The statement of the theme itself is perfectly simple. One notices the practically unvaried bass, the tum-tum of Hummel and Weber, and of the lesser virtuosi. The first variation is, however, a masterpiece in pianoforte style as far as the right hand is concerned. The mixture of double and single notes is technically almost worthy of Chopin. But the tum-tum bass perseveres and blights the whole. Still this variation has a bright sparkle, the line of the upper part has a flowing grace, and there is necessarily little of that repetition of one or two stereotyped figures which in longer works almost strangles the life in most music of the virtuoso type. The second variation is hopelessly commonplace. The melody, scarcely varied, is in octaves for the right hand, and the tum-tum for the left is changed to a rat-a-tat-tat-a-ta-tat. The _raison d’être_ of the variation is the crossing of the right hand over the left in the second half of the first beat of _every_ measure, in order to dive, as it were, into the deep accented note of the second beat. One cannot but think of the leap of children from some upper loft to a hay-filled mow beneath. Herz makes the right hand take such a flight here, over and over again. One laughs with the delight of a child, yet wherein lies the joy? Is it in the taking flight? The movement through the air? The ultimate shock of landing? The virtuoso is not a child. He is a clever man who plays upon what is and ever will be the child in man,--his bump of wonder. And he does not strike it with music, but with movement. It is not the notes of his scales or of his runs, but the speed with which he accomplishes them. Here in this second variation is proof of the case in point. If in every measure the right hand, instead of taking its bold flight, were to glide only one half as far and quietly relieve the left hand of its accompanying chords of the second beat; and if the left hand, so set free, were to play that resounding low note which was the hay-mow to the right, but to the left is only a step downstairs, the musical effect and the musical value of the piece would remain quite unchanged. But Herz would not have played it so; for the reason that he wrote this variation merely to show his right hand and arm in free, sweeping movement through the air. Mark you, then: the great effect of this second variation is wholly one of movement. Not only is there no question of music; there is not even one of sound.