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Antonin Dvorák 1841–1904
With much regret we place on record the death of Antonin Dvorák,
which occurred with startling suddenness at Prague on May-Day. The
master-musician had been suffering for some time from an internal
trouble, but he was getting better. He had sat down to dinner on
the day of his death, and as his wife placed the food before him
he fainted and never regained consciousness.
The son of an innkeeper, Antonin Dvorák was born on April
8, 1841, at Nelahozeves, a village on the Moldau, one of the quietest
of places, not far from Prague. Passionately fond of music, the
boy received some rudimentary lessons in singing and violin playing
from Josef Spitz, the village schoolmaster. At the age of twelve
he was sent to live with an uncle at Zlonic, where he studied the
organ under one Liehmann, who, as Mr. Hadow tells us, ‘deserves
some honourable mention as having been the first to discover evidences
of unusual capacity in his shy, simple-hearted pupil.’ In 1855,
aged sixteen, the youth removed to Böhmisch-Kamnitz, where
he learnt German and further studied the organ under Hancke. Mr.
Dvorák then told his music-loving son that he must consider
his education as finished, as he wanted another hand to carry on
his publican’s trade, the father having opened a larger establishment
at Zlonic. Every entreaty and protest against the decision of Dvorák
père was unavailing. However, Antonin, who had hitherto
given proof of his abilities only as an executant, determined to
try the force of his composing gifts, such as they were at that
time. To quote from Mr. Hadow:
He therefore prepared his last appeal in
the shape of an original polka; copied the band parts, distributed
them secretly among the Zlonic musicians, and, after a few days
of breathless anticipation, launched his coup de théâtre
for the conversion of an unexpectant household. It is better
to draw a veil over the performance. The composer did not know
that the trumpet is a transposing instrument: strings and wood-wind
contended strenuously in different keys; there was an agonized
moment of jagged and excruciating discord; and it is not surprising
that the family remained unconvinced.[1]
A year later, finding his position intolerable, Dvorák,
aged sixteen, cast off the publican’s yoke, and set forth for
Prague in October, 1857. He entered the organ school there, and
for three years worked very hard at his studies. Like Wagner and
Berlioz in their early days, he was miserably poor – so ‘hard
up,’ indeed, that in order to obtain the bare necessities of
life, ‘he joined a small band of some twenty performers and
went about with them, earning a meagre pittance at the cafés
and restaurants of the city.’ On Sundays he played the viola
at a private chapel – these two engagements bringing in a wage
of rather more than thirty shillings a month! He could not even
afford to hire a pianoforte, and the purchase of music-paper was
a luxury; but in spite of all these drawbacks, this youth of grit
and perseverance worked on with unabating enthusiasm, with the result
that in 1860 he graduated second prizeman of the year at the Organ
School.
In 1862 he became a member of the orchestra of the National Theatre
at Prague, where he greatly benefited by his intercourse with Smetana,
who held the conductorship from 1866 to 1874. Another friend was
Carl Bendl. Upon obtaining the appointment of organist of St. Adalbert’s
Church, Prague, in 1873, Dvorák gave up his orchestral post
and took unto himself a wife, though his circumstances were of the
humblest description. He did not come before the public as a composer
till his thirty-second year, when he set to music the patriotic
hymn ‘Die Erben des weissen Berges’ (The heirs of the
white mountain). The full-score of this work bears on its title-page
the following: ‘dedicated with feelings of deep gratitude to
the English people.’ He then wrote one work after another with
surprising rapidity and marked originality. His genius and poverty
then became known, and he was granted a pension of about £50 a year
from the Kultusministerium, a timely and well-bestowed pecuniary
aid that brought him under the notice of Brahms. The publication
(in 1878) of a series of ‘Slavische Tänze’ for pianoforte
duet spread his fame far and wide. Thenceforth he followed the career
of a composer, with what success is well known. From 1892 to 1895
he was Director of the National Conservatoire of Music in New York,
where he wrote his famous ‘New World Symphony.’ Dvorák’s
compositions, which embrace every department of music, are characterized
with distinct freshness of melodic and rhythmic treatment; the dramatic
instinct is strong in all his creations. His ‘Stabat Mater’
is a noble example of his powers, while on the other hand the charm
of his gipsy songs, with their quaint rhythms and intervals, testifies
to the versatility of his genius.
