OTHER OPERAS OF JANÁČEK

ŠÁRKA
      ACT I
      ACT II
      Act III
      MUSIC
The Beginning of a Romance
Osud
      Act 1
      Act 2
      Act 3

ŠÁRKA

(Šárka pronounced Sharka)

JANÁČEK'S FIRST OPERA

One of the most ancient documents of Bohemian literature was discovered in 1817 in north-eastern Bohemia. This was a poem entitled "The Judgment of Libuše" and was the subject of an opera Libuše written by Smetana in 1871-2 and performed at the opening of the Prague National Opera in 1881.

The story concerns the virgin queen Libuše (the legendary founder of Prague), who, failing to settle judgment in a dispute between two brothers, the rough, impetuous warrior Chrudoš and the virtuous and noble-hearted Přemysl, accepts council from her women and takes Přemysl as her husband.

The epic story continues: after the death of Libuše, Přemysl considers it advisable to banish the women who were once councillors of his queen, and set up an all-male parliament. These Amazon women, as they were called, turned out to be as tough and powerful female characters as history has yet recorded, making English women of the suffragette days appear mild in comparison.

They had two leaders-Vlasta, serious but simple, and Šárka, man-hating, fierce and untameable, but both dedicated to uphold and restore feminine power and authority.

The story of Šárka, her challenge to the hero Ctirad, and her triumphant revenge, has fascinated at least four of Czechoslovakia’s greatest composers, Smetana, Dvořák, Fibich and Janáček.

After writing his opera Libuše, Smetana followed this up two years later (1874-5) with a symphonic poem which he called Šárka, the third in his cycle of six symphonic poems, My Fatherland. Here is the programme of this work as told by the composer in a letter to the conductor Adolph Cech, February 1877.

The story of my symphonic poem, Šárka, is the story of this beautiful, legendary heroine herself. First, there is her anger against all mankind, then her mortification-and after her love has been betrayed-her wrath and vow of vengeance.

The chieftain and leader of men, Ctirad, with a battalion of soldiers, finds the beautiful Šárka bound to a tree. This is actually part of a plot on the part of the proud Amazon women, of which Šárka is a leader, to revenge themselves on the men who have banished them from political power on the death of their princess, Libuše.

Ctirad falls in love with Šárka, and she half in love with him: but remembering her vow of vengeance, she and her women ply the soldiers with wine until eventually they fall into a drunken dumber.

Answering Šárka’s horn signal, the relentless Amazon women fall on the helpless soldiers and massacre them. Vengeance is accomplished.

This is the broad outline of my frankly programmatic piece and each listener is free to fill in other details according to his or her own fancy.

Anton Dvořák, at the height of his fame, became interested in the Šárka legend as a possible subject for an opera and in 1878 suggested to the poet and playwright, Julius Zeyer, that he should make a play out of the fourth section of his epic poem Vyšehrad (the name of the hill on the right bank of the river in tenth-century Prague), which was called "Ctirad". Zeyer obligingly did so.

The impulsive and little-known Janáček read Zeyer’s play as soon as it was published early in 1887, and without bothering to ask permission from the author, began composing music to it, with such enthusiasm and speed that, six months later, he was in a position to send the completed piano score to Dvořák for his opinion.

Only after Dvořák had given a "qualified" opinion on Janáček’s music did the modest composer then approach Zeyer for permission to use the text of his play. Possibly because a composer of greater fame (Dvořák himself) was, operatically speaking, already involved in the same project, and/or Zeyer did not approve of the cuts and alterations Janáček felt necessary to make in adapting it to operatic requirements, Zeyer refused his permission to Janáček.

In spite of this damning prohibition, in the following year Janáček scored the first two acts and made considerable alterations in his music, possibly on the advice of Dvořák.

In actual fact, Dvořák never got round to writing an opera on Zeyer’s Šárka. Instead, he took up a somewhat similar tale of magic and women and a legendary hero-his last opera, Armida, with text by Jaroslav Vrchlicky.

While Janáček’s score lay forgotten in a trunk (to be rediscovered by him accidentally in 1918) Zdenek Fibich (born 1850 at Vseborice known in England by a much overworked "Poem") was the composer of a number of successful stage works, including a setting of Shakespeare’s The Tempest, where the music for Caliban is particularly rich in grotesque humour, a Wagnerian The Bride of Messina and the "Hippodamia" trilogy. Fibich began the composition of an opera on Šárka in 1896, which is generally acknowledged as being his finest operatic achievement.

