CHAPTER I

part 4

THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD

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SCENE 3. ŠAPKIN’S SEMI-HUMOROUS STORY (p. 126, bar 13 to p. 135, bar 9)

With the exception of the little tune in double thirds at [5] (Šapkin feeling sorry for himself) practically the entire thematic material is derived from

No. 31

The first three notes are used as a sort of Pain motif ([5]-8, etc.): the first two notes as a "cuckoo" motif ([5]+28, etc.): the whole of No. 31 with the first note doubled in value and in imitation, becomes suitably swaggering music for the attempted robbery (top of p. 129), which overlaps with another metamorphosis-the first three notes imitated a fourth lower in an alla breve allegro unison passage picturing the cops chasing the tramps [6]. The whole theme, above sustained brass, is transformed into impressive music for the entry of the police captain (p. 130, 3rd bar). A few bars later at the 4 allegro, it is turned into a humorous twisting figure as Šapkin recounts that even chopping wood on the head of tramps won’t help them to remember anything-if they don’t want to! In this quick 6/8 variation form it further represents the cheeky Šapkin (p. 131, bars 4-6, etc.), while the music for the interrogating captain is the same theme (No. 31) in a suitably authoritative 3/8 adagio (p. 131, bars 1-3; 7-8; 12 et seq.). Yet, by rhythmic, harmonic, tempo, spacing and instrumental subtleties and changes, the different characterizations and different dramatic situations are always perfectly clear.

The feeling-sorry-for-myself tune in double-thirds reappears at [8] + 7 as the luckless Šapkin gets his ears pulled.

The composer, by the way, requires the singer taking this part to have two voices-tenor and bass: and he writes the voice part in two clefs-

No. 32

The tiny fanfare-like figure in the last three bars of p. 133 should not go unnoticed. It is a characteristic thumbprint of the composer and we will meet it again in the interlude between the two scenes of this act (see [33]): the student of Janáček’s works will know of many other examples in instrumental as well as operatic works.

No 33

SCENE 4. THE CRAZED SKURATOV SHOUTS AND DANCES AND IS SUPPRESSED BY THE CONVICTS

(p. 135, bar 10 to p. 136-up to the 3)

Skuratov’s dual theme from Act I is one of only a handful of themes which are common to more than one act. His agonizing cries of "Oh, Lujza"-to the exasperation of the convicts-is very moving. The relentless Destiny theme reappears (p. 136 at the 3)-no one can hope to escape his fate.

In the excellent L.P. recording made at the Holland Festival in 1954 a break is made at the foot of p. 136, the only sounds heard being the sobbing of the crazed Skuratov and the sinister hollow coughing of the consumptive-an excellent production touch which is harrowing and deeply moving.

Orchestral Interlude (p. 137)

A solo violin sings out a beautifully serene "new" theme, as though to tell us that the gift of sleep, with its priceless blanket of unconsciousness, relaxation, forgetfulness and the magic of dreams is granted to all God’s creatures-alike to the just and the unjust. If one chooses to examine the mechanics of this "new" theme it actually turns out to be a variation of the lower voice of the Skuratov theme. Perhaps Janáček meant us to view with compassion the poor mad wretch who has passed into the temporary relief of unconsciousness. Soft tremolos on cello and bass, however, denote that the sleep of the convicts is not an untroubled one. Twice the eagle motif intervenes in an energetic dance rhythm (hopeful dreams of freedom?) and there is a counterpoint to the transformed Skuratov motif which soars upwards instead of having the usual drooping curves, setting a more optimistic note.

The pathetic outburst from the old convict on the stove, thinking of the children he will never see again, is a little masterpiece of controlled but intensive expression (p. 138).

SCENE 5. THE STORY OF AKULKA AND HER HUSBAND

(p. 138 at the (5) Andante to p. 173: continued in a dramatic Coda up till [31])

Šiškov’s monologue runs to around thirty pages of the vocal score and is, therefore, the longest and most highly developed single scene in the entire opera. The story itself has sufficient incidents and human interest to serve as basis for an entire opera.

