Kolo tune (p. 50).
[30] The musical stanza, in this song, goes to a half-stanza of the
words. The first is—
Stal se jesem rano jutro _i.e._, In the early morning stood I malo pred
zorjum. Close upon the dawn.
(_b_) The same song as it appears in the district of S. Ivan Zeline—
[Music]
(_c_) The same as it appears at Medjumur (Murinsel)—
[Music]
In these versions the last four bars appear to have been loosely
attached to the rest of tune; at any rate, they are often found, apart
from the first phrase, in Croatian carols and drinking songs. Again,
among other districts there has been some rearrangement of the words,
with corresponding changes in the music. Either the opening line is
not repeated, which leads to the excision of the third bar, and a
consequent alteration of cadence; _e.g._—
(_d_) Variant from Kolnov (near Oedenburg)—
[Music]
or it is inserted again after the second, so as to give the stanza an
alternation of masculine and feminine endings; _e.g._—
(e) Variant from Čembe—
[Music]
The rest is easily divined. When in 1797 Haydn was commissioned to
set the National Anthem, he must have had this tune before his eye,
and have determined to use it as the pedestal of the _monumentum ære
perennius_ which his loyalty erected.[31] And here a word may be said
as to the manner in which the great tune appears to have been written.
It was no momentary inspiration, no sudden impromptu that should come
into existence at full growth; like most of Beethoven’s music, it was
made carefully, and by deliberate weighing of alternatives. By a piece
of singular good fortune, we are for once admitted to the master’s
workshop, and allowed to take our lesson in melody by the observation
of his practice.
[31] There is no need to discuss here the question of Telemann’s Rondo.
If its resemblance to Haydn’s tune be anything more than fortuitous, it
is probably referable to the same source. See Josip Haydn, p. 81.
Now the second strain of the folk-tune is too short to fit the second
line of the poem; accordingly, Haydn began by extending its cadence,
and instead of—
[Music]
wrote—
[Music]
following it with repeat-marks, after the common method of primary
form. Two other changes explain themselves. The measure is dignified by
the broader time-signature, and the accent shifted from arsis to thesis
by the rearrangement of the bars. Otherwise, in the first half of the
stanza the folk-tune remains unaltered.
But for the second half it was manifestly insufficient. Both the
possible variants are too trivial, and one too brief, to afford the
requisite climax. As a natural consequence, Haydn discarded both, and
proceeded to supply their place with two original strains, which in the
Autograph sketch[32] run as follows:—
[Music]
[32] Preserved in the Museum of the Gesellschaft Library at Vienna.
It is a small oblong sheet, similar to those on which Haydn wrote his
“Canons,” and contains, first, the complete sketch of the melody—
[Music]
and below it the third strain amended—
[Music]
The improved version of the fourth strain is not there, but, curiously
enough, Pohl notes an anticipation of it in the Mariazeller Mass. See
Pohl’s Haydn, vol. ii. p. 333.
Still, he was dissatisfied with the result, and it is easy to suggest
the reason. In the former of these two strains there is a passage
which carries tonic harmony—out of place at this stage of the tune—and
its cadence, moreover, rhymes awkwardly with that of the half-stanza.
The latter of the two comes down from its point of stress with a fine
sweeping movement, but, three bars from the end, breaks its melodic
curve into two distinct pieces, and so loses continuity of line. Both
were accordingly corrected, one on the same page, the bottom stave of
which bears, in hasty manuscript, the amended form—
[Music]
the other, with a few more minute alterations, at a later period of the
work. And thus, of such diverse metal as Cellini cast his “Perseus,”
did Haydn beat out the melody by which he has given voice to a nation’s
patriotism.
It is to be hoped that these examples will not encourage any reader to
pursue Haydn with the cry of plagiarist. No accusation could be more
unfounded or more unreasonable. He poached upon no man’s preserve,
he robbed no brother-artist, he simply ennobled those peasant-tunes
with the thought and expression of which he was most nearly in accord.
The whole extent of his indebtedness is at most an occasional melody,
and is often but a single phrase; the treatment, the setting, the
workmanship belong as truly to him as Faust to Goethe, or Cymbeline
to Shakespeare. The master who has written a hundred and twenty
first-rate symphonies, and eighty-three first-rate quartets, may
surely claim the right to take his wealth where he finds it; and if
we are churlish enough to deny this, at least we may allow him the
privilege of speaking in his native tongue. To Haydn, the folk-tunes
were little more than the words of his accustomed speech, hardly
obscured when the Church asserted her contrapuntal dignity, and
reappearing in full significance when he returned to the untrammelled
orchestra and the freedom of the four magic strings. It is more
important to note how closely his special melodic gift is in sympathy
with that of his people. Many of the tunes quoted above are among those
which a critic would select as especially characteristic: there are
literally hundreds of his invention by which, in a more or less degree,
the same qualities are exhibited. No doubt he was not only the child of
his nation, he had his own personality, his own imaginative force, his
own message to deliver in the ears of the world. But through all these
the national element runs as a determining thread. That “les grands
artistes n’ont pas de patrie” is a sentence abundantly refuted by its
very author; it assuredly finds no support in the life of the Croatian
peasant who has made immortal the melodies of his race.
