Today’s post is going to be on the theme of modesty, and
personal pride in one’s origins.
I find Antonin Dvorak a fascinating composer because despite
many professional conflicts regarding his nationality and his undying humility,
he was incredibly successful in his own time. He is the perfect example of the
claim that it doesn’t take superstar ego to be a super star.
A trend I’m sure you have noticed in a lot of the big names
of Dvorak’s time is that many of them are German or Austrian. Dvorak, on the
other hand, was Czech.
Johannes Brahms was indisputably a key factor in the success
of Dvorak’s music. He sent some of Dvorak’s early works off to his publisher,
Simrock, and also encouraged him to move into a more serious musical scene. Brahms’
connections were of infinite help to the young Czech composer who felt that his
people were discriminated against by the German population.
The two composers had a great friendship which lasted
through their lives. They supported one another, and Brahms’ influence in
Dvorak’s music is evident.
To be honest, Dvorak’s personal life is quite tame compared
to some of the other composers I’ve featured. Had he been alive today his
modesty and docile home life surely would have kept him off the magazine rack.
But I think that he deserves just the same spotlight as his slightly more
dramatic contemporaries – perhaps even more as a reward for his good behaviour.
But I will give you this little tidbit:
He was in love with his pupil Jesofina Cermakova, though
married her younger sister Anna in November 1873, whom he also taught. They remained
happily married. The end. Though it may seem odd, this was actually a fairly
common occurrence at the time.
Though his personal life was far from dramatic, this composer
was fierce when it came to defending the honour of his home country.
He got into a fight with his publisher over his 7th
symphony. The publisher wanted Dvorak to print both his name and the title of
the piece in German. The composer angrily replied: “But what have we two to do with politics; let us be glad that we
can dedicate our services solely to the
beautiful art!” After another rift over compensation for another of his
larger pieces, Dvorak severed all ties with Simrock and sold his works to
Novello instead.
His strong sense of Czech nationalism stuck with him through
his travels to America – in many of the cities he visited the Czech populations
threw banquets for him.
Ultimately, he wasn’t able to return to America to finish
his term position in New York because his employer had gone bankrupt and was
behind in paying him and there was little promise of future compensation.
Despite all of the professional problems he had over the
years, Dvorak still managed to do very well for himself. This just goes to show
that with his good connections (he was also friends with Tchaikovsky and
Mahler) and talent he was able to make the best of difficult professional
situations.
In the last years of his life he lived in his beloved home
country, and was honoured with prizes and awards. He loved wandering in the
woods and forests of his home country; he bred pigeons and enjoyed train
spotting.
Essentially, this post aims to remind you (hopefully not too
didactically) that genius does not always spring from drama; artistry comes not
solely from the dusty streets of the impoverished, nor from beneath the “majestical roof fretted with golden fire” of aristocrats. Those who lead a humble life,
and remain true to that humility can achieve greatness.
This season you can hear music written by Dvorak performed
by the Kingston Symphony on February 2nd, 2014 in Mahler, Ravel & Dvorak.
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