he racial "snap"
and hue. They are sonnets in their well-rounded mecanisme, and, as
Schumann says, something new is to be found in each. Toward the last, a
few are blithe and jocund, but they are the exceptions. In the larger
ones the universal quality is felt, but to the detriment of the
intimate, Polish characteristics. These Mazurkas are just what they are
called, only some dance with the heart, others with the heels.
Comprising a large and original portion of Chopin's compositions, they
are the least known. Perhaps when they wander from the map of Poland
they lose some of their native fragrance. Like hardy, simple wild
flowers, they are mostly for the open air, the only out-of-doors music
Chopin ever made. But even in the open, under the moon, the note of
self-torture, of sophisticated sadness is not absent. Do not accuse
Chopin, for this is the sign-manual of his race. The Pole suffers in
song the joy of his sorrow.

II

The F sharp minor Mazurka of op. 6 begins with the characteristic
triplet that plays such a role in the dance. Here we find a Chopin
fuller fledged than in the nocturnes and variations, and probably
because of the form. This Mazurka, first in publication, is melodious,
slightly mournful but of a delightful freshness. The third section with
the appoggiaturas realizes a vivid vision of country couples dancing
determinedly. Who plays No. 2 of this set? It, too, has the "native
wood note wild," with its dominant pedal bass, its slight twang and its
sweet-sad melody in C sharp minor. There is hearty delight in the
major, and how natural it seems. No. 3 in E is still on the village
green, and the boys and girls are romping in the dance. We hear a drone
bass--a favorite device of Chopin--and the chatter of the gossips, the
bustle of a rural festival. The harmonization is rich, the rhythmic
life vital. But in the following one in E flat minor a different note
is sounded. Its harmonies are closer and there is sorrow abroad. The
incessant circling around one idea, as if obsessed by fixed grief, is
used here for the first, but not for the last time, by the composer.

Opus 7 drew attention to Chopin. It was the set that brought down the
thunders of Rellstab, who wrote: "If Mr. Chopin had shown this
composition to a master the latter would, it is to be hoped, have torn
it and thrown it at his feet, which we hereby do symbolically."
Criticism had its amenities in 1833. In a later number of "The Iris,"
in w