Chopin Sonata 3 | The Original Manuscript

Time Stamps:


00:00 Allegro Maestoso
10:09 Scherzo
13:11 Largo
23:40 Finale



The Sonata in B minor, Op. 58—like its predecessor in B-flat minor—does not abandon the dramatic structuring inherited from the classics. Chopin crafts coherence through contrast, difference, and balance, giving us four movements: the first a true sonata-allegro, the last outwardly a rondo, and the inner movements a scherzo and a large-scale instrumental song. But this sonata goes beyond classical form, capturing the essence of Romantic music. The first and last movements, especially, are infused with the spirit of the ballade; the second is a scherzo, and the third is a nocturne, each movement distinguished by its own kind of poetry.

The bold intensity of the Allegro maestoso opening has a heightened visceral effect, announcing itself with a rapid descending figure—a dramatic clarion call, Chopin making a fist. What follows is a propulsive chordal procession, a kind of forward momentum, before the arrival of the lovely nocturne-like secondary theme in D major. There’s an abundance of ideas here, each cut from Chopin’s best musical cloth, and they parade by in quick succession: bold statements, lyrical asides, and gestures that both surprise and move. The development section can seem, in some performances, to falter—beginning with a halting contrapuntal procedure and carrying on with pianistic gymnastics that, at times, can sound uncharacteristically awkward or diffuse. Yet, as in the famous “Funeral March” Sonata, Chopin only brings back the secondary theme in the recapitulation, ending the movement in a radiant B major. For all its architectural drama, this movement is really defined by contrast—strength giving way to lyricism, the ballade’s storytelling impulse always close at hand.

The Scherzo, marked Molto vivace and cast in the distant key of E-flat major, is a quicksilver, etude-like tour de force—a piece that feels almost like a breath from another world, light as air. The middle section offers sudden serenity, sustained and lyrical, briefly pulling us into B major before the return of the opening’s energy. There is exhilaration of the most compelling kind in this movement, and might I say, that it is in fact Chopin's first successful scherzo—meaning, it is actually a joke.

Then, comes the Largo, the emotional center of the Sonata. This movement caresses the ear with a blend of lyricism and swooning ethereality, each carried to their own extremes. On paper, the structure appears to be a pair of relatively brief outer sections with a central episode, but in practice, the proportions are everything. I see this Largo as a kind of aria or song—a nocturne whose melody must always breathe, phrased as if sung. The music halts and ponders, the middle section growing contemplative, even self-absorbed in remembering the past and hoping for the future. It is full of love of the most intimate kind. It is easy to let the middle section drag; instead, I aim to let it move forward, giving the “singer” space to breathe and shape the phrase naturally.

The Finale begins with a stunning introduction—fourteen octave Fs in the right hand—before launching into a Presto non tanto of immense energy, and technical élan. The so-called “tarantella” theme is actually a transformation of the first movement’s main motive, now inverted and ascending, suggesting a sense of triumph. On the page, it looks outwardly like a rondo, but it proceeds in the spirit of a ballade, relentless in its 6/8 meter. This is a true test for any pianist: a movement that’s a demon to perform, but spectacularly rewarding when both the massive virtuosity and the heroic sweep are achieved. For me, the finale is Chopin letting the pianist “piano”—after three movements of intricate beauty, here is pure bravura and rhythmical intensity. Sometimes, music is meant simply to be thrilling and “cool,” and in this finale, the consistent groove and pulse are as important as any philosophical depth. When the coda arrives, it’s like a rocket launching—exuberant, dazzling, and ultimately closing in a brilliant B major. If there’s an “Appassionata” in Chopin, it’s this: wild, driven, and, in the end, triumphant, bursting into color like bold fireworks.

This Sonata has had its critics—Liszt was dismissive, and early commentators found fault with its structure and intensity. Yet today, it stands as one of Chopin’s greatest and most performed achievements: a work of drama, lyricism, and sheer pianistic energy. In this performance, paired with Chopin’s original manuscript, I hope you’ll experience both the heart and the craft of this extraordinary work—and maybe, as I have, come to appreciate the pure joy and invention at its core. This may very well be the hardest piece I have ever played, but also by far my favorite. Let me know your thoughts below, and thank you for listening.


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