ith flattering offers from Berlin publishers. Then
her famous brother sent his blessing on her becoming "a member of the
craft," and hoped she would taste only the sweets and none of the
bitternesses of authorship. Her greatest work is a piano trio,[5] which
was not published until after her death. Among other compositions, she
wrote several choruses for Goethe's "Faust," and a number of part-songs.

Her life came to an untimely close. In the year 1847, while conducting
the little choir that she led on Sundays, she met an end as sudden as it
was unexplained. Her hands dropped in an instant from the keyboard of
the piano, and fell limp at her side. In spite of medical aid, death
came after a short interval. It is highly probable that the early
exertions of herself and her brother, which made their talents so
wonderful, resulted in lessening their vital strength.

Mendelssohn himself was married. After his father's death he had wedded
Cecile Jeanrenaud, daughter of a French pastor, and with her he passed a
life of happiness. Fanny speaks in admiration of her beautiful eyes and
expression, and praises her constant gentleness, which so often soothed
her brother's nervous and irritable moods. But not even her kindness
could make Mendelssohn forget the death of his sister, who had been a
second self to him. When he first heard of it, he uttered a shriek, and
fell senseless to the ground. His own death came directly from this
fall, for it caused the breaking of a blood-vessel in his head,
according to his physician. A holiday in Switzerland did some good, but
the sight of Fanny's rooms on his return more than neutralized this
effect. He grew weaker and weaker, until he met his death, less than six
months after that of his sister. The bereaved wife, who had given such
bright domestic charm to the home circle, lingered on for six years, but
drooped in her loneliness until at last consumption carried her off.

In direct contrast to the clean and sunny happiness of Mendelssohn is
the passionate and morbid aestheticism of Chopin. Like Beethoven, the
Polish pianist never married, but, unlike Beethoven, he was not
actuated by the highest of ideals. The first object of his devotion was
the young soprano, Constantia Gladkowska, who was just ready to graduate
from the Warsaw Conservatory when he was attracted by her. He became her
champion in criticism, and his letters are full of emotional outpourings
about her. He gave concerts with