Showing posts with label Anton Dvorak. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Anton Dvorak. Show all posts

Friday, July 31, 2026

The Most Beautiful String Writing In Classical Music History

 

The string section has always been the heart of the orchestra.

From creating intimate chamber-like textures to cathedral-scale climaxes, composers have relied on stringed instruments for centuries to communicate grief, devotion, joy, radiance, and transcendence.

Today, we’re looking at some of the most beautiful orchestral string writing ever composed – and why each piece of writing is so effective.   

Samuel Barber‘s famous Adagio was originally the slow movement of his String Quartet in B minor.

In 1938, he arranged it for string orchestra and sent the score to legendary conductor Arturo Toscanini, who premiered it with the NBC Symphony Orchestra.

Samuel Barber

Samuel Barber

It quickly became one of the defining American works of the 20th century, and an unofficial anthem of national mourning, performed after the deaths of President Roosevelt, President Kennedy, and even Samuel Barber himself.

The beauty of its writing is due to its simplicity: one long, arching violin line climbs in incremental steps, before reaching a shattering dissonance and collapsing into silence.

It is also extremely exposed for the players – a quality that heightens its intimacy and vulnerability.

Gustav Mahler – Symphony No. 5, Adagietto  

Mahler composed his Fifth Symphony during a period of personal upheaval and transformation, shortly after surviving a near-fatal haemorrhage and during his courtship of his future wife, Alma.

The Adagietto, scored for strings and harp, is often interpreted as a wordless love letter to Alma.

It has also become synonymous with elegy and mourning ever since conductor Leonard Bernstein programmed it at the funeral of Senator Robert F. Kennedy.

Clearly, this is poignant string writing that can express both love and grief.

The harp supports the strings subtly from below, creating a luminous cushion of sound on which the string writing floats.

For long stretches, phrases hover just at the edge of resolution, requiring extraordinary bow control.

The resulting ache of restraint is palpable – whether you interpret the music as a love letter or a eulogy.

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky – Symphony No. 6, Finale   

Premiered just nine days before Tchaikovsky‘s death, the “Pathétique” Symphony broke convention by ending not in triumph, but in tragedy.

Given the proximity of the symphony’s premiere and Tchaikovsky’s death, the two events are inextricably linked in music lovers’ minds.

Another reason why it leaves such an indelible impression is the intensity of its string writing. The finale, marked Adagio lamentoso, entrusts its most emotionally charged material to the strings.

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

Descending sighs, throbbing lower strings, and increasingly fragile, fractured textures combine to create a heavy sense of exhaustion and resignation.

By the last bars, the music seems to lose its strength entirely.

Claude Debussy – La Mer  

Debussy began composing La Mer (The Sea) while living in Burgundy, far from the ocean that inspired it.

Premiered in 1905, the work initially puzzled audiences accustomed to traditional symphonic form.

The strings in La Mer rarely carry long Romantic melodies. Instead, Debussy uses divided sections, tremolos, harmonics, and shifting textures to imitate the colour and motion of water. The effect is iridescent – less about narrative, more about atmosphere.

Ralph Vaughan Williams – Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis   

Premiered at the 1910 Three Choirs Festival in Gloucester Cathedral, Vaughan Williams‘s Fantasia marked a turning point in English music.

Drawing on a 16th-century hymn tune by Thomas Tallis, Vaughan Williams divided the string orchestra into separate groups to take full advantage of the Gloucester Cathedral’s acoustics. The call and response between the parts is deeply moving.

This string writing glows from within, suggesting a sacred character. Meanwhile, the modal harmonies somehow come across as both ancient and modern.

Richard Strauss – Metamorphosen   

Strauss wrote Metamorphosen in the final months of World War II after witnessing the destruction of German cultural centers, including the Munich Opera House.

Scored for 23 solo strings, the work is dense, contrapuntal, and deeply introspective.

Near the end, Strauss quotes the funeral march of Beethoven‘s third symphony – a gesture many listeners interpret as a funeral march for an entire era in European culture.

The string writing is intensely personal. Each player has an individual line, but all are woven into a single lament.

Anton Bruckner – Symphony No. 8, Adagio   

Bruckner struggled for years with his Eighth Symphony, revising it extensively after early criticism. Its adagio ended up being one of his greatest compositional achievements.

