Sonata No.2 in B flat minor Op.35

Bearing in mind Schumann’s review of Chopin’s Sonata in B flat minor in the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik in 1841, it is surprising that the two composers were able to retain their polite, if cool relationship. Schumann    particularly disliked the third movement, where he felt that “an Adagio in D flat major would have had an incomparably more beautiful effect” than the Marche funèbre        in B flat minor. He was at a disadvantage in that he did not know that the Marche funèbre was written two years before the rest of the work, which was actually designed to fit round it. The agitated first subject of the first movement relates not only to the grim falling seventh of the brief        Grave introducton    but also anticipates the tragedy implicit in the funeral march that comes later. After the tonal strategy here and in the Scherzo,    which Schumann found “bold, intelligent and imaginative,” an Adagio in D flat major could not have had the inevitability of the Marche funèbre, where D flat major harmonies are actually reserved for the consolatory middle section. There is no consolation of any kind in the ghostly flight of bare octave triplets which, exclusively, haunt the Presto last movement – “more mockery than music,” said    the uncomprehending Schumann.

Of the four Scherzos Chopin wrote between 1835 and 1843, the last comes nearest to meeting the expectations arising from the Italian term “scherzo,” which literally means “joke.” The turbulent First Scherzo in B minor moved Robert Schuman to make his classic remark that if this is a joke he would like to know what serious music sounds like! One by one, however, Chopin’s scherzos became gradually less demonic: in comparison with its three predecessors, all in minor keys, the Fourth in E major is a serene and radiant inspiration. No one could argue that the opening section, with its five or six thematic components capriciously shuffled and reshuffled, is anything but brilliantly entertaining. The late entry of a new theme in duple-time rhythms gently crossing the prevailing triple-time metre, is a particularly delightful event. But then there is the pìu lento middle section in C sharp minor which seems to suggest, in its confiding sort of way, that the emotional reality is not so cheerful. If that is true, perhaps it is confirmed on the return of the E major material by those new details in harmony and colouring which hint that there might now be just a touch of petulance mingled with the capriciousness. And is the coda merely impetuous or just a little angry?

Bearing in mind Schumann’s review of Chopin’s Sonata in B flat minor in the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik in 1841, it is surprising that the two composers were able to retain their polite, if cool relationship. Schumann    particularly disliked the third movement, where he felt that “an Adagio in D flat major would have had an incomparably more beautiful effect” than the “repulsive” Marche funèbre in B flat minor. If he had known that the Marche funèbre was actually written two years before the rest of the work, which was designed to fit round it, he might have had a better understanding of the situation.

The agitated first subject of the first movement relates not only to the grim falling seventh of the brief Grave introducton    but also anticipates the tragedy implicit in the funeral march that comes later. Chopin is not prepared to shut out the light at this stage, however, and the more lyrical material assumes the greater importance in the construction. After the tonal strategy here and in the Scherzo, which Schumann found “bold, intelligent and imaginative,” an Adagio in D flat major could not have had the inevitability of the Marche funèbre, where D flat major harmonies are actually reserved for the consolatory middle section. There is no consolation of any kind in the ghostly flight of bare octave triplets which, exclusively, haunt the Presto last movement. Schumann said it is “more mockery than music.” For Chopin, who simply described it as “a short finale of about three pages…the left hand chattering unisono with the right hand,” there was apparently nothing very special about this extraordinary adventure in dry textures, sotto voce dynamics and fugitive harmonies.

Robert Schumann has never been forgiven for finding “something repulsive” in the third movement of Chopin’s Piano Sonata in B flat minor. But he did have the perception to realize that this is no ordinary slow movement and that there is, in fact, something anomalous about it. Although he could not have known it, the Marche funèbre was written two years before the rest of the sonata as a separate work. The other three movements were designed to fit round it.

Schumann could not have known either that the Marche funèbre would one day be be more closely associated with funerals than Mendelssohn’s Hochzeitsmarsch with weddings. It is a sure indication of the high quality of the sonata in general that it has survived such treatment of its central feature. One reason why it has survived is that the Marche funèbre is so thoroughly and so carefully integrated with the other three movements that, when the sonata is performed complete, it relates more to its context than to its extraneous associations. The drooping phrase in the first of the four Grave bars at the beginning of the work is not only an appropriately grim opening gesture but also the thematic cell from which much of the subsequent melodic material is derived. Chopin is not prepared to shut out the light at this stage, however, and the more lyrical material assumes the greater importance in the construction.

This same lyrical inspiration illuminates the middle section of the Scherzo second movement. But then the demons which persecuted first section return in full-scale vehemence and the ending is distinctly uneasy. In spite of Schumann’s doubts, the following Marche funèbre is unquestionably appropriate in a context so thoughtfully prepared to accommodate both its ceremonial B flat minor outer sections and its consolatory but still sorrowful middle section.

