And now the “Winter Wind”—­the study in A minor, op. 25, No. 11.  Here even Von Bulow becomes enthusiastic: 

“It must be mentioned as a particular merit of this, the longest and, in every respect, the grandest of Chopin’s studies, that, while producing the greatest fulness of sound imaginable, it keeps itself so entirely and utterly unorchestral, and represents piano music in the most accurate sense of the word.  To Chopin is due the honor and credit of having set fast the boundary between piano and orchestral music, which through other composers of the romantic school, especially Robert Schumann, has been defaced and blotted out, to the prejudice and damage of both species.”

Kullak is equally as warm in his praise of it: 

One of the grandest and most ingenious of Chopin’s etudes, and a companion piece to op. 10, No. 12, which perhaps it even surpasses.  It is a bravura study of the highest order; and is captivating through the boldness and originality of its passages, whose rising and falling waves, full of agitation, overflow the entire keyboard; captivating through its harmonic and modulatory shadings; and captivating, finally, through a wonderfully invented little theme which is drawn like a “red thread” through all the flashing and glittering waves of tone, and which, as it were, prevents them from scattering to all quarters of the heavens.  This little theme, strictly speaking only a phrase of two measures, is, in a certain sense, the motto which serves as a superscription for the etude, appearing first one voiced, and immediately afterward four voiced.  The slow time (Lento) shows the great importance which is to be attached to it.  They who have followed thus far and agree with what has been said cannot be in doubt concerning the proper artistic delivery.  To execute the passages quite in the rapid time prescribed one must possess a finished technique.  Great facility, lightness of touch, equality, strength and endurance in the forte passages, together with the clearest distinctness in the piano and pianissimo—­all of this must have been already achieved, for the interpreter must devote his whole attention to the poetic contents of the composition, especially to the delivery of the march-like rhythms, which possess a life of their own, appearing now calm and circumspect, and anon bold and challenging.  The march-like element naturally requires strict playing in time.

This study is magnificent, and moreover it is music.

In bar fifteen Von Bulow makes B natural the second note of the last group, although all other editions, except Klindworth, use a B flat.  Von Bulow has common sense on his side.  The B flat is a misprint.  The same authority recommends slow staccato practice, with the lid of the piano closed.  Then the hurly-burly of tone will not intoxicate the player and submerge his critical faculty.

Each editor has his notion of the phrasing of the initial sixteenths.  Thus Mikuli’s—­which is normal: