Von Bulow orders “the middle harmonies to be played throughout distinctly, and yet transiently”—­in German, “fluchtig.”  In fact, the entire composition, with its murmuring, meandering, chromatic character, is a forerunner to the whispering, weaving, moonlit effects in some of his later studies.  The technical purpose is clear, but not obtrusive.  It is intended for the fourth and fifth finger of the right hand, but given in unison with both hands it becomes a veritable but laudable torture for the thumb of the left.  With the repeat of the first at bar 36 Von Bulow gives a variation in fingering.  Kullak’s method of fingering is this:  “Everywhere that two white keys occur in succession the fifth finger is to be used for C and F in the right hand, and for F and E in the left.”  He has also something to say about holding “the hand sideways, so that the back of the hand and arm form an angle.  “This question of hand position, particularly in Chopin, is largely a matter of individual formation.  No two hands are alike, no two pianists use the same muscular movements.  Play along the easiest line of resistance.

We now have reached a study, the third, in which the more intimately known Chopin reveals himself.  This one in E is among the finest flowering of the composer’s choice garden.  It is simpler, less morbid, sultry and languorous, therefore saner, than the much bepraised study in C sharp minor, No. 7, op. 25.  Niecks writes that this study “may be counted among Chopin’s loveliest compositions.”  It combines “classical chasteness of contour with the fragrance of romanticism.”  Chopin told his faithful Gutmann that “he had never in his life written another such melody,” and once when hearing it raised his arms aloft and cried out:  “Oh, ma patrie!”

I cannot vouch for the sincerity of Chopin’s utterance for as Runciman writes:  “They were a very Byronic set, these young men; and they took themselves with ludicrous seriousness.”

Von Bulow calls it a study in expression—­which is obvious—­and thinks it should be studied in company with No. 6, in E flat minor.  This reason is not patent.  Emotions should not be hunted in couples and the very object of the collection, variety in mood as well as mechanism, is thus defeated.  But Von Bulow was ever an ardent classifier.  Perhaps he had his soul compartmentized.  He also attempts to regulate the rubato—­this is the first of the studies wherein the rubato’s rights must be acknowledged.  The bars are even mentioned 32, 33, 36 and 37, where tempo license may be indulged.  But here is a case which innate taste and feeling must guide.  You can no more teach a real Chopin rubato—­ not the mawkish imitation,—­than you can make a donkey comprehend Kant.  The metronome is the same in all editions, 100 to the eighth.

Kullak rightly calls this lovely study “ein wunderschones, poetisches Tonstuck,” more in the nocturne than study style.  He gives in the bravura-like cadenza, an alternate for small hands, but small hands should not touch this piece unless they can grapple the double sixths with ease.  Klindworth fingers the study with great care.  The figuration in three of the editions is the same, Mikuli separating the voices distinctly.  Riemann exercises all his ingenuity to make the beginning clear to the eye.