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

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Niecks, Frederick, 1845-1924 Project Gutenberg 2004 Not confirmed
Chopin, Frédéric, 1810-1849; Composers -- Biography Readers of public-domain and historical texts
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Words 146,457
Reading time 637 min
Text sections 13

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Examines Chopin's teaching methods, his relationship with George Sand, and his character through firsthand accounts from pupils and contemporaries, focusing on his distinctive pedagogical approach and personal irritability.
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CHOPIN'S VISITS TO NOHANT IN 1837 AND 1838.--HIS ILL HEALTH.--HE DECIDES TO GO WITH MADAME SAND AND HER CHILDREN TO MAJORCA.-- MADAME SAND'S ACCOUNT OF THIS MATTER AND WHAT OTHERS THOUGHT ABOUT IT.--CHOPIN AND HIS FELLOW--TRAVELLERS MEET AT PERPIGNAN IN THE BEGINNING OF NOVEMBER, 1838, AND PROCEED BY PORT-VENDRES AND BARCELONA TO PALMA.--THEIR LIFE AND EXPERIENCES IN THE TOWN, AT THE VILLA SON-VENT, AND AT THE MONASTERY OF VALDEMOSA, AS DESCRIBED IN CHOPIN'S AND GEORGE SAND'S LETTERS, AND THE LATTER'S "MA VIE" AND "UN HIVER A MAJORQUE."--THE PRELUDES.--RETURN TO FRANCE BY BARCELONA AND MARSEILLES IN THE END OF FEBRUARY, 1839.

In a letter written in 1837, and quoted on p. 313 of Vol. I., Chopin said: "I may perhaps go for a few days to George Sand's." How heartily she invited him through their common friends Liszt and the Comtesse d'Agoult, we saw in the preceding chapter. We may safely assume, I think, that Chopin went to Nohant in the summer of 1837, and may be sure that he did so in the summer of 1838, although with regard to neither visit reliable information of any kind is discoverable. Karasowski, it is true, quotes four letters of Chopin to Fontana as written from Nohant in 1838, but internal evidence shows that they must have been written three years later.

We know from Mendelssohn's and Moscheles' allusions to Chopin's visit to London that he was at that time ailing. He himself wrote in the same year (1837) to Anthony Wodzinski that during the winter he had been again ill with influenza, and that the doctors had wanted to send him to Ems. As time went on the state of his health seems to have got worse, and this led to his going to Majorca in the winter of 1838-1839. The circumstance that he had the company of Madame Sand on this occasion has given rise to much discussion. According to Liszt, Chopin was forced by the alarming state of his health to go to the south in order to avoid the severities of the Paris winter; and Madame Sand, who always watched sympathetically over her friends, would not let him depart alone, but resolved to accompany him. Karasowski, on the other hand, maintains that it was not Madame Sand who was induced to accompany Chopin, but that Madame Sand induced Chopin to accompany her. Neither of these statements tallies with Madame Sand's own account. She tells us that when in 1838 her son Maurice, who had been in the custody of his father, was definitively entrusted to her care, she resolved to take him to a milder climate, hoping thus to prevent a return of the rheumatism from which he had suffered so much in the preceding year. Besides, she wished to live for some time in a quiet place where she could make her children work, and could work herself, undisturbed by the claims of society.

As I was making my plans and preparations for departure [she goes on to say], Chopin, whom I saw every day and whose genius and character I tenderly loved, said to me that if he were in Maurice's place he would soon recover. I believed it, and I was mistaken. I did not put him in the place of Maurice on the journey, but beside Maurice. His friends had for long urged him to go and spend some time in the south of Europe. People believed that he was consumptive. Gaubert examined him and declared to me that he was not. "You will save him, in fact," he said to me, "if you give him air, exercise, and rest." Others, knowing well that Chopin would never make up his mind to leave the society and life of Paris without being carried off by a person whom he loved and who was devoted to him, urged me strongly not to oppose the desire he showed so a propos and in a quite unhoped-for way.

As time showed, I was wrong in yielding to their hopes and my own solicitude. It was indeed enough to go abroad alone with two children, one already ill, the other full of exuberant health and spirits, without taking upon myself also a terrible anxiety and a physician's responsibility.

But Chopin was just then in a state of health that reassured everybody. With the exception of Grzymala, who saw more clearly how matters stood, we were all hopeful. I nevertheless begged Chopin to consider well his moral strength, because for several years he had never contemplated without dread the idea of leaving Paris, his physician, his acquaintances, his room even, and his piano. He was a man of imperious habits, and every change, however small it might be, was a terrible event in his life.

Frederick Niecks, in this second volume of his biography, draws extensively on direct testimony from Chopin's pupils to reconstruct the composer's teaching practice. Rather than relying on secondhand anecdotes, Niecks prioritizes the ipsissima verba of informants such as Madame Dubois, M. Mathias, and Gutmann, offering a rare window into the pianist's daily studio habits. The result is a portrait grounded in specific, verifiable detail rather than romantic legend.

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.

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