MUSICAL DEVELOPMENT IN BOHEMIA AND HUNGARY
Characteristics of Czech music; Friedrich Smetana--Antonin
Dvořák--Zdenko Fibich and others; Joseph Suk and Viteslav
Novák--historical sketch of musical endeavor in Hungary--Ödön
Mihalovics, Count Zichy and Jenö Hubay--Dohnányi and Moór;
'Young Hungary': Weiner, Béla Bartók, and others.
I
All that is best in the music of Bohemia is fully represented in the
compositions of her two greatest sons, Friedrich Smetana (1824-1884)
and Antonin Dvořák (1841-1904). As Louis XIV said that he was the
state, so it may almost be said that, musically speaking, these two men
are Bohemia. And yet, paradoxical as it may seem, they can be really
understood only when studied in relation to their national background,
when considered the spokesmen of an otherwise voiceless but richly
endowed race. This is the paradox, indeed, of all so-called 'national'
composers. From one point of view they are personally unimportant;
their eloquence is that of the race that speaks through them; and we
listen to them less as men of a general humanity than as a special
sort of men from a particular spot of earth. Thus Mr. W. H. Hadow, in
his admirable essay on Dvořák,[17] does not hesitate to say of the
eighteenth century Bohemian musicians, Mysliveczek, Reicha, and Dussek,
all of whom lived abroad: 'We may find in their denial of their country
a conclusive reason for their ultimate failure.' Shift the standpoint
a little, however, and it is obvious that something more is necessary
for a Bohemian musician than to live at home and to incorporate the
national melodies, or even express the national temperament, in his
compositions. He must, that is, have gone to school to the best masters
of the music of the whole world--not literally, of course, but by
study of their works; he must thus have become a past master of his
craft; above all, he must be a great individual, whatever his country,
a man of broad sympathy, warm heart, and keen intelligence. 'Theme,'
wrote one who realized this on the occasion of Dvořák's death,[18] 'is
not the main thing in any art; the part that counts is the manner of
handling the theme. When books are good enough they are literature,
and when music is good enough it is music. Whether it be "national" or
not matters not a jot.' Both of the truths that oppose each other to
form this paradox are repeatedly exemplified in the history of music in
Bohemia.
The Czechs, or Bohemians, like other Slavic peoples, are extremely
gifted in music by nature; but, while their cousins, the Russians,
exemplify this gift largely in songs of a melancholy cast, they are,
on the contrary, gay and sociable, and rejoice above all in dancing.
They are said to have no less than forty native dances. Of these the
most famous is the polka, improvised in 1830 by a Bohemian farm girl,
and quickly disseminated over the whole world. The wild 'furiant'
and the meditative poetic 'dumka' have been happily used by Smetana,
Dvořák, and others. Still other dances bear such unpronounceable names
as the _beseda_, the _dudik_, the _hulan_, the _kozak_, the _sedlák_,
the _trinozka_. They are accompanied by the national instrument, the
'dudy,' a sort of bagpipe. 'On the whole,' says Mr. Waldo S. Pratt,[19]
'Bohemian ... music shows a fondness for noisy and hilarious forms
whose origin is in ardent social merrymaking, or for somewhat grandiose
and sumptuous effects, such as imply a half-barbaric notion of
splendor. In these respects the eastern music stands in contrast with
the much more personal and subjective musical poesy to which northern
composers have tended.' This characterization, it is interesting to
note, would apply as well to the music of Smetana and Dvořák, in
which the kind of thoughtfulness we find in Schumann is almost always
wanting, as to the folk-music of their country.
The songs, if naturally less boisterous than the dances, are animated,
forthright, and cheerful, rather than profound. They are usually in
major rather than in minor, and vigorous though graceful in rhythm. As
in the spoken language the accent is almost always put on the first
word or syllable, the music usually begins, too, with an accented
note. Another peculiarity that may be traceable to the language is
that the phrases are very apt to have an uneven number of accents,
such as three or five, instead of the two or four to which we are
accustomed. This gives them, for our ears, an indescribable piquant
charm. On the other hand, as Bohemia is the most western of Slav
countries, and consequently the nearest to the seats of musical culture
in Germany, its songs show in the regularity of their structure and
sometimes in considerably extended development of the musical thought,
a superiority over those of more remote and inaccessible lands. Music
has been taught, too, for many generations in the Bohemian schools as
carefully as 'the three R's,' and it is usual for the village school
teachers to act also as organists, choir- and bandmasters. The Bohemian
common people seem really to love music. It has been truly said: 'If a
Bohemian school of music can now be said to exist, it is as much due to
the peasant as to the conscious efforts of Bendl, Smetana, Fibich, A.
Stradal, and Dvořák.'[20]
As in Poland, Russia, Italy, and other countries, however, music
suffered long in Bohemia from political oppressions and from lack
of leadership. In the seventeenth century, after the Thirty Years'
War, Bohemia, in spite of her proud past, found herself enslaved,
intellectually as well as politically. Her music was overlaid and
smothered by fashions imported from Germany, France, and Italy, and her
gifted musicians, as Mr. Hadow points out, emigrated thither. During
the eighteenth century her Germanization was almost complete, and
even the Czech language seemed in danger of dying out. George Benda
(1721-1795) wrote fourteen operas for the German stage; Anton Reicha
(1770-1836) settled in Paris as a teacher; J. L. Dussek (1761-1812),
best known of all, was a cosmopolitan musician, more German than Czech.
Then, early in the nineteenth century, began a gradual reassertion,
timid and halting at first, of the national individuality. Kalliwoda,
Kittl, Dionys Weber, and others tried to restore the prestige of the
folk-songs; Tomášek founded instrumental works upon them; Skroup
made in 1826 a collection of them. This Frantisek Skroup (1801-1862)
deserves as much as any single musician to be considered the pioneer
of the Czech renaissanace. Conductor of the Bohemian Theatre at
Prague, he composed the first typically national operas, performed
in 1825 and later, and the most universally loved of Bohemian songs,
'Where is My Home?' His life spans the whole period of gestation
of the movement, for it was in 1862, the year of his death, that
it reached tangible fruition in the founding of the national opera
house, the 'Interimstheater,' at Prague. Two years before this, in
October, 1860, the gift of political liberty had been granted Bohemia
by Austrian imperial diploma. In May, 1861, Smetana, most gifted of
native musicians, had returned from a long sojourn in Sweden. Thus the
national music now found itself for the first time with an abiding
place, liberty, and a great leader.
Friedrich Smetana, born at Leitomischl, Bohemia, March 2, 1824, showed
pronounced musical talent from the first, and was highly successful
as a boy pianist. His father, however, averse to his becoming a
professional musician, refused to support him when in his nineteenth
year he went to Prague to study. The severe struggle with poverty
and even hunger which he had at this time, together with his close
application to the theory of music, may have had something to do with
the nervous and mental troubles which later overtook him. His need of
study was great, for his musical experience had hitherto been chiefly
of the national dances and other popular pieces. In 1848, looking over
a manuscript composition of six years before, he noted on its title
page that it had been 'written in the utter darkness of mental musical
education,' and was preserved as 'a curiosity of natural composition'
only at the request of 'the owner'--that is, his friend Katharina
Kolář, who in 1849 became his wife. He settled for a time in Prague as
a teacher, and even opened a school of his own; but musical conditions
in Bohemia were at that time so primitive that in 1857 he accepted
an appointment as director of a choral and orchestral society at
Gothenburg in Sweden.
