Franck: Psyché, symphonic poem for chorus and orchestra, M.47 - Libretto

I'd like to return to a piece that I have been in love with for a long time now. I will cover it musically soon, but for now here is a translation of the libretto. The piece premiered in 1888 to mediocre reviews. It was a 
symphonic poem, a three-part, seven movement work for orchestra and women's chorus which took its inspiration from the Greek myth of Psyché and Eros. However it was never published as such. Its most common form in performance was -and is - in the arrangement Franck wrote for four-hand piano and chorus, or in the four orchestral fragments that Franck later extracted (which is almost the only form it is heard in today).
The chorus is used only in certain climactic points during the piece (three of the seven movements), and addresses the character of Psyche through the drama, similar to how the Greek chorus was used in dramatic plays. You'll notice in the text that it tends to describe and dramatize the action.
As it was never published, the original libretto attributed to Sicard and Fourcard is terrifically difficult to find. I was originally looking for a direct transcription to go with this, but that will have to wait. Here is a translation which was done by Mike George and Mark Seto (libretto and program description respectively).

PART ONE
Psyche’s Slumber (Sommeil de Psyché) (orchestra): Psyche is sleeping and dreaming; while she dreams, she has a premonition of absolute, otherworldly happiness.
Psyche Carried Off by the Zephyrs (Psyché enlevée par les Zéphyrs) (orchestra): Suddenly the air trembles, filled with strange noises. Psyche, carried off by the Zephyrs, is transported into the gardens of Eros.

PART TWO
The Gardens of Eros (Les jardins d’Eros) (orchestra and chorus): More beautiful than beauty itself, Psyche rests among flowers, greeted like a sovereign by Nature in celebration: voices whisper in her ear of the power of Love. She awakens, gently touched. The voices sing again, and speak of the invisible bridegroom who approaches. Delighted, she listens, she waits. The voices still sing, but more seriously: “Remember,” they say, “you must never know the face of your mystery lover… Remember!”
Chorus:
Love! Source of all life!
Young, strong god with the strength to conquer!
Hail, O hallowed power,
Hail, O charming ruler of hearts!
You fill everything with holy joy,
In your wake the furrows turn fertile.
Mother Earth produces with rapture
When the ineffable kiss
From the brightest sun, her bridegroom, beams down on her.
O white sister of the lily, gentler than the dawn
And more beautiful than beauty itself,
Do you not long to feel a sweet desire bursting open
In your tormented breast?
Listen to the invisible lyres in the distance
Sighing gently on the melodious air!
Your mysterious bridegroom is coming,
To your innocent breast, to share this divine ecstasy.
For you the palace gates are thrown open.
But, Psyche, remember that you must never
Look at the face of your mystery lover.
Obey without understanding your ever virtuous fate.
Psyche! Remember.
Psyche and Eros (Psyché et Eros) (orchestra): The spirits have fallen silent: another voice already resonates, soft but penetrating: it is that of Eros himself. Psyche responds hesitantly… soon their souls merge… All is passion, all is light, all is happiness… forever, if Psyche can remember.

PART THREE 
The Punishment – Psyche’s Suffering and Laments (orchestra and chorus): Psyche did not remember! “The punishment begins,” the voices declare, but she weeps. Eros will forgive her, perhaps. Psyche weeps; she feels infinite sorrow, because she has known infinite happiness. Consumed by impotent desires, she visits the earth to suffer, and to die with a sorrowful and supreme fervor for the ideal love which she has lost forever, but which she still hopes for…
Chorus: 
Love, your secret is known. 
Woe on her! Among the sweet mystery, and pure happiness, 
Her heart was filled with an eternal youthfulness.
Her punishment begins and its pain is cruel.
Far from the gardens and sacred temples of Eros, 
She wanders aimlessly, 
On paths that are rough under her bruised feet. 
A lonely traveler on a sad journey, 
Sobbing with regret at the mystery of 
The blue gardens and sacred temples of Eros. 
And the dark night grows even deeper, 
And the wind alone hears her hopeless cries! 
There is no glimmer of hope. 
Love, Psyche has discovered your secret, and yet she weeps. 
Take her back to the blue gardens and sacred temples. 
Apotheosis (orchestra and chorus): Eros has forgiven, the mysterious choir announces, and the whole world rejoices. Rest, poor Psyche! Your desire, which outlasts your death, is lifted up to God and God descends to you; his mouth repeats the same love, Nature sings the same revelry. And here in the arms of her immortal bridegroom, Psyche leaves the world in triumphant glory!
Chorus: 
Eros has forgiven. 
Heaven and earth quake with delight! 
Psyche, lift up your pallid forehead. 
Let the pain of your first mistake 
Be forgotten for ever. 
Heavenly couple, soar into the light. 
The miracle of love is at last complete. 

