Chopin : the Man and His Music — A Closer Reading

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In Category - Composers
Huneker, James, 1857-1921 Project Gutenberg 2004 Not confirmed
Chopin, Frédéric, 1810-1849; Composers -- Biography Readers of public-domain and historical texts
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Words 80,248
Reading time 349 min
Text sections 8

Chopin : the Man and His Music — A Closer Reading can be approached with a clearer sense of reading commitment from its source measurements: 80,248 words, 5 hr 49 min estimated reading time, and 8 detected text sections.

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James Huneker's 1900 biography blends vivid portraiture with technical music analysis, tracing Chopin's Polish roots, Parisian years, and the emotional undercurrents of his études, preludes, and mazurkas through a critic's ear attuned to both the man and the composer.
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Karasowski was informed by Chopin's sister that the correct year of his birth was 1809, and Szulc, Sowinski and Niecks agree with him. Szulc asserts that the memorial in the Holy Cross Church, Warsaw--where Chopin's heart is preserved--bears the date March 2, 1809. Chopin, so Henry T. Finck declares, was twenty-two years of age when he wrote to his teacher Elsner in 1831. Liszt told Niecks in 1878 that Karasowski had published the correct date in his biography. Now let us consider Janotha's arguments. According to her evidence the composer's natal day was February 22, 1810 and his christening occurred April 28 of the same year. The following baptismal certificate, originally in Latin and translated by Finck, is adduced. It is said to be from the church in which Chopin was christened: "I, the above, have performed the ceremony of baptizing in water a boy with the double name Frederic Francois, on the 22d day of February, son of the musicians Nicolai Choppen, a Frenchman, and Justina de Krzyzanowska his legal spouse. God-parents: the musicians Franciscus Grembeki and Donna Anna Skarbekowa, Countess of Zelazowa-Wola." The wrong date was chiselled upon the monument unveiled October 14, 1894, at Chopin's birthplace--erected practically through the efforts of Milia Balakireff the Russian composer. Janotha, whose father founded the Warsaw Conservatory, informed Finck that the later date has also been put on other monuments in Poland.

Now Chopin's father was not a musician, neither was his mother. I cannot trace Grembeki, but we know that the Countess Skarbek, mother of Chopin's namesake, was not a musician; however, the title "musician" in the baptismal certificate may have signified something eulogistic at that time. Besides, the Polish clergy was not a particularly accurate class. But Janotha has more testimony: in her controversy with me in 1896 she quoted Father Bielawski, the present cure of Brochow parish church of Zelazowa-Wola; this reverend person consulted records and gave as his opinion that 1810 is authentic. Nevertheless, the biography of Wojcicki and the statement of the Chopin family contradict him. And so the case stands. Janotha continues firm in her belief although authorities do not justify her position.

All this petty pother arose since Niecks' comprehensive biography appeared. So sure was he of his facts that he disposed of the pseudo-date in one footnote. Perhaps the composer was to blame; artists, male as well as female, have been known to make themselves younger in years by conveniently forgetting their birthdate, or by attributing the error to carelessness in the registry of dates. Surely the Chopin family could not have been mistaken in such an important matter! Regarding Chopin's ancestry there is still a moiety of doubt. His father was born August 17, 1770--the same year as Beethoven--at Nancy, Lorraine. Some claim that he had Polish blood in his veins. Szulc claims that he was the natural son of a Polish nobleman, who followed King Stanislas Leszcinski to Lorraine, dropping the Szopen, or Szop, for the more Gallic Chopin. When Frederic went to Paris, he in turn changed the name from Szopen to Chopin, which is common in France.

Chopin's father emigrated to Warsaw in 1787--enticed by the offer of a compatriot there in the tobacco business--and was the traditional Frenchman of his time, well-bred, agreeable and more than usually cultivated.

He joined the national guard during the Kosciuszko revolution in 1794. When business stagnated he was forced to teach in the family of the Leszynskis; Mary of that name, one of his pupils, being beloved by Napoleon I. became the mother of Count Walewski, a minister of the second French empire. Drifting to Zelazowa-Wola, Nicholas Chopin lived in the house of the Countess Skarbek, acting as tutor to her son, Frederic. There he made the acquaintance of Justina Krzyzanowska, born of "poor but noble parents." He married her in 1806 and she bore him four children: three girls, and the boy Frederic Francois.

