Four Impromptus, D.935

The second set of Impromptus was clearly intended as a companion to the first: the four pieces are unambiguously labelled as Impromptus in the manuscript where they are numbered from 5 to 8. When they were first published in 1839 no one could have been aware of that, however, and Robert Schumann, who reviewed the publication in his Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, found it “difficult to believe that Schubert really gave them the title of Impromptus.” He was convinced that at least two and perhaps even three of them were movements of a possibly incomplete sonata which Diabelli was offering to the public under a more commercial title. Obviously, he was wrong but he did have good cause both to suspect the integrity of Schubert’s publishers - though not in this particular case - and to sense something of the presence of a sonata. After all, the first Impromptu is in sonata form.

Or is it? The Allegro moderato in F minor has all the attributes of sonata form except the one element which, by 1827, had become essential to it. Where the development section ought to be there is an episode which is not only more interesting than the rest but also quite independent of it. A miniature impromptu in itself - the right hand sustaining a broken chord figuration while the left crosses it in a seriously poetic conversation between treble and bass - the central episode enjoys the privilege of being recalled, if in abbreviated form, in the recapitulation. To give Schumann credit where it is due, he did doubt that the fourth Impromptu, though appropriately in F minor, could have been the finale to a sonata beginning with the Allegro moderato. It could be the scherzo in such a work except that, in its extraordinary spontaneity and unpredictability, this Allegro scherzando is the most impromptu of all Schubert’s Impromptus and as capricious as any of Brahms’s Capriccios.

When Schubert’s Four Impromptus were first published as Op.142 - ten years after the composer’s death - Schumann reviewed them. He found it “difficult to believe that Schubert really gave them the title of Impromptus.” He was convinced that at least two and perhaps even three of them were movements of a possibly incomplete sonata which Diabelli was offering to the public under a more commercial title. But Schumann was writing without having seen Schubert’s manuscript where, in fact, they are quite clearly labelled as Four Impromptus. All the evidence there is indicates that these Impromptus were written, at the end of 1827, as a follow-up to those which Haslinger had already chosen to publish under the title of Impromptus as Schubert’s Op.90.

Schumann’s proposition is interesting and would be persuasive on purely musical grounds if he didn’t go on to dismiss the Impromptu in B flat major as “a set of moderately or completely undistinguished variations on an undistinguished theme.” This is Schubert’s favourite Rosamunde melody he is talking about! Perhaps the uncharacteristic virtuoso brilliance of the fifth variation disappointed Schumann, but it is difficult to imagine what he disliked in the rhythmic lilt of the first, the polonaise allusions of the second, the heroic character of the third (in B flat minor) and the contrastingly capricious nature of the fourth variation. The second Impromptu in A flat major is neither slow movement nor minuet but a graceful combination of the two, with a more turbulent middle section in D flat. To give credit where it is due, Schumann did doubt that the last Impromptu (though appropriately in the same key as the first in the complete set of four) could have belonged to the putative sonata. In which case, however, it is a little unfair to allude to the “casual construction” of a piece intended not as a sonata finale but as a spontaneous extension of a moment musical.

When Schubert’s second set of Four Impromptus was first published – as Op.142, ten years after the composer’s death – Robert Schumann reviewed them in the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik. He found it “difficult to believe that Schubert really gave them the title of Impromptus.” He was convinced that at least two and perhaps even three of them were movements of a possibly incomplete sonata which Diabelli was offering to the public under a more commercial title. Schumann was writing, however, without having seen Schubert’s manuscript where, in fact, they are quite clearly labelled as Four Impromptus. All the evidence there is indicates that these Impromptus were written, at the end of 1827, as a follow-up to those which Haslinger had already chosen to publish under the title of Impromptus as Schubert’s Op.90. Schubert did, in fact, offer them to Schott in February 1828 but only to have theme rejected as “too difficult.”.

It could just be that Schubert originally intended the first of these Impromptus as a sonata movement – it is long enough for that – and then realised that it would look much happier under a less formal title. It has all the attributes of sonata form except the one element which, by 1827, had become essential to it. Where the development section ought to be there is an episode which is not only more interesting than the rest but also quite independent of it. A miniature impromptu in itself – the right hand sustaining a broken chord figuration while the left crosses it in a seriously poetic conversation between treble and bass – the central episode enjoys the    privilege of being recalled, if in abbreviated form, in the recapitulation.

