DURING the four years that succeeded 1820 Frédéric had few opportunities for public playing, and his parents and advisers seem to have prevented him from being exploited. His studies with Elsner had not borne any fruit as yet, although he was for ever improvising. As has been seen in the previous chapter, he had been dabbling in several branches of culture, trying his hand as a dramatist, as an editor, as an actor and as an artist; but at the same time he had been working at harmony and counterpoint, and trying to compose songs and variations. It was a period of development, without that development taking any distinctive form. Neither the boy nor his parents had decided which was his special bent. He certainly was precocious, but his talents were wayward, and could not be directed into any particular route. His mind was too restless, his energies were too versatile.The year 1825 was a turning-point in his life. Certain events occurred during this year that determined his career, and left no shadow of doubt in the minds of either himself or his parents as to what was to be his métier. Frédéric was asked to play at-une of two concerts organized by a friend of the family, Joseph Javurek. The concerts took place on May 27 and June 1o, and he played the first movement (Allegro) of the G minor Concerto of Moscheles, and improvised on a new instrument, the Eolopantaleon; this was a combination of the Eolomelodicon (a species of organ) and the pianoforte, and was invented by a cabinet-maker named Dlugosz, and constructed by a man named Brunner, both of Warsaw. According to arass the performance awakened unbounded enthusiasm, though Niecks is not so sure about it. A correspondentof the Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung of Leipzig wrote of Chopin'splaying that he 'distinguished himself in his improvisation by a wealth of musical ideas, and under his hands this instrument [the Eolopantaleon], of which he is a thorough master, made a great impression'.Alexander I of Russia came to Warsaw to open the third Diet on May 13, 1825. He left again a month later, and the visit proved to be his last, for he died on December I of the same year. During his stay he expressed a desire to hear the new invention; Chopin was deputed to show it off, and pleased the Emperor so much by his performance that he was presented with a diamond ring. These appearances were by no means the only excitements for the young musician during the year. He was to have the thrill of seeing the publication of his Opus I, the Rondo in C minor, which is dedicated to Madame de Linde, the wife of the Rector of the Lycée of Warsaw. The occasion was of paramount importance to young Chopin, and was to be his greatest spur. The works will be discussed in detail in a later volume devoted to their analysis; all that will here be necessary is to mention matters of interest concerning their writing and their publication. The Rondo, Op. I, was by no means Frédéric's first serious composition. There is a Polonaise in G sharp minor which Breitkopf and H?rtel date 1822, though it is difficult to believe that it was written earlier than the one in B flat minor, which is dated 1826; the G sharp minor is more mature, both technically and musically. The Polonaise in B flat minor is supposed to be a Farewell to Wilhelm Kolberg'. In the Breitkopf edition it has two footnotes, the first saying that it was written on Chopin's departure for Reinertz, the second, that the trio was written because 'some days before Chopin's departure the two friends had been present at a performance of Rossini's opera'. The trio is headed 'Au revoir! after an air from Gazza Ladra'.There are also two Mazurkas, in G and B flat, belonging to 1825, and assuredly these, with the Variations sur un air national allemand, published posthumously in 1851, were written befored the Opus 1. Breitkopf dated the Variations 1824. Robert Schumann was certainly under the same impression about these early works, for in a letter to Clara Schumann's father, Friedrich Wieck, January 11, 1832, he suggests that the Op. I was Chopin's tenth work, and even asserts that between Op. I and Op. 2 (the 'La ci darem' Variations) two years elapsed and probably twenty other works were written. It is evident then that these pieces, with the exception of Op. 2, were all written before his sixteenth year, and, though none of them is important as music, they are of great interest because of the composer's age, and because thcy were his first step on the ladder of fame, and so form a basis for comparison with his later writings. Although the Variations on a German tune, Der Schweizerbub, and the G sharp minor Polonaise arc the two earliest compositions that have survived, actually the first work published was a Polonaise dedicated to Countess Victoire Skarbek, in 1817. In 1818 Chopin wrote two Polonaises for the Dowager Empress Marie of Russia, and in 1821 another in A flat for the birthday of