Anton Bruckner, 1889

Anton Bruckner, 1889

The movement unfolds in vast, patient arcs. High violin lines shimmer above deep harmonic foundations provided by the brass, building toward monumental climaxes.

It is music that calls to mind both sacred architecture and faith. It is transcendent.

Antonín Dvořák – Serenade for Strings    

Dvořák composed the Serenade as a young man, shortly after receiving support from Johannes Brahms and a crucial Austrian state stipend that helped launch his international career.

Unlike the tragic intensity of some works on this list, the Serenade radiates warmth and a sense of lyric generosity. The melodies flow naturally, and the inner string voices are crafted with affectionate care.

The beauty here is human and grounded, proving that strings don’t need to be playing angsty music to be incredibly memorable.

Conclusion

From Barber’s exposed lament to Debussy’s iridescent textures and Dvořák’s warmth, the greatest orchestral string writing demonstrates just how expressive the section can be.

Strings can convey sorrow, joy, and everything in between with unmatched subtlety. They are capable of both monumental grandeur and fragile intimacy.

It is no accident that composers so often entrust their most beautiful music to the strings: they are – and always have been – the heart and soul of the symphony orchestra.

Sunday, July 26, 2026

Antonín Dvořák’s Cypresses Echoes of First Love

  

Composed during a period of youthful infatuation and romantic longing, Dvořák’s musical imagination gained new depth and tenderness in his arrangement for strings, sometimes referred to as The Echo of Songs.

Melodies once sung by a solitary voice suddenly bloom into animated conversations. Shall we have a listen?   

Where Longing Began

The origins of Cypresses date back to Dvořák’s student days in Prague. During his studies at the organ school, he met the composer, conductor, and choirmaster Karel Bendl. They struck up a close friendship, and young Dvořák was a frequent guest at the home of the wealthy Bendl family during the early 1860s.

Dvořák had free access to the Bendl household piano and to a considerable archive of sheet music. Giving piano lessons to supplement his income, he fell in love with his student Josefína Čermáková, the elder sister of his later wife Anna.

Josefína wasn’t much interested, and Dvořák eventually dedicated his first song cycle Cypresses, to “my good friend Karel Bendl, as a token of our friendship.”

Antonín Dvořák, 1868

Antonín Dvořák, 1868

Antonín Dvořák: Cypresses, “So many a heart is as though deaf”  

The Poet Behind Cypresses

The initial collection of lyrical and epic poems emerged from Dvořák’s attempt to find his voice as a composer. And for his love song, Cypresses, he drew on the poetry of Gustav Pfleger Moravský.

Moravský grew up in Prague and received a German-language education. However, during the Revolutions of 1848 in the Austrian Empire, he became more aware of his Czech nationality.

Eventually, Moravský was conversant in six languages, but a lung disease forced him to abandon regular studies. He found employment as a bank clerk, but found his work so monotonous and boring that he started travelling throughout Germany.

Gustav Pfleger Moravský, poet

Gustav Pfleger Moravský, poet

Antonín Dvořák: Cypresses, “Nature lies peaceful in slumber and dreaming”   

Poems of Love and Longing

He had actually started to write poetry during his time at the bank, and he published his first collection of poetry titled Dumky in 1857. This collection was not very successful, but things changed with Cypresses in 1861.

It soon became a well-regarded book within the Czech National Revival, as the cypress tree carries a number of associations ranging from mourning and melancholy to death.

In fact, it is a larger collection of lyric and narrative verse, and Dvořák selected his texts from a subsection called “Songs.” The poetry features a young lover caught between rapture and despair.

Antonín Dvořák: Cypresses, “I know that My Love to Thee”   

The Language of Longing

In these poems, we find one of the most important genres of 19th-century song, the “Liebesbotschaft” (Love Message). These poems unfold as intimate monologues to an absent beloved.

Invariably, the poems deal with unrequited love, longing, and emotional distance, and nature as a mirror of emotions. We also find dreams and distant memories dealing with idealised femininity.

And a good number turn to landscapes, like nightly forests, mountains, and twilight imagery, as emotional extensions of the self. They present sentimental but deeply sincere emotions.      

