ined
concentrated. He was then, as usually, chary of words about
what he felt; a minute's reflection [recueillement] always hid
the secret of his first impression...This constant control
over the violence of his character reminded one of the
melancholy superiority of certain women who seek their
strength in reticence and isolation, knowing the uselessness
of the explosions of their anger, and having a too jealous
care of the mystery of their passion to betray it
gratuitously.

Chopin, however, did not always control his temper. Heller remembers
seeing him more than once in a passion, and hearing him speak very
harshly to Nowakowski. The following story, which Lenz relates in "Die
grossen Pianoforte-Virtuosen unserer Zeit," is also to the point.

On one occasion Meyerbeer, whom I had not yet seen, entered
Chopin's room when I was getting a lesson. Meyerbeer was not
announced, he was king. I was playing the Mazurka in C (Op.
33), printed on one page which contains so many hundreds--I
called it the epitaph of the idea [Grabschrift des Begriffs],
so full of distress and sadness is the composition, the
wearied flight of an eagle.

Meyerbeer had taken a seat, Chopin made me go on.

"This is two-four time," said Meyerbeer. Chopin denied this,
made me repeat the piece, and beat time aloud with the pencil
on the piano--his eyes were glowing.

"Two crotchets," repeated Meyerbeer, calmly.

Only once I saw Chopin angry, it was at this moment. It was
beautiful to see how a light red coloured his pale cheeks.

"These are three crotchets," he said with a loud voice, he who
spoke always so low

"Give it me," replied Meyerbeer, "for a ballet in my opera
("L'Africaine," at that time kept a secret), I shall show it
you then."

"These are three crotchets," Chopin almost shouted, and played
it himself. He played the mazurka several times, counted
aloud, stamped time with his foot, was beside himself. But all
was of no use, Meyerbeer insisted on TWO crotchets. They
parted very angrily. I found it anything but agreeable to have
been a witness of this angry scene. Chopin disappeared into
his cabinet without taking leave of me. The whole thing lasted
but a few minutes.

Exhibitions of temper like this were no doubt rare, indeed, hardly ever
occurred except in his intercourse with familiars and, more especially,
fellow-countrymen--sometimes also with pupils.