A new aspect of the question has been brought into prominence by
recent history. The course of policy pursued in our own day by the
Austrian Government is tending to reverse the relative importance of
the Croatian colony and of the mother country from which it sprang.
On the one hand, the central provinces are being steadily Germanised,
the Slavonic language is beginning to die out, the Slavonic blood
to be crossed by intermixture, and though yet the change is only in
process, there is no lack of indication that it is operative. Along
the western bank of the Leitha, German is now the prevailing speech,
along the eastern bank it is disputing the palm with Hungarian, and
between them the Slav, for all his tenacity, will some day be dislodged
or absorbed. Hardly any inhabitant speaks of Požun now; the name is
either Pozsony or Pressburg; Liesing has almost forgotten that it was
once Lešnik, and though Oedenburg[33] still remains as a fortress,
it is becoming more and more isolated as the years advance. But,
on the other hand, a wider range of opportunity is being opened in
Croatia proper. The impulse towards national life, started as we have
already seen by Ljudevit Gaj, is being wisely fostered and encouraged
by Imperial patronage; and Agram, which a century ago was a little
country town, is now assuming the state and dignity of a capital. The
University, founded in 1874, has already done much for the study of art
and letters; the old market-place has become a fine square, with an
opera-house in the centre; the waste ground to the south has been laid
out in public gardens, and enclosed with galleries and museums. It is
natural that the present race should follow these changes with keen
enthusiasm; and should look forward eagerly and confidently to the days
of coming greatness. Nor even to a stranger are the evidences lacking.
The tone may be somewhat Chauvinist, the self-gratulation somewhat
indiscriminate, the record of present achievement a little wanting in
distinction; but as yet the movement is new, the resources are new,
the whole field has to be contested step by step. It would be idle to
expect another Haydn at present; the line has been broken, and must
rally before it can advance. Enough for the moment that there are force
and impetus and courage, that there is active and restless ability,
that there is an unswerving determination to win the day. Who knows in
what recruit’s knapsack the bâton of the field-marshal may be lying
hidden?
[33] Its Croatian name, “Sopron,” is still in current use, and it
contains enough Slavonic inhabitants to employ their language in many
of its official notices.
For in all the music of this century there is no phenomenon more
remarkable than the steady progress of the Slavonic race. As early as
1818 an English critic was far-sighted enough to predict the advent
of Russia,[34] and though his readers never lived to see the presage
fulfilled, though in his generation there appeared no greater name
than that of Glinka, yet our own day has verified his words beyond the
possibility of cavil. There may be some difference of opinion about
Rubinstein, there can be none about Borodin or Tschaikowsky, and the
traditions which they set are being ably followed by a whole school
of younger composers. Toward the middle of the century came Chopin,
whose chief ambition, as he himself said, was “to be the Uhland of
his country,” and whose chief work was to stamp with the impress of
a classic his national strains of polonaise and mazurka. Some thirty
years ago Smetana’s brilliant comedy laid the foundation on which
Dvořák has built, and rescued from disuse and oblivion the folksongs of
Bohemia. It is not without interest that we see another Slavonic nation
re-entering the field. In one sense it was the leader of them all, in
another it is the latest accession to their ranks, and its fortunes, as
it tries to regain a lost position, should be watched by us not only
with encouragement, but with close and intimate sympathy.
[34] The passage is worth quoting entire for more than one reason.
“Nor can we imagine the art is on the decline while so great a genius
as Beethoven lives. This author, though less perfect in other respects
than Haydn, exceeds him in power of imagination; and from recent
specimens of his unbounded fancy it is to be expected that he will
extend the art in a way never contemplated even by Haydn or Mozart. If
we were inclined to push our speculations further upon this point we
might refer to the very extraordinary discoveries that are now making
in Russia in the department of instrumental music. In the course of
twenty years it is probable that such effects will be produced in that
country as will lead to the most important results in the science of
sounds.”—W. Gardiner, in the translation of Stendhal’s “Letters on
Haydn,” 2nd edition (London, 1818), page 3.
