Marino

‘Hans Werner Henze spent the greater part of his life in Italy, at his home in Marino near Rome.
Henze was a man of the theater throughout his life, and his own existence and demeanor bore theatrical traits. Marino was his personal sanctuary - a place he had lavishly appointed with the help of his partner, Fausto Moroni. It featured its own vineyard complete with a tasting ‘grotto,’ a badminton court, a swimming pool, and expansive grounds so vast that one rarely perceived their boundaries. Just as important as the estate itself were the animals living there, including successive generations of incredibly slender greyhounds and exotic birds.
Henze frequently welcomed guests who made the long journey from Rome, only to be picked up by Fausto in a spectacular Jaguar. As a guest, one inevitably became part of the staging. On one hand, Henze - alongside Fausto - was an excellent host; there was always an abundance of wine and delicious food, accompanied by long, leisurely meals and brilliant conversation, often in the company of other interesting guests. On the other hand, one was always keenly aware of being part of a complex drama dictated primarily by the rhythm of the ‘Maestro.’ Hans-Ulrich Treichel described this unique atmosphere quite accurately in his novel ‘Tristanakkord’ - much to the Maestro’s displeasure.’
Henze made a habit of rising early - regardless of the previous night’s activities - often at 4 or 5 a.m. He dedicated this sacred time to his compositions, retreating to his small attic studio to work. For guests, the hours leading up to around 9 a.m. meant not making a sound; any noise would infuriate the Maestro, who demanded absolute silence. I will never forget the time I made the mistake of quietly trying out a few notes on one of the two grand pianos in the drawing room - the Maestro was decidedly not amused.
After 9 a.m., Henze would retire for another nap; this time, too, had to be spent in absolute silence. On particularly hot days, one could head to the swimming pool, though a video camera kept watch to ensure not a single drop of water touched the elegant pool furniture; consequently, one had to slip in and out of the water as unobtrusively as an eel.
Around noon, the ‘pleasant’ part of the day began for the Maestro, usually starting with a glass of whisky followed by several bottles of wine - often enjoyed in the pleasant company of his guests or accompanied by numerous professional phone calls. It was in the early afternoon that one found him particularly open and candid; I recall many wonderful conversations in which he spoke of his impressive musical career or of his deeply beloved Ingeborg Bachmann - often with additions from Fausto (who, all the while, managed the hospitality - and always exquisitely). Henze also delighted in hosting grand evening gatherings, house concerts, and receptions, always featuring interesting guests and great pomp, right down to torches illuminating the garden. In my piece ‘Marino,’ I attempt to capture the peculiar and fascinating atmosphere I experienced during my many visits there - a blend of profound respect and, at times, a fearful shudder at the thought of becoming lost forever in that labyrinth of sugar bowls, huge painted portraits, heavy curtains, and cushions; of vanishing like the protagonist of Susanna Clarke’s ‘Piranesi’, who loses himself in a kind of virtual Renaissance prison.
The instrumentation mirrors that of Henze’s ‘Amicizia!’, originally composed for the Cantiere d’Arte in Montepulciano. I dedicate the piece to the master, mentor, and friend that Henze always was to me. I miss him.’
(Moritz Eggert, 26.05.2026)