During his residence abroad he composed, in addition to many piano
pieces and small works, three symphonic poems in which are to be found
much of the spontaneity and buoyancy of thought and the brilliancy of
orchestral coloring of his later works of this type. These are 'Richard
III' (1858), 'Wallensteins Lager' (1859), and 'Hakon Jarl' (1861).
Nevertheless he had not yet really found his place. In 1859 his wife
died, and the following year he married Barbara Ferdinandi, a Bohemian.
It was partly due to her homesickness, partly to the projected erection
of the Interimstheater, that he decided to return to Prague in 1861.
He was then nearly forty, but his lifework was still ahead of him. He
entered with enthusiasm into the national movement. He established with
Ferdinand Heller a music school, through which he secured an ample
living. He was one of the founders of a singing society, and also of
a general society for the development of Bohemian arts. Above all, he
began the long series of operas written for the new national opera
house with 'The Brandenbergers in Bohemia,' composed in 1863, and 'The
Bartered Bride' (1866). Later came _Dalibor_ (1868), _Libusa_, composed
in 1872 but not performed until 1881, _Die beiden Witwen_ (1873-74),
_Der Kuss_ (1876), _Das Geheimnis_ (1878), and _Die Teufelsmauer_
(1882).
The most famous of Smetana's operas, 'The Bartered Bride,' performed
for the first time at Prague, in 1866, became only gradually known
outside Bohemia, but is now a favorite all over the world. It is a
story of village life, full of intrigue, love, and drollery. To this
spirited and amusing story Smetana has set equally amusing and spirited
music. From the whirling violin figures of the overture to the final
chord the good humor remains unquenchable. In the polka closing Act
I and the furiant opening Act II is village merriment of the most
contagious kind; in the march of the showman and his troupe, in the
third act, orchestrated for drums, cymbals, trumpet, and piccolo, is
humor of the broadest; and in Wenzel's stammering song, opening the
same act, is characterization of a more subtle kind, in which humor and
real feeling are blended as only a master can blend them. There are,
too, many passages of simple tenderness, notably Marie's air and the
duet of the lovers in the first scene, and their terzet with Kezal
in the last, in which is revealed the composer's unfailing fund of
lyrical melody. 'This opera,' says Mr. Philip Hale,[21] 'was a step
in a new direction, for it united the richness of melody, as seen in
Mozart's operas, with a new and modern comprehension of the purpose
of operatic composition, the accuracy of characterization, the wish
to be realistic.' We may note, furthermore, how free is this realism
of Smetana's from the brutality of some more modern operas on similar
subjects, such as those of Mascagni, Leoncavallo, and Puccini. The
village life depicted in 'The Bartered Bride' is never repulsive; it is
not even tragic; it is simply pathetic, comic, and endlessly appealing.
The simplicity of the musical idiom is notable. Not only does the
composer incorporate folk-tunes bodily when it suits his purpose,
as in the case of the polka and furiant already mentioned, but the
melodies he invents himself are often equally simple, even naïve, and
harmonized with a similar artlessness. The haunting refrain of the
love duet might be sung by village serenaders. Yet this simplicity is
the simplicity of distinction, not that of commonplaceness. There is a
purity, a chivalric tenderness about it that can never be counterfeited
by mediocrity, and that is in many of Smetana's tunes, as it is in
Schubert's and in Mozart's. It is a very cheap form of snobbism that
criticises such art as this for its lack of the complexities of the
German music-drama or symphony. Smetana himself said: 'As Wagner
writes, we cannot compose'--he might have added 'and would not.' 'To
us,' says Mr. Hadow, speaking of the Bohemian composers in general, 'to
us, who look upon Prague from the standpoints of Dresden or Vienna, the
music of these men may seem unduly artless and immature: with Wagner on
the one side, with Brahms on the other, we have little time to bestow
on tentative efforts and incomplete production. Some day we shall learn
that we are in error. The "Bartered Bride" is an achievement that would
do credit to any nation in Europe.'
One effect of the great success of his opera was that Smetana was
appointed conductor of the opera house. A few years later, in 1873,
he also became director of the opera school connected with it, and
one of the two conductors of the concerts of the Philharmonic Society
at Prague. All these promising new activities, however, were suddenly
arrested by a terrible affliction, perhaps the worst that can happen to
a musician--deafness. On the score of the _Vyšehrad_, composed in 1874,
the first of the series of six symphonic poems which bears the general
title 'My Country' and constitutes his masterpiece in pure orchestral
music, is the note, 'In a condition of ear-suffering.' The second,
_Vltava_, composed later in the same year, bears the inscription, 'In
complete deafness.' It was indeed in 1874 that he was obliged to give
up all conducting. Part of a letter which he wrote some years later is
worth quoting, both for the particulars it gives as to his trouble, and
for the fine spirit of manly endurance it reveals, recalling vividly
the similar spirit displayed by Beethoven in his famous letter to his
brothers. 'The loud buzzing and roaring in the head,' he says, 'as
though I were standing under a great waterfall, remains to-day, and
continues day and night without any interruption, louder when my mind
is employed actively, and weaker when I am in a calmer condition of
mind. When I compose the buzzing is noisier. I hear absolutely nothing,
not even my own voice. Shrill tones, as the cry of a child or the
barking of a dog, I hear very well, just as I do loud whistling, and
yet, I cannot determine what the noise is, or where it comes from.
Conversation with me is impossible. I hear my own piano playing only in
fancy, not in reality. I cannot hear the playing of anybody else, not
even the performance of a full orchestra in opera or in concert. I do
not think that it is possible for me to improve. I have no pain in the
ear, and the physicians agree that my disease is none of the familiar
diseases of the ear, but something else, perhaps a paralysis of the
nerves and the labyrinth. And so I am completely determined to endure
my sad fate in a manly and calm way as long as I live.'
Aside from its deep musical beauty, a peculiar interest attaches to
the string quartet entitled by Smetana _Aus meinen Leben_ ('From
My Life') because of the account it gives in tones of his great
affliction. The autobiographical character is maintained throughout.
The first movement, in E minor, _allegro vivo appassionato_, with its
constant turbulence and restless aspiration, depicts, according to the
composer, his 'predisposition toward romanticism.' The second, _quasi
polka_, 'bears me,' he says, 'back to the joyance of my youth, when as
composer I overwhelmed the world with dance tunes and was known as a
passionate dancer.' The _largo sostenuto_, the third movement, perhaps
musically the finest of all, is built on two exceedingly earnest and
noble melodies which are worked out with elaborate and most felicitous
embroidering detail. They tell of the composer's love for his wife
and his happy marriage. Of all the movements the finale is the most
dramatic. Indeed, it is one of the most dramatic pieces in all chamber
music. It opens in E major, _Vivace, fortissimo_--an indescribable
bustle of happy folk themes jostling each other. A buoyant secondary
melody is a little quieter but still full of childlike joy. These two
themes alternate in rondo fashion, are developed with never-flagging
energy, and suggest the composer's joy in his native folk-music and its
use in his art. At the height of the jollity there is a sudden pause, a
sinister tremolo of the middle strings, and the first violin sounds a
long high E, shrill, piercing, insistent. 'It is,' says Smetana, 'the
harmful piping of the highest tone in my ear that in 1878 announced
my deafness.'[22] All the bustle dies away, we hear reminiscences,
full now of a tragic meaning, of the themes of the first movement, and
the music dies out with a mournful murmuring of the viola and a few
pizzicato chords.
