Daguerreotype: The Mystery of Frédéric Chopin

by Lucyna Olejniczak

  “Oh, Chutney!” I gasped and plopped down on the floor, pushing the enthusiastic dog away when she started trying to lick my face. Now that she felt like she had permission to come inside, she bounded past the astonished Tadeusz and made herself right at home.

  “What does that mean?” he finally asked. “What’s she doing here?”

  “I guess she remembered how much she used to enjoy sleeping on my bed,” I replied, laughing. Chutney glanced at the bed, then gave me a long look. I knew that look, and wagged my finger at her. “No!”

  She licked her muzzle and looked at the bed again, but my firm denial was clear to her. She went over to the fireplace instead, spun around a few times on the spot, then plopped down on the rug with a heavy grunt.

  “She used to sleep on your bed?” Tadeusz shook his head in disbelief. “That’s a huge dog. She’s gotta weigh about forty kilos.”

  “Probably more,” I agreed. “She used to be fatter back then, too. She thought she was a lap dog, and no matter how big she was she’d jump up on my bed every night. She took up nearly all of it, and I had to sleep squished up at the edge. She snores like a bear, too.”

  “And you let her do it. You’re such a softie.”

  “I had to, if I wanted to get any sleep at all. She can be really demanding. Besides, sometimes I liked it. I felt safer with her around. There were some times when I was here at the chateau all alone except for the kids. Sophie and Claude would have to go on business tirips, Mr. Singh lives in the little house by the main gate, and there are only vineyards and fields beyond the garden. If someone wanted to, he could easily jump over the wall and gain access from the garden.”

  “Did it ever happened?” Tadeusz asked, curious, as he fluffed his pillows.

  “Thankfully, no. There had been some home invasions in the area around that time, though, so I was really scared. Chutney’s a very vigilant guard dog, so having her with me made me feel much better.”

  Chutney heard her name, and raised her head hopefully, her tail beating a steady tattoo on the floor.

  “No,” I repeated firmly.

  She cocked her head and stared at me, as if trying to assess just how firm my ‘no’ was. Finally, she gave up and lay her head back down with a whuff of breath.

  “The chateau is really old,” I continued. “You’ve seen for yourself how it ‘talks’ at night. With all the creaking and knocking and rustling, I just about died of fear without her. But with her by my side, I had nothing to worry about. Whenever there was a suspicious noise, she’d cock an ear, look around, then go right back to sleep, and I’d know it was nothing worth worrying about.” I laughed suddenly, at a memory. “But one time, she managed to really scare me. It was the middle of the night—”

  “Darling,” Tadeusz interrupted, yawning. “Don’t forget, we have to get up early. You can tell me in the car.”

  “But I’ll just tell you really quick…”

  “Honey,” he mumbled, rolling onto his other side. “You don’t know how to be brief.”

  “What?” I snorted indignantly. “Well, fine! I won’t bother you anymore, then. No problem. Goodnight!” The last part came out a little louder than I’d planned, and I ended up flopping down a little harder than I intended, with my back to him.

  “Oh, honey…” Tadeusz turned off the light, and caressed my arm apologetically. “Don’t be angry. You know you’re talkative, and the night is passing us by. Come on…”

  In the darkness, there was a low whine, and I sighed heavily.

  “What now?” He stopped caressing my shoulder.

  I couldn’t keep it up any longer, and burst out laughing.

  “You just said the magic word. Chutney knows that means she’s allowed to jump up on the bed. I used to speak Polish to her sometimes, so she’s bilingual.”

  “Then why hasn’t she jumped up?”

  “Because it wasn’t my voice, I guess, so she’s not sure if she’s really allowed to.” I heard another whine, which almost seemed to confirm my words. I could practically see her staring at me intently in the dark. “Now we have to let her, or she won’t let us sleep.”

  “These women are going to be the death of me,” Tadeusz complained. “All right, since there is no other way… Better say the magic word, since my orders don’t count.”

  “Come on,” I said sleepily.

  The huge canopy swayed dangerously over our heads, and the bed springs groaned. The happy dog gave us a few enthusiastic licks each, then after an irritatingly long period of stomping around getting comfortable, she squished herself in between us. A few minutes later, both Chutney and Tadeusz were snoring.

  I rolled over on my side and stared into the darkness, alone with my own thoughts.

  Did Marie live in this room? I wondered. Was this her bed? It’s certainly old enough…

  “Good night, Marie,” I whispered, as sleep rose up to overwhelm me.

