earn more in the course of this and the next chapter.

What reveals perhaps more distinctly than anything else Chopin's
idiosyncrasy is his friendship for Titus Woyciechowski. At any rate, it
is no exaggeration to say that a knowledge of the nature of Chopin's two
passions, his love and his friendship--for this, too, was a passion
with him--gives into our hands a key that unlocks all the secrets of
his character, of his life, and of their outcome--his artistic work. Nay
more, with a full comprehension of, and insight into, these passions
we can foresee the sufferings and disappointments which he is fated to
endure. Chopin's friendship was not a common one; it was truly and in
the highest degree romantic. To the sturdy Briton and gay Frenchman it
must be incomprehensible, and the German of four or five generations ago
would have understood it better than his descendant of to-day is likely
to do. If we look for examples of such friendship in literature, we
find the type nowhere so perfect as in the works of Jean Paul Richter.
Indeed, there are many passages in the letters of the Polish composer
that read like extracts from the German author: they remind us of the
sentimental and other transcendentalisms of Siebenkas, Leibgeber, Walt,
Vult, and others. There was somethine in Chopin's warm, tender, effusive
friendship that may be best characterised by the word "feminine."
Moreover, it was so exacting, or rather so covetous and jealous, that
he had often occasion to chide, gently of course, the less caressing and
enthusiastic Titus. Let me give some instances.

December 27th, 1828.--If I scribble to-day again so much
nonsense, I do so only in order to remind you that you are as
much locked in my heart as ever, and that I am the same Fred
I was. You do not like to be kissed; but to-day you must
permit me to do so.

The question of kissing is frequently brought up.

September 12th, 1829.--I embrace you heartily, and kiss you
on your lips if you will permit me.

October 20th, 1829.--I embrace you heartily--many a one
writes this at the end ol his letter, but most people do so
with little thought of what they are writing. But you may
believe me, my dearest friend, that I do so sincerely, as
truly as my name is Fred.

September 4th, 1830.--Time passes, I must wash myself...do
not kiss me now...but you would not kiss me in any case--even
if I anointed myself with Byzantine oils--