sia on Polish airs,
Op. 13, nay, we may hear even of the performance of the Trio, Op. 8;
but such occurrences are of the rarest rarity, and, considering how
rich musical literature is in unexceptionable concert-pieces and chamber
compositions, one feels on the whole pleased that these enterprising
soloists and trio-players find neither much encouragement nor many
imitators. While in examining the earlier works, the praise bestowed on
them was often largely mixed with censure, and the admiration felt for
them tempered by dissatisfaction; we shall have little else than pure
praise and admiration for the works that remain to be considered, at
least for the vast majority of them. One thing, however, seems to me
needful before justice can be done to the composer Chopin: certain
prejudices abroad concerning him have to be combated. I shall,
therefore, preface my remarks on particular compositions and groups of
compositions by some general observations.

It is sometimes said that there are hardly any traces of a development
in the productions of Chopin, and that in this respect he is unlike
all the other great masters. Such an opinion cannot be the result of a
thorough and comprehensive study of the composer's works. So far
from agreeing with those who hold it, I am tempted to assert that the
difference of style between Chopin's early and latest works (even when
juvenile compositions like the first two Rondos are left out of account)
is as great as that between Beethoven's first and ninth Symphony. It
would be easy to classify the Polish master's works according to three
and even four (with the usual exceptions) successive styles, but I have
no taste for this cheap kind of useless ingenuity. In fact, I shall
confine myself to saying that in Chopin's works there are clearly
distinguishable two styles--the early virtuosic and the later poetic
style. The latter is in a certain sense also virtuosic, but with this
difference, that its virtuosity is not virtuosity for virtuosity's
sake. The poetic style which has thrown off the tinsel showiness of its
predecessor does not, however, remain unchanged, for its texture becomes
more and more close, and affords conclusive evidence of the increasing
influence of Johann Sebastian Bach. Of course, the grand master of
fugue does not appear here, as it were, full life-size, in peruke,
knee-breeches, and shoe-buckles, but his presence in spite of
transformation and attenuation is unmistakable.