elings, and on
the spur of the moment. In a letter he writes: "I have been all the
week at the piano, composing, writing, laughing, and crying, all at
once. You will find this state of things nicely described in my Op.
20, the 'Grosse Humoreske,' which is already at the printer's. You see
how quickly I always work now. I get an idea, write it down, and have
it printed; that's what I like. Twelve sheets composed in a week!" And
thus short-tone poems, or a long piece, such as the "Humoreske," of
irregular form, were the result. Now that was not the way in which he
composed his two sonatas. He was two years, off and on, at work on the
first, in F sharp minor (Op. 11), and eight on the other, in G minor
(Op. 22). One may therefore conclude that the fetters of form were a
source of trouble to him. And he can scarcely have felt very
enthusiastic over his task; in 1839, after both sonatas were
completed, he declared that "although from time to time fine specimens
of the sonata species made their appearance, and, probably, would
continue to do so, it seemed as if that form of composition had run
its appointed course."

Of the two sonatas, the one in F sharp minor is the more interesting.
The Aria is a movement of exquisite simplicity and tenderness, and the
Scherzo, with its _Intermezzo alla burla_, has life and character. But
the Allegro, which follows the poetical introduction, and the Finale
are patchy, and at times laboured. It must not, however, be supposed
that they are uninteresting. The music has poetry and passion, and the
strong passages atone for the weak ones. There were composers at that
time who could produce sonatas more correct in form, and more logical
in treatment, yet not one who could have written music so filled with
the spirit of romance.

The Sonata in G minor resembles its predecessor both in its strong and
its weak points. Considered, however, as a whole, it is less warm,
less intense. It is unnecessary to describe the two works in detail,
for they must be familiar to all musicians, and especially pianists. A
sympathetic rendering of them will always give pleasure; but in a
history of evolution they are of comparatively small moment. It is
interesting to compare them with the Fantasia in C (Op. 17), a work in
which Schumann displayed the full power of his genius.

Chopin was another composer whose spirit moved uneasily within the
limits of the sonata. The first which he wrote (we do not reckon the
p