The libretto of Fibich’s Šárka is by Anezka Schulzová and is quite independent of Zeyer’s play of the same name.

Let us first tell the story of the libretto of the Janáček opera, which had to wait thirty-eight years for its first performance in Brno in 1925.

There are five short scenes, which overlap with one another, in Act 1, lasting in all about thirty minutes: the second and third acts play for little over fifteen minutes each, so that Janáček’s so-called "Wagnerian opera" is a tightly packed little work lasting barely one hour in performance.

ACT I

Scene I takes place in and around the ruined castle of Libice. After the death of Libuše, her husband Přemysl is sole ruler and proposes to dispense altogether with the council of women who assisted Libuše in ruling the country prior to her marriage. The women, roused by this deprivation of their power, are in open revolt, led by Vlasta, who desires to "mow down the fine flower of masculine youth", and by the even more belligerent Šárka.

Scene 2. The warrior hero, Ctirad, arrives to greet King Přemysl and his men. He bears an important message from his father Dobrovoj: if they remove from Libuše’s tomb the magic shield and mace of Trut, they will secure for themselves tokens of invincibility: thus victory will always be theirs.

With exultant cries of: "We are slaves no more! We are the masters of the world! Let us march in triumph to Děvín ", the warriors make a noisy exit without even troubling to secure the magic elements which would ensure their victory.

Scene 3. Ctirad alone recalls what his father had told him romantically of heroic deeds of undying love, of a happy rural life in the forest, with the trees and the moon and the nightingale. The sound of the Amazon women marching purposefully to the castle recalls him to reality and he enters the tomb.

Scene 4. There he bows before the sacred shade of the dead Libuše, sitting on her throne, covered with a veil and with a golden crown on her head. She it was who once excelled all in beauty: daughter of Krok, the pagan prince bereft of male issue, she bore the brunt of sovereignty wisely and nobly. She was also granted the gift of prophecy.

At the sound of approaching women, Ctirad hastily hides himself and Šárka and her followers enter the room

Scene 5. Šárka accuses the once strong and mighty virgin queen Libuše of having degraded her sex by marrying, of "bowing her head down in degrading humility to a man ", and of betraying their once noble and militant order.

Libuše has, therefore, made herself unworthy of wearing the crown and the veil: "These are attributes of high office which only the mightiest of women may bear", continues the inflamed Šárka, "and it is Vlasta, and she alone, who has the right to wear such vestments, not this shameful dead woman who has betrayed us." As Šárka stretches out her sacrilegious hand to seize the crown and the veil, Ctirad emerges, holding the magic shield and mace of Trut, which has the effect of immobilizing her intent. Realizing their helplessness against such symbols of invincibility, Šárka and the Amazons have no alternative but to retreat, which they do, uttering threats against Ctirad ("with thy blood shall we quench our hatred"), who stands enthralled by the beauty and indomitable spirit of Šárka, with his senses in deep confusion.

Fibich’s Act I is altogether more spirited, and contains far more action than that of Zeyer’s, which is rather tame. The contrast and rivalry between Vlasta and Šárka is brought out: there is an actual military clash between the Amazons and the followers of Přemysl and the highlight is when Šárka challenges Ctirad to meet her in single combat, while she attacks him with drawn sword.

Act II

Scene 1. A huge tree stands deep in the midst of a wild valley, Šárka and Vlasta are in conference with their militant followers: although unwilling to admit it even to herself, Šárka is very much attracted by the hero, Ctirad, and undergoes an inner struggle as she and the women plan the destruction of the enemy. But her uncontrollable hatred of Ctirad, and against all men, wins. As he conquered them by treachery, so by the same means they will secure possession of the all-powerful shield and mace of Trut.

Her plan is that they must bind her to this tree, as though this was an act of revenge on the part of Vlasta, and confident of her powers to evoke the sympathy of Ctirad, she hopes to encompass his destruction. She lets her long hair all over her shoulders, loosens her girdle and in other ways makes herself out to be a beautiful, alluring damsel in distress.