James Huneker opens his study of Chopin not with a cradle or a concert hall, but with a literary epigraph from Flaubert: ascetic lives yield violent art. This framing sets the tone for a biography that treats Chopin's outward quietude—Poland to Paris, teaching, a few love affairs—as a foil for the psychic turbulence Huneker hears in the music. The opening chapter, “Poland:—Youthful Ideals,” immediately confronts the disputed birth year (1809, not 1810) and the medallion controversy, grounding the reader in factual uncertainty before moving to the emotional geography of exile. Huneker’s prose is cadenced, allusive, and impatient with mere chronology; he wants the reader to feel Chopin’s inner battles as the real subject.

A Biographer Who Listens Like a Critic

Huneker was a music critic before he was a biographer, and the distinction matters. In the chapter on the Études, he does not simply describe the pieces; he argues with editors. He prefers Von Bülow’s version of the C minor study, dismisses Riemann’s half-note markings, and recommends Klindworth for daily use. This is not a neutral chronicle but a partisan guide. Huneker’s voice is opinionated, even combative: “Before it all criticism should be silenced that fails to allow Chopin a place among the greatest creative musicians.” He treats the scores as living texts, debated by performers, and his own judgments—like calling the F minor study “far deeper” than its op. 25 counterpart—invite the reader to listen with a similarly critical ear.

The Études as Epic and Miniature

Huneker devotes a full chapter to the Études, and his language for them is unexpectedly grand. The C minor study is “orchestral in intention and a true epic of the piano”; the Trois Nouvelles Études, though weaker, have “something of the concision of the Preludes.” He hears in these works not mere finger exercises but a composer who “has the hypnotic quality more than any composer of the century, Richard Wagner excepted.” The analysis is technical—rhythmic problems, legato versus staccato, the “triplicity in biplicity” of Kullak’s edition—but always returns to emotional effect. The D-flat study, for instance, is “the very incarnation of joy, tempered by aristocratic reserve.” Huneker’s Chopin never romps, but jests wittily, and always in good taste.

The Man Behind the Music: Inner Violence, Outer Reserve

Huneker’s portrait of the man is deliberately interior. He lists the crises that left “ineradicable impressions”: early love, parting from home, the Warsaw revolt, the passion for George Sand, the rupture. But he insists that Chopin’s “violence was psychic, a travailing and groaning of the spirit.” The biography’s structure—Part I: The Man, Part II: His Music—reflects this separation, yet Huneker constantly blurs it. He quotes Maeterlinck on silent, invisible tears, and applies the idea to Chopin’s life: “He fought his battles within the walls of his soul—we may note and enjoy them in his music.” The reader is thus primed to hear biography in every bar, but Huneker warns against reducing art to anecdote.

Editions, Disputes, and the Living Score

A striking feature of Huneker’s method is his attention to the material history of Chopin’s music. He mentions the “making of Chopin editions” as a seemingly endless process, and describes seeing Godowsky’s manuscript versions of the Études in 1894—remarkable, musical, but “immensely difficult.” He compares them to Brahms’s derangements and notes that even a “lop-sided” Chopin hovers about. This is not dry bibliography; it is a critic’s awareness that the score is never fixed. Huneker’s references to Klindworth, Von Bülow, Riemann, and Kullak are not footnotes but invitations to compare, to argue, to choose. For a first-time reader, this emphasis on competing editions is a reminder that Chopin’s music has always been a field of interpretation, not a monument.

Huneker’s book is best read with a score or recording nearby. His judgments are sharp, his prose dense with allusion, and his loyalties clear. He writes as a partisan of Chopin’s genius, but also as a working critic who expects his reader to disagree. The biographical chapters provide context without determinism; the musical chapters offer technical insight without pedantry. For those new to Chopin, Huneker’s voice—opinionated, learned, and passionate—serves as a provocative guide, one that rewards slow reading and repeated listening.

That rainy afternoon, Huneker’s Chopin made me hear the mazurkas as whispered diaries rather than dances. I kept lingering on his descriptions of damp Parisian rooms, and somehow my hand drifted to another shelf, pulling down Famous composers and their works, Vol. 1 — Reading Companion. It felt less like research, more like sitting beside someone who remembered the same weather.

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