Zwyny; but these are unobtainable.Frédéric wrote in light-hearted mood to his friend JanBialoblocki in June1826:DEAR JASIA!Don't expect to find this letter the usual nameday compliments: all those showy feelings, exclamations, apostrophes, pathetic bits and similar rubbish, nonsense, stuff and piffle. They are good enough for heads that can find trivial phrases in the absence of friendship; but when people have a tie of eleven years of friendship, when they have counted the months together 132 times, have begun 468 weeks, 396o days, 95,040 hours, 5,702,400 minutes, 342,144,000 seconds together, they don't need reminders, or complimentary letters, because they'il never write what they want to write.... [If any reader cares to check these figures he must conclude that Chopin could not have passed an examination in arithmetic]...I have not sent you any of my scrawls, but instead of that the waltzes of Aleksander Rembielinski [a talented pianist who was having some success, but who died young], which I think you will like... If I don't send you my clavi-cembalo rubbish don't be surprised, because that's me.Perhaps we are to understand that his 'scrawls' were for the pianoforte, and the 'rubbish' was for the new instrument.But the humorous touches that abound in the letters do not reflect the boy's true nature. He was not happy, nor was he very well. His love for his art was too engrossing for his undeveloped body. The spirit was willing, and the desire to learn and expand prodigious; but a crash would be bound to come if he were allowed to continue using up his vitality. We could imagine from his amusing letters that everything was easy to him, that his work took nothing out of him. But to be thought funny, to be able to crack jokes and play the fool, to caricature and mimic does not necessarily mean that life glitters, that it holds no worries, that the sun is for ever shining. One has only to know some of the world's comedians - men who earn their living by amusing multitudes with their wit or their absurdities -to realize that beneath this cloak may lie a sad and forlorn heart. Frédéric would often work late into the night; at times even this was not sufficient, for he would have to get out of bed time and again to erase or add, in order to satisfy that everfunctioning mind. The other inmates of the house were at first startled by his nocturnal experiments at the keyboard, and horrified at the danger to his health: but their anxiety was of no avail. His parents quite evidently were powerless to prevent him from working; probably they thought that it was better for the boy's health to allow his brain its natural freedom. Just at this time, however, their youngest child, Emilia, whose health was poor, was ordered by the doctors to take the waters at Bad Reinertz, in Prussian Silesia, and this provided the occasion for a change of environment for Frédéric. His mother and his eldest sister Louise made up the party of four. He writes to Wilhelm Kolberg from Reinertz on August 18:I have been drinking whey and the local waters for two weeks, and they say that I am looking a little better, but I am said to be getting fat, and am as lazy as ever, to which you can ascribe the long lethargy of my pen. ... In the morning, at 6 o'clock at the latest, all the patients are at the wells; then there's an atrocious band of wind players: a dozen caricatures of various types collected together; the head one, a thin bassoonist with a snuffy, spectacled nose, frightens all the ladies that are afraid of horses by playing to the freely perambulating Kur-G?ste.He describes his walks on the near hills, how he sometimes comes down them on all-fours, and how he is forbidden to climb?to the top of a neighbouring mountain because 'the air at the very top is not good for everybody'. He is amused that the Silesian women appear to work more than the men, "but as I don't do anything myself, it's easy for me to acquiesce in that'.Frédéric bemoans his fate to his harmony professor, Elsner, in another letter: 'Imagine, Sir, that there is not one good piano, and all that I have seen are instruments that cause me more distress than pleasure.' He ends his letter na?vely and characteristically: 'But, before I have the pleasure of seeing you, allow me, Sir, to assure you of my highest respect.'Whilst he was at Reinertz, Chopin heard of the death of a poor widow who had vainly expected relief from the waters, and of the sorry plight of her two orphans, who could neither pay the funeral expenses nor purchase their return tickets. Immediately he volunteered to give a concert, and not only was he able to satisfy their pressing needs by the success of his efforts, but earned the admiration of everyone by his generous gesture.Frédéric was invited to stay at Strzyzewo, the home of his godmother (formerly the Countess Anna Skarbek, now Madame Wiesiolowska). A near neighbour of his hostess was Prince Radziwill, the same Prince who has