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say two words to, anyone I can confide in.’⁴ He had a great deal he wished to confide, as he was still nurturing a secret love for Konstancja Gładkowska.

      Throughout his childhood and teens Chopin had found the process of musical composition relatively effortless, and he had always been relaxed in his relations with others. Now, at the age of nineteen, he was finding it difficult to fulfil himself either artistically or emotionally, and the resulting sense of frustration pervades his letters. This makes it more difficult to assess his real feelings towards Konstancja, as they are inextricably bound up with that frustration whenever he touches on them. She certainly had no idea of what was going through the composer’s mind, and carried on flirting with a couple of officers less bashful than Chopin. The presence on the scene of these strapping young bloods only served to underline his sense of his own physical shortcomings. His reaction was to withdraw into himself and wallow in self-pity.

      In October, Chopin’s sombre thoughts were dispelled by a pleasant distraction. He had been asked down to the country by his godmother, Mrs Wiesiołowska, née Skarbek, whose estate lay close to Prince Radziwiłł’s Antonin, and although he was originally unenthusiastic about the idea, he did go on to stay at Antonin afterwards. He had a delightful sojourn in this ‘paradise’ with its two ‘Eves’, the young princesses, who managed to chase all thoughts of Konstancja from his head. The Prince was charming to him and showed him his own music, amongst which was an accompaniment to Goethe’s Faust which Chopin found surprisingly good.⁵ As well as talking music they made music, for the Prince was a good cellist. Chopin wrote a Polonaise for piano and cello specially for him and his daughter to play. ‘It is nothing but glitter, for the drawing room, for the ladies,’ he explained to Tytus. ‘I wanted Princess Wanda to learn to play it; I’m vaguely supposed to be giving her some lessons while I’m here. She’s young (seventeen), pretty, and it’s a real joy placing her little fingers on the keys.’ He always warmed to anything delicate, pretty and refined. ‘I could have stayed there until I was thrown out,’ he later wrote, but he soon returned to Warsaw, having promised to join the Radziwiłłs in Berlin in May 1830, which he hoped would give him time for another visit to Vienna first. Nothing was to come of these plans.⁶

      Try as he might, he still could not get his F minor Concerto finished. He was in the ridiculous situation of being in demand and not being able to come up with the required works. On 6 December, his father’s name day, he arranged a concert in the Chopin apartment, with the participation of Żywny and Elsner, and on 19 December he took part in a public concert at the Merchants’ Club, at which he improvised so brilliantly that he was hailed in the papers as never before. The Polish press, which had largely ignored his existence until now, seems at last to have realised the importance of this national poet of the keyboard. ‘Mr Chopin’s works unquestionably bear the stamp of genius,’ concluded the Warsaw Courier; ‘among them is said to be a concerto in F minor, and it is hoped that he will not delay any longer in confirming our conviction that Poland too can produce great talent.’⁷

      But the F minor Concerto was still unfinished, and it was not until 3 March 1830 that he was able to perform it. On that day he made up a small orchestra in the Chopin drawing room, and played the concerto, with Kurpiński conducting. The newspapers reviewed the concert as though it had been a public event, for there had been a select audience present. The Warsaw Courier described Chopin as the ‘Paganini of the piano’,⁸ while the Universal Daily carried a very long review, stating, amongst other things, that:

       The creative spirit of the young composer has taken the path of genius…I felt that in the originality of his thought I could glimpse the profundity of Beethoven, and in the execution the art and pleasing qualities of Hummel…All the listeners were moved by these works, and those more closely associated with the artist were deeply affected. His old piano teacher was nearly in tears. Elsner could not conceal his joy as he moved about, hearing only praise of his pupil and his compositions. Kurpiński conducted the orchestra himself for the young artist. This is a real talent, a true talent. Mr Chopin must not hide it and must let himself be heard publicly; but he must also be prepared to hear voices of envy, which usually spare only mediocrity. ⁹

      Egged on from all sides, Chopin agreed to perform, and on 12 March the Warsaw Courier informed the public that he would be giving a concert in the National Theatre. Two days later the same paper announced that all the tickets had been sold, although there were still three days to go before the event.

      On the morning of 17 March Chopin rehearsed the concerto with full orchestra, under Kurpiński, and on the same evening played it through before his largest audience to date: eight hundred people. He also played his Fantasia on Polish Airs, sandwiched between overtures by Elsner and Kurpiński and some songs by Paër. In his meticulous diary, Kurpiński noted that, although the theatre had been packed with an enthusiastic audience, the piano used had been too soft-toned, and much of the effect had been lost.¹⁰ Chopin himself was not at all pleased with the performance. He realised that some people could not hear properly, and felt that the music had not got through to the audience, whose enthusiastic applause, he felt, was simply ‘to show that they hadn’t been bored’.¹¹

      He could not have been more wrong, for although playing on his own quiet piano had clearly been a mistake, the reception was rapturous. The Warsaw newspapers were dominated by reviews of the performance, which in some cases took up a third of the whole issue. The critics could not make their minds up whether it was his playing or his compositions which were the more remarkable, and comparisons with Mozart and Hummel were bandied liberally. Hardly had the sound of his playing died away than a persistent chant for a second appearance began. This was arranged for 22 March, and a Russian general obligingly lent Chopin a strong Viennese instrument for the occasion. The concert opened with a symphony by Józef Nowakowski, an older Conservatoire colleague, after which Chopin played his concerto, the Krakowiak Rondo and an improvisation on a peasant song, again interspersed with other pieces. This time the music got through to everyone, and there was wild enthusiasm in the theatre. People shouted for a third concert, while a French pianist on his way to Moscow, who had dropped in out of boredom, rushed out to buy a bottle of champagne and insisted on toasting the unknown young Pole.

      Chopin’s playing had by all accounts been at its best. As one review put it: ‘It was as though his manner of playing was saying: “It is not me – it is music!”’¹² Another explained that ‘Chopin does not play like others; with him we have the impression that every note passes through the eyes to the soul, and that the soul pours it into the fingers…’¹³ Yet another, by a music-lover called Albert Grzymała, compared his playing to ‘a beautiful declamation, which seems to be the natural medium of his compositions’.¹⁴ Perhaps the most interesting reflection, summing up as it did the whole of Chopin’s career as a performing artist as well as his attitude to life as a musician, was made by a society lady, whose diary entry for the evening of the concert was printed in the Polish Courier, and after heaping praise on him, noted:

      Chopin’s playing is like, if I may express myself in such manner, the social ton of an important and substantial person who lacks any pretentiousness, because he knows he has a natural right to everything; it is like a young innocent beauty, whose mind has not been tainted by the idea that she could increase her charms through dress. You could be accused of the same innocence, you interesting artist! The stage requires brilliance, excellence, and even something of the terrible, for while the really beautiful and gentle tones are understood by the few, they make only a weak effect on others, and none at all on the many. But even this reproach is a compliment to you… Скачать книгу