If the string quartet is thus intimately personal in a high degree, the
series of orchestral tone-poems, 'My Country,' dedicated to the city of
Prague, is national in scope. Number I, _Vyšehrad_, depicts the ancient
fortress, once a scene of glory, and its melancholy decline into ruin
and decay. In Number II, _Vltava_ or 'The Moldau,' the most popular
of all, we hear the two tiny rivulets which, rising in the mountain,
flow down and unite to form the mighty river Moldau. 'Sárka,' the
third (1875), refers to a valley north of the capital, which was named
for the noblest of mythical Bohemian amazons. 'From Bohemia's Fields
and Groves,' Number IV (1875), is built on several intensely Czechic
tunes, and reaches a dizzying climax on a most delightful polka theme.
In 'Tabor,' Number V (1878), is introduced the favorite war-chorale of
the Taborites. The last of the series, _Blaník_ (1879), pictures the
mountain on which the Hussite warriors sleep until they shall have to
fight again for their country. The orchestration of the whole series is
as brilliant as the themes are spirited and attractive, and they are
universal favorites in the concert hall.
Smetana wrote a good deal of choral and piano music, as well as other
orchestral works; but it is by 'My Country,' the quartet, and 'The
Bartered Bride' that he will continue to be known. Fortunately for
him, his greatness was recognized during his lifetime; he was idolized
by his countrymen; and he knew the pleasure of public triumphs at the
fiftieth anniversary, in 1880, of his first appearance as a pianist,
at the opening of the new national theatre in 1881, and on other
occasions. But when his sixtieth birthday, March 2, 1884, was honored
by a national festival, he was unable to be present for a tragic
reason. His nerves had been troubling him for some time. When _Die
Teufelsmauer_ was coldly received in 1882 he said, 'I am, then, at
last too old, and I ought not to write anything more, because nobody
wishes to hear from me.' Later he complained, 'I feel myself tired out,
sleepy, and I fear that the quickness of musical thoughts has gone from
me.' Gradually he lost his memory and his power to read. He was not
permitted by the doctors to compose or even to think music. Only a few
weeks before his sixtieth birthday he had to be put in an asylum, and
there, without regaining his mind, he died, May 12, 1884.
II
Untoward as was Smetana's personal fate, he was fortunate artistically
in having at hand a younger contemporary of genius equal and similar
to his to whom he could pass on the torch he had lighted. His friend
and protégé, Antonin Dvořák, at this time forty-two years old, had not
only felt his direct influence during formative years, but resembled
him in temperament and in artistic ideals to a degree remarkable
even for fellow citizens of a small country like Bohemia. Both were
impulsive, impressionable, unreflective in temper; both found in the
strong dance rhythms and the simple yet poignant melodies of the people
their natural expression; in both the classic qualities--reticence,
restraint, balance--were acquired rather than instinctive. In Dvořák,
however, there was an even greater richness and sensuous warmth than
in the older man, and his music is thus, in the memorable phrase of
Mr. Hadow, 'more Corinthian than, Doric,' has 'a certain opulence, a
certain splendor and luxury to which few other musicians have attained.'
Antonin Dvořák, born in 1841, eldest of eight children of the village
butcher in Nelahozeves on the Moldau, knew poverty and music from
his earliest days. At fourteen he could sing and play the violin,
the piano, and the organ. A year later came his first appearance as
an orchestral composer. Planning to persuade his reluctant father
by practical demonstration that he was destined to write music, he
prepared for the village band an original polka, with infinite pains,
but alas! in ignorance that the brass instruments do not play the exact
notes written. He wrote what he wanted to hear, but what he heard might
well have induced him to resign himself to butchery. That it did not,
that he still held out against parental opposition and was finally
allowed to go to Prague, is an evidence of that tenacity which was in
the essence of his character. At Prague he entered the Organ School,
played in churches and restaurants, and earned about nine dollars a
month, on which he lived. An occasional concert he managed to hear by
hiding behind the kettledrums of a friendly player, but classical music
he met for the first time when, already twenty-one, he borrowed some
scores of Beethoven and Mendelssohn from Smetana. Symphonic composition
he acquired laboriously and with surprising skill; the polka and the
furiant were in his blood.
He now spent about ten years composing industriously, in poverty and
complete obscurity. In 1871 came the long-awaited chance to emerge,
in the shape of an invitation to write an opera for the national
theatre. In writing this his first opera, 'The King and the Collier'
(Prague, 1874), he allowed himself to be misled by his curious facility
in imitating other styles than his own. Mr. Hadow tells the story
at length. The point of it is that Dvořák, acting on a momentary
enthusiasm for Wagner, which his music shows that he afterwards
outgrew, committed the surprising folly of giving his countrymen, at
the very moment when they were initiating a successful campaign for
native art, a Wagnerian music-drama under the guise of Czech operetta!
It was only a momentary aberration, but it is worth mentioning because
it illustrates a child-like uncriticalness which was as much a part
of Dvořák as his freshness of feeling, his love of color, and his
persistence. Soon realizing his error he rewrote the music in a more
appropriate style. It then appeared that the libretto, too, was wrong.
Anyone else would have given the matter up in disgust; but Dvořák had
the book also rewritten, and in this third version his work won him his
first operatic success.[23]
Soon he began to be known outside Bohemia. In 1875 he received a
grant from the Austrian Ministry of Education, on the strength of a
symphony and an opera submitted. Two years later, offering to the same
body his Moravian duets and some of his recent chamber music, he was
fortunate enough to have them examined by Brahms, one of the committee.
Brahms cordially recommended his work to Simrock, the great Berlin
music publishing house, with the result that his compositions began
to be widely disseminated and he was commissioned to write a set of
characteristic national dances. The result of this commission was the
first set of Slavonic Dances, opus 46, later supplemented by eight
more, opus 72. These dances are as characteristic as any of Dvořák's
works. Their melodic and rhythmic animation is indescribable; while the
basis is national folk-song the themes are imaginatively treated and
led through many distant keys with the happy inconsequence peculiar
to Dvořák; and the whole is orchestrated with the richness, variety,
and delicacy that make him one of the greatest orchestral masters
of all time. The same qualities are found in the beautiful Slavonic
Rhapsodies, the overtures _Mein Heim_ and _Husitska_, both based on
Czechish melodies, and, mixed with more classic elements, in the two
sets of symphonic variations and the five symphonies.
In the choral field Dvořák is best known by his admirable _Stabat
Mater_ (1883), written in a pure classical style, as if based on the
best Italian models, and of large inspiration. There are also an
oratorio 'St. Ludmila' (1886), more conventional, a requiem mass, and
several cantatas. Of many sets of beautiful solo songs, special mention
may be made of the Gypsy Songs, opus 55, _Im Volkston_, opus 73, and
the 'Love Songs,' opus 83. The duets, 'Echos of Moravia,' are fine.
There is much piano music, too, but charming as are the 'Humoresques,'
opus 101, the 'Poetic Mood-Pictures,' opus 85, and some others, it may
be said that Dvořák is less at home with the piano than with other
instruments.
On the other hand, one might with reason place his chamber music even
higher than his orchestral work, for it is as admirably suited to its
medium, and its soberer palette restrains his almost barbaric love of
color. His pianoforte quintet in A major, opus 81, with its broadly
conceived allegro, its tender andante, founded on the elegiac dumka of
his country, and its immensely spirited scherzo and finale, is surely
one of the finest quintets written since Schumann immortalized the
combination. As for his string quartets, they must equally take their
place in the front rank of modern chamber music, beside the quartets of
Brahms, Franck, Tschaikowsky, and d'Indy. The last two, opera 105 and
106, are perhaps the best. Those who charge Dvořák with 'lack of depth'
would do well to penetrate a little more deeply themselves into such
things as the _Lento e molto cantabile_ of the former.
