String Quartet No.3 in F major, Op.73

A member of the Beethoven Quartet, which gave the first performances of all but the first and last of Shostakovich’s quartets, recalled that he only once saw the composer moved by his own music. At a rehearsal of the Quartet in F major “tears were streaming down his face.” Some idea of what this thoughtful but eventful work meant to him is conveyed perhaps by the titles once applied to each of the five movements: “Calm unawareness of the future cataclysm…Rumblings of unrest and anticipation…The forces of war unleashed…Homage to the dead…The eternal question: Why and for what?”

Although he was used to political discouragement, Shostakovich must have been particularly distressed by official disapproval of his Third String Quartet. It was a work that meant much to him. A member of the Beethoven Quartet - the ensemble to which the work is dedicated and which gave its first performance in Moscow in 1946 - recalled that he only once saw the composer moved by his own music. It was at a rehearsal of the Quartet in F major: “When we finished playing he sat quite still in silence like a wounded bird, tears streaming down his face.”

Constructed in five movements, the Third String Quartet is as impressive in its proportions as in the breadth and depth of its expression. But exactly what it meant to the composer, as distinct from how much, it is difficult to say. It is true that he did at one time identify each movement with a programmatic title: “Calm unawareness of the future cataclysm… Rumblings of unrest and anticipation…The forces of war unleashed… Homage to the dead…The eternal question: Why and for what?”

Whatever the relevance of those programmatic titles, which Shostakovich later discarded, the opening Allegretto is certainly carefree, not only in its charmingly nonchalant first subject but also in the virtuoso brilliance of the fugal development section. The Moderato con moto, based on three themes each driven by an ostinato rhythm and resonant with apprehension, also matches the composer’s description. Alternating bar by bar between duple time and triple time, the central Allegro non troppo is a grotesque kind of march. Its aggressive intentions are unmistakable, although the middle section contradicts, if only briefly, the prevailing militancy, if only briefly. Variously described as a “requiem” and a “funeral march,” the Adagio is actually a kind of passacaglia with short, freely developing episodes between the seven statements of the lamenting main theme. Rising to an emotional climax in the middle and dying away on an evocation of muffled drum beats, it leads directly into the Moderato last movement.

Whatever the nature of the tribulations the music has passed through up to now, they are more or less settled in the extraordinary finale. It is not easily done: the gently lilting rondo theme, the attractively lyrical version of the passacaglia theme in the first episode, the restoration of something like the carefree attitude of the first movement in a tuneful second episode, all these seem peaceful enough. But, as the passacaglia theme returns in its original lamenting form, there is a new, searingly dramatic crisis. The recapitulation of the rondo material (in reverse order) leaves the first violin unconvinced until, in the closing bars, it joins the prevailing F major harmonies with three quietly plucked chords.

The Third String Quartet meant much to Shostakovich. A member of the Beethoven Quartet - the ensemble to which the work is dedicated and which gave its first performance in Moscow in 1946 - recalled that he only once saw the composer moved by his own music. It was at a rehearsal of the Quartet in F major: “When we finished playing he sat quite still in silence like a wounded bird, tears streaming down his face.”

Constructed in five movements, the Third String Quartet is as impressive in its proportions as in the breadth and depth of its expression. But exactly what it meant to the composer, as distinct from how much, it is difficult to say. It is true that he did at one time identify each movement with a programmatic title: “Calm unawareness of the future cataclysm…Rumblings of unrest and anticipation…The forces of war unleashed…Homage to the dead…The eternal question: Why and for what?” But he later withdrew those titles. Besides, unlike the Eighth Symphony to which it is often compared as a war-time inspiration, it was written not during the War but after it was over, in the composer’s summer dacha at Komarova in 1946. A few years later, in spite of its ostensibly patriotic orientation, it was banned from public performance.

Whatever the relevance of Shostakovich’s discarded programmatic titles, the opening Allegretto is certainly carefree, not only in its charmingly nonchalant first subject but also - because of its virtuoso brilliance rather than merely academic ingenuity - in the complex fugal counterpoint of the development section.

The Moderato con moto, resonant with apprehension, also matches the composer’s description. It is based on three themes each driven by an ostinato rhythm, the first of them sustaining the initial tension by forcing its most prominent melodic figure onto the second theme as its accompanying ostinato. The third theme has a distinctly lighter step but, in its staccato tiptoe stealth, it is scarcely less sinister for that.