Attributed to “Sicard and Fourcaud” 

Hinton: Reminiscences of César Franck

This is a different sort of entry that i'm posting simply in the name of information dissemination. i'm currently doing a project on cesar franck's symphonic poeme Psyche (a fantastic work which i will surely also post here in the coming weeks), and in the process of searching for sources written in english about his life and times, i stumbled across a record of this booklet written by his only significant student in England, a man named John William Hinton (1849-1922). it's a tiny little pamphlet that was pretty difficult to track down - not a well known work but brief and insightful towards Franck. the little folder i received through the library system contains a set of small yellowed pages that are all separated from each other and basically coming apart, so i decided that it would be a good idea to transcribe it.

below you will find the complete text and page numbers to john hinton's personal reminiscences of cesar franck. maybe someday the fact that this is on the internet will help someone in their research. with the exception of a couple typesetting things, this is everything exactly as you would see on the printed copy.

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Cesar Franck

Some Personal Reminiscences

by J.W. Hinton, M.A., Mus.D.

(Trinity Coll., Dublin)

Author of “Organ Construction,”

“Story of the Electric Organ, &c. &c.

London: William Reeves

83, Charing Cross Road, W.C.

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Printed by Whitehead & Miller.

15, Elmwood Lane,

Leeds.

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Reminiscences of César Franck.

So many books and press notices have appeared dealing with Franck's biography or discussing his art methods, that every thoughtful musician (even if acquainted only with a few of the great tone-poet's works) must feel less surprise at the sudden outburst of posthumous celebrity than regret in realising how completely Franck was ignored or misjudged by his contemporaries – by the many who could not appreciate his genius, and, alas, also by the few who would not.

While ample materials now exist from which Franck's life may be reconstructed, it is unfortunate that, with the exception of Vincent D'Indy's book, Cesar Franck (Paris, Felix Alcan, 1907*), and of a few other publications, nearly all the documents are veritable “Gospels according to St. Luke,” written by persons who never knew Franck intimately.

Alongside of such valuable testimony as that of M. Vincent d'Indy (the St. Peter of the Franck

*English Edition, by Mrs. Newmarch (John Lane, 7/6 net).

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disciples), I venture to hope that the personal reminiscences of a humble disciple and friend of the master may possess a measure of interest, and this hope must be my excuse for acceding to request of friends that I should publish a few of these recollections.

Further, and separately, some prefatory apology is necessary for the many details of my own biography included. These details, however, are unavoidably present, to explain when and how I came to know Franck. Moreover in fairness to myself, and in the interests of truth and accuracy, I could not permit readers to infer that I was continuously Franck's pupil; for while it is true that our acquaintance and friendship was spread over more than twenty years, yet I only enjoyed the privilege of his instruction for a few short periods separated by considerable intervals.

It was towards the end of 1865 that I first saw Franck. I was then a “big boy” (though doubtless I should have resented this appellation at the time), and nothing was farther from my thoughts than the idea that I should one day adopt the profession of music. Indeed my father was too deeply imbued with the well-known tenets and prejudices of Lord Chesterfield for such an idea to have been even thinkable.

It was as an act of indulgence, intended to be an incentive or bribe, that during a visit to Paris my father treated me to a course of “first class” harmony lessons, from a “first class” man. This concession to my penchant for music I was supposed to justify and repay, by more close and

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earnest study of Greek irregular verbs, and of other things equally uncongenial to me. Considering that my previous music teacher was one whose main vocation was to tramp country roads collecting rates and taxes, it will be obvious that I could not have been adequately prepared to at once benefit from Franck's lessons.

I shall, however, never forget his wonderful patience and kindness, and though he commenced by telling me “vous ne savez rien du tout” (which of course ruffled me considerably), further meeting my querulous reply that I was “out of practice” by adding “vous n'avez jamais su,” I nevertheless soon got over my temporary resentment, and began rapidly to acquire clear and definite knowledge – if of necessity but elementary. Better still, I came to love my studies, and firmly resolved to learn more at the first opportunity. Some part of the time allotted to my lessons was devoted to improving my piano playing, which might then be summed up as ability to render very indifferently a few of Sydney Smith and Brinley Richard's pieces. These Franck refused to consider, and substituted Mozart's Sonatas, of which I still have the copy containing his fingering and corrections of my inaccuracies.

