Growing up, I was never a big fan of classical music. Sure, it was all around me, at home and school. The closest I ever got to opera was a fun field trip to a matinee staging of “Phantom of the Opera.” Any hopes for a kindling of passion for these historic and graceful songs were doused when I blew my Beethoven song in front of a small group in a childhood piano recital.
When I was invited on a small, music-themed trip to Czechia, I didn’t read the small print. I’d assumed this would be a mix of styles, with perhaps a focus on the late 20th century. After all, rock and roll and homegrown bands like Plastic People of the Universe formed some of the most prominent subaltern voices in the country’s Velvet Revolution.
The Father of Czech Music
I’ll never forget the first time I heard his music, just a few years ago. On a private wooden boat tour provided by the Four Seasons Hotel, the driver navigated past so many hidden and special sites, the bridges and spires of the city rising all around. Then he played an ode to the river itself. “Die Moldau”—or in Czech—”Vltava,” by Smetana. The symphonic poem formed a strange and wonderful symmetry with the surrounding beauty.
On this year’s trip, a guide at the Bedrich Smetana Museum walked our little group through his life. The museum itself is lovely, a 19th-century neo-renaissance former water station right on the river. It houses items from Smetana’s life, including instruments and original compositions.
The son of a brewer, Smetana started playing piano and violin at a young age. “At 6 years old, he had his first concert,” a guide explained. After studying music but finding little professional success in Prague, he moved abroad to Sweden. He became a teacher and choir master, began penning orchestral pieces, and was recognized as a master.
City of Music
The following days of my trip were filled with music. Even on a casual walk around this beautiful city, you encounter it everywhere. On a tour of Prague’s baroque library and astronomical tower at the Klementium, a guide noted that Mozart played there. The legendary composer felt very much at home in Prague, especially when he was rebuffed by Vienna. “He talked about ‘my Prague,’ how they understood ’my wretched soul,'” he said.
A stroll around the Strahov Monastery, which soars above the Lesser Town, concluded with a song on its thunderous pipe organ, upon which Mozart actually played. A trip to Prague Castle included an evening baroque concert in the sunny Summer Refectory. In a park overlooking the river, we listened to the Prague Symphony Orchestra play an open-air concert of Smetana’s “Ma Vlast” (“My Fatherland”).
While I was warming to the music and enthralled by the stories, I wasn’t so sure I was up for the next big event: opera. Since spotting it on the itinerary, I’d been busy planning my escape. I searched online maps around the hall for nearby pubs, and contemplated how to slip out during intermission and find a lively place with a crisp Pilsner for the rest of the evening.
This opera would be no toe-tapping rock opera sung by a man in a mask. Part of a summer festival in Smetana’s hometown of Litomysl, this opera was the real deal. I was going to attend a three-hour performance of “The Secret,” which Smetana wrote in 1878 while completely deaf. The star performer? Adam Plachetka, the Czech Republic’s most famous opera singer.
The drive out to Litomysl, a small town of about 10,000 in the rolling hills of eastern Bohemia, was lovely. The town is charming, and the bright, warm afternoon was busy. First, we toured the Litomysl Castle, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Then came a visit to Smetana’s humble and cramped birthplace, which was part of the castle brewery.
There “was not enough space, and his family slept everywhere,” a guide explained. The guide also had thoughts on Smetana’s inner struggles. “His life was searching, searching, searching for his place, and how to help the culture,” he said. “It’s of great importance to the Czech people, his national feeling for the music, at a time of national revival.”
Evening fell. The time had come. Opera was imminent. I took my seat and things were soon underway.
I followed only the broad strokes of the plot, which involved two couples divided by feuds between their families. Despite opportunities to leave—there were two intermissions—I didn’t make an early exit.
While I’ll never become a great patron of the opera, the whole experience was captivating. The swirl and thunder from the orchestra. The passion and power of the singers. It thrummed in my heart, and rang in my ears, long afterward. Talent, inspiration, history, and so much more. It was, absolutely, a special kind of treasure.
