with Moscheles (the latter’s duet, of which Chopin was so fond), and on this occasion the Polish pianist, who insisted on playing the bass, drowned the treble of his partner, a virtuoso well known for his vigour and brilliancy.  Were we, however, to form our judgment on this single item of evidence, we should again arrive at a wrong conclusion.  Where musical matters—­i.e., matters generally estimated according to individual taste and momentary impressibility alone—­are concerned, there is safety only in the multitude of witnesses.  Let us, therefore, hear first what Chopin’s pupils have got to say on this point, and then go and inquire further.  Gutmann said that Chopin played generally very quietly, and rarely, indeed hardly ever, fortissimo.  The A flat major Polonaise (Op. 53), for instance, he could not thunder forth in the way we are accustomed to hear it.  As for the famous octave passages which occur in it, he began them pianissimo and continued thus without much increase in loudness.  And, then, Chopin never thumped.  M. Mathias remarks that his master had extraordinary vigour, but only in flashes.  Mikuli’s preface to his edition of the works of Chopin affords more explicit information.  We read there:—­

The tone which Chopin brought out of the instrument was always, especially in the cantabiles, immense (riesengross), only Field could perhaps in this respect be compared to him.  A manly energy gave to appropriate passages overpowering effect—­ energy without roughness (Rohheit); but, on the other hand, he knew how by delicacy—­delicacy without affectation—­to captivate the hearer.

We may summarise these various depositions by saying with Lenz that, being deficient in physical strength, Chopin put his all in the cantabile style, in the connections and combinations, in the detail.  But two things are evident, and they ought to be noted:  (1) The volume of tone, of pure tone, which Chopin was capable of producing was by no means inconsiderable; (2) he had learnt the art of economising his means so as to cover his shortcomings.  This last statement is confirmed by some remarks of Moscheles which have already been quoted—­namely, that Chopin’s piano was breathed forth so softly that he required no vigorous forte to produce the desired contrasts; and that one did not miss the orchestral effects which the German school demanded from a pianist, but allowed one’s self to be carried away as by a singer who takes little heed of the accompaniment and follows his own feelings.

In listening to accounts of Chopin’s style of playing, we must not leave out of consideration the time to which they refer.  What is true of the Chopin of 1848 is not true of the Chopin of 1831 nor of 1841.  In the last years of his life he became so weak that sometimes, as Stephen Heller told me, his playing was hardly audible.  He then made use of all sorts of devices to hide the want of vigour, often modifying the original conception of his compositions,