- Unique modern translation - German original: "Der arme Spielmann" - Annotated
Franz Grillparzer (1791-1872) is best known as a dramatist whose plays are still regularly performed on the stages of Austria. More highly regarded than the dramatic productions in verse that have propelled Grillparzer’s name to the theater marquees of Vienna, though, is this novella, where his finest art and innermost self are most clearly displayed.
"The Poor Fiddler" is a classic example of the Biedermeier style of literature. A thematic triad associated with the earlier era of Romanticism – music, love and death – still marks out the psychological and artistic borders of the tale, however. Though the title character, Jacob appears to be a loser in the domains of music and love, the poor fiddler is revealed to have a transcendently redeeming character at the approach of death.
Central to the unfolding of the tale is the narrator’s fascination with psychological motivation. The poor fiddler is selfish, but only within the bounds of music; he quickly glosses over any dissonances – even necessary modulations – and dwells with rapture on the harmonic epiphanies. This is no way to play the works of a classical composer, but it is perhaps a courageous way to live a life: overlooking the disharmony caused by others.
In the final analysis, Jacob’s lack of sophistication in music and in life appears more than compensated for by his lack of guile. The target of ridicule presents himself, in the end, as a paragon of saintliness even as his instrument, the fiddle, is elevated to the status of a house shrine, a souvenir of salvation mirrored by a crucifix.
Franz Seraphicus Grillparzer was an Austrian writer who emerged primarily as a playwright. Because of the identity-creating use of his works, especially after 1945, he is also referred to as the Austrian national poet.
Regarded by many as a leading light of Austrian literature (including by Peter Handke, who sent me to him in the first place), indeed at times as Austria's national poet, Franz Grillparzer was primarily an innovative dramatist,(*) though he also wrote criticism, essays, poetry and some fiction, including Der arme Spielmann (The Poor Musician, 1847, available in English translation), which became a favorite of Franz Kafka. Son of a strict and very reserved lawyer who died fairly early, condemning his son to a lifetime of tedious jobs in the Austro-Hungarian governmental bureaucracy, Grillparzer was one of those unfortunate human beings who dare not be happy. An introvert and highly sensitive, dominated by his father and obliged to study law, he never quite got over his fear of disappointing his father, indeed of disappointing anyone. It appears that his fears prevented him from proposing marriage to the love of his life; he remained unmarried and increasingly solitary.(**)
Thus it is with real empathy that Grillparzer relates in Der arme Spielmann the story of a, by most measures, total failure: a septuagenarian son of an important civil servant whom he disappointed to such a degree that the old man thenceforth turned his back on his son (the disappointment was actually trivial in nature, at least by my lights), who then through his unimprovable naïveté slipped slowly but surely into a state of material desperation, but who was nonetheless satisfied with his lot. The poor fellow even lost the love of his life by disappointing her when he became the victim of an obvious scam. Not content with evoking this unfortunate embodiment of his own finely honed anxieties about disappointing others, Grillparzer upped the ante by arranging that the old musician, who now plays in the streets for small change, is even more technically incompetent than he realizes. Though trying his best to accommodate his audience's wishes, no one recognizes that what he's playing is a waltz. What is more, the old fellow is satisfied with his situation precisely because of his musicizing, which he regards as fulfilling, even profound, his technical shortcomings be damned. Here, it seems to me, is a complex alloy of anxiety and commitment annealed in the flame of irony.
If, as I suspect, Grillparzer was exorcising his own demons - his fear of failing to meet the expectations of others and his worrisome anxieties about his own authorial abilities - or not, Der arme Spielmann is a touching, occasionally even poignant story told by a first person narrator with a cool distance to the old violinist one must call ironic, at least until the end, where Grillparzer couldn't resist a last sentimental touch of Erbaulichkeit. But then, with the pleasures of flowing mid-19th century prose come, almost always, moments that seem to early 21st century readers to be desperately treacly. Or maybe it's just me.
