Living as I do in the boundary-less world of the middle-class “brain worker”, much of it spent online, I am as likely as anyone to forget the power of nationalism, and also to downplay its importance in culture. It takes an imaginative evocation of that power to make it real for me, and that’s exactly what I experienced a few days ago courtesy of the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra. From the first chord, the sheer sound of the orchestra transported me, if not to the Czech Republic, at least to the Central European orchestral tradition of which this orchestra is such a glowing symbol.

Then in the concert’s second half came the single most potent symbol of Czech nationhood in music, Má vlast (My Homeland) by Bedřich Smetana. The opening harp chords evoke the Vyšehrad, the ancient castle that was once the seat of Czech kings. Then come the gently warbling flutes that evoke the river Vltava, before the big violin melody that always brings a tear to the eye, whether one is Czech or not. I once heard this piece played at the National Theatre in Prague, and everyone stood, as if on cue.

It was all very benign and sweet, as was the suite’s fourth movement, “From Bohemia’s Woods and Fields”. But the fifth and sixth movements were anything but. The fifth was inspired by the Czech Hussites of the mid-15th century, fighting for their faith against the Catholic forces of Europe, while the last movement evokes the Czech warriors sleeping under the mountain of Blaník, who will rise to help their country in its hour of need.

In these last movements the music, to my ears at least, loses all its charm and becomes hectoring and unsubtle. That Hussite hymn comes round several times too often, always heavily reinforced with brass. This is music that goes with breaking the skulls of one’s enemies, rather than evoking the spirit of one’s beloved country. It’s all too clearly a musical symbol of Czech “wounded consciousness” (another Berlin coinage), which was certainly based on genuine grievances, as the Austro-Hungarian Empire, of which the Czech lands were a part, had dealt innumerable blows to Czech identity over many centuries.

It’s surely no accident that the earlier, more open-hearted (and frankly musically superior) movements are generous in a more specific way. The big melody that portrays the river Vltava seems quintessentially Czech, but in fact it is shared – with some subtle differences – with other cultures. It is said to have originated in Italy as the tune “La Mantovana”, but soon migrated across Europe. One finds variants in Flanders, Romania, Scotland (in the folk-melody “My mistress is prettie”) and even – wait for it – Ukraine. Some may even recognise the outlines of the melody in the Israeli national anthem “Hatikvah”.

Here we find the generous form of nationalism, which acknowledges its debt to other nations, and is happy to share things with them. The later movements show the bad side that sees enemies everywhere. I would bet no one has ever turned to Smetana’s Má vlast  for a lesson in the difference between good and bad nationalism. But that’s the beauty of music. We think we are simply listening to wonderful melodies, but all the while, un-noticed, it provides an education for the soul.