But then there is much Chopin, while
little of his precious essence is to be tasted in the first
sonata.
Chopin wrote of the C minor Sonata: "As a pupil I dedicated it to
Elsner," and--oh, the irony of criticism!--it was praised by the
critics because not so revolutionary as the Variations, op. 2.
This, too, despite the larghetto in five-four time. The first
movement is wheezing and all but lifeless. One asks in
astonishment what Chopin is doing in this gallery. And it is
technically difficult. The menuetto is excellent, its trio being
a faint approach to Beethoven in color. The unaccustomed rhythm
of the slow movement is irritating. Our young Chopin does not
move about as freely as Benjamin Godard in the scherzo of his
violin and piano sonata in the same bizarre rhythm. Niecks sees
naught but barren waste in the finale. I disagree with him. There
is the breath of a stirring spirit, an imitative attempt that is
more diverting than the other movements. Above all there is
movement, and the close is vigorous, though banal. The sonata is
the dullest music penned by Chopin, but as a whole it hangs
together as a sonata better than its two successors.
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