In addition to being one of the greatest composers and pianists of the Romantic Era, Frédéric Chopin was a famously witty and sensitive writer.
Here are some quotes from his letters that paint a picture of what Chopin really felt about concertizing, reviews, depression, his greatest fear, and more…providing amusing and sometimes heartbreaking insights into his innermost thoughts:
Portrait of Frédéric Chopin by Eugène Delacroix, 1838
On being nosy
I’m as inquisitive about everything as an old woman. But what can I do?
– Chopin in a letter to his parents, 1825
On “lounging about”
Lounging about agrees with me capitally.
– Chopin in a letter to his parents from Berlin, 1828
On Viennese reviews
There is an almost unanimous opinion that I play too softly, or rather, too delicately for the public here. That is because they are accustomed to the drum beating of their own piano virtuosi.
I am afraid the newspapers will say the same thing, especially as the daughter of one of the editors drums dreadfully; but never mind, if it is to be so, I would much rather they said I played too gently than too roughly.
– Chopin in a letter to his parents from Vienna, 1829
Chopin’s Nocturne in C-Sharp Minor
On his alternate career path
If the newspapers cut me up so much that I shall not venture before the world again, I have resolved to become a house painter; that would be as easy as anything else, and I should, at any rate, still be an artist!
– Chopin in a letter to his parents from Vienna, 1829
On overhearing his audience’s gossip
The only people not satisfied [by my playing] were the out-and-out Germans.
Yesterday, one of them, who had just come from the theatre, sat down to eat at the table I was sitting at. His acquaintances asked him how he liked the performance.
“The ballet is pretty,” was his answer.
“But the concert, what of that?” they asked.
Instead of replying, he began to talk of something else, from which I conclude that he recognised me, although my back was towards him.
I felt bound to relieve him from the restraint of my presence and went to bed, saying to myself, “The man has not been born yet who does everything right.”
– Chopin in a letter to his parents from Vienna, 1829
On accidentally walking into the wrong apartment
I am, as you know, very absent-minded, and on the day we left, I rushed suddenly into a strange room without knowing.
“Good morning,” said a cheerful voice.
“I beg your pardon, I mistook the number,” I answered, and ran away as fast as possible.
– Chopin in a letter to his parents from Prague, 1829
Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. 2
On the fear of dying far from home
It seems to me as if I were leaving Warsaw forever; I have a presentiment that I am bidding an eternal farewell to my home.
Oh, how hard it must be to die anywhere but in one’s birthplace. How could I bear to see around my deathbed, instead of the faces of my beloved family, an unconcerned doctor and a hired servant.
– Chopin in a letter to his friend Titus Woyciechowski from Warsaw, 1830
On hiding heartache
I seem quite happy, but my heart…
– Chopin in a letter to his friend Titus Woyciechowski from Warsaw, 1830
On his best friend in Vienna
I am melancholy. I feel so lonely and deserted here, yet I cannot live as I like. I have to dress and look cheerful in drawing rooms, but when I am in my room again, I talk to my piano, to whom, as my best friend in Vienna, I pour out all my sorrows.
There is not a soul I can unreservedly confide in, and yet I have to treat everyone as a friend.
– Chopin in a letter to his friend John Matuszynski from Vienna, 1830
On his perfectionism
If I were still stupider than I am, I should think myself at the apex of my career; yet I know how much I still lack to reach perfection; I see it the more clearly now that I live only among first-rank artists and know what each one of them lacks.
– Chopin to his friend Dominik Dziewanowski after his move to Paris, 1832
On his “black heart”
This is a diabolical country, so far as post, people and comfort are concerned. The sky is as beautiful as your soul; the earth as black as my heart. I love you always.
– Chopin to his friend Wojciech Grazymala, writing from the Spanish island of Majorca, 1838
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