Thalberg had not much intercourse with Chopin, nor did he exercise the faintest shadow of an influence over him; but as one of the foremost pianist-composers—­indeed, one of the most characteristic phenomena of the age—­he could not be passed by in silence.  Moreover, the noisy careers of Liszt and Thalberg serve as a set-off to the noiseless one of Chopin.

I suspect that Chopin was one of that race of artists and poets “qui font de la passion un instrument de l’art et de la poesie, et dont l’esprit n’a d’activite qu’autant qu’il est mis en mouvement par les forces motrices du coeur.”  At any rate, the tender passion was a necessary of his existence.  That his disappointed first love did not harden his heart and make him insensible to the charms of the fair sex is apparent from some remarks of George Sand, who says that although his heart was ardent and devoted, it was not continuously so to any one person, but surrendered itself alternately to five or six affections, each of which, as they struggled within it, got by turns the mastery over all the others.  He would passionately love three women in the course of one evening party and forget them as soon as he had turned his back, while each of them imagined that she had exclusively charmed him.  In short, Chopin was of a very impressionable nature:  beauty and grace, nay, even a mere smile, kindled his enthusiasm at first sight, and an awkward word or equivocal glance was enough to disenchant him.  But although he was not at all exclusive in his own affections, he was so in a high degree with regard to those which he demanded from others.  In illustration of how easily Chopin took a dislike to anyone, and how little he measured what he accorded of his heart with what he exacted from that of others, George Sand relates a story which she got from himself.  In order to avoid misrepresenting her, I shall translate her own words:—­

He had taken a great fancy to the granddaughter of a celebrated master.  He thought of asking her in marriage at the same time that he entertained the idea of another marriage in Poland—­his loyalty being engaged nowhere, and his fickle heart floating from one passion to the other.  The young Parisian received him very kindly, and all went as well as could be till on going to visit her one day in company with another musician, who was of more note in Paris than he at that time, she offered a chair to this gentleman before thinking of inviting Chopin to be seated.  He never called on her again, and forgot her immediately.

The same story was told me by other intimate friends of Chopin’s, who evidently believed in its genuineness; their version differed from that of George Sand only in this, that there was no allusion to a lady-love in Poland.  Indeed, true as George Sand’s observations are in the main, we must make allowance for the novelist’s habit of fashioning and exaggerating, and the woman’s endeavour to paint her dismissed