its sturdy affirmation, the one in C sharp minor, op.
41, is the next Mazurka, in A minor, op. 59. That Chopin did not repeat
himself is an artistic miracle. A subtle turn takes us off the familiar
road to some strange glade, wherein the flowers are rare in scent and
odor. This Mazurka, like the one that follows, has a dim resemblance to
others, yet there is always a novel point of departure, a fresh
harmony, a sudden melody or an unexpected ending. Hadow, for example,
thinks the A flat of this opus the most beautiful of them all. In it he
finds legitimately used the repetition in various shapes of a single
phrase. To me this Mazurka seems but an amplification, an elaboration
of the lovely one in the same key, op. 50, No. 2. The double sixths and
more complicated phraseology do not render the later superior to the
early Mazurka, yet there is no gainsaying the fact that this is a noble
composition. But the next, in F sharp minor, despite its rather
saturnine gaze, is stronger in interest, if not in workmanship. While
it lacks Niecks' beautes sauvages, is it not far loftier in conception
and execution than op. 6, in F sharp minor? The inevitable triplet
appears in the third bar, and is a hero throughout. Oh, here is charm
for you! Read the close of the section in F sharp major. In the major
it ends, the triplet fading away at last, a mere shadow, a turn on D
sharp, but victor to the last. Chopin is at the summit of his
invention. Time and tune, that wait for no man, are now his bond
slaves. Pathos, delicacy, boldness, a measured melancholy and the art
of euphonious presentiment of all these, and many factors more, stamp
this Mazurka a masterpiece.

Niecks believes there is a return of the early freshness and poetry in
the last three Mazurkas, op. 63. "They are, indeed, teeming with
interesting matter," he writes. "Looked at from the musician's point of
view, how much do we not see novel and strange, beautiful and
fascinating withal? Sharp dissonances, chromatic passing notes,
suspensions and anticipations, displacement of accent, progressions of
perfect fifths--the horror of schoolmen--sudden turns and unexpected
digressions that are so unaccountable, so out of the line of logical
sequence, that one's following the composer is beset with difficulties.
But all this is a means to an end, the expression of an individuality
with its intimate experiences. The emotional content of many of these
trifles--trifles if considered on