In
the latter he misses "savage beauties" and spontaneity. As Chopin
gripped the form, as he felt more, suffered more and knew more,
his Mazurkas grew broader, revealed more Weltschmerz, became
elaborate and at times impersonal, but seldom lost the 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.
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