Haydn Seek

1786 – The Music part 2 - Lira organizzata? What the...?

Hob. #	Genre	Key	Number	Instrument(s)	Notes
7h:1	Concerto	C	1	2 Lira organizzata, 2 Horns, 2 Violins, 2 Violas & 2 Cellos	Naples Version
7h:2	Concerto	G	2		Naples Version

 

Modern reproductions of the Lira organizzate

When I was running down the events of the year, I seem to have neglected the beginning of the Era of the Lira, but actually I was not sure how to put it into a nutshell suitable for appetizers. Now we have arrived at the nut itself, though, and so we begin one of the more interesting musical sidelights of Haydn's international experience.

Just like with the Paris Symphonies, the Opus 42 quartet and the Seven Last Words from just the last two years, we are again bereft of any documentation beyond the combination of inference and reminiscence which has carried us along so often on this journey. So, we start with what we know, inferentially or otherwise.

Sometime in 1785 or early 1786, Haydn received a commission (by post?) from a representative of the King of Naples, Ferdinand IV, to compose a set of concertos for an instrument called an 'organized lyre' (in Italian - lira organizzata). One can only suppose Haydn ran to his shelf and pulled down The Old Grove - 1784 edition, to answer the musical question 'what the heck is a lira organizzata'? Like you just did, I'm guessing. And here is what you found:

Lira organizzata

(It.; Fr. vielle organisée)

A hurdy-gurdy with one or two ranks of organ pipes and bellows housed in its body. On some instruments a crank operates both the wheel that activates the strings and the bellows that makes the pipes sound; on others there is a separate mechanism for the bellows worked by the foot. On most instruments a mechanism permitted the player to engage either the strings or the pipes, or both together. Some instruments are guitar-shaped while others (for example, one in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London) are larger and in box shape.

The instrument seems already to have existed in the middle of the 18th century in France. It reached a peak of popularity about 1780, but its vogue did not last long. It was the favorite instrument of Ferdinand IV, King of Naples, who had learned to play it from Norbert Hadrava, the Austrian Legations Secretary. Hadrava, who had probably heard such instruments in Paris or Berlin, devised some improvements for it, and [then] he and Ferdinand commissioned works for it from Adalbert Gyrowetz, Ignace Pleyel, Johann Sterkel and Haydn, who composed five concertos for two lire organizzate and orchestra (Hob VIIh:1–5), and eight Notturnos for two lire organizzate and other instruments (Hob II:25–32).

New Grove Dictionary of Music & Musicians – Online Edition

The Lira in the Victoria and Albert Museum (made ~1750)
(courtesy V&A Museum)

And so, all the players are now on stage. Landon's description of the circumstances of the commission, given in Chronicle & Works vol. II, gives us the little bit of information we have about it. Let us remember some political facts of life in the 18^th century. Naples was a small kingdom, ruled at the time by the Bourbon Family, the Royal Family of France, Spain, Sicily and a lot of the rest of Western Europe. Italy itself was a loose confederation of similar City-States. But the confederation was also influenced by the Holy Roman Emperor, whom we all recall was Joseph II, ruler of Austria. So his Legation Secretary, Norbert Hadrava, was a man of some standing at the Neapolitan Court. Perhaps, though, he had less influence over the King than did Maria Carolina, sister of Joseph II, but also wife of Ferdinand since 1767. Since a stipulation in her marriage contract was fulfilled by the birth of a son in the early 1770's, she had exerted a real force on the governing of the kingdom. Ferdinand himself has been described as a rather coarse and harsh ruler in later life, but a rough and ready man of the people in the years before the French Revolution. He was very interested in Neapolitan culture, and so he took up the lira, which was a street instrument of great popularity in Naples.