For, _de nobis fabula narratur_. Western Europe also knows of a land
which was once a leader in musical art, which forewent its trust, which
suffered its voice to be silenced, which allowed its musicians to bid
for popularity by adopting foreign names and foreign methods, which is
now striving, with better opportunities than any Slavonic nation can
possess, to recover the old ground, and recall the forgotten message.
If we disdain the comparison we may learn humility by reading the
estimate in which we have long been held by our neighbours. “English
music,” says a recent German historian, “may be said to end with
Purcell”; “English art,” say our French critics, “has long degenerated
into imitation”; and though our present leaders are nobly refuting the
charge, there is still with us too much of that cosmopolitan temper
which is among the most insidious of our enemies. No doubt times are
improving. In Leeds, in Birmingham, in Bristol, even in London, the
Englishman may get a hearing, though unless he write Royalty ballads he
will hardly find a publisher. But his audience is not yet attuned into
proper sympathy with his work. We still judge too much by reference to
alien ideals, we are still too indifferent to our own natural language,
and our own natural cast of thought. And, until we shake off this
indifference and learn to extend our patriotism to our art, we shall
never resume our place as a great musical nation.
There is no need that we should offer a less cordial welcome to our
foreign visitors, or a less cordial recognition of the immense service
that they have done. “Was macht dieser Fremde hier?” is not patriotism,
but discourtesy, a mark of the weakness which fears to meet the world
frankly upon equal terms. At the same time we have no right either to
neglect or to depreciate our own. A great artistic school is not built
in a single moment or in a single generation; the work is long, heavy,
difficult; it is easily discouraged, it is easily retarded, it needs
all the care and diligence that it can command. And there is one way,
and one only, in which we can bring it to a successful issue. Let us
cut our timber from our own forests, let us quarry our stone from the
bed-rock of our own nation, and then let our master-builders deal with
the matter as their genius shall determine.
A most hopeful sign is the revival of interest in our national
melodies. To the artists who have collected them, to the artists who
are making them familiar, our cordial gratitude is due. But it is not
enough to have them, we must use them; and it is not enough to use
them, we must learn how to catch their spirit. Haydn had a far slighter
material than ours, yet he could use it to a purpose which will be
remembered when all our exotic romances are forgotten. And now that
more than one English master is showing us the way, we have no excuse,
we have no pretext for withholding our allegiance any longer.
It is now some years since a few English writers began to advocate the
return to nationalism. Since then, much, no doubt, has been done, but
much still remains to do, and to us hearers a great part of the reform
is entrusted. We have listened to foreign tongues until our own sounds
odd and unfamiliar. We have sat so long at Trimalchio’s banquet that
we have no appetite left for our native fare. Extremes of passion,
extremes of languor, inordinate appeals to sense, all these are alien
from our national temper, and we are growing surfeited with them until
our taste is spoiled and our palate vitiated. It is just the same in
the world of letters. “No one reads Scott,” says one critic; “No one
wants Shakespeare,” says another; “give us d’Annunzio and Sudermann and
the Immoral Philosophy of Friedrich Nietzsche.” Fortunately English
ethics and English literature may be left to look after themselves;
they have both a continuity of tradition which will prevent them from
falling very far askew. But our art of music is being restored from the
heaps of ruin into which it was laid two centuries ago, and it is the
business of all who care for art or country to lend a hand. At least we
might try to discover what English music has to say, and estimate our
composers according to their capacity for saying it.
This position is strengthened by all evidence of musical history.
The same hand which made Germany a people enriched her with the
“Marseillaise of the Reformation,” and so founded the long dynasty of
her great composers. Art in France was at its lowest, when the chief
occupation of Paris was to dispute between the claims of the Bavarian
Gluck and the Italian Piccinni. Italy herself declined as she lost her
national character, the Slavonic peoples have advanced as they have
reasserted theirs. And what is true of nations is equally true of their
leaders. “The greatest genius,” says Emerson, “is the most indebted
man”; the man, that is, who can turn to the most noble and enduring use
the traditions of his age and country. So it was with Haydn. Nothing
can be more false than to regard him as merely a Court musician,
writing with ready and facile talent the _pièces d’occasion_ that were
needed for the theatre or the reception-room. His life at Eisenstadt
gave him opportunity such as no composer had ever before enjoyed, but
the patronage was too enlightened and the character too strong to be
satisfied with work that was mannered or artificial. Under the famous
“livery of blue and silver” there beat the heart of a rustic poet,
full of kindliness, of drollery, of good-fellowship, of the love of
children and animals. His genius, trained by years of assiduous labour,
gave him a complete mastery over the inherited resources of his art,
his imagination extended them with fresh discoveries and inventions.
