The poet’s reference to Teofil Lenartowicz’s Romantic poetry and creation of an image of the historically afflicted countryside were accurately conveyed by the composer, who noted in his diary: “Paweł managed – somehow – to capture this Poland of peasants and manor houses, with threats against the lords, with uprisings and poverty” (Zygmunt Mycielski, Dziennik 1950–1959, Iskry, Warsaw 1999, p. 349). 

When Mycielski read Hertz’s pieces he immediately began thinking about setting them to music. Many years later he confessed to Elżbieta Markowska how disappointed he was with the radio recording presented on 4 September 1959:

The work was ‘spat out’ not so much by the listeners but by the critics, because it is functional, tonal, old-fashioned. In 1955 avant-garde trends were beginning to reach Poland, and I reached for Polish traditions and folk art. This was the only time I used some motifs from Kolberg’s oeuvre. I really value these songs (Elżbieta Markowska, Zygmunt Mycielski, “Dwie rozmowy”, Res Facta Nova, 1994 no. 1(10), p. 38).

The pastoral and, at the same time, lyrical mood of the first three songs (preceded by an instrumental prelude) was achieved by Mycielski by accentuating the role of the woodwind instruments and highlighting the solo voices clearly delivering the texts of the poems. In the second song, which begins with an instrumental introduction and contains a melodic motto subsequently taken up by the soloists, the composer accentuates the phrases in such a way that he “illuminates” them slightly differently each time – in a different part of the bar (like Igor Stravinsky), with a different kind of counterpoint, in a different texture. The interventions of the choir in the first segment of Nowy lirnik mazowiecki serve as a complement. In addition, the composer gradually makes the segment more dynamic, introducing a dance rhythm in the third song.

The segments of the cycle are separated by a restless instrumental “Intermezzo I” (Molto agitato), which draws on the commentary from Hertz’s poetry collection referring to the uprising of 1863.

The bleak mood of the second segment of the cycle (from the fourth song) is anticipated by the choir’s commentary in song three. This mood is enhanced by the economy of the means used as well as agogic and dynamic restraint – the fourth song brings a momentary respite before the extremely agitated following sections of the cycle, which deal with the revolt of the lowest social strata. Beata Bolesławska-Lewandowska interprets the expression and musical language of the successive songs in the following manner:

the intensity and strength of expression remain on an extremely high level. [...] The composer replaces asceticism and quasi-folk simplicity with a language with a typical twentieth-century contrapuntal-polyphonic texture and [...] atonal, dissonant harmony. The changing rhythm, sharpness of sound as well as lively progression bring to mind solutions known from works by Igor Stravinsky (The Rite of Spring) or – to a lesser extent – Karol Szymanowski (Harnasie), although without any direct references” (from a forthcoming monograph devoted to Zygmunt Mycielski).

The composer gradually enlivens the mood by introducing the rhythm of folk dances, and then having the orchestra extinguish the musical narrative before the finale – with a kind of apotheosis of communal song (“Country song, you speak with the free voice of the world”) and a reference to Friedrich Schiller’s Ode, which finds its complement in the finale of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony (“people will be brothers”).

Today Nowy lirnik mazowiecki is sometimes interpreted as an example of the composer’s tribute to socialist realism (Mieczysław Tomaszewski) or restoration of a lost past (Beata Bolesławska-Lewandowska). However, as we watch, on the basis of the sketches, how the composer’s creative vision changed, how the composer abandoned the original generic term “cantata” (so strongly marked by the aesthetics and demands of socialist realism) in favour of an intimate statement in the form of a cycle of orchestral songs, we should concur with the interpretation emphasising the immersion of the artists – Zygmunt Mycielski and Paweł Hertz – in Poland’s difficult history. 

Mycielski regarded Lirnik as his most important achievement as composer till the end of his life. His correspondence with Andrzej Panufnik or his diaries often featured at least brief references to the work. Let us quote one of them:

Lirnik continues to move me, I couldn’t change anything in it. I can’t understand why no one plays it, no one knows it, no one has noticed it. In London, America, Czechia or Russia they would play such a thing, if they had it, a few times a year. Here, Lirnik remains with me, one manuscript, neither photographed, nor copied. I don’t know whom to leave it to when I die, and I wouldn’t like it to get lost. A strange country, strange people (Zygmunt Mycielski, Dziennik 1960–1969, Iskry, Warsaw 2001, p. 570).