iently awaiting his coming, and ready to receive him with
open arms. This, however, was an illusion. He overrated his success.
His playing at the two "Academies" in the dead season must have remained
unnoticed by many, and was probably forgotten by not a few who did
notice it. To talk, therefore, about forging the iron while it was hot
proved a misconception of the actual state of matters. It is true his
playing and compositions had made a certain impression, especially upon
some of the musicians who had heard him. But artists, even when
free from hostile jealousy, are far too much occupied with their own
interests to be helpful in pushing on their younger brethren. As to
publishers and managers, they care only for marketable articles, and
until an article has got a reputation its marketable value is very
small. Nine hundred and ninety-nine out of a thousand judge by names and
not by intrinsic worth. Suppose a hitherto unknown statue of Phidias,
a painting of Raphael, a symphony of Beethoven, were discovered and
introduced to the public as the works of unknown living artists, do
you think they would receive the same universal admiration as the known
works of the immortal masters? Not at all! By a very large majority of
the connoisseurs and pretended connoisseurs they would be criticised,
depreciated, or ignored. Let, however, the real names of the authors
become known, and the whole world will forthwith be thrown into ecstasy,
and see in them even more beauties than they really possess. Well, the
first business of an artist, then, is to make himself a reputation, and
a reputation is not made by one or two successes. A first success, be it
ever so great, and achieved under ever so favourable circumstances, is
at best but the thin end of the wedge which has been got in, but which
has to be driven home with much vigour and perseverance before the work
is done. "Art is a fight, not a pleasure-trip," said the French
painter Millet, one who had learnt the lesson in the severe school of
experience. Unfortunately for Chopin, he had neither the stuff nor
the stomach for fighting. He shrank back at the slightest touch like a
sensitive plant. He could only thrive in the sunshine of prosperity and
protected against all those inimical influences and obstacles that cause
hardier natures to put forth their strength, and indeed are necessary
for the full unfolding of all their capabilities. Chopin and Titus
Woyciechowski put up at the ho