Echoes Across Time

When Bendl looked over the original Dvořák setting, he wasn’t particularly excited. Apparently, he told the budding composer that the declamation was poor in many places. Within a year, Dvořák conceded with delight that Bendl’s statement was right on the money.

In 1887, Antonín wrote to his publishers, “These little compositions were originally 18 songs, four of which were published as Op. 2. I wrote them in 1865 and now, after 22 years, I have arranged them for string quartet under the title The Echo of Songs.”

Dvořák tellingly added, “Just imagine a young boy who is in love—that is the content of Cypresses.”  

Antonín Dvořák: Cypresses, “Here I gaze at that dear letter”   

A Second Life for First Love

Let’s not forget that Dvořák was at the height of his powers in 1887. He had completed his oratorio Saint Ludmila, commissioned by the Leeds Festival, just one year earlier. He also worked on a private commission for a Mass and the Terzetto, with the Piano Quintet also taking shape.

The early love songs had always been on Dvořák’s mind, as he revised four of them and published them in 1882. Eight other songs appeared in Berlin in January 1889 under the title Love Songs.

These twelve songs served as the basis for the string quartet version. Dvořák in no way altered their vocal essence, as the melodic expression is taken by the violins. The viola and cello, in turn, share the keyboard part.

Antonín Dvořák, 1882

Antonín Dvořák, 1882

Antonín Dvořák: Cypresses, No. 9 “Thou Only, Dear One”   

The Music of Remembering

The original songs are clearly recognizable in these string quartet arrangements, with melody lines, rhythm, and harmony basically unchanged. Dvořák changed some keys, and half of the songs are extended by repetition resulting from interchanges of materials to different instruments.

The twelve Cypresses for string quartet, as we know them today, were not published until 1957. Dvořák’s son-in-law had published ten of them in 1912. This set musically goes from contemplation of the fleeting nature of human love to increasingly ardent declarations of love.

It ends with a feeling of urgent questioning that alternates with answers of greater serenity.

It is a youthful collection of love letters preserved long after they had originally been written. In their string quartet version, they came back to life by combining simplicity of utterance with the accomplished technique of a mature composer.

In Cypresses, the mature composer looks back tenderly on the passions of youth. These melodies are still filled with nostalgia and longing, but they are now illuminated by memory and by experience. People say that you never forget your first love. You may leave your first love, but it never truly leaves you.

Friday, January 16, 2026

Antonín Dvořák: Serenade for Strings | NCO · Tønnesen


Norwegian Chamber Orchestra Terje Tønnesen, artistic director Recorded at Sentralen, Oslo, 11 January 2021. I. Moderato 0:00 II. Tempo di Valse 4:45 III. Scherzo: Vivace 11:19 IV. Larghetto 16:38 V. Finale: Allegro vivace 21:53 Stay connected with us!

