英日対訳:The Northern Fiddler北の大地のフィドラー達('79/'85)第19回 3部(4/8)カシディ夫妻へのインタビュー







London / New York / Sydney / Cologne 









Con Cassidy 




Conversation with Con and Mary Kate Cassidy 




Were those Irish marches you were playing just now Con? 





No, I wouldn't think so. If my memory serves me right, it was an English army brass band that was recruiting on a fair day in Carrick about 1917. If they managed to get a shilling into your pocket, off you went into the army. Frank Cassidy would learn these marches from the brass bands. He was very quick to pick up music. There was a priest in Carrick who was very friendly with Frank's sisters who were running a drapery shop in Carrick. He was very musical and he had a gramophone. Frank was playing for a while and the priest said to him: 'Well now Frank, I'd like to test your ear and I'm going to play a difficult piece of classical music till I see about how many times I would have to play it for you to pick it up.' So he played it once, and when he was finished, Frank says: 'Father, play it again please.' So he played it a second time, and Frank played it on the fiddle note for note. Now twice was very good for classical piece. 





Did most of the traditional tunes that Frank played come from the Teelin area, or were they from outside the townland? 





He got a good few of his tunes from the Doherty's and there was a crowd before them, the McConnells, who he learned a lot from. Frank and his brother Johnny were the first of the Cassidys to play the fiddle. My father was musical but he never played an instrument. In those days these traveling people were around quite often playing for dances and often stopped for months in Teelin. Frank and Johnny had every opportunity to pick up their tunes. They had dances every night and when they weren't playing at night, they were playing in the house they were stopping in during the daytime. 






(continued C.C.) 

There was continually music. I never really heard any good fiddlers in Teelin before that crowd who learned from the Dohertys and the McConnells. They were nearly the one age. Frank Cassidy, Mick McShane, Jimmy Lyons. They were the first Teelin men to play good fiddle that I heard of. Before that, the people of this area preferred the pipes. There came a bloke around. Hughie Gallagher, and where he would be the whole district would be running to that house. I was too small a boy to take an interest in the music, but I couldnt believe my ears when I heard the sound of the pipes way off the in the distance. I wouldnt be allowed near that house, I was too small. I remember sitting on a hill about a quarter mile distance from where that man was playing. I remember sitting to bedtime if I didnt get lonely. But there was no pipe players in Teelin that I knew of. There wasnt much instrumental players in Teelin before Franks time. Singing was the great go in those days. Before Frank there might be a mouth organ, of a trump (jews harp) or maybe two together lilting a tune. There were great lilters: much better than I could hear on Radio Eireann now. There was a man down the road there, he was the best lilter I ever heard. Id as love to listen to him as any instrument because he could put variations in at any old time; he was wonderful. 




Did the dancing change when the fiddle became popular? 





No, it never changed till the old jazz came in and the old-fashioned dances went out except for the old waltz Now Frank has a sort of style of his own on the fiddle even when he took it off the gramophone. He would put in his own variations he hadnt the Doherty style, he played more in the McConnell style, he was a long bower. While Mick McShane and Conny Haughey were short bowers. 





I was always under the impression that fiddling was going on in Teelin for hundreds of years. 





No. There were a few old men: they werent up to standard. You know now before my time there were a lot more fiddlers in Glencolumbkille than there is now. I would say fiddling there goes back a good bit. On the way into the glen there was a man called John Mosey McGinley, his father was Mosey then he was called John Mosey. He was the best traditional fiddle player in Ireland according to all the stories we heard about him. They held a fleadh in those days; he was at a big gathering somewhere in Ireland. He wore very simple clothes a homespun jacket and he didnt carry any case, he had his fiddle in a canvas bag. All the big noises were there. It was only the big noises who could afford to run these things in the old days. They looked on John as nothing. What could he play? What could he know about the fiddle? Eventually some man spoke in his favor and he got on to whatever sort of stage was there and started to play. But before he did start to play at all, they were gathering up stones and bits of sod to throw at him. He wasnt playing long when the stones were dropped down by their sides. He won that contests. 





Where did you learn Kitty in the Lane? 


「Kitty in the Lane」を教わったのは誰からですか? 



I learned it from an old lady up above. When she was sitting at the fire in good humor you would hear her lilting this tune. We werent trying to pick it up. I dont know where she got it from, but she came across the water from the parish of Kilcar. 







How did you learn to play the fiddle? 





I don't think I ever got onto it, but I started it when I was eight or nine. My father was interested in me taking on the fiddle. He took me down to Frank Cassidy one night. Frank was much older than I was. He was going out with a girl friend and he was probably annoyed he had to stay in this night to learn me something on the fiddle. The tune he started to learn me was the 'Money Musk,' just the bones of it. I got halfway through it, I was slow to learn. I didn't go down anymore then, I was just working away on my own in a neighbor's house where there was a tin fiddle. Sometime you're better off to learn something from your own brain than to go to somebody else. You might get a wee bit upset, but not being quick enough. 


自分としては本格的に取り組んだとは、思っていません。ただ、フィドルを弾き始めたのは、8歳か9歳の頃です。父が私に、フィドルを習わせてみたら面白いんじゃないか、と考えたのです。ある夜、父は私を、フランク・カシディのところへ連れて行ったんです。フランクは私よりもずっと年上でした。その夜は、ガールフレンドとデートに出かける予定があったようでしたから、家に残って私にフィドルを教える羽目になるなんて、多分ご機嫌斜めだったでしょう。まず最初に「Money Musk」という曲を、もう始めから徹底的に行くぞ、という感じでしたよ。半分くらいしか、彼が教えてくれることを、吸収できませんでした。私は人より物覚えが遅いんですよ。その夜は、それ以上は先に進めませんでした。とりあえず、一人で練習することにしました。近所にティン・フィドルを持っている家があったので、そこでね。時には誰かに教えてもらうよりも、自分ひとりで練習したほうが遥かにマシだ、ということもあります。上手く行かずに少々イラツクこともあるでしょうが、あっという間に身につけばいい、ということばかりでもないでしょうから。 



When did you start playing for dances? 





