As to George Sand, I have not merely made assertions, but have earnestly laboured to prove the conclusions at which I reluctantly arrived.  Are George Sand’s pretentions to self-sacrificing saintliness, and to purely maternal feelings for Musset, Chopin, and others to be accepted in spite of the fairy-tale nature of her “Histoire,” and the misrepresentations of her “Lettres d’un Voyageur” and her novels “Elle et lui” and “Lucrezia Floriani”; in spite of the adverse indirect testimony of some of her other novels, and the adverse direct testimony of her “Correspondance”; and in spite of the experiences and firm beliefs of her friends, Liszt included?  Let us not overlook that charitableness towards George Sand implies uncharitableness towards Chopin, place.  Need I say anything on the extraordinary charge made against me—­namely, that in some cases I have preferred the testimony of less famous men to that of Liszt?  Are genius, greatness, and fame the measures of trustworthiness?

As to Chopin, the composer of songs, the case is very simple.  His pianoforte pieces are original tone-poems of exquisite beauty; his songs, though always acceptable, and sometimes charming, are not.  We should know nothing of them and the composer, if of his works they alone had been published.  In not publishing them himself, Chopin gave us his own opinion, an opinion confirmed by the singers in rarely performing them and by the public in little caring for them.  In short, Chopin’s songs add nothing to his fame.  To mention them in one breath with those of Schubert and Schumann, or even with those of Robert Franz and Adolf Jensen, is the act of an hero-worshipping enthusiast, not of a discriminating critic.

On two points, often commented upon by critics, I feel regret, although not repentance—­namely, on any “anecdotic iconoclasm” where fact refuted fancy, and on my abstention from pronouncing judgments where the evidence was inconclusive.  But how can a conscientious biographer help this ungraciousness and inaccommodativeness?  Is it not his duty to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, in order that his subject may stand out unobstructed and shine forth unclouded?

In conclusion, two instances of careless reading.  One critic, after attributing a remark of Chopin’s to me, exclaims:  “The author is fond of such violent jumps to conclusions.”  And an author, most benevolently inclined towards me, enjoyed the humour of my first “literally ratting” George Sand, and then saying that I “abstained from pronouncing judgment because the complete evidence did not warrant my doing so.”  The former (in vol. i.) had to do with George Sand’s character; the latter (in vol. ii.) with the moral aspect of her connection with Chopin.

An enumeration of the more notable books dealing with Chopin, published after the issue of the earlier editions of the present book will form an appropriate coda to this preface—­“Frederic Francois Chopin,” by Charles Willeby; “Chopin, and Other Musical Essays,” by Henry T. Finck; “Studies in Modern Music” (containing an essay on Chopin), by W. H. Hadow; “Chopin’s Greater Works,” by Jean Kleczynski, translated by Natalie Janotha; and “Chopin:  the Man and his Music,” by James Huneker.