reciprocated the interest he took in her. According to our
friend's rather conceited statement I ought to have said--but it would
have been very ungallant to do so--he reciprocated the interest she took
in him. The reader has no doubt already guessed that I am speaking of
Leopoldine Blahetka.

On the whole, Chopin passed his time in Vienna both pleasantly and
profitably, as is well shown by his exclamation on the last day of his
stay: "It goes crescendo with my popularity here, and this gives me much
pleasure." The preceding day Schuppanzigh had said to him that as he
left so soon he ought not to be long in coming back. And when Chopin
replied that he would like to return to perfect himself, the by-standers
told him he need not come for that purpose as he had no longer
anything to learn. Although the young musician remarks that these were
compliments, he cannot help confessing that he likes to hear them; and
of course one who likes to hear them does not wholly disbelieve them,
but considers them something more than a mere flatus vocis. "Nobody
here," Chopin writes exultingly, "will regard me as a pupil." Indeed,
such was the reception he met with that it took him by surprise. "People
wonder at me," he remarked soon after his arrival in Vienna, "and I
wonder at them for wondering at me." It was incomprehensible to him that
the artists and amateurs of the famous musical city should consider it a
loss if he departed without giving a concert. The unexpected compliments
and applause that everywhere fell upon his ear, together with the many
events, experiences, and thoughts that came crowding upon him, would
have caused giddiness in any young artist; Chopin they made drunk with
excitement and pleasure. The day after the second concert he writes
home: "I really intended to have written about something else, but I
can't get yesterday out of my head." His head was indeed brimful, or
rather full to overflowing, of whirling memories and expectations which
he poured into the news--budgets destined for his parents, regardless
of logical sequence, just as they came uppermost. The clear, succinct
accounts of his visit which he gives to his friend Titus after his
return to Warsaw contrast curiously with the confused interminable
letters of shreds and patches he writes from Vienna. These latter,
however, have a value of their own; they present one with a striking
picture of the state of his mind at that time. The reader may consider
thi