In the last sonatas (of four parts, published 1697) the Italian influence is even more marked than in the earlier ones.  The general plan is the same, but more effect is got out of the strings without the management of the parts ceasing to be Purcellian.  We get slow and quick movements in alternation, or if two slow ones are placed together they differ in character.  Variety was the main conscious aim.  The notion of getting a unity of the different movements of a sonata occurred to no one until long after.  We learn nothing by comparing the various sequences of the movements in the different sonatas, for the simple reason that there is nothing to learn, and it may be remarked that for the same reason elaborate analysis of the arrangement of the sections which make up the overtures is wasted labour.  The essential unity of Purcell’s different sets of pieces is due to something that lies deep below the surface of things—­he was guided only by his unfailing intuition.

In these ten sonatas we have Purcell, the composer of pure music, independent of words and stage-scenes, at his ripest and fullest.  The subjects are full of sinew, energy, colour; the technique of the fugues is impeccable; the intensity of feeling in some of these slow movements of his is sometimes almost startling when one of his strokes suddenly proclaims it.  There are sunny, joyous numbers, too, robust, jolly tunes, as healthy and fresh as anything in the theatre pieces.  The “Golden” sonata is, after all, a fair representative.  If the last movement seems—­as most of the finales of all the composers until Beethoven do seem—­a trifle light and insignificant after the almost tragic seriousness of the largo, we must bear in mind that it was very frequently part of Purcell’s design to have a cheerful ending.  Unfortunately, there is no good edition of the sonatas.  They are chamber music, and never were intended to be played in a large room.  They should be played in a small room, and the pianist—­for harpsichords are woefully scarce to-day—­should fill in his part from the figured bars simply with moving figurations, neither plumping down thunderous chords nor (as one editor lately proposed) indulging in dazzling show passages modelled on Moscheles and Thalberg.  Properly played, no music is more delightful.

CHAPTER V

It is impossible to touch on more than a few characteristic examples of Purcell’s achievement.  There are many charming detached songs; the Harpsichord Lessons contain exquisite things.  There is also a quantity of unpublished sacred and secular music of high value.