We used to play three or four together. I was maybe sixteen or seventeen; before that we weren't allowed to dance. They were all in country houses. Every kitchen was big and they were always overcrowded. There'd be half as many outside the door dancing. I often seen them dancing on the pier. Oh, that was great go in the summertime. I remember Francie Byrne, he spent three or four winters in Teelin. He was in Teelin every night. I would say he was very musical. He would come by boat from across the water and every time he came he had a new tune with him, a new highland or jig every time. They would always start the time of October on the haystacks. There might be four or five haystacks to make on the one day; well, they couldn't have four or five dances. There would be one or two girls in those houses who would invite the other girls into the area. The Highland quicksteps, quadrilles, barndances and lancers were all the go. You would pull a girl out whether she danced or not. She soon come on to the step. The old stepdance was called the breakdown. The dancer would change the steps any time he wanted. They had every sort of trick. Sometimes the door would be taken off the hinges and placed on the floor: that way the dancer could make plenty of noise. There would be two facing the other, then they would change; the man who was up would go down. 





So the girls would take a fancey to them. 





What type of tunes would you play for the breakdown? 





Reels always; oh they had their special reels. I once saw two people dance the 'Maggie Pickie' - the tongs would be laid out on the floor and opened out a bit. The dancer could go right over it and the secret was not to touch the tongs at all. It was wonderful how it could be done. 


常にリールです。そう、それも、それ用のリールというのがあるんですよ。私が一度見たのは2人の人が踊っていた、曲は「Maggie Pickie」、これはですね、火ばさみを数本、少し開き気味に床に置くんですね。踊り手はそのすぐ向こう側で踊るのですが、コツは、床においてある数本の火ばさみを踏まないことです。上手く行った時の様子は、見ごたえがありましたよ。 



Would you learn most of your tunes at the dances? 










Would you ever visit a fiddler in his house? 





No, never, I wasn't that interested then. 





How long would the dances go on for? 







They'd go from eight or nine to six o'clock in the morning at times. Sometimes earlier. It would be getting dark before the stacks would be finished and tea would be over; maybe there were a few drinks and maybe there'd be a fiddler in the crowd that was helping with the stack. He might start to play and it would begin there and then at the stacks. It was a great old time. People seemed to enjoy life better than they do now. They had no money. They didn't want no money. Nowadays you can't rise out unless you have money. A different life altogether ... The first thing that stopped the dancing; they put all these partitions in the kitchen and they were too small for dancing. One got the idea from the other, and at long time all the country houses had partitions. 





The life was different in the country now as to whom we were growing up. We did nothing at night, but the night you would have a date with a boy outside and away walking for the night. And maybe some girls were lucky enough to have a man who had a few shillings in his pocket and would buy them a packet a sweets. That pleased them well enough. Well, he was now only six pennies out of pocket with his girl for the night. In the days gone by, there never was a man who took a girl for a cup of tea that I know of, unless he came from soome other land. You wouldn't get a up of tea from your man and you were like a bear with hunger, coming home looking for a cup of tea. That was in my day. I don't know what happened before that. Ten times worse I suppose! 





They were rough fiddlers before Frank and his crowd. I remember an old man being put up at our house, where I was brought up, towards Bunglas. My fiddle was hung up on the wall. 'Oh,' I says, 'Will you play a tune?' 'Indeed,' he says, 'I will.' So he took down the fiddle and rosined up the bow. I thought he'd make two shares out of the bow. He took the hair away out about nine inches on the rod. He broke the rosin with his fingers and then he drew it on the bow. I couldn't see him behind a cloud of rosin. He started and he played 'Drowsy Maggie,' and when he finished, he says: 'My good lad, two more of them would finish her.' You see the fiddle would go to pieces after two more tunes like that. They were good rough players. 


フランクとか、彼と同じ世代のフィドル奏者が出てくる前には、フィドル奏者の中にも乱暴な連中がいました。今でも憶えているのが、あるお年寄りなんですけどね、ドニゴール県のバングラスへ向かう途中、私達が住んでいた家に、一晩宿をとっていた時のことです。私は自分のフィドルを、壁にかけていました。「そうだ、一曲弾いていただけませんか?」と私が言うと、そのお年寄りは「もちろんです」といって、壁からフィドルを取ると、弓に松ヤニをつけるわけです。なんかだ、松ヤニを半分にぶった切ろうとしているのかな、と思ってしまいました。ロッドの毛を10数センチほど取ってしまい、松ヤニを指で割って、それを弓にこすりつけるのです。粉ぼこりがたって、そのお年寄りの顔が見えなくなるほどでした。そして「Drowsy Maggie」を弾き始めたのです。弾き終えるとこういいました。「坊っちゃん、もうあと2曲弾いたら、この楽器壊れていたなあ。」そんな楽器の扱い方をしていたら、もう後2曲弾いたら、そりゃ粉々になりますよ。昔は本当に、乱暴なフィドル奏者がいたもんです。 




Con Cassidy, Teileann fiddle player, playing two reels, Last Night's Fun, and Rakish Paddy. Recorded in Ballyshannon in October 1982.  

【本編最終】英日対訳:T.ビーチャム自叙伝A Mingled Chime第40章(2/2)「牧歌的」とは/結審~追記








During the summer of 1923 I spent a few pleasant weeks in the execution of a long cherished design for which I had never before found the time or opportunity. For several years a play-giving society, the Phoenix, had been giving special performances of old pieces, mainly of the Elizabethan and Restoration epochs. I cannot say that they were very well done, for the conditions of production were haphazard and the time available for necessary preparation too hmited. But most of the best actors and actresses of London took part in them at some time or other, and I considered that with adequate rehearsal and a handsome production, it should be possible to bring off a revival of Fletcher’s The Faithful Shepherdess. Since the day I first read it in the library of Montserrat, this lovely work had been an especial favorite of mine; I had never seen it on the stage, I could find no record of it having been given for years, and I thought it high time it were rescued from neglect and the public reminded of its existence.  




