ed!

With what exultant feelings of just pride may the friend and artist
remember a career in which there are no jarring dissonances; no
contradictions, for which he is forced to claim indulgence; no errors,
whose source must be found in palliation of their existence; no extreme,
to be accounted for as the consequence of "excess of cause." How sweet
it is to be able to name one who has fully proved that it is not only
apathetic beings whom no fascination can attract, no illusion betray,
who are able to limit themselves within the strict routine of honored
and honorable laws, who may justly claim that elevation of soul, which
no reverse subdues, and which is never found in contradiction with its
better self! Doubly dear and doubly honored must the memory of Chopin,
in this respect, ever remain! Dear to the friends and artists who have
known him in his lifetime, dear to the unknown friends who shall learn
to love him through his poetic song, as well as to the artists who, in
succeeding him, shall find their glory in being worthy of him!

The character of Chopin, in none of its numerous folds, concealed a
single movement, a single impulse, which was not dictated by the nicest
sense of honor, the most delicate appreciation of affection. Yet no
nature was ever more formed to justify eccentricity, whims, and abrupt
caprices. His imagination was ardent, his feelings almost violent, his
physical organization weak, irritable and sickly. Who can measure the
amount of suffering arising from such contrasts? It must have been
bitter, but he never allowed it to be seen! He kept the secret of his
torments, he veiled them from all eyes under the impenetrable serenity
of a haughty resignation.

The delicacy of his heart and constitution imposed upon him the woman's
torture, that of enduring agonies never to be confessed, thus giving to
his fate some of the darker hues of feminine destiny. Excluded, by
the infirm state of his health, from the exciting arena of ordinary
activity, without any taste for the useless buzzing, in which a few
bees, joined with many wasps, expend their superfluous strength, he
built apart from all noisy and frequented routes a secluded cell for
himself. Neither adventures, embarrassments, nor episodes, mark
his life, which he succeeded in simplifying, although surrounded by
circumstances which rendered such a result difficult of attainment. His
own feelings, his own impressions, were his events; more important