I have always thought Chopin was the consistently Polish composer who sticks to his piano for the entire 40 years of his life. But this little lovely piece surprised me by its apparent lack of originality. Well it may be said of all his Mazurkas. But I think the underlying reason is his devotion to his motherland music. Polish folk music seems to be characterized by very desultory melody that could sound a bit belabored sometimes. But it also leaves room for artistic polishing. Chopin has worked so well to make those raw melodies into intellectual epic poems in a natural sleigh of hand. But for Mazurkas, he intentionally left out the ornamentation and what may be said of his Parisian heritage and emphasized instead on the country-side flavor and down-to-earth texture of the choreographical tunes. Yet even with this goal of austerity in mind, the prodigious composer could not manage to belie his virtuoso caliber when he throws in another one of his masterful transitional phrase in the middle of the piece. By that moment, I seem to have come closer to the inner world of the pianoforte poet, and realized why he was "consumed by the [very] fire of his own genius".