Document
Feeder scanner for scanning. Hence, the book was disbinded in
order to save it. Thanks to Charles Franks and the Online
Distributed Proofreading team for help in proofreading this e-
text.

DEDICATION OF THE TRANSLATION TO JAN PYCHOWSKI

"Without your consent or knowledge, I have ventured to dedicate
this translation to you!

As the countryman of Chopin, and filled with the same earnest
patriotism which distinguished him; as an impassioned and perfect
Pianist, capable, of reproducing his difficult compositions in
all the subtle tenderness, fire, energy, melancholy, despair,
caprice, hope, delicacy and startling vigor which they
imperiously exact; as thorough master of the complicated
instrument to which he devoted his best powers; as an erudite and
experienced possessor of that abstruse and difficult science,
music; as a composer of true, deep, and highly original genius,--
this dedication is justly made to you!

Even though I may have wounded your characteristically haughty,
shrinking, and Sclavic susceptibilities in rendering so public a
tribute to your artistic skill, forgive me! The high moral worth
and manly rectitude which distinguish you, and which alone render
even the most sublime genius truly illustrious in the eyes of
woman, almost force these inadequate and imperfect words from the
heart of the translator.

M.W.C.

PREFACE

To a people, always prompt in its recognition of genius, and
ready to sympathize in the joys and woes of a truly great artist,
this work will be one of exceeding interest. It is a short,
glowing, and generous sketch, from the hand of Franz Liszt, (who,
considered in the double light of composer and performer, has no
living equal,) of the original and romantic Chopin; the most
ethereal, subtle, and delicate among our modern tone-poets. It is
a rare thing for a great artist to write on art, to leave the
passionate worlds of sounds or colors for the colder realm of
words; rarer still for him to abdicate, even temporarily, his own
throne, to stand patiently and hold aloft the blazing torch of
his own genius, to illume the gloomy grave of another: yet this
has Liszt done through love for Chopin.

It is a matter of considerable interest to note how the nervous
and agile fingers, accustomed to sovereign rule over the keys,
handle the pen; how the musician feels as a man; how he estimates
art and artists. Liszt is a man of extensive culture, vivid
imagination, and great knowledge of the world; and, in addition
to their high artistic value, his lines glow with poetic fervor,
with impassioned eloquence. His musical criticisms are refined
and acute, but without repulsive technicalities or scientific
terms, ever sparkling with the poetic ardor of the generous soul
through which the discriminating, yet appreciative awards were
poured. Ah! in these days of degenerate rivalries and bitter
jealousies, let us welcome a proof of affection so tender as his
"Life of Chopin"!

It would be impossible for the reader of this book to remain
ignorant of the exactions of art. While, through its eloquence
and subtle analysis of character, it appeals to the cultivated
literary tastes of our people, it opens for them a dazzling
perspective into that strange world of tones, of whose magical
realm they know, comparatively speaking, so little. It is
intelligible to all who think or feel; requiring no knowledge of
music for its comprehension.

The compositions of Chopin are now the mode, the rage. Every one
asks for them, every one tries to play them. We have, however,
but few remarks upon the peculiarities of his style, or the
proper manner of producing his works. His compositions, generally
perfect in form, are never abstract conceptions, but had their
birth in his soul, sprang from the events of his life, and are
full of individual and national idiosyncrasies, of psychological
interest. Liszt knew Chopin both as man and artist; Chopin loved
to hear him interpret his music, and himself taught the great
Pianist the mysteries of his undulating rhythm and original
motifs. The broad and noble criticisms contained in this book are
absolutely essential for the musical culture of the thousands now
laboriously but vainly struggling to perform his elaborate works,
and who, having no key to their multiplied complexities of
expression, frequently fail in rendering them aright.

And the masses in this country, full of vivid perception and
intelligent curiosity, who, not playing themselves, would yet
fain follow with the heart compositions which they are told are
of so much artistic value, will here find a key to guide them
through the tuneful labyrinth. Some of Chopin's best works are
analyzed herein. He wrote for the HEART OF HIS PEOPLE; their
joys, sorrows, and caprices are immortalized by the power of his
art. He was a strictly national tone-poet, and to understand him
fully, something must be known of the brave and haughty, but
unhappy country which he so loved. Liszt felt this, and has been
exceedingly happy in the short sketch given of Poland. We
actually know more of its picturesque and characteristic customs
after a perusal of his graphic pages, than after a long course of
dry historical details. His remarks on the Polonaise and Mazourka
are full of the philosophy and essence of history. These dances
grew directly from the heart of the Polish people; repeating the
martial valor and haughty love of noble exhibition of their men;
the tenderness, devotion, and subtle coquetry of their women--
they were of course favorite forms with Chopin; their national
character made them dear to the national poet. The remarks of
Liszt on these dances are given with a knowledge so acute of the
traits of the nation in which they originated, with such a
gorgeousness of description and correctness of detail, that they
rather resemble a highly finished picture, than a colder work of
words only. They have all the splendor of a brilliant painting.
He seizes the secrets of the nationality of these forms, traces
them through the heart of the Polish people, follows them through
their marvelous transfiguration in the pages of the Polish
artist, and reads by their light much of the sensitive and
exclusive character of Chopin, analyzing it with the skill of
love, while depicting it with romantic eloquence.

To those who can produce the compositions of Chopin in the spirit
of their author, no words are necessary. They follow with the
heart the poetic and palpitating emotions so exquisitely wrought
through the aerial tissue of the tones by this "subtle-souled
Psychologist," this bold and original explorer in the invisible
world of sound;--all honor to their genius:

"Oh, happy! and of many millions, they
The purest chosen, whom Art's service pure
Hallows and claims--whose hearts are made her throne,
Whose lips her oracle, ordained secure,
To lead a priestly life, and feed the ray
Of her eternal shrine, to them alone
Her glorious countenance unveiled is shown:
Ye, the high brotherhood she links, rejoice
In the great rank allotted by her choice!
The loftiest rank the spiritual world sublime,
Rich with its starry thrones, gives to the sons of Time!"

Schiller.

Short but glowing sketches of Heine, Meyerbeer, Adolphe Nourrit,
Hiller, Eugene Delacroix, Niemcevicz, Mickiewicz, and Madame
Sand, occur in the book. The description of the last days of poor
Chopin's melancholy life, with the untiring devotion of those
around him, including the beautiful countess, Delphine Potocka;
his cherished sister, Louise; his devoted friend and pupil, M.
Gutman, with the great Liszt himself, is full of tragic interest.

No pains have been spared by the translator to make the
translation acceptable, for the task was truly a labor of love.
No motives of interest induced the lingering over the careful
rendering of the charmed pages, but an intense desire that our
people should know more of musical art; that while acknowledging
the generosity and eloquence of Liszt, they should learn to
appreciate and love the more subtle fire, the more creative
genius of the unfortunate, but honorable and honored artist,
Chopin.

Perchance Liszt may yet visit us; we may yet hear the matchless
Pianist call from their graves in the white keys, the delicate
arabesques, the undulating and varied melodies, of Chopin. We
should be prepared to appreciate the great Artist in his
enthusiastic rendering of the master-pieces of the man he loved;
prepared to greet him when he electrifies us with his wonderful
Cyclopean harmonies, written for his own Herculean grasp,
sparkling with his own Promethean fire, which no meaner hand can
ever hope to master! "Hear Liszt and die," has been said by some
of his enthusiastic admirers--understand him and live, were the
wiser advice!

In gratitude then to Chopin for the multiplied sources of high
and pure pleasure which he has revealed to humanity in his
creations, that human woe and sorrow become pure beauty when his
magic spell is on them, the translator calls upon all lovers of
the beautiful "to contribute a stone to the pyramid now rapidly
erecting in honor of the great modern composer"--ay, the living
stone of appreciation, crystalized in the enlightened gratitude
of the heart.

"So works this music upon earth
God so admits it, sends it forth.
To add another worth to worth--

A new creation-bloom that rounds
The old creation, and expounds
His Beautiful in tuneful sounds."

CHAPTER I.

Chopin--Style and Improvements--The Adagio of the Second
Concerto--Funeral March--Psychological Character of the
Compositions of Chopin, &c., &c.

