of the work.  See the quotation from one of Chopin’s letters farther on.] With all Schumann’s admiration for Chopin and praise of this sonata, it appears to me that he does not give Chopin his due.  There is something gigantic in the work which, although it does not elevate and ennoble, being for the most part a purposeless fuming, impresses one powerfully.  The first movement begins with four bars grave, a groan full of pain; then the composer, in restless, breathless haste, is driven by his feelings onward, ever onward, till he comes to the lovely, peaceful second subject (in D flat major, a real contrast this time), which grows by-and-by more passionate, and in the concluding portion of the first part transcends the limits of propriety—­vide those ugly dissonances.  The connection of the close of the first part with the repetition of this and the beginning of the second part by means of the chord of the dominant seventh in A flat and that in D flat with the suspended sixth, is noteworthy.  The strange second section, in which the first subject is worked out, has the appearance rather of an improvisation than of a composition.  After this a few bars in 6/4 time, fiercely wild (stretto) at first, but gradually subsiding, lead to the repeat in B flat major of the second subject—­the first subject does not appear again in its original form.  To the close, which is like that of the corresponding section in the first part (6/4), is added a coda (2/2) introducing the characteristic motive of the first subject.  In the scherzo, the grandest movement and the climax of the sonata, the gloom and the threatening power which rise to a higher and higher pitch become quite weird and fear-inspiring; it affects one like lowering clouds, rolling of thunder, and howling and whistling of the wind--to the latter, for instance, the chromatic successions of chords of the sixth may not inappropriately be likened.  The piu lento is certainly one of the most scherzo-like thoughts in Chopin’s scherzos—­so light and joyful, yet a volcano is murmuring under this serenity.  The return of this piu lento, after the repeat of the first section, is very fine and beneficently refreshing, like nature after a storm.  The Marche funebre ranks among Chopin’s best-known and most highly-appreciated pieces.  Liszt mentions it with particular distinction, and grows justly eloquent over it.  I do not altogether understand Schumann’s objection:  “It is still more gloomy than the scherzo,” he says, “and contains even much that is repulsive; in its place an adagio, perhaps in D flat, would have had an incomparably finer effect.”  Out of the dull, stupefied brooding, which is the fundamental mood of the first section, there rises once and again (bars 7 and 8, and 11 and 12) a pitiable wailing, and then an outburst of passionate appealing (the forte passage in D flat major), followed by a sinking helplessness (the two bars with the shakes in the bass), accompanied by moans and deep breathings.