haunts one like a sad dream; and the development section, long, though not monotonous, is full of it. Without sacrificing his individuality, Schubert has here caught something of Beethoven's peculiar method of treating a theme,—that is, of evolving new phrases from its various sections. The coda, again, has penetrating power, and the fierce concluding phrase sounds like the passionate resistance of a proud artist to the stern degrees of fate. The tender melody and delicate variations of the Andante, the bold Scherzo, with its soft Trio, and the energetic Finale are all exceedingly interesting; yet they do not affect us like the first movement, in which lies not only the majesty, but the mystery of genius. The sonata in D has a vigorous opening Allegro,—a long, lovely, slow movement,—a crisp Scherzo, but a peculiar Finale, one which Schumann qualifies as comical (possirlich). The sonata in G contains some of the composer's most charming, characteristic music. The opening moderato e cantabile is a tone-poem of touching pathos. The sad principal theme is supported by such soft, tender harmonies, that its very sadness charms. In the development section it assumes a different character. Melancholy gives place to passion, at times fierce; then calm returns. The coda is one of the most fascinating ever penned by Schubert. The slow movement and Menuetto form worthy companions; but with the Finale the composer breaks the spell. Schumann says: "Keep away from it; it has no imagination, no enigma to solve."
The last three sonatas (in C minor, A, and B flat) were composed in September 1828, not three months before the death of the composer. In the opening theme of No. 2, determination and confidence are expressed, while in the Scherzo and Rondo there is even sunshine, though now and again black clouds flit across the scene. But in the Adagio, and in all the movements of the other two sonatas, the mood is either one of sadness, more or less intense, dark despair, or fierce frenzy. Music can express both joy and sorrow, though the latter seems more congenial to it. Mournful strains are an echo, as it were, of the "still, sad music of humanity." Grief, too, sharpens the imagination; and music produced under its influence stirs a sensitive soul more powerfully than the brightest, merriest sounds. But these three sonatas, though they contain wonderful thoughts and some of Schubert's grandest, and most delicate harmonic colouring, fall short of perfection. They are too long, not because they cover so many pages, but because there is a lack of balance; at times, indeed, the composer seems to lose all sense of proportion. Then, again, the weakness of Schubert in the art of development is specially felt; the noble themes, on the whole, lose rather than gain by the loose, monotonous, and, in some places, even trivial treatment to which they are subjected. And what is more fatal than a lack of gradation of interest? In a truly great work of art, be it poem, tragedy, sonata, or symphony, the author carries his readers or audience along with him from one point to another,—he gives no time for rest or reflection; and when he has worked them up to the highest pitch, he stops, and there is an awakening, as it were, from some wonderful dream. If afterwards the work be analysed, the pains with which it was built up can be traced; the powerful effect which it produced will be found due, not alone to the creative power, the imagination of the author, but also to his dialectic skill and to his critical faculty. It is all very well to talk of great works as the fruits of hot inspiration and not cold intellect. A masterpiece is the outcome of both; the one provides the material, the other shapes it. Schubert was an inspired composer, but most of his works, especially those of large compass, show that he was mastered by moods, not that he was master of them. It may be said that many who can appreciate beautiful music have not the bump of intellect strongly developed, and would not therefore be affected by any such shortcomings; that they would simply enjoy the music. That is very likely, but here we are analysing and comparing; and neither the beauty nor even grandeur of the music, nor the effect which it might produce on certain minds, concerns us. There are many persons who have had no technical training, but who possess a true sense of order, proportion, and gradation; and such instinctively feel that Schubert's sonatas, in spite of their many striking qualities, are not so great as those of Beethoven. We have referred more than once to the Popular Concert catalogue, which is a very fair thermometer of public taste. One can see how seldom the Schubert sonatas are performed in comparison with those of his great contemporary. But to refer specially to the three last sonatas now under notice. The one in B flat (No. 3) was played by Mr. Leonard Borwick, it is true, on the 3rd February 1894, but the previous date of performance was 16th January 1882. No. 2, in A, was last given in 1882, and No. 1 has not been heard since 1879.
The Allegro of the C minor sonata opens with a bold theme, and an energetic transition passage leads to the dominant of the relative major key. Of the soft second theme Schubert seems so fond, that he is loth to quit it; he repeats it in varied form, and still after that, it is heard in minor. This unnecessarily lengthens the exposition section, which, in addition, has the repeat mark. The development section is rather vague, but the coda is impressive: the long descending phrase and the sad repeated minor chords at the close suggest exhaustion after fierce conflict. The theme of the Adagio, in A flat, partly inspired by Beethoven, is noble, and full of tender, regretful feeling; the opening and close of the movement are the finest portions. The Minuet and Trio are effective, but the final Allegro is hopelessly long, and by no means equal to the rest of the work.
The first movement of the sonata in A has a characteristic principal theme, and one in the dominant key of bewitching beauty. The coda gives a last reminiscence of the opening theme; but its almost defiant character has vanished away; for it is now played pianissimo. Schubert, in the importance of his codas, recalls Beethoven; each, however, made it serve a different purpose. The latter, at any rate in his Allegro movements, gathers together his strength, as if for one last, supreme effort. Schubert, on the other hand, seems rather as if his strength were spent, and as if he could only give a faint echo of his leading theme. The coda of the first movement of the sonata in A minor (Op. 42) offers, however, one striking exception. The Andantino and Scherzo of the A sonata are well-nigh perfect, but the Rondo, in spite of much that is charming, is of inferior quality and of irritating length. The 3rd sonata, in B flat, the last of the series, the sonate-testament, as Von Lenz said of Beethoven's Op. 111, has wonderful moments, yet it contains also lengths which even Schumann would scarcely have ventured to style "heavenly." We refer particularly to the first and last movements; the Andante and Scherzo are beyond criticism.
These sonatas were written as Schubert was about to enter the Valley of the Shadow of Death. His spirit was still strong, but his flesh must have been weak. To turn away from them on account of any imperfections, would be to lose some of Schubert's loftiest thoughts, some of his choicest tone-painting.