Sunday, January 4, 2026

Dvořák: Symphony No. 9 From the New World


It is one of the most popular symphonies ever: Antonín Dvořák’s Symphony No. 9 in E minor, Op. 95 “From the New World.” Here, the masterpiece is performed by the Verbier Festival Orchestra under the baton of Neeme Järvi at the Verbier Festival 2012. (00:00) Coming on stage (00:27) I. Adagio. Allegro molto (12:16) II. Largo (23:29) III. Scherzo: Molto vivace (31:34) IV. Allegro con fuoco Antonín Dvořák’s Symphony No. 9 in E minor, Op. 95 “From the New World” is the musical testimony of a fusion of sounds from home and abroad. Although Dvořák composed the world-famous Ninth Symphony “in the spirit of American folk songs” during a stay in the USA, he actually invented the themes and motifs to be reminiscent of Bohemian folk tunes. Dvořák (1841-1904) had left his homeland of Bohemia (in what is today the Czech Republic) in 1892 for New York, where he was the Director of the National Conservatory of Music until 1895. Dvořák named the symphony he wrote in New York in 1893 “From the New World” after it was first published as Symphony No. 5. According to the composer, the symphony was intended to reflect his idea of the spirit of American music. Dvořák had listened to melodies of Native Americans and African Americans played to him to capture their musical spirit – he by no means wanted to completely replicate the music. In the second and third movements of “From the New World,” Dvořák also references the epic poem Hiawatha by U.S. author Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807 - 1882), which tells the story of the fictitious chief Hiawatha. But beyond the explicit agenda of writing the symphony “From the New World,” Dvořák also incorporated Bohemian folk music into his Ninth and drew from this mix a wealth of catchy melodies. It is the fusion of supposedly Native American and Bohemian folk music that gives Dvořák’s Symphony No. 9 its special appeal. The premiere on December 16, 1893, with the New York Philharmonic conducted by Anton Seidl, was a resounding success, as were the first performances in Europe. To this day, Dvořák’s Ninth Symphony is very popular with audiences. And astronaut Neil Armstrong even took it with him on the Apollo 11 mission that led to the first moon landing in 1969. Neeme Järvi was born in Tallinn, Estonia in 1937. He studied percussion and choral conducting at the conservatory of his native city before later pursuing his studies to become a conductor at the N. A. Rimsky-Korsakov Conservatory in then Leningrad. From 1963 to 1979, he held the position of Principal Conductor at the Estonian National Symphony Orchestra, and from 1964 to 1975, he headed the Estonian National Opera in parallel. Shortly after Järvi’s first performance at the New York Metropolitan Opera, in 1979, he emigrated to the USA. There, he soon began collaborating with the New York Philharmonic, the Philadelphia Orchestra and the San Francisco Symphony. In 1982, he became the Principal Conductor at the Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra, from 1984 to 1988, he headed the Royal Scottish National Orchestra, and from 1990 to 2005, he led the Detroit Symphony Orchestra. In 2005, Järvi became the Music Director of the New Jersey Symphony Orchestra and Chief Conductor of the Residentie Orkest The Hague. From 2010 to 2020, he acted as the Principal Director and Artistic Director of the Estonian National Symphony Orchestra, and he currently holds the title of Chief Conductor Emeritus at the Residentie Orkest The Hague and Music Director Emeritus at the Detroit Symphony Orchestra. In the course of his sixty-year career, Neeme Järvi has conducted over 150 orchestras. His discography comprises over 450 recordings – many of which award-winning. At the 2018 Gramophone Awards, he was bestowed the Lifetime Achievement Award for his extensive and high-quality range of works. Neeme Järvi is the head of a musical dynasty. His children are also very successful musicians: His sons Paavo and Kristjan have become conductors, and his daughter Maarika a flutist. There is a wealth of videos featuring Paavo Järvi on DW Classical Music. Here – like his father before him – he can be seen conducting Antonin Dvořák’s Symphony No. 9 “From the New World”:    • Dvořák: Symphony No. 9 From the New World ...   The Verbier Festival is one of the world’s most prestigious classical music events. The quality of participating artists is coupled with the originality of the programs. The festival is held from late July to early August in the mountain resort of Verbier, Switzerland.

Tuesday, September 30, 2025

Dvořák Cello Concerto: how a heartbroken composer’s lost love inspired his greatest work


A yearning for his homeland and the devastating loss of a beloved friend give the Czech’s work an almost unbearable pathos, explains Jo Talbot


Antonín Dvořák © Getty Images

Jo Talbot


Who was Antonín Dvořák?

In September 1892, the 51-year-old Antonín Dvořák arrived in New York to take up the position of director of the National Conservatory – a move that would not only swell his bank account but also see him fêted as something of a celebrity in his adopted home. On top of his teaching duties, Dvořák also performed and travelled widely, absorbing much of the local culture. His compositions from his period in the US are among his most famous, including his Symphony No. 9 ‘From the New World’, ‘American’ String Quartet No. 12 and, shortly before returning back to his Czech homeland in 1895, his Cello Concerto.  

Dvořák Cello Concerto: the work

Discovering the cello's potential

As Robert Hausmann played Dvořák’s Cello Concerto through, Johannes Brahms turned round to the composer and said, ‘If I had known that it was possible to write a cello concerto like this, I would have tried it as well!’ High praise indeed.

Dvořák’s Concerto is indeed an inspired work, but he hadn’t always been so taken with the cello. He considered his youthful First Concerto, written at the age of 23, to be incompetent, and it was almost 30 years later, on hearing Victor Herbert’s Second Cello Concerto in New York, that he realised the instrument’s potential. He studied Herbert’s score and six months later began sketching his own work, completing the first version in February 1895. Returning to Prague in April, he revised his Concerto over the summer and offered it to Simrock, his publisher.

