te prima donna notions about
receipts, for he writes very coolly: "From the two concerts I had,
after deduction of all expenses, not as much as 5,000 florins (about 125
pounds)." Indeed, he treats this part of the business very cavalierly,
and declares that money was no object with him. On the utterances of the
papers, which, of course, had their say, Chopin makes some sensible and
modest comments.

After my concerts there appeared many criticisms; if in them
(especially in the "Kuryer Polski") abundant praise was
awarded to me, it was nevertheless not too extravagant. The
"Official Journal" has also devoted some columns to my
praise; one of its numbers contained, among other things,
such stupidities--well meant, no doubt--that I was quite
desperate till I had read the answer in the "Gazeta Polska,"
which justly takes away what the other papers had in their
exaggeration attributed to me. In this article it is said
that the Poles will one day be as proud of me as the Germans
are of Mozart, which is palpable nonsense. But that is not
all, the critic says further: "That if I had fallen into the
hands of a pedant or a Rossinist (what a stupid expression!)
I could not have become what I am." Now, although I am as yet
nothing, he is right in so far that my performance would be
still less than it actually is if I had not studied under
Elsner.

Gratifying as the praise of the press no doubt was to Chopin, it became
a matter of small account when he thought of his friend's approving
sympathy. "One look from you after the concert would have been worth
more to me than all the laudations of the critics here." The concerts,
however, brought with them annoyances as well as pleasures. While one
paper pointed out Chopin's strongly-marked originality, another advised
him to hear Rossini, but not to imitate him. Dobrzynski, who expected
that his Symphony would be placed on one of the programmes, was angry
with Chopin for not doing so; a lady acquaintance took it amiss that a
box had not been reserved for her, and so on. What troubled our friend
most of all, and put him quite out of spirits, was the publication of
the sonnet and of the mazurkas; he was afraid that his enemies would
not let this opportunity pass, and attack and ridicule him. "I will no
longer read what people may now write about me," he bursts out in a fit
of lachrymose querulousness. Although pressed from many sides to