  The wind blew the branches against the windowpane and filled the room with the scent of charcoal, as it always did in the blustery autumn weather. This time, though, there was something else besides the smell of smoke and old furniture. For a moment, I could have sworn I caught a whiff of a floral scent: the distinctive perfume of the lily-of-the-valley.

  This surely was a goodbye.

  Epilogue

  The chateau discussed in this book, where Marie was born and died, is real, as is the apartment in Paris. The titular daguerreotype is also a real thing, one of the first photographs in history, made by treating a silvered copper tablet with mercury fumes until it became light-sensitive enough to capture an image when exposed through a camera. They hold both the positive and negative of the image. The positive is visible when looking at it from straight on, and the negative when tilted at an angle, or in certain lighting. Posing for a daguerreotype was apparently very taxing for the subject. In the early days of daguerreotyping, the model had to remain completely motionless for up to fifteen minutes to allow the image to be captured, staring into the blinding light behind the camera. Smiling was forbidden because it used too many muscles, which results in the unsettling, unnatural expressions on the faces of many of the people captured in these early photographs.

  A daguerreotype of the real Chopin does exist, and was made at some point around 1846. My version of Chopin mentions it to Marie, saying he looked “like an idiot” in it. Indeed, that photograph doesn’t depict the composer in a very flattering light. As described in my novel, he sat for a second photographic session sometime in 1849, shortly before his death, at the home of his publisher Maurice Schlesinger. This later photograph is often mistakenly presented as a daguerreotype by his biographers.

  Marie’s daguerreotype is real, as are the portraits described in this book, and they truly depict the ancestors of my French friends.

  In the 90’s, I worked briefly in France as a nanny for the two Polish children who had been adopted by a wealthy, well-connected French family. Our casual acquaintance grew into a close friendship that lasts to this very day. Sometimes they come to Krakow to visit me, along with their now-adult children, and sometimes I spend my vacations at their beautiful chateau in Trigny. It was there, surrounded by the beautiful interiors, family portraits, and memorabilia from ages past, that I came up with the idea to write a novel which took place within this extraordinary setting. I just needed a subject.

  When I first got the idea to write a book about Chopin’s youth, I decided to draw on the places I knew. I couldn’t put my Frederic in that beautiful chateau, since I haven’t found any mentions of him ever visiting those parts, but Marie certainly could have lived there. Thus was born the idea of a girl who had a relationship with a mysterious musician, and bore his illegitimate child.

  The story of Chopin’s mysterious love affair is a work of fiction, made up by me, but doesn’t mean it couldn’t have happened in reality. The early years of his life in Paris aren’t very well-documented, so I decided to use that gap to let my imagination roam free.

&n
bsp; In The Parisian Worlds of Frederic Chopin by Dr. William G. Atwood, we read:

  "At the beginning of his stay in Paris, 21-year-old Chopin enjoyed extraordinary health and roamed the city with frenetic energy. The only disease which plagued him at the time was, as he diagnosed it, ‘consumption of the purse’. It is likely that he stumbled upon more than one of the ‘ladies of mercy’, who in the streets of Paris were known to literally chase potential clients. They were, as he put it, like singers begging for duets. After an early and rather unfortunate encounter with one of these filles des rues named Teresa, Chopin retained a souvenir (interpreted by some biographers to mean that he contracted a sexually-transmitted disease), which discouraged him from tasting the forbidden fruits again.”

  Of course, that doesn’t mean he didn’t enjoy all the other pleasures Paris had to offer. To the contrary, he apparently did so with all the youthful eagerness you could expect of a man his age.

  “I’m slowly launching myself into the world, with only a ducat in my pocket,” he once wrote in a letter to a friend in 1831, shortly after his arrival at the French capital.

  We read in A. Orlowski’s Letter To Family In Warsaw that he was:

  “Healthy and strong, turning the heads of all the French women, and stoking jealousy in all the men. He is in fashion these days, and soon the world will see gloves a’la Chopin.”

  The composer’s fondness for fashionable clothing and good cologne, which he used in excess, is widely known. He was extremely sensitive about his appearance, and known to hide from the public eye over something as simple as a swollen nose.

  Chopin quickly gained the admiration of Parisian high society, which was enchanted by his personal charm and musical talent. As a young man, he threw himself into the vortex of never-ending soirees, courtesy visits, balls and dinners, to the great dismay of his father back home in Poland. It is on one such evening that my version of Chopin met Marie. We will never know whether he truly was her lover, but I had great fun imagining it and spinning the mystery to my own ends.

