The
rubato flourishes, and at the close we hear the footing of the
peasant. A jolly, reckless composition that makes one happy to be
alive and dancing. The next, which begins in A minor, is as if
one danced upon one's grave; a change to major does not deceive,
it is too heavy-hearted. No. 3, in F minor, with its rhythmic
pronouncement at the start, brings us back to earth. The triplet
that sets off the phrase has great significance. Guitar-like is
the bass in its snapping resolution. The section that begins on
the dominant of D flat is full of vigor and imagination; the left
hand is given a solo. This Mazurka has the true ring.
The following one, in A flat, is a sequence of moods. Its
assertiveness soon melts into tenderer hues, and in an episode in
A we find much to ponder. No. 5, in C, consists of three lines.
It is a sort of coda to the opus and full of the echoes of lusty
happiness. A silhouette with a marked profile.
Opus 17, No. 1, in B flat, is bold, chivalric, and I fancy I hear
the swish of the warrior's sabre. The peasant has vanished or
else gapes through the open window while his master goes through
the paces of a courtlier dance.
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