Great as was the magnetic power of the ideal over Chopin, great as was the irresolution of the latter, the long delay of his departure must not be attributed solely to these causes.  The disturbed state of Europe after the outbreak of the July revolution in Paris had also something to do with this interminable procrastination.  Passports could only be had for Prussia and Austria, and even for these countries not by everyone.  In France the excitement had not yet subsided, in Italy it was nearing the boiling point.  Nor were Vienna, whither Chopin intended to go first, and the Tyrol, through which he would have to pass on his way to Milan, altogether quiet.  Chopin’s father himself, therefore, wished the journey to be postponed for a short time.  Nevertheless, our friend writes on September 22 that he will start in a few weeks:  his first goal is Vienna, where, he says, they still remember him, and where he will forge the iron as long as it is hot.  But now to the climax of Chopin’s amorous fever.

I regret very much [he writes on September 22, 1830] that I must write to you when, as to-day, I am unable to collect my thoughts.  When I reflect on myself I get into a sad mood, and am in danger of losing my reason.  When I am lost in my thoughts—­which is often the case with me—­horses could trample upon me, and yesterday this nearly happened in the street without my noticing it.  Struck in the church by a glance of my ideal, I ran in a moment of pleasant stupor into the street, and it was not till about a quarter of an hour afterwards that I regained my full consciousness; I am sometimes so mad that I am frightened at myself.

The melancholy cast of the letters cited in this chapter must not lead us to think that despondence was the invariable state of Chopin’s mind.  It is more probable that when his heart was saddest he was most disposed to write to his friend his confessions and complaints, as by this means he was enabled to relieve himself to some extent of the burden that oppressed him.  At any rate, the agitations of love did not prevent him from cultivating his art, for even at the time when he felt the tyranny of the passion most potently, he mentions having composed “some insignificant pieces,” as he modestly expresses himself, meaning, no doubt, “short pieces.”  Meanwhile Chopin had also finished a composition which by no means belongs to the category of “insignificant pieces”—­namely, the Concerto in E minor, the completion of which he announces on August 21, 1830.  A critical examination of this and other works will be found in a special chapter, at present I shall speak only of its performance and the circumstances connected with it.

On September 18, 1830, Chopin writes that a few days previously he rehearsed the Concerto with quartet accompaniment, but that it does not quite satisfy him:—­