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 which a caustic notice appeared of the studies, op. 10, Rellstab printed a letter, signed Chopin, the authenticity of which is extremely doubtful.  In it Chopin is made to call the critic “really a very bad man.”  Niecks demonstrates that the Polish pianist was not the writer.  It reads like the effusion of some indignant, well meaning female friend.

The B flat major Mazurka which opens op. 7 is the best known of these dances.  There is an expansive swing, a laissez-aller to this piece, with its air of elegance, that are very alluring.  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.