Antonín Dvořák’s Cypresses Echoes of First Love

 by Hermione Lai  July 27th, 2026

The string quartets by Antonín Dvořák are a treasure trove of Bohemian spirit and deeply felt universal emotion. What started as eighteen love songs under the title Cypresses in 1865 became a string quartet cycle of twelve miniature movements twenty-two years later.

Composed during a period of youthful infatuation and romantic longing, Dvořák’s musical imagination gained new depth and tenderness in his arrangement for strings, sometimes referred to as The Echo of Songs.

Melodies once sung by a solitary voice suddenly bloom into animated conversations. Shall we have a listen?   

Where Longing Began

The origins of Cypresses date back to Dvořák’s student days in Prague. During his studies at the organ school, he met the composer, conductor, and choirmaster Karel Bendl. They struck up a close friendship, and young Dvořák was a frequent guest at the home of the wealthy Bendl family during the early 1860s.

Dvořák had free access to the Bendl household piano and to a considerable archive of sheet music. Giving piano lessons to supplement his income, he fell in love with his student Josefína Čermáková, the elder sister of his later wife Anna.

Josefína wasn’t much interested, and Dvořák eventually dedicated his first song cycle Cypresses, to “my good friend Karel Bendl, as a token of our friendship.”

Antonín Dvořák, 1868

Antonín Dvořák: Cypresses, “So many a heart is as though deaf”  

The Poet Behind Cypresses

The initial collection of lyrical and epic poems emerged from Dvořák’s attempt to find his voice as a composer. And for his love song, Cypresses, he drew on the poetry of Gustav Pfleger Moravský.

Moravský grew up in Prague and received a German-language education. However, during the Revolutions of 1848 in the Austrian Empire, he became more aware of his Czech nationality.

Eventually, Moravský was conversant in six languages, but a lung disease forced him to abandon regular studies. He found employment as a bank clerk, but found his work so monotonous and boring that he started travelling throughout Germany.

Gustav Pfleger Moravský, poet

Antonín Dvořák: Cypresses, “Nature lies peaceful in slumber and dreaming”   

Poems of Love and Longing

He had actually started to write poetry during his time at the bank, and he published his first collection of poetry titled Dumky in 1857. This collection was not very successful, but things changed with Cypresses in 1861.

It soon became a well-regarded book within the Czech National Revival, as the cypress tree carries a number of associations ranging from mourning and melancholy to death.

In fact, it is a larger collection of lyric and narrative verse, and Dvořák selected his texts from a subsection called “Songs.” The poetry features a young lover caught between rapture and despair.

Antonín Dvořák: Cypresses, “I know that My Love to Thee”   

The Language of Longing

In these poems, we find one of the most important genres of 19th-century song, the “Liebesbotschaft” (Love Message). These poems unfold as intimate monologues to an absent beloved.

Invariably, the poems deal with unrequited love, longing, and emotional distance, and nature as a mirror of emotions. We also find dreams and distant memories dealing with idealised femininity.

And a good number turn to landscapes, like nightly forests, mountains, and twilight imagery, as emotional extensions of the self. They present sentimental but deeply sincere emotions.      

Echoes Across Time

When Bendl looked over the original Dvořák setting, he wasn’t particularly excited. Apparently, he told the budding composer that the declamation was poor in many places. Within a year, Dvořák conceded with delight that Bendl’s statement was right on the money.

In 1887, Antonín wrote to his publishers, “These little compositions were originally 18 songs, four of which were published as Op. 2. I wrote them in 1865 and now, after 22 years, I have arranged them for string quartet under the title The Echo of Songs.”

Dvořák tellingly added, “Just imagine a young boy who is in love—that is the content of Cypresses.”  

Antonín Dvořák: Cypresses, “Here I gaze at that dear letter”   

A Second Life for First Love

Let’s not forget that Dvořák was at the height of his powers in 1887. He had completed his oratorio Saint Ludmila, commissioned by the Leeds Festival, just one year earlier. He also worked on a private commission for a Mass and the Terzetto, with the Piano Quintet also taking shape.

The early love songs had always been on Dvořák’s mind, as he revised four of them and published them in 1882. Eight other songs appeared in Berlin in January 1889 under the title Love Songs.

These twelve songs served as the basis for the string quartet version. Dvořák in no way altered their vocal essence, as the melodic expression is taken by the violins. The viola and cello, in turn, share the keyboard part.

