Frederick Chopin, as a Man and Musician — Volume 2 — Reading Notes

Chopin's Unorthodox Hand Position

Niecks reports that Chopin began beginners not on the standard five white keys (C–D–E–F–G) but on E, F♯, G♯, A♯, B—a configuration mixing two white and three black keys. This placement, he explains, was designed to secure both an advantageous and graceful hand position. The emphasis on suppleness is underscored by Madame Dubois's recollection that Chopin insisted on starting with the B major scale, played very slowly, and repeatedly urged "facilement, facilement" (easily, easily). Stiffness provoked him to the point of exclaiming, when a pupil played a clumsy arpeggio, "Qu'est-ce? Est-ce un chien qui vient d'aboyer?" (What is that? Is it a dog barking?). Such outbursts, while rude, reveal the intensity of his commitment to fluidity of touch.

The Paradox of Vigor and Fragility

M. Mathias described Chopin's technique as belonging to the old legato school of Clementi and Cramer, enriched by a great variety of touch and nuance. Yet he added that Chopin's extraordinary vigor appeared only in flashes ("ce ne pouvait être que par éclairs"). This observation aligns with accounts of the composer's physical fragility. Niecks notes that Chopin sometimes held his hands flat when exhausted, though Madame Dubois denied ever witnessing this. The tension between explosive power and bodily limitation becomes a recurring motif in the pupils' testimony, suggesting that Chopin's celebrated delicacy was not a lack of force but a controlled, intermittent intensity.

Irritability in the Studio

Chopin's patience with amateurs was notably thin. Madame Rubio told Niecks that the composer, when teaching non-professionals, kept a packet of pencils on hand which he silently broke into bits to vent his anger. This detail, corroborated by Gutmann, paints a picture of a teacher who struggled to contain his frustration. Niecks is careful to note that he could not confirm Karasowski's claim that Chopin threw music from the desk or broke chairs; the pencil-breaking habit, however, is attested by a direct pupil. The contrast between Chopin's generally polite demeanor and these flashes of irritation suggests a man whose ill health increasingly eroded his self-control.

The Problem of Chopin's Pupils

Niecks raises a question that his evidence only partly answers: why did so unique a virtuoso fail to produce a single eminent concert-player from among his students? The materials he gathered—from Mikuli's preface and from direct pupil communications—suggest that Chopin's teaching was intensely personal and perhaps too idiosyncratic to be transmitted as a method. His focus on suppleness, his unusual starting position, and his intolerance of stiffness may have cultivated refined players but not public performers. Niecks does not resolve the puzzle, but by presenting the conflicting testimonies and his own cautious inferences, he leaves the reader to weigh the evidence.

Niecks's approach—privileging primary sources and acknowledging their limits—makes this volume a valuable resource for anyone interested in the practical realities of Chopin's musicianship. Readers should note that the excerpts here are incomplete; the full text includes additional chapters on Chopin's later years and a detailed list of his published works. The editorial note is based solely on the provided material.

That afternoon, rain streaked the window while I underlined Chopin’s patient, exacting fingerings—his ire softening only when discussing a pupil’s touch. It made me ache for that same quiet craft in others, so I pulled down The Great German Composers — A Reader’s Guide almost without thinking, and found Bach’s stern tenderness waiting there, like an old friend I’d forgotten.