Yo-Yo Ma performs the Dvořák Cello Concerto with Calgary Philharmonic Orchestra

Tragedy and tribute: the death of Dvořák's beloved sister-in-law

This gives us the timeline of the composition, but misses the personal tragedy that defines its creative impetus. While working on the sketches, Dvořák knew that his beloved sister-in-law Josefina was ill. She wrote to him: ‘Forgive me for not writing, but I have been seriously confined to bed, and unable to do so. I have not heard from you for such a long time. This is not as it should be! However, I shall resign myself to the fact I have nothing to look forward to anymore.  

With the knowledge that Josefina’s health was failing, Dvořák wanted to pay tribute to her in his new work. He includes in the second movement some quotes from the song ‘Lasst mich allein’ (Leave me alone) which was a favourite of Josefina, and a reference to the three-note ‘Lebewohl’ (Farewell) motif from Beethoven’s Sonata ‘Les adieux’. On learning of Josefina’s death, Dvořák was utterly devastated, adding a Coda in the last movement that quotes the same song – a mesmerisingly tender moment. 


Was this an open love letter and farewell?  Dvořák’s early passion for Josefina had come to nothing and she married a German-speaking aristocrat – a better match than his position then as a lowly orchestral player. But the two remained close – Dvořák married her younger sister, and his family visited her estate at Vysoká every summer. The passion and intimacy in the music perhaps tells the story best.

Dvořák Cello Concerto: a stormy route to the first performance

The dedicatee of the Cello Concerto, friend and cellist Hanuš Wihan, stepped in with some virtuosic figurations and advice and was originally going to give the premiere in London. But then he and Dvořák had a major rift. The cause? Wihan had decided his own cadenza should be inserted into the Finale, ruining Dvořák’s intricately wrought tribute to Josefina. Dvořák angrily wrote in October 1895 to Simrock: ‘I have some differences of opinion with friend Wihan. I do not like some of the passages – and I must insist on my work being printed as I have written it. I shall only give you my work if you promise not to allow anybody to make changes. There is no cadenza in the last movement. I told Wihan straight away when he showed it to me it was impossible just to stick such a bit on.’    

Jacqueline du Pré performs the Dvořák Cello Concerto with the LSO conducted by Daniel Barenboim

Wihan dropped the work, and the British cellist Leo Stern took over. It had been a vitriolic spat, as Dvořák’s biographer Otakar Šourek elucidated in a letter: ‘He esteemed Josefina not only as a dear friend, but also as the charming young actress who, long years ago, had awakened in him a secret passion.’ Šourek also mentions the songs Dvořák quoted by way of farewell: ‘For this reason, Dvořák insisted on his own definitive conclusions.’


The Concerto meant everything to Dvořák. In a letter to his friend Alois Göbl he admitted his relentless rehearsal of the work in Prague, taxing Leo Stern to his limit: ‘We studied and practised every day – he was quite in despair and I was insisting that it was good, but that it must still be better.’

Dvořák Cello Concerto: the premiere

It served them both well – the premiere, with Dvořák conducting the Philharmonic Society Orchestra in London in March 1896, was warmly received. ‘All three movements are richly melodious,’ wrote The Times, ‘the just balance is maintained between orchestra and solo instrument, and the passages written for display are admirably devised. Mr Stern played the solo part with good taste and faultless technical skill.’ On the Viennese premiere two years later, Eduard Hanslick, critic of Neue Freie Presse, wrote that ‘Dvořák has written a magnificent work which has brought to an end the stagnation of violoncello literature.’   

Dvořák Cello Concerto: form and style

While teeming with Romantic gestures, there are also interesting modern elements. It is more of a cello symphony than concerto, the solo part integrated into orchestral dialogues. Textures are multi-layered, with a leaning towards Wagnerian chromaticism, and programmatic elements are suggested – the numerous trills perhaps allude to the bird song from the composer’s notoriously early morning walks at Vysoká. And the march that opens the Finale even foreshadows Gustav Mahler, while the Bohemian inflection in the melodies lends a flavour of nationalism to this towering work.   