already been mentioned in connection with Liszt's assertions as to the part he played in Frédéric's education. He had a wonderful country seat, An-. tonin. Chopin did not stay there on this occasion; but his talent and his agreeableness so impressed the Prince that we shall not be surprised when we find him invited for a long visit there three years later. From Strzyzewo he went for a short time to his friend Jan Bialoblocki at Sokolowo. In a letter to Jan, dated November 2, he writes:Since Sokolowo, for really I got so fat, so lazy, that, in one word, I don't want to do anything, anything at all. Learn, my life, by these presents. That I don't go to the Lycée. Really it would be stupid to sit perforce for 6 hours a day, when both German and German-Polish doctors have told me to walk as much as possible; it would be stupid to listen to the same things twice over when one can be learning something new during this year. Meanwhile I go to Elsner for strict counterpoint, 6 hours a week; I hear Brodzinski, Bentkowski and others, on?subjects connected in any way with music. I go to bed at g. All teas, evenings and balls are off. I drink an emetic water by Malcz's orders, and feed myself only on oatmeal quasi a horse.He grumbles at the prospect of having to return to Reinertz the following year, and thinks Paris would be far better.From this letter we learn several enlightening things about Chopin's daily life. He had to follow a strict régime for the sake of his health; he had finished with school lessons, and was accordingly working all the harder with Elsner; and he already had within him the germs of that desire to see Paris that was so greatly to influence his future. Another item of importance is gleaned from his next letter to the same friend, dated January 8, 1827:I also send you my mazurka, of which you have heard; later perhaps you'll get another; it would be too many pleasures at once. They are already published; meanwhile I am leaving my Rondo, that I wanted to have lithographed, stifling among my papers, though it is earlier and therefore has more right to travel. It's having the same luck as I!The Rondo seems to me to be the Rondo alla Mazurka which was published in Germany as Opus 5, but had already been published in Warsaw in 1827 without an opus number. It is dedicated to the Countess Alexandrine de Moriolles, daughter of the tutor to the son of the Grand Duke Constantine. The two Mazurkas I can only suggest as being the G major and B flat, which were written in 1825, and published by J. Leitgeber in Warsaw, though without a date.The year 1827 brought forth some fresh compositions, pointing clearly to the fact that the youth had now more time to devote to his music, and also that he was developing naturally. One cannot say that any of the early works are great, but each seems to be an improvement on the last and to promise greater things to come. Julian Fontana, a lifelong friend of Chopin, unearthed some manuscripts after his death, and had them published with the consent of the family in 1855. Amongst?these were à Polonaise numbered Op. 71, No. 1, and the Nocturne in E minor, Op. 72, No. I. These, with the Sonata in C minor, Op. 4 (not published until 1851), were sketched out and probably finished during 1827.The titles of Mazurka and Polonaise show that Chopin was interesting himself in the rhythms and curious harmonies of the peasant-folk. Until his visits to Strzyzewo and Sokolowo the previous year he had known nothing of the country or its people. To hear the peasants singing and playing and watch them dancing enchanted him. But how they did these things was an enigma to him. He kept wondering who could have taught them; he would ask who wrote down their melodies or who had originally composed them. He was dumbfounded for he knew the terrible poverty of the Polish peasants from time immemorial, and how utterly impossible it was for them ever to have been taught anything. Everywhere round him was squalor; everyone appeared half-starved, many of them drunken-they were little better than slaves. Centuries of the despotic power of their own nobles had made serfs of them, and now that Russia dominated the country entirely their future was even more hopeless. Yet with all this misery they never lost their natural gaiety, their spontaneity, their desire to make merry either by music or by dancing. No wonder the young Chopin was deeply impressed, no wonder that he became absorbed in the primitive foundations of their music. Later on we shall find that his nationalism was just as pronounced as theirs, and that he brought their Polish dancerhythms to such a stage of perfection as to make them immortal. The seeds of his colossal love for his country, if not actually sown in the summers of 1826 and 1827, became then at least securely rooted.There is a short letter to another boy friend, Jan Matuszynski, written towards the end of 1827, which gives a clue as tod the date of composition