But throughout the whole his favourite themes are pastoral, songs of
the shepherd and the harvester, songs of country courtship, songs of
the vintage feast and the jovial holiday. It is little wonder that he
should speak in the language of his people, or recall the phrases that
had been familiar from his childhood.
Yet it is no patois that he uses, but the speech of a whole nation; a
living force that spreads wide and reaches to distant boundaries. Nor
is he great because he has chosen this or that topic, this or that form
of utterance; it is because he is great that there was no choice in the
matter. He could not have written of set habit in the German idiom; he
was Slav by race and Slav by temper, and his music is too genuine to
present itself in foreign guise. It is from this point of view that we
should understand him; not by loosely classifying him among a people
with whom he had little in common, but by regarding him as the true
embodiment of his own national spirit. The Greek proverb condemns a
man of two tongues: through the world of art the condemnation is still
in force, and at least some measure of it should fall on the ingenious
critics who call patriotism parochial, and justify their epithet by
obliterating frontiers.
APPENDICES.
APPENDIX A.
_Croatian Musicians_, 1835-1848.
(1) _Composers_:—Lisinski. Čačković.
Livadić. Štoos.
Wiesner. Mašek.
Rusan. Baron Prandau.
Pintavić. F. von Suppé.
Jaić.
(2) _Singers_:— Countess Rubido. Stazić.
Štriga. Ledenig.
(3) _Virtuosi, &c._:—
Ivan Padovec.
L. A. Zellner.
N.B.—The following rules of pronunciation should be observed.
r (as a semi-vowel) carries a very short vowel sound before the
consonant. Brlog = Berlog made as near a monosyllable as possible.
c = tz. Zajc is pronounced Zaitz.
č = ch soft (like ch in Church).
ć = ty in which the y is a consonant (as it is for instance in the word
“you”). The sound is half-way between the “te” in “righteous” and the
“tch” in “wretched.”
š = sch or sh. Pušovec (see Appendix C) is pronounced Pushovetz.
ž = the French j, as in jour.
lj and nj are like the gli and gn in figlio, campagna.
The other letters are, roughly speaking, pronounced as in German,
except z, which = s in sehr; and s, which = ss in Strasse.
APPENDIX B.
_Croatian Musicians_, 1848-1880.
(1) _Composers_:—
Rihar.‡ G. Eisenhut.
Vilhar.‡ A. Mihalović .
Fleišman.‡ Kociančić ‡
Köck. Leban.‡
Epstein. Valenta.‡
Zajc. Slava Atanasijevic.
Strmic. Faller.
Just. Kuhač.
(2) _Singers_:—
Ema Murska. Grbić.
Matilda Marlov. Kašman.
Matilda Mallinger. Maria Kotas.
Ema Vizjak. Maria Pikril.
Irma Terputec. Maca Matačić.
Mazoleni.
Sofia Kramberger.
‡ Slovenian.
(3) _Virtuosi_:—
Šteiner. Petrié.
Hummel. Ivan Mihalović.
Ludmilla Veizer. F. Krežma.
Josif Eisenhut. Anka Krežma.
Ciol. Kolander.
(4) _Conductors, Professors, &c._:—
Kukulević. Antun Švarc[35].
B. Ipavec. Martin Jenko.
G. Ipavec. Adolf Schwartz
Ida Wimberger.
[35] Possibly German, see “Schwartz” below.
APPENDIX C.
_Croatian Names in the Pusterthal and Neighbourhood_
_Germanised form_:— _Croatian form_:—
Aegrathal. Ograda.
Arvig (?). Oranik.
Berlogaz. Brlog.
Bschwoitz. Pušovec.
Dolnitz. Dolina.
Frutscherthal. Vručidol.
Garnitza. Krnica.
Glanz. Klanjec.
Glinz (Linz). Glinica.
Gollisel. Goloselo.
Gruschgize. Kruškica.
Kollnig. Kolnik.
Kräll. Kralj.
Libisel. Ljubisel.
Lasser. Lesar.
Lessing. Lešnik.
Motschenboden. Mocva.
Pedoll. Podolje.
Petsch. Peč (Pešti).
Plötsch. Ploca.
Polliz. Polica.
Pusterthal. Pustodol.
Rudenek. Rudnik.
Stoanitzbrunn. Studenac.
Stollizen. Stolica.
Tragen. Draga.
Tristach. Trstje.
Villgraten. Velegrad.
Zabemig. Zavrhnik.