There is no consolation of any kind in the ghostly flight of bare octave triplets which, exclusively, haunt the Presto last movement. Schumann said it is “more mockery than music.” For Chopin, who simply described it as “a short finale of about three pages…the left hand chattering unisono with the right hand,” there was apparently nothing very special about this extraordinary adventure in dry textures, sotto voce dynamics and fugitive harmonies.Schumann could not have known either that an orchestral arrangement of the Marche funèbre would be performed at Chopin’s funeral service in the Madeleine in October 1849, that it would be issued as a memorial by three of his publishers a month later and that from then on it would be more closely associated with funerals than is Mendelssohn’s Hochzeitsmarsch with weddings. It is a sure indication of the high quality of the sonata in general that it has survived such treatment of its central feature.

One reason why it has survived is that the Marche funèbre is so thoroughly and so carefully integrated with the other three movements that, when the sonata is performed complete, it relates more to its context than to its extraneous associations. The falling seventh in the first of the four Grave bars at the beginning of the work is not only an appropriately grim opening gesture but also the thematic cell from which much of the subsequent melodic material is derived. The agitated first subject not only relates to the falling seventh but also anticipates the tragedy implicit in the funeral march that comes later. Chopin is not prepared to shut out the light at this stage, however, and it is not the first subject but the more lyrical second subject which assumes the greater importance in the construction, bringing about the B flat major ending of the movement.

This same lyrical inspiration illuminates the middle section of the Scherzo second movement. But then the demons which persecuted first section return in full-scale vehemence and, although middle section is briefly recalled, the ending is distinctly uneasy. Schumann felt that, after this “bold, intelligent and imaginative” second movement, “an Adagio in D flat, say, would have had an immeasurably more beautiful effect” than the “still more sombre funeral march” which actually does follow - and which, of course, is unquestionably appropriate in a context so thoughtfully prepared to accommodate both its ceremonial B flat minor outer sections and its consolatory but still sorrowful middle section.

There is no consolation of any kind in the ghostly flight of bare octave triplets which, exclusively, haunt the Presto last movement. Schumann said it is “more mockery than music.” Mendelssohn couldn’t understand it at all. For Chopin, who simply described it as “a short finale of about three pages…the left hand chattering unisono with the right hand,” there was apparently nothing very special about this extraordinary adventure in dry textures, sotto voce dynamics and fugitive harmonies.

chopin: sonata in B flat minor

Frédéric Chopin (1810-1849)

Sonata No.2 in B flat minor, Op.35

Grave - doppio movimento

Scherzo

Marche funèbre: lento

Presto

When Chopin wrote his First Piano Sonata in C minor he was scarcely a beginner: he had already written polonaises, mazurkas, waltzes and several sets of variations, including the Variations on Là ci darem la mano which were so famously to move Schumann to proclaim the young composer a genius. Eleven years later, on the other hand, when he came to write his Second Piano Sonata in B flat minor he had completed the two Piano Concertos, the Studies Op.10 and Op.25, the Preludes Op.28, three of the four Scherzos and two of the four Ballades. He was now a composer at the height of his powers, as a comparison of the Second Sonata with the by no means negligible First would conclusively demonstrate.

The main theme of the opening movement of the Sonata in B flat minor seems to share something of the obsessive quality of the equivalent theme in the Sonata in C minor but, at its hard-pressed tempo and in its breathless articulation, the later inspiration is emotionally so much more meaningful. By now, moreover, Chopin has the confidence to introduce a second subject which is not only clearly defined but also, in its D flat major tonality and its sostenuto treatment, such a complete contrast to the first that it could endanger the coherence of the movement. Structural considerations are not ignored - the thematically pregnant first four bars (marked Grave) are proof of that - but the poetic impulse is fully liberated. The recall of the second subject in B flat major at the beginning of the recapitulation, securing an ending in which the anxieties of the first subject are all but quelled, is a beautiful illusion.

Like the Menuetto in the C minor Sonata, the Scherzo of Sonata in B flat minor is presented as the second of the four movements. But that is all the two pieces have in common: this later Scherzo in E flat minor is clearly related to the dramatic version of the form Chopin had in the meantime so successfully developed in the Scherzos in B minor, B flat minor and C sharp minor. As in the first movement, there is a contrastingly tranquil section in the relative major but the ending, which recalls the lyrical material in the relative major again rather than in the tonic major, is uneasy. So now the way is prepared for the Marche funèbre in B flat minor which Chopin had written two years earlier - to mark, it is said, the anniversary of the Warsaw uprising - and which he evidently considered strong enough to have a whole sonata built round it. In this case even the contrasting material in the D flat major middle section is sorrowful.