Antonín Dvořák, 1882

Antonín Dvořák: Cypresses, No. 9 “Thou Only, Dear One”   

The Music of Remembering

The original songs are clearly recognizable in these string quartet arrangements, with melody lines, rhythm, and harmony basically unchanged. Dvořák changed some keys, and half of the songs are extended by repetition resulting from interchanges of materials to different instruments.

The twelve Cypresses for string quartet, as we know them today, were not published until 1957. Dvořák’s son-in-law had published ten of them in 1912. This set musically goes from contemplation of the fleeting nature of human love to increasingly ardent declarations of love.

It ends with a feeling of urgent questioning that alternates with answers of greater serenity.

It is a youthful collection of love letters preserved long after they had originally been written. In their string quartet version, they came back to life by combining simplicity of utterance with the accomplished technique of a mature composer.

In Cypresses, the mature composer looks back tenderly on the passions of youth. These melodies are still filled with nostalgia and longing, but they are now illuminated by memory and by experience. People say that you never forget your first love. You may leave your first love, but it never truly leaves you.

Which Famous Novels Prominently Feature Classical Music? Part II

 by Siri Livingston  December 24th, 2025

In part one of this article, we considered the complexities of the relationship between music and literature. As sensitive, art-loving souls, many authors hold a close connection to music and wish to bring this to their works of fiction. This tendency is made rather more complex by the difficulty of describing, or the impossibility of “transcribing,” music directly into language, and by the unbridled musicality of language itself, which has its own lilt, metre, and rhythm. Nonetheless, we saw how authors have made music a central component of their celebrated novels: as a key device of affect, as symbolic of something else, or even as part of a moral argument. In Kreuzer Sonata, we see Tolstoy communicate the intensity of music and align it with lust, jealousy, and lack of self-control, whereas for E.M. Forster in A Room with a View, music represents freedom of expression and feeling, authenticity of the self, and sensual communion with nature. In Proust’s In Search of Lost Time, music is treated as evocative, as a reinforcer of memories and a source of nostalgia: a way of tracing a thread of consistent meaning through years of life and disparate experiences, to make sense of a complex and evolving relationship to a person or place.

Thomas Mann, Doctor Faustus

Doctor Faustus First edition cover in Europe © Wikipedia

This work of fiction is gargantuan not only in length but in its relation to aesthetics, the politics and history of Germany (both medieval and pre-WWII), and the intellectual life of many prominent German artists and theorists. As such, many of the complexities of this novel will go untouched in this article, but we will endeavour to look at some of the interesting ways in which the book relates to music.

Thomas Mann’s Doctor Faustus (1947) draws on the legend of Faust, a semi-historical medieval tale originating with Johann Georg Faust (c. 1480–1540), alchemist, astrologer, and magician. The story of Faust in early books soon grew into many retellings in the form of ballads, dramas, and puppet-plays; Christopher Marlowe wrote his play The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus in 1592, and Goethe also reworked the legend in the early nineteenth century. The story has enduring appeal, as it frames a central aesthetic and ethical conflict of human experience: at what cost should human excellence and knowledge be obtained? In the original Faust, the eponymous character meets the Devil at a crossroads, and, unsatisfied with his already successful and erudite life, sells his soul for infinite knowledge and experience. The adjective “Faustian” has come to mean any kind of sacrifice of spiritual goodness, wholesomeness, and health for power and greatness, often with the implication of self-defeat in the form of degradation, illness, or death. The “Faustian pact” varies in its details but is always made with Mephistopheles or a similar figure. The existence of such a corrupting influence implies, to varying degrees depending on the retelling, the presence and rejection of theological morality and God, though this was of greater focus in the medieval tales.

Delacroix: Faust and Mephistopheles, 1827 (The Wallace Collection)

In the novel by Thomas Mann, fictitious composer Adrian Leverkühn, of great genius and ambition, intentionally contracts syphilis so that the madness and hallucinations may deepen his artistic genius. He is visited by a Mephistophelean being, and renounces love for other human beings in exchange for twenty-four years of brilliance and creation. Leverkühn eventually looks upon his nephew, Echo, with love and fondness while working to finish his final masterpiece. When Echo dies, Leverkühn believes it to be caused by the pact and descends fully into madness and infirmity, unable to premiere his last work. The book situates this final downfall as happening at the same time as the full initiation of the Third Reich – the political allegory of Germany’s descent into sickness is clear.