I secured Norman Wilkinson to design the scenery and costumes, four of the most charming actresses in town, and a highly accomplished regisseur, Edith Craig. As the play contained several songs and chorases, and seemed to cry out for additional music here and there, I tried the experiment of having an orchestral accompaniment throughout; but so arnnged as to interfere in no way with the clear enunciation of the text. I selected fragments from Handel, Mozart, and my old friends the French masters of the eighteenth century, and added a few connecting links of my own. But I could find nothing to fit Fletcher’s lyrics, and happening to meet a gifted young Italian who had a pretty knack of writing in some of the old styles, I procured from him a set of songs which we ascribed to fictitious composers and which were hailed by the cognoscenti as authentic period pieces. The judgment of the audiences was that here was a delightful entertainment, and Havelock Ellis, as good an Elizabethan scholar as any, sacrificed a summer day by the sea to come up to town and write an appreciation of it in his Impressions and Comments.*  

私は画家のノーマン・ウィルキンソンに、舞台背景画と衣装のデザインを、ロンドンを拠点とする指折りの女優達の中から4人に出演を、そして腕利きの舞台監督であるエディス・クレイグと、参画契約を取り付けた。この演目には、独唱と合唱がいくつか含まれていていて、私から見ると、あちこちに更に曲を追加する必要があるように思えた。全体を通して管弦楽伴奏を付けてみようと思ったのだが、作品の作り込み方がすごくて、セリフを明確に伝えようとすると、それが適わないのだ。私はヘンデルモーツアルト、それと私には馴染みの、18世紀に活躍したフランスの実力派作曲家達の曲からいつくかフレーズを探し、それらのつなぎには、私自身が曲を書こうとした。だがフレッチャーのセリフにピッタリ合うものが、どうしても見つからない。そんな時偶然にも、ある優秀な若手イタリア人作曲家と、お目にかかることができた。彼は古い時代の形式で曲を書く才能が素晴らしくいくつか曲を提供してもらうことができた。これを架空の、複数の作曲家達のものだということにした。何人かの音楽評論家達からも、然るべき時代の作風を備えているとして、受け入れてもらった。客ウケの方は、楽しい気分で観てもらえたようであった。その中のひとり、心理学者でエリザベス朝演劇の研究も手掛けているハヴロック・エリスは、わざわざ夏の暑い時期に、一日掛けて海辺の街まで観に来てくれた。お気に召していただけたようで、彼の「Impression And Comments」に、次のような寄稿をされていた。 





* Now for the first time I clearly realize what the Arcadian Pastoral of which this is so admirable a type represents in the history of the human spirit.  




That the Pastoral is the manifestation of an artificial mood of unreal playfulness in life seems usually to have been taken for granted. And it was so. But so to regard it and to leave the matter there is to overlook the motive source of its inspiration and the cause of its power. How it arose, the really essential question is left unanswered.  




When we consider that question we see that however artificially unreal the pastoral poem, novel, or play may seem to us it arose primarily as a reaction against an artificially unreal and dissolving culture. The pastoral never originated in an integral, simple, vigorous, straightforward stage of culture still within actual sight of true pastoral life. The pastoral belongs not to an age of strong faith and rugged action but rather to an age when faith has become uncertain and action hesitant or tortuous,  an age when criticism comes to be applied to what seems a dissolute time, a time to find and hypocrisy a time which has lost its old ideals. 




Fletcher, following the Italians who had earlier realized the same thing in their more advanced culture, understood or else instinctively felt that the time had come in the course of the Renaissance mood, then even in England approaching its end, to  find enchanting by contrast with his own age the picture of the old, strong, simple, pagan age such as tradition represented it, yet touched with a tincture of what was sweetest and purest in the Christian world. Such a form of art, a pastoral tragicomedy, Fletcher called it, has its superficial aspects and artificial unreality but beneath that is the life blood of a genuine impulse of art exactly adapted as such a spirit of Fletcher's, so sensitively human and so finely cultured, could not fail to make it, to the situation of the immediately post Elizabethan age of the early 17th century.  




For the general public, at all events that of the theatre, it appeared a little prematurely because they were not themselves yet dear where they stood. It was not till after a century later that the age having become more conscious of its own state was  enabled to enjoy The Faithful Shepherdess and Pepys' notes that it is 'much thronged after and often shown.'  




Today after centuries of neglect, by those few people privileged to be present, it is again approved and is perhaps the most genuinely and enthusiastically applauded of the Phoenix's excellent revivals of old plays.  






The admirable zeal of the Department of Inland Revenue, which a few years earlier had sought to obtain income tax returns from the authors of The Beggar’s Opera, written over two hundred years before, was now directed to the case of Fletcher who died in 1625. One day I received a request for his address which they had been unable to trace, and on the principle of being helpful whenever possible, I replied that to the best of my knowledge it was the South aisle of Southwark Cathedral, that he had been there for quite a time and in all probability was not contemplating an early removal.  




During the autumn and winter I was employed constantly over the business of achieving independence for the various interests still involved in the Chancery scheme and subject to the yoke of the executors. I had make the acquaintance of a man of arresting personality, Philip Hill, who talked more sense about the position of our affairs than any one else I had yet met, and invoked his aid to prepare in collaboration with Nicholas a project which would successfully accomplish my purpose. This he agreed to give if I would also make use of the services of Sir Arthur Wheeler of Leicester, an outside broker of repute. As he could have called up the Witch of Endor for all I cared, provided she could have been of assistance, I accepted the condition without demur.  




The basis of the project was to unite the Covent Garden Estate and the St. Helens business in one entity, the former representing solid capital value and the latter the lure of substantial income. Something like two million pounds were to be raised by a public issue of debentures and preference shares, with a much smaller denomination of ordinary shares, not at present to be marketed. The consent of all parties concerned was required, but as each one was about to receive the maximum to which he or she was entitled, there was no opposition. The customary amount of “squeezing” and “greasing” which had been expected was forthcoming and accommodated at the eleventh hour. In most big deals there are always certain people who, without the smallest legitimate claim to a farthing, have a nuisance value through being able to pull a string or two the wrong way at a critical moment The financial arrangements being completed, we proceeded to the Chancery Court for its approval and blessing, and there we were first met by some of our counsel (there were about a dozen altogether, representing mostly children bom and unborn), who informed me that in their opinion the scheme as it stood had little chance of receiving the sanction of the Court Would it not be better to amend it in such a way that judicial approval would be assured beyond doubt? This was really too much, and I told them that we had spent nine solid months in preparing this particular scheme, that we had not the slightest intention of altering one word of it, and that we were going before the judge there and now. And in we went. The document having been duly read, the judge asked if all the parties were in agreement, and the answer being in the affirmative, directed that the order which we were seeking should be made. The hearing was over; it had lasted less than a quarter of an hour, and the learned ornaments of the Bar could hardly believe the evidence of their ears.  