After that there is no escape. The unbroken flight of unharmonised sotto voce triplets in the Presto finale is surely not intended to represent “wind blowing over the grave,” as legend has it: Chopin himself described it as nothing more than “a short finale of about three pages…the left hand chattering unisono with the right hand.” But as soon as the descending seventh of the Grave opening of the first movement is incorporated in the Presto opening of the last - in the very first bar in fact - the fate of the sonata, like its construction, is sealed.

Gerald Larner©

Robert Schumann has never been forgiven for finding “something repulsive” in the third movement of Chopin’s Piano Sonata in B flat minor. But he did have the perception to realize that this is no ordinary slow movement and that there is, in fact, something anomalous about it. Although he could not have known it, the Marche funèbre was written two years before the rest of the sonata as a separate work - to commemorate, so they say, the anniversary of the Warsaw rising. The other three movements were designed to fit round it: “I am composing a sonata in B flat minor which will have in it the funeral march you already know,” Chopin wrote to a friend from Nohant in 1839.

    Schumann could not have known either that an orchestral arrangement of the Marche funèbre would be performed at Chopin’s funeral service in the Madeleine in October 1849, that it would be issued as a memorial by three of his publishers a month later and that from then on it would be more closely associated with funerals than is Mendelssohn’s Hochzeitsmarsch with weddings. There is something repulsive about that, as there is in the subsequent tradition of presenting the movement as though it were a passing funeral cortège. It is a sure indication of the high quality of the sonata in general that it has survived such treatment of its central feature.

    One reason why it has survived is that the Marche funèbre is so thoroughly and so carefully integrated with the other three movements that, when the sonata is performed complete, it relates more to its context than to its extraneous associations. The falling seventh in the first of the four Grave bars at the beginning of the work is not only an appropriately grim opening gesture but also the thematic cell from which much of the subsequent melodic material is derived. The agitated first subject not only relates to the falling seventh but also anticipates the tragedy implicit in the funeral march that comes later. Chopin is not prepared to shut out the light at this stage, however, and it is not the first subject - he omits it from the recapitulation - but the more lyrical second subject which assumes the greater importance in the construction, bringing about the B flat major ending of the movement.

    This same lyrical inspiration illuminates the G flat major trio section of the second movement. But this time the demons which persecute the E flat minor first section return in full-scale vehemence and, although the trio section is briefly recalled, the ending in the relative major is distinctly uneasy. Schumann felt that, after this “bold, intelligent and imaginative” second movement, “an adagio in D flat, say, would have had an immeasurably more beautiful effect” than the “still more sombre funeral march” which actually does follow - and which, of course, is unquestionably appropriate in a context so thoughtfully prepared to accommodate both its ceremonial B flat minor outer sections and its consolatory but still sorrowful middle section in D flat major.

    There is no consolation of any kind in the ghostly flight of bare octave triplets which, exclusively, haunt the Presto last movement. Schumann said it is “more mockery than music.” Mendelssohn couldn’t understand it at all. For Chopin, who simply described it as “a short finale of about three pages…the left hand chattering unisono with the right hand,” there was apparently nothing very special about this extraordinary adventure in dry textures, sotto voce dynamics and fugitive harmonies.

Gerald Larner©

Perceptive critic though he was, Schumann got it all wrong in his review of Chopin’s Sonata in B flat minor – “a tonality not notable for its great popularity” – in the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik in 1841. He particularly disliked the third movement, where he felt that “an Adagio in D flat major would have had an incomparably more beautiful effect” than the “repulsive” Marche funèbre in B flat minor. He was at a disadvantage, of course, in that he did not know that the Marche funèbre was written two years before the rest of the work, which was actually designed to fit round it (“I am composing a sonata in B flat minor which will have in it the funeral march you already know,” Chopin wrote from Nohant in 1839). Schumann probably did not know either that Beethoven’s Sonata in A flat major Op.26 with its Marcia funebre third movement was one of Chopin’s favourite works, both for performing and teaching purposes. And, since he was writing before the F minor Fantasy Op.49 and the Nocturnes Op.48 and Op.55 were published, he cannot have been aware how fundamental the funeral-march idiom was to Chopin’s musical language.

If Schumann could have predicted the future of the Marche funèbre – after its use at Chopin’s own funeral at at the Madeleine in 1849 it would be more closely associated with funerals than Mendlssohn’s Hochzeitsmarsch with weddings – he would have liked it even less. He would probably have deplored too the subsequent tradition of presenting the movement as though it were a passing cortège. It is a sure indication of the high quality of the sonata in general that it has survived such treatment of its central feature.