The author’s son published an article on the musical symbolism of Doctor Faust. In it, Michael Mann quotes his father: “It is a grave error of the historical legend that it did not establish any connection between Faust and music.” Thomas Mann clearly saw something in the disposition of musicians, or composers, well-suited to corruption by temptation – or the Devil! His son notes that “critical thought and music – love of music and inner musicality of the word – are the very cornerstones of that work.” For Mann, music had a dual nature, “a Christian art with negative sign… [consisting of] both calculative order and chaos-breeding irrationality.” Arnold Schoenberg, then, was the perfect model for the character of Leverkühn, as the inheritor of the German Romantic musical lineage of Wagner and Mahler, and yet a famous inventor of the meticulous, mathematical twelve-tone system in response to the events of WWII. Schoenberg was displeased by Mann’s “homage” – in the book, the fictional Leverkühn is said to invent serialism – and Mann later added an addendum at Schoenberg’s request, in which the composer is credited for both serialism and the information Mann drew from studying Harmonielehre, Schoenberg’s treatise on harmony.

In Faustus, music becomes a kind of ethical, political, and aesthetic battleground – but Michael Mann notes that “the musical world of Adrian Leverkühn is not the musical world of Thomas Mann.” While Schoenberg’s theory ignited his literary excitement, his son notes that “his ears rejected Schoenberg’s music… his was the world of Richard Wagner…

Tchaikovsky, Saint-Saëns.” Even in the process of writing Faust he remarked: “If I were a composer, I should compose, perhaps, like Cesar Franck.” In his private life, Mann still sought the “beautiful illusion of art” that he “denounced in his workshop,” deeply rooted in the bürgerliche Kunst, bourgeois art, of the 19th century. In Mann’s Doctor Faustus, we find one of the most complex and paradoxical musico-literary relationships in history, as well as a harrowing and rich narrative for any lover of history or music.

The Pyramid, William Golding

The Pyramid First edition cover © Wikipedia

Of all the works thus far, Golding’s The Pyramid (1967) displays what we might call the “lightest” treatment of music out of the novels surveyed. Instead of making music representative of weighty concepts like genius or freedom, or imbuing it with a powerful ethical valence, Golding’s book centres upon the protagonist Oliver’s upbringing in the fictional sleepy English village of Stilbourne, his transition to Oxford, and his mid-adulthood, in a gentle, reflective coming-of-age narrative. Oliver and his family are very musical, and as such, music features in a way that is faithful to the ways of life of the English countryside: Oliver plays violin and piano, takes lessons with the local organist, and takes part in local community productions with his mother. Music and its practical realities, familiar to any musician – struggling with a new piece, scales, having a melody stuck in your head, and the silly mundanities of lessons and rehearsals – are all woven into the daily fabric of Oliver’s life. Mundane realities of the music world are also shown to be entangled with questions of social status and class – Oliver is ashamed of his secret desire to be a professional pianist, and is told by his father to prioritise studies – and getting into Oxford – over his music lessons.

The poignancy and beauty of music are explored alongside Oliver’s life and experiences with no strong sense of separation – music is one of the languages he speaks on a daily basis, a model of a life lived with music as a companion rather than a master, idol, or unbridled temptation. As such, we end this two-part article on the least sensational, but perhaps most realistic and healthy, portrayal of music in literature – as a daily source of comfort and beauty to those who love it.

John Field’s Seven Piano Concertos (Born on July 26, 1782) The Seeds of Chopin

 by Georg Predota  July 26th, 2026

The legendary pianist and composer John Field (1782-1837), born somewhere between Beethoven and Schubert, was a new pianist for a new era. He is credited with writing music in a style closer to Chopin‘s and with inventing the nocturne.

Field’s nocturnes are a window into the salons of 19th-century Europe, but to celebrate his birthday on 26 July, let us highlight the more public side of his artistic persona by featuring his seven piano concertos. In fact, like any good Netflix series, let’s binge-listen to all of them.  

A Pianist for a New Age

In short, John Field was born in Dublin and moved to London to study with Muzio Clementi. The 12-year-old boy was an instant sensation, and Clementi took him on extended tours of the continent. After performing in Paris and Vienna, teacher and student went on an excursion to Russia.