Tuesday, September 2, 2025

Dvořák: 9. Sinfonie (»Aus der Neuen Welt«) ∙ hr-Sinfonieorchester


Friday, September 27, 2024

10 More Dazzling and Awe-Inspiring Piano Quartets

by Hermione Lai, Interlude

As a quick recap, you get a piano quartet when you add a piano to a string trio. The standard instrument lineup for this type of chamber music pairs the violin, viola, and cello with the piano. In its development, the piano quartet had to wait for technical advances of the piano, as it had to match the strings in power and expression.

string quartet instruments

© serenademagazine.com

Piano quartets are always special because the scoring allows for a wealth of tone colour, occasionally even a symphonic richness. The combined resources of all four instruments are not easy to handle, and the number of works in the genre is not especially large. However, a good many of the extant piano quartets are very personal and passionate statements. 

When talking about chamber music, and specifically chamber music with piano, it is difficult to avoid Johannes Brahms (1833-1897). Lucky for us, Brahms wrote three piano quartets, and his Op. 60 took its inspiration from his intense relationship with Clara Schumann. However, it took Brahms almost twenty years to complete the work. The origins date back to around 1855 when Brahms was wrestling with his first piano concerto.

Brahms put this particular piano quartet aside and only showed it to his first biographer in the 1860s with the words, “Imagine a man who is just going to shoot himself, for there is nothing else to do.” Thirteen years later, Brahms took up the work and radically revised it. He probably wrote a new “Andante” and also a new “Finale.” In the end, the work finally premiered on 18 November 1875 with Brahms at the piano and the famous David Popper on cello.

Brahms and the Schumanns

Brahms and the Schumanns

The emotional distress of his relationship with Clara is presented in a mood of darkness and melancholy. A solitary chord in the piano initiates the opening movement, with the string presenting a theme built from a striking two-note phrase. Some commentators have suggested that Brahms is musically speaking the name “Clara” in this two-note phrase. The second theme is highly lyrical but quickly develops towards the dark mood of the opening. The “Scherzo” is also in the minor key, and the deeply felt slow movement is a declaration of love for Clara. The dark opening returns in the final movement, and while the development presents some relief, the work still ends on a note of resignation, albeit in the major key.

Heinrich von Herzogenberg: Piano Quartet in B-flat Major, Op. 95

Heinrich von Herzogenberg

Heinrich von Herzogenberg


The intensely emotional and meticulously crafted compositions by Brahms served as models for a number of composers, among them Heinrich von Herzogenberg (1843-1900). As he writes, “Brahms helped me, by the mere fact of his existence, to my development, my inward looking up to him, and with his artistic and human energy.” While Brahms respected Herzogenberg’s technical craftsmanship and musical knowledge, he never really had anything to say.

Herzogenberg was undeterred and never stopped composing. In 1897, he wrote to Brahms, “There are two things that I cannot get used not to doing: That I always compose, and that when I am composing I ask myself, the same as thirty-four years ago, ‘What will He say about it?’ To be sure, for many years, you have not said anything about it, which is something that I can interpret as I wish.”

A few days before Brahms’ death, Herzogenberg presented him with his probably best and most mature work, the Piano Quartet in B-flat Major, Op. 95. The gripping “Allegro” is full of unmistakably Brahmsian character, constructed with compositional economy. An introductory chord develops into the motific core of the entire movement. The “Adagio is full of dreamy intimacy, while the capricious “Scherzo” eventually transports us into a pastoral idyll. Three themes, including a folkloric principle theme, combine in a spirited and temperamental “Finale.” 

When Richard Strauss (1864-1949) left college and moved to Berlin to study music at the age of 19, he suddenly discovered a new model in Johannes Brahms. Strauss would meet his current idol personally at the premiere of Brahms’ 4th Symphony in 1885. Under the influence of Brahms, the teenaged Strauss completed his Piano Quartet in C minor in 1884, and a good many commentators believe it to be Strauss’ “greatest chamber work.”

Richard Strauss

Richard Strauss

Op. 13 is a large work fusing “the sobriety and grandeur of Brahms with the fire and impetuous virtuosity of the young Strauss.” The work opens quietly, and the deceptively simple motif returns in various disguises. However, the music quickly explodes with superheated energy, and its dark sonorities and dramatic scope drive it to a virtually symphonic close.