For a time Grillparzer's dramas were successful, though not successful enough for him to dare give up his government job, but the failure of his only comedy, Weh dem, der lügt, in 1838 embittered him to the point that he henceforth wrote only for his desk drawer. He was disappearing completely from public memory when the insightful Heinrich Laube became the director of the court theater in 1849 and began to resurrect Grillparzer's plays. These productions were so successful that in his old age Grillparzer was lauded into the company of Goethe and Schiller by his countrymen. True to his nature, Grillparzer could not enjoy this late recognition, complaining that "just one percent of that which they now force upon me with the best of wishes would have completely invigorated me in my younger years and encouraged me to literary efforts that would have served me honor and the Austrian people joy. Now these are just the last coups de grace being dealt to me."
Supposedly, the plays they found in his drawer are better than those performed in his lifetime. I'll have to look into them.
Hermann Kern - The Old Violin Player
I'd like to mention that Grillparzer's autobiography (named, quite simply, Selbstbiographie), written when he was 62 years old and taking his reader up to his 45th year, is well worth reading. It is written with an often self-denigrating charm and provides a multifaceted glimpse of Viennese life in the early 19th century. Among the passages of particular interest is his very personal account of Napoleon's siege of Vienna in 1809, when Grillparzer was a young and completely untrained soldier defending the capital's walls. The French army was certainly in no danger from him and his companions, whose volleys threatened other Austrian soldiers on a lower wall to their front more than they did the Grande Armée. Though he had been ill for some time already, it was the taking of Vienna and the resultant Pressburger Treaty that crushed his father's last will to live. The stories of his trips to Italy, Germany, France and England - which, with the exception of the earliest (to Italy), were undertaken largely to escape the pressures of Metternich's police state - are quite engaging with often humorous accounts of his interactions with such figures as Goethe and Hegel (whom Grillparzer found just as pleasant and entertaining in person as he considered his philosophy to be abstruse and repulsive). Of somewhat less interest are his reports about the office politics in the state bureaucracy, so very reminiscent of those in the imperial bureaucracies of Rome and China. But, then, the nature of the human creature hardly changes with time.
(*) Interestingly, Grillparzer was quite taken by the dramatists of the Spanish Golden Age, particularly Calderón, wrote a book about their work and supposedly stood under their influence. Unhappily, I am too ignorant of 17th century Spanish and 18th century Austrian theater to be able to discern such influence. I've recently read his dramatic trilogy, Das goldene Vlies (The Golden Fleece), and found his surprisingly realistic re-working of the Medea and Jason legend interesting, though my pleasure was moderated by touches of melodrama, to which I am highly allergic.
(**) For those of you who know German I offer a poem Grillparzer wrote in 1836 that reveals much of his nature. Entsagung Eins ist, was altersgraue Zeiten lehren, Und lehrt die Sonne, die erst heut getagt: Des Menschen ewges Los, es heißt: Entbehren, Und kein Genuß, als den du dir versagt.
Die Speise, so erquicklich deinem Munde, Beim frohen Fest genippter Götterwein, Des Teuren Kuß auf deinem heißen Munde - Dein wärs? Sieh zu! ob du vielmehr nicht sein.
Denn der Natur alther notwendge Mächte, Sie hassen, was sich freie Bahnen zieht, Als vorenthalten ihrem ewgen Rechte, Und reißens lauernd in ihr Machtgebiet.
All, was du hältst, davon bist du gehalten, Und wo du herrschest, bist du auch der Knecht. Es sieht Genuß sich vom Bedarf gespalten, Und eine Pflicht knüpft sich an jedes Recht.
Nur was du abweist, kann dir wiederkommen, Was du verschmähst, naht ewig schmeichelnd sich; Und in dem Abschied, vom Besitz genommen, Erhältst du dir das einzig Deine: Dich!
