ce to it betrays the composer's exasperated
mental condition. This tendency to return upon himself, a tormenting
introspection, certainly signifies a grave state. But consider the
musical weight of the work, the recklessly bold outpourings of a mind
almost distraught! There is no greater test for the poet-pianist than
the F sharp minor Polonaise. It is profoundly ironical--what else means
the introduction of that lovely mazurka, "a flower between two
abysses"? This strange dance is ushered in by two of the most enigmatic
pages of Chopin. The A major intermezzo, with its booming cannons and
reverberating overtones, is not easily defensible on the score of form,
yet it unmistakably fits in the picture. The mazurka is full of
interrogation and emotional nuanciren. The return of the tempest is not
long delayed. It bursts, wanes, and with the coda comes sad yearning,
then the savage drama passes tremblingly into the night after fluid and
wavering affirmations; a roar in F sharp and finally a silence that
marks the cessation of an agitating nightmare. No "sabre dance" this,
but a confession from the dark depths of a self-tortured soul. Op. 44
was published November, 1841, and is dedicated to Princesse de Beauvau.
There are few editorial differences. In the eighteenth bar from the
beginning, Kullak, in the second beat, fills out an octave. Not so in
Klindworth nor in the original. At the twentieth bar Klindworth differs
from the original as follows. The Chopin text is the upper one:

[Musical score excerpts]

The A flat Polonaise, op. 53, was published December, 1843, and is said
by Karasowski to have been composed in 1840, after Chopin's return from
Majorca. It is dedicated to A. Leo. This is the one Karasowski calls
the story of Chopin's vision of the antique dead in an isolated tower
of Madame Sand's chateau at Nohant. We have seen this legend disproved
by one who knows. This Polonaise is not as feverish and as exalted as
the previous one. It is, as Kleczynski writes, "the type of a war
song." Named the Heroique, one hears in it Ehlert's "ring of damascene
blade and silver spur." There is imaginative splendor in this thrilling
work, with its thunder of horses' hoofs and fierce challengings. What
fire, what sword thrusts and smoke and clash of mortal conflict! Here
is no psychical presentation, but an objective picture of battle, of
concrete contours, and with a cleaving brilliancy that excites the
blood to boiling pitch. T