In time, he became the biggest name on the salon circuit, mesmerising audiences with performances of his music. He also set up a highly successful private piano studio, giving lessons to affluent and well-educated members of society.

John Field

John Field was a special virtuoso, with contemporaries telling of his delicacy of touch and the refinement of his sonority. Powerful chords and blazing velocity were simply not part of his style. Instead, particularly in his character pieces, he focused entirely on tone, colour and shading.

In his short twilight meditations, the nocturnes, words faded away in favour of pure emotion. Field made great use of the technical improvements of the instrument, using a more sustained legato, a greater variety of touch, a subtler range of dynamics, and a more efficient use of the sustaining pedal.  

Pointers Towards Maturity

John Field performed his first piano concerto on 7 February 1799 at the King’s Theatre in London. However, it was first published only in 1814 in St Petersburg after having undergone substantial revisions. And we do know that Field himself sometimes played this concerto without an orchestra, omitting orchestral passages and making adjustments as necessary.

The work opens almost in a Mozartian style, but we soon hear the widely-spaced accompaniment with ornamented flourishes in the piano. A dramatic development switches to the minor key, and the thematic material sounds like modulating progressions later much used by Chopin.

The slow movement consists of two variations on James Hook’s song “Within a mile of Edinburgh Town,” introducing some fashionable exoticism. The Scottish air is simply stated and features the characteristic rhythmic snap. Short cadenzas lead to subsequent variations on the tune.

The concluding “Rondo” opens with an imitation of bagpipe drones, followed by a “cuckoo” motif in the piano. Plenty of Mozartian touches appear in the tutti passages, while the episodes offer some pianistic bravura.

As Philip Buttall writes, “Although this concerto does not show the composer as fully-developed, it does, nevertheless, exhibit one or two pointers towards his later style…There is a lot of passage-work not only to be seen again in Field’s works, but also to be developed in the works of Chopin. (Buttall, Field Concertos, 2005)   

A Blueprint for Chopin

Composed after settling in Russia, Field’s piano concerto No. 2 in A-flat major was a highly influential blueprint for Chopin’s own piano concertos. This once-celebrated concerto was admired and taught by Chopin, and Robert Schumann called it “divine.”

Title page: John Field’s Piano Concerto No. 2

Its origins probably date to around 1811, but it was first published in Leipzig in 1816. The first subject is given by the strings alone, and subsequently joined by clarinets and a lengthy tutti section.

However, it is with the piano’s first entry that Field established a new era, laying down the foundation on which the generation of Romantic composers would build. Here, the soloist enters with his own treatment of the principal theme, elegantly developed, before the music moves to the secondary contrast.

We might also mention that “Field’s accompanying use of the orchestra is considerably fuller and more imaginative than Chopin’s.” (Buttall, Field Concertos, 2005) The “Poco Adagio” is as much a Nocturne as any of his pieces in that genre, and it was published separately as a romance and a serenade.

The concluding “Rondo” is based on a bouncy melody that returns to frame various episodes, but the primary purpose of pianistic display is never really forgotten. This concerto was played throughout the 19th century, as the appealing thematic material and its most effective piano-writing easily account for its former popularity.  

A Tribute to Clementi

Field dedicated his Third Concerto to Muzio Clementi, and it seems to have been written before his second concerto. Stylistically it is closer to the Concerto No. 1, scored for similar orchestral forces and in the same key.

Unusually, the Third Concerto only features two long and brilliant outer movements, and in later years, Field often wedged one of his Nocturnes between these movements. In the featured Chandos recording, Field’s orchestral arrangement of the Nocturne in B-flat Major was used.

The opening “Allegro” movement opens with a beautiful orchestral theme that spins its way to a second group of lyrical contrasts. Once again, the piano makes a declamatory entrance and wanders expressively through a wide range of major and minor keys.

The finale is marked “Tempo di polacca” and unfolds in the manner of a polonaise used in Russia at balls and courtly occasions. It features a good-humoured theme followed by playful passage work. A central episode apparently made listeners weep, and it all ends in a jovial tutti. 

