It would be an error to underestimate the magnitude of Kodály's achievement in his art-songs by relating them too closely to the West European art-song instead of setting them against their national background. He was working almost from scratch: as he remarks in Folk Music of Hungary (p. 13), the country was not musically literate until the end of the 19th century. His songs lack the slow process of evolution which made the Lied: Schubert was the culmination of many centuries of reciprocal interplay between folk music and art music, between music and poetry. To create a Hungarian art-song within the lifetime of a single composer was an act of faith and astonishing audacity, and the true measure of the achievement will probably only come clear after decades, if not centuries.

It is a generally accepted view that the most striking features of Kodály's melodic structure may be explained by the influence of folk song. This is not borne out, however, by more detailed examination. It is true that there are certain features in his melodic types which later undergo a change, and of these a prime example is the precise periodic articulation of the melodies, which is much more consistent in his later compositions than in those of his youth. Such characteristics may indeed be attributed to the influence of folk music, but in general the typical Kodály melody existed before he could have come into close contact with folk music in the year when he made his first folk song collecting trip. Of his compositions from the years 1904–1906, the only work we can consider from the viewpoint of melodic structure is the ‘Adagio’ for violin and piano; the other two compositions, Evening for mixed voice choirs and Summer Evening for orchestra, are known only in their later revised form of 1930. This, however, is sufficient to convince us that the expansive declamation and the structural ornamentation which is an organic part of its idiom continue an instrumental tradition whose origin may well go back to chamber music of the Baroque age, with its broad-flowing slow movements. This also seems to be substantiated by the piano part, which replaces impressionistic harmonies with those which may be analysed in accordance with classical harmonic principles. This characteristic harmonisation requires mention here, although it is not closely connected with the problem of melodic structure, since even the most complicated of Kodály's harmonies, when stripped of their embellishments, reveal pure ‘classical’ chords as their basis. The role of the melody in this problem serves merely to emphasise that with Kodály, perhaps more than any other composer, harmony is never an end in itself, but is always the result of the movement of the melody. If the word did not have more significance than we wish to attribute to it here, we might say that Kodály's harmony is only secondary to melody. This word ‘secondary’, however, does not refer to expression, but merely attempts to shed light on the matter of origin, by stressing the supreme importance of melody for Kodály.

Why does the story, which has not been told before, have such a familiar ring to us in Britain? The biography of Zoltán Kodály, written in 1956 by László Eősze has now been well translated into English (Collet's, 35/–), and brought up to date to include Kodály's last visit to this country (1960) and the composition of his Symphony in C (1961). In 1961 there also appeared in an English version, with a special preface for English readers, his authoritative book Folk Music of Hungary (Barrie and Rockliff, 35/–), which also struck a responsive chord in the minds of English readers. True, they had had Bartók's book on the same subject on their shelves for thirty years and so had realized that the tunes of Liszt, Korbay, Magyary Imre and Hungarian restaurants were not true Hungarian folksongs. No, it is not previous knowledge of what happened in Hungary, now presented to us in full detail, that makes it all familiar, it is that we have had the same experience here ourselves.

The most important musical event of the present musical season took place on the evening of January 10th, when Zoltán Kodály's Two Songs were performed for the first time at the Philharmonic Society's concert. A large part of the daily press ‘appreciated’ Kodály's art by criticising it in the most vitriolic terms while one paper even launched a personal attack on him.

When searching for Hungarian character in music, we must start out from a wider circle, where we can still find some traces of it, and then work towards increasing density. A linguist pays attention to words which can be found scattered in Latin documents or words which were picked up by foreign authors in a distorted or misinterpreted form. Sometimes one finds a phrase of melody also in a foreign musical work, the rhythm of which we feel to be of Hungarian provenance. Therefore it is necessary for us to examine the works of foreign composers, which by title or by theme, contain some Hungarian characteristics. It is possible that they have preserved Hungarian melodies, the Hungarian source of which cannot be found. On the other hand there are certain works which can approach the Hungarian character in music without taking over melodies at all. The existence of a special Hungarian musical idiom is proved by the fact that also foreigners can learn it, and can use it, as a language, well or badly. However, the nationality of the composer may be superimposed—especially in more serious works—on the foreign melodies he has borrowed. Beethoven's works based on Russian themes cannot be called Russian music, nor his Turkish March Turkish. In his Scottish songs he adapted even Scottish melodies to his own musical language. Still there is a ‘cantus firmus’ and, in some cases, we can speak about bilingual music when accompaniment and melody belong to two different musical languages.

One day during the summer, after a long and widely ranging discussion, I left Kodály starting a Greek lesson. On another day we were to lunch together. Could I, he asked, walk to the restaurant? He, I discovered, had spent the earlier part of the morning walking in the Buda Hills. Kodály's physical activity and his zest for living are combined with a vivid intellectual energy, a splendid sense of humour, and an equal zest for learning. In analysis he is shrewd, in exposition direct. In short he has the qualities that one would look for in a teacher—in this context a school-teacher. That is what Kodály is, and as such he is, in the field of music, unique, for he remains at the same time a great composer.

Kodály has done deservedly well at the hands of the record companies over the years, but it is very much a fluctuating success. One of the main problems of providing any comment on Kodály records is that they disappear from the catalogue almost as fast as they arrive. The latest list of deletions for example contains what I count the most impressive Kodály chamber music issue, the Second String Quartet played by the Hungarian Quartet (coupled with Villa-Lobos No. 6). Its disappearance leaves a bad gap in the chamber music representation. Similarly a fine account of the Psalmus Hungaricus from Berlin under Fricsay has disappeared recently without trace.