July, 1831.—­But I must not forget to mention that I shall probably be obliged to draw more money from the banker Peter than my dear father has allowed me.  I am very economical; but, God knows, I cannot help it, for otherwise I should have to leave with an almost empty purse.  God preserve me from sickness; were, however, anything to happen to me, you might perhaps reproach me for not having taken more.  Pardon me, but consider that I have already lived on this money during May, June, and July, and that I have now to pay more for my dinner than I did in winter.  I do not do this only because I myself feel I ought to do so, but also in consequence of the good advice of others.  I am very sorry that I have to ask you for it; my papa has already spent more than three groschen for me; I know also very well how difficult it is to earn money.  Believe me, my dearest ones, it is harder for me to ask than for you to give.  God will not fail to assist us also in the future, punctum!

Chopin was at this time very subject to melancholy, and did not altogether hide the fact even from his parents.  He was perhaps thinking of the “lengthening chain” which he would have to drag at this new remove.  He often runs into the street to seek Titus Woyciechowski or John Matuszynski.  One day he imagines he sees the former walking before him, but on coming up to the supposed friend is disgusted to find “a d——­ Prussian.”

I lack nothing [he writes in July, 1831] except more life, more spirit!  I often feel unstrung, but sometimes as merry as I used to be at home.  When I am sad I go to Madame Szaszek’s; there I generally meet several amiable Polish ladies who with their hearty, hopeful words always cheer me up, so that I begin at once to imitate the generals here.  This is a fresh joke of mine; but those who saw it almost died with laughing.  But alas, there are days when not two words can be got out of me, nor can anyone find out what is the matter with me; then, to divert myself, I generally take a thirty-kreuzer drive to Hietzing, or somewhere else in the neighbourhood of Vienna.

This is a valuable bit of autobiography; it sets forth clearly Chopin’s proneness to melancholy, which, however, easily gave way to his sportiveness.  That low spirits and scantiness of money did not prevent Chopin from thoroughly enjoying himself may be gathered from many indications in his letters; of these I shall select his descriptions of two excursions in the neighbourhood of Vienna, which not only make us better acquainted with the writer, but also are interesting in themselves.