It may be placed
among Chopin's greater works: the two Etudes in C minor, the A
minor, and the F sharp minor Prelude. The bass requires an
unusual span, and the suggestion by Kullak, that the thumb of the
right hand may eke out the weakness of the left is only for the
timid and the small of fist. But I do not counsel following his
two variants in the fifth and twenty-third bars. Chopin's text is
more telling. Like the vast reverberation of monstrous waves on
the implacable coast of a remote world is this prelude. Despite
its fatalistic ring, its note of despair is not dispiriting. Its
issues are larger, more impersonal, more elemental than the other
preludes. It is a veritable Appassionata, but its theatre is
cosmic and no longer behind the closed doors of the cabinet of
Chopin's soul. The Seelenschrei of Stanislaw Przybyszewski is
here, explosions of wrath and revolt; not Chopin suffers, but his
countrymen. Kleczynski speaks of the three tones at the close.
They are the final clangor of oppressed, almost overthrown,
reason. After the subject reappears in C minor there is a shift
to D flat, and for a moment a point of repose is gained, but this
elusive rest is brief.
Pages:
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251