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Dvorak the Opera Man
| Article
# : |
19656 |
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Section : |
THE ARTS
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| Issue
Date : |
9 / 1991 |
1,021 Words |
| Author
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Lawrence O'Toole
Lawrence O'Toole writes for Entertainment Weekly and other
national publications. |
Antonin Dvorak, born 150 years ago this month, is best known as the composer of the New World Symphony and the American String Quartet. Consequently, he is assumed by many people to have been America, though he was actually as Czechoslovakian as Prague's Charles Bridge. Another assumption is that Dvorak wrote only orchestral music, which is definitely untrue.
The great melodist also wrote opera, the best known among cognoscenti outside Czechoslovakia being the gorgeous fairy tale Rusalka. Within Czechoslovakia, however, and specifically in Prague, Dvorak operas such as The Jacobin, Armida, and The Devil and Kate are on view annually at Prague's National Theater, which, along with keeping Dvorak's operatic works alive, does the same for those of Bedrich Smetana and Leos Janacek. The National Theater's performances of these works are as idiomatic as is possible. No singers wrestle with the recalcitrant Czech language, and the Czech singing mechanism--a trifle hooty and glottal--is perfectly suited to the strains of Czech music.
A lovely example of idiomatic Czech opera is the current National Theater production of Dvorak's The Devil and Kate, as light as a souffl?fairy tale set to bumptiously melodic music. Here, Dvorak wrote about and for the country folk. A shepherd, Jirka, flees the advances of the unattached but gamely eager Kate, who, at her wit's end during a dance, says she'd tour the floor with the devil if only he'd ask her. An unknown and handsome gamekeeper, Marbuel, buys Kate a drink and asks her to leave with him, which she's only too happy to do. With that he stamps his feet, the ground opens up, and the two fall directly into hell, whereupon the suddenly heroic Jirka offers to go and bring her back.
In Act II of this colorful production, hell becomes a heaven for hams: Everybody gets to be raucous and naughty. And hell, of course, has no fury like a woman scorned. Kate, still not happy with her lot, is such a scold and a scourge that even Lucifer wants to get rid of her. Jirka, who has arrived in pursuit, obliges Lucifer and fools Kate into dancing through the gates of hell with him. Jirka has also agreed to help the denizens of hell capture a princess, but in the third and final act the princess regrets her profligate life and abolishes serfdom, in return for which Jirka frightens Marbuel away from the manor by bringing Kate to it, and everyone--even Kate--ends up happy and satisfied.
Drawn to an ingenuous tale and always attracted by folk themes, Dvorak was extremely happy with the first performance of The
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