D has a vigorous
opening Allegro,--a long, lovely, slow movement,--a crisp Scherzo, but
a peculiar Finale, one which Schumann qualifies as comical
(possirlich). The sonata in G contains some of the composer's most
charming, characteristic music. The opening _moderato e cantabile_ is
a tone-poem of touching pathos. The sad principal theme is supported
by such soft, tender harmonies, that its very sadness charms. In the
development section it assumes a different character. Melancholy gives
place to passion, at times fierce; then calm returns. The coda is one
of the most fascinating ever penned by Schubert. The slow movement and
Menuetto form worthy companions; but with the Finale the composer
breaks the spell. Schumann says: "Keep away from it; it has no
imagination, no enigma to solve."

The last three sonatas (in C minor, A, and B flat) were composed in
September 1828, not three months before the death of the composer. In
the opening theme of No. 2, determination and confidence are
expressed, while in the Scherzo and Rondo there is even sunshine,
though now and again black clouds flit across the scene. But in the
Adagio, and in all the movements of the other two sonatas, the mood is
either one of sadness, more or less intense, dark despair, or fierce
frenzy. Music can express both joy and sorrow, though the latter seems
more congenial to it. Mournful strains are an echo, as it were, of the
"still, sad music of humanity." Grief, too, sharpens the imagination;
and music produced under its influence stirs a sensitive soul more
powerfully than the brightest, merriest sounds. But these three
sonatas, though they contain wonderful thoughts and some of Schubert's
grandest, and most delicate harmonic colouring, fall short of
perfection. They are too long, not because they cover so many pages,
but because there is a lack of balance; at times, indeed, the composer
seems to lose all sense of proportion. Then, again, the weakness of
Schubert in the art of development is specially felt; the noble
themes, on the whole, lose rather than gain by the loose, monotonous,
and, in some places, even trivial treatment to which they are
subjected. And what is more fatal than a lack of gradation of
interest? In a truly great work of art, be it poem, tragedy, sonata,
or symphony, the author carries his readers or audience along with
him from one point to another,--he gives no time for rest or
reflection; and when he has worked them up to the h