eat that a wit called it une folie
de salon. It had for some years an extraordinary popularity,
and made the composer a reputation.]

To show his gratitude, the king sent the two artists valuable presents:
to Chopin a gold cup and saucer, to Moscheles a travelling case. "The
king," remarked Chopin, "gave Moscheles a travelling case to get the
sooner rid of him." The composer was fond of and had a talent for
throwing off sharp and witty sayings; but it is most probable that on
this occasion the words were prompted solely by the fancy, and that
their ill-nature was only apparent. Or must we assume that the man
Moscheles was less congenial to Chopin than the artist? Moscheles was a
Jew, and Chopin disliked the Jews. As, however, the tempting opportunity
afforded by the nature of the king's present to Moscheles is sufficient
to account for Chopin's remark, and no proofs warranting a less
creditable explanation are forthcoming, it would be unfair to listen to
the suggestions of suspicion.

George Sand tells us in the "Histoire de ma Vie" that Chopin found his
rooms in the Rue Tronchet cold and damp, and felt sorely the separation
from her. The consequence of this was that the saintly woman, the sister
of mercy, took, after some time, pity upon her suffering worshipper, and
once more sacrificed herself. Not to misrepresent her account, the only
one we have, of this change in the domestic arrangements of the
two friends, I shall faithfully transcribe her delicately-worded
statements:--

He again began to cough alarmingly, and I saw myself forced
either to give in my resignation as nurse, or to pass my life
in impossible journeyings to and fro. He, in order to spare me
these, came every day to tell me with a troubled face and a
feeble voice that he was wonderfully well. He asked if he
might dine with us, and he went away in the evening, shivering
in his cab. Seeing how he took to heart his exclusion from our
family life, I offered to let to him one of the pavilions, a
part of which I could give up to him. He joyfully accepted. He
had there his room, received there his friends, and gave there
his lessons without incommoding me. Maurice had the room above
his; I occupied the other pavilion with my daughter.

Let us see if we cannot get some glimpses of the life in the pavilions
of the Rue Pigalle, No. 16. In the first months of 1840, George Sand was
busy with preparations for the performance of he