Chopin was fond of going
there, where he was quite a pet. He always appeared to best advantage
among his most intimate friends. I was one who helped to christen the
Berceuse. You ask me in what years I knew Chopin, 1838 is the date of
the manuscript in my collection which he gave me after I was married,
and the last notes of that little jewel he wrote on the desk of the
piano in our presence. He said it would not be published because they
would play it....Then he would show how they would play it, which was
very funny. It came out after his death, it is a kind of waltz-mazurka
[the Valse, Op. 69, No. I], Chopin's intimate friend, Camille Pleyel,
called it the story of a D flat, because that note comes in constantly.
One morning we took Paganini to hear Chopin, and he was enchanted;
they seemed to understand each other so well. When I knew him he was a
sufferer and would only occasionally play in public, and then place his
piano in the middle of Pleyel's room whilst his admirers were around
the piano. His speciality was extreme delicacy, and his pianissimo
extraordinary. Every little note was like a bell, so clear. His fingers
seemed to be without any bones; but he would bring out certain effects
by great elasticity. He got very angry at being accused of not keeping
time; calling his left hand his maitre de chapelle and allowing his
right to wander about ad libitum."

APPENDIX IX.

MADAME STREICHER'S (nee FRIEDERIKE MULLER) RECOLLECTIONS OF CHOPIN,
BASED ON EXTRACTS FROM HER CAREFULLY-KEPT DIARY OF THE YEARS 1839, 1840,
AND 1841. (VOL. II., p. 177.)

In March, 1839, I went to Paris, accompanied by a kind aunt, who was
a highly-cultured musical connoisseur, animated by the wish to get
if possible lessons from Chopin, whose compositions inspired me with
enthusiasm. But he was from home and very ill; indeed, it was feared he
would not return to Paris even in the winter. However, at last, at
last, in October, 1839, he came. I had employed this long time in making
myself acquainted with the musical world in Paris, but the more I heard,
nay, even admired, the more was my intention to wait till Chopin's
return confirmed. And I was quite right.

On the 30th of October, 1839, we, my kind aunt and I, went to him. At
that time he lived in Rue Tronchet, No. 5. Anxiously I handed him my
letters of introduction from Vienna, and begged him to take me as a
pupil. He said very politely, but very formally: "You have played wi