Enter Hadrava. He not only encouraged Ferdinand to play, but also took up the instrument himself. He probably already knew how, from earlier postings around Europe, and he taught Ferdinand to play at a higher level than street musicians. The lovely pair of modern lira pictured at the top of this page, modeled in their workings after the one from the V&A, were constructed specifically to play the repertoire collected by Hadrava back then. While we don't have the solicitation which came to Haydn, we do, however, have the one which went to Sterkel, and this extract  describes nicely the limitations of the machine:

Naples, 12 October, 1785

…. You should compose three concertos for two organized lyres for his majesty… one in the key of C, the second in F, and the third in G. Please take care that the ritornelli are shorter than the ones in your first concerto: for the rest, you should adjust the melodic line of the lyre to fit that of an oboe, but without too much of the oboe's contemplative nature…

Ferdinand IV of Naples - by Anton Mengs

So, it seems as though, much like the Baryton, the instrument itself placed limitations on what could and couldn't be played. However, we are dealing with a different Haydn here, one who had seen a river of musical water flow beneath the bridge since he first was handed a Baryton back in 1763! In Haydn's case, I am rather sure the original letter would have said "you should compose six concertos…"; five simply wasn't done. One of them, though, seems to have gone sadly astray.

Haydn was probably unable to bear the idea of these beautiful little works going off permanently to Naples, since he foresightfully kept a copy of the parts. As we will see later, this music was destined for a variety of other uses, but it is a wonderful bonus to have the originals and be able to revel in the sound of their unique scoring. I enjoyed reading Robbins-Landon's description of the discovery of the parts in Budapest (where they had been dumped in the cellar of the museum by the Red Army after W.W. II) in 1958:

 One of the greatest experiences of my life was when, in 1958, we spent several weeks in the Esterházy collection of the friendly National Széchényi Library, Budapest, copying these works, and in some cases scoring them from the parts. In the evening with the late Professor Bence Szabolcsi, we played them, probably for the first time since 1786, on the piano, four-hands, and marveled at their sheer perfection…

And they say musicology is grim.

A brief description of the playing, which you can see and hear here, goes like this: with one hand, the player turns a crank. This operates a bellows inside the sound box which provides air for the pipes, which are a miniature pipe organ. The keys, arranged like vertical organ keys across the top, are played with the left hand. They open valves which allow air to go through the pipes, and, through a series of levers, they also raise stops against the strings like the fingers of a violinist. There are levers which allow the tone doubling to be either at the same pitch, or at an octave apart. In addition to the bellows, there is a large wheel attached to the crank, and its rosined surface is like a continuous violin bow, and can be allowed to contact the strings which you can see attached near the crank end. Finally, some models have another row of strings which resonates sympathetically, like the strings behind the neck of a Baryton. Got all that?!?

Back in 1775, discussing the superb Baryton Octets, at one point I touched on the fact that Haydn had developed a more modern idiom for the concerto/divertimento/notturno, and indeed, we are now seeing it again. Not to jump the chronology tracks, but in the next three years we will see more lira works; first, three more of these concertos, and then a set of eight works which Haydn called Notturnos. Despite the different names given, they are all, essentially, divertimentos in the style of the Baryton Octets.

Since these compositions straddle two years, I have used this year to present some background and context. Next year we will look at the five works. You might be surprised at some of the things you hear when you finally get to listen to them; hey, wait, what was that again?. Meantime, if you don't have a recording of these works, here is an excellent one you can listen to for free.

Next time, Haydn's personal revival of an old Viennese tradition.

Thanks for reading!

1786 – The Music part 1 - Paris can't get enough, it seems!

Hob I:	Key	NC	HRL	Name	Instruments
84	Eb	87	87		Flute, 2 Oboes, 2 Bassoons, 2 Horns & Strings
86	D	88	88		Flute, 2 Oboes, 2 Bassoons, 2 Horns, 2 Trumpets, Timpani & Strings
82	C	89	89	L'ours (The Bear)	Flute, 2 Oboes, 2 Bassoons, 2 Horns (and/or 2 Trumpets) & Strings
(Hoboken catalog N°s.)		(New Chronology / Gerlach N°s.)	(Robbins-Landon N°s.)

