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Life of Chopin
CHAPTER I.
Chopin--Style and Improvements--The Adagio of the Second
Concerto--Funeral March--Psychological Character of the Compositions
of Chopin, &c., &c.
Deeply regretted as he may be by the whole body of artists, lamented
by all who have ever known him, we must still be permitted to doubt if
the time has even yet arrived in which he, whose loss is so peculiarly
deplored by ourselves, can be appreciated in accordance with his just
value, or occupy that high rank which in all probability will be
assigned him in the future.
If it has been often proved that "no one is a prophet in his own
country;" is it not equally true that the prophets, the men of the
future, who feel its life in advance, and prefigure it in their works,
are never recognized as prophets in their own times? It would be
presumptuous to assert that it can ever be otherwise. In vain may the
young generations of artists protest against the "Anti-progressives,"
whose invariable custom it is to assault and beat down the living with
the dead: time alone can test the real value, or reveal the hidden
beauties, either of musical compositions, or of kindred efforts in the
sister arts.
As the manifold forms of art are but different incantations, charged
with electricity from the soul of the artist, and destined to evoke
the latent emotions and passions in order to render them sensible,
intelligible, and, in some degree, tangible; so genius may be
manifested in the invention of new forms, adapted, it may be, to the
expression of feelings which have not yet surged within the limits of
common experience, and are indeed first evoked within the magic circle
by the creative power of artistic intuition. In arts in which
sensation is linked to emotion, without the intermediate assistance of
thought and reflection, the mere introduction of unaccustomed forms,
of unused modes, must present an obstacle to the immediate
comprehension of any very original composition. The surprise, nay, the
fatigue, caused by the novelty of the singular impressions which it
awakens, will make it appear to many as if written in a language of
which they were ignorant, and which that reason will in itself be
sufficient to induce them to pronounce a barbarous dialect. The
trouble of accustoming the ear to it will repel many who will, in
consequence, refuse to make a study of it. Through the more vivid and
youthful organizations, less enthralled by the chains of habit;
through the more ardent spirits, won first by curiosity, then filled
with passion for the new idiom, must it penetrate and win the
resisting and opposing public, which will finally catch the meaning,
the aim, the construction, and at last render justice to its
qualities, and acknowledge whatever beauty it may contain. Musicians
who do not restrict themselves within the limits of conventional
routine, have, consequently, more need than other artists of the aid
of time. They cannot hope that death will bring that instantaneous
plus-value to their works which it gives to those of the painters. No
musician could renew, to the profit of his manuscripts, the deception
practiced by one of the great Flemish painters, who, wishing in his
lifetime to benefit by his future glory, directed his wife to spread
abroad the news of his death, in order that the pictures with which he
had taken care to cover the walls of his studio, might suddenly
increase in value!
Whatever may be the present popularity of any part of the productions
of one, broken, by suffering long before taken by death, it is
nevertheless to be presumed that posterity will award to his works an
estimation of a far higher character, of a much more earnest nature,
than has hitherto been awarded them. A high rank must be assigned by
the future historians of music to one who distinguished himself in art
by a genius for melody so rare, by such graceful and remarkable
enlargements of the harmonic tissue; and his triumph will be justly
preferred to many of far more extended surface, though the works of
such victors may be played and replayed by the greatest number of
instruments, and be sung and resung by passing crowds of Prime Donne.
In confining himself exclusively to the Piano, Chopin has, in our
opinion, given proof of one of the most essential qualities of a
composer--a just appreciation of the form in which he possessed the
power to excel; yet this very fact, to which we attach so much
importance, has been injurious to the extent of his fame. It would
have been most difficult for any other writer, gifted with such high
harmonic and melodic powers, to have resisted the temptation of the
SINGING of the bow, the liquid sweetness of the flute, or the
deafening swells of the trumpet, which we still persist in believing
the only fore-runner of the antique goddess from whom we woo the
sudden favors. What strong conviction, based upon reflection, must
have been requisite to have induced him to restrict himself to a
circle apparently so much more barren; what warmth of creative genius
must have been necessary to have forced from its apparent aridity a
fresh growth of luxuriant bloom, unhoped for in such a soil! What
intuitive penetration is repealed by this exclusive choice, which,
wresting the different effects of the various instruments from their
habitual domain, where the whole foam of sound would have broken at
their feet, transported them into a sphere, more limited, indeed, but
far more idealized! What confident perception of the future powers of
his instrument must have presided over his voluntary renunciation of
an empiricism, so widely spread, that another would have thought it a
mistake, a folly, to have wrested such great thoughts from their
ordinary interpreters! How sincerely should we revere him for this
devotion to the Beautiful for its own sake, which induced him not to
yield to the general propensity to scatter each light spray of melody
over a hundred orchestral desks, and enabled him to augment the
resources of art, in teaching how they may be concentrated in a more
limited space, elaborated at less expense of means, and condensed in
time!
