“Beethovenian Thoughts”
by Curzio Vivarelli, Edizioni del Tridente, 2024
As the Author warns us, this brief yet dense book—81 pages with two illustrations—is neither a biographical nor a philological contribution to the life and works of Ludwig van Beethoven. Rather, it is a collection of reflections—philosophical, historical, and even landscape‑oriented—whose center of gravity invariably falls upon the figure of the Cyclops of Bonn, whose music is placed as the inspirer of such meditations. Written in an elegant prose, one immediately perceives the care devoted to style: the pages flow pleasantly, offering intriguing insights and at times reserving notable surprises.
Such as, for example, the almost Plutarchian parallels between the figure and the sentiments underlying Beethoven’s oeuvre—Tondichter, that is, “poet of sounds,” and, we may add, “tragédien” in the classical sense—and their equivalent in our own Giacomo Leopardi. Or again, the singular association of figures, pursued even to a brief physiognomic glance cast upon the statuary heads of two Giants—one of music, the other of medicine—who lived in the same era and perhaps had, albeit from afar, some awareness of one another.
This hypothesis is not far‑fetched even from the standpoint of simple chronology, given that Goethe—who at Teplitz had his celebrated encounter with Beethoven—was struck, in those same years, by the noise and fame surrounding the doctrine and therapeutic method inaugurated by Christian Friedrich Hahnemann, founder of Homeopathy. Here, if the author of our book seems almost hurled outward by the centrifugal force of his thoughts, we must not overlook that he grounds the launching ramps of his projections upon solid bases: Goethe went so far as to suggest to Prince Schwarzenberg that he entrust his ailments to Dr. Hahnemann’s science, and nothing prevents us from believing that the Poet, albeit with the circumspection born of his Menschenkenntnis—his swift ability to discern the character of those before him—might have whispered to the irritable great Deaf One the name of the great Physician…
Yet in our book—brief, as said, but exceedingly dense—many other figures come alive within these reflections, to which the author grants a coherent and controlled yet ample flow, a wide panorama explicitly attributed to the powerful, Schopenhauerian Will revealed by Beethoven’s music. From the outset, enthusiasts admired its proverbial and splendid Weiträumigkeit, that is—seeking to render the hidden sense of the German word—its “capacity to unveil to the mind immense spaces” (and here the parallel with Leopardi’s Infinito becomes almost obligatory, with the “interminable spaces” the Poet beholds from his “solitary hill”).
Thus suddenly appears the young Franz Grillparzer; we behold again the noble, pensive figures of Wilhelm Furtwängler and Willem Mengelberg; we see Carl Schuricht; we hear once more the self‑ironic and sorrowful voice of Giacomo Puccini who, pointing at the score of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony open upon his piano at Torre del Lago, says in his Lucchese dialect: E eh un c’è nnulla daffare, la vera musiha l’è qqui drento… And then, in the flow of these thoughts plastically shaped by the author’s walks through the Veronese countryside, on the Elban Calamita, on the Garda mountains, through the streets and seafront of Livorno’s Ardenza, many other figures appear—rightfully possessing something Beethovenian, whether for depth of thought or poetic inspiration: Schopenhauer, Nietzsche and his emulator Heidegger, the Promethean and playful Albertazzi, and then the other Giants—Mozart, whose passage through the town of Ala between Verona and Rovereto the author recalls; Haydn, Wagner, Bach, Vivaldi…
Naturally, with an attentive reading—one that does not limit itself to the explicit word but also to the implicit—we easily discover the author’s source, at least regarding Beethoven’s biographical episodes: the monumental Beethoven by Piero Buscaroli. From this work our author also borrows and deepens, with affection and gratitude, the moving “cult” that many—illustrious artists or obscure sketchers—nurtured for the Viennese cottages where the Genius was hosted for shorter or longer periods. We see again, in drawing and in word, the cottage of Heiligenstadt at whose corner, upon the wall where the gas lamp is lit at dusk, stands the statuette of Saint Florian (and how can one’s thoughts not turn to the final hero of Bruckner’s symphony?); we see the villa of Gutenbrunn, the house in Probusgasse, and then that in Grinzingerstrasse where our surly Cyclops grew irritated upon seeing Franz Grillparzer’s mother seated on the staircase, enraptured by the piano music emanating from the apartment whose tenant was the great Deaf One!
It almost seems, in this book, that no guiding thread, no principal theme lies at its foundation or can be discerned; but when one listens to the piano sonatas of the Cyclops, when the mighty notes of the Fifth, the Seventh, and the Ninth resound, what guiding threads or themes can remain? When the Giant moves, one must hold one’s breath and admire!
The book contains, rather, a singular and graceful utopian tale. Perhaps it was born of the unquenchable nostalgia for the fact that the Cyclops of Bonn did not follow the path of Mozart first and Goethe later, and never crossed the Alps to come south of them. If the book recounts in a flash that Mozart played at Palazzo Pezzini in Ala, a flame of regret burns: how would the divine Beethoven have reacted upon seeing the Adige Valley as it narrows after Trento, closes at the ancient Chiusa Veneta, and then opens to the southern sun toward Verona, which had already welcomed Goethe with amused curiosity?
Thus one imagines that in October or November 1827 Beethoven’s strong constitution overcame the illness afflicting him and that, recovering, he undertook a journey along Lake Garda—still wild, mild in climate, rich in fruits and good fare. Beethoven is accompanied by his dear Viennese companions; Dr. Andreas Wawruch is present, watching over his convalescence; and there is no lack of sweet convivial moments and pleasant excursions on the newly inaugurated steamboat. From Malcesine or Limone, blessed with good waters, they depart for a visit to Salò, where a learned parish priest recounts to Beethoven the story of Gasparo, inventor of the violin, and shows him scores of ancient music…