Scene 2. Left alone, her true feelings for Ctirad rise to the surface in a vision of love. Ctirad enters, is amazed at the sight which greets his eyes; he unfastens the ropes which bind Šárka to the tree. Mutual hatred between them dissolves into mutual love, and his prisoner Šárka throws herself at his feet and begs for mercy. They confess their love for one another and Ctirad promises to take her to the home of his father, Dobrovoj, as his bride.

But suddenly Šárka recalls the purpose of her plan and her hatred for a similar feminine weakness in Libuše. She starts to her feet, blows her horn-the signal to attack-and the fierce Amazon women rush upon Ctirad and club him to death. Only then does Šárka despair of the rashness of her action.

Fibich’s second act again is a much wilder spectacle: the Amazon women have abducted at the very altar the woman who was about to marry Ctirad: one woman (a descendant of Salome, no doubt) bears on a shield the head of a male victim. The tree episode is much the same, except that torn between love and hate for the hero Ctirad, Šárka tries to stab him. But as the vengeful women rush in to finish the job, she claims Ctirad as her own special prize.

ACT III

Forebodings hang heavily over Přemysl and his warriors as they wait glumly in the courtyard of Vyšehrad, hoping for the early return of Ctirad, whom they expect to bear with him the promised magic symbols of inevitable victory.

Sounds of mourning and lamenting are heard: the golden gate is opened and through it passes a hearse, bearing on it the dead body of Ctirad. The story of his betrayal and death is told, and while warriors prepare to carry out a swift revenge against Šárka and the wild Amazon women, by order of Přemysl a funeral pyre for Ctirad is prepared. "When the flames engulf the body of the hero, they will also send fire into our blood!" Šárka herself appears, but is so effectively disguised that none of the assembly know her as the fierce leader of the Amazons and the slayer of Ctirad. She holds the magic shield of Trut in front of her, so that the warriors are powerless to attack her. She has come, however, with no evil intent, but to return these symbols to the tomb of Libuše, for she has now come to recognize that her love for Ctirad was greater than her hate of him and all men.

The mourning scene before the funeral pyre continues. When the flames are at their height, Šárka suddenly reveals her true identity and, flinging herself into the fire, finds death beside the hero she loved, when revelation of that love left her only atonement: "Rise up to the sky, ye crimson names! And let your fire be a curtain for this bridal bed." Fibich’s last act contains more dramatic action and a wider range of emotion and characterization than all three acts of Zeyer’s put together: if Zeyer stressed the negative aspect of the story, then the librettist of the Fibich opera certainly stressed the positive side. The last act is a long and involved story on its own, with the women condemning Ctirad to death and denouncing Šárka as a traitor, soldiers massacring the women, and Šárka torn between duty and love hurling herself from a high rock into a deep abyss.

MUSIC

Janáček seemed always to be out of luck whenever he attempted to write an independent overture to any of his operas. In his second revision of Šárka he substituted an introduction for his earlier (discarded) overture, using a theme in double thirds which he said he intended to be associated with King Přemysl. Among some sketches made by Janáček in 1916 for a proposed opera on Tolstoy’s Living Corpse, a theme for the opening scene is almost identical with this:

No. 226

The following theme is associated with the war intent of the Amazon women

No 227

A typical motif of excitement in characteristic Janáček complex rhythms and diminished intervals is

No 228

It has been said that the style of Janáček's Act III resembles an oratorio rather than an opera, and this is certainly true of the last scene in the Fibich opera written a decade later. Some idea of the heroic quality of the voice line of Ctirad may be gathered from this excerpt, which builds up to a full-throated Weber-Wagnerian romantic climax:

No. 229

Ctirad’s first theme-an unobtrusive quintuplet figure-develops a cycle of themes as the opera progresses.

No 230

The chorus for Janáček’s funeral pyre episode begins

No. 231

From my own experience of hearing and seeing Šárka at the 1950 Brno Festival, I found the music most effective and appealing, with sufficient musical characterization to hold one’s interest and attention. The revised orchestration by his pupil, Osvald Chlubna, sounded authentic and altogether the opera made an interesting hour’s listening.

It is true that the death of the hero in Act Il leaves little scope for action or any element of surprise in the final act. This is the first opera of an eager and gifted, but, dramatically speaking (so far as selectivity of subject and text is concerned) inexperienced and none too discriminating composer for whom the subject of the opera had many attractions-a national legend, the never-failing effectiveness of conflict between love and hate, etc.