[Illustration]
Bohemian Composers:
Antonin Dvořák Friedrich Smetana
Zdenko Fibich Joseph Suk
A special niche among the works of this wondrously fertile mind must
be reserved for the so-called American works, written during his
sojourn in New York in the early nineties. These are the Quartet,
opus 96, the Quintet, opus 97, and the famous symphony, 'From the New
World,' opus 95. The importance of the negro element in these works has
perhaps been exaggerated. It is true that we find in them the rhythmic
snap of rag-time, the melancholy crooning cadences of the 'spirituals,'
and even the scale of five notes ('pentatonic scale'). It is even true
that there is a more or less close resemblance between some of their
themes and certain well-known songs, as, for instance, between the
second theme of the first movement of the symphony and 'Swing Low,
Sweet Chariot,' or between the scherzo of the Quintet and 'Old Man
Moses, He Sells Roses.' But, after all, the treatment is more important
than the theme; and it is because Dvořák is a great musician that the
pathos of the largo in the symphony moves us as it does, and that he
can make us as merry with a bit of rag-time as with a furiant. He was
one of the musicians most richly endowed by nature, and one who knew
nothing of national boundaries; he was, indeed, a veritable Schubert
in fertility and spontaneity. And, as it was said of Schubert that
he 'could set a wall-advertisement to music,' so it might be said of
Dvořák that he could have made even Indian tunes interesting--had he
tried. It is pleasant to add that he got universal love in response to
this more than Midas-like transmuting power of his, and that the poor
Bohemian boy, after becoming rich and famous, died full of honors, but
as simple at heart as ever, in 1904. He was described in an obituary
notice as 'Pan Antonin of the sturdy little figure, the jovial smile,
the kindly heart, and the school-girl modesty.'
Of other Bohemian composers contemporary with or earlier than Dvořák
none are of sufficient importance to require more than briefest
mention. These are: Joseph Nesvadba (1824-1876), who wrote Bohemian
songs and choral works; Franz Skuherský (1830-1892), who wrote Czech
operas, chamber music, and theoretical works; Menzel Theodor Bradský
(1833-1881), who wrote both German and Czech operas; Joseph Rozkosny
(born 1833), who wrote Czech operas, masses, songs, and instrumental
music; and Wilhelm Blodek (1834-1874), who wrote Czech operas and
instrumental music. A somewhat more important figure is that of Karl
Bendl (1838-1897), composer of Czech operas and ballets, who was
conductor of the chief choral society in Prague, influential in the
_Interimstheater_, and who 'jointly with Smetana and Dvořák enjoys the
distinction of winning general recognition for Czech musical art.' His
operas _Lejla_, _Bretislav and Jitka_, _Cernahoreí_, _Karel Streta_,
and _Dite Tabora_ are all on the standing repertory of the National
Theatre at Prague.
Adalbert Hřimalý (1842-1908), who wrote Czech operas, and whose
'Enchanted Prince' (1870) has proved a lasting success, deserves
mention in this place.
III
Between Smetana and Dvořák and the contemporary Bohemians stands
Zdenko Fibich, a most prolific composer, well known in Bohemia but
little heard of outside it. Fibich was born at Leborschitz in Bohemia,
December 21, 1850. Studying at Prague and later at the Leipzig
Conservatory, he became in 1876 assistant conductor of the National
Theatre in Prague, and in 1878 director of the Russian Church choir.
He is said to have written over seven hundred works, but they are more
facile than profound. Of his many Czechish operas the most successful
was 'Sárka' (1898). He was much interested in the musical form known
as 'melodrama' (not to be confused with the stage melodrama). It is a
recited action accompanied by music; classic examples are Schumann's
'Manfred' and Bizet's _L'Arlésienne_. Fibich wrote six melodramas,
three 'scenic melodramas,' and a melodramatic trilogy, _Hippodamia_
(text by Brchliky, 1891). His orchestral works include several
symphonic poems, two symphonies, and several overtures, of which 'A
Night on Karlstein' is well known. He also wrote chamber music, songs
and choruses, piano pieces, and a method for pianoforte. He died in
1900.
A number of minor composers, contemporaries of Fibich, are only of
local importance for their Czechish operas, produced in Prague. Such
are Heinrich von Káan-Albést (born 1852), director of the Prague
Conservatory in 1907; Vása Suk (born 1861), composer of the opera _Der
Waldkönig_ (1900); Karl Navrátil (born 1867), who writes symphonic
poems and chamber music; and Karl Kovařovic (born 1862), conductor of
the Royal Bohemian _Landes und National-Theater_. This theatre was
erected in 1883, by subscription from Czechs in Bohemia, Moravia,
Silesia, northern Hungary, even the colony in America. The Austrian
government is said to be not very favorable to it, vetoing the posting
of placards announcing performances in Austrian watering places. The
subsidy is raised by the country of Bohemia, not by the government.
In August, 1903, a cycle of operas was given here, including Fibich's
'The Fall of Arcana,' Kovařovic's _Têtes de chien_, Nedbal's _Le Gros
Jean_,[24] Dvořák's _Roussalka_ and several operas of Smetana.
A better known composer of Czechish operas is Emil Nikolaus von
Reznicek, who was, however, born not in Bohemia but at Vienna, May 4,
1861. His comic opera _Donna Diana_, produced in 1894 at Prague, made
so great a success that in a short time it was heard in forty-three
European opera-houses. Other operas by him are _Die Jungfrau von
Orleans_ (1887), _Satanella_ (1888), _Emmerich Fortunat_ (1889), and
_Till Eulenspiegel_ (1901), on the subject made famous by Strauss's
witty symphonic poem. For orchestra he has written a 'Tragic Symphony,'
an 'Ironic Symphony,' an 'Idyllic Overture,' a 'Comedy Overture,' two
symphonic suites, etc., while a string quartet was played by the Dessau
Quartet at Berlin in 1906.
Fibich's pupil O. Ostřcil, whose contrapuntal skill and brilliant
orchestration testify to his ability, has written the operas 'Kunal's
Eyes,' 'The Fall of Wlasta,' and 'Buds' (_Knospen_), also an Impromptu
and a Suite for orchestra. Of the pupils of Dvořák Rudolf Karel has
written a symphony in E-flat minor and _Jugend_, a symphonic poem
in which he pictures the struggles of a youth of genius; and Alois
Reiser is known as the composer of an opera, _Gobi_, showing melodic
and harmonic originality without exaggeration, and of a trio, a
'cello concerto, and solo pieces for violin in which his nationality
is reflected. Other contemporaries are Ottokar Jeremiaš (symphonies,
overtures, and chamber music) and his brother Jaroslav Jeremiaš, a
follower in his two operas of modern French tendencies; K. Krǐcka, W.
Stepán, J. Maxner, B. Novotny, and others.
Without doubt the two most important living Bohemian composers are
Joseph Suk and Vitešlav Novák. Suk, who was born at Křecovic, January
4, 1874, became a pupil of Dvořák at the Prague Conservatory in 1888,
and later married his daughter. He is second violin of the Bohemian
Quartet. Among his works may be mentioned a 'Dramatic Overture,' an
overture to 'A Winter's Tale,' a Symphony in E, a suite entitled 'A
Fairy Tale,' a piano quartet, a piano quintet, and two string quartets.
