Dear Reader,
Vítejte v Praha! Welcome to Prague! Michael's
emailed instructions had been clear enough: "Meet me at the luggage
carousel at the Prague Airport." So here I was, hoping I'd recognize
Michael, whom I'd met only once, ten years ago. I turned to rescue
my suitcase from the carousel and looking back, I saw a man holding
a violin case. "Hi, Inge," he said. I suppose the viola case strapped
to my back was a dead giveaway.
We took a bus to our hotel, where Kathy, our first violinist,
would be waiting and Irene, our cellist, would join us tomorrow. Along
with 28 other amateur musicians, we were
in the Czech capital to participate in a conference organized by the
Manhattan String Quartet called "Dvorák in Prague." We would
be studying Dvorák's Quartet No. 14 in Ab, Op. 105, as well
as soaking up the atmosphere of
the city in which Dvorák had lived and worked.
Though Kathy, Michael, Irene, and I had never played
as a group before, we clicked instantly. We seemed to have lots in
common—including an unfortunate tendency to arrive a bit late
for everything, including the first day's orientation meeting. We
were late for breakfast more than once, and I was usually the worst
offender, undermining MSQ violist John Dexter's notion that the responsibility
of arriving early at breakfast to get the key for the rehearsal room
should lie with the violist, who is invariably the most organized
member of any quartet.
John himself really is that organized, and his
no-nonsense but friendly approach carries over into his coaching.
"We take everyone seriously; everyone's musical opinion is valuable,"
said John, and his MSQ colleagues would agree. Second violinist Calvin
Wiersma has a knack for finding the root of a musical problem and
helping a group to find its own solution. Erik Lewis, the first violinist
and the group's founder, has a more scholarly coaching style, while
cellist Chris Finckel, the quietest member of the quartet, listens
intently before offering well-considered comments.
The Dvorák in Prague
conference isn't the MSQ's first experience with Europe, nor with
organizing workshops for amateurs. MSQ came to worldwide attention
when it played Shostakovich at the U.S. Embassy in Moscow, just before
the Reagan/Gorbachev summit in 1985. Shortly after, the quartet toured
the Soviet Union, becoming the first Western group to perform publicly
there since the cultural freeze of the Carter years. Today, in addition
to a busy performing schedule, the MSQ devotes much time to teaching
and coaching, offering quartet workshops in Kent, Connecticut, and
Racine, Wisconsin. The members decided
on the Prague/Dvorák theme following the success of its European
venture, last year's Paris/Debussy conference.
The music MSQ chooses for its workshops is demanding,
which may serve to filter out less advanced players—and those
who aren't willing to prepare a work in advance. "We're fairly hard-core,"
said John. "People take vacation time to do this, and it's fun, but
it's no fun if someone can't do it." He's not one to tolerate time-wasting.
Watching the Clock
And time is taken seriously in Prague, or at least one
could get that impression from the clocks that are everywhere: on
churches and buildings, and the famous astronomical clock on the Town
Hall in the center of town. Crowds gather below the building as the
clock strikes the hour and a series of carved figures, the "Procession
of Apostles," appears at the windows. The show ends when a skeleton
figure of Death empties his hourglass.
Time almost stood still after World War II, when the
Communist regime allowed Prague to go into physical decline. But the
Velvet Revolution in 1989 changed this, as eager investors from America
and Europe flocked in, helping to finance a major renovation. Many
ex-Party apparatchiks have done well by the new order, which has caused
some cynicism and perhaps even nostalgia for the bad old days. "I
kind of liked Prague when it was shabby—it had more spirit," mused
a Czech acquaintance, despite the fact that his political sympathies
had made his life difficult following the 1968 Russian invasion.
It may have been "shabby" Prague
for a while, but it has always been musical Prague. Dvorák,
Smetana, Janácek, and Martinu are the mighty four of Czech
composers, and non-Czech composers, such as Mozart, received warm
welcomes here as well. Don Giovanni, with Mozart conducting
from the piano, premiered in 1787 at the Estates Theater, where in
2002 we saw a version of the opera in which Don Giovanni—"Don
G"—was played as a hip Versace-like fashion designer wearing
shades and leather clothes!
Prague boasts several excellent sheet music
stores. Czech editions are reasonably priced (about $6 for a Bärenreiter/Supraphon
edition of a Dvorák quartet). We went to two stores and ended
up with armfuls of music, which we took back to the hotel for a marathon
reading session. We were especially taken
by a quartet by Jirí Matys (b. 1927) and another by Vítêzslav
Novák (1870–1949).