Der arme Spielmann Jakob ist ein alter Mann aus wohlhabenden Haus eines Juristen am Anfang des 19. Jahrhunderts in Wien. Er ist in den Augen des Vaters ein missratener Sohn, der seinen Ansprüchen in keiner Weise genügt. Statt für die Sprache interessiert sich Jakob für die Musik, obwohl er auch da talentfrei scheint. Er fiedelt auf seiner Geige, hört Melodien, die kein Anderer hört und bringt mit seinem Gekratze die umliegende Welt zur Verzweiflung. Jakob ist naiv und eigentlich kaum lebensfähig. Alles misslingt ihm, selbst in der Liebe. Ein wirklich trauriges Buch aus der Stadt der Musik, aber diesmal nicht mit der hohen Kunst der Sinfonie, sondern nur mit den eigenen unverstandenen Tönen im Kopf eines einfachen Mannes. Sehr schön geschriebene Novelle. Zu Recht ein Klassiker.
Questo piccolo Oscar Mondadori, edito sul finire degli anni '70, è un libro prezioso, perché contiene i due unici racconti del drammaturgo romantico austriaco Franz Grillparzer, accompagnati dall'abbozzo di un altro racconto e da una lunga introduzione sulla vita e le opere di Grillparzer scritta dal grande e compianto Ervino Pocar. E' un libro prezioso soprattutto perché ci dona, nella traduzione dello stesso Pocar, uno dei racconti a mio avviso più straordinari di tutti i tempi, degno di assurgere ad un olimpo che per me contiene La metamorfosi, il Michael Kohlhaas di Kleist, alcuni racconti di Hoffmann, Bartleby lo scrivano, Tonio Kröger e per la verità molti altri che ora non mi vengono in mente. Il racconto in questione è quello che dà il titolo al volume: Il povero musicante, che oggi è possibile reperire nella stessa traduzione e cura (immagino) da Passigli o, con il nome de Il povero suonatore da Marsilio. Manca tuttavia, nelle edizioni più recenti, la possibilità di leggere anche l'altro racconto di Grillparzer, Il convento presso Sendomir. Partiamo proprio da questo racconto, che in verità non lascia pienamente trasparire la magnificenza del successivo. Si tratta infatti di un racconto scritto nel 1828, ci informa Pocar, probabilmente per colmare in fretta e furia un vuoto apertosi nell'edizione di una rivista a cui il nostro collaborava, quindi con intenti quasi commerciali, e questo “vizio d'origine” si riflette nella storia, che definirei manieristicamente romantica, essendo la storia di un signore secentesco che, sposata una bella e vivace fanciulla, va incontro al delitto, alla rovina e all'espiazione a causa dell'adulterio di lei. La trama è sicuramente avvincente e la scrittura di Grillparzer, dottamente interpretata da Pocar, è potente e molto teatrale – come si addice ad un autore uso alle tragedie da palcoscenico – ma il racconto, come detto, non si distacca da un mainstream romantico abbastanza convenzionale. Tutt'altra cosa è Il povero musicante, che veramente è un racconto che merita di essere letto più volte e meditato a lungo, di una straordinaria modernità pur appartenendo pienamente al tempo in cui è stato scritto, un racconto che brilla come un diamante dalle mille sfaccettature, per cui ritengo che chiunque lo legga possa trovarvi un sentimento, un'emozione personalizzata. Già l'ambientazione è inusuale: se ne Il convento presso Sendomir lo sfondo sono castelli, conventi e un secolo lontano, qui la vicenda è ambientata nella Vienna dell'autore, e viene narrata in prima persona. Se nel primo racconto la storia coinvolge personaggi potenti e sentimenti estremi, ne Il povero musicante il protagonista è persona umile, al pari del contesto sociale in cui vive, e miti e pacate, ma profondissime, sono le emozioni e le passioni che prova ed evoca in noi. Ad uno stile teatrale fatto di dialoghi fitti e serrati si contrappone un ritmo lento, una tonalità quasi fiabesca, che contribuiscono non poco al grande fascino del racconto. Durante una festa popolare l'io narrante nota