Research on music and musical life in nineteenth-century Europe and North America has been increasing at a smart pace over the past few decades, revealing an admirable variety and welcome sense of fresh initiative. But many of these efforts – especially ones dealing with pieces that are rarely if ever performed today – have proceeded in relative isolation or have not been granted the attention that they deserve. And many important topics – including whole forgotten repertoires – remain to be explored.

On Wednesday 24 May 1871, during the uprising of the Paris Commune, the Sacristine of the convent of the Sœurs Auxiliatrices des Ames du Purgatoire was disturbed by the sound of rapidly approaching gunfire and explosions. From the secluded convent compound in the rue de la Barouillère in Paris, she wrote in the convent diary: ‘Everyone believes that the house is shaking! . . . The Mother Superior makes an act of faithfulness to the Holy Will of God! . . . it is an explosion in the Luxembourg gunpowder magazine and our tiled floor shatters! The Tuileries, the Louvre, the Ministry of War, the Palace of the Legion of honour are in flames.’ However, the Sacristine's attention was soon shifted from the noise of conflict towards the many other types of sounds outside and within the convent. Even the sound of the doorbell began to strike with a seemingly ominous edge. At ‘1 o′clock pm: The bell rings very loudly, the Mother Superior looks out of the window, it is her brother!’ Amidst the noises of war surrounding the compound, the nuns continued their musical routine of song and organ playing: ‘6 pm: Les Mères nevertheless sing pieces to the Holy Sacrament and the Most Holy Virgin.’

It was Paganini's request for a concerto that prompted Berlioz to embark on the composition that eventually became Harold in Italy. The legendary virtuoso, then at the height of his fame, had recently acquired a fine Stradivari viola and needed a suitable vehicle for introducing the instrument to the public. He was puzzled and disappointed by Berlioz's score. It certainly was not the anticipated virtuoso vehicle, and within months Paganini had composed a substitute for himself, the Sonata per la grand viola. Berlioz explained that his work was ‘a new kind of symphony and not a composition written to show off a unique talent like [Paganini's]’. Berlioz's programmatic symphony with solo viola – the concerto that wasn't – would appear on the surface to be utterly devoid of the established codes of the virtuoso concerto.

22 July 1824. Many Londoners had waited years for this night. They thronged to the English Opera House, filling the boxes and cramming the benches in the pit and gallery. It was worth the heat, the expense, the danger from pickpockets. After hearing of its success for three years, after glimpsing snatches of it in concert and sheet music excerpts, and after enduring weeks of advertising for the English Opera House production, they would finally be the first in London to witness the most celebrated German opera of the time: Weber's Der Freischütz.