Marie Antoinette & Her Children in 1787 by Élisabeth Vigée-Lebrun

As we saw last year, when we were looking at the first half of the 'Paris' symphonies, I presented some numbers which showed the overwhelming growth in popularity of Haydn's music during the previous five years. How to explain such a surge? Certainly Haydn was not the only game in town. And he was not even a native, which is amazing given the proclivity of the French towards favoring their own. Why this sudden turn to the exotic?

There are undoubtedly more factors at play here than I can begin to touch upon. How does one fully explicate a cultural trend from 230 years ago? Here are a few ideas I have, merely scratching the surface of the issue though.

As we saw in our discussion of the salon, France and Austria had been at odds for over a century. The reasons are even deeper than anything to do with Haydn, though, so we will leave it for now, but safe to say, there was little direct cultural intermingling until the 1760's, when as a result of the Treaty of Versailles in 1756, France and Austria were suddenly allies against England and Prussia in the Seven Years' War. Once all this was happily resolved, France and Austria literally fell into bed together; well, as near as dammit, since Maria Theresia gave her daughter Marie Antoinette to Louis XVI to be Queen of France. The Frenchification of central Europe from this point on is much discussed, but the salient point for us now is this; there was also a smaller, but still pervasive reverse process by which France broadened its own Eastern horizons a bit too. Musically, the first entrants into the arena were the Mannheimers, whose musical style and instrumental prowess was already famous throughout Europe.

By our current year, everything the Parisian publishers could possibly hang on Haydn was being published with great abandon. Haydn did indeed speak in a language, as he would later tell Mozart, which was understood by all. John Rice, a pioneering musicologist, has tracked down the journey of Symphony #45 (Farewell, Abschieds-Symphonie, Les Adieux Symphonie) from Vienna to Moscow by 1788, and turned up a trail through the heart of 1786 Paris. Reading the letters and newspaper articles which accompany the story gives one a clearer picture of something which I have mentioned in these essays, and still struggle with today; the French were as one with the Austrians in the way they listened and heard the music, in a way which is beyond our grasp today.

Hivart's (a cellist in the Concert Spirituel) strongest endorsement of Haydn's music came in a crate weighing 180 pounds that he shipped through Le Havre (to Moscow) on 12 September 1786, and in a letter mailed in Paris five days later. The crate contained (among other items) architectural plans, a watch and chain, scores of Grétry's Richard Coeur-de-Lion and Dalayrac's Nina, an annotated libretto of Salieri's Les Danaïdes, and two modèles en démolition—working models of architectural sets for Richard... and Les Danaïdes that collapsed during the course of those operas. It also contained instrumental music: symphonies, quartets and duos. The twelve symphonies were all by Haydn. Hivart may have felt that the predominance of Haydn's symphonies in his choice of instrumental music needed some justification. His letter of 17 September 1786 contains one of his rare comments on instrumental music—and by far the longest: I have the honor to send you the twelve most beautiful symphonies for full orchestra that I could find. Among the others by Haydn, there is one, No. 16 (Siebert's number), that is the most amusing thing that can be imaged. The last movement of this symphony begins normally with the whole orchestra, but it does not end the same way, for one sees all the musicians leave one after another, until the first violin finds himself all alone to finish the symphony. The audience is astonished to see just one person in the orchestra. This joke made the audience laugh heartily when we played it at the Concert Spirituel. Here is the origin of this symphony, for Monsieur Le Comte really needs to know it:

Haydn was music director of Prince Stérazie [sic – (Esterházy)], and one day this prince told him that he had become tired of music and that consequently he wanted to dismiss all the musicians, keeping only Haydn. Thus the prince charged him with announcing to his colleagues the sad news. As a man of genius, Haydn wanted to do this with a dramatic act. So he conceived of this symphony, to be performed at the orchestra's last concert, as the means by which the musicians would be dismissed. The prince, surprised to see all the musicians leave until only the first violin remained at the end of the symphony, asked what it meant. Haydn responded: "Did you not order me to dismiss all the players? Well, they obeyed your orders." This symphonic joke pleased the prince so much that he kept his orchestra.

