String Quartet No.1 in E minor “From my Life” (1876)

Smetana’s String Quartet in E minor was inspired by “remembrance of my life and the catastrophe of complete deafness.” After a first movement depicting “my youthful leanings towards art, the romantic atmosphere,” an Allegro moderato a la polka bringing to mind “the joyful days of youth when I composed dance tunes” and a Largo sostenuto reminding me of “the happiness of my first love” the catastrophe strikes in the last movement. A joyful celebration of Czech dance music is broken off by a dramatic silence and a sustained high E on first violin representing the ringing in the composer’s ears at the onset of his deafness. a sustained high E on first violin representing the ringing in the composer’s ears at the onset of his deafness..

Like his early Piano Trio in G minor, which was written after the death of his eldest daughter in 1855, Smetana’s First String Quartet was inspired by a personal tragedy. The catastrophe in this case was the complete loss of hearing he had suffered in 1874. An obviously autobiographical work, the String Quartet in E minor was rejected by the Prague Music Association as being too “orchestral” in style – meaning, presumably, that whereas programme music is acceptable in orchestral pieces it is unacceptable in a string quartet. Smetana was hurt by this but unrepentant. “I did not set out to write a quartet according to recipe or custom,” he explained to a friend: “with me the form of every composition is dictated by the subject itself,” which in this work was “remembrance of my life and the catastrophe of complete deafness.”

According to the composer, “the first movement depicts my youthful leanings towards art, the romantic atmosphere, the inexpressible yearning for something I could neither express nor define, and also a kind of warning of my future misfortune.” The warning is the main theme of the construction, the ominous three-note motif uttered by viola in E minor in the opening bars. The romantic yearning is the lovely second subject introduced by first violin in G major.

“The second movement, a quasi-polka, brings to my mind” he said, “the joyful days of youth when I composed dance tunes and was known everywhere as a passionate lover of dancing. The third movement reminds me of the happiness of my first love, the girl who later became my first wife. The fourth movement describes the discovery that I could treat national elements in music and my joy in following this path until it was checked by the catastrophe of the onset of my deafness.” The joyful celebration of Czech dance music is indeed broken off by a dramatic silence and, at the beginning of the regretfully reminiscent closing section, a sustained high E on first violin representing the ringing in the composer’s ears at the onset of his deafness. “I allowed myself this little trifle,” he said, “since it is so crucial for me”

Like his early Piano Trio in G minor, which was written after the death of his eldest daughter in 1855, Smetana’s First String Quartet was inspired by a personal tragedy. The catastrophe in this case was the complete loss of hearing he had suffered in 1874. An obviously autobiographical work, the String Quartet in E minor was rejected by the Prague Music Association as being too “orchestral” in style – meaning, presumably, that whereas programme music is acceptable in orchestral pieces it is unacceptable in a string quartet. Smetana was hurt by this but unrepentant. “I did not set out to write a quartet according to recipe or custom,” he explained to a friend: “With me the form of every composition is dictated by the subject itself,” which in this work was “remembrance of my life and the catastrophe of complete deafness.”

According to the composer, “the first movement depicts my youthful leanings towards art, the romantic atmosphere, the inexpressible yearning for something I could neither express nor define, and also a kind of warning of my future misfortune.” The warning is in the ominous three-note figure uttered by the viola in the opening bars and then so passionately developed as it becomes part of the main theme that its influence permeates the whole movement. If romantic yearning is expressed by the lovely second subject in G major, it is discreetly undermined from the moment of its introduction on first violin by a nagging two-note reminder of the warning rhythm on cello. Indeed, there are few bars when that rhythm is not present in one form or another. The development can think of little else and although there is an apparent appeasement just before the end, with a brief echo of the second subject on first violin, the cello quietly but firmly concludes that it is an illusion.

“The second movement, a quasi-polka, brings to my mind” he said, “the joyful days of youth when I composed dance tunes and was known everywhere as a passionate lover of dancing.” After plunging into the midst of the dance to start with, brandishing a trumpet in the “quasi tromba” second theme, he seems to retire from it as though to hear the music from a different room. “The third movement,” he went on, “reminds me of the happiness of my first love, the girl who later became my first wife.” Again, however, another emotional dimension is introduced in the middle section of the movement, in this case an insistently threatening intervention of dotted rhythms which are met with protests from the viola before the expressive opening material is resumed.

“The fourth movement describes the discovery that I could treat national elements in music and my joy in following this path until it was checked by the catastrophe of the onset of my deafness.” The joyful celebration of Czech dance music in the last movement is indeed broken off by a dramatic silence and, at the beginning of the regretfully reminiscent closing section, a sustained high E on first violin representing the ringing in the composer’s ears at the onset of his deafness. “I allowed myself this little joke,” he said, “because it was so disastrous for me.”