Chopin’s Final Concerto

On this day, October 17th, 1849, the autumn leaves in Paris and Warsaw fell with a special kind of melancholy. This was the day the music world lost the great poet of the piano, Frederyk Chopin. For those who appreciate classical music, and for pianists like myself, it is a day of reflection on the man who transformed 88 keys into a universe of emotional depth. And for a believer, this date holds an even deeper significance. It is the anniversary of a story rarely told when speaking of Chopin’s great legacy, the story of his final, and perhaps most profound, composition: his return to faith.

To listen to Chopin, or to sit at a piano and play his works, is to encounter the soul of a nation and the heart of a man. When my fingers trace the liquid, sorrowful lines of a Nocturne, I am not merely playing notes; I am touching a feeling of żal, that untranslatable Polish word that blends nostalgia, grief, and a deep, wistful longing. In the heroic thunder of his Polonaises, one feels the defiant spirit of his lost homeland, a cry for a freedom he would never see again, an unquenchable love and melancholic patriotism for his motherland. His music is truly a masterclass in the human condition, painting pictures of exquisite beauty, deep sorrow, and fleeting joy. This is also one of many reasons why I do not listen to pianists who are too young when they play Chopin; no matter how technically skilled one is, you cannot play Chopin properly without having understood pain, having had your heart broken, having loved and experienced the greatest joys of life.

Particularly no Pole is left untouched when hearing Chopin. The pain of being without a home for 123 years, with Poland erased from the map, comes to life in his magnificent works. This connection to his Polish soul is nowhere more alive today than in his beloved Warsaw. It is there, in the city of his youth, that his spirit is solemnly rekindled every five years through the International Chopin Piano Competition, the world’s most prestigious stage for his music, that is taking place right now. I recommend everyone to watch the live broadcasts that are still running morning and evening for the next few days as the competition enters its final stages. This is not just a competition; it is a pilgrimage. The best pianists from around the world gather to immerse themselves in Chopin’s world, and their performances echo through the same streets where his genius first blossomed. The competition is a testament to his enduring legacy, a reminder that while his body rests in Paris, his heart and his music belong to Poland forever. It is this deep humanity and national spirit that has made him a constant companion on my own musical journey, a teacher not just of technique, but of expression.

For many years, I saw the feeling of spiritual longing in his music as an artistic expression. But the story of his death reveals it was something much more literal. Chopin spent a large part of his adult life estranged from the Church of his youth, living among the artistic and intellectual circles of Paris, where faith was often seen as a relic from a bygone era. But as he lay dying of tuberculosis at the age of 39, his friends were desperate. They knew, however, of his beloved mother’s piety and the faith that had shaped his childhood.

They sent for Father Alexandre Jelowicki, a Polish priest and a friend from Chopin’s youth. The story of what happened next, as recorded by the priest himself, is one of the most moving accounts of conversion I have ever read. When I first read it, I could not hold back my tears.

Initially, Chopin resisted. He told his priestly friend: “I understand the blessing of confession as a way of unburdening a heavy heart into a friendly hand, but not as a sacrament.” He was willing to speak out of love for his friend, but not out of faith. For several days, the priest stayed, prayed, and waited patiently at Chopin’s side.

The turning point came when Father Jelowicki returned to his bedside and, referring to a mutual deceased friend, pleaded with Chopin: “Give me something for my brother’s name day.”

“What shall I give you?” Chopin asked.

“Your soul,” the priest replied.

“Ah, I understand,” Chopin said after a moment. “Here it is; take it!”

As Father Jelowicki held out a crucifix, he wrote that it was as if “rays of divine light…at once illuminated the soul and kindled the heart of Chopin.” The composer broke down in tears and poured out his confession with a profound fervor. For the first time in decades, he received the Holy Eucharist. After receiving Viaticum and the Last Rites, a peace that had eluded him for years settled over him.

His final four days were not a struggle against death, but a joyful and patient embrace of it. He was, in the priest’s words, “a saint.” Surrounded by friends, he asked them, “Why do they not pray?” and everyone knelt, atheists, Protestants, and Catholics alike, to pray the litany for the dying. He clutched the crucifix to his heart, exclaiming, “Now I am at the source of all blessedness!”

This is the Chopin who inspires me most. Not just the technical genius of the Études or the heartbreaking beauty of the Nocturnes, but the man who, at the very end, found the ultimate resolution to the searching and longing that permeated his music. His life’s work is filled with questions of home, loss, love, and sorrow. His death provided the final, divine answer.

He left the world a body of work that continues to challenge pianists and move audiences the world over. But he also left a powerful testimony of faith. This testimony is especially honored each year in Warsaw, where his heart is famously encased in a pillar at the Holy Cross Church. As per his final wish, a Requiem Mass is celebrated on this date, October 17th, to the solemn, transcendent tones of Mozart’s Requiem, the same music that was played at his own funeral in Paris. This annual tradition is a beautiful tribute, a fulfillment of his will that bridges his artistic earthly life with his eternal hope. He left a testimony that no one is lost, and that the deepest longings of the human heart, so exquisitely expressed in his art, ultimately find their fulfillment in God.

As we listen to his timeless music this October 17th, let us also remember the final, beautiful concerto of his life, a return to the faith that was his first and final home. As Father Jelowicki so perfectly wrote: “his death was the most beautiful concerto of his entire life.”