un violinista di strada, che non suona bene ma tiene aperto un leggio con spartiti davanti a sé, che suona musiche “serie” che non incontrano il favore degli astanti, che è vestito umilmente ma dignitosamente, che commenta serenamente in latino il fatto che nessuno gli abbia messo una moneta nel cappello, che se ne va quando inizia ad arrivare il grosso della folla. Preso da fame antropologica l'io narrante vuole sapere chi sia, che storia abbia il musicante, così lo avvicina e poi lo va a trovare nella sua stanzetta. Qui il musicante gli racconta la storia della sua vita. E qui si aprono praterie di emozioni, di riflessioni, di sollecitazioni in grado di soddisfare ogni tipologia di lettore, da quello che prende la storia così com'è a quello che gli può attribuire il significato di grande apologo sul ruolo dell'arte e dell'artista rispetto alla società, a quello abituato a smontare i singoli pezzi di un testo per trovarvi chiavi di lettura psicanalitiche o politiche. Contrariamente a quanto faccio di solito non darò la mia interpretazione del testo, in quanto questo racconto è talmente bello e, come detto, sfaccettato, che mi sentirei di sminuirlo proponendo schemi interpretativi che per forza di cose sarebbero limitati e dilettanteschi. Mi inchino perciò alla grandezza e riconosco la mia inadeguatezza a descriverla. Persino l'introduzione di Pocar, che pure è ottima nella descrizione della vita e del contesto sociale e culturale in cui si è mosso l'autore, è a mio avviso estremamente riduttiva rispetto alla grandezza del testo. Mi soffermo però sulla figura del musicante, che merita davvero di avere un posto di rilievo tra i grandi piccoli eroi della letteratura di ogni tempo. La sua coerenza, la sua ingenuità sono commoventi, e ne fanno uno dei grandi emarginati della narrativa. E' anche da loro che possiamo nonostante tutto trarre residue motivazioni per pensare che un altro mondo sia possibile.
One of Kafka's favourites, and easy to see why. Melancholic story of a story of a man who disappointed his father and gradually slipped to the margins of society.
So, I started reading The Great Musician because it was the book that made Franz Kafka cry and he referenced it many times in Letters to Milena. Having read his previous letters, I can understand why he liked the book so much. However, I found it to be very boring and without a mind-blowing story; the prose wasn't impressive either.
Grillparzer is one of the great unknown treasures of world literature and one of the greatest 19th century authors in the whole literature written in German, who haven't been given the proper attention nor the respect it deserves. Der arme Spielmann is a beautiful and painful meditation on the bond between man and art, and on how our very own individual nature predetermines the course of our lives. The last lines are mesmerizing.
Ich mag den Schreibstil, den Grillparzer in dieser kurzen Erzählung verwendet, um das Schicksal des naiven, weltfremden, erbärmlichen Spielmanns durch die Augen des namenlosen Erzählers zu zeigen. Leicht langweilig, hat mich nur gestört, dass die eigentlich taffe Barbara zu weinerlich portraitiert wird.
from goodreads-Cecily:One of Kafka's favourites, and easy to see why. Melancholic story of a story of a man who disappointed his father and gradually slipped to the margins of society. wow...will surely touch me, cause i did so disappoint my father.
Da das Buch zur deutschen Literatur gehört, hier eine deutsche Rezension.
Diese Lektüre ist die dritte in Woche 4 meines 8. Semesters. Gelesen hab ich schon in den Semestern vorher viel, nur dieses Mal verwirrt mich die Lektürenauswahl sehr. (Titel des Seminars: Realistische Wahrnehmung etc). Beim Lesen habe ich mich daher auf einige Beobachtungsvorträge konzentriert, die so ihren Einfluss auf diese Rezi nehmen.