Thus ended the troubled and anxious period which began with the death of my father in October of 1916 and ended that May morning of 1924 in the High Court of England. My task was completed, and I could now resume my old career, or take up  another. Anyway, I was free once more to do as I liked.  












I have not carried my story beyond this point. It would have been difficult to give an account of my activities between 1924 and the present day that had the unbroken line of continuity visible throughout the earlier period. Within twelve months after the conclusion of the proceedings related above, I retired from direct  participation in all business matters without re-entering definitely for some years the musical field. It is true that in every season I conducted a number of concerts and occasionally an opera performance, but these events were not of my own organizing and formed no part of any outstanding project. I had abandoned my old role of impresario, propagandist, and artist in one, many fresh factors having appeared to bring about the change.  




A new opera company had risen upon the mins of the old, younger musicians were coming to the front, and, more important than aU, the invention of radio held the threat of revolutionizing the social body of the land. When I had finally completed my commercial labors, the England which I surveyed had undergone some marked changes and for the time being stood in no need of any enterprise of mine. This phase continued until the collapse or ill-success of one venture after another brought me back toward the close of the twenties into the arena of practical musical affairs. Meanwhile I had availed myself of an immunity from managerial cares to ejriend my purely artistic work to other countries. I appeared regularly in nearly all the great continental centers and in 1928 paid my first professional visit to the United States. In 1931 I brought back the Russian opera to London; in 1932 I founded the London Philharmonic Orchestra and in the same year renewed my association with the Covent Garden Opera House, From that time until the outbreak of war I held there the post of Artistic Director and during our various seasons introduced to London a fair number of new works, of which the more notable were the Angelina, of Strauss, the Koanga of Delius, the Schwanda of Weinberger, and the Don Juan de Manara of Goossens. In the concert room the London Philharmonic Orchestra had earned a reputation second to none in the world and took part in the bulk of the important concerts of the metropolis. While the fatality of war has proved powerless to interfere with the career of the orchestra, it closed the doors of Covent Garden, for without the cooperation of French, Italian, German, and American artists, no further seasons of international character could be undertaken. In 1940 I fulfilled a long standing promise to visit Australia and, on the conclusion of a lengthy stay, made my way to Canada and later on to the United States, where I have since been resident.  




Frederick Theodore Albert Delius (1862-1934) 

La Calinda from Koanga 

Sir Thomas Beecham (1879-1961), Conductor 

London Philharmonic Orchestra 

Rec. 11 February 1938, in London 

ラ・カリンダ - 歌劇「コアンガ」より 


英日対訳:T.ビーチャム自叙伝A Mingled Chime第40章(1/2)復活に向けて/戦争の爪痕/ディーリアスの死








Up to this moment I had known very little of Louis Nicholas. Although I had met him on various occasions during the past four or five years, it was always in company with others, executors and lawyers who were, so to speak, on the other side of  the table. But from the moment I made it clear that I was out for business and ready to devote all my time to it, he too was seized with the urge to set about the task. Fortunately the senior executor, who was also chairman of the board, was a man of sound practical sense who gave us willing and regular support, and a little later on we had the cooperation of my brother, who until now had been giving all his time to the administration of the St. Helens business.  




The plan in front of us was simple and divided into two parts, like the Estate itself, which consisted of the market and a further half dozen acres on which were theaters, hotels, office buildings and even churches. At the inception of the scheme in 1918 the amount owed to the former owners was £1,500,000; to the bank £500,000; and to the Residuary estate £575,000; and although the bank loan had been considerably reduced it was still standing at a high figure. The two courses indicated were to sell as much of the non-market portion as possible and to increase the revenue of the remainder. The moment was not inauspicious, for ground values were rising and the leading marketeers having all done extremely well in the War had money to invest. The detailed proceedings of commerce never fail to be tedious in narrative, and it is no part of my intention to bore the reader willingly. It is enough to say that for over two years I sat daily in the newly built offices of the company and completed satisfactorily the labor we had undertaken by selling over a million pounds of property and materially increasing the revenue of the balance. These transactions, aided by the accumulated profits of the business, wiped away a large slice of our load of debt and paved the way for the retirement of the executors and the termination of the Chancery proceedings. The ultimate plan we had in mind was a public flotation of the sort that had been intended nearly ten years earlier; but before this could be undertaken it was necessary to remove from our path the Receiving Order, which all this while had been lying harmlessly dormant. The executors therefore applied to the Court for permission to pay on my behalf a portion of the business income that had been amassing during the past five years to the Official Receiver, who rejoiced greatly and departed from our midst. This stirring event took place in the spring of 1923, and although the Order had been next door to a dead letter, it was none the less a relief to get rid of it, as its existence served to remind that there was an ever-present cloud in my sky.  




But this period taken as a whole was without doubt the most trapquil and orderly that I had known since my first entrance into public life. The settled routine of oEce work furnished the most complete contrast to that of the opera house, where such things as regular hours were a frank impossibflity. It had not been an uncommon experience for me to spend the entire day in the theater, conduct a performance at night, and remain there until well into the early hours of the next morning, Esposing of problems that had arisen out of the belatedness of a production or the sudden inEsposition of a singer. During one particular season I did not leave the building for a moment during three days and nights, sleeping on a sofa in my room.  




Looking back on my business years, I cannot but believe that they were a fortunate interlude in every way beneficial for me mentally and physically. For over a decade and a half I had been working at high pressure with little opportunity for recreation, and the aflEairs of the musical world had become a slightly unhealthy obsession. The migration into an wholly different environment reestablished an equilibrium slightly unsettled by the prolonged concentration on a single task, and the contact with a class of mind which looked with another vision upon the interests which had been of paramount importance to me, helped to readjust it upon a steadier basis.  