Variations of this same story were published in the Mercure de France in 1784, when the symphony was originally performed. Being a cellist who had already vacated the stage by then, Hivart may not have known it was actually 2 violins left at the end.

Other than the interesting fact of how soon the symphony traveled, and how twisted its story line got along the way, the interesting part of this tale is bolded in the first paragraph; the audience in Paris 'got' that this was all a joke on Haydn's part, just like the Prince will have done, and everyone else who was contemporary with the work itself. This is something we tend to miss out on today, thanks to the disruption of the traditional way of hearing music in the 18^th century.

So let's have a look at the three symphonies of this year.

#4 Hob. I:84 in Eb

I	Largo – Allegro	Eb	3/4 – 2/2
II	Andante	Bb	6/8
III	Menuet: Allegro - Trio	Eb	3/4
IV	Finale: Vivace	Eb	2/4

Instrumentation - 1 Flute, 2 Oboes, 2 Bassoons, 2 Horns (Eb & Bb alto), 1^st & 2^nd Violins, Violas, Cellos & Basses

Haydn leads off this second half of the set with another work, which, like its leadoff partner from the previous year, #87, is for some reason less known or admired than its companions, although why this should be is a mystery to me, like so many things Haydn. I suppose it didn't get a name, and the rest was history.

The opening Largo, though, is very memorable, with its ethereal sounding strings, and solid, dominant bass lines. It is almost difficult to see how this didn't get a name, given some of the imaginative stretches it takes to justify some of them! Haydn brings the Largo to an end by making a massive sound in the strings, having them use triple stops (play three notes at once) in order to play every tone needed in that key many times over. This makes the listener believe there will be a big, majestic Allegro theme coming, which of course, is quite the opposite of what happens. Instead, we are hit with a nice, light, old-fashioned galant theme. He doesn't keep us there long though, since he then has the second part of the theme exposing the more intense part of the Largo introduction, and finishes out the entire movement by playing these two parts off from each other, exchanging their functions, changing keys, approaching them through various stepwise methods; in short, providing a good time for connoisseurs and dilettantes equally.

Now, we see another bit of cyclic form being employed. The beginning of the second movement, Andante, sounds a very lot like the theme of the introduction of the first movement. The movement itself is a set of variations, first in minor, then in major, then with winds, then with strings alone; all using the same material, though in very differing ways, up to a tutti (my favorite!) and, amazingly, a cadenza as you would expect to hear in a concerto grosso. From that point, the momentum reverses back until it is again just a delicate little theme.

The minuet is pretty much standard, but in that Haydnish way, the Trio throws things off by changing rhythms around, and adding odd bar lengths to the phrases. This begins with the solo bassoon, and ends with the chirping flute in the second half. It takes getting back to the minuet to reestablish the solid 3/4 beat.

The finale was born to be popular. It is full of energy, in a way which characterizes Haydn's work at this point in his career very succinctly. It is not hard to hear the many steps which have taken place on the road to his maturity either, since the evolution of this style has been a long time in the making. Even the sudden deceleration, a quiet gap filled only by a solo bassoon and flute leading back to the full orchestra taking off to a satisfying ending seems like the culmination of a style.

There is little reason to ignore this symphony; give it a name to help you remember it. It will pay you a dividend for doing so!

Sinfonia in D - di me giuseppi Haydn '786

#5 Hob. I:86 in D

I	Adagio – Allegro spiritoso	D	3/4 – 4/4
II	Capriccio: Largo	G	3/4
III	Menuet: Allegretto - Trio	D	3/4
IV	Finale: Allegro con spirito	D	4/4

Instrumentation: 1 Flute, 2 Oboes, 2 Bassoons, 2 Horns (in D & G), 2 Trumpets (in D), Timpani, 1^st & 2^nd Violins, Violas, Cellos & Basses

We saw, last year, #85 (La Reine de France), being called the greatest of these six works, and this is based on factors which include popularity as well as musicality. But if you read musical texts, the current work, #86, seems destined to wear the crown. Certainly, the trumpets and drums add a magisterial potential which can't be matched by The Queen. Perhaps this is The King!?

