The second movement exceeds the finale of the ‘Symphonic Études’ in triumphant vigor. The last movement is long, richly scored, exalted in sentiment. The endings of the three movements, especially of the first and last, are inspired, wholly without trace of the commonplace. It is one of the truly big works for the piano, lacking perhaps in subtlety and refinement of technique, sometimes a little awkward and out of proportion, but full of such a richness of harmony and melody, of such passion, strength, and romance, of such poetry and inspiration, as to defy criticism. It is, as we have said, colossal. The concerto stands as a flawless masterpiece. The themes are inspired. There is no trace of sentimentality or morbidness. The form is ruled by an unerring and fine sense of proportion and line. It is neither too long nor too short. There is no awkwardness, no tentativeness, no striving for effect. No note is unwisely placed. The treatment of both pianoforte and orchestra leaves nothing to be desired, either when the one is set against the other or when both are intimately blended. Though it in no way suggests the virtuoso, it is perfectly suited to the piano, bringing out unfailingly the very best the instrument is capable of. Thus it stands unique among Schumann’s compositions. There must be many to whom it stands for an ideal realized. To them it will be unique among concertos, the most excellent, the perfect type. With this masterpiece we may take leave of Robert Schumann, for whom most pianists will ever have a special love. The first movement was composed in 1841, the Intermezzo and Finale in 1845, all after his marriage in the fall of 1840. After this happy termination to long and troubled years, his attention turned to other branches of music, to songs, to oratorios and symphonies; and, though he never forsook the piano entirely, the best of his work for it, with few exceptions, was left behind him. The ten years between 1830 and 1840 saw its creation. In this relatively brief period all the works we have mentioned, except the concerto, were composed. They were the flower of his early manhood, and they bear witness in every page to the romantic eagerness and fire of youth. In many a measure they show a lack of skill, an excess of zeal, an over-reaching that is awkward; but what are these in the fire of his poetic imagination? The spirit of Schumann rises far, far above them, one of the most ardent, soaring spirits that ever sought expression in music. It was destined to fall back, ruined, charred, and blackened by its own fire; but happily we have left to us in pianoforte music its song at the height of its flight. IV