A detailed analysis of the music of Šiškov’s story will be found in Appendix 1.

From even a casual study of this, it should be clear that Janáček employs as highly a complex system of leitmotif as any composer has attempted since the death of Wagner.

All the leading characters in the drama have associated motifs, devised to give truthful musical expression to their individual characteristics: the Akulka motif, for example, stands out from all others by its tenderness, serenity and simple-heartedness.

One feels, perhaps, that Janáček could have more forcefully, realistically and dramatically revealed the double identity of Filka Morozov by declaiming, for instance, an augmented version of the swaggering Filka motif (see vocal score p. 141 at the con moto) at the crucial moment, for this theme dominates the first part of the monologue for ten pages and is associated with Filka in the minds of perceptive members of the audience.

To continue with the analysis of Act III, it is a relief, after the emotional rhapsodies and complexities of the Šiškov monologue, to listen to the light texture-mainly in polka and waltz rhythms-of the orchestral interlude separating the two main scenes of this act.

The main theme is a jerky folk-song-like polka strain orchestrated in musical-box colours; a piquant touch is achieved by immediately repeating it in waltz time: this delightful swaying between duple and triple rhythms occurs three times, during which we hear bass and tenor convicts, behind scene echoing their characteristic "Hou! Hou!" calls.

Trumpet calls break into the care-free atmosphere, reminding us perhaps that, however momentarily happy the convicts may be in the enjoyment of their physical work, they are still prisoners-or could this be a preliminary call to Freedom? Anyway, the five-bar contrasting section is tinged with heaviness.

The polka theme dressed out in full orchestral colours and now punctuated a few times by trumpet notes is developed at some length after which the lighter first part of the interlude is repeated and a short Coda added. This repeat was added by the editors for practical reasons-Janáček’s interlude was too short to allow the necessary change of scenery.

The Commandant enters to this somewhat unctuous and mock-solemn theme-

No. 34

The speech curves of his "apology "are particularly realistic.

The dance tune of the interlude (last bar p. 183) cuts in for a moment and again we hear the whirling "Hou! Hou!" of the convicts who are watching this incredible scene with interest and amazement.

The music for the continuation of the Commandant’s speech [35]is in two threads; the lower voice, on horns and strings, can be read as an unexpected jaunty derivative of the Destiny motif (unless the resemblance is purely accidental) while, above it-on oboes-is a development of the first two notes of the convicts’ folk-song (see [32]) expanding to the tune itself at the second last bar on p. 184 as the convicts now openly nudge one another at the ridiculous and unbecoming conduct of their Major. The two themes continue in combination (pp. 185-6). The little fanfare theme from the middle of the orchestral interlude is added to the texture (top of p. 186). When the Major goes to the length of actually embracing Petrovič the orchestra chuckles sardonically: when he questions Petrovič about his dreams and the latter replies that he was dreaming of his mother last night, a new descending arpeggio figure appears with solo violin and flutes weaving continuous triplets around it (see [36]+ 6 et seq.).

The mood of the scene and the music has changed. There is, however, no change of tempo and the jerky little folk fragment continues to intervene although in gentler tones (p.187, bars 5 and 6). After Petrovič is handed his discharge the music rises quickly to a pitch of ecstasy.

At [37] the Destiny motif appears in friendlier tones and soon we begin to relax after two hours of almost unbearable tension as the triumphant Hymn-to-Freedom theme reappears (No. 30). We hear it when the caged eagle soars to freedom-with high piccolo flutterings (p. 190 to [39])-and again, more subdued and intimate-horn solo-as the two friends bid farewell to one another [39], finally ringing out with exalted triumph as Petrovič leaves the prison and the convicts sing of Liberty and Freedom on which note the opera closes.

I, for one, cannot find fault with this extremely effective edited ending. It begins at the third bar of p. 195 repeating the previous two bars, followed by the first six bars in [38] and a coda of nine bars, where the Freedom and Destiny motifs are fused perfectly together.

