Klindworth and Kullak have different ideas concerning the end of this Mazurka.  Both are correct.  Kullak, Klindworth and Mikuli include in their editions two Mazurkas in A minor.  Neither is impressive.  One, the date of composition unknown, is dedicated “a son ami Emile Gaillard;” the other first appeared in a musical publication of Schotts’ about 1842 or 1843—­according to Niecks.  Of this set I prefer the former; it abounds in octaves and ends with a long trill There is in the Klindworth edition a Mazurka, the last in the set, in the key of F sharp.  It is so un-Chopinish and artificial that the doubts of the pianist Ernst Pauer were aroused as to its authenticity.  On inquiry—­Niecks quotes from the London monthly “Musical Record,” July 1, 1882—­Pauer discovered that the piece was identical with a Mazurka by Charles Mayer.  Gotthard being the publisher of the alleged Chopin Mazurka, declared he bought the manuscript from a Polish countess--possibly one of the fifty in whose arms Chopin died—­and that the lady parted with Chopin’s autograph because of her dire poverty.  It is, of course, a clear case of forgery.

Of the four early Mazurkas, in G major and B flat major—­dating from 1825—­D major—­composed in 1829-30, but remodelled in 1832—­ and C major—­of 1833—­the latter is the most characteristic.  The G major is of slight worth.  As Niecks remarks, it contains a harmonic error.  The one in B flat starts out with a phrase that recalls the A minor Mazurka, numbered 45 in the Breitkopf & Hartel edition.  This B flat Mazurka, early as it was composed, is, nevertheless, pretty.  There are breadth and decision in the C major Mazurka.  The recasting improves the D major Mazurka.  Its trio is lifted an octave and the doubling of notes throughout gives more weight and richness.

“In the minor key laughs and cries, dances and mourns the Slav,” says Dr. J. Schucht in his monograph on Chopin.  Chopin here reveals not only his nationality, but his own fascinating and enigmatic individuality.  Within the tremulous spaces of this immature dance is enacted the play of a human soul, a soul that voices the sorrow and revolt of a dying race, of a dying poet.  They are epigrammatic, fluctuating, crazy, and tender, these Mazurkas, and some of them have a soft, melancholy light, as if shining through alabaster—­true corpse light leading to a morass of doubt and terror.  But a fantastic, dishevelled, debonair spirit is the guide, and to him we abandon ourselves in these precise and vertiginous dances.

XIV.  CHOPIN THE CONQUEROR

The Scherzi of Chopin are of his own creation; the type as illustrated by Beethoven and Mendelssohn had no meaning for him.  Whether in earnest or serious jest, Chopin pitched on a title that is widely misleading when the content is considered.  The Beethoven Scherzo is full of a robust sort of humor.  In it he is seldom poetical, frequently given to gossip, and at times he hints at the mystery of life.  The demoniacal element, the fierce jollity that mocks itself, the almost titanic anger of Chopin would not have been regarded by the composer of the Eroica Symphony as adapted to the form.  The Pole practically built up a new musical structure, boldly called it a Scherzo, and, as in the case of the Ballades, poured into its elastic mould most disturbing and incomparable music.