  This whole hypothetical romance was just a pretext for me to show a different, unknown side to the popular composer. It is not common knowledge that he was a merry young man, full of life and fun, a dandy and reckless gallant who relied on his father’s financial assistance far too often. History remembers his talents as a pianist, but sometimes forgets his other skills. He had a great talent for acting and literature, and could also draw beautifully. Beyond the arts, he also showed a terrific business sense. Chopin was his own best manager, fully capable of negotiating tough contracts with publishers, and he knew exactly what he could play for any given audience for maximum effect. He was: “an intellectual genius, quick-witted, able to read the winds of change as they came.” He had fun, yes, but he could handle his interests.

  Although a romance, if there was one, probably would have been noticed by biographers and documented, if it was short enough or took place before he became famous, it may have escaped historical records. Besides, we know many documents from that period were lost or destroyed. Perhaps there were also letters amongst the unfinished works he demanded be destroyed on his deathbed, evidence of such a relationship? We will never know for sure. There is always a chance, and that chance is the inspiration for this book.

  Bibliography

  When writing this book, I used the following works:

  Dr. William G. Atwood

  Yale University Press, 1999.

  The Parisian Worlds of Frederic Chopin

  Frédéric Chopin

  Bronislas Edouard Sydow; S Chainaye; D Chainaye

  Richard-Masse, 1953.

  Correspondence de Frederic Chopin. Vol. 1, L'aube, 1816-1831

  Antoni Orłowski

  The Fryderyk Chopin Institute, Chopin’s Timeline.

  Letters to family in Warsaw

  Piotr Wierzbickiego

  Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy, 1993.

  Życie z muzyką (Life With Music)

  Tadeusz A. Zielinski

  Państwowe Wydawnictwo Muzyczne, 1993

  Chopin: Life and Creative Path

  Timeline Of Chopin’s Life

  (Including the events described in this book)

  1831

  Chopin arrives in Paris, and takes up residence at Boulevard Poissonnière 27.

  1831/1832

  Chopin gives concerts, attends parties, and according to friends is “healthy and strong, turning the heads of many French girls.”

  1832

  The Second Cholera Pandemic reaches Paris. Shops and public places are closed. Those who can afford it flee to their country estates and take their poorer friends with them.

  1833 – December 15th

  Chopin takes part in a joint concert with Liszt and Hiller; he performs J. S. Bach’s Concerto for 3 Pianos.

  1849

  Chopin poses for a photograph at the Parisian home of his publisher, Maurice Schlesinger, probably a few months before his death.

  1849

  Very ill now, Chopin orders the burning of all his unpublished and unfinished works, with the exception of the sketches on piano method for a textbook he’d planned.

  1849 - October 17th

  Chopin dies in his apartment at Place Vendôme 12.

  1849 - October 30th

  Chopin’s funeral is held at Church of the Madeleine to the sound of Mozart’s Requiem. He is buried at Père Lachaise Cemetery.

  The Chateau lounge, with the portrait of the author’s friend’s great-grandmother.

  One of the wings of the chateau, with the master bedroom upstairs .

  The author in the company of faithful Chutney, sitting on the steps of her friends’ chateau in Trigny, Champagne.

  The chateau’s drawing room, which also served as a reading room and a place to play games.

  About The Author

  Lucyna Olejniczak is a native of Krakow, deeply in love with her city. She travels a lot, once required to make a living, and now for pleasure to visit her friends all over the world.

  Ms. Olejniczak is the author of such books as “Dagerotyp. Tajemnica Chopina” (“Daguerrotype: Chopin’s Mystery”), “Wypadek na ulicy Starowiślnej” (“Accident on Starowislna Street”), and “Jestem blisko” (“I Am Close”). In February 2013, Czarno Na Białym published her latest book, “Opiekunka” (“Caregiver”).

  About The Publisher

  Cheeky Kea Printworks began as the personal publishing house of author V. L. Dreyer, and later became the brand under which she freelanced as a publishing assistant for other authors. In 2017, CK Printworks took the final step to becoming a publishing house in its own right, by securing the contracts to translate and publish several Polish manuscripts into English.

  CK Printworks specializes in science fiction, fantasy, urban fantasy, romance/erotica, and anything else that helps the imagination take flight.

  To learn more about CK Printworks and the authors represents, please visit:

  WWW.CKPRINTWORKS.COM

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