It is not surprising to find – so far as can be ascertained
– that the name of Dvorák first appeared in an English
concert programme at the Crystal Palace, and that Sir (then Mr.)
August Manns was, as he has so often been, the pioneer in introducing
the Bohemian master’s compositions to an English audience.
At the Saturday concert of February 15, 1879, the Slavonian Dances
for orchestra were performed at Sydenham. THE MUSICAL TIMES, in
a notice of the concert, said:-
Three Slavonian Dances by Anton Dvorák, a composer new
to this country, concluded the concert. These interesting little
pieces are somewhat similar in style to Brahms’s Hungarian
Dances, the national characteristics being strongly prominent.
They are excellently orchestrated, and produced a favourable impression.
On March 10, 1883, at St. James’s Hall, the London Musical
Society – an amateur organization conducted by the late Sir
Joseph Barnby – gave the first performance of Dvorák’s
‘Stabat Mater’ in England. So greatly were its beauties
appreciated that the composer accepted an invitation to conduct
his devotional setting of the hymn at the Albert Hall on March 13,
1884, his first visit to this country. In September of the same
year he conducted the work at the Worcester Musical Festival. For
the Birmingham Festival of 1885 he composed his popular cantata
‘The Spectre’s Bride,’ that of ‘St. Ludmila’
for Leeds in 1886, and his Requiem for Birmingham in 1891, all these
performances being conducted by Dvorák in person. In 1891
the University of Cambridge conferred upon him the honorary degree
of Doctor of Music. Therefore the statement made by the Secretary
of the Philharmonic Society that ‘Each time he came to England
it was at the Society’s expense, and each time to conduct works
from his pen at the Philharmonic Concerts,’ is erroneous. His
appearances at the Society’s concerts were on March 20, 1884,
April 22 and May 6, 1885, April 24, 1890, and March 19, 1896.
On the occasion of his first visit to England (in 1884) Dvorák
was the guest of Mr. Oscar Beringer, who invited him to his house
through a mutual friend. As the composer would not venture to cross
the Channel alone, he brought with him his friend Heinrich von Káan,
an excellent musician and professor of the pianoforte at the Conservatorium
of Music at Prague. ‘Neither Dvorák, who stayed with
me for a month,’ recalls Mr. Beringer for the purposes of this
article, ‘nor Káan could speak a word of English. Dvorák
used to get up at five o’clock in the morning – a little
awkward hour in an English household – and call for his friend
Káan, who had a room close by my house. They would then stroll
about London together. One fine morning however they lost their
way. "I feel hungry," said Káan, as they passed
a big place in the windows of which breakfast tables were appetisingly
exposed to view. "This must be a café, let us go in."
They did, and after they hung up their hats they ordered breakfast.
The waiters could not understand German, and after some time it
was explained to the intruders that the building was not a café
but a club, and that therefore their wants could not be supplied.
Káan said to me afterwards: "I have never before seen
so magnificent a café as that." No wonder, I thought,
as, above all clubs in the West-End, they had ordered their breakfast
at the Athenaeum!’ Another anecdote of this initial visit to
England is related by Mr. Beringer. At the Albert Hall performance
of the ‘Stabat Mater,’ which was conducted by Dvorák
in 1884, Barnby’s ‘The Lord is King’ was performed.
‘That was in E,’ said Dvorák; ‘No, in E flat,’
replied Mr. Beringer. ‘I’ll bet you anything you like
it was in E,’ retorted Dvorák, indignant at being corrected;
the high pitch used at the Albert Hall had then to be explained
to him by Mr. Beringer.
The remains of the distinguished composer were laid to rest in
the cemetery at Prague. The public funeral was of an imposing nature,
and attended by immense crowds. Dvorák has left a family
of five children, three sons and two daughters. One of the latter
is married to M. Suk, of the Bohemian String Quartet, and the other
is a singer at the Czech National Theatre.
The photograph of Dvorák which accompanies this article
was taken during one of the visits of the composer to Westwood House,
Sydenham, the residence of the late Mr. Henry Littleton.
Musical Times, June 1904
Notes
1. ‘Studies in Modern Music.’ By
W. H. Hadow, M.A. Second Series. London: Seeley and Co. 1895. An
excellent book to which we are much indebted for these biographical
particulars of Dvorák’s life. [back]
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