I was fortunate too in the character of the job I had undertaken, which had none of the tedious round of ordinary office duties. For it was no typical commercial concern I was assisting to direct and develop, but a highly complex organization with an individual system of its own. The Covent Garden market, although constituted as we know it today in 1825 , is of much greater antiquity, being formerly the convent garden of an ecclesiastical establishment of the middle ages. Through centuries it grew from the modest state of a private possession to the proud position of the world’s most famous entrepot for fruit, flowers, and vegetables. The produce of every quarter of the globe finds a way into its shops and stalls, and London throughout the year has a fuller and more regular supply of them than any other great center. Working under a Royal Charter, it is a community picturesquely set apart from most others, vaunting a police contingent of its own and a group of public houses freed from the customary restrictions of licensing regulations. Most of the heavy work that goes on, the arrival and unloading of goods in trucks and lorries, begins about eleven at night and continues through the earlier part of the morning. By six o’clock in the evening an area that for about eight hours has been the most congested in the metropolis takes on the appearance of a deserted village, through which one may stroll without meeting any but a few officials or passers by. But while the machine is running at top speed the scene to the casual visitor is one of bewildering confusion and creates the impression that no method yet invented can ever restore it again to a condition of seemliness and calm.  




From time to time proposals have been advanced to shift the market to some outlying and less centralized locality, where it might interfere less with the transit of private motor cars or perambulators. These have generally emanated from that type of political brain which finds its greatest happiness in uprooting some ancient and useful institution. In the present instance it was entirely overlooked that it is in the nature of a market to be a hub, and the more thronged it is, the more unmistakably is it fulfilling the purpose for which it exists. But moving around historic landmarks, together with thousands of persons whose occupations are linked inseparably with them, offers no difficulty to that mechanized species of intelligence, which, in this writer’s opinion, is one of the major curses of an age, whose respect for the value and dignity of human life is less than has been known for a thousand years.  




My freedom from the responsibilities of musical management had given me more opportunity for travel, and in 1922 I went over to Germany. My first point of call was Cologne, and I stopped at the hotel which I had known before the war. The manager related how severely they had suffered from the air raids of the Allies, not so much through actual damage as from the noise of the machines, whose constant comings and goings had robbed the inhabitants of sleep for about six weeks before the armistice. The train which took me along the Rhine to Wiesbaden had no blinds on the windows, and as it was a very hot day the journey was distinctly unpleasant. Homburg, which I remembered as a fashionable and flourishing spa, was almost empty, and an air of gloomy desolation hung over the place. One day I drove into the pine woods to a large chalet for lunch, which formerly at this time of day was crowded with people of every nationality. Two waiters attended to my wants, one of whom before the war had been at the Midland Hotel in Manchester, while the other had looked after the floor in the Grand Hotel, London, where Jimmy White had had his first suite of offices. They both asked me if I could take them back with me, but I reminded them ihat the French and British armies of occupation were still in their country and, from what I knew, were likely to remain there for some time. Until their departure and for some time after it, I felt certain that no ex-enemy alien would be admitted to England to take up any kind of job.  




Frankfurt proved to be a little brighter, but the shadow of defeat darkened the atmosphere there also, and the cycle of the mark’s dizzy flight into a financial stratosphere had already begun. It was in this district that a year later I witnessed a spectacle calculated to turn white in an hour the hair of any Victorian economist and pull down for all time from its high seat the majesty of paper money. In one portion of it, under French (or English) control, the value of a cow was in the region of fifteen of our pounds, while a few miles off, where a mark was the unit of currency, a sister of the same animal could have been bought for a penny.  




From here I went through Strasbourg to Paris, which I had not seen since the spring of 1919 when it was filled with the envoys of fifty nations and their satellites, and almost in a state of carnival. This time I could not help noticing how much more slowly it was recovering than London; and how the French seemed to have been hit more severely by the war than the English. The general tone of the city was subdued, some of the old restaurants had fallen by the way, and the cuisine in many of the others was not as in olden days. I went out to Fontainebleau to see Delius and was worried by his appearance, which had deteriorated since his last visit to London two and a half years ago. I questioned his wife, who admitted that he was having trouble with his eyes and a general lassitude in his limbs. As I scrutinized him, I recalled the vigorous athletic figure that had climbed mountains with me only fourteen years before. He was not yet sixty and had no business to be looking like that. I begged them to call in a specialist, as they were employing a homeopathic doctor, and they promised to do so. I did not see him again for some years, when I learned that my advice had not been followed, that the malady which then had been in an incipient stage, had taken a firm grip of him and that it was almost too late to save the situation. I made one more effort by bringing over from London an authority on such cases, who prescribed what it was ascertained afterwards was the only course of treatment likely to be effective. But once again the blind belief in homeopathy prevailed and nothing came of it. The disease took precisely the course my expert had predicted, and Delius, although surviving another eight years, spent the last six of them in total blindness and paralysis.  




Wagner : The Flying Dutchman - Overture 

London Philharmonic Orchestra 

Thomas Beecham 

英日対訳:The Northern Fiddler北の大地のフィドラー達('79/'85)第18回 3部(3/8) コン・カシディ~インタビュー




London / New York / Sydney / Cologne 






p 127 


Con Cassby 





The musical tradition of Donegal experienced several transformations over the years. The oral history of the area clearly indicates definite periods of transition and development. We can only rely on this folk memory and an analysis of the repertoire and styles that have come down to us in order to characterise the different stages in the music. Certain patterns are known for certain. Beginning in the late eighteenth century there existed a highly skilled sub-culture of travelling musicians in Donegal who exerted a strong influence on the instrumental dance music of the region. Their favorite instruments were the fiddle, the Highland bagpipes and, less often, the uilleann pipes. These traveling players were possibly the last link between the peasantry and the older court culture of the Gaelic order. The inaccessible and mountainous country of Donegal and probably become a place of refuge for these musicians in a time when the court culture was being suppressed by the English. It was the intervention of the harpers, poets and clan pipers into the musical life of the peasantry that radically affected the direction of music throughout Ireland. In Donegal where instruments were scarce the farmers absorbed the music of the traveling musicians through the medium of a complex style of mouth music. All the fiddlers we talked to agree on this one point: that before the fiddle became widely used for dances there existed an elaborate style of lilting, or mouth music, that accompanied the dances. This lilting tradition existed alongside the instrumental tradition and may have been older but eventually supplanted by it. 