After the completion of this short course of “finishing” lessons, as they were intended to be (but which were really only the starting point of my career) I received no musical tuition until the autumn of 1867, when again with my father in Paris, which city he was wont to visit for three months nearly every year.

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Of this visit I possess a rather curious and valuable memento. Having succeeded in obtaining permission to renew my lessons with Franck, I eagerly availed myself of the short course possible, and submitted to him a copy of Best's edition of Bach's 48 Preludes and Fugues (which had been given to me, but I had not yet studied). This book he took away, returning it to me at the last lesson with the first twelve numbers (both Preludes and Fugues) fingered in places of difficulty, and marked with pedalling for optional use on the organ. After some words of practical advice generally he exhorted me diligently to master the whole work, he on his part having done all he could to facilitate the unaided study thereof. I did this, more or less – I fear rather less than more, but, without any further tuition or coaching from any source, I passed my Mus.B. Exam in the University of Dublin (1870).

From the beginning of 1868 to the autumn of 1872 (a period covering both my College career and the time of the Franco-Prussian war) I did not see Franck or correspond much with him, and it was not until 1873, by which time I had decided to follow music as a profession, that I resumed my studies with him – for a somewhat longer period than on previous occasions.

Franck then admitted me as an “Elève auditeur” at his class in the Conservatoire, the class so well and lovingly described by Mr. Vincent D'Indy (p. 225 op. cit.). At that time the pupils were Samuel Rosseau, Georges

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Verschneider (son of M. Charles Verschneider Barker's partner in organ building), Jean Tolbecque, two lady students, and myself. D'Indy also attended the class, but it seemed that Franck put him on a plane rather above us generally. No suspicion of favouritism was, however, thereby suggested. It appeared quite natural and in accordance with the fitness of things that the pupil able to assimilate most rapidly and in the largest amounts should not be stinted in his appetite.

Many are the memories which cling round that class-room, though not a few have passed from me. Plain-song accompaniment, organ playing, and extemporisation in sonata, or fugute, form, were the three main branches of study there taught. In the first I felt no interest, but what I did acquire came in very useful to me years afterwards.

The attendant who blew the organ (the bellows of which are located in a small room under the instrument) was one Jean Lescot, and later in the day he was to be found at the opera in full evening dress checking tickets and passes with great importance and dignity. Lescot was a useful man to know, so I often preferred to relieve him in blowing rather than grind through some particularly arid specimen of Plain-song. Jean Tolbecque, too, often slipped round to the bellows chamber, endeavouring to be unobserved when he knew he had not prepared his work, and as Franck would not unfrequently grow interested and enthusiastic in helping pupils whose work was satisfactory, the

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time limit was sometimes exceeded, and Tolbecque succeeded in getting passed over.

Further than this, I used to bring written work to Franck at intervals; this was generally at 9 in the evening after he had finished his daily routine of teaching.

Franck's success with his pupils was largely due to his power of eliciting from them earnest and well digested work.

“Don't try to do a great deal, but rather seek to do well”; “no matter if only a little can be produced”; “bring me the results of many trials, which you can honestly say represent the very best you can do”; “don't think that you will learn from my correction of faults of which you are aware, unless you have strained every effort yourself to amend them.” Such were his words, and if he noticed evidences of lack of interest or insufficient intensity of effort in the work submitted he would severely, but kindly, decline to correct it, and the pained expression of his countenance would generally shame the pupil into more serious application.

Wrong accidentals in playing particularly annoyed him. I do not think, however, that it was the mere jar on his nerves that upset him, so much as the fact that he failed to understand how the player could (even for a moment) forget the tonality or lose his perception of the sense of the harmony – such things seemed to him inconceivable, monstrous in fact. Under these circumstances he would shout, and even rave like a madman if the offence were repeated. This fury was however quite harmless; no word

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of his was ever personal or sarcastic – his wrath was against the sin, not against the sinner.

