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Frederic Chopin Biography

(1810-1849)

Frederic Chopin - Poet of the Piano

Frederic Chopin is often referred to as "The Poet of the Piano." It's said that no one understood the piano better than Chopin. He could make it sound romantic and poetic. Most of Frederic Chopin's tunes were short pieces but he could pour out a happy, sad, passionate or dreamy tune that was perfect in terms of form and style.

A Star is Born - Frederic Chopin's Early Days

Frederic Chopin was born in 1810 near Warsaw, Poland. He began taking piano lessons when he was six years old and by the time he was seven, he was already writing his own music and performing in the homes of nobles. He had his first composition published when he was just 15. Although he always considered Poland his home, he relocated to Paris in 1831 to pursue his love of making music. The people of Paris loved his work. Chopin began teaching music and playing in private homes - something he preferred instead of concerts.

The Woman Of Frederic Chopin's Dreams

In 1837, Frederic Chopin met and fell madly in love with George Sand, a female novelist who dressed like a man in order to get her works published. They spent the next ten years together, though they were never married. Chopin considered Sand a great inspiration and it is said that his Waltz in D-flat was written for George Sand's dog. Waltz in D-flat is also called the Minute Waltz because it can be played in one minute.

Remembering Frederic Chopin

In the 1840s, it was trendy for women and girls in Paris to be students of Frederic Chopin. This trend didn't last long however, because on October 17, 1849 Frederic Chopin passed away. He had been suffering from tuberculosis for many years. As he had requested, Chopin's heart was taken to Warsaw and placed in the Holy Cross Church where it remains entombed today.

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    Who Listens to Classical Music? Vote!

    • I listen to classical tunes. They're great to study to.
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    • Even my parents don't listen to that but my grandparents do.
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    AnnaOfExquizurd
    (So, along with being a fanfiction of  The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time , this story is an attempt at a [character] x reader thing, with Duana representing the reader. It'll be Sheik x reader, but... well, you'll see how it works in the story. There'll be plenty of action and people-hitting to go 'round during it, and the buildup to the ship will be gradual. I promise that things that happen in parts 1-3 aren't necessarily terrible attempts at showing affection. I'm not sure how long it'll go, but it'll have at least ten parts of varying length. At the moment, I have four parts done, but I'll not be posting twice in a day. Feel free to voice any ideas or opinions through comments/PM! If you don't like it, I'd appreciate  constructive criticism , not a rant. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the story!) Part One A Man and a Lyre [Image courtesy of some random person on the Internet. Taken from Google Images.] Duana’s eyes snapped open. A forest. But her last memory was… of being cut into by a Thief's scimitar and falling… in the desert . Was this death? She grunted; attempted getting up. Failed. The nausea finally registered, and the trees spun about her vision. But she couldn’t go unconscious. The king’s forces could be anywhere. Duana would be easy pickings if she was unconscious and they happened to stumble upon her. A second attempt at rising succeeded, and she tightly gripped a tree, sagging against it as the spinning intensified, and she nearly vomited. Slowly, it faded, and she became alert again. She stood upright, looking around; scanning for signs of movement. Her sharp, red eyes at first saw nothing, then noticed a slight trembling of some undergrowth. Duana tensed, but knew she wouldn’t put up much of a fight--regardless of whether she actually fought or decided to run. Promptly, the swaying increased, and then the bushes parted… and a figure came into sight, heading straight towards Duana… ...with the red eye and tear on the navy blue tunic he wore. His eyes were also red, and his ears were pointed. The symbol was the symbol of Duana’s own race; a people trained in shadow and dedicated to protecting the royal family as well as their country, but who had failed miserably in it. Duana gasped in relief, releasing the tension. “I was so paranoid that you were someone working for Ganondorf….” The young man, a fellow Sheikah, tilted his head and frowned. “Ganondorf? He was exiled two decades ago.” “Wha…?” “Nabooru, Sage of Spirit, is now temporarily serving as the Gerudo queen until the next male is born. How do you not know this?” “I….” He peered at her. “What tribe are you from?” “Kakariko.” For a few seconds, he remained staring silently, his face unreadable. “What is your name? And who is your father?” “Duana. My father is Alechjo.” “Alechjo… he doesn’t have a daughter named Duana.” “What… what tribe are you from, then? What is your name?” He paused, drawing himself from thought. “Sheik, son of Geron, of Kakariko. You seem discombobulated. Are you alright?” Duana smiled. Her lips parted to say something, but another wave of nausea slammed into her. It felt like a punch, and she lurched, but the tree kept her upright. “I’m sure you’re not alright,” Sheik firmly said. As he dug through a pouch on his belt, Duana then noticed the lyre peeking around him, held in place on his back by a leather strap running across his chest in a diagonal line. Some of his blond hair escaped a ponytail a few inches long, hanging around his face as it was bent to see inside the pouch.
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