Whether regarded from the standpoint of musical form, of intrinsic
beauty, or of dramatic intensity, this work may safely be pronounced
Chopin’s masterpiece; and in the present writer’s opinion it ranks as
the greatest composition in all piano literature. Chopin’s ability to
handle the strict sonata form successfully has been sometimes called in
question; but whatever may be said of his other two sonatas, this one
will certainly bear comparison with the most perfect models of symmetry,
finish, and architectural completeness, by the best known and most
universally recognized classic masters. In the _allegro_ movement, upon
which the distinguishing character of the sonata form always depends,
the first and second subjects are well contrasted and admirably
balanced, the development is logical, ingenious, and forceful, and the
statement of the dramatic content is clear, concise, and strong, without
a single irrelevant phrase or superfluous measure.
The work is founded upon an ancient Polish poem of a semi-legendary,
semi-allegorical significance, by a once prominent, now well-nigh
forgotten Polish writer. It consists of four movements, corresponding to
the four cantos of the poem, of which it is, in a sense, a musical
translation, treating successively the principal moods and situations in
the story. The fact that in the first two movements the incidents are
treated symbolically, emotionally, in accordance with the composer’s
usual subjective mode of expression, rather than with the descriptive or
imitative devices of the modern school, does not in the least detract
from the poetic impression or suggestive power of the music.
In the last two movements he has recourse, for obvious reasons, to the
direct method of definite realism. The first movement pictures the life
and feelings of the hero, a Polish knight of the middle ages, facing
storm and conflict, danger and hardship, in camp and field, fighting for
king and country, cheered now and then, in lonely hours of vigil at the
camp-fire, by waking visions of his distant home and his waiting bride.
The opening measures of the brief introduction tell of stern courage and
inflexible resolve. Then the first subject enters, stirring, impetuous,
fiery, full of the ring of trumpets, the clash of steel, the fierce
exultation of desperate combat. The tranquil second subject suggests
memories of the happy days of youth in his quiet home—dreams of a
future brightened by the light of promised love, but still enveloped in
the softening haze of distance and uncertainty. The development, with
its complex, conflicting rhythms, its resistless, tempestuous sweep,
thrills with the excitement of sudden onset, the rush of charging
squadrons, the battle cry of struggling hosts. The closing chords
express a somber triumph, the proud but sorrow-shadowed elation of a
hard-won victory, purchased by the blood of many a patriot comrade.
The second movement, the scherzo, gives us the triumphant return of our
hero crowned with laurel, accompanied by the jubilant strains of martial
music, and the glad acclamations of the crowd. Yet, in the midst of his
pride and well-earned glory, he finds time to dream again; this time
more tenderly, sweetly, hopefully; to dream of his home-coming, and the
fond greeting that awaits him in his own native village, where, through
the difficulties and dangers of the campaign, his promised bride has
been watching, and hoping, and praying for his return in faithful but
anxious affection.
Here again we find two contrasting and strongly characteristic themes:
The first, full of martial pride and exultation, the thoughts of
victory, the glad tribute of applause to a nation’s hero; the second,
tender, dreamy, pulsing with love’s anticipation. After this soulful
trio melody, the first martial strains are repeated; but in the coda, a
brief recurrence of the trio theme seems to emphasize the idea that with
him the love thought dominates. This brings us to the third movement,
the Funeral March, unquestionably the best funeral march ever written
for the piano, the most intrinsically beautiful, the most touchingly,
intensely sad, and the most complete, finely finished, and perfectly
sustained, from first measure to last; the strongest, noblest, deepest
expression of heart-crushing sorrow to be found in all piano literature.
As it is published and most often heard by itself, many who have played
and listened to it have not even been aware that it affords the third
chapter, so to speak, in a great tone epic, for as such this sonata must
be considered.
As our hero approaches home, his heart swelling with anticipation, he is
greeted by the distant, solemn tolling of cathedral bells, too evidently
funeral bells, and soon is met by a slowly moving, somber procession of
black-robed monks and mourners, bearing to her last resting-place in the
church-yard the very bride to whose fond greeting he has so ardently
looked forward. The music, soft and muffled at first, like the toll of
far-off bells, gradually grows in power and intensity as the procession
advances, assuming more and more the heavy, measured, inflexible rhythm
of a funeral march, and swelling at last to an overwhelming climax of
passionate pain.
Then the procession comes to a stand by the open grave. After a brief
pause, the sweet, plaintive trio melody enters, pure and tender as a
prayer, touched and thrilled to warmth and pathos by memories of happier
days; after which the march movement is resumed, as the procession
slowly and sadly returns to the village; the music, heavy, crushing,
inexorable at first as the voice of fate, gradually recedes, diminishes,
dies in the distance; and then follows the last movement, the presto, in
some respects the most original and most impressive of all, the lament
of the autumn night-wind over a forsaken grave, one of the few cases in
which Chopin chose to be distinctly realistic, a literal and graphic
imitation of wind effects; yet woven through it is an unmistakable
suggestion of the mood of the hour and situation, the chill, the gloom,
the wild despair, and a hint of that ever darker thought that will arise
at such moments; after death, formless void, chaos.
There is an important vein of allegory underlying this whole story, like
a deep substratum. The hero is a personification of the typical Polish
patriot, struggling, in a forlorn hope, for his native land; the bride
is Poland, and the mighty, overwhelming grief expressed is more than a
personal sorrow: it is for the death and burial of a nation.
The authority for connecting the poem referred to with this sonata has
been frequently questioned. I wish to state here that the poetic
background to this great work is by no means hypothetically sketched in
by my own imagination, however fully justified by the inherent character
of the music. I have my data in full from Kullak and Liszt, the latter
having been a personal friend of Chopin, as is well known, and having
first presented the sonata in public to the musical world. We may safely
assume, therefore, that he was correctly informed with regard to it, and
that this interpretation is authentic and authoritative.