According to the local musicians, it was a lilting style completely unlike anything heard today in other parts of Ireland where lilting is still practiced. The mouth music possessed a distinct repertoire of tunes, many of which disappeared with the lilting style when the fiddle became popular. Since there was a period of time when the instrumental and vocal dance music traditons co-existed, there must have been a cross-influence of style. Some of the old lilting sound can still be heard in the graceful fiddling of Con Cassidy, the last active fiddler to be found in the fishing village of Teelin today. He is a first cousin of John and Frank Cassidy, two legendary fiddlers who helped make Teelin a centre among the coastal villages for country house dancing during the two decades between the First and Second World Wars. In talking to Con, a man in his mid-sixties, I was surprised to learn that the practice of local fiddling in Teelin dated back only to the opening years of the century. Before that it was either the local lilters or traveling musicians like the McConnells and the Dohertys who provided the music for the country house dances. It was John and Frank Cassidy along with other men of their generation born just before the turn of the century who picked up fiddling from the Doherty and McConnell families. They drew on the music of the traveling musicians and the tunes of the older generations of lilters in order to forge a local Teelin style of dance music. Con insisted that any fiddlers who happened to play before the time of the Cassidys in Teelin were 'scrapers' who had only mastered the very basic rudiments of the instruments and played only a few tunes. He could only remember one such player. I asked him how he could be sure that there weren't good fiddlers in Teelin 100 or 150 years ago. He answered me simply: 'Our parents would have mentioned any good fiddler to us.' He was right. In Teelin, a community that has persisted in speaking Irish when it has gone out of fashion in nearby villages, the folk memory is a long one, and singers and dancers who lived generations ago are still talked about. 





What can be gathered from the development of dance music in Teelin is a recent model of a process that must have affected other Donegal communities over a two hundred year period. In this process of musical change, isolated communities possessed a tradition of vocal music as a result of their exposure to instrumental music through the repeated visits of traveling musicians eventually learned to play these instruments themselves, and abandoned the vocal music. Con Cassidy pointed out that singing as well as lilting suffered from the popular taste for fiddling and ceased to be as common a practice at the house parties as it once was. 



Since the adaptation of the fiddle by the rural communities was staggered over two hundred years, and due to the fact that the various districts were often separated by natural boundaries and bad roads, several styles of fiddling sharing common characteristics developed in Donegal (see appendix on fiddle styles). 



(photo on p128: Farmhouse. Glencolumbkille, Co Donegal) 




When we first met Con Cassidy he claimed he could give us only a half hour's worth of music as he was out of practice. That first session lasted well into the early hours of the morning. Since that time we had had many sessions in which Con unearthed some of the lovely tunes which were played at the dances fifty years ago. He plays in a light quick-fingered style which Frank Cassidy had adopted from the playing of Alec McConnell. Like the other Teelin fiddlers of that generation, Con steers away from playing in what is known as the 'Pipers' style' with its attempt to duplicate the droning sounds of the Highland pipes. The effect of his playing is that of a long continuous flow of melody, as opposed to the more rhythmic staccato short-bow style that is popular in Glencolumbkille and in Kilcar. In the following interview, Con and his wife Mary Kate talked about the music, the dancing, and a certain quality of life that was once found in Teelin. 






英日対訳:T.ビーチャム自叙伝A Mingled Chime第39章(2/2)音楽活動の休止と再起の糸口








The misguided creatures who had forced the order, and whose claims amounted to no more than a fraction of this mountain of apparent indebtedness, were literally overwhelmed by it and perhaps for the first time realized the fatuity of their action. For the official who presided put the vote to the meeting as to whether there should be bankruptcy or not and inevitably the majority was against. This meant in fact that I stood almost exactly where I had been before these proceedings had been initiated and that none of those who had caused them were a jot the better off. All they had accomplished was to cause an immense amount of trouble and worry to others besides myself, a large expenditure in legal fees, and a widespread publicity that no one could understand. One day an eminent banker meeting me in the street stopped and said: "Tell me, T.B., do you owe or are owed a couple of million, I can’t make out which.” I replied “Both,” which in a way was partly true, but left him more mystified than ever. As for the official receiver whose business it was to call in whatever assets the debtor might have anywhere, the income I was receiving under the scheme of the Court and which had been confirmed to me under a special order was difficult if not impossible of collection; and as everything else was firmly tied up there was nothing for him to do but to sit down like the creditors and wait. As I said at the time, “For what he is about to receive, may the Lord make him truly thankful,” a comment which was considered by the grave and sententious as highly frivolous and unbefitting the seriousness of the occasion.  




The basic cause of this solemn “divertimento” lay in the cumbersome and imperfect machinery of the law. Under its provisions it is possible for one person, who may be irresponsible, ill-tempered, or spiteful to precipitate a course of proceedings which may bring a man near to ruin. No single person should have such power or opportunity. In one European country the official in charge takes the matter into his own hands and without the incidence of a needless publicity, investigates the whole circumstances of the case and nurses the debtor’s assets until the creditors can be paid. Thus both sides are adequately protected by an impartial authority, and only when the case is hopeless and it is clear beyond doubt that the debtor can never pay, is he adjudged bankrupt. But with us every solicitor in London knows that the vilest methods of extortion and blackmail are practiced by a group among them who cause petitions in bankraptcy to be made solely for the purpose of creating legal charges, and then count on being bribed heavily to agree to the repeated adjournment of them in order to avoid receiving orders. This scandalous and notorious racket is universally known in the profession and admitted to be an abuse which stands in need of drastic reform, but nothing is done about it. Truly our English law needs a Hercules to sweep clean its Augean stable.  




By the close of the year the career of the opera company had run its course and for the first time for fifteen years I was without an active interest in music. I gave the whole position the fullest consideration and decided to withdraw from public life until the final determination of my complicated business tangle. There was more reason than one for this. I could not have supported any fresh enterprise, although there was a group of new enthusiasts at hand who would have done so on the condition that I gave my whole time to it. But this I could and would not consent to. I felt strongly that the time had come to take a much more direct share, not only in the control of my own business affairs but of those of the whole estate as well. So far I had left nearly everything in the hands of the executors and their advisers, but after all it was not their property, and it was asking too much that they should show the same zeal and interest in it as the principals. The crux of the whole situation was Covent Garden, and to run it as a commercial enterprise a family company had been formed, on the board of which I was a director. I had never been satisfied even in the days of James White that the most was being made of the potentialities of the estate; they required restudying from beginning to end, and I could see no better way of passing my time than to begin the task. I was also a little out of humor with the musical world. It had somewhat prematurely assumed that my career was at an end, that I could never rise again, and several tearful elegies appeared in the more sympathetic newspapers. From the numerous societies I had worked with or assisted during a period of five and in some cases six years, as well as the hundreds whom I had employed during the same period in the opera house or concert room, I failed to receive a single word of inquiry or condolence. Taking these different things into account, I decided to give the musical world a miss for a while; doubtless some day I would return to it, not again, however, under the old conditions. But to carry out a comprehensive plan for the practical exploitation of the resources of the estate demanded the cooperation of another: a man of ability, technical knowledge, and personal loyalty. I had such a one in mind if he would unite his forces with mine, the Liverpool accountant, Louis Nicholas, our general secretary and adviser, the actual author of the residuary contract, the Chancery scheme, and indeed the whole of my temporary embarrassment.  





