for no remark.  Liszt cites the second movement (Larghetto, A flat major) of this work as a specimen of the morceaux d’une surprenante grandeur to be found in Chopin’s concertos and sonatas, and mentions that the composer had a marked predilection for it, delighting in frequently playing it.  And Schumann exclaims:  “What are ten editorial crowns compared to one such Adagio as that in the second concerto!” The beautiful deep-toned, love-laden cantilena, which is profusely and exquisitely ornamented in Chopin’s characteristic style, is interrupted by a very impressive recitative of some length, after which the cantilena is heard again.  But criticism had better be silent, and listen here attentively.  And how shall I describe the last movement (Allegro vivace F minor, 3-4)—­its feminine softness and rounded contours, its graceful, gyrating, dance-like motions, its sprightliness and frolicsomeness?  Unless I quote every part and particle, I feel I cannot do justice to it.  The exquisite ease and grace, the subtle spirit that breathes through this movement, defy description, and, more, defy the attempts of most performers to reproduce the original.  He who ventures to interpret Chopin ought to have a soul strung with chords which the gentlest breath of feeling sets in vibration, and a body of such a delicate and supple organisation as to echo with equal readiness the music of the soul.  As to the listener, he is carried away in this movement from one lovely picture to another, and no time is left him to reflect and make objections with reference to the whole.

The Concerto in E minor, Op. 11, dedicated to Mr. Fred Kalkbrenner, shows more of volonte and less of inspiration than the one in F minor.  One can almost read in it the words of the composer, “If I have only the Allegro and the Adagio completely finished, I shall be in no anxiety about the Finale.”  The elongated form of the first movement—­the introductory tutti alone extends to 138 bars—­compares disadvantageously with the greater compactness of the corresponding movement in the F minor Concerto, and makes still more sensible the monotony resulting from the key-relation of the constituent parts, the tonic being the same in both subjects.  The scheme is this:—­First subject in E minor, second subject in E major, working-out section in C major, leading through various keys to the return of the first subject in E minor and of the second subject in G major, followed by a close in E minor.  The tonic is not relieved till the commencement of the working-out section.  The re-entrance of the second subject brings, at last, something of a contrast.  How little Chopin understood the importance or the handling of those powerful levers, key-relation and contrast, may also be observed in the Sonata, Op. 4, where the last movement brings the first subject in C minor and the second in G minor.  Here the composer preserves the same mode (minor), there the same tonic, the result being nearly the same in both instances.