Alternating bar by bar between duple time and triple time, the central Allegro non troppo is a grotesque kind of march. Its aggressive intentions are unmistakable, above all in the percussive articulation and relentless fortissimo stridency of the outer sections. The middle section, on the other hand - where the viola draws a capricious line through the offbeat pizzicato texture of the other instruments - contradicts the prevailing militancy, if only briefly.

Variously described as a “requiem” and a “funeral march,” the Adagio is actually a kind of passacaglia with short, freely developing episodes between the seven statements of the lamenting main theme. Rising to an emotional climax in the middle and dying away on an evocation of muffled drum beats, it leads directly into the Moderato last movement.

Whatever the nature of the tribulations the music has passed through up to now - militaristic, political or personal - they are more or less settled in this extraordinary finale. It is not easily done: the gently lilting rondo theme, the attractively lyrical version of the passacaglia theme in the first episode, the restoration of something like the carefree attitude of the first movement in a tuneful second episode, all these seem peaceful enough. But, as the passacaglia theme returns in its original lamenting form, there is a new, searingly dramatic crisis. The recapitulation of the rondo material (in reverse order) leaves the first violin unconvinced until, in the closing bars, it joins the prevailing F major harmonies with three quietly plucked chords.

Gerald Larner©

Although he was used to political discouragement, Shostakovich must have been particularly distressed by official disapproval of his Third String Quartet. It was a work that meant much to him. A member of the Beethoven Quartet - the ensemble to which the work is dedicated and which gave its first performance in Moscow in 1946 - recalled that he only once saw the composer moved by his own music. It was at a rehearsal of the Quartet in F major: “When we finished playing he sat quite still in silence like a wounded bird, tears streaming down his face.”

Constructed in five movements, the Third String Quartet is as impressive in its proportions as in the breadth and depth of its expression. But exactly what it meant to the composer, as distinct from how much, it is difficult to say. It is true that he did at one time identify each movement with a programmatic title: “Calm unawareness of the future cataclysm…Rumblings of unrest and anticipation…The forces of war unleashed…Homage to the dead…The eternal question: Why and for what?” But he later withdrew those titles. Besides, unlike the Eighth Symphony to which it is often compared as a war-time inspiration, it was written not during the War but after it was over, in the composer’s summer dacha at Komarova in 1946. A few years later, in spite of its ostensibly patriotic orientation, it was banned from public performance.

Whatever the relevance of Shostakovich’s discarded programmatic titles, the opening Allegretto is certainly carefree, not only in its charmingly nonchalant first subject but also - because of its virtuoso brilliance rather than merely academic ingenuity - in the complex fugal counterpoint of the development section.

The Moderato con moto, resonant with apprehension, also matches the composer’s description. It is based on three themes each driven by an ostinato rhythm, the first of them sustaining the initial tension by forcing its most prominent melodic figure onto the second theme as its accompanying ostinato. The third theme has a distinctly lighter step but, in its staccato tiptoe stealth, it is scarcely less sinister for that.

Alternating bar by bar between duple time and triple time, the central Allegro non troppo is a grotesque kind of march. Its aggressive intentions are unmistakable, above all in the percussive articulation and relentless fortissimo stridency of the outer sections. The middle section, on the other hand - where the viola draws a capricious line through the offbeat pizzicato texture of the other instruments - contradicts the prevailing militancy, if only briefly.

Variously described as a “requiem” and a “funeral march,” the Adagio is actually a kind of passacaglia with short, freely developing episodes between the seven statements of the lamenting main theme. Rising to an emotional climax in the middle and dying away on an evocation of muffled drum beats, it leads directly into the Moderato last movement.

Whatever the nature of the tribulations the music has passed through up to now - militaristic, political or personal - they are more or less settled in this extraordinary finale. It is not easily done: the gently lilting rondo theme, the attractively lyrical version of the passacaglia theme in the first episode, the restoration of something like the carefree attitude of the first movement in a tuneful second episode, all these seem peaceful enough. But, as the passacaglia theme returns in its original lamenting form, there is a new, searingly dramatic crisis. The recapitulation of the rondo material (in reverse order) leaves the first violin unconvinced until, in the closing bars, it joins the prevailing F major harmonies with three quietly plucked chords.

Gerald Larner©