I was born on March 25th, 1881, in a small place, called Nagyszentmiklós, which now, together with the whole county of Torontál, belongs to Roumania. My mother gave me my first piano lessons when I was 6 years old. My father, who was the head of an agricultural school, was gifted musically and active in many directions. He played the piano, organized an amateur orchestra, learned the 'cello in order to play that instrument in his orchestra, and composed some dance music. I was 8 years old when I lost him. After his death my mother had to work as a school mistress and struggle hard for our daily bread. We first went to live at Nagyszöllös (at present Czechoslovak territory), then to Beszterce in Transylvania (at present Roumanian territory) and in 1893 to Pozsony (Bratislava, at present Czechoslovak territory). I began writing piano music when I was nine years old and made my first public appearance as a “composer” and pianist at Nagyszöllös in 1891; it was therefore a matter of some importance for us to settle at last in a biggish town. Among Hungarian country towns at that time it was Pozsony that had the most vigorous musical life, and by moving there I was given the possibility of having lessons in piano and composition with László Erkel (Ferenc Erkel's son) and also of hearing a few operas, more or less well performed, and orchestral concerts. I had the opportunity, too, of playing chamber-music, and before I was eighteen I had acquired a fairly thorough knowledge of music from Bach to Brahms (though in Wagner's work I did not get further than Tannhäuser). All this time I was also busy composing and was under the strong influence of Brahms and Dohnányi (who was 4 years my senior). Especially Dohnányi's youthful Opus No. 1 influenced me deeply.

Much has been written about Béla Bartók since his death in September, 1945; sorrow and regrets have been virtually poured out by some when discussing the last days of this great master. Indeed, harsh words have been uttered that could be interpreted as indicating that he died utterly penniless and completely neglected. This is not true and those who knew him well will vouchsafe that he himself would have had strong views on such statements.

First of all I must tell you which part of the country we wanted to explore. We went to Southern Anatolia, near the Syrian border, where the Yürüks have their winter camps. The Yürüks are a nomadic tribe who camp in the hilly parts of the South during winter and live high up in the Taurus mountain in summer. We assumed that a tribe that has still kept this ancestral form of life would very likely have preserved many of their old musical customs. That is why we cast our eyes on their land when setting out on our first journey.

With a great master who excelled in many fields of composition, who created great works in orchestral, chamber and piano music, it is often difficult to assess which of these groups is most representative for the expression of his genius. Yet, in Bartók's case, it always seemed to me that his chamber music, even if less in quantity, expresses the essence of his creation. It is in his chamber music that he works with the greatest concentration, economy and clarity of detail, that he utters his most important and profound thoughts. Even if some of his orchestral and concertant works gained greater popularity with the public lately—I think mainly of the Concerto for Orchestra, the Violin Concerto and the Third Piano Concerto—the essential Bartók, I feel, can be found in his chamber music, and particularly in his String Quartets, which tower over contemporary chamber music like a range of high mountain peaks.

Bartók's unique one-act opera lacks all that external stage-curiosity which was an essential part of the late nineteenth-century opera. He does not take over anything directly either from the German or from the Italian type of opera. Both in the musical and dramatic construction Bartók declines to use the well-known schemes. Almost nothing happens on the stage. Apart from some lighting effects, the tricky technical equipment of the modern stage is at a standstill during the performance of Bluebeard's Castle. One could very well imagine a performance of this work on the old Shakespearian stage in its complete simplicity, yet achieving the full effect of the opera. Actually, an abstract stage, concentrating on the essentials of the drama, would be the most suitable for this work.