The mature Dvořák, on the other hand, surely did right in rejecting Zeyer’s feeble dramatization of his own poem, although it has to be admitted that Dvořák’s substitute opera, Armida, has so far not met with any great success, in or outside the country of its origin.

The Beginning of a Romance

JANÁČEK'S SECOND OPERA

In the sphere of Janáček’s operas, it is conventional to rate his one-act comic opera, ‘The Beginning of a Romance, at bottom level.

Yet the opera has charm and humour and, in my opinion, if published with a bright and witty English text could easily make an effective and welcome appearance in many American opera workshops and English intimate opera groups, which are at present literally crying out for attractive and not-too-modern novelties. For such a purpose, the original orchestration would require modification: opera workshop resources do not run to tuba, bass clarinet, cor anglais and harp, but the reduction of the score could easily be done by one or other of the many existing Janáček authorities who have the necessary ability.

If my suggestion were acted upon, I feel convinced that it would give renewed life to a Moravian folk opera which, while apparently stalemate in its own country, could (a) easily win new laurels in other countries, and (b) pave the way for a just appreciation of major Janáček operas still to be loved and appreciated in countries outside Czechoslovakia and Germany.

The story of the Beginning of a Romance really belongs to the seventeenth to eighteenth century Figaro era, with amorous complications between maid and master, above and below stairs. A story based on such rigid class distinctions between those who have and those who have not, can only be regarded as a "period piece" in a modern, progressive socialistic country like Czechoslovakia.

There is a short and attractive overture. The young, aristocratic Adolf woos in his light-hearted manner Poluška, daughter of a shepherd. Their intrigue is observed and betrayed to Adolf’s parents by a game-keeper who, running with the hares and the hounds, suggests to the girl’s father that he should approach Adolf’s parents about the possibility of a marriage.

Adolf’s father, an aristocratic count and lord of the manor, has no objection to his son philandering among attractive wenches, however humble their position in his establishment, but makes it perfectly clear that any question of marriage between son and heir and a daughter of a shepherd is utterly out of the question.

But Poluška has her own village swain and Adolph is enamoured of the young Countess Irma, so that the amorous intrigue does not go very deep, no one is really hurt, and they can all sing happily at the end: "Thus it must always be! Choose your mate from your own class and happiness will be yours" (based on an earlier part-song, the cheerful "Nase pisen" (Our Song), half polka-half march).

Nothing could be simpler or more eighteenth-century Dresden-China-ish than this simple plot: the music is tuneful and charming and although the influence of Dvořák can be felt, particularly from two Dvořák gay and attractive operas-almost unknown outside the country of their origin-The Pigheaded Peasants (Turde Palice) and Peasant a Rogue (Selma Sedlak), and with the tunefulness and simple direct harmonic idiom of Smetana when writing in his folk-song manner; these are qualities which should make a definite appeal to audiences in Europe and America, audiences-in the main-as yet unfamiliar with the technical subtleties and developments of Czech music beyond the nineteen-twenties, particularly, of course, the deeper flourishing of Janáček’s genius in later years.

Ariettas alternate with recitatives: leit-motif association between musical themes and characters abound, and there are long sections of melodious and delightful music which make an immediate appeal, irrespective of any historical assessment of "influences", "originality", "historical development" and other purely academic distinctions. Take, for example, the theme when Adolf is first attracted to the shepherd’s daughter, Poluška:

No 232

The love theme is perhaps more typical

No 233

Among characteristic Czech dances and national songs appears a Furiant which expresses defiance among the characters.

Although some critics have discerned a certain monotony in the music, I did not notice this to any appreciable extent when I heard and thoroughly enjoyed the gay performance of this bright little opera at the 1958 Brno Janáček Music Festival.

Janáček later expressed regret at having introduced a number of folk-songs into his score, but to a foreign audience this is probably an attraction rather than otherwise.

The Prague National Theatre rejected this opera in May 1892, although it was produced in Brno with Janáček himself conducting some of the performances in 1894, incidentally his first and last appearance on the opera rostrum.

The composition of the work occupied the composer only for a period of six weeks, May to July 1891: the libretto in verse was the work of Jaroslav Tichy based on a short story by the Gabriela Preissová whose prose drama Jenůfa, Her Step-daughter became Jenůfa, Janáček’s greatest success.

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