Camille Saint-Saëns (1835-1921)
Piano Trio No. 2 in e minor, Op. 92 (1892)
Saint-Saëns composed his second piano trio nearly thirty years after his first at the behest of a publisher who missed the opportunity the first time around. Begun in March of 1892 but not finished for over a year, Saint-Saëns wrote, “I am working quietly away at a Trio which I hope will drive to despair all those unlucky enough to hear it.” He called it “black with notes and black in mood.” This almost certainly refers to the two outer movements of an unusual five-movement work, both dominated by the key of E minor along with a bluster of rhythmic fury in the first. But this is not the drama of Wagner nor even Mendelssohn per se as Saint-Saëns, even at his “blackest,” maintains the poise, balance, and transparent clarity of the most characteristic French composers.
The first movement Allegro is dominated by a compelling rhythmic motif of twice-repeated chords sweeping up, down, and bouncing in agitation as the strings slowly simmer above. The choppy chords smooth into a faster-running line as the dark slowly transitions to light, eventually reaching a lyrical, triumphant mood, forming the crucial contrast of this sonata-form movement, the longest movement in the trio. The development and reprise extend this essential contrast into a marvelous narrative where the dramatic opening theme proves the victor, in the end, fortified into an unmistakably more majestic, “shining” darkness.
The second movement Allegretto, deceptively charming, even demure, is a showcase of Saint-Saëns’ impeccably ingenious art. A lightly skipping two-bar melody in a rather unusual 5/8 meter provides a minimalist germ that spins out a scherzo-rondo with constantly nuanced variations and sectional contrasts as if Mozart and Mendelssohn were “trading fours” in a Parisian salon. Using the simplest contrasts of major/minor, slow/fast, and a constantly shifting exchange among the three instruments, Saint-Saëns surprises and delights with the finest musical play.
The central third movement is the shortest and most lyrical, a slow, elegant, and slightly swooning dance of sweet and lightly melancholy French affect. Once again we find a natural simplicity expressed with masterful craftsmanship in a call-and-response dialogue that navigates a dazzling range from the heights of the violin to the depths of the cello, with harmonic nuances enriching the paradoxically “simple.” The fourth movement accelerates the tempo into another scherzo with a texture so full of space, range, and fresh air that Saint-Saëns makes the textures of Mendelssohn, Schumann, and Brahms almost suffocating by comparison. Here, one is inclined to name Saint-Saëns the “French Mozart.”
With his finale, Saint-Saëns provides a complementary bookend to the darker, denser, and more formally complex first movement, including something of its initial “despair.” The density and drama are partially a product of a more “cramped” chromaticism suggesting something more like the “French Schumann.” There is more to suggest this comparison. As with Schumann, there is a restive urgency and, as well, the occasional respite of brighter harmonies uplifting with its temporary glow. And finally, there is the counterpoint. As Schumann did in his epic piano quintet, Saint-Saëns sets up a kind of double-fugue for an apotheosis. The initial theme stated in unison by all three instruments is curiously peripatetic, a shape that will perfectly interlock with another complementary musical line. The second theme takes the next step appearing alone as the subject of a four-part fugue, featuring in order: piano right hand, violin, cello, and piano left hand. More development and transition lead to the summit as the fugue reappears joined by the first theme in counterpoint, a revelation of simultaneity. The final gesture collapses the web of counterpoint into a monolithic, heavy unison that races to a definitive conclusion, a stunning tour-de-force.