Before dying, Chopin requested that his heart be explanted and taken to Warsaw upon his death. Adhering to his will, his sister Ludwika put her brother’s heart into an urn filled with alcohol and took it to the Church of the Holy Cross, in Warsaw.
These days, Chopin’s body rests in Paris, while his heart is buried in Warsaw.
When we entered the Church of the Holy Cross, the melodious sound of the organ flooded the atmosphere. There was a tombstone in a wall of the church, which read in both Polish and English: here rests the heart of Frederick Chopin. We took a seat near Chopin’s heart and stayed there for a while, meditating on the spiritual heart of Chopin. Yes, music and art are universal languages; we should use them to communicate each other, I thought.
Now we are back home, in Enna, Sicily. I love to play a piece from one of his nocturnes.
While playing, I think of him as a piano teacher and hope he will forgive me for my amateur performance of his immortal music.
Ettore Grillo, author of these books:
– November 2: The Day of the Dead in Sicily
– A Hidden Sicilian History
– The Vibrations of Words
– Travels of the Mind