It is quite possible that nowhere does time seem so clearly the fourth dimension as in Schubert’s last works. They give us a glimpse of the face of a wanderer who knows that the end of his road is only too near. Yet so used is he to wandering that he cannot stop; instead, he hedges and, forsaking the matters of this world, he finds sanctuary in unknown spaces away from the chiming of clocks. Such spaces are plentiful in Quintet in C major. They function as themes, yet they only have anything in common with those of the Classics when music runs in a broad flow. More often than not, however, it encircles and confuses us.
• This impression is already there in the first growing chord of Allegro ma non troppo. One could devote an entire book to this marvellous introduction. We find its bass motif at the bottom of a vivid figure of the main theme that moves over a falling triad – and now it becomes clear why Schubert needed two cellos. The theme grows and then breaks off at sharp chords, to make way for a lyrical space of oblivion, circling around far-off keys with a dreamy melody, sung by several instruments over a uniform and measured pizzicato. There is a subtle game of contrapuntal nature between these voices, slowly saturating the sound until it reaches an almost symphonic volume. The game is up when a no-nonsense epilogue appears, serving as the basis for the development. The epilogue comes in two varieties: the first dramatic, augmenting in blunt dissonances, where some voices enter although some others have not yet had their last word, and the second lyrical, marked with a soothing memory of the second theme. Although the recapitulation is a requirement of the classical form, it allows us yet another moment of oblivion.
• The uniqueness of Adagio, derived from the spirit of the second theme of the preceding movement, consists in its absolute and uncompromising continuity. Between the calls of violin and the responding pizzicato of cellos, the middle voices weave a cloth of chords that breathlessly flow one into the other without even a fraction of a second’s worth of silence. The impression of deep contemplation, of severance from reality, is powerful indeed. This makes the violent central episode even more excruciating, with its plethora of dissonances born in a way similar to those in the development of the previous movement, with its seemingly constant quest for just the right key. As it dwindles, it leaves a mark in the recapitulation: disquieting trills and passages in cello. Its close is filled with “parting” cadenza phrases; the last of these can be treated as Schubert’s musical motto, so frequently does it appear in his compositions.
• Scherzo (Presto) is such a suggestive rapture of folk-coloured temper that its incessant changes of key and colour could at first be perceived as a symptom of good humour – were it not for the fact that there is so disquietingly many of them. The trio (Andante sostenuto) explains the context: a boundlessly sad, almost funereal melody, no longer in free flow; instead, it is arrested at every phrase, and its poignancy is emphasised by the major key.
• The final Allegretto relates in its mood to the main fragment of Scherza. The dancing and sharply syncopated rhythm of the refrain is reminiscent of a polka, but its melody once again must have lost its key and there is always a dissonant note in its heroic hurrahs. Successive ideas usher in an increasingly lyrical climate, with just a touch of reverie, and all seems to proceed, if not to a happy ending, then at least towards harmony and a soothing of passions. Wrong: the coda brings a feverish acceleration and the whole ends in a despairing cry in high registers and a weird grimace (C-D flat-C), as if a suddenly-frenzied pageant were struck by a thunderbolt.
The premiere, performed by the famous Hellmesberger quartet, took place in Vienna as late as on 27 November 1850.
Maciej Negrey