FRYDERYK CHOPIN

A Frenchman's Son in Poland

I was born on 1 March 1810 in Żelazowa Wola, to a Polish mother, Tekla Justyna Krzyżanowska, and a French father, Mikołaj, who had come from Lorraine to work as a tutor. My first real piano teacher was Wojciech Żywny, who taught me from 1816 to 1821, and I took to the keyboard so quickly that nobody was surprised when music became my whole life. In autumn 1826 I began three years of study with Józef Elsner at the Warsaw Conservatory. He had the good sense to let me follow my own musical instincts instead of squeezing them into a mould.

Goodbye Warsaw, Hello Paris

I left Warsaw on 2 November 1830, and I never saw Poland again, which is a hard thing to write plainly. I reached Paris on 5 October 1831, a young man with a suitcase and a head full of tunes. My first concert there took place on 26 February 1832 in the salons of Pleyel. The audience listened closely, and from that evening on I knew Paris would be my home.

A Man of the Drawing Room

Paris suited me, because it was full of people who wanted to hear a piano in a well-lit salon. I earned a handsome income by publishing my music and by teaching the children of wealthy families. Big concert halls, on the other hand, were never my favourite place, and I gave only a little over thirty public concerts in my whole life. Some musicians need a crowd of thousands, but I preferred a room where I could hear someone breathe.

Songs for the Night, Played by One Pianist

Every note I ever wrote has the piano in it, and I never wrote a symphony or an opera. I wrote two piano concertos, and I also wrote mazurkas, waltzes, polonaises, ballades, etudes, preludes and scherzos. The piece you'll find on this site is my Nocturne in E flat major, and it's the one I'd hand to a friend who has never listened to classical music. A gentle melody floats over a quiet accompaniment, like someone humming to themselves by an open window at night.

Love Troubles and a Cold Island Winter

From 1836 to 1837 I was engaged to Maria Wodzińska, and the engagement failed. In the same year, 1836, I met the writer George Sand, and it changed my life. In the winter of 1838 and 1839 we stayed on Majorca, in the monastery at Valldemossa, from 8 November until 13 February. It was not the restful holiday we had imagined, though I still did a good deal of work there.

The Last Stretch

My relationship with George Sand lasted until 1847, and when it ended I lost one of the steadiest supports in my life. I gave my final concert in Paris in 1848, and by then I had little strength left for the stage. I died in Paris a few minutes before 2 a.m. on 17 October 1849, at the age of 39. It's a short life when you say it aloud, but I tried to fill it with music.

Half in Paris, Half in Warsaw

I was buried in the Père Lachaise cemetery in Paris, but my heart went to the Holy Cross Church in Warsaw. That seems fair to me, since I spent half my life in one city and could never stop thinking about the other. Pianists around the world still play my music, and a piece written for a quiet room can now be heard anywhere. I'm happy to think that so many people have taken those pieces as their own.

What I'd Like You to Take Away

I don't want you to listen to my music like a student getting ready for an exam. Put on the Nocturne in E flat major when the day is over and you finally have a moment to yourself. Let the melody do the talking, and don't worry about whether you understand it. If it gives you a little calm, or a little longing, then it has done what I wrote it to do.