ourse, Chopin is as little successful in entirely hiding his
serpentining and chromaticising tendency as Mephistopheles in hiding the
limp arising from his cloven foot. Still, these fallings out of the role
are rare and transient, and, on the whole, Chopin presents himself as
a perfect homme du monde who knows how to say the most insignificant
trifles with the most exquisite grace imaginable. There can. be nothing
more amusing than the contemporary critical opinions regarding this
work, nothing more amusing than to see the at other times censorious
Philistines unwrinkle their brows, relax generally the sternness of
their features, and welcome, as it were, the return of the prodigal son.
We wiser critics of to-day, who, of course, think very differently
about this matter, can, nevertheless, enjoy and heartily applaud the
prettiness and elegance of the simple first variation, the playful
tripping second, the schwarmerische melodious third, the merry swinging
fourth, and the brilliant finale.

From Chopin's letters we see that the publication of the Tarantelle,
Op. 43, which took place in the latter part of 1841, was attended with
difficulties and annoyances. [FOOTNOTE: Herr Schuberth, of Leipzig,
informed me that a honorarium of 500 francs was paid to Chopin for this
work on July 1, 1841. The French publisher deposited the work at the
library of the Conservatoire in October, 1841.] What these difficulties
and annoyances were, is, however, only in part ascertainable. To turn
from the publication to the composition itself, I may say that it is
full of life, indeed, spirited in every respect, in movement and
in boldness of harmonic and melodic conception. The Tarantelle is a
translation from Italian into Polish, a transmutation of Rossini into
Chopin, a Neapolitan scene painted with opaque colours, the south
without its transparent sky, balmy air, and general brightness. That
this composition was inspired by impressions received from Rossini's
Tarantella, and not from impressions received in Italy (of which, as
has already been related, he had a short glimpse in 1839), is evident.
A comparison of Chopin's Op. 43 with Liszt's glowing and intoxicating
transcription of Rossini's composition may be recommended as a study
equally pleasant and instructive. Although not an enthusiastic admirer
of Chopin's Tarantelle, I protest in the interest of the composer and
for justice's sake against Schumann's dictum: "Nobody can call that
be