cated to the Baronne de Stockhausen.

The nocturnes--including the Berceuse and Barcarolle--should seldom be
played in public and not the public of a large hall. Something of
Chopin's delicate, tender warmth and spiritual voice is lost in larger
spaces. In a small auditorium, and from the fingers of a sympathetic
pianist, the nocturnes should be heard, that their intimate, night side
may be revealed. Many are like the music en sourdine of Paul Verlaine
in his "Chanson D'Automne" or "Le Piano que Baise une Main Frele." They
are essentially for the twilight, for solitary enclosures, where their
still, mysterious tones--"silent thunder in the leaves" as Yeats
sings--become eloquent and disclose the poetry and pain of their
creator.

X. THE BALLADES:--FAERY DRAMAS

W. H. Hadow has said some pertinent things about Chopin in "Studies in
Modern Music." Yet we cannot accept unconditionally his statement that
"in structure Chopin is a child playing with a few simple types, and
almost helpless as soon as he advances beyond them; in phraseology he
is a master whose felicitous perfection of style is one of the abiding
treasures of the art."

Chopin then, according to Hadow, is no "builder of the lofty rhyme,"
but the poet of the single line, the maker of the phrase exquisite.
This is hardly comprehensive. With the more complex, classical types of
the musical organism Chopin had little sympathy, but he contrived
nevertheless to write two movements of a piano sonata that are
excellent--the first half of the B flat minor Sonata. The idealized
dance forms he preferred; the Polonaise, Mazurka and Valse were already
there for him to handle, but the Ballade was not. Here he is not
imitator, but creator. Not loosely-jointed, but compact structures
glowing with genius and presenting definite unity of form and
expression, are the ballades--commonly written in six-eight and
six-four time. "None of Chopin's compositions surpasses in masterliness
of form and beauty and poetry of contents his ballades. In them he
attains the acme of his power as an artist," remarks Niecks.

I am ever reminded of Andrew Lang's lines, "the thunder and surge of
the Odyssey," when listening to the G minor Ballade, op. 23. It is the
Odyssey of Chopin's soul. That 'cello-like largo with its noiseless
suspension stays us for a moment in the courtyard of Chopin's House
Beautiful. Then, told in his most dreamy tones, the legend begins. As
in some fabulous t