No one who has not known Franck intimately will ever realise what a phenomenally hard worker he was; working perhaps hardest of all in the “holidays,” when a little reading of good literature afforded the only breaks in days wholly occupied in composing or scoring. Franck invariably rose at 5 a.m., winter and summer; moreover it was his habit, no matter how hard pressed he might be, to reserve at least some brief interval in the day for meditation, reflection, and probably prayer - “Le temps de la pensée,” as he called it. Now it must be quite obvious that such continued work could only be possible for one gradually disciplined thereto by hardships, only be understood when we recall his early history and surroundings.

At the age of 11 Franck was already a youthful prodigy on the piano, and travelled with his father, giving pianoforte recitals. Poor little Franck! he can never have played games or known the happy careless youth of most children.

When h was 12 years old his father removed to Paris in order that the boy should have the best musical training possible, and at 15 he competed for the highest prize in piano playing at the Conservatoire. On this occasion, by some impulse of youthful “cussedness” he chose to play the sight-reading piece in a key a third lower, accomplishing this incredible feat with perfect ease and accuracy. Cherubini, the “Maestro” examining (despite all the unlovable

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qualities attributed to him by Berlioz), showed remarkable fairness; for though bound to disqualify Franck for this irregular action, he personally requested the council to grant the young virtuoso a special “grand prix d'honneur” for piano playing – the only one ever granted by the Conservatoire, from its beginning to the present day.

A similar eccentricity did not serve Franck so well when he competed for the organ prize. Noticing that the sonata subject would work with the fugue subject, he treated the two together, evolving a complex fugue; for this he was again disqualified, but eventually allowed a SECOND prize, as an act of mercy.

Having abandoned the profession of travelling virtuoso, which indeed was one most uncongenial to his retiring and studious disposition, the resources of the Franck family were thereby materially reduced, and he was compelled to work early and late in teaching at such remuneration as offered. Franck's early marriage, which took place in 1848, naturally did not tend to relieve him from the strain upon his energies. Even so, however, he neither could, nor would, give up his time for study, and thus became as it were an automatic expression of work, continuing until his death to occupy every moment of a career unchequered by any of those periods of inactivity, or reaction, which have so often delayed the development of, or utterly wrecked, many promising geniuses.

At the time of his marriage Franck was organist of the church of Notre Dame de Lorette,

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and we learn from M. D'Indy that on the day of his wedding, the insurgents in the Revolution of '48 had constructed a barricade in front of the church. Over this the happy couple were safely conducted by the belligerents, and no harm was done to them.

It may not be uninteresting to recall that the then new organ at Notre Dame de Lorette was the first Cavaillé organ erected in Paris, having been completed in 1836, five years before the opening of the magnificent instrument at St. Denis (Sept. 21^st, 1841), often erroneously assumed to have been Cavaillé's first organ in Paris.

The following condensed schedule of the contents of the Notre Dame de Lorette organ brings before us the instrument Franck, had to use and, moreover, is typical of the condition of large organs in France at that time.

SCHEDULE OF STOPS

Great and Choir Organs, CC to F, 54 notes; Swell to Tenor F, 37 notes; Pedals AAA to A, two octaves.

GREAT.

1. Open Diapason, 16 ft. 12. Grand Cornet, VII. ranks.
2. Ditto, 8 ft.
3. Bourdon, 15 ft. 13. Grand Furniture, IV. ranks.
4. Stop diapason, 8 ft.
5. Flute (Clarabella), 8 ft. 14. Small Furniture.
6. Salicional, 8 ft. 15. Sesquialtera, III. ranks.
7. Principal, 4 ft. 16. Bombarde, 16 ft.
8. Flute, 4 ft. 17. Trumpet, 8 ft.
9. Twelfth, 3 ft. 18. Clarion, 4 ft.
10. Fifteenth, 2 ft. 19. Vox Humana, 8 ft.

12. Grand Cornet, VII. ranks.

13. Grand Furniture, IV. ranks.

14. Small Furniture.

15. Sesquialtera, III. ranks.

16. Bombarde, 16 ft.

17. Trumpet, 8 ft.

18. Clarion, 4 ft.

19. Vox Humana, 8 ft.

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CHOIR

1. Bourdon, 8 ft. 8. Seventeenth.
2. Open flute, 8 ft. 9. Cornet, V. ranks.
3. Dulciana, 8 ft. 10. Mixture, V. ranks.
4. Flute, 4 ft. 11. Trumpet, 8 ft.
5. Principal, 4 ft. 12. Clarion, 4 ft.
6. Twelfth, 3 ft. 13. Contra Fagotto, 16 ft.
7. Fifteenth, 2 ft.