ZUerst jedoch vorweg: Ich bin mir noch nicht sicher, was dieses Buch ausmacht, sodass es zur deutschen Literatur gehört. Es ist eine nett kleine Erzählung über die Biografie eines armen Spielmannes, der einmal gar nicht so arm, aber meist ziemlich unmusikalisch war. Diese Biografie zeigt den Werdegang eines beinahe ausgestoßenen Sohnes, der am Ende seione Erbschaft, sowie seine Liebe verliert, und daraufhin die Menschen mit seiner dissonanten Musik beglückt, sowie dem Sohn seiner Liebe das Geigespielen beibringt. Immer andere vorschiebend verliert er am Ende sein eigenes Leben während er Kinder aus Hochwasserfluten rettet.
Interessant ist, dass die Menschenmenge, mehrfach im Fluß dargestellt, keine Beachtung für den schlechten Musiker übrig hat, bis schließlich der Fluß selbst es ist, der die Beachtung auf den Musiker lenkt als er Kinder aus dem Hochwasser rettet. Danach kann sich der kranke Mann bis nach seinem Tod nicht vor Aufmerksamkeit retten: Seine Taten machten ihm zum Helden.
Verwirrend gestaltet sich die Akustik im Buch. Mehrfach durchbrochen von Musik, hört man jedoch durchgehend erst etwas, wenn auch ein Geschehen damit einhergeht. SO kann vieles übersehen werden, da keine Musik den Fokus lenkt.
Die Charaktere gestalten sich meist als ländlich-grobschlächtig. Selbst die Frauen werden als "nie hübsch" bezeichnet, und ich vermisse durch das ganze Buch hinweg genauere Beschreibungen der Gegend, da lediglich das Volksfest am Anfang eine etwas stärkere Beschreibung und Begründung erhält.
Allgemein war es ein kurzweiliges Lesevergnügen, dessen tieferer Sinn sich mir hoffentlich spätestens Mittwoch im Seminar erschließt...
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
Wirklich eine überraschend tolle Novelle. Der arme Spielmann ist so eine herzensgute Person und ich fand das Ende SO TRAURIG. Die Figur ist einfach der Wahnsinn. Ein unverstandener Außenseiter mit einer wahnsinnigen Leidenschaft für Musik, den ich von der ersten Sekunde an ins Herz geschlossen habe. Auch der Schreibstil hat mir gut gefallen. Ich habe es wirklich sehr schnell lesen können. Ich fand die Geschichte fast schon etwas zu kurz, da hätte man noch mehr machen können finde ich, deshalb leider keine vollen 5 Sterne, aber die Geschichte ist nah dran. Ein tolles Stück Literatur. Leider viel zu unbekannt. Lest es bitte!
A man enters a framing device, that is a folk festival, and sees a poor violinist who has actually brought sheet music instead of just playing from memory. He is so confused by this that he stalks the guy for a bit and gives him money. The musician tells his life story: his dad was wealthy and powerful, but he could never live up to expectations and was shunted off to a dumb office job. Then he heard a girl singing a beautiful song and took up the violin. His father died; he inherited a lot, he wanted to marry the girl, but he invested unwisely and she left him. Now he's a poor street musician who does nothing but play the violin all day to diminishing returns. Then he dies of heroism, because he saves little kids from a flood. The girl who turned him down is sad.
This is, to me, a pretty nothing story. I know it's a german classic but it's not all that exciting. The framing device narrator also seems like kind of a tool, in that Enlightenment/Sturm und Drang sort of I-am-so-sensitive-and-such-a-good-person-but-I-have-so-much-money kind of way. The violinist is interesting, I guess, but I really don't know why this is a thing that would be taught in school. There's not a whole lot there to read into, and the prose is pretty meh. It's kind of your standard wealth does not make happiness story. I guess what interests me most is the implication that despite all his practice etc. the violinist is just really not that good.
Von Franz Grillparzer, den mancher den österreichischen Nationaldichter nannte, der zu Lebzeiten aber so kontrovers wie Peter Handke oder Elfriede Jelinek heute war und lange immer wieder unter der Zensur zu leiden hatte, wollte ich schon lange mal etwas lesen, aber auf Theaterstücke habe ich zurzeit keine gesteigerte Lust. Also wählte ich eine seiner zwei Novellen.