If, like Schumann, you can accept the first Impromptu as the first movement of a sonata, you can take the second Impromptu in A flat major as the second movement of the same sonata. It is neither slow movement nor minuet but a graceful combination of the two, with a more turbulent middle section in D flat. But where Schumann loses all credibility, surely, is in his dismissal of the third Impromptu in B flat major as “a set of moderately or completely undistinguished variations on an undistinguished theme.” Perhaps the uncharacteristic virtuoso brilliance of the fifth variation disappointed him. Even so it is difficult to imagine what he disliked in Schubert’s favourite Rosamunde melody, in the rhythmic lilt of the first variation, the polonaise allusions of the second, the heroic character of the third (in B flat minor) and the contrastingly capricious nature of the fourth.

Reassuringly for his admirers, Schumann did doubt that the fourth Impromptu, though appropriately in F minor, could have been the finale to a sonata beginning with the Allegro moderato. It could be the scherzo in such a work except that in its quite extraordinary spontaneity and unpredictability – it is more impromptu than any of Schubert’s other Impromptus and as capricious as any Brahms Capriccio – this Allegro scherzando would be impossible to accommodate in any sonata.

When Schubert’s Four Impromptus were first published (as Op.142) – ten years after the composer’s death – Schumann reviewed them. He found it “difficult to believe that Schubert really gave them the title of Impromptus.” He was convinced that at least two and perhaps even three of them were movements of a possibly incomplete sonata which Diabelli was offering to the public under a more commercial title. Schumann was writing without having seen Schubert’s manuscript where, in fact, they are quite clearly labelled as Four Impromptus. But, in spite of the evidence of the manuscript and its confirmation in a letter from Schubert to the publisher Schott, Alfred Einstein actually goes further than Schumann and argues that the Four Impromptus are a complete sonata in disguise.

Unable to blame Diabelli, however, Einstein attributed the deception to the difficulty experienced by Schubert in getting anything as ambitious as a sonata published. It is true that Schott was not tempted by this work even under the title of Four Impromptus and rejected it as “too difficult.” But all the evidence there is indicates that these Impromptus were written, at the end of 1827, as a follow-up to those which Haslinger had already chosen to publish under the title of Impromptus as Schubert’s Op.90. Besides, it would be more difficult to reject the combined opinions of Schumann and Einstein if they were not in such direct disagreement over the details.    Schumann regards the first Impromptu in F minor as the first movement of a sonata because it is so complete in itself. Einstein’s opinion is that it is open-ended and “cries aloud to be carried further to a logical conclusion.”

A compromise opinion could be that Schubert originally intended the first Impromptu as a sonata movement – it is long enough for that – and then realised that it would look much happier under a less formal title. After all, none of the finished sonatas has a first movement of such fragmented and unpremeditated construction. What in a sonata movement would be called the first subject reappears twice, once in the middle and once at the end (each time in the tonic key of F minor), and is not developed. There is a variety of second-subject material in the relative major. But the most inspired part of the piece is an episode, beginning in A flat major, in which the left hand crosses a broken-chord figuration and gives voice to the two parts of a poetic dialogue between soprano and bass. After the recapitulation of the second subject in the tonic major and before the final return of the first subject, this episode reappears in F minor, giving the whole construction a rondo-like shape.

If, like Schumann, you can accept the first Impromptu as the first movement of a sonata, you can take the second Impromptu in A flat major as the second movement of the same sonata. It is neither slow movement nor minuet but a graceful combination of the two, with a more turbulent middle section in D flat. But where Schumann, surely, loses all credibility is in his dismissal of the third Impromptu in B flat major as “a set of moderately or completely undistinguished variations on an undistinguished theme.” He is referring to Schubert’s favourite Rosamunde    melody! Perhaps the uncharacteristic virtuoso brilliance of the fifth variation disappointed Schumann, but it is difficult to imagine what he disliked in the rhythmic lilt of the first, the polonaise allusions of the second, the heroic character of the third (in B flat minor) and the contrastingly capricious nature of the fourth variation. To give credit where it is due, Schumann did doubt that the fourth Impromptu, though appropriately in F minor, could have belonged to the putative sonata. In which case, however, it is unfair to refer to the “casual construction” of a piece intended not as a sonata finale but as a spontaneous extension of a moment musical.