Joseph Haydn’s passion for the string quartet medium—one he had essentially created and brought to perfection as a serious music genre—did not decline as he grew older. In his 60s, he wrote fifteen quartets—Opuses 71, 74, 76, and 77—and they were the culmination of his chamber oeuvre. As was the case with his London Symphonies, his senior years brought not a diminishment but an apotheosis of his creative powers.

In fact, the six quartets of Opus 71 and especially of Opus 74 bear a strong relationship to his symphonic output. They were written in 1793, the year between his two triumphant periods in London which produced those London Symphonies. And in the C Major Quartet of Opus 74 we hear this evening, one can detect that Haydn’s mind was very much on the orchestra, for frequently he contrives to make his four players sound like a much larger ensemble. This Quartet also boasts remarkable harmonic daring for its era, as well as a tightness of construction that unifies all of its movements, as varied as they may sound to the listener.

The first movement opens most peculiarly with a two-chord cadence we’d expect to hear at the end of a phrase, not at the beginning. But this mini-introduction is in fact announcing the core motive of both this movement and the Quartet as a whole: the first violin rising by a half-step from B to the home note of C. The theme that follows and much of this Quartet’s music will be riddled with this tiniest melodic interval, which introduces “chromatic” pitches outside the plain-Jane key of C Major. Following a frequent practice of his, Haydn uses only this one theme to build his sonata form. Opening in a murky-sounding unison, the development section obsesses over the theme’s slithering half-steps, which generate plenty of harmonic wandering. More developmental passages and harmonic adventures intrude on the recapitulation section, beginning with a striking fugal passage on the principal theme. And a variant of this theme is given a mighty orchestral unison for a dramatic conclusion.

If movement one had only one theme, Haydn makes-up for this in movement two, which possesses three. This delicate, swaying music has the character of a slow minuet. The opening theme undulates gracefully off the downbeat. It is immediately followed by a sighing melody that exploits those half-steps again. Finally, we hear an expressive theme in dialogue between the two violins and the two lower instruments. A brief but harmonically rich development follows. And the recapitulation is followed by a lengthy, intensely beautiful coda constituting a second development section.

Since movement two sounded so much like a minuet, the third movement’s titular Menuetto adopts the character of a scherzo. Its outer sections have a robust character with an orchestral fullness in the scherzo theme’s opening chords. Once again, there is prominent use of the ascending half-step here. Daringly, Haydn sets the middle trio section in the remote key of A Major. This music is very lyrical and mellow, inspired by the Austrian 3/4-time Ländler dance, the precursor of the waltz.

The Quartet wraps-up with one of Haydn’s most brilliant finales: an exhilarating contrapuntal romp that summons the virtuosity of all four players, not just the usually dominant first violin. Even more intriguing than its whirling principal theme are two later ones: a vigorous syncopated idea—which Haydn takes on a wild harmonic ride in the development section—and an earthy folk theme over a bagpipe drone to close the exposition section. And it is this popular-style tune that Haydn brings back for a bravura finish, with the instruments cleverly inflated so they sound like a fully-staffed string orchestra.

Notes by Janet E. Bedell copyright 2011

This work was composed for the St. Lawrence String Quartet and was co-commissioned by Carnegie Hall and Stanford Lively Arts Stanford University with the generous support of Kathryn Gould.

The two periods Dvořák spent in America in the mid-1890s teaching at Mrs. Jeannette Thurber’s newly formed National Conservatory of Music in New York City were creatively fruitful: while in the U.S., he composed a number of important works including three of his most famous, the “American” Quartet, the Cello Concerto, and the “New World” Symphony. He also enjoyed his time in Spillville, Iowa, a Czech immigrant community. But Dvořák was deeply attached to his native land and also to his family of six children. As time went on, the separation from them weighed more and more heavily on him, and in 1895, he finally prevailed on Mrs. Thurber to release him from his contract a few months early.

Upon returning to Prague and his beloved farm at Vysoka outside the city, Dvořák was at first too worn-out to compose anything. But by Fall, the spark was reignited, and he turned to writing chamber music: the String Quartet in G Major, Opus 106 and the one we hear this afternoon, the String Quartet in A-flat Major, Opus 105. The A-flat Quartet has the lower opus number because it was actually begun in March 1895 while he was still in New York. Interestingly, he then wrote the entire G-Major Quartet before returning to finish the A-flat, which he completed at the end of December. It was thus the last of his generous output of fourteen quartets, just two fewer than Beethoven’s. It was also the last of his “abstract” instrumental works, for he spent the final eight years of his life writing orchestral tone poems and operas.

Dvořák composed the first movement’s opening exposition section in New York before returning home, and perhaps his homesickness is responsible for the dark and weary-sounding slow introduction in the minor mode that launches this music. Begun almost inaudibly by the cello, a little phrase of profound yearning rises through the four instruments. As the tempo increases to Allegro appassionato, this idea blossoms into a full theme, but only gradually does the music take-on a spirit of optimism and energy. This principal theme also has a more lyrically expressive element—a melody introduced by the first violin that plunges downward, then curls yearningly upward. The second major theme is much more lively—an animated hunting-call melody shared by the two violins over a galloping accompaniment. A superb development section elaborates all these ideas in lavish counterpoint; particularly wonderful is the viola’s heartfelt adoption of the lyrical plunging theme. Before the movement’s upbeat conclusion, Dvořák revisits the mournful music of the slow introduction.

Next comes perhaps Dvořák finest scherzo movement: an infectious F-Minor dance in the style of the Czech furiant, used in many of this composer’s works. It winningly combines charming melodies with zesty syncopated rhythmic play. Moving to the key of D-flat Major, the middle trio section is a romantic waltz, which opens with a duet between first violin and cello and later includes a ravishing duet for the two violins. Its melody was adapted from Dvořák’s opera The Jacobin.

The Molto cantabile third movement in F Major proves that a slow movement does not have to be tragic or sorrowful. If this lovely music sounds sentimental, it is because here Dvořák was expressing his own personal joy at being back in the bosom of his family. While composing it, he wrote to a friend, “We are, praise be to God, all well and rejoice at being spared after three years to spend this dear and happy Christmas festival in Bohemia. How different did we feel last year in America, where we were so far away in a foreign country and separated from all our children and friends. But the Lord God has vouchsafed us this happy moment and that is why we feel so inexpressibly content!” In luscious counterpoint, the first violin leads the others in a song that is indeed “inexpressibly content.” Over a throbbing accompaniment, a little agitation leavens the bliss in the middle section —perhaps a memory of the hectic life in New York. When the opening song returns, it is ecstatically ornamented and given a fluttering countermelody in the second violin.

Rambling and episodic, the Allegro non tanto finale reminds us that while wonderful melodies came easily to Dvořák, tight formal construction did not. The opening is striking: amidst a melodramatic tremolo, the cello and the first violin suggest the principal theme before the vivacious tune finally catches fire. And throughout, the composer keeps concocting one beguiling Czech-flavored melody after another as he rejoices once again at life in his native land.

Notes by Janet E. Bedell, copyright 2011