The Adagio introduction is rather extended, with a touch of ceremoniousness underlain with, to me, an equal touch of humor, as though the observer to the procession is not quite impressed. The Allegro spiritoso is on top of us before we even know it, there is no halt, just a sudden realization of being there. Landon's descriptor is 'suave', that works for me. The Allegro itself consists in extended treatment of a little four measure phrase, part of the introduction, which is taken through the spectrum of harmonic possibilities. This is all held together with a dotted rhythmic fragment which shows up regularly and gives both continuity and coherence to the working out of the four bar fragment. The little excursions into minor keys, and the sudden slow-downs with very thin orchestration which highlight the winds, are high spots for me.

We've only seen a Capriccio in one Haydn symphony before, #53 vers. A, in two keyboard works and a string quartet (Op 20 #2), and in the opening movement of a keyboard trio (Hob 15:35) way back in 1757. This is enough of a history to be able to make some generalizations about what Haydn's idea of a Capriccio was. Generally, it involves more freedom of form, and is constructed rather like a rondo, in the manner of C.P.E. Bach. Once again Haydn goes to the introduction for his thematic material, this time coming up with a section of the bass line, and then building his various excursions around it. The interesting aspect is each of the major sections of the movement is built of various pieces, but the pieces occur in a different sort order each time, so you can't predict what will show up this time. The overall effect when listened to is much more positively ordered than one gets when either reading about it or reading the score, both of which leave me baffled! If it needed one, this movement would have been a prime candidate for inclusion in the 'Surprise Symphony'.

This is a minuet to reckon with, grand, on the beat, no messing around; it is majestic, classic music, with a melodic trio without special effects, but with a distinctly waltz-like feel to it. It was a hit, I suspect, in pre-Revolutionary Paris.

The finale is back to the fantasia style of the first two movements. Haydn seems bent on demonstrating how many ways he can end a sentence which begins with the same phrase. The phrase is a little five-note word of dotted eighths, which he uses at least eight times to begin the motif, but which he finishes the motif, it is every time different. The three movements in this work which deviate from the norm, which is to say, all but the minuet, bring together a striking idea of how to unify a work into a cycle in other ways than by quoting itself. Well worth your time to get to know.

#6 Hob. I:82 in C

I	Vivace assai	C	3/4
II	Allegretto	F	2/4
III	Menuet - Trio	C	3/4
IV	Finale: Vivace	C	2/4

Instrumentation: 1 Flute, 2 Oboes, 2 Bassoons, 2 Horns (in C alto & F), 2 Trumpets (in C) (doubling the horns in I, III & IV), Timpani, 1^st & 2^nd Violins, Violas, Cellos & Basses

As we have seen already, Haydn had a special affinity for the Viennese 'Festive C major' works which characterized the 18^th century. Here is one he wrote for the Parisians. No dancing bears, please. That particular conceit didn't appear until a publication of 1829, fully twenty years after Haydn's death, and presumably courtesy of a publisher discovering opium for the first time. Grrr….

As we saw last year with Symphony #87, this work without a slow introduction uses the Parisian favorite, the premier coup d'archet, a boldly upward arpeggio for full orchestra in unison. This is followed by the brassy figures, almost a fanfare really, that characterize the mood of the rest of the movement. There is a second theme, more delicate and lyrical, which provides contrast for the vigorous, military sort of fanfares and tuttis which are never far away. This is overall a very powerful movement with much forward drive and contrast in the material from the delicacy of the violins in the second theme to the power of the horns and trumpets with the timpani in the frequent restatement of the main theme.