Zelzach. Selca.
Zuchepoll. Suhopolje.
NOTE.—For similar examples in other parts of Austria, see Kämmel’s “Die
Anfänge deutschen Lebens in Oesterreich.”
APPENDIX D.
_Traces of Croat Population in the District near Pressburg._
The following towns and villages have possessed a Croat population,
either predominant or at least considerable:—
Maiersdorf. Wildungsmauer.
Zverndorf. Kaglor.
Pangort. Pišelsdorf.
Marchegg. Mannersdorf.
Bratisey. Au (Cindrov).
Senfeld. Hof (Cimov).
Hlohovac. Landeck.
Siebenbrunn. Kroatisch Wagram
Horisey. (Ogran hrvatski).
Štrandorf. Frama.
Poturno. Fuchspichl
Limisdorf. (Fukšpil).
Andlersdorf Ort.
(Razvitnjak). Bratštatin.
Guštatin. Lower Siebenbrunn.
Petronel. Kroatisch Haslern
Rohrau (Trstnik). (Hazlor hrvatski).
Besides the whole district round Eisenstadt, Oedenburg, and the
Neusiedler See.
APPENDIX E.
_Musicians born in Pressburg and its Neighbourhood._
‡Hans Neusiedler, Lutenist, born 1563 near the Neusiedler See.
‡Veit Bach, grandfather of J. S. Bach, born about 1580 at Pressburg.
‡Andreas Rauch, organist and composer, born about 1590 at
Pottendorf.
‡Samuel Bockshorn (Capricornus), conductor, born in 1629 at
Pressburg.
‡J. S. Kusser (Couser), composer, born in 1657 at Pressburg.
‡Joseph Haydn, born in 1732 at Rohrau.
‡Michael Haydn, born in 1737 at Rohrau.
‡Johann Evangelist Haydn, born in 1743 at Rohrau.
‡Matthias Kamiensky (Kamenar), composer, born in 1734 at Oedenburg.
Theodor Lotz, musical instrument maker, born about 1740 at
Pressburg.
‡Anton Zimmermann, composer, born in 1741 at Pressburg.
‡N. Hadrava, Lutenist, born in 1750 near Pressburg.
‡G. Druschetzky (Druzechi), composer, born about 1760 at
Pressburg. (?)
Jacob Hyrtl, oboe-player in the Esterházy orchestra, born about
1760 at Eisenstadt.
Joseph Weigel (Weigl), composer, born in 1766 at Eisenstadt.
‡Ivan Bihari, violinist and composer, born in 1769 at Great Abony.
‡Stephan Koch, musical instrument maker, born in 1772 at Vesprim.
‡Ivan Fuss, composer, born in 1777 at Tolnau.
‡Johann Nepomuk Hummel, born in 1778 at Pressburg.
‡Joseph Blahak, composer, born in 1779 at Raggersdorf.
‡Ivan Fuchs, Kapellmeister to Prince Esterházy, born in 1780 at
Eisenstadt.
Peter Lichtenthal, composer, born in 1780 at Pressburg.
Count Thadeus Amadé, pianist, born in 1783 at Pressburg.
‡Adolf Müller, composer, born in 1802 at Tolnau.
‡Joseph Wurda, singer, born in 1807 at Gjur (Raab).
‡Friedrich Fischer, singer, born in 1809 at Pressburg.
[36]Franz Liszt, born in 1811 at Raiding (Rudnik).
Michael Hauser, violinist, born in 1822 at Pressburg.
‡Ferdinand Kletzer, violoncellist, born in 1830 at Oedenburg. (?)
Joseph Joachim, born in 1831 at Kitsee.
Carl Goldmark, born in 1832 at Keszthelyn.
Ludwig Straus, born in 1845 at Pressburg.
Leopold Auer, violinist, born in 1845 at Vesprim.
Charlotte Debner, violinist, born in 1846 at Kitsee.
‡ Probably Croatian.
[36] The case of Liszt is somewhat apart from the others. The earliest
form of his name appears to be Listhius, which Dr. Kuhač claims with
some plausibility as Slavonic (naše gore list). But as early as 1747
the Magyarised form appears in the person of Canon Johann Liszt; and
there can be little doubt that by the time of the great pianist’s birth
the family had become thoroughly Hungarian. There are, of course, many
Hungarian families in which Magyar and Slavonic strains are united, and
in the music of Liszt the Magyar element unquestionably predominates.
APPENDIX F.
_Names of Croatian Musicians Translated or Corrupted._
(_a_) _Translated_ (equivalent of meaning: conjectural).
_Current Name._ _Croatian Name._