Finally, the “Andante” introduces a measure of calm, with the piano sounding a florid melodic strain that gives way to a lyrical second subject in the viola. Both themes are gracefully extended while bathing in a delicate and charmed atmosphere. The concluding “Vivace” returns to the mood of the opening movement, and the rondo design also features a serious refrain and a spiky fugato. The work won a prize from the Berlin Tonkünstler, Strauss, however, would say goodbye to chamber music and explore orchestral virtuosity in his great tone poems. 

Gustav Mahler (1860-1911) seems another surprising entry into a blog on the piano quartet. However, a single movement from his student days at the Vienna Conservatory does survive. Mahler took piano lessons from Julius Epstein and studied composition and harmony under Robert Fuchs and Franz Krenn. Mahler left the Conservatory in 1878 with a diploma but without the coveted and prestigious silver medal given for outstanding achievement.

Gustav Mahler's Piano Quartet music score

Gustav Mahler’s Piano Quartet

Although he claimed to have written hundreds of songs, several theatrical works, and various chamber music compositions, only a single movement for a Piano Quartet in A minor survived the ravages of time. Composed in 1876 and awarded the Conservatory Prize, it is strongly influenced by the musical styles of Robert Schumann and Johannes Brahms.

Conveying a sense of passion and longing, Mahler presents three contrasting themes within a strict formal design. The opening theme possesses an ominous and foreboding character, while the contrasting second—still in the tonic key—is passionately rhapsodic. To compensate for this tonal stagnation, the third theme undergoes a series of modulations. Thickly textured and relying on excessive motivic manipulation, this movement nevertheless provides insight into the creative processes of the 16-year-old Mahler. 

Antonín Dvorák (1841-1904) is another composer who, for a time, took his bearings from Johannes Brahms’s music. Dvorák had always been strongly drawn to chamber music, as his first published works are a string quartet Op. 1 and a string quintet Op. 2.

Dvořák in New York, 1893

Dvořák in New York, 1893

Apparently, he composed his D-Major piano quartet in a mere eighteen days in 1875. It premiered five years later, on 16 December 1880. Surprisingly, this piano quartet has only three movements, as the composer combines a scherzo and Allegro agitato in alternation in the Finale. The opening “Allegro” sounds like a rather characteristic Czech melody, initiated by the cello and continued by the violin. By the time the piano takes up the theme, the tonality has shifted to B Major.

The melody of the slow movement, a theme followed by five variations, is introduced by the violin. Dvorák skillfully presents fragments of the theme in various meters and textures. The cello, accompanied by the piano, takes the lead in the final “Allegretto.” After the violin has taken up the theme, the piano takes us into the finale proper.

Béla Bartók: Piano Quartet in C minor, Op. 20

Béla Bartók

Béla Bartók


To his contemporaries and critics, Johannes Brahms looked like a bastion of musical conservatism. Surprisingly, it was Arnold Schoenberg, in his celebrated Radio address entitled “Brahms the Progressive”, who suggested that Brahms was “a great innovator in the realm of musical language and that his chamber music prepared the way for the radical changes in musical conception at the turn of the 20th century.”

Just one year after Brahms’ death, the teenage Béla Bartók (1881-1945) embarked on the composition of a four-movement piano quartet. For years, this score was believed to have been lost, but it was rediscovered by a member of the “Notos Quartet,” who also prepared the edition following the composer’s autograph score. What is more, they also presented a world premiere recording in 2007.

The opening “Allegro” immediately evokes the harmonic and sensuous soundscape of Johannes Brahms. And like his model, Bartók’s musical prose does not follow a predictable pattern as the boundaries and distinctions of theme and development are blurred. Brahms’ rhythmic shapes are the topic of a blazing “Scherzo,” with the “Trio” sounding a sombre lyrical contrast. The “Adagio” sounds like a declaration of love for Brahms, while the “Finale” brims with spicy Hungarian flavours. 

Camille Saint-Säens introduced Gabriel Fauré (1845-1924) to Pauline Viardot in 1872. Her youngest daughter, Marianne, immediately stole his heart, and Fauré courted her for four painful years. In July 1877, she finally agreed, and the engagement was announced. However, the relationship only lasted until the late autumn of 1877, when Marianne suddenly broke off the engagement.