Over the Hills and Far Away (Remastered 2022) · Sir Thomas Beecham · Royal Philharmonic Orchestra · Frederick Delius 


英日対訳:The Northern Fiddler北の大地のフィドラー達('79/'85)第17回 3部(2/8)貧しき田舎、豊かな音楽




London / New York / Sydney / Cologne 








-1- 後半 


At the end of the nineteenth century, which was the period in which most of the fiddlers we met were born, South-west Donegal was a region of severe poverty. It was composed of scattered farming communities of small holdings devoted to subsistence farming. The average farm was less than ten acres, and many were small as one acre. The growing of oats, potatoes and the raising of small quantities of livestock and poultry were the main agricultural activities. The weaving of tweed, and sometimes fishing, were the only activities pursued locally that brought in any hard cash. It was virtually a moneyless society, dependent on a good crop of potatoes, the presence of offshore herring, and the demand for migratory labor in Scotland for its economic continuity. 



When any of these factors failed, the consequences on the lives of the people were tragic. Not owing their own land, and often years in arrears with their rent, these communities were under constant threat of eviction by absentee landlords. During this period, Donegal possessed forty-eight per cent of its pre-famine population, which was a fairly high percentage compared to other counties on the West coast of Ireland. Contemporary commentators attributed the relative stability of population to the development of small industries such as knitting and weaving, and to the practice of migratory labor to the Lagan Valley and to Scotland. After the Spring planting, the men would travel to these regions to work as general farm laborers and harvesters. They would return to Donegal in time for their own local harvest. On occasions the women would also work at the herring factories in the Shetlands and the Hebrides. This practice of migratory labor spared the region some of the more traumatic effects of permanent emigration, especially as the people were working in rural cultural environments similar to their own. As we shall see, it was the practice of seasonal migration that reinforced Scottish musical elements into the indigenous tradition. 



The description of South went Donegal by the investigation of the Congested Districts Board, Quaker Societies and gentleman travelers, portray an area suffering poverty. Almost all of these commentaries are consistent in a complete lack of comment on the social and cultural life of the people. They tend to depict an apathetic community in a state of paralysis because of the economic conditions. 



Four rough stone walls, often without any plaster covered with thatch 12 feet by 15 feet, or 18 feet constitute the home of a family of five or ten or twelve persons. The smoke from the peat fire on the hearth, after filling the house, finds its final exit either by the door or the hole in the roof which serves for chimney. There is usually one small window, but as you stoop to enter the low door, the blinding smoke for some time prevents you from seeing the inmates who are usually accustomed to the dim interior light, you find perhaps in addition to the family that a cow is lying in one corner and that there may be a loom at which some native cloth is made, or heaps of fishing nets now useless, alas, and gradually as you further explore the recesses, you see the miserable heap of rags which constitute the bed on which may be a hen is quietly laying her egg. In a few we found the women busily engaged around the little window, embroidering handkerchiefs or beautifully worked fronts for babies frocks for the Belfast market. 



R. Tuke, Report of the Congested Districts Board 1895 

R.トゥーク:CDB報告書 1895年版 


The rich legacy that has come down to us from the last century of instrumental and vocal music is an indication that the society, despite its poverty, was not in a state of social apathy. It can be assumed that in post-famine rural Donegal the cultural life of the country house kitchen remained intact and even flourished. This is the paradox of South west Donegal. Under conditions which would have destroyed another culture, the musical tradition survived and even absorbed influences from England and Scotland without losing its essential integrity. The musical tradition was rooted in the communal lifestyle of the people. It was only when these communal structures were severely disrupted in this century that musical activity began to decline. 







When the folk of this fishing village began their long walk down the dirt road to another life, the songs and stories passed with the or took on an underground existence buried somewhere in the minds of the emigres. They were part of the texture of that life, and when it ended they were felt behind with the broken bottles and smashed delft. 



(There is one woman from that village who still sings me a song in Irish which wrecked off the coast near the village. She sang in a rough careworn voice, but stopped her singing abruptly and told me she wouldnt sing me the last verse as her father, long since dead, had forbidden her to sing it, for it described how, when the village slept, the timber that they had laboriously taken from the sea was stolen from them in the night.) 



A quiet hovered over the roofless houses as I starting climbing the steep brae through what was once the out-fields of the village. I followed the sea cliffs as they climbed steadily towards a plateau that was reminiscent of the mountainous regions of Crete. Above me four hawks glided casually over the sea. Several miles in the distance the coastline and cottages of Aranmore Island were visible: sometimes the wind carried disembodied voices from a nearby glen in my direction. But the proximity to human habitation was illusory. The broken country around me was empty and vacant for miles around. I made my way to the far slope of the brae through tangled country thick with gorse and heather. Below me the deep depression of a glen gradually came into view. It ran from the edge of a lake on my right until it reached the straight line of the sea cliffs. What lay at the bottom of the glen was a sight that transfixed me. I saw the smoke first, and then below it the lone thatched cabin from which the smoke had drifted. Surrounding the cabin were cultivated fields of oats and potatoes and meadowlands where a horse and a cow grazed, ignoring the barking of a dog that had sensed my presence. This hidden farm was at least four miles from the nearest road and situated near a stream that ran the length of the glen, through which seagulls swooped back and forth. 