Janáček’s original ending was printed in the Musical Times of August 1956, pp. 408-10, and can also be found on p. 374 of Vogel’s book. It repeats from the tempo primo on p. 179 to the con moto at the bottom staves of p. 180: that is, the middle development section of the orchestral interlude, now heavily orchestrated and ending fortissimo.

The theme is the jolly polka-waltz tune of the convicts, so that there is no trace in Janáček’s original finale of any return to tragedy or despair.

Note

Although Janáček wrote to Mrs. Kamila Stosslova on 4 January, 1928 that The House of the Dead was finished, some Janáček scholars consider that 8 June is probably nearer the date, although, as we have seen, the final revision was never completed by the composer.

It is thought that Janáček first met the 23-year-old beautiful wife of David Stossel in Hukvaldy in 1915, when he became immediately attracted to her. Vogel considers the introduction took place two years later in Luhačovice while the families were on holiday. Janáček himself, however, in the musical story of their love, sets the first movement of his Love Letters quartet "in Hukvaldy-my first impressions when I saw you for the first time".

During the course of his thirteen years’ friendship with this lady, a friendship which grew in intimacy as the years passed, he wrote nearly 600 letters to her and on his own confession she was the inspiration for many of his most mature works. "I know a most wonderful lady", he tells Professor Knop. "I have her perpetually in my mind. My Kátja (Kabanová) grows in her, in Kamila!": later he writes to Kamila-"You are, for me, the poor Elian Makropulos!": again "You were the one I thought of when writing this work" (The Diary of One Who Vanished): and the crowning tribute to his beloved was the second string quartet, Love Letters, in which he pours out his passion, his tenderness, his love for Kamila. He began writing this, his last instrumental masterpiece, in January 1928, that is, in the last year of his life.

Janáček and his wife had mostly lived apart for many years: she was no sweet, sympathetic, understanding wife for this tremendously vital, headstrong and eccentric genius. The personal attributes of our tumultuous hero will be discussed later: suffice now to state that however proud and incorruptible he was as a great musical personality, however much of an original Diogenes among musicians, however much he was and is now to an even greater extent the creator of tempestuously new and strong musical works, by everyone’s account, he was, in his personal relationships, an exceedingly difficult man. One sympathizes with Madame Janackova, as one sympathizes with the first wife of Debussy in rather similar circumstances, but rejoices in the fact that his later years were made radiantly happy by Kamila.

His actual relationship with Kamila has involved biographers in some speculation: Janáček once told his great admirer and propagandist, Max Brod, that their relationship was "a purely spiritual one". Max Brod, refusing to have the wool pulled over his eyes, had this dry comment to make: "Friendship with a woman is not an empty phrase, it is simply an inaccurate description leaving out what is most important and stressing a side-issue."

The events leading up to the death of Janáček created some scandal and, for a time, an attempt was made to stifle the truth. Kamila’s husband practically handed over his wife, accompanied by their young son, to Janáček, who converted an attic in his house at Hukvaldy to accommodate his beloved. The 11-year-old boy strayed away from the adults when they were walking to Babi hill: the 74-year-old composer searched uphill and downhill looking for the lost child, sitting down in an overheated condition with a strong wind blowing. As a result of this he caught a chill which was diagnosed first as "flu" with laryngitis and mastoid-later turning into pneumonia. A week later he was dead.

The meeting of wife and mistress, the quarrel of the rival undertakers, the smuggling of his body into Brno, the lying in state in the foyer of the Brno Theatre opposite his own bust is a macabre story worthy of the pen of a Hoffmann.

Two years after his death The House of the Dead was performed in Brno before the gathering of distinguished musicians, many of whom had come from far afield to pay tribute to this great Czech composer. Other performances soon followed in Prague, Berlin, Dusseldorf, Zurich and elsewhere. The woman who had meant so much to Janáček, to whom he had poured out his heart, who had been the inspiration behind many masterpieces, to whom he had written a propos The House of the Dead- "I am hurrying with the new opera like a baker throwing buns into the oven", herself died of cancer seven years after the man who had loved her so much.

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