iasm,
could not be satisfactory to Chopin. The poet, torn from his solitary
inspiration, can only find it again in the interest, more than
attentive, vivid and animated of his audience. He can never hope to
regain it in the cold looks of an Areopagus assembled to judge him. He
must FEEL that he moves, that he agitates those who hear him, that his
emotions find in them the responsive sympathies of the same intuitions,
that he draws them on with him in his flight towards the infinite: as
when the leader of a winged train gives the signal of departure, he is
immediately followed by the whole flock in search of milder shores.

But had it been otherwise--had Chopin everywhere received the exalted
homage and admiration he so well deserved; had he been heard, as so
many others, by all nations and in all climates; had ho obtained those
brilliant ovations which make a Capitol every where, where the people
salute merit or honor genius had he been known and recognized by
thousands in place of the hundreds who acknowledged him--we would not
pause in this part of his career to enumerate such triumphs.

What are the dying bouquets of an hour to those whose brows claim the
laurel of immortality? Ephemeral sympathies, transitory praises, are not
to be mentioned in the presence of the august Dead, crowned with higher
glories. The joys, the consolations, the soothing emotions which the
creations of true art awaken in the weary, suffering, thirsty, or
persevering and believing hearts to whom they are dedicated, are
destined to be borne into far countries and distant years, by the sacred
works of Chopin. Thus an unbroken bond will be established between
elevated natures, enabling them to understand and appreciate each other,
in whatever part of the earth or period of time they may live. Such
natures are generally badly divined by their contemporaries when they
have been silent, often misunderstood when they have spoken the most
eloquently!

"There are different crowns," says Goethe, "there are some which may
be readily gathered during a walk." Such crowns charm for the moment
through their balmy freshness, but who would think of comparing them
with those so laboriously gained by Chopin by constant and exemplary
effort, by an earnest love of art, and by his own mournful experience of
the emotions which he has so truthfully depicted?

As he sought not with a mean avidity those crowns so easily won, of
which more than one among ourselves