neous
sketches; for they are no more than sketches. The melody seems
literally to wail, and reaches its greatest pitch of intensity at the
stretto." For Karasowski it is a "real gem, and alone would immortalize
the name of Chopin as a poet." It must have been this number that
impelled Rubinstein to assert that the Preludes were the pearls of his
works. In the Klindworth edition, fifth bar from the last, the editor
has filled in the harmonies to the first six notes of the left hand,
added thirds, which is not reprehensible, although uncalled for. Kullak
makes some new dynamic markings and several enharmonic changes. He also
gives as metronome 69 to the quarter. This tiny prelude contains
wonderful music. The grave reiteration of the theme may have suggested
to Peter Cornelius his song "Ein Ton." Chopin expands a melodic unit,
and one singularly pathetic. The whole is like some canvas by
Rembrandt, Rembrandt who first dramatized the shadow in which a single
motif is powerfully handled; some sombre effect of echoing light in the
profound of a Dutch interior. For background Chopin has substituted his
soul; no one in art, except Bach or Rembrandt, could paint as Chopin
did in this composition. Its despair has the antique flavor, and there
is a breadth, nobility and proud submission quite free from the
tortured, whimpering complaint of the second prelude. The picture is
small, but the subject looms large in meanings.

The fifth prelude in D is Chopin at his happiest. Its arabesque pattern
conveys a most charming content; and there is a dewy freshness, a joy
in life, that puts to flight much of the morbid tittle-tattle about
Chopin's sickly soul. The few bars of this prelude, so seldom heard in
public, reveal musicianship of the highest order. The harmonic scheme
is intricate; Klindworth phrases the first four bars so as to bring out
the alternate B and B flat. It is Chopin spinning his finest, his most
iridescent web.

The next prelude, the sixth, in B minor, is doleful, pessimistic. As
George Sand says: "It precipitates the soul into frightful depression."
It is the most frequently played--and oh! how meaninglessly--prelude of
the set; this and the one in D flat. Classical is its repression of
feeling, its pure contour. The echo effect is skilfully managed,
monotony being artfully avoided. Klindworth rightfully slurs the duple
group of eighths; Kullak tries for the same effect by different means.
The duality of the voices