Helping Haydn

In 1958, rummaging through the Hungarian National Library in Budapest, a young U.S. musicologist named H. C. Robbins Landon unearthed a treasure-trove of eight operas by Franz Joseph Haydn. The scores, written in the master's hand between 1762 and 1780, were in various states of disrepair. Landon set himself to the task of preparing them for production. Last week the Landon-restored Le Pescatrici (The Fisherwomen) opened at the Holland Festival in Amsterdam to critical acclaim: "A score which swarms with pleasing musical finds"; "Some arias and duets are jewels which nobody other than Haydn could have cut."

Misplaced Aria. What few realized was the extent of Landon's "a la Haydn" restoration: fully one-third of the opera was pure Landon. So skillful was the reweaving job that even Director Werner Duggelin and Conductor Alberto Erede were taken in. Questioned about the major aria, "Quanti diversi sentimenti nel cuor!" (How many emotions are in my breast!) in the second act, Duggelin unhesitatingly replied: "Oh, that is Haydn, beyond any doubt. Of course, I know Landon did a job of restoration. But as a professional, one knows what and where, of course." Echoed Erede: "That is Haydn, of course. It is masterly--the most beautiful aria of the whole opera." When informed that Landon had composed the aria, both men were aghast. "This will cause a scandal in the world of music," whispered Erede.

Landon was unruffled. "Some may accuse me of heresy," he said, "but if you did not do what I did, you simply could not play it. I want those operas onstage, not buried in an archive in Budapest."

Missing Heiress. The eight operas, created for the court theater of Haydn's patron, Prince Nicolaus Esterhazy, are mostly free-wheeling romps, light on drama but buoyed by richly melodious scores. Le Pescatrici is a kind of seagoing Cinderella. A handsome prince moors his ship at a small fishing village. He is in search of the long-lost heiress to the Benevento throne, who was spirited away as a baby, after her father's assassination. For reasons of state, the prince wants to marry her. Two fisherwomen immediately claim to be the princess, fall all over themselves seeking the prince's affection. The real princess (beautifully sung by Yugoslav Contralto Ruza Pospis) finally emerges, and the prince sails off with her to everlasting happiness.

Landon, now 39 and working with his harpsichordist wife out of a villa in Florence, likens his role to "that of an expert restorer of antique furniture, for whom the greatest praise can only be that the final result, the missing leg of the table, is indistinguishable from the rest."

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