The original manuscript of this Sonata is lost. The sketches, primarily concerning the first movement, are found in the Kessler notebook, where they precede by about fifty pages those of the Sonata in G major, just seen, which is listed as the first of the work. In the Adagio-Allegro proposition of the first twenty bars, the spirit of the entire movement is already contained in germ: not only the first theme appears — exposed, so to speak, in a state of rest — but also the sense of agitation of the second, which will follow with such breadth and passion after the first, completed in a certain sense by the addition of a soft imploring phrase, and will lead to action with the entrance of the actual Allegro at the twenty-first bar. The development, based on the first theme, is also strongly dramatic in tone. The introduction of the recitative in the Largo-Allegro reprise, which marks the beginning of the recapitulation, is very effective. In the coda, a further derivation of the second theme disperses the agitation in the dark murmur of the bass.

An Adagio follows a line of gradual brightening: from the mysterious start with small phrases, to the ascending progression of the melody in crescendo, accompanied by the timpani-like figure in the bass, to the clear definition of the second theme, which establishes the bright central point, only to darken again and repeat the cycle, with a bit more animation in the first part, leading to a conclusion that is both calm and veiled. A page of fascinating fantasy, which appropriately prepares the final Allegro. It has been said of this that it “resurrects a sort of super harpsichord, or evokes a non-existent keyboard harp with its dense and continuous motion in the shifting dynamic colours and harmonic shades.” Words that, while defining its technical form, give rise to imaginations of delicacy, translucent colours, refined play, and precious filigree.

It is worth noting some analogy with the final movement of Mozart’s Sonata in A minor K. 310, but always keeping in mind that what was there a concurrent element supporting or integrating the melody now rises to an independent entity, a primary and self-standing core of a new creative fact. The sketches for this movement could be referred to in Nos. 317 and 318 of the present catalogue. A similar movement will also be assumed by Beethoven’s piano piece “Für Elise,” composed in 1810. Schindler relates that, many years later (1823), when he asked Beethoven to reveal the key for interpreting the two Sonatas op. 31 No. 2 and op. 57 (Appassionata), he reportedly received the reply: “Read The Tempest by Shakespeare.” Whether Beethoven thus intended to suggest the first hint of an “authentic interpretation,” or rather to evasively dismiss an unwelcome question, is unclear; among modern scholars, Rolland tends towards the first hypothesis, while Riezler supports the second.

Rolland compares the general mood of The Tempest (“The unleashing of elemental forces, passions, madness of men and elements. And the domination of the magician Spirit who assembles and dissipates, at will, the illusion”) to the Beethovenian art of this period, particularly in the first movement of op. 31 No. 2 and throughout op. 57 (“The torrent of an implacable and wild force. The sovereignty of thought that triumphs over all”). But returning to an interpretation more closely aligned with the words that Beethoven is said to have spoken, we might think that he unconsciously relived and re-experienced the entire world of Shakespeare’s play: the horror and grandeur of the tempest, the magic of Prospero, the spells that surround the island with mysterious sounds and noises, the flight of Ariel, the tender love of Miranda and Ferdinand; and that to all this, as a generic determinant, the artist’s soul might have drawn its first and deep inspiration for fantasy, which it then realised in purely musical forms, free of any specific reference.

Such is not Schering’s idea, which, almost in answer today to Schindler’s “where?”, sought to localise scenes and music, citing for the first movement Act I, Scene III (Fernando hears the call of the invisible Ariel and listens moved as Ariel speaks to him of the dead father); for the second, Act III, Scene I (the love duet between Fernando and Miranda); for the third, Act V, Scene I (the characteristic image of the sprite Ariel, according to his song).

The original manuscript has been lost, as with the previous sonatas. The sketches are found in the Wielhorsky notebook. However, those for the Minuet are missing. The Allegro has a rather capricious character, with the triple articulation of the questioning, dragged-out, and decisive opening theme, featuring a play of staccatos and legatos, and the second theme having the form of a polonaise.

There is a certain spirit of jest, though it concludes in a sort of captivating abandon. Similarly, in the development and coda, based on the first theme, its various elements are presented and combined in ways that give an even stronger sense of a slight caricature. As in the Quartet in C minor op. 18 No. 4, the slow movement has been replaced by a lively Allegretto, titled by the composer as Scherzo. A similar thing, more than ten years later, Beethoven would also do in the Eighth Symphony, placing an Allegretto scherzando as its second movement. However, in all three works, the third movement is titled and retains the authentic form of a Minuet. Here, though, the name Scherzo designates a completely different type, one that doesn’t have the usual cut or character of a Scherzo.

Particularly noteworthy is the use of staccato, both in the accompaniment of the first theme (which contrasts with the choral figurations of the melody) and in the formation of the second theme. The page has a rhythmic and melodic fluidity, rich with instrumental spirit. The Minuet that constitutes the third movement has a serious and sustained character. In its melodic line, it recalls, though in a less expansive and smooth way, the theme of the Adagio cantabile from the Septet. From the light touch of C-flat at the beginning of the second section, it develops into a dark-hued coda at the end of the piece, which led Casella to think of it as a precursor to the sorrowful bassoon passage at the end of the Andante in the Fifth Symphony. The Trio, for its rhythmic energy, incisiveness, and decisive cadences, also appears distinctly Beethovenian.

The Finale (Presto con fuoco), while fierce, has, due to the bagpipe-like figure at its base, some points of contact with the more placid Finale of Sonata op. 28. It consists of an incessant movement, like a very animated dance (even if we want to call it pastoral), which brings us back to the corresponding movement in the Quartet op. 18 No. 3. Bekker calls it “a kind of German tarantella.”