L. Enault relates that Chopin and George Sand met for the first time at one of the fetes of the Marquis de C., where the aristocracy of Europe assembled—­the aristocracy of genius, of birth, of wealth, of beauty, &c.:—­

The last knots of the chaine anglaise had already been untied, the brilliant crowd had left the ball-room, the murmur of discreet conversation was heard in the boudoirs:  the fetes of the intimate friends began.  Chopin seated himself at the piano.  He played one of those ballads whose words are written by no poet, but whose subjects, floating in the dreamy soul of nations, belong to the artist who likes to take them.  I believe it was the Adieux du Cavalier...Suddenly, in the middle of the ballad, he perceived, close to the door, immovable and pale, the beautiful face of Lelia. [Footnote:  This name of the heroine of one of her romances is often given to George Sand.  See Vol.  I., p. 338.] She fixed her passionate and sombre eyes upon him; the impressionable artist felt at the same time pain and pleasure...others might listen to him:  he played only for her.

  They met again.

  From this moment fears vanished, and these two noble souls
  understood each other...or believed they understood each
  other.

Karasowski labours hard to surpass Enault, but is not like him a master of the ars artem celare.  The weather, he tells us, was dull and damp, and had a depressing effect on the mind of Chopin.  No friend had visited him during the day, no book entertained him, no musical idea gladdened him.  It was nearly ten o’clock at night (the circumstantiality of the account ought to inspire confidence) when he bethought himself of paying a visit to the Countess C. (the Marquis, by some means, magical or natural, has been transformed into a Countess), this being her jour fixe, on which an intellectual and agreeable company was always assembled at her house.

When he ascended the carpet-covered stairs [Unfortunately we are not informed whether the carpet was Turkey, Brussels, or Kidderminster], it seemed to him as if he were followed by a shadow that diffused a fragrance of violets [Ah!], and a presentiment as if something strange and wonderful were going to happen to him flashed through his soul.  He was on the point of turning back and going home, but, laughing at his own superstition, he bounded lightly and cheerfully over the last steps.

Skipping the fine description of the brilliant company assembled in the salon, the enumeration of the topics on which the conversation ran, and the observation that Chopin, being disinclined to talk, seated himself in a corner and watched the beautiful ladies as they glided hither and thither, we will join Karasowski again where, after the departure of the greater number of the guests, Chopin goes to the piano and begins to improvise.