CHAPTER IX

SCHUMANN, CHOPIN, BRAHMS, AND LISZT

After Beethoven, the first composer of note was Robert Schumann, one of the founders of the so-called romantic school.  In one of his letters he refers to Beethoven’s choral symphony “as the turning-point from the classical to the romantic period.”  By reading, Schumann had cultivated his imagination, but his musical training was irregular; and, indeed, when he first commenced composing, practically nil.  If his soul was stirred by some poem, or tale, or by remembrance of some dear friend, he sought to express his thoughts and feelings, and on the spur of the moment.  In a letter he writes:  “I have been all the week at the piano, composing, writing, laughing, and crying, all at once.  You will find this state of things nicely described in my Op. 20, the ‘Grosse Humoreske,’ which is already at the printer’s.  You see how quickly I always work now.  I get an idea, write it down, and have it printed; that’s what I like.  Twelve sheets composed in a week!” And thus short-tone poems, or a long piece, such as the “Humoreske,” of irregular form, were the result.  Now that was not the way in which he composed his two sonatas.  He was two years, off and on, at work on the first, in F sharp minor (Op. 11), and eight on the other, in G minor (Op. 22).  One may therefore conclude that the fetters of form were a source of trouble to him.  And he can scarcely have felt very enthusiastic over his task; in 1839, after both sonatas were completed, he declared that “although from time to time fine specimens of the sonata species made their appearance, and, probably, would continue to do so, it seemed as if that form of composition had run its appointed course.”

Of the two sonatas, the one in F sharp minor is the more interesting.  The Aria is a movement of exquisite simplicity and tenderness, and the Scherzo, with its Intermezzo alla burla, has life and character.  But the Allegro, which follows the poetical introduction, and the Finale are patchy, and at times laboured.  It must not, however, be supposed that they are uninteresting.  The music has poetry and passion, and the strong passages atone for the weak ones.  There were composers at that time who could produce sonatas more correct in form, and more logical in treatment, yet not one who could have written music so filled with the spirit of romance.

The Sonata in G minor resembles its predecessor both in its strong and its weak points.  Considered, however, as a whole, it is less warm, less intense.  It is unnecessary to describe the two works in detail, for they must be familiar to all musicians, and especially pianists.  A sympathetic rendering of them will always give pleasure; but in a history of evolution they are of comparatively small moment.  It is interesting to compare them with the Fantasia in C (Op. 17), a work in which Schumann displayed the full power of his genius.