Frederic Chopin
Frédéric François Chopin (1810 –1849) is one of the most famous, influential, and admired composers and virtuoso pianists of the Romantic era.
He was born Fryderyk Franciszek Chopin, of Polish and French parentage, on 1st March 1810 in the village of Żelazowa Wola, Poland. In Warsaw he was hailed as a child prodigy and as the “second Mozart” for his piano and composition skill, for which the composer Robert Schumann complimented the talented pianist: “Hats off, gentlemen, a genius!” Due to the political situation in Poland, he left his country for France at the age of twenty. There he composed his two piano concertos with their patriotic Polish themes and rhythms, based on traditional polish dances. He never returned to Poland, but after his death his sister Ludwika took his heart to Poland - in accordance with his last will, where it was placed inside a pillar of the Holy Cross Church at Krakowskie Przedmiescie Street.
In Paris, he made a career as a performer and teacher as well as a composer, and he adopted the French variant of his name, “Frédéric-François”. In 1836 he met the French writer George Sand, with whom he had a relationship for nine years until 1847. He suffered poor health for much of his life and this forced him to give up performing and teaching shortly before he died on 17th October 1849.
His compositions, which are almost exclusively for the piano, such as the Funeral March piano sonata and the twenty-seven études (op. 10 and op.25, plus a further set of three without opus numbers), are widely considered to be amongst the pinnacles of the piano repertoire. Although some of his music is among the most technically demanding for the instrument, Chopin’s style emphasizes poetry, nuance and expressive depth, rather than mere technical display. He is often cited as one of the mainstays of romanticism in nineteenth-century classical music.
“I tell my piano the things I used to tell you”
“I tell you piano the things I used to tell you”
“Bach is an astronomer, discovering the most marvellous stars. Beethoven challenges the universe. I only try to express the soul and the heart of man.”
“I wish I could throw off the thoughts which poison my happiness, and yet I take a kind of pleasure in indulging them.”
“Every difficulty slurred over will be a ghost to disturb your repose later on.”
“How strange! This bed on which I shall lie has been slept on by more than one dying man, but today it does not repel me! Who knows what corpses have lain on it and for how long? But is a corpse any worse than I? A corpse too knows nothing of its father, mother or sisters or Titus. Nor has a corpse a sweetheart. A corpse, too, is pale, like me. A corpse is cold, just as I am cold and indifferent to everything. A corpse has ceased to live, and I too have had enough of life…. Why do we live on through this wretched life which only devours us and serves to turn us into corpses? The clocks in the Stuttgart belfries strike the midnight hour. Oh how many people have become corpses at this moment! Mothers have been torn from their children, children from their mothers - how many plans have come to nothing, how much sorrow has sprung from these depths, and how much relief!… Virtue and vice have come in the end to the same thing! It seems that to die is man’s finest action - and what might be his worst? To be born, since that is the exact opposite of his best deed. It is therefore right of me to be angry that I was ever born into this world! Why was I not prevented from remaining in a world where I am utterly useless? What good can my existence bring to anyone? … But wait, wait! What’s this? Tears? How long it is since they flowed! How is this, seeing that an arid melancholy has held me for so long in its grip? How good it feels - and sorrowful. Sad but kindly tears! What a strange emotion! Sad but blessed. It is not good for one to be sad, and yet how pleasant it is - a strange state…”
“It is dreadful when something weighs on your mind, not to have a soul to unburden yourself to. You know what I mean. I tell my piano the things I used to tell you.”
“When one does a thing, it appears good, otherwise one would not write it. Only later comes reflection, and one discards or accepts the thing. Time is the best censor, and patience a most excellent teacher.”
“Zaman en iyi yargıç, sabır eşsiz bir öğretmendir. ”