From my perch I could make out the ruins of what had another farmhouse. In its own way a small community had once existed here. I felt the farms held a secret kinship with the fiddlers I had met in these parts; like them, it was an isolated survivor from another age. I made my way down the slippery slope to the cottage a quarter of a mile away. There was no answer to my persistent knocking. The windows were curtained off and the dog had disappeared. Smoke still poured from the chimney and I imagined that I could hear small sounds inside. I returned to the door and started talking through it. I mentioned the names of local farmers I knew and I asked directions. I was talking to myself; the house stood silent. I thought I heard someone cough and I knocked again, but began walking away without waiting for a reply. The milch cow and the sorrel horse ignored my passing, and after crossing the stream, I found a makeshift path of broken flagstones that led up through the narrow entrance of the glen. I began the slow, tedious climb to a ridge above the lake where I knew I would be able to see in the distance the long line of telephone poles that would guide me back to the place I had come from. 







英日対訳:T.ビーチャム自叙伝A Mingled Chime第39章(1/2)散々な目に遭う(前半)








The well-worn adage that it never rains but it pours, was hardly ever better instanced than in my case during 1920. I had lost my manager and my lawyer, who were the hands of my executive machine. My opera organization, after five years of uphill work carried out under conditions of almost insuperable difficulty, was foundering through want of support just as it had reached the pinnacle of its achievment, and I was about to face the most trying and unpleasant experience of my life. I have previously  referred to the failure of James White, my brother and myself  either to handle the Covent Garden problem or carry out our  contract to purchase the residue from the executors of my father’s will, who consequently had thrown the whole estate into Chancery. The Court had made an order approving a scheme of which the materially important part was that my brother and I consented to devote the greater part of our income to the reduction of a large Bank loan, created for the purpose of placing the Covent Garden transaction on almost the same basis intended under the plan made abortive by the death of my father. We had not really much option in the matter, as until all the debts of the estate were cleared, the Executors would not relinquish their office, in which they were almost omnipotent. The sum of the matter was that in spite of the return of peace conditions, it had been found impossible to deal with our problems as we had all anticipated in 1917, when my brother and I had entered into the imprudent contract to buy the residuary estate for a cash sum at least twice its actual value and well exceeding half a million pounds. Had our hopes of being able to clear the Covent Garden position been realized, it would have meant that the business would have left free to pay both my brother and myself tlie very large dividends by way of profit that it was making annually. Such was the undoubted intention of my father, and had these dividends been available, I could not only have dealt easily with my private financial situation but also have taken part in some new project to carry on the opera. 




During the past few years as I have related I had expended large sums on musical enterprise and incurred heavy liabilities. When the estate went into Chancery and I agreed to accept less than one quarter of the income that would have been forthcoming to me under normal circumstances, 1 sold my house in the country, a quantity of valuable furniture and plate and realized everything else of a tangible kind in an attempt to clear my obligations. These I reduced materially, but there was still a substantial amount outstanding. I called my creditors together and explained to them how my full income was held up for a while, but that it was being preserved through the scheme we were working under, and how it was only a matter of time before enough of it would be released to discharge my indebtedness to them. Meanwhile they would receive a good rate of interest on their money, certainly higher than that which they could obtain elsewhere from an investment equally sound. All agreed save one, who for some reason understood by nobody else was refractory and unfriendly. He insisted upon being paid at an early date, otherwise he would take extreme measures. I explained that in this way he could get nothing, as everything I had was so effectively tied up as to be freed only by the discretion of the Court, and this would not be exercised for some time to come. No arguments were of avail, Shylock must have his pound of flesh, and the recalcitrant party presented a petition against me in Bankmptcy. As soon as this was done, all the rest followed suit, theoretically to protect their respective interests should actual bankmptcy ensue.  




There was no immediate publication of this occurrence, for I took the case to the Court of Appeal, where it remained during one adjournment after another for several months. These I obtained upon the ground that I was not insolvent, that I had resources with which to meet all my obligations with something to spare, and I asked time to do so. I was still hoping that something might be done in one way or another to free us from the stranglehold of the Chancery scheme, and I haunted city houses and great banks with half a dozen projects for dealing with the problem. But the time was not ripe, I could not produce the  rabbit out of the hat, and the day arrived when the Court of  Appeal, which had been very patient, would give me no more time. Consequently the receiving order which had followed the presentation of the petitions in bankruptcy was published to the world, which was made acquainted with the melancholy fact that I could not pay my debts. 




The public of England is none too well informed on the subject of law but there is probably no branch of it on which it is so entirely ignorant as bankruptcy. During the past twenty years I have encountered the impression in scores of quarters both at home and abroad that at some time or other I have been a bankrupt. This delusion to my personal knowledge has been shared by those who should know better, such as politicians and even lawyers, and I think therefore that here is a fitting place to state,  and with all the clarity at my command that never for one moment at any time have I been a bankrupt. I admit that there may have been some justification for the false impression, owing to the preposterous nature of the proceedings in which I became involved, and the Munchausen-like publicity which filled the cheaper and less responsible sort of Press. 




The principal trouble lay in the obsolete condition of the law of bankruptcy. So far as I know it is still in the same deplorable condition and likely to remain so until another A. P. Herbert awakens to the full iniquity of it, just as that gallant champion did in the case of our marriage laws, until recently the most barbarous in the protestant world, and still far from satisfying the common conceptions of either equity or decency. A receiving order neither implies nor involves bankruptcy. It means in the first instance that a man cannot at the time it is made meet his obligations and that his creditors must be called together by the Court to see what is to be done about it, as much in the interests of the debtor as in those of any one else. This was done in due course and the comedy side of the whole business unfolded in a blaze of farcical absurdity. In order to comply with the law, everyone to whom I owed a penny had the right to be present at the meeting and to vote for or against the adjudication of the debtor as a bankrupt. Two factors governed the operations of the ballot, the number of the creditors and the amount of the claims. The latter presented a dazzling spectacle of fictitious financial embarrassment, and included:  



A. The unpaid balance to the vendors of Covent Garden for which I was jointly and severally liable → £1,500,000.  

B  The residuary contract  → £ 575,000.  

C  The liability to pay up, if called upon to do so, the share capital in a private estate company of my own  → £ 500,000.  

D  The Bank £350,000 (circa)  

A. 私が連帯責任を負ったコベントガーデンの売り主への未払い残高 → 150万ポンド。  

B 残余契約 → 57万5千ポンド。  

C 私自身の不動産会社の株式資本の支払いを求められた際の義務 → 50万ポンド。  

D 銀行関連  35万ポンド (概数) 


and sundry other commitments in the way of family settlements  and minor contracts.