of the 'La ci darem' Variations:DEAR JASIA!What has happened that we haven't met for so long? I expect you every day, and find that you don't come; just because I want to speak to you about this: As the weather is so bad now,?I should like to make a fair copy of the piano part of the variations, and I can't do it without your copy. Would you please bring it to me tomorrow, and the day afterwards you shall have both.YourF.F. CHOPIN.This disproves the theory that these Variations were written in 1828. They were sent to Haslinger in Vienna along with the C minor Sonata in that year, but were not published until 1830, the Sonata having to wait another twenty-one years before seeing the light.The compositions of 1828 were fewer in comparison. Chopin worked a good deal on a Trio for pianoforte, violin and violoncello, but did not finish it until the following year. It was published in 1833 as Op. 8, and dedicated to Prince Antoine Radziwill.The 'La ci darem' Variations were dedicated to the greatest friend of his youth, Titus Wojciechowski. When writing to inform his friend of the inscription Frédéric very prettily added: "On the second-perhaps too boldly -I have put your name. My heart asked for it and our friendship permitted it, so don't be angry.' Another work, the C major Rondo for two pianofortes, was re-written during the year; Frédéric tried it over with a brother-pianist named Ernemann, and was satisfied with its sound. It had originally been conceived for two hands. Curiously enough, it was never published during the composer's lifetime, only appearing under Fontana's direction in 1855 as Op. 73.Chopin had been spending the summer at Sanniki, Strzyzewo and Danzig with different friends, and on returning to Warsaw had a pleasant surprise. A friend of his father's, a zoology professor named Dr. Jarocki, called and asked if Frédéric might be allowed to go to Berlin with him. Nicolas Chopin was delighted, and readily gave his consent, for he had been worrying much of late about the future of his son. He was never affluent, and found himself saddled with a youth who normally should by this time have been earning something to help, but in reality was financially a hindrance. He recognized?that the best thing for Frédéric's development would be to send him abroad, for Warsaw could offer him nothing to widen his outlook and extend his knowledge. Berlin at that time was becoming important musically, and no finer opportunity could have presented itself. Frédéric's joy at the prospect of seeing Berlin and hearing its music can be imagined. He tells Titus: 'I'm writing now in a half crazy state, because I really don't know what's happening to me. I am starting to-day forBerlin.' (September 9.)Under the auspices of the King of Prussia, Frederick William III, the University of Berlin had invited the most renowned men of science in Europe to attend a congress that was to be presided over by the famous explorer and scientist,d Alexander von Humboldt. Dr. Jarocki, as an old and esteemed student of the University, was invited, and, knowing the dilemma in which Nicolas Chopin found himself, had thought that this was the occasion to help him. Frédéric looked forward to meeting all the leading musicians of Berlin through the friend and tutor of Dr. Jarocki, Professor Lichtenstein, who was the secretary of the conference. Lichtenstein had been a friend of Carl Maria von Weber, who had died in 1826, and whose music Frédéric had just learnt to love, and also knew Zelter, the conductor of the Berlin Singakademie. Frédéric hoped that Prince Radziwill would be in Berlin, and that through him he might meet Mendelssohn and Spontini. So with the most expectant joy he set out upon the road with his older companion.The diligence took five days to make the journey, and 'on Sunday about three in the afternoon we diligence-jogged into this much-too-big town'. The travellers went direct to the Hotel Kronprinz, and that same day Chopin met Lichtenstein, who introduced him to Humboldt. But he was not destined to meet the other famous musicians. 'I have seen Spontini, Zelter and Mendelssohn, but did not speak with any of them, as I felt shy about introducing myself.' Prince Radziwill was not in Berlin, and Lichtenstein's time was fully taken up with his duties as secretary, so Frédéric had to be satisfied with listening to music, and was denied the pleasure of meeting the illustrious ones. He heard a number of operas, and Handel's Ode on St.?Cecilia's Day, which he liked best of all-'nearer to the ideal that I have formed of great music'. Among the operas that heheard were Cortez (Spontini), Il Matrimonio Segreto (Cimarosa),Colporteur (Onslow), Das unterbrochene Opferfest (Winter) andDer Freischütz (Weber), which he already knew pretty well. He was not enamoured of the singers-in fact he was quite ruded about the women singers in his letters, which contain as usual some amusing quips.Of the Berlin women in general he had no opinion. 