8. Seventeenth.

9. Cornet, V. ranks.

10. Mixture, V. ranks.

11. Trumpet, 8 ft.

12. Clarion, 4 ft.

13. Contra Fagotto, 16 ft.

SWELL

(Enclosed in a Venetian Swell.)

1. Bourdon, 8 ft. 6. Cor Anglais, 16 ft.
2. Flauto traver, 8 ft. 7. Trumpet, 8 ft.
*3. Harmonic Flute, 4 ft. 8. Hautbois, 8 ft.
4. Flegeolet, 2 ft. 9. Clarion, 4 ft.
5. Cornet, III. ranks. 10. Vox Humana, 8 ft.

6. Cor Anglais, 16 ft.

7. Trumpet, 8 ft.

8. Hautbois, 8 ft.

9. Clarion, 4 ft.

10. Vox Humana, 8 ft.

PEDALS

1. Open Wood, 16 ft. 4. Trumpet, 8 ft.
2. Ditto, 8 ft. 5. Large ditto, 8 ft.
3. Ditto, 4 ft. 6. Clarion, 4 ft.

4. Trumpet, 8 ft.

5. Large ditto, 8 ft.

6. Clarion, 4 ft.

As an organist Franck was principally remarkable for his wonderful extemporary development of themes. He would study a subject closely for a few moments, his countenance assuming such visible signs of intensity as will not be readily forgotten by those who have seen him, and then as it were would “let himself go.” At the end he invariably criticised himself, saying “I did not do this, or that,” “I haven't done quite what I intended” - or more rarely, “well I think I have succeeded pretty well this time.” These extemporary voluntaries came to be both a presure and an artistic duty to him, and if he did not quite realise what he desired, or if the warning bell rang for him to stop just as he was piling up a close “Stretto,” he would be visibly

*The earliest introduction of the harmonic Flute is to be noted, and, almost the first instance in Paris of the Venetian Swell.

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pained, and seemingly formed the resolution to “get his own back” next time by still greater concentration of energy. Franck's “registration” on the organ was sober, if compared with that of Léfebure-Wély, and in no degree intended to captivate the general public; but while the modern resources of the organ were not neglected by him, it is unquestionable that beauty in the design and combination of ideas, not variety in colour display, was his principal quest. In this connection it seems unavoidable to note that the great builders-up of organ literature from Bach to Rheinberger have seldom given any indication of the stops to be used, evidently conceiving that that the highest excellence of organ music should reside in its design and architecture, so to speak, or in other words in beauty of line and proportion, which would lose in dignity and become largely unintelligible if prettily “picked out in colours.”

Indeed, such “interpretations” of Bach and of other Organ Classics are as now, alas, but too common, rather suggest the cheap oratory of some lay readers and others in our churches, who “patronise” the Word of God by bestowing upon it such emphasis and punctuation as embodies their conception of what they appear to think the Almighty OUGHT to have said.

Franck's six pieces for the organ (Op. 16) were his first really important work for that instrument. They were composed in 1862, when organ music in Paris received such a healthy stimulus from Hesse's visit, and his recitals on the newly erected organ at St.

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Sulpice, but it was not until 1868 that they became known. Franck gave a copy of these to my father, asking him to secure English rights of performance, but unfortunately he found himself unable to give effect to this commission. Early in 1868 Franck played the No. 1 of this series at the opening of the organ at Notre Dame (Guilmant also producing his Marche Funèbre et Chant Séraphique on the same occasion). It was of Franck's six pieces that Franz Liszt said, “They have a place alongside of the works of Sebastian Bach.” My copy, which I greatly treasure, bears the inscription, “Souvenir Affectueux, a Mr. John Hinton,” together with Franck's signature.

Little can, I think, be said for some of Franck's smaller organ pieces – mere “pot boilers” - which were mostly written in his early necessitous days specially to meet the very limited powers of French village harmonium players. Doubtless some of these bear later dates, but Franck, as Handel and others, often revived parts of his early writings, and of this I have documentary evidence.

Speaking of these pieces, one can only say that passages in them bear the imprint of a master hand – that is all. When, however, we come to his Three Chorals, we find ourselves in presences of a stupendous manifestation of musical genius, for therein Franck has continued the work of Sebastian Bach, and surpassed him.

