Piano Sonata No.3 in F minor Op.5 (1853)

Like Schumann before him, Brahms wrote three piano sonatas early on in his career and then abandoned the form. Whether Schumann precedence had anything to do with that or not, Brahms was certainly under the spell of Robert and Clara, whom he had just met, when he was working on this last sonata. No less enchanted by him, they prevailed upon their “young eagle” to prolong an initially short visit to Düsseldorf to a whole month.

Brahms left the Schumanns much moved. The Piano Sonata in F minor, which he wrote partly in Düsseldorf and partly at home in Hamburg, was clearly inspired by that experience. The evidence is to be found not so much in its profoundly romantic spirit and its Schumannesque style as in one strange and fascinating fact. Towards the end of the last movement, in the Presto coda, Brahms makes a brief but appassionato allusion to Florestan’s aria in the second act of Beethoven’s Fidelio, quoting the climactic phrase which goes with the words “Leonora my wife.” In the light of this tribute to Robert and Clara, it is not difficult to understand the point of the quotation from Sternau which Brahms put at the head of the scond movement: “The evening draws in, moonlight shines. Two hearts are united in love and hold each other in a happy embrace.”

Schumannesque thought though that is, the F minor beginning of the first movement – extravagantly dramatic, superbly muscular, and clearly intended as the mainstay of a large-scale structure – is thoroughly characteristic of Brahms. So too is the second subject which, while thematically related to the first, is its lyrical antithesis. The Schumann influence makes its presence most distinctly felt in the development where, under soft syncopations, a cello-like variation on the main theme emerges espressivo in the left hand.

A similarly poetic mood pervades the Andante which, in its exquisitely expressive opening bars in A flat major, so miraculously reflects the peaceful nocturnal atmosphere suggested by the lines from Sternau. The “two hearts” are surely represented in the intimate exchanges of pairs of semiquavers between right hand and left in the middle of the movement. The form is remarkably free, almost an improvisation. The opening bars occasionaly reappear to hold the structure together but are eventually all but forgotten in a passionate kind of chorale which brings the movement to a climax in a new metre, in a new tempo, on a new theme and in a new key. Quite unconventionally, the D flat major harmonies persist, through a final echo of the opening theme, to the end.

It is probably for this reason that, after a Scherzo that sounds like a manic companion to Florestan in Schumann’s Carnaval, Brahms has another look at the slow movement in an unprecedented Rückblick (“retrospect”) or Intermezzo: the material is the same but the mood, determined by its B flat minor harmonies and its funereal colouring, is different. Having tidied up the loose ends, he leaves nothing to chance in the last movement – a rondo, animated by a Schumannesque 6/8 rhythm, which incorporates the theme of its second episode in one coda (with the Florestan phrase from Fidelio) and reintroduces the main theme in another coda to finalise the long-foreseen establishment of F major.

Robert Schumann was not the only composer to fall in love with Clara Wieck. Brahms was another. He first mer her in 1853, when she had been marrid to Schumann for 13 years, only a few months before Schumann’s mental breakdown. Brahms was 20 years old at the time and almost unknown. But the Schumannss were so impressed by him – “the you eagle,” as they called him – that the first visit he paid to them was spontaneously extended to a month and culminated in the famous last article which Schumann wrote for the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik: “I felt certai that there would emerge an individual fated to give expression to the times in the highest and most ideal manner, who would achieve mast not step by step but at once… His name is Johannes Brahms.”

Brahms left the Schumanns obviously much moved. The Piano Sonata in F minor, which he wrote partly with them in Düsseldorf and partly at home in Hamburg, was clearly inspired by that experience. The evidence for this is to be found not so much in its romantic atmospher and its Schumannesque style – though these are important – as in one strange and fascinating fact. Towards the end of the last movement, in the Presto coda, Brahms makes a deliberate allusio to Florestan’s aria in the second act of Beethoven’s Fidelio, quoting the climactic phrase to which the words “Leonora my wife” belong. Florestan being one of the names Schumann gave himself, the passage is obviously intended as a tribute to his wife. In this light it is not difficult to understand the point of the quotation from Sternau which Brahms put at the head of the slow movement: “The evening draws in, moonlight shintes. Two hearts are united in love and hold each other in a happy embrace.”

Schumannesque thought though that is, however, the F minor beginning of the first movement – dramatic, superbly muscular, and clearly intended as the main material of a large-scale structure – is thoroughly characteristic of Brahms. So too is the second subject, lyrical and feminine (in the relative major). The Schumann influence makes its presence felt in the development where, under soft syncopations, a cello-like variation on the main theme emerges espressivo in the left hand.

That same poetic sort of mood pervades the Andante which so miraculously reflects the peaceful nocturnal atmosphere suggested by the lines from Sternau. The “two hearts” are surely represented in the intimate exchanges of pairs of semiquavers between right hand and left. The form is remarkably free, almost an improvisation. The opening bars occasionaly reappear to hold the structure together but are eventually (almost) forgotten in a long Chopin-like passage which brings the movement to a climax in a new metre, in a new tempo and on a new theme.

It is probably for this reason that, after the very characteristic Scherzo and Brahms has another look at the slow movement in an unprecedented Rückblick (“retrospect”) or Intermezzo: the material is the same but the mood is different. And, having tidied up the loose ends, he leaves nothing to chance in th last movement – a rondo which incorporates the theme of its second episode in one coda (with the Florestan phrase from Fidelio) and reintroduces the main theme in another coda to finalise the long foreseen establishment of F major.