The most eminent minds in Paris frequently met in Chopin’s saloon.  Not in reunions of fantastic periodicity, such as the dull imaginations of ceremonious and tiresome circles have arranged, and which they have never succeeded in realizing in accordance with their wishes, for enjoyment, ease, enthusiasm, animation, never come at an hour fixed upon before hand.  They can be commanded less by artists than by other men, for they are all more or less struck by some sacred malady whose paralyzing torpor they must shake off, whose benumbing pain they must forget, to be joyous and amused by those pyrotechnic fires which startle the bewildered guests, who see from time to time a Roman candle, a rose-colored Bengal light, a cascade whose waters are of fire, or a terrible, yet quite innocent dragon!  Gayety and the strength necessary to be joyous, are, unfortunately things only accidentally to be encountered among poets and artists!  It is true some of the more privileged among them have the happy gift of surmounting internal pain, so as to bear their burden always lightly, able to laugh with their companions over the toils of the way, or at least always able to preserve a gentle and calm serenity which, like a mute pledge of hope and consolation, animates, elevates, and encourages their associates, imparting to them, while they remain under the influence of this placid atmosphere, a freedom of spirit which appears so much the more vivid, the more strongly it contrasts with their habitual ennui, their abstraction, their natural gloom, their usual indifference.

Chopin did not belong to either of the above mentioned classes; he possessed the innate grace of a Polish welcome, by which the host is not only bound to fulfill the common laws and duties of hospitality, but is obliged to relinquish all thought of himself, to devote all his powers to promote the enjoyment of his guests.  It was a pleasant thing to visit him; his visitors were always charmed; he knew how to put them at once at ease, making them masters of every thing, and placing every thing at their disposal.  In doing the honors of his own cabin, even the simple laborer of Sclavic race never departs from this munificence; more joyously eager in his welcome than the Arab in his tent, he compensates for the splendor which may be wanting in his reception by an adage which he never fails to repeat, and which is also repealed by the grand seignior after the most luxurious repasts served under gilded canopies:  CZYM BOHAT, TYM Rad—­which is thus paraphrased for foreigners:  “Deign graciously to pardon all that is unworthy of you, it is all my humble riches which I place at your feet.”  This formula [Footnote:  All the Polish formulas of courtesy retain the strong impress of the hyperbolical expressions of the Eastern languages.  The titles of “very powerful and very enlightened seigniors” are still obligatory.  The Poles, in conversation, constantly name each other Benefactor (DOBRODZIJ).  The common salutation between men, and of men to women, is PADAM do nog:  “I fall at your feet.”  The greeting of the people possesses a character of ancient solemnity and simplicity:  SLAWA BOHU:  “Glory to God.”] is still pronounced with a national grace and dignity by all masters of families who preserve the picturesque customs which distinguished the ancient manners of Poland.