below the surface of things--he was guided only by his unfailing
intuition.

In these ten sonatas we have Purcell, the composer of pure music,
independent of words and stage-scenes, at his ripest and fullest. The
subjects are full of sinew, energy, colour; the technique of the fugues
is impeccable; the intensity of feeling in some of these slow movements
of his is sometimes almost startling when one of his strokes suddenly
proclaims it. There are sunny, joyous numbers, too, robust, jolly
tunes, as healthy and fresh as anything in the theatre pieces. The
"Golden" sonata is, after all, a fair representative. If the last
movement seems--as most of the finales of all the composers until
Beethoven do seem--a trifle light and insignificant after the almost
tragic seriousness of the largo, we must bear in mind that it was very
frequently part of Purcell's design to have a cheerful ending.
Unfortunately, there is no good edition of the sonatas. They are chamber
music, and never were intended to be played in a large room. They should
be played in a small room, and the pianist--for harpsichords are
woefully scarce to-day--should fill in his part from the figured bars
simply with moving figurations, neither plumping down thunderous chords
nor (as one editor lately proposed) indulging in dazzling show passages
modelled on Moscheles and Thalberg. Properly played, no music is more
delightful.




CHAPTER V