But this figure, as will be seen, is sustained by a powerful, quick-changing harmony. The bass part has a rhythmical significance as important as its harmonic. With Field the function of such figures is purely harmonic, and in the appreciation of such wide spacing, and in a gentle gracefulness in the arrangement of the notes, he stands beyond all his early contemporaries and, of course, beyond his predecessors. He is the first to give to his accompaniment the flowing, undulating line which touches with nearly unfailing instinct upon those notes that will give his harmony most richness. A similar instinct for what sounds well on the piano marks the ornamentation with which he adorned his melodies, or those figures into which he allowed the melodies to dissolve. In this most clearly he is the predecessor of Chopin. It is perhaps worthy of note that he was accustomed to add such ornaments _ex tempore_ when playing before audiences. Only a few are written out in the published editions of his works. We may have occasion to refer to this in speaking later of Chopin. As for the nature of the simple melodies themselves, they are sweet and graceful, sometimes lovely. They are, of course, sentimental. One may hesitate to call them mawkish, for a certain naïve freshness and spontaneity despite a touch of something that is not wholly healthy. It is easy to understand the charm they exerted upon those who heard him play them. The complete lack of any harshness, of any passion or poignancy, of any ecstasy, is delightfully soothing. But beyond this gentle charm they have little to reveal. Liszt’s preface to a German edition of a few of the nocturnes, published in 1859, suggests the rose that died in aromatic pain. It is more unhealthy than the nocturnes themselves, be it added in justice to Field.