The Lyrical Romantic

Field’s fourth concerto in E-flat major probably dates from around 1814, and it has been described as one of the most beautiful of all Romantic concertos. Eve Bersham writes, “Field was at the height of his powers, as yet in good health and flourishing financially, his fame having by now spread far beyond St Petersburg. Soon the work was in print both in Russia and in Germany, and Field eventually made an arrangement of it for piano solo.” (Bersham, Field Piano Concertos)

Scored for a slightly smaller orchestra, the first subject is quietly announced by the strings alone, followed by a military-sounding transition that leads into the elegant second subject. The soloist’s first statement features lyrical embellishments before a tender Romantic theme is introduced.

The orchestral passages are primarily accompanimental, but they nevertheless provide some colourful passages. However, the stirring martial rhythms overrule all gentleness. The slow movement is titled “Siciliano,” and it might take its inspiration from a slow movement of a Mozart Piano concerto with hints of Mendelssohn sprinkled over the music.

The concluding “Allegretto” sounds like a nursery tune, with witty harmonic digressions and plenty of pianistic challenges. Alongside lively orchestration and brilliant piano writing, Field also reveals humour as an important facet of his musical personality.  

The Blazing Storm

Field’s 5th Piano Concerto was once among his most popular and colourful pieces. Inscribed “The Blazing Storm,” it originates from the rivalry between Field and Daniel Steibelt, who in 1815 also lived and worked in St Petersburg.

Steibelt had composed a concerto subtitled “The Storm,” and Field’s “Blazing Storm” was certainly calculated to outdo the programmatic effects of the earlier work. From the very beginning, Field is not simply suggesting a storm, but some kind of catastrophe resulting from it.

John Field: Nocturnes

The opening “Allegro” starts gently and lyrically, with no hint of the drama to come. However, regarding the development section, we understand the addition of a bass trombone and additional percussion. Now turning to C minor, with the wind increasing, there are rumbles of thunder in the distance.

We can hear some lighting, gusts of wind, and a downpour, when an unexpected harmonic digression leads to an enormous crash on the tam-tam. Once the storm subsides, we are still treated to a devilishly difficult cadenza.

The “Adagio” is mainly taken by the orchestra, with the piano entering in quick flurries between phrases. The orchestra continues serenely, and we enter the “Allegro” rondo without pause. Another light-hearted theme is decorated and embellished, offering plenty of charm and entertainment for an adventurous soloist.  

The Russian March

The Piano Concerto No. 6, again scored in C Major, was first heard in St Petersburg in 1819. Like all Field concertos, it was thoroughly revised before publication. The work opens with a grandiose military march that turns more lyrical. It is then decorated by the piano and spun into what could possibly pass as a Russian folksong.

The “Larghetto” turns out to be an arrangement of Field’s 6th nocturne, and the concluding “Moderato” might have been composed in some haste. It is, by comparison, probably the slightest and lightest in all of Field’s concertos.

It does include many florid and attractive passages, but there are no real contrasting episodes of any melodic distinction. As such, Field probably decided to conclude this work in an overly cheerful manner.

Seeds of Chopin

Field’s only concerto in the minor key had a lengthy gestation period. The first movement of Field’s Seventh Concerto was performed by the composer in Moscow in 1822. The completed work, with a dedication to Mademoiselle d’Albini, was first performed in 1832 in Paris and published two years later.

At the first complete performance in Paris, both Liszt and Chopin were in the audience, and Schumann later suggested that it may have influenced his own concerto. Field’s last concerto is scored for the full resources of the orchestra, including timpani and bass trombone.

The timpani open the first movement, followed by a subject played by the clarinet and bassoon. The piano then remains the centre of attention, including a slow section modelled after Nocturne No. 12. The second of the two movements is again a rondo, with the principal theme evoking Russian ballrooms.

The celebrated critic, François-Joseph Fétis, wrote in the Revue Musicale that the Seventh Concerto was “diffuse, but full of happy ideas.” For the Parisian public, however, it was an immediate success.

John Field’s Memorial plaque, Golden Lane

Philip Buttall writes, “John Field not only invented the nocturne, but also brought into being a whole new range of pianistic expressiveness and feeling, from the cantilena melodies, with their opera-like embellishments in the Nocturnes and the Concertos, to the bravura technical passages and devices in the latter, and in other works.” (Buttall, Field Concertos, 2005)

Having listened to all seven of Field’s concertos, I have been struck by how much of Field’s influence seems to be present in Chopin’s two concertos. The singing melodic lines, ornamental filigree, and nocturne-like lyricism abound, as does the tendency to treat the orchestra as an elegant frame for the piano’s poetic utterances. It seems that the seeds of Chopin’s concerto style had been planted several decades earlier.