The 2^nd movement, Allegretto, begins with the main theme, a jaunty tune in F major that is followed by a similar jaunty tune in f minor. These two related themes in major and minor alternate for the rest of the movement, a classic set of Haydn double variations. The variations which use the full orchestra are powerfully arranged, and show strong contrast when interspersed with the almost chamber music-like alternations. The ending comes with full orchestra playing a maestoso version of the major theme, with still a small whisper of the alternate group coming in to finish it all off.

The third movement minuet is grand and vigorous, dancelike rather than militant. Here Haydn returns to big tuttis inspired by the forces at his disposal. What's the point in having a big band to drive and not putting your foot down on the gas? Everything about this Menuet, including the spelling, is French; beat and note perfect. The Trio is brilliant, and despite sounding easily tossed off, there still exist several drafts in full score of it to show just how much work Haydn put into getting it right. As Landon rightly points out in his analysis, even though we know in retrospect what was coming to Paris beginning in 1789, in 1786 when Haydn wrote this work, it was still the Golden Age, and this minuet and trio exemplify this very well indeed.

The finale begins with a startling low blat in the bass that introduces the bagpipe-like drones that will underlie the whole movement. On top of this is the folk-like tune which reminded a later publisher of dancing bears. But folksiness is more what Haydn had in mind. Though Haydn doesn't stray too far from this main theme, there is plenty of variety to be had in the instrumentation. He gradually develops and intensifies his bagpipe drones until they climax fortissimo, with timpani pounding, with the whole band bringing it to a rousing close.

And that also brings our look at the 'Paris' Symphonies to a close. I hope it gave you an urge to have a listen for yourself. They probably did more than any other works in Haydn's oeuvre to make his name the greatest in the world of music in the late 18^th century!

Thanks for reading!

1786 – The Year of Opera, Drama & 7 Last Words

A modern Stations of the Cross Procession in Cádiz

It is always a disappointment when some major event happens in Haydn's life, and there is no documentation of it, except for some much later reminiscences. I always feel as though if I just knew what was said, I would have a much better grip on the situation. This is one of those years and events; Haydn received a commission (most likely in 1785) from Don José Sáenz de Santa María, a priest in Cádiz, Spain, who had caused an Oratory, El Oratorio de la Santa Cueva, to be constructed there and wanted an appropriately magnificent piece of music to go in it. As Haydn recalled in 1801, at the time of publication of the later, oratorio version;

Some fifteen years ago I was requested by a canon [priest] of Cádiz to compose instrumental music on the Seven Last Words of Our Savior on the Cross. It was customary at the Cathedral of Cádiz to produce an oratorio every year during Lent, the effect of the performance being not a little enhanced by the following circumstances. The walls, windows, and pillars of the church were hung with black cloth, and only one large lamp hanging from the center of the roof broke the solemn darkness. At midday, the doors were closed and the ceremony began. After a short service the bishop ascended the pulpit, pronounced the first of the seven words (or sentences) and delivered a discourse thereon. This ended, he left the pulpit and fell to his knees before the altar. The interval was filled by music. The bishop then in like manner pronounced the second word, then the third, and so on, the orchestra following on the conclusion of each discourse. My composition was subject to these conditions, and it was no easy task to compose seven adagios lasting ten minutes each, and to succeed one another without fatiguing the listeners; indeed, I found it quite impossible to confine myself to the appointed limits.

Difficult it may have been, but not to the point where he didn't succeed. And in fact, he exceeded all expectations, probably even his own. Up to the time of The Creation, this was Haydn's most famous work, performed in Christian churches throughout Europe and beyond.

1786 was more than The Seven Last Words, though.

It was the year which set a record at the Opera House. Fully one hundred twenty-five performances were registered, as well as a marionette opera. This phenomenal average of more than three operas a week, all prepared and conducted by Haydn, with the small staff consisting of Nunziato Porta (General Manager) and Pietro Travaglia (scenery and machinery), is an amazing accomplishment in and of itself. Here are some of the new works they tackled this year:

Alsinda by Niccolò Zingarelli – an opera seria. 13 performances, plus it was also given as a marionette opera at some point.