The country's musical life, though still thriving, has
been affected by the reduction in government support for the arts
since 1989. Prominent Czech musicians, including Evzen Rattay, former
cellist of the Talich Quartet, saw their livelihoods almost evaporate
overnight. Rattay gave a master class one afternoon at the Smetana
Museum. He coached two groups and told us several slightly wistful
tales of his days with the Talich, when they were one of Czechoslovakia's
premier quartets and toured the world (the quartet still exists with
a new lineup).
A few days before the master class, Rattay attended
a morning session at the hotel. He came into our room as Cal was coaching
us on the third movement. As we played, I started to feel an increasingly
agitated presence behind me. Rattay jumped up out of his chair: "May
I make a comment?" he said, and then guided us through several sections,
suggesting all kinds of tempo freedoms and extremes of dynamic that
revealed to us the movement's passion.
Coming Home
Dvorák completed the Op. 105 quartet in late
1895 after returning to his Czech homeland from the United States.
He described himself as "inexpressibly content" to be home, yet he
had returned only a few months after the death of his sister-in-law
Josefina, possibly the great love of his life. The lyrical third movement,
Lento e molto cantabile, is the quartet's centerpiece, reflecting
the mixed emotions of sorrow and joy that Dvorák must have
been feeling.
In the Communist era, Dvorák's
music was neglected in favor of Smetana's works. The two composers
did not have any animosity towards each other, explained Czech-American
musicologist Tom Savatos in a lecture, but the efforts of one
zealous music critic, Zdenêk Nejedly,
effectively kept Dvorák off the concert schedule for many years.
Nejedly went from penning bad
reviews of Dvorák's works (accusing the composer of being unprogressive
and unpatriotic), to becoming minister of culture and arts in the
first Communist government, where he was able to ensure Dvorák's
neglect—the statue of the composer in front of the Rudolfinum
Hall was erected only two years ago, for example.
The Dvorák Museum,
the Villa Amerika, is located on a hard-to-find street near Charles
Square. The museum contains many Dvorák artifacts, including
his piano and desk, and we were fortunate enough to get a look at
some of Dvorák's sketchbooks relating to the Op. 105 quartet.
The final score—with his tiny, precise writing—shows many changes
from the sketches, mostly harmonic, some rhythmic.
We made a pilgrimage to
Dvorák's birthplace in Nelahozeves, some 20 miles outside of
Prague. There's a modest museum in the house where Dvorák was
born, which also served as his father's butcher shop, but the
museum is literally overshadowed by the Lobkowicz palace, a Renaissance
beauty towering over the village from its vantage point on a hill.
This is the same aristocratic Lobkowicz family that supported Beethoven,
and indeed, among the many artistic and musical treasures of the palace
are the working parts to the Beethoven Op. 18 quartets.
The MSQ played Dvorák's
Op. 105 quartet on the second half of its Friday night concert at
the House of the Stone Bell, a 14th-century Gothic building
with a small concert hall. In performance, John and Cal are the solid
center that enable Erik to play freely in his warm style, while the
quartet's sound is underpinned by Chris' refined cello playing. The
performance was warmly received. "The best audience to play for is
an informed audience," said John.
On an unusually mild mid-February evening, my quartet
went for a walk along the Charles Bridge in hopes of hearing street
musicians. But we only found other pedestrians like ourselves, enjoying
the weather and admiring the 30 or so statues that line both sides
of the bridge. "Quiet!" Kathy suddenly exclaimed. "There's the music!"
She pointed to the top of one of the statues, where a small songbird
was singing its heart out, sending its brilliant improvisations up
out over the Vlatva River, the subject of Smetana's enduring tone
poem. Impressed, we listened respectfully to the virtuoso performance.
The MSQ hosted a dinner on the last night at the elegant
Hotel Hoffmeister restaurant just below the Prague castle. There was
a spoof awards ceremony in which Irene was cited for "nailing that
solo in the first movement, despite getting no sleep the night before
and traveling so long." "What solo?" asked Kathy, our first violinist,
obviously puzzled. The three of us laughed, telling her we'd highlight
all the non-first violin solos in her score. We hope Kathy will forgive
our jokes at her expense, because we definitely want her along for
next year's "Bartók in Budapest" conference.
Regards,
Inge Kjemtrup
Excerpted
from Strings
magazine, August/September
2002, No. 104.
