CHAPTER VI

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.

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