In the years immediately before the Second World War II, Marcel Tyberg was a promising young composer whose Second Symphony had been premiered in the 1930s by the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra under the baton of Rafael Kubelík. But for more than sixty years his name (pronounced ‘Tee-berg’) has been languishing in limbo, following his arrest by the Gestapo in 1944 and his deportation from his home in the northern Adriatic town of Abbazia in a cattle car, headed for an undisclosed concentration camp. Nothing more was known of his destiny except for an unconfirmed rumor that he had hanged himself on the train rather than face almost certain torture and extermination at the hands of the Nazis.
There were only a few insiders who remembered Tyberg, an introverted loner whose real life was in the torrents of music swirling around in his head. He cared little for acclaim and fame, and several times declined offers to publish his music. He did not thirst for fame nor did he crave earthly possessions. Even those few insiders presumed that his compositions had perished along with the composer.