'Marylski hasn't a farthing's worth of taste if he says the Berlin women are beautiful. They dress, that's true; but it's pitiful to see the gorgeous rumpled muslins on such dowdy images.'He thought Berlin 'too widely built; double the population could fit into it easily'. His sense of the ridiculous is as much in evidence as ever: he says that he and his companion ate more than usual because 'the naturalists, and particularly the zoologists, have occupied themselves with the improvement of meat, sauces, broth and such things; so during the few days of the sessions they made great progress in eating'.Chopin stayed fourteen days in Berlin. On the way home he and his travelling companion the Professor stayed two days at Posen as the guests of Archbishop Wolicki, 'in gratiam for a dinner', as he puts it. Prince Radziwill, who was at that time Governor of Posen, had his family seat near by, and invited Chopin to his home, the two musicians making and talking music together. But before the travellers reached Posen an incident occurred that is the subject of one of the best-known anecdotes of Chopin's young life. Many of the stories that surround him do not bear much sifting: they are often fabrications, or, if not, have been distorted beyond the possibility of fact. A number of these stories might have been included, but, since I doubt their sincerity, I have avoided them. This one, however, rings true, and no amount of elaborate repetition can affect its naturalness.At the small postal station of Züllichau the occupants of the diligence were told that they would have to wait some time for a fresh relay of horses. This was not pleasant news to the two Poles, who were anxious to get back to their families as quickly as possible. There was no choice of amusement but walking,

and although the village boasted the historical interest of having once been a battlefield, its landscape was unattractive, and neither the buildings nor the inhabitants provided any excitement. On their return to the waiting-house the younger traveller grew impatient, and started searching for a pianoforte. He found one that looked depressingly decrepit, but, unexpectedly finding its interior to be better than its exterior, he began to improvise. His fellow-travellers entered one by one, and soon became entranced by his playing. One of them was a fat German, who had annoyed his companions on the journey by smoking incessantly, even at night when the others were trying to sleep: but now the music proved more engrossing even than the pipe, which remained unlit in his mouth. The audience grew-the post-master himself became a listener, then his wife, and finally his two daughters. No one murmured -nothing stirred; all were absorbed in the lovely sounds that Chopin was extracting from the old instrument. Suddenly a voice pealed out: 'Gentlemen, the horses are ready.'Everyone jumped up, startled out of their dreams, annoyed at the disturbance of their pleasure. The next moment they were begging the young pianist to ignore the interruption and continue; but he was itching to see his beloved Warsaw, and had got up from his chair."We have been here too long already, and should be nearing Posen by now,' said he, looking at his watch.‘Never mind,' said the post-master, 'go on playing, and I myself will provide courier horses for you.'As the two pretty daughters joined their father in his entreaties, the young artist sat down again. He was ever the slave of a pretty face, although far too shy to compliment the owner of it. At the finish of his improvisation on a Polish air (afterwards re-modelled and published as Op. 13, Grand Fantasia on Polish Airs, with orchestral accompaniment) the postmaster, as host, offered wine to his unexpected guests. They all cordially drank to the young Pole--'the darling of Polyhymnia' was the toast-and ecstatically thanked him. One of the audience, probably a local musician and singer of the church, was almost overcome with emotion. 'I am old now,' he said, 'but I was trained to play the piano also, and I know what to enjoy and how to admire fine playing. I can only say that if Mozart had heard you he would have seized you by the hand and shouted "Bravo!". Frédéric played a little Mazurka of his own as an encore-his thank-offering-and then the party broke up. The post-master carried the youth to the diligence, while his wife and daughters packed up wine and food for the journey.Frédéric never forgot this incident. Often he recalled to mind the genuine pleasure that he had given to those simple folk. Such moments as these filled him with joy. His pianistic art was never for the multitude; his greatest happiness was to feel that he was reaching the souls of an intimate few, and to know that he was giving them solace. We shall find throughout his life how much he enjoyed privacy, how much he loathed publicity -how the satisfying of a few meant more to him than the swaying of a vast audience.