The symphony (in E major, op. 14, published in Berlin) has charm and is
most skillfully written, especially for the strings, like everything
by this violinist-composer, but is somewhat prolix and student-like,
revealing Dvořák in many places, and in the finale containing a theme
too obviously suggested by the overture to Smetana's 'The Bartered
Bride.' 'A Fairy Tale,' op. 16, sonorously and brilliantly scored, is
of programmistic character, especially the fourth movement. Both of
these orchestral works introduce a number of folk-themes. This is also
the case in an early string quartet, op. 11 (1896), in B-flat major,
the finale of which is built on a polka tune in six-bar phrases.
If one were to judge him by these things one would say that Suk was
a skillful violinist who thoroughly understood how to write for
his instrument, that he had caught much of the charm of Bohemian
folk-melody and especially of Dvořák's way of treating it, but that his
musical expression was neither very far-reaching nor very original.
He may have felt this himself, for in his second quartet, op. 31,
published in 1911, he has thrown over his earlier style completely,
and adopted a so-called 'modern idiom.' The work is played in one
movement, without pauses. It is full of changes of tempo and of key,
extremely complicated in harmony, frightfully difficult for the players
as regards intonation, and difficult for the listeners, too, from its
spasmodic and constantly changing character. So far as one can tell
about such a work from reading the score, it would seem as if the
composer had abandoned his natural speech here without gaining real
eloquence in exchange. Whether he be misguided or not, however, there
can be no doubt of his marked natural talent for the same kind of
impulsive, fresh musical expression we find in Smetana and Dvořák.
The music of Novák, on the other hand, if less immediately
ingratiating, is much more thoughtful. The influence of Dvořák is less
felt in it than those of Schumann and Brahms. Although the Bohemian
and also the allied Moravian and Hungarian-Slovak folk-melodies are to
some extent drawn upon for material, the treatment is more intellectual
than popular, rhythmic subtleties abound, and the types of construction
are often highly complex and ingenious, there being considerable use
of those cyclic transformations of a single theme throughout a long
composition to which César Franck and his school attribute so high a
value. It is worth noting that Novák, who was born December 5, 1870, at
Kamenitz, Bohemia, is a man of general as well as technical education,
having attended the Bohemian University and the Conservatory of Music
at Prague. He has continued to live in Prague as a music teacher,
several times receiving a state grant for composition. Among his works
are an Overture to a Moravian Popular Drama, op. 18, the symphonic
poems 'On the Lofty Tatra,' op. 26, and 'Eternal Longing,' op. 33, a
'Slovak Suite,' op. 32, two piano trios, two string quartets, a piano
quartet, a piano quintet, and a piano sonata.
In his early compositions Novák shows the influence of the German
romantic school, as in the trio, op. 1, with its somewhat pompous main
theme and its contrasting theme for 'cello solo, verging dangerously
upon the sentimental. The piano quartet, op. 7 (1900), on a striking
and even noble theme, suffers from Brahmsian mannerisms of style
and a treatment at times drily academic. On the other hand, the
piano quintet, op. 12 (published in 1904, but doubtless written much
earlier), on a plaintively poetic folk-theme in A minor, and the first
string quartet, op. 22 (1902), show clearly the more native influence
of his master Dvořák. He thus shows the impressionability of all really
highly-endowed minds, and in his mature works writes with as much
flexibility as authority. The _Trio quasi una Ballata_, op. 27 (1903),
and the second string quartet, op. 35 (1906), are masterpieces.
The trio is dramatic and powerful in expression, original in style
and structure. It begins, _andante tragico_, with a fine bold melody,
of folk character, in D minor, given out by the violin, and later
powerfully developed by the piano. A secondary section in D-flat,
also somewhat 'folkish,' immediately follows, without break. Next,
again without pause, comes a 'quasi scherzo, allegro burlesca' in G
minor, the 'trio' of which is ingeniously derived from the main theme
of the work. Recitative-like passages in the strings and cadenzas for
the piano then lead back to the original andante theme, worked out
in combination with subsidiary matter and bringing the whole to an
impressive soft close.
The string quartet in D major is equally original, though different
in mood. Dramatic declamation here gives place to a meditative
thoughtfulness especially suited to the four strings. There are but two
movements. The first is a fugue, _largo misterioso_, on a deliberate,
impressive theme, in the mood of the later Beethoven--a fugue admirably
fresh and spontaneous, with the accepted 'inversions' of the theme and
so on, to be sure, but coming less as academic prescriptions than as
natural flowerings of the thought. The second movement, _Fantasia_,
is composite, containing first suggestions of the root theme (of the
fugue), introducing a sort of sonata-exposition in which the same fugue
then figures as first subject and a new melody as second; then, instead
of a development, a scherzo section, derived again from the root theme;
then the recapitulation of the two themes, completing the suggested
sonata; and finally, a literal repetition of the last three pages of
the fugue movement, thus binding the two parts into unity. The scheme
of construction is thus as original as the music itself is impressive
and beautiful.
If Novák can avoid the pitfall of over-intellectualism peculiar to his
temperament, he may easily become one of the most vital forces in
contemporary European music.
D. G. M.
IV
It may appear surprising at first that Hungary, a thousand-year-old
nation, has not until our own day achieved an independent cultural
existence, and more especially an individual musical art. For we know
that the Magyar race is inherently musical and recent researches
have unearthed unsuspected treasures of folk-song as ancient as they
are characteristic. There has indeed been for some time a recognized
Hungarian 'flavor' utilized in the manner of an exotic by various
composers, notably Brahms and Liszt, and the dance rhythms so utilized
have proved no less fascinating than those of the Slavs, for instance.
But native Hungarian composers have not until recently developed these
artistic germs with sufficient ability to arouse the attention of the
musical world.
When we consider the political condition of Hungary during its long
history, however, we no longer wonder at the dearth of national
culture. Twice the country was utterly desolated, for ages the people
possessed no political independence, no constitution, and did not use
their own language--indeed their native tongue was suppressed by a
tyrannical government until late in the nineteenth century. With the
recrudescence of national independence there came, as elsewhere, a
revival of nationalistic culture, and it is nothing short of remarkable
that within hardly more than a generation Hungary has raised itself,
in music especially, to a point where its own sons are capable of
brilliant and characteristically native achievement. At any rate it
argues eloquently for the profound musical and poetic instincts which
were latent in the race.
A brief historical review of early musical endeavor in Hungary may
not be without value as an introduction to our treatment of its modern
composers. When the Hungarians first occupied their present country (A.
D. 896) they found no music whatever in their new home. The musical
instinct born in them, however, was very strong, for they sang when
praying, when preparing for war, at burials and festivals, and their
first Christian king, Stephan I (997-1038), founded a school where
singing was taught. In fact, the power of music was respected so much
that early musicians were called _hegedös_, a word not derived from
the Hungarian _hegedü_ (violin), but from _heged_--'having healed the
wounds.' In the fourteenth century, when the first gypsies migrated to
Hungary, they found there a people whose music was already so highly
developed that the newcomers themselves learned their melodies from
them. It was through the songs of the Hungarians that the gypsies
became famous, and we have to bear in mind that the great merit of the
gypsies was not in creating melodies, but in making them popularly
known from generation to generation.
