A world-great pianist was this Frderic Francois Chopin. He played
as he composed: uniquely. All testimony is emphatic as to this.
Scales that were pearls, a touch rich, sweet, supple and singing
and a technique that knew no difficulties, these were part of
Chopin's equipment as a pianist. He spiritualized the timbre of
his instrument until it became transformed into something
strange, something remote from its original nature. His
pianissimo was an enchanting whisper, his forte seemed powerful
by contrast so numberless were the gradations, so widely varied
his dynamics. The fairylike quality of his play, his diaphanous
harmonies, his liquid tone, his pedalling--all were the work of a
genius and a lifetime; and the appealing humanity he infused into
his touch, gave his listeners a delight that bordered on the
supernatural. So the accounts, critical, professional and
personal read. There must have been a hypnotic quality in his
performances that transported his audience wherever the poet
willed. Indeed the stories told wear an air of enthusiasm that
borders on the exaggerated, on the fantastic.
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