George Enescu inscribed the second of these pieces to the memory of Fauré. By that time (1944) his language had become infused with a Romanian vernacular more profoundly than hitherto – the opening doesn’t sound at all like Fauré, whereas the world of the earlier work, premiered in Paris in 1909, is clearly French, with Fauré’s influence paramount and admiring glances in the direction of Ravel and Debussy’s String Quartet. If you played either to an innocent ear they could be a puzzle because the readiness of invention and assurance of the writing proclaim exceptional gifts, on the one hand, while the personal characteristics are elusive, slipping away like soap in the bath. The booklet-notes include a memory of Enescu as an inspiring teacher at the Bryanston Summer Schools in the late 1940s but of a man so humble he seemed to take no account of himself whatsoever.

The world here is certainly not German. Tonality is not a directional force and the sonata principle, if in operation at all, hovers only distantly. And yet the movements – three in each piece – are often long, the first of No 1 nearly a quarter of an hour. There is a weave of voices that makes for a well-wrought continuity, and some variation of intensities, but the discourse is at once rather relentless – conversational it is not – and strangely nondescript. I long for more light and shade, and air, and for the tone of voice to change. The middle movements fall back into the same kind of continuum and add little to what has gone before, drifting to a close as the light fades. Another difficulty, as I perceive it, especially in No 1, is Enescu’s unsteady control of the role of the piano, which is not multifarious as in the Fauré piano quartets but veers uneasily between a backdrop and a strongly contrasted partner, upfront and out front. The First Quartet plays for 40 minutes. I will keep trying with No 2, where the impulses are fresher and more improvisatory in feeling, as they are in the Third Violin Sonata, a work I like very much.

I did wonder whether Romanian players might have brought more variety of sound to the folk-inflected elements of No 2 – and perhaps, individually and collectively, have been more willing to pick up the ball and run with it. I hesitate to be critical of the Schubert Ensemble, who are always so proficient and confident and well prepared. They have been well recorded and I’m not sure if anything more could be asked of them to bring the music off the page. I wish I could report having made more pleasurable discoveries.