The melody of the Andante, in which Frimmel detects Mozartian analogies, bears some similarity in phrasing to the second theme—also in A-flat—of the Largo in the Sonata Op. 7. The first two variations possess a pleasing lightness; the third, in the minor mode, is entirely concentrated in the yearning ascent of its syncopated figure; the fourth, returning to the major, is shaped around the initial three-note thematic motif, which seems to foreshadow the subsequent Scherzo. In the fifth and final variation, the melodic ornamentation becomes a substantial element of expressive magnification, all within the atmosphere of sweetness created by the theme.

Of particular note in the Scherzo is the second part, with its repeated clash between a bold rhythmic figure and a harmonic resistance, descending from forte to piano and pianissimo, before resolving in the return of the first section—now more adorned and festive. In the calm character of the Trio, with the gentle balance of its legato theme, there is nonetheless something obscure or mysterious that seems to insinuate itself.

According to Ries, it was the great success of the funeral march in Paer’s Achille that prompted Beethoven to compose a piece of the same kind.

However, this report does not align with the fact that the world premiere of Achille at the Hoftheater in Vienna took place on 6 June 1801, by which time Beethoven’s march already existed in full—at least in sketch form—in the 1800 notebook. It is possible, though, that Beethoven was already familiar with Paer’s work, with whom he was on good terms, before the premiere—perhaps through a full score or a piano reduction; and that in the aforementioned notebook, some parts were written, revised, or added after 1800, i.e. in the period between the premiere of Paer’s opera and the publication date of the Sonata (March 1802).

Some have even speculated that in Ries’s memoirs—written many years after the fact—Achille may have been confused with another work by the same composer, written earlier (Czerny, who also names Paer in this context, speaks only in general terms of “an opera”). It would not be unreasonable, in any case, to suppose that both Beethoven and Paer may have outwardly conformed to a shared model provided by the military music practices of the time.

In Paer’s opera, the march is first performed by wind and percussion instruments alone during the procession of Greek warriors bringing the corpse of Patroclus—killed in battle by Hector—to Achilles’ tent; it is then repeated, with the addition of strings, during Achilles’ lamentation. But beyond any consideration of the typical structural elements of the genre, the true value of Beethoven’s music lies not in its imitation—however brilliant—of the type, but in his ability to discover, within the formal framework of an “official” ceremonial style, a profound expressiveness.

In 1814, Beethoven himself transcribed the march for orchestra, including it among the pieces intended as incidental music for Leonora Prohaska, which he prepared for Duncker’s play.

Describing the final Allegro as a perpetuum mobile or a study does not adequately capture its character, as its play of fantasy constantly bursts beyond the narrow confines of those academic and virtuosic notions.

Ultimately, the outward form—even if comparisons are drawn with similar types of compositions by Cramer, Clementi, or Paradisi—did not stifle the artist’s imaginative freedom, which reveals itself in every aspect of those typical elements (passages, reprises, episodes) and in the rapid fade-out of the conclusion.