A vivid memory is evoked in my mind as I think of the pleasure I experienced when he

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told me I could come to Notre Dame to the organ while he tried the stops and fixed the registration of the pieces he was to play. As I ascended the tortuous staircase and viewed the impressive pile from near the roof, visions of Quasimodo, and of many others who moved in that wonderful mediæval atmosphere created by Victor Hugo, seemed to flash across my mind, suggested by each quaint carving, or dim recess.

If I may hazard an appreciation of Franck's art, I should say that he was essentially a symphonist, and that it is in his superb quartet for strings and other concerted pieces that we find him at his best. D'Indy reluctantly concedes that Franck's church music is singularly unequal and disappointing, moreover assigning some causes which explain this. He also frankly admits that in opera Franck was perhaps scarcely at home; his strong mysticism and leaning towards sacred art did not, I think, conduce to special aptitude in dealing with conventionalised forms of stage music.

It only remains to add that I took part in the first production of Redemption, and of some other of Franck's works.

Poor Franck! he was not gifted as a conductor; the business and disciplinary duties of that office were completely beyond his grasp, and consequently most of his first performances were sad fiascos.

Nevertheless, kind soul that he was, he seemed soon to forget, and he never had a hard word to say to any performer, no matter how badly they had served him.

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In 1887 (at which time I resided in Guernsey), I journeyed to Paris to be present at the Franck Festival, portions of Les Béatitudes and various other pieces from his pen being performed at the Cirque d'Hiver, under the conductorship of Pasdeloup. Here again ill fortune ensued. The music had been insufficiently rehearsed and was badly rendered. Pasdeloup (then almost in his dotage) started the Variations Symphoniques at double the pace intended, resulting in a “scramble,” a hideous and painful travesty of the music.

At that time Franck was just entering upon a new lease of activity as a composer, and much of his best work was done subsequently; but, alas! this golden period was destined to be all too short: for one day in crossing the street, perhaps meditating upon some combination of musical themes, he was struck down by the pole of an omnibus.

From this accident he rallied for a while, but internal troubles developed, and the end came on November 8^th, 1890. His remains were interred at Montrouge, but subsequently they were removed to a more fitting resting place in the Montparnasse Cemetary. R.I.P.

Franck: Piano Quintet in F minor, M. 7 - I. Molto moderato quasi lento

for this double/make-up entry, the first movements of two piano quintets by two contemporaneous french composers.
(this is also music i was more or less unfamiliar with, so it's easier for me to do these expositions of more well-known works)

M stands for wilhelm mohr, who catalogued franck's work in 1969.
this 3-movement quintet was written in 1878-1879, pretty much right in the middle of his fairly prosperous career as professor at the paris conservatoire (his so-called "late period" lasts from 1872-1890). his new job allowed him to spend a lot more time composing, and he had a pretty reasonable output of work during this period, including a lot of the pieces we now know him best for - le chausseur maudit, symphonic variations, and later, the violin sonata.
wikipedia indicates that he is represented in the "standard" modern repertoire only by a fairly narrow range of works. i think perhaps this has to do with the fact that the color of much of what he wrote was so similar - hyperromantic, instrumentationally/texturally standard, lapsing sometimes into stagnation, even. but this piano quintet was one of his few works which had a successful premiere.

this massive first movement is angsty and vital, with a "theatrical grimness," as one of the critics wrote back in the day.
his work before this was mostly just sacred work, and this piece was the beginning of his actual success as a composer. nyphil writes that the mood's likeliest explanation was "franck's infatuation with his student augusta holmes, a beautiful and gifted woman 25 years his junior." apparently saint-saens, who was the pianist at the premiere, rather disliked this piece, as well as franck's wife, felicite (for perhaps obvious reasons).
this movement is opened by a slow instroduction with two components: huge angsty, dramatic cry from the strings, and a melancholy melody for the piano which begins at 0:27. at 3:43, the tempo suddenly changes to allegro, and a nice characterization for what's happening for the rest of the movement is that instead of the piano trying to calm the strings down, it's the other way around. the super-dotted rhythm is derived from the very opening string statement.
at 5:06 is a very chromatic theme which plays a crucial role in the work as a whole, repeating at various points throughout the three movements. it comes back at the end of this movement, much more agitated, at 7:43. in between you have a return of the slow introduction, and lots of development based on said theme.
looooots of chromatic movement through this piece - does quite a bit to undermine the tonal center. some characteristically french melody writing, and quite a lot of the devilish arpeggio-work that anyone who's familiar with the violin sonata will recognize - which was the next and maybe even only work that was quite as overtly passionate and heart-on-sleeve as this.

enjoy!