Despite being busier than church bells on a Sunday morning, I was alert to the possibility of personal commissions – anything that might interrupt the reliable monotony of daily obligations. So, when Siegmund Haffner, a longtime friend of our family, asked me to compose a serenade[i] for his sister’s wedding, I accepted with genuine enthusiasm.
I imagined a grand summer evening beneath the stars, guests gathered attentively, my music drifting elegantly through the warm air. It seemed a reasonable expectation.
Determined to make my wedding gift suitably generous, I composed a serenade containing everything I loved about music: radiant melodies, playful exchanges between instruments, and prominent violin solos designed to sweep the guests off their feet. I poured my heart and soul into the project, and on July 21st, we performed the Haffner Serenade before a large and lively wedding crowd.
The audience proved to be every bit as energetic as promised, and by “lively” I mean that the guests were busy chatting, eating, drinking, and occasionally burping. Bridesmaids giggled through the Andante. A group of men debated loudly over who was responsible for dropping a bottle of champagne during the Allegro. And one especially enthusiastic uncle clapped along in the wrong key. From my place at the violin stand, I observed all of this with growing disbelief, yet I played on.
Despite the fact that the guests sparkled more from wine than from harmony, the newlyweds seemed pleased enough and thanked me politely at the end of the evening. Ultimately, not all was lost. I learned that music is not always meant for deep reflection or divine reverence – particularly when competing with dessert. Sometimes, it simply provides the soundtrack to celebration, whether anyone is paying attention or not.
[i] The Serenade for orchestra in D major, K. 250 (248b), popularly known as the Haffner Serenade.