Under the reign of the great national king, Mathias I (1458-1490),
music flourished and was even highly cherished. The king, who made
Hungary one of the greatest powers of Europe in that period, possessed
an organ with silver pipes, and an orchestra. He also had in his
service numerous court singers, who sang of the heroic deeds of
national heroes. That musicians were highly esteemed there we infer
from the fact that such musicians as Adrian Willaert and Thomas Stolzer
were in the service of King Louis II (1516-1526). After the battle
of Mohács (1526) the whole country was brought under the yoke of the
Turks, and almost every trace of the high culture of the Hungarians
was destroyed, so that we possess nothing of the musical treasures
of this period. Collections of religious chants (from the sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries) show that sacred music exerted a notable
influence upon Hungarian folk-music. The folk element, however, was
already very strong at the time of Sebastian Tinody (1510-1554), whose
historical songs displayed genuine and pure Hungarian qualities.
Not before the middle of the sixteenth century was the character of
Hungarian music reflected outside of Hungary--at first in pieces called
_Passamezzo_ and _Ongaro_, published in various German and Italian
collections.
In tracing the further development of Hungarian music we find that
in the latter part of the seventeenth century some stage productions
included songs. At about the same time the Rákóczyan era of national
struggles brought forth many beautiful and impressive melodies. These
treasures were of no small influence upon the evolution of national
music, brought into still greater prominence by musicians whom we may
call the real originators of the Hungarian idiom. They were Lavotta
(1764-1820), Csermák (1771-1822), and Bihari (1769-1827). Lavotta's
compositions were genuinely characteristic Hungarian products, showing
mastery of invention and skill in handling the national rhythms. He
possessed a vivid fancy and a wealth of ideas, but no technique. While
his most important work had the promising title of 'The Siege of
Szigetvár,'[25] it was composed for a solo violin without accompaniment
and its musical ideas were not over eight to sixteen measures in
length. Lavotta's other compositions, such as his 'Serenade,'[26] in
modern arrangements are extremely effective. Some of his 'folk-songs'
will live forever.
Lavotta's pupil, the Bohemian Csermák, produced some characteristic
dances. He, too, lacked solidity of structure. The compositions of the
brilliant gypsy violinist, Bihari (some of which are preserved in
various transcriptions), are the most valuable examples of old national
Hungarian music. The famous Rákoczy march, as we know it through the
transcriptions of Liszt and Berlioz, is his work, being a remodelled
version of the original, plaintive Rákoczy song composed about 1675 by
M. Barna.
Summing up, we may distinguish the following six periods in the
history of Hungarian music from its beginning: the age of the Pagan
Hungarians, those whose songs were so persistent that three centuries
after the introduction of Christianity the Councils found it necessary
to suppress them; the period from the rise of Christianity to the
fifteenth century, when as elsewhere music was wholly in the service
of the church, while secular music was cultivated only by wandering
minstrels; the three centuries following, when the growing influence
of the gypsies is most powerfully felt, when Lutheran and Calvinistic
churches spread among the people, and when the folk-songs alive in
the mouths of the people to-day were born; the eighteenth century,
when Hungarian national music became more independent and individual,
Hungarian rhythms especially became strongly pronounced, and the
fundamental principles of absolute music were laid down; and the first
half of the nineteenth century, which produced the first masters. The
last of the six periods is that of the contemporary composers and of
'young Hungary.'
In a few words we have endeavored to give a sketch of the first
four divisions. The transition to the next--the period of the first
masters--may be marked by the first opera with a Hungarian libretto.
This was 'Duke Pikko and Tuttka Perzsi,' performed in 1793 under
Lavotta. The work was without any significance whatsoever. The first
noteworthy attempt in the direction of national grand opera was 'Béla's
Flight' by Ruzicska (1833). That composer preferred the forms of the
light and popular Hungarian folk-songs to a more serious vein. He
should be given credit for his ambitious attempt to create a truly
national historical opera, Hungarian both in music and in text. He
was followed by Franz Erkel (1810-1893), whose operas, with subjects
taken from Hungarian history, are still played to-day. His music was
genuinely Hungarian in character and had absolute value. The overture
to his _Hunyady László_, with its classical form and poetic content,
was made popular in Europe through the efforts of Liszt. Erkel was
careful in selecting his dramatic subjects, drawing freely upon
Hungarian history. The subject of his most successful work, _Bánk-Bán_,
has also inspired the mediæval German poet Hans Sachs, the eminent
Austrian dramatist Grillparzer, and the Hungarian Josef Katona, whose
tragedy of the same title represents the best in Hungarian dramatic
literature. Contemporary with Erkel but of much less significance was
M. Mosonyi (1814-1870), who preserved the Hungarian character in his
operas and orchestral compositions as well as in his piano pieces. His
'Studies' were highly esteemed by Wagner.
The further development of Hungarian culture and music in the
nineteenth century closely reflects the influence of the French,
Germans, and Italians, although the national ambition of the Hungarians
to remodel the foreign examples according to their own genius is
evident. It is upon this principle that Hungary to-day produces musical
works of absolute merit.
V
The most significant representatives of modern Hungarian music are
Ödön Mihálovich, Count Géza Zichy, and Jenö Hubay. The compositions
of these men should be considered first as works of absolute merit,
regardless of their nationality; second, for the Hungarian national
elements which they unconsciously display; and, finally, as noble,
though not completely successful, attempts to apply these elements
and characteristics to serious modern forms. Though much preoccupied
with this problem, they cannot be criticized for the lack of strong
individuality, since their personalities almost always overshadow
the Hungarian qualities in their works, which, however, are still
sufficiently prominent to typify them as Hungarian composers. Each of
the three received his training under the most eminent foreign masters,
by which fact they were peculiarly fitted to become the teachers of
'young Hungary,' and incidentally the real founders of the modern
Hungarian school.
The oldest of the three, Mihálovich, was born in 1842. He studied with
Hauptmann in Leipzig, with Bülow in Munich, and was in personal touch
with Liszt and Wagner. In his position as the director of the Hungarian
Royal National Academy of Music in Budapest he exercises a strong and
salutary influence upon present Hungarian musical life. It is due
to his efforts that this unique school maintains an extraordinarily
high standard. As a composer he is versatile and prolific. He has
successfully applied his talent to every form from song to grand
opera ('Hagbart and Signe,' 'Toldi's Love,' 'Eliana,' and _Wieland
der Schmied_, upon the libretto planned by Wagner). He has written a
Symphony in D and several symphonic poems ('Sellö,' 'Pan's Death,' 'The
Ship of Ghosts,' 'Hero and Leander,' _Ronde du Sabbat_, etc.). He is a
master of orchestration and displays superior craftsmanship in working
out his thematic material. His style shows a fusion of Wagnerian
elements and of the principles of nineteenth-century program music with
Hungarian national characteristics. His musical ideas are usually lofty
and of refined taste.
Count Géza Zichy (born 1849) is an aristocrat in the best sense of
the word. The qualities of the man of noble birth and high rank (he
is a privy councillor to the king, a member of the House of Lords,
the president of the National Music Conservatory, etc.), the fine
sensibility of a man endowed with talent and trained under the best
masters (he studied with and was a friend of Liszt and Volkmann)
are reflected in his works as a poet, an author, a virtuoso, and a
composer. A man of wealth, he employs his means in the realization
of high artistic ideals. When as a lad of fourteen he lost his right
arm he experienced the lesson of physical and spiritual suffering
and grew up to be a man of unusually intense energy.[27] Instead of
giving up his favorite art of piano playing he developed himself into
the greatest of left-arm virtuosos. His remarkable playing, besides
displaying an almost incredible technique, reflects the feelings of a
truly poetic soul. 'His playing is remarkable in every respect, since
it is gentle and full of soul, of enthusiasm, and of incomparable
_bravour_,' wrote Fétis,[28] and Hanslick remarked 'there are many who
can play, a few who can charm, but only Zichy can bewitch with his
playing.' It is characteristic of him as a man and as an artist that
he never accepts any fee for playing; he plays only for charity. 'I am
happy,' he wrote to a critic, 'to be in the service of the poor and of
the unfortunate and to earn bread for them through my hard work.'