Dies ist ein Stück über einen Bettelmusiker, der zwar nur Katzenmusik zustande bringt, aber umso intensiver das Spiel liebt. In der Rahmenhandlung fällt er einem Wiener Dichter auf, der die kuriose Gestalt näher kennenlernen möchte und sich dessen Lebensgeschichte erzählen lässt. Er hört sodann die traurige Geschichte des an den Anforderungen des Lebens gescheiterten, herzensguten Mannes aus gutem Hause, der gegen Ende der Novelle bei einer guten Tat im Unglück stirbt.
Eine zarte, stille, kleine Geschichte, die mir gut gefallen hat. Für mich steht der Widerspruch zwischen dem Genuss am Spielen bei gleichzeitigem völligen Fehlen jeden Talentes oder Könnens, wie Kindern oft innewohnt, nicht so sehr im Vordergrund, sondern mehr die verschiedenen Schicksalspfade, die Menschen in solche Lebensumstände führt.
Annem beş lira para koydu elime, git kendine kitap al dedi, henüz 11 yaşındayım. Gittim kırtasiyeye bordo siyah yayınlarına baktım. Büyüklerin okuduğu kitaplara benziyorlardı ve üstündeki kapak resimleri çok etkileyiciydi. hem paramın yettiği en güzel kapak resmi olan bu kitaptı; bunu aldım. Eylül ayında henüz okullar açılmadan evvel böyle yağmur yağıyordu ince ince, serindi hani her yer. Sabahları battaniye altında yağmur sesini dinleyerek okumuştum. Bitince bir de anneme okumuştum. O bulaşık yıkardı ben de sesli kitap gibi mutfaktaki sandalyede oturur soğuktan titreye titreye kitabı okurdum. Annemle paylaştığım güzel bir anı olduğu ve ilk bu kitapla okumakta haz aldığımı fark ettiğim için bu kitabın yeri hep ayrı olacaktır.
Fue enormemente especial leer la obra que hacía llorar a nada menos que Franz Kafka. Quizá por eso mi reseña de 5 estrellas, aunque no puedo limitar a ello el impacto que tuvo en mi esta corta historia. Escribí tantas cosas al momento de leerla, en un dispositivo que ya no tengo conmigo, pero aún tras el paso de los meses no olvido el canto hermoso que escuché aquí tanto para el arte auténtico como para los que lo defienden, teniendo o no expectadores, eso no importa. Por vitalidad, por terquedad, por instinto visceral… El pobre músico, que no es tan pobre, lo logró aunque fuera con el temblor de sus torpes manos, y también al lector moderno lo logrará conmover.
In order that the pleasure-seeking multitude might not lack a foretaste of the happiness in store for them, several musicians had taken up their positions on the left-hand slope of the raised causeway. Probably fearing the intense competition, these musicians intended to garner at the propylea the first fruits of the liberality which had here not yet spent itself.
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'The goods carry their own recommendation' - the grocer's daughter
An interesting short story. The framing element of a festival in Vienna is very well written, the main story is melancholic and a bit melodramatic. But the overall simplicity of it reminded me a bit of Melville's Bartleby. It is understandable why the author is considered one of the best writers of Austria in the 19th century.
Naja eine weitere Geschichte über einen bedauernswerten, armen, naiven Dummkopf der alles verliert, sein Zuhause bei der Familie, seinen unbezahlten Job, seine gesamte Erbschaft, seine Liebe. Und eine Frau, die zu Lebzeiten keine wirkliche Interesse zeigt, aber natürlich heimlich verliebt in den Protagonisten ist. Männliches Wunschdenken.
Männer lieben Bücher über pathetisch leidende Männer.
poetico, semplice ed essenziale: come rappresentare il complesso sistema dell'esistenza nella passione pura per la musica. ignota è l'ambizione e, con lei, la presunzione di voler affermarsi nella società.