Happy Birthday Sir Mick Jagger

 Happy Birthday Sir Mick Jagger (born 26 July 1943) He is the front man and one of the founder members of the rock band The Rolling Stones.

Where Chopin Meets Europe 22nd International “Chopin and His Europe”

 by Georg Predota  July 24th, 2026

Every year, Fryderyk Chopin’s homeland hosts a substantial number of music festivals that bear his name. Among the most prestigious is the 22nd International Chopin and His Europe Music Festival, held in Warsaw from August 23rd to September 6th 2026.

From Bicentenary Celebration to International Landmark

The origins of this exceptional festival date back to celebrations of Chopin’s 200th birthday in 2010. Its creator and artistic director, Stanisław Leszczyński, is a music theorist who specialises in the analysis of interpretation.

He was head of the classical music department at the Polskie Nagrania record label (1979–1981), programme consultant for the Warsaw Philharmonic (1988–1991), director of Polish Radio Music Recordings (1991–1994), and co-founder and first director of the S-1 (now Witold Lutosławski) Concert Studio, a prestigious new music centre in Warsaw.

In the years 1998–2003, he was deputy artistic director of the Polish National Opera, and since 2004, he has been deputy director for Musical Education, Recordings and Concerts at the Fryderyk Chopin Institute in Warsaw.

The Fryderyk Chopin Institute (Narodowy Instytut Fryderyka Chopina) was created in 2001 as a research facility to promote the life and works of Frédéric Chopin. It has hosted the Chopin and His Europe Festival since its inception.

Fryderyk Chopin Institute logo

6th Chopin and His Europe (Nehring, Zdunik, Groblewski)   

More Than a Chopin Festival

The festival collaborates with the Warsaw Philharmonic, the Polish National Opera, and Polish Radio II. While the International Chopin Competition, also organised by the Chopin Institute, is exclusively devoted to the work of Chopin, the Chopin and His Europe Festival presents Chopin’s music within the broader cultural and musical landscape of nineteenth-century Europe.

Essentially, the festival places Chopin within a broader musical lineage. It explores composers who influenced his musical language, his contemporaries, and the generations of composers and performers who inherited his artistic vision.

Fryderyk Chopin Institute, Warsaw

The Sound of Chopin’s Time

An additional defining emphasis is placed on historically informed performances. A good many concerts are performed on period instruments or faithful replicas. The Chopin Institute houses historic pianos by Pleyel, Érard, and Broadwood alongside replicas of instruments originally made by Buchholtz and Conrad Graf.

Chopin Museum, Warsaw

Warsaw Chopin Museum

A Festival of International Excellence

The 22nd Chopin and His Europe Festival presents a more compact programme than in previous years, but it still features 16 concerts over two weeks and one day. It will feature major symphony orchestras from Canada, the United States, and Europe, specifically the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra, and the Orchestre Symphonique de Montréal.

The orchestras are joined by recent prize winners of the Chopin Competition. Eric Lu won the most recent Chopin Competition; Bruce Liu was a previous winner; and Tomasz Ritter won the Chopin Competition on Period Instruments. Kevin Chen was a second-prize winner, and Tianyao Lyu placed fourth.

The festival also features leading pianists, including Sir András Schiff, Mikhail Pletnev, Alexandre Kantorow, and Víkingur Ólafsson, and the outstanding violinist Bomsori Kim. The great master of the harp, Xavier de Maistre, will perform with his ensemble, and recitals by Zitong Wang and Vincent Ong are also scheduled.

Chamber music concerts feature Anna Geniushene and Lukas Geniušas, as well as third-place Chopin Competition laureate Martín García García performing with violinist Chouchane Siranossian. The festival will also feature a performance by Belgian cellist Roel Dieltiens and the pianist Frank Braley.

Chopin and His Europe Festival  

Chopin in Context

The Chopin and His Europe Festival has made Warsaw a meeting ground for artists from across the world. The combination of scholarly research, historically informed performances, and electrifying musicianship has established it as one of Europe’s most distinctive classical music festivals. Interlude will be on site; check back for frequent updates and reports.