rio, there were other causes which retarded the recognition of
his transcendent genius. The unprecedented originality of his style,
and the distinct national coloring of his compositions, did not meet
with a sympathetic appreciation in Germany and Vienna, when he first
went there to test his musical powers. Some of the papers indeed had a
good word for him, but, as in the case of Liszt and later of
Rubinstein, it was rather for the pianist than for the composer. On
his first visit to Vienna he was greatly petted, and he found it easy
to get influential friends who took care that his concerts should be
a success, because he played for their benefit, asking no pecuniary
recompense. But when, some years later, he repeated his visit, and
tried to play for his own pecuniary benefit, the influential friends
were invisible, and the concert actually resulted in a deficit.

Chopin's letters contain unmistakable evidence of the fact that, with
some exceptions, the Germans did not understand his compositions. At
his first concert in Vienna, he writes, "The first allegro in the F
minor concerto (not intelligible to all) was indeed rewarded with
'Bravo!' but I believe this was rather because the audience wished to
show that they appreciated serious music than because they were able
to follow and appreciate such music." And regarding the fantasia on
Polish airs he says that it completely missed its mark: "There was
indeed some applause by the audience, but obviously only to show the
pianist that they were not bored." The ultra-Germans, he writes in
another letter, did not appear to be quite satisfied; and he relates
that one of these, on being asked, in his presence, how he liked the
concert, at once changed the subject of conversation, obviously in
order not to hurt his feelings. In a third letter, in which he gives
his parents an account of his concert in Breslau, in 1830, he says
that, "With the exception of Schnabel, whose face was beaming with
pleasure, and who patted me on the shoulder every other moment, none
of the other Germans knew exactly what to make of me;" and he adds,
with his delicious irony, that "the connoisseurs could not exactly
make out whether my compositions really were good or only seemed so."

Criticisms culled from contemporary newspaper notices and other
sources emphasize the fact that the Germans were at that time blind to
the transcendent merits of Chopin's genius. The professional critics,
after their u