That first subject, is it not
almost as ethically puissant and passionate as Beethoven in his F
minor Sonata? Chopin's lack of tenaciousness is visible here.
Beethoven would have built a cathedral on such a foundational
scheme, but Chopin, ever prodigal in his melody making, dashes
impetuously to the A flat episode, that heroic love chant,
erroneously marked dolce and played with the effeminacies of a
salon. Three times does it resound in this strange Hall of
Glancing Mirrors, yet not once should it be caressed. The bronze
fingers of a Tausig are needed. Now are arching the triplets to
the great, thrilling song, beginning in C minor, and then the
octaves, in contrary motion, split wide asunder the very earth.
After terrific chordal reverberations there is the rapid retreat
of vague armies, and once again is begun the ascent of the
rolling triplets to inaccessible heights, and the first theme
sounds in C minor. The modulation lifts to G flat, only to drop
to abysmal depths. What mighty, desperate cause is being
espoused? When peace is presaged in the key of B, is this the
prize for which strive these agonized hosts? Is some forlorn
princess locked behind these solemn, inaccessible bars? For a few
moments there is contentment beyond all price.
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