played from memory fourteen Preludes and Fugues of Bach’s, and when I expressed my joyful admiration at this unparalleled performance, he replied:  “Cela ne s’oublie jamais,” and smiling sadly he continued:  “Depuis un an je n’ai pas etudie un quart d’heure de sante, je n’ai pas de force, pas d’energie, j’attends toujours un peu de sante pour reprendre tout cela, mais...j’attends encore.”  We always spoke French together, in spite of his great fondness for the German language and poetry.  It is for this reason that I give his sayings in the French language, as I heard them from him.  In Paris people had made me afraid, and told me how Chopin caused Clementi, Hummel, Cramer, Moscheles, Beethoven, and Bach to be studied, but not his own compositions.  This was not the case.  To be sure, I had to study with him the works of the above-mentioned masters, but he also required me to play to him the new and newest compositions of Hiller, Thalberg, and Liszt, &c.  And already in the first lesson he placed before me his wondrously—­beautiful Preludes and Studies.  Indeed, he made me acquainted with many a composition before it had appeared in print.

I heard him often preluding in a wonderfully-beautiful manner.  On one occasion when he was entirely absorbed in his playing, completely detached from the world, his servant entered softly and laid a letter on the music-desk.  With a cry Chopin left off playing, his hair stood on end—­what I had hitherto regarded as impossible I now saw with my own eyes.  But this lasted only for a moment.

His playing was always noble and beautiful, his tones always sang, whether in full forte, or in the softest piano.  He took infinite pains to teach the pupil this legato, cantabile way of playing.  “Il [ou elle] ne sait pas lier deux notes” was his severest censure.  He also required adherence to the strictest rhythm, hated all lingering and dragging, misplaced rubatos, as well as exaggerated ritardandos.  “Je vous prie de vous asseoir,” he said on such an occasion with gentle mockery.  And it is just in this respect that people make such terrible mistakes in the execution of his works.  In the use of the pedal he had likewise attained the greatest mastery, was uncommonly strict regarding the misuse of it, and said repeatedly to the pupil:  “The correct employment of it remains a study for life.”

When I played with him the study in C major, the first of those he dedicated to Liszt, he bade me practise it in the mornings very slowly.  “Cette etude vous fera du bien,” he said.  “Si vous l’etudiez comme je l’entends, cela elargit la main, et cela vous donne des gammes d’accords, comme les coups d’archet.  Mais souvent malheureusement au lieu d’apprendre tout cela, elle fait desapprendre.”  I am quite aware that it is a generally-prevalent error, even in our day, that one can only play this study well when one possesses a very large hand.  But this is not the case, only a supple hand is required.