Count Zichy's compositions for the piano--for the left hand alone
(études, a sonata, a serenade, arrangements of Bach, Beethoven, Chopin,
Liszt, Wagner, etc.)--are unique in pianoforte literature. The climax
of his achievement in this field is his Concerto in E-flat. It is
distinguished by an energetic first movement, by a deeply felt
second movement cast in a Hungarian folk-mood, by the brilliancy of the
finale, and, above all, by its terrific technical demands upon the left
hand.
[Illustration]
Hungarian Composers:
Count Géza Zichy Jenö Hubay
Ernst von Dohnányi Emanuel Moór
In dramatic music Count Zichy began his activity with the opera _Alár_,
upon a Hungarian subject. This was followed by the more successful
'Master Roland,' in which he makes use of a radically modern idiom.
The work lacks the usual characteristics of Hungarian music. All his
libretti were written by himself. Stimulated by Wagner's idea that
'through music dance and poetry are reconciled,' he undertook to write
a poetic 'dance-poem' (ballet) or melodrama entitled _Gemma_. In this
dramatic (speaking) actors played the chief rôles, while the action was
supported by recitation, mimicry, dance and symphonic music. This novel
undertaking proved a failure and Zichy later rewrote the whole piece as
a regular pantomime.
The most ambitious work is his trilogy comprising _Franz Rákoczy II_,
_Nemo_, and _Rodosto_, and dealing with the life of the historical
Franz Rákoczy (1676-1735), 'the great hero and great character, the
loyal, the most chivalrous, the noblest son of Hungary.' Zichy made
a deep study of the Rákoczyan era and the librettos themselves as
pure dramas are of considerable literary value. With respect to their
historical truth the author remarked: 'After two years' study of this
age the figure of the great hero became more and more vivid before my
eyes and so I wrote the libretto of my trilogy--or rather I copied it,
since the life of Rákoczy was itself induced by fate.'
Into the music of the trilogy there are woven numerous themes dating
from the Rákoczyan period. The problem of applying the stylistic
elements of national Hungarian music to modern forms, rhythms and
harmony, however, proved a difficult one; Zichy's solution is a
worthy attempt, but nevertheless only partially successful. Aside
from this special purpose the work fascinates by its melodic warmth,
its rhythmic energy, and its masterful workmanship. It is safe to say
that Zichy's Rákoczy trilogy represents a new phase in the history of
national Hungarian grand opera.
Of the three contemporary Hungarian composers Hubay's name is the best
known internationally.[29] His career as a brilliant violinist (he
frequently played with Liszt); the fact that he was Wieniawsky's and
Vieuxtemps's successor at the Brussels Conservatory; the success of
his quartet (with Servais as 'cellist), all helped to direct general
attention to him. Both Massenet and Saint-Saëns were much interested
in him. When as a young man of twenty-seven he was called home by the
Hungarian government, his fame was already well established. Later he
continued playing in the musical centres of Europe and added to his
fame, and when he began to publish (and play) his violin compositions
he achieved such a sweeping success that he is still popularly regarded
as a composer of well-known violin pieces, to the detriment of the
reputation of his other works.
This very attitude of the general public is the highest praise for
Hubay's violin compositions. Indeed, their poetic charm, their
effectiveness and singularly idiomatic style stamp him as a genuinely
inspired poet of the instrument. In violin literature he occupies
perhaps the most nearly analogous place to that of Chopin in piano
music. His deeply-felt tone-pictures, his 'Csárda (tavern) Scenes,'
in which he preserved many a treasure of Hungarian folk-song, those
magnificent illustrations of _Sirva vigad a magyar_, those rapturous
Hungarian rhapsodies for the violin, are surely not of less value than
many of Liszt's finest piano compositions.
The facts that Hubay's name is chiefly associated with his standard
violin compositions and that his reputation is mainly that of a great
violin pedagogue were obstacles to the popularity of his other works.
Yet his creative activity has been most varied: he has written songs,
sonatas, concertos, symphonies, and seven operas. One of these operas,
'The Violin Maker of Cremona' (libretto by Coppée), was successfully
performed in seventy European theatres. The music of the 'Violin
Maker' is characterized by refined elegance, genuine passion, and the
nobility of its ideas. The remark of a Hungarian critic that Hubay's
music impresses one 'as if he had composed it with silk gloves on his
hands' may be accepted as real praise, for Hubay's technical mastery
is applied with uniformly exquisite taste. He especially shows his
superior musicianship in the operas _Alienor_, 'Two Little Wooden
Shoes,' 'A Night of Love,' 'Venus of Milo,' and in the two Hungarian
operas, 'The Village Rover' and 'Lavotta's Love,' the first based on a
Hungarian peasant play, the second on the life of the composer Lavotta.
Hubay's two essays in the field of national grand opera are sincere
products of his artistic conviction--conscious manifestations of a
national ambition; he can, therefore, not be accused of trying to hide
a lack of original invention behind a cloak of folk-music.
VI
Between Mihálovich, Zichy, Hubay, and the representatives of 'young
Hungary' there are composers of note who are not young enough to be
classified as such nor old enough to be called masters, if we apply
the term to artistic stature rather than actual age. This applies
especially to Ernst von Dohnányi (born 1877), a former pupil of the
Hungarian Academy and of d'Albert and at present a professor at the
royal _Hochschule_ in Berlin. Virility, vehement pathos, enthusiasm,
and brilliant sonority are the outstanding qualities of Dohnányi's
music. His best works are perhaps in the field of chamber music: the
beautiful string quartet in D-flat, the 'Trio Serenade,' full of
caprice and coquetry, the violin sonata in C-sharp minor, a work of
fine inspiration, are of solid merit. His four 'Rhapsodies'--well
known to pianists--are interesting. One of them reveals the author's
nationality, while another one re-echoes his honored ideal, Brahms. His
effective and brilliant piano concerto, too, speaks here and there in
Brahmsian phraseology. Although he reflects slight special influences
in places (as that of Mahler in his Suite), his style is eclectic
and expresses at the same time a strong individuality. In works of
larger form he has tried his hand at a symphony (D minor), excelling
in beautiful harmonies, and a comic opera, _Tante Simonia_, containing
a characteristic overture in which the jovial character of the comedy
is successfully reflected. This, like his pantomime, 'The Veil of the
Pierette,' reveals him as a musical dramatist, with a special gift for
effective orchestration. Dohnányi's substantial accomplishments already
make it unnecessary to predict for him a place in musical history.
Undoubtedly the hyper-critical and unreceptive attitude of modern
critics is responsible for the lack of popularity of certain composers.
It would seem that Emanuel Moór is one of these. Moór is a tremendously
prolific composer. He has written no less than five hundred songs,
seven symphonies, three operas, six concertos, and a mass of chamber
music. Many of these have real merit; also, they do not lack exponents
and interpreters (witness Marteau, Ysaye, Casals, Bauer, the
Flonzalay Quartet). Still, they have not been able to gain a general
appreciation. Time only will assign a proper place to their creator.
