Let us try to get some glimpses of Chopin in his new home.  Lindsay Sloper, who—­owing, no doubt, to a great extent at least, to the letter of recommendation from Moscheles which he brought with him—­had got permission from Chopin to come for a lesson as often as he liked at eight o’clock in the morning, found the master at that hour not in deshabille, but dressed with the greatest care.  Another early pupil, M. Mathias, always fell in with the daily-attending barber.  M. Mathias told me also of Chopin’s habit of leaning with his back against the mantel-piece while he was chatting at the end of the lesson.  It must have been a pretty sight to see the master in this favourite attitude of his, his coat buttoned up to the chin (this was his usual style), the most elegant shoes on his small feet, faultless exquisiteness characterising the whole of his attire, and his small eyes sparkling with esprit and sometimes with malice.

Of all who came in contact with Chopin, however, no one made so much of his opportunities as Lenz:  some of his observations on the pianist have already been quoted, those on the man and his surroundings deserve likewise attention. [Footnote:  W. von Lenz:  “Die Grossen Pianoforte-Virtuosen unserer Zeit.”] Lenz came to Paris in the summer or autumn of the year 1842; and as he wished to study Chopin’s mazurkas with the master himself, he awaited impatiently his return from Nohant.  At last, late in October, Lenz heard from Liszt that Chopin had arrived in town; but Liszt told him also that it was by no means an easy thing to get lessons from Chopin, that indeed many had journeyed to Paris for the purpose and failed even to get sight of him.  To guard Lenz against such a mishap, Liszt gave him a card with the words “Laissez passer, Franz Liszt” on it, and advised him to call on Chopin at two o’clock.  The enthusiastic amateur was not slow in availing himself of his artist friend’s card and advice.  But on reaching his destination he was met in the anteroom by a male servant—­“an article of luxury in Paris, a rarissima avis in the house of an artist,” observes Lenz—­who informed him that Chopin was not in town.  The visitor, however, was not to be put off in this way, and insisted that the card should be taken in to Chopin.  Fortune favours the brave.  A moment after the servant had left the room the great artist made his appearance holding the card in his hand:  “a young man of middle height, slim, thin, with a careworn, speaking face and the finest Parisian tournure.”  Lenz does not hesitate to declare that he hardly ever met a person so naturally elegant and winning.  But here is what took place at this interview.