La ballerina amante – Domenico Cimarosa – a dramma giocoso - 6 performances

Chi dell'altrui si veste presto si spoglia – Domenico Cimarosa – a dramma giocoso – 3 performances

Ifigenia in Tauride – Tommaso Traetta – opera seria – 3 performances

L'albergatrice vivace – Luigi Caruso - dramma giocoso – 8 performances

L'incontro inaspettato – Vincenzo Righini – opera buffo – 3 performances

Idalide – Giuseppe Sarti – an opera seria – 6 performances

I due baroni di rocca azzurra – Domenico Cimarosa – dramma giocoso – 3 performances, including Nicholas' Name Day.

So, forty-five performances of new works for the year, and an additional eighty of works from the previous years. This is an impressive amount of opera for a house of any size! It also represents the peak of the Eszterháza Opera House. Given the recent mention of a swing in taste represented by the Prince, as well as by Haydn, towards serious opera, note the relative numbers of serious vs. comic operas in the new works; three vs. five, or nearly half. And only a few years previously, there were no serious operas at all!

A replacement aria for Barbara Ripamonti, Sono alcina, for the character 'Lesbia' in L'isola di Alcina by Giuseppe Gazzaniga, not a new opera but one from the archives, which still needed a bit of work to make it singable by the current cast. It is another example of the hundreds of little changes which Haydn made every year, even in works which one would have considered complete.

Along the same lines, we see an Italian Cantata, recitative and aria for soprano with orchestra. For people outside of Eszterháza, who never saw a Haydn opera, works like this were the only intimation of Haydn's abilities for vocal writing. There were actually two cantatas this year. Frederick the Great died at Sans-Souci, and Haydn composed a commemorative cantata which was played by his old friend, Carl Franz. Called Deutschland's Klage auf den Tod des grossen Friedrichs (Germany's Lament on the Death of Frederick the Great), it is a duet for Soprano and Baryton, and for many years only the singer's part remained. Apparently the accompaniment has finally been found, since within the last year it has been released on CD, although not yet in the USA. No matter, I shall have it soon.

The second cantata, Miseri noi, is probably on the largest scale of any scena he composed during this time. He took it to England with him in 1791, and there, added another flute part to enrich the sound even more. We will look at this piece this year, but for now, I wonder why, if it is, as Landon calls it, Haydn's 'most important piece in this genre', it is virtually unknown! We shall have to drop a line to Classic FM about this.

Another entertainment which continued on, nearly equaling the opera in its frequency and complexity, is the dramatic troupe, which by now included such musical requirements as a ballet troupe and singers who actually could double at the opera house when needed. The Diwald Troupe, which had been in Eszterháza for seven years through 1785, was replaced in 1786 by the troupe led by Johann Mayer. Mayer's contract extended from Easter to the end of the year 1786, and included "performance of plays, ballets, German operettas and a puppet opera". The ballet troupe included eight members of the total eighteen in the company. I greatly enjoyed reading about the repertoire of the Wahr company in 1775 while researching the year; it is a pity a similar listing for the Mayer's hasn't survived. We can only imagine to what extent Haydn was involved, but one doesn't stage ballet, operetta and puppet opera without music, and so it is likely another long list of duties for Haydn is added to the hundred twenty-five operas for the year!

Finally, we will see a lovely Adagio in F for Fortepiano, originally composed in this year, but later used, heavily modified, as the inner movement of Sonata #60 (Hob 16:50).

Oh yes, almost forgot; the 'Paris' symphonies! The final three of the set which became the basis for Haydn's lasting fame, and one of the underpinnings of both Classical Style and symphony-as-concert-centerpiece, two pieces of Haydn's legacy which exist even today.

So, a big year is here. Seems like they all are, lately…

Thanks for reading!