Pauline Viardot

Pauline Viardot

The exact reasons remain unclear, and Fauré was deeply distressed, with friends reporting that his “sunny disposition took a dark turn.” He started to suffer from bouts of depression, and the Clerc family helped him to recover. At this point, Fauré composed the masterpieces of his youth, among them the piano quartet in C minor.

It might well be considered an early work, however, the composer was already over forty. The opening “Allegro” is pervaded by a sense of optimism, urged on by a strong rhythmical gesture. The E-flat Major “Scherzo” opens with plucked strings and the piano making a light-hearted contribution. The sombre character of the “Adagio” provides an unexpected contrast, and that mood is taken over in the “Finale.” The asymmetrical piano accompaniment continues throughout and brings the work to an emphatic conclusion in the major key.

Théodore Dubois: Piano Quartet in A minor

Théodore Dubois in 1905

Théodore Dubois in 1905


Théodore Dubois (1837-1924) was highly influential on the French musical scene. Early on, he was known as a composer-organist with a large oeuvre of sacred music to his name. As a pedagogue, he is still famous as the author of the most common music theory textbooks, and as an administrator, he gained notoriety by denying the famed Rome prize to Maurice Ravel on multiple occasions.

Once Dubois retired from the directorship of the Conservatoire, he worked on a chamber music project. A scholar writes, “If they are not progressive works of genius, we can still enjoy their faultless design and beauty of sonority as documents to help us understand the world and spirit in Paris before, around and after 1900.”

Dubois’ piano quartet in A minor appeared in 1907 and features a conventional four-movement design. The opening “Allegro” begins with a cautious drama but quickly transitions to a lyrical melody. The sense of melodic dominance is taken over in the “Andante,” followed by an “Allegro” replacing a scherzo. Essentially a character piece in the style of Mendelssohn, it is followed by a “Finale” of sophistication and balance.

Mélanie Bonis: Piano Quartet No. 1 in B-flat Major, Op. 69

Mélanie Bonis, 1908

Mélanie Bonis, 1908


Mélanie Bonis (1858-1937) was born into a Parisian lower-middle-class family and initially discouraged from pursuing music. Undeterred, she taught herself how to play the piano, and only at the urging of a family friend and with help from César Franck was she admitted to the Paris Conservatoire.

To conceal her gender during a time when compositions by women were not taken seriously, she shortened her first name to “Mel.” A good many of her late compositions have still not been published, and as she wrote to her daughter, “My great sorrow is that I never get to hear my music.”

Her first piano quartet was written between 1900 and 1905, and stylistically, it is cast in a post-Romantic tradition. Bonis explores the various possibilities of harmony and rhythm, infused with a dash of Impressionism. A good many passages show the influence of César Franck with long developments and rigorous counterpoint. At the work’s first performance, a surprised Camille Sain-Saëns declared, “I would never have believed a woman capable of writing that. She knows all the tricks of the trade.” 

Joaquín Turina (1882-1949), together with his friend Manuel de Falla, helped to promote the national character of 20th-century Spanish music. At first, influenced and inspired by Debussy, Turina soon developed a distinctly Spanish style, “incorporating Iberian lyricism and rhythms with impressionistic timbres and harmonies.”

Jacinto Higueras Cátedra: Bust of the composer Joaquín Turina, 1971 (Madrid: Escuela Superior de Canto)

Jacinto Higueras Cátedra: Bust of the composer Joaquín Turina, 1971 (Madrid: Escuela Superior de Canto)

While his Op. 1 Piano Quintet in G minor emerged from his study with Vincent d’Indy, the Op. 67 piano quartet in A minor is “music without the slightest need of any explanations.” The three-movement work is carefully constructed in cyclical form, and “the juxtaposition of contrasting themes give the overall shape a rhapsodic structure.”

The fundamental musical idea is introduced in the opening movement and transformed and modified throughout the work. Of particular lively interest is the central “Lento,” where Turina transformed Andalusian elements without abandoning the gestures, temperament and uniqueness of his native lands. I hope you have enjoyed this further excursion into the realm of the piano quartet, and I can already promise one more article on the subject with music by Mozart, Taneyev, Hahn, Brahms, Copland and others.