Deeply regretted as he may be by the whole body of artists,
lamented by all who have ever known him, we must still be
permitted to doubt if the time has even yet arrived in which he,
whose loss is so peculiarly deplored by ourselves, can be
appreciated in accordance with his just value, or occupy that
high rank which in all probability will be assigned him in the
future.

If it has been often proved that "no one is a prophet in his own
country;" is it not equally true that the prophets, the men of
the future, who feel its life in advance, and prefigure it in
their works, are never recognized as prophets in their own times?
It would be presumptuous to assert that it can ever be otherwise.
In vain may the young generations of artists protest against the
"Anti-progressives," whose invariable custom it is to assault and
beat down the living with the dead: time alone can test the real
value, or reveal the hidden beauties, either of musical
compositions, or of kindred efforts in the sister arts.

As the manifold forms of art are but different incantations,
charged with electricity from the soul of the artist, and
destined to evoke the latent emotions and passions in order to
render them sensible, intelligible, and, in some degree,
tangible; so genius may be manifested in the invention of new
forms, adapted, it may be, to the expression of feelings which
have not yet surged within the limits of common experience, and
are indeed first evoked within the magic circle by the creative
power of artistic intuition. In arts in which sensation is linked
to emotion, without the intermediate assistance of thought and
reflection, the mere introduction of unaccustomed forms, of
unused modes, must present an obstacle to the immediate
comprehension of any very original composition. The surprise,
nay, the fatigue, caused by the novelty of the singular
impressions which it awakens, will make it appear to many as if
written in a language of which they were ignorant, and which that
reason will in itself be sufficient to induce them to pronounce a
barbarous dialect. The trouble of accustoming the ear to it will
repel many who will, in consequence, refuse to make a study of
it. Through the more vivid and youthful organizations, less
enthralled by the chains of habit; through the more ardent
spirits, won first by curiosity, then filled with passion for the
new idiom, must it penetrate and win the resisting and opposing
public, which will finally catch the meaning, the aim, the
construction, and at last render justice to its qualities, and
acknowledge whatever beauty it may contain. Musicians who do not
restrict themselves within the limits of conventional routine,
have, consequently, more need than other artists of the aid of
time. They cannot hope that death will bring that instantaneous
plus-value to their works which it gives to those of the
painters. No musician could renew, to the profit of his
manuscripts, the deception practiced by one of the great Flemish
painters, who, wishing in his lifetime to benefit by his future
glory, directed his wife to spread abroad the news of his death,
in order that the pictures with which he had taken care to cover
the walls of his studio, might suddenly increase in value!

Whatever may be the present popularity of any part of the
productions of one, broken, by suffering long before taken by
death, it is nevertheless to be presumed that posterity will
award to his works an estimation of a far higher character, of a
much more earnest nature, than has hitherto been awarded them. A
high rank must be assigned by the future historians of music to
one who distinguished himself in art by a genius for melody so
rare, by such graceful and remarkable enlargements of the
harmonic tissue; and his triumph will be justly preferred to many
of far more extended surface, though the works of such victors
may be played and replayed by the greatest number of instruments,
and be sung and resung by passing crowds of Prime Donne.

In confining himself exclusively to the Piano, Chopin has, in our
opinion, given proof of one of the most essential qualities of a
composer--a just appreciation of the form in which he possessed
the power to excel; yet this very fact, to which we attach so
much importance, has been injurious to the extent of his fame. It
would have been most difficult for any other writer, gifted with
such high harmonic and melodic powers, to have resisted the
temptation of the SINGING of the bow, the liquid sweetness of the
flute, or the deafening swells of the trumpet, which we still
persist in believing the only fore-runner of the antique goddess
from whom we woo the sudden favors. What strong conviction, based
upon reflection, must have been requisite to have induced him to
restrict himself to a circle apparently so much more barren; what
warmth of creative genius must have been necessary to have forced
from its apparent aridity a fresh growth of luxuriant bloom,
unhoped for in such a soil! What intuitive penetration is
repealed by this exclusive choice, which, wresting the different
effects of the various instruments from their habitual domain,
where the whole foam of sound would have broken at their feet,
transported them into a sphere, more limited, indeed, but far
more idealized! What confident perception of the future powers of
his instrument must have presided over his voluntary renunciation
of an empiricism, so widely spread, that another would have
thought it a mistake, a folly, to have wrested such great
thoughts from their ordinary interpreters! How sincerely should
we revere him for this devotion to the Beautiful for its own
sake, which induced him not to yield to the general propensity to
scatter each light spray of melody over a hundred orchestral
desks, and enabled him to augment the resources of art, in
teaching how they may be concentrated in a more limited space,
elaborated at less expense of means, and condensed in time!