Far from being ambitious of the uproar of an orchestra, Chopin was
satisfied to see his thought integrally produced upon the ivory of the
key-board; succeeding in his aim of losing nothing in power, without
pretending to orchestral effects, or to the brush of the
scene-painter. Oh! we have not yet studied with sufficient earnestness
and attention the designs of his delicate pencil, habituated as we
are, in these days, to consider only those composers worthy of a great
name, who have written at least half-a-dozen Operas, as many
Oratorios, and various Symphonies: vainly requiring every musician to
do every thing, nay, a little more than every thing. However widely
diffused this idea may be, its justice is, to say the least, highly
problematical. We are far from contesting the glory more difficult of
attainment, or the real superiority of the Epic poets, who display
their splendid creations upon so large a plan; but we desire that
material proportion in music should be estimated by the same measure
which is applied to dimension in other branches of the fine arts; as,
for example, in painting, where a canvas of twenty inches square, as
the Vision of Ezekiel, or Le Cimetiere by Ruysdael, is placed among
the chefs d'oeuvre, and is more highly valued than pictures of a far
larger size, even though they might be from the hands of a Rubens or a
Tintoret. In literature, is Beranger less a great poet, because he has
condensed his thoughts within the narrow limits of his songs? Does not
Petrarch owe his fame to his Sonnets? and among those who most
frequently repeat their soothing rhymes, how many know any thing of
the existence of his long poem on Africa? We cannot doubt that the
prejudice which would deny the superiority of an artist--though he
should have produced nothing but such Sonatas as Franz Schubert has
given us--over one who has portioned out the insipid melodies of many
Operas, which it were useless to cite, will disappear; and that in
music, also, we will yet take into account the eloquence and ability
with which the thoughts and feelings are expressed, whatever may be
the size of the composition in which they are developed, or the means
employed to interpret them.
In making an analysis of the works of Chopin, we meet with beauties of
a high order, expressions entirely new, and a harmonic tissue as
original as erudite. In his compositions, boldness is always
justified; richness, even exuberance, never interferes with clearness;
singularity never degenerates into uncouth fantasticalness; the
sculpturing is never disorderly; the luxury of ornament never
overloads the chaste eloquence of the principal lines. His best works
abound in combinations which may be said to form an epoch in the
handling of musical style. Daring, brilliant and attractive, they
disguise their profundity under so much grace, their science under so
many charms, that it is with difficulty we free ourselves sufficiently
from their magical enthrallment, to judge coldly of their theoretical
value. Their worth has, however, already been felt; but it will be
more highly estimated when the time arrives for a critical examination
of the services rendered by them to art during that period of its
course traversed by Chopin.
It is to him we owe the extension of chords, struck together in
arpeggio, or en batterie; the chromatic sinuosities of which his pages
offer such striking examples; the little groups of superadded notes,
falling like light drops of pearly dew upon the melodic figure. This
species of adornment had hitherto been modeled only upon the
Fioritures of the great Old School of Italian song; the embellishments
for the voice had been servilely copied by the Piano, although become
stereotyped and monotonous: he imparted to them the charm of novelty,
surprise and variety, unsuited for the vocalist, but in perfect
keeping with the character of the instrument. He invented the
admirable harmonic progressions which have given a serious character
to pages, which, in consequence of the lightness of their subject,
made no pretension to any importance. But of what consequence is the
subject? Is it not the idea which is developed through it, the emotion
with which it vibrates, which expands, elevates and ennobles it? What
tender melancholy, what subtlety, what sagacity in the master-pieces
of La Fontaine, although the subjects are so familiar, the titles so
modest? Equally unassuming are the titles and subjects of the Studies
and Preludes; yet the compositions of Chopin, so modestly named, are
not the less types of perfection in a mode created by himself, and
stamped, like all his other works, with the high impress of his poetic
genius. Written in the commencement of his career, they are
characterized by a youthful vigor not to be found in some of his
subsequent works, even when more elaborate, finished, and richer in
combinations; a vigor, which is entirely lost in his latest
productions, marked by an over-excited sensibility, a morbid
irritability, and giving painful intimations of his own state of
suffering and exhaustion.
If it were our intention to discuss the development of Piano music in
the language of the Schools, we would dissect his magnificent pages,
which afford so rich a field for scientific observation. We would, in
the first place, analyze his Nocturnes, Ballades, Impromptus,
Scherzos, which are full of refinements of harmony never heard before;
bold, and of startling originality. We would also examine his
Polonaises, Mazourkas, Waltzes and Boleros. But this is not the time
or place for such a study, which would be interesting only to the
adepts in Counterpoint and Thoroughbass.