Here, also, should be mentioned the name of J. Bloch, a successful
composer of numerous violin pieces.
National qualities are displayed to telling advantage in the 'Aphorisms
on Hungarian Folk-songs,' by the brilliant Liszt pupil A. Szendi.
In fact, the 'Aphorisms' (difficult piano pieces) have perhaps more
Hungarian color than the Rhapsodies of Liszt. Szendi is also the author
of some good chamber music and of an opera, 'Maria,' which he wrote
together with Szabados. 'Maria' is built upon Wagnerian principles.
The subject of this ambitious opera is the struggle between the
Christian and Pagan Hungarians in the twelfth century. The music, in
which Hungarian elements also have a prominent place, is of exquisite
workmanship.
While Dohnányi and Moór are not living in Hungary, Szendi, Bloch,
and the brilliant group referred to as 'young Hungary' develop their
growing talents within the borders of their native land.
On the whole, the characteristics of the present products of the young
Hungarian school are above all individual; but there is also a strong
tendency toward ultra-modernism, and, finally, a certain fragrance of
the Hungarian soil, a quality that one may feel but can not analyze.
The aim of the school is no less than the creation of a new national
style, which they endeavor to reach by different ways. Brilliance and
robust individualism characterize every one of these disciples, mostly
of Hungarian education. This is especially true of Leo Weiner (born
1885), whose very first attempt in the field of composition attested
a considerable technique. If Weiner's first composition took his
master (Hans Koessler[30]) by surprise, a later one, which he wrote
for the final student's concert of his class, fell little short of
being a sensation for musical Europe. This, his last student work--a
'Serenade'--spread his fame through the continent. It was performed in
almost every musical centre of Europe. In it the composer displays
a really individual style of his own. It is full of ideas garbed in
brilliant orchestration and glows with the fire of enthusiasm. Weiner's
ingenious harmonic sense and ability is as astonishing for his age
as his fine architectural sense. In his other works--a quartet in E,
a trio in G minor, a sonata for violin and piano in D (a valuable
addition to the list of modern sonatas)--the harmony, while sonorous
and pure, is quite simple, though his modulations often act as
surprises. In form he never abandons logical progression and artistic
unity, since he never loses the general outline of his movements. It is
true that one may find dull moments in Weiner, yet of what composer is
that not true? Weiner is less successful where he attempts to produce
Hungarian color, but as dignified examples of music produced for its
own sake his works are likely to persist.
One of the chief representatives of musical ultra-modernism in Hungary
is Béla Bartók, a remarkable individuality whose modernism has probably
reached its own limits. According to his principles, applied in his
compositions, every kind of key-relationship is possible. Thus he
combines a melody E major with a motive A-flat major. His waltz, 'My
Sweetheart is Dancing,' is astonishingly grotesque and novel in its
pianistic effects. It will hardly fail to make a listener smile or
laugh--perhaps by direct intention of the composer. Bartók's colleague
in the field of grotesque but effective dissonances is Z. Kodály, with
whom he undertook the notable task of collecting Hungarian folk-songs
in their genuine natural form. With these true and unalloyed Hungarian
melodies the two 'futurists' proved that the genuine Hungarian
folk-song differed essentially from those known generally under
that name. Bartók's and Kodály's folk-melodies are not built on the
Hungarian scale, which is of gypsy invention. They display primitive
qualities and preserve even the influence of the ancient church modes.
They have a great variety of constantly changing rhythm and metre, and
a distinct feature is the frequent return of characteristic formulas,
also the employment of a peculiar pentatonic scale. Whatever may be
his merits as a composer, Béla Bartók's work as a scholar in Hungarian
music is of unquestioned historical importance.
Another young composer whose works are frequently played in foreign
countries (also in America) is E. Lendway, likewise a pupil of
Koessler. His Symphony has sterling qualities. He has, however,
produced works of greater significance in chamber music, in piano
music, and songs. Especially worthy of mention is a 'Suite' for female
voices _a cappella_. Old Japanese poems supply the text. These he
has set to music of genuine poetic _finesse_, delicate and finely
emotional. The whole gives a series of impressive tone-pictures,
reflecting a fascinating exotic atmosphere. As a testimony of Lendway's
technical skill it has been pointed out that he has produced Japanese
'color' without using the Japanese scale. True to his modernist
propensities, he makes free use of the whole-tone scale, but with
a more specific effect than is usually done. His latest and most
ambitious work is an opera, 'Elga,' after Gerhart Hauptmann's drama.
Other young Hungarians have attracted international attention in the
field of opera. E. Ábrányi's 'Paolo and Francesca' and 'Monna Vanna'
(after Maeterlinck) have a dramatic power that is promising. He is
at his best in fantastic tone-painting, and remarkable for harmonic
invention and skill in orchestration. A charming children's opera,
'Cinderella,' is by Á. Buttykay, whose more ambitious symphonic works
make him an estimable member of the young Hungarian group. Some chamber
music works of ultra-modern tendencies and a Symphonic Suite of
ingenious orchestration by Radnai raise expectations of still better
things to come.
Justice can hardly be done by merely mentioning the names of such men
as Chovan, Gobbi, Farkas, Rékai, Koenig, Siklós, etc., all of whom are
engaged in meritorious creative work. Of no less importance are those
who work in the field of musicography and criticism. 'The Theory of
Hungarian Music,' by Géza Molnár, and 'The Evolution of the Hungarian
Folk-song,' by Fabo, as well as shorter essays by A. Kern, P. Kacsoh,
etc., are of especially high value. In conclusion we may say that even
a slight study of contemporary Hungarian music will convince one that
the musical life of the Hungary of to-day adequately reflects the
tendency of the age, and that the country has definitely entered the
rank of the truly musical nations.
E. K.
FOOTNOTES:
[17] 'Studies in Modern Music,' by W. H. Hadow, Second Series.
[18] _The Musical Courier_, New York, May 4, 1904.
[19] 'History of Music.'
[20] Mrs. Edmond Wodehouse; article, 'Song,' in Grove's Dictionary of
Music.
[21] 'Famous Composers and Their Works,' New Series, Vol. I, p. 178.
[22] Actually, it was not E, but the chord of the sixth of A-flat, in
high position, that constantly rang in Smetana's ear.
[23] His operas are: _Der König und der Köhler_ (1874), _Die
Dickschädel_ (1882), _Wanda_ (1876), _Der Bauer ein Schelm_ (1877),
_Dimitrije_ (1882), _Jacobin_ (1889), _Der Teufel und die wilde Käthe_
(1899), _Roussalka_ (1901), _Armida_ (1904).
[24] Oscar Nedbal (born 1874), pupil of Dvořák, conductor, and viola of
the well-known Bohemian Quartet.
[25] It consisted of the following movements: 'The Council,' 'The
Siege,' 'The Last Farewell,' 'The Prayer' and 'The Attack.'
[26] Arranged for string quartet by Kún László, published by
Rózsavölgyi in Budapest.
[27] It is touching to read in his brilliantly written autobiography (3
volumes, 1910), where, as if he had foreseen the terrible present war,
he remarks: 'If God will help me, I will write a book for men with one
arm, and the book will be published in five languages!'
[28] In _Biographie universelle des musiciens_, p. 687.
[29] Jenö Hubay, born in 1858 in Budapest, son of Carl Huber, professor
of violin at the National Academy of Music and conductor of the
National Theatre in Budapest.
[30] Composer and head of the theory department of the Royal Hungarian
Academy.