Far from being ambitious of the uproar of an orchestra, Chopin
was satisfied to see his thought integrally produced upon the
ivory of the key-board; succeeding in his aim of losing nothing
in power, without pretending to orchestral effects, or to the
brush of the scene-painter. Oh! we have not yet studied with
sufficient earnestness and attention the designs of his delicate
pencil, habituated as we are, in these days, to consider only
those composers worthy of a great name, who have written at least
half-a-dozen Operas, as many Oratorios, and various Symphonies:
vainly requiring every musician to do every thing, nay, a little
more than every thing. However widely diffused this idea may be,
its justice is, to say the least, highly problematical. We are
far from contesting the glory more difficult of attainment, or
the real superiority of the Epic poets, who display their
splendid creations upon so large a plan; but we desire that
material proportion in music should be estimated by the same
measure which is applied to dimension in other branches of the
fine arts; as, for example, in painting, where a canvas of twenty
inches square, as the Vision of Ezekiel, or Le Cimetiere by
Ruysdael, is placed among the chefs d'oeuvre, and is more highly
valued than pictures of a far larger size, even though they might
be from the hands of a Rubens or a Tintoret. In literature, is
Beranger less a great poet, because he has condensed his thoughts
within the narrow limits of his songs? Does not Petrarch owe his
fame to his Sonnets? and among those who most frequently repeat
their soothing rhymes, how many know any thing of the existence
of his long poem on Africa? We cannot doubt that the prejudice
which would deny the superiority of an artist--though he should
have produced nothing but such Sonatas as Franz Schubert has
given us--over one who has portioned out the insipid melodies of
many Operas, which it were useless to cite, will disappear; and
that in music, also, we will yet take into account the eloquence
and ability with which the thoughts and feelings are expressed,
whatever may be the size of the composition in which they are
developed, or the means employed to interpret them.

In making an analysis of the works of Chopin, we meet with
beauties of a high order, expressions entirely new, and a
harmonic tissue as original as erudite. In his compositions,
boldness is always justified; richness, even exuberance, never
interferes with clearness; singularity never degenerates into
uncouth fantasticalness; the sculpturing is never disorderly; the
luxury of ornament never overloads the chaste eloquence of the
principal lines. His best works abound in combinations which may
be said to form an epoch in the handling of musical style.
Daring, brilliant and attractive, they disguise their profundity
under so much grace, their science under so many charms, that it
is with difficulty we free ourselves sufficiently from their
magical enthrallment, to judge coldly of their theoretical value.
Their worth has, however, already been felt; but it will be more
highly estimated when the time arrives for a critical examination
of the services rendered by them to art during that period of its
course traversed by Chopin.

It is to him we owe the extension of chords, struck together in
arpeggio, or en batterie; the chromatic sinuosities of which his
pages offer such striking examples; the little groups of
superadded notes, falling like light drops of pearly dew upon the
melodic figure. This species of adornment had hitherto been
modeled only upon the Fioritures of the great Old School of
Italian song; the embellishments for the voice had been servilely
copied by the Piano, although become stereotyped and monotonous:
he imparted to them the charm of novelty, surprise and variety,
unsuited for the vocalist, but in perfect keeping with the
character of the instrument. He invented the admirable harmonic
progressions which have given a serious character to pages,
which, in consequence of the lightness of their subject, made no
pretension to any importance. But of what consequence is the
subject? Is it not the idea which is developed through it, the
emotion with which it vibrates, which expands, elevates and
ennobles it? What tender melancholy, what subtlety, what sagacity
in the master-pieces of La Fontaine, although the subjects are so
familiar, the titles so modest? Equally unassuming are the titles
and subjects of the Studies and Preludes; yet the compositions of
Chopin, so modestly named, are not the less types of perfection
in a mode created by himself, and stamped, like all his other
works, with the high impress of his poetic genius. Written in the
commencement of his career, they are characterized by a youthful
vigor not to be found in some of his subsequent works, even when
more elaborate, finished, and richer in combinations; a vigor,
which is entirely lost in his latest productions, marked by an
over-excited sensibility, a morbid irritability, and giving
painful intimations of his own state of suffering and exhaustion.

