So these sonatas of Chopin are not sonatas at all, but, throwing titles to the dogs, would we forego the sensations that two of them evoke?  There is still another, the Sonata in G minor, op. 65, for piano and ’cello.  It is dedicated to Chopin’s friend, August Franchomme, the violoncellist.  Now, while I by no means share Finck’s exalted impression of this work, yet I fancy the critics have dealt too harshly with it.  Robbed of its title of sonata—­though sedulously aping this form—­it contains much pretty music.  And it is grateful for the ’cello.  There is not an abundant literature for this kingly instrument, in conjunction with the piano, so why flaunt Chopin’s contribution?  I will admit that he walks stiffly, encased in his borrowed garb, but there is the andante, short as it is, an effective scherzo and a carefully made allegro and finale.  Tonal monotony is the worst charge to be brought against this work.

The trio, also in G minor, op. 8, is more alluring.  It was published March, 1833, and dedicated to Prince Anton Radziwill.  Chopin later, in speaking of it to a pupil, admitted that he saw things he would like to change.  He regretted not making it for viola, instead of violin, ’cello and piano.

It was worked over a long time, the first movement being ready in 1833.  When it appeared it won philistine praise, for its form more nearly approximates the sonata than any of his efforts in the cyclical order, excepting op. 4.  In it the piano receives better treatment than the other instruments; there are many virtuoso passages, but again key changes are not frequent or disparate enough to avoid a monotone.  Chopin’s imagination refuses to become excited when working in the open spaces of the sonata form.  Like creatures that remain drab of hue in unsympathetic or dangerous environment, his music is transformed to a bewildering bouquet of color when he breathes native air.  Compare the wildly modulating Chopin of the ballades to the tame-pacing Chopin of the sonatas, trio and concertos!  The trio opens with fire, the scherzo is fanciful, and the adagio charming, while the finale is cheerful to loveliness.  It might figure occasionally on the programmes of our chamber music concerts, despite its youthful puerility.

There remain the two concertos, which I do not intend discussing fully.  Not Chopin at his very best, the E minor and F minor concertos are frequently heard because of the chances afforded the solo player.  I have written elsewhere at length of the Klindworth, Tausig and Burmeister versions of the two concertos.  As time passes I see no reason for amending my views on this troublous subject.  Edgar S. Kelly holds a potent brief for the original orchestration, contending that it suits the character of the piano part.  Rosenthal puts this belief into practice by playing the older version of the E minor with the first long tutti curtailed.  But he is not consistent, for he uses the Tausig octaves at the close of the rondo.  While I admire the Tausig orchestration, these particlar octaves are hideously cacaphonic.  The original triplet unisons are so much more graceful and musical.