The Marche funèbre is so thoroughly and so carefully integrated with the other three movements that, when the work is performed complete, it relates more to its context than to its extraneous associations. The falling seventh in the first of the four Grave bars at the beginning of the work is not only an appropriately grim opening gesture but also the thematic cell from which much of the subsequent melodic material is derived. The agitated first subject not only relates to the falling seventh but also anticipates the tragedy implicit in the funeral march that comes later. Chopin is not prepared to shut out the light at this stage, however, and it is not the first subject – he omits it from the recapitulation – but the more lyrical second subject which assumes the greater importance in the construction, bringing about the B flat major ending of the movement.

The same lyrical inspiration illuminates the G flat major trio section of the second movement. But this time the demons which persecute the E flat minor first section return in full-scale vehemence and, although the trio section is briefly recalled, the ending in the relative major is distinctly uneasy. After this second movement,“bold, intelligent and imaginative” as Schumann described it, an Adagio in D flat major might well have been effective. It would not, however, have had the inevitability, the unquestionable propriety of the Marche funèbre in a context so thoughtfully prepared to accommodate both its ceremonial B flat minor outer sections and its consolatory but still sorrowful middle section in D flat major.

There is no consolation of any kind in the ghostly flight of bare octave triplets which, exclusively, haunt the Presto last movement. Schumann said it is “more mockery than music.” Mendelssohn couldn’t understand it at all. For Chopin, who simply described it as “a short finale of about three pages…the left hand chattering unisono with the right hand,” there was apparently nothing very special about this extraordinary adventure in dry textures, sotto voce dynamics and fugitive harmonies.

Robert Schumann has never been forgiven for finding “something repulsive” in the third movement of Chopin’s Piano Sonata in B flat minor. But he did have the perception to realize that this is no ordinary slow movement and that there is, in fact, something anomalous about it. Although he could not have known it, the Marche funèbre was written two years before the rest of the sonata, as a separate work. The other three movements were designed to fit round it.

Schumann could not have known either that the Marche funèbre would one day be be more closely associated with funerals than Mendelssohn’s Hochzeitsmarsch with weddings. It is a sure indication of the high quality of the sonata in general that it has survived such treatment of its central feature. One reason why it has survived is that the Marche funèbre is so thoroughly and so carefully integrated with the other three movements that, when the sonata is performed complete, it relates more to its context than to its extraneous associations. The drooping phrase in the first of the four Grave bars at the beginning of the work is not only an appropriately grim opening gesture but also the thematic cell from which much of the subsequent melodic material is derived. Chopin is not prepared to shut out the light at this stage, however, and the more lyrical material assumes the greater importance in the construction.

This same lyrical inspiration illuminates the middle section of the Scherzo second movement. But then the demons which persecuted first section return in full-scale vehemence and the ending is distinctly uneasy. In spite of Schumann’s doubts, the following Marche funèbre is unquestionably appropriate in a context so thoughtfully prepared to accommodate both its ceremonial B flat minor outer sections and its consolatory but still sorrowful middle section.

There is no consolation of any kind in the ghostly flight of bare octave triplets which, exclusively, haunt the Presto last movement. Schumann said it is “more mockery than music.” For Chopin, who simply described it as “a short finale of about three pages…the left hand chattering unisono with the right hand,” there was apparently nothing very special about this extraordinary adventure in dry textures, sotto voce dynamics and fugitive harmonies.- It is a sure indication of the high quality of the sonata in general that it has survived such treatment of its central feature.

    One reason why it has survived is that the Marche funèbre is so thoroughly and so carefully integrated with the other three movements that, when the sonata is performed complete, it relates more to its context than to its extraneous associations. The falling seventh in the first of the four Grave bars at the beginning of the work is not only an appropriately grim opening gesture but also the thematic cell from which much of the subsequent melodic material is derived. The agitated first subject not only relates to the falling seventh but also anticipates the tragedy implicit in the funeral march that comes later. Chopin is not prepared to shut out the light at this stage, however, and it is not the first subject    but the more lyrical second subject which assumes the greater importance in the construction, bringing about the B flat major ending of the movement.

This same lyrical inspiration illuminates the middle section of the Scherzo second movement. But then the demons which persecuted first section return in full-scale vehemence and, although middle section is briefly recalled, the ending is distinctly uneasy. Schumann felt that, after this “bold, intelligent and imaginative” second movement, “an Adagio in D flat, say, would have had an immeasurably more beautiful effect” than the “still more sombre funeral march” which actually does follow - and which, of course, is unquestionably appropriate in a context so thoughtfully prepared to accommodate both its ceremonial B flat minor outer sections and its consolatory but still sorrowful middle section.

There is no consolation of any kind in the ghostly flight of bare octave triplets which, exclusively, haunt the Presto last movement. Schumann said it is “more mockery than music.” Mendelssohn couldn’t understand it at all. For Chopin, who simply described it as “a short finale of about three pages…the left hand chattering unisono with the right hand,” there was apparently nothing very special about this extraordinary adventure in dry textures, sotto voce dynamics and fugitive harmonies.