If it were our intention to discuss the development of Piano
music in the language of the Schools, we would dissect his
magnificent pages, which afford so rich a field for scientific
observation. We would, in the first place, analyze his Nocturnes,
Ballades, Impromptus, Scherzos, which are full of refinements of
harmony never heard before; bold, and of startling originality.
We would also examine his Polonaises, Mazourkas, Waltzes and
Boleros. But this is not the time or place for such a study,
which would be interesting only to the adepts in Counterpoint and
Thoroughbass.

It is the feeling which overflows in all his works, which has
rendered them known and popular; feeling of a character eminently
romantic, subjective individual, peculiar to their author, yet
awakening immediate sympathy; appealing not alone to the heart of
that country indebted to him for yet one glory more, but to all
who can be touched by the misfortunes of exile, or moved by the
tenderness of love. Not content with success in the field in
which he was free to design, with such perfect grace, the
contours chosen by himself, Chopin also wished to fetter his
ideal thoughts with classic chains. His Concertos and Sonatas are
beautiful indeed, but we may discern in them more effort than
inspiration. His creative genius was imperious, fantastic and
impulsive. His beauties were only manifested fully in entire
freedom. We believe he offered violence to the character of his
genius whenever he sought to subject it to rules, to
classifications, to regulations not his own, and which he could
not force into harmony with the exactions of his own mind. He was
one of those original beings, whose graces are only fully
displayed when they have cut themselves adrift from all bondage,
and float on at their own wild will, swayed only by the ever
undulating impulses of their own mobile natures.

He was, perhaps, induced to desire this double success through
the example of his friend, Mickiewicz, who, having been the first
to gift his country with romantic poetry, forming a school in
Sclavic literature by the publication of his Dziady, and his
romantic Ballads, as early as 1818, proved afterwards, by the
publication at his Grazyna and Wallenrod, that he could triumph
over the difficulties that classic restrictions oppose to
inspiration, and that, when holding the classic lyre of the
ancient poets, he was still master. In making analogous attempts,
we do not think Chopin has been equally successful. He could not
retain, within the square of an angular and rigid mould, that
floating and indeterminate contour which so fascinates us in his
graceful conceptions. He could not introduce in its unyielding
lines that shadowy and sketchy indecision, which, disguising the
skeleton, the whole frame-work of form, drapes it in the mist of
floating vapors, such as surround the white-bosomed maids of
Ossian, when they permit mortals to catch some vague, yet lovely
outline, from their home in the changing, drifting, blinding
clouds.

Some of these efforts, however, are resplendent with a rare
dignity of style; and passages of exceeding interest, of
surprising grandeur, may be found among them. As an example of
this, we cite the Adagio of the Second Concerto, for which he
evinced a decided preference, and which he liked to repeat
frequently. The accessory designs are in his best manner, while
the principal phrase is of an admirable breadth. It alternates
with a Recitative, which assumes a minor key, and which seems to
be its Antistrophe. The whole of this piece is of a perfection
almost ideal; its expression, now radiant with light, now full of
tender pathos. It seems as if one had chosen a happy vale of
Tempe, a magnificent landscape flooded with summer glow and
lustre, as a background for the rehearsal of some dire scene of
mortal anguish. A bitter and irreparable regret seizes the
wildly-throbbing human heart, even in the midst of the
incomparable splendor of external nature. This contrast is
sustained by a fusion of tones, a softening of gloomy hues, which
prevent the intrusion of aught rude or brusque that might awaken
a dissonance in the touching impression produced, which, while
saddening joy, soothes and softens the bitterness of sorrow.

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