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“Beethovenian Thoughts” by Curzio Vivarelli: An Homage to the Cyclops of Bonn, Poet of Sound

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“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…

Among the pages appears a warning that may even be perceived as ironic, when the author—who seems to have read with great attention the fourth volume of The World as Will and Representation—writes that Schopenhauer’s celebrated definition of Music seems perfectly tailored to the Eroica or the other Beethovenian symphonies! An irony, because Schopenhauer, though he heard Beethoven’s music, preferred that of Mozart… (But we also know that despite the Schopenhauerian cult that led Wagner to send scores and books to the philosopher of Frankfurt, the latter replied with utmost courtesy that, though admiring his talent, he would remain a devoted listener of his beloved Gioachino Rossini…)

A book, then, these Beethovenian Thoughts, to be read without expecting theories or doctrines, but to be explored attentively: one finds insights that may, for an expert, lend themselves to biographical developments or artistic interpretation.

A word now on the book’s two illustrations. It would have been a courageous undertaking had the author—who is also the draughtsman—added to the cottage of Heiligenstadt in Pfarrplatz and to Hahnemann’s birthplace a portrait of Beethoven. But, as Nietzsche says, am Anfang ist immer Barbarei, and attempting the portrait of the Cyclops is no easy task, for one does not portray a face alone but something Abyssal. Perhaps—and this would have been the apparently shorter path—one might have copied or even traced without fear (genius copies and the mediocre imitates, said Albertazzi, mischievous as always!) the celebrated profile drawn by Julius Schnorr von Carolsfeld.

From the mask taken of Beethoven at age forty—which therefore restores the real features of the Cyclops—emerges the portrait of a gentleman who, without being an Adonis and indeed being rather ordinary, was certainly not unpleasant. And, upon close inspection, from the features thus restored—more accurate than photographic ones—there shines forth a being of infinite sensitivity, whose traits are marked but never excessively, and possess an ineffable refinement and nobility. The same occurs in the profile drawn by Schnorr von Carolsfeld, much praised by Beethoven’s contemporaries: one sees a young gentleman, ordinary, with a faint ironic smile whose expression is extraordinarily interior and detached. Not judgmental, yet playful. The sign of one who carries within himself something luminous that others cannot even intuit.

Sources assure us that Schnorr von Carolsfeld sketched his drawing from life during a reception. Beethoven appears there as a flourishing and thoughtful being: his hair is beautiful, fine, and thick; the folds of his face show nothing diminished… One could not risk, in the book, producing an effigy with overly marked traits. Elly Ney said—from within the art she knew—that everywhere Beethoven is harsher, more tender, more delicate, more vigorous than anyone else (though the allusion was to Mozart), and one deduces the impossibility that he should have features not sculpted by thought, marked as those of a brewer might be. He was something entirely different, even in his ordinary appearance as a cultivated gentleman devoted to art.

The profile by Schnorr von Carolsfeld is beautiful and above all faithful, but tracing it would indeed have posed not a few artistic and contemplative challenges to anyone bold enough to attempt it. For this edition of the book, let us content ourselves with the cult of the houses: there is, as frontispiece, a pen drawing of a seagull with the celebrated cottage of Pfarrplatz in Heiligenstadt, and, as a sort of Plutarchian counterpoint, a pen‑and‑ink drawing on graph paper of the birthplace of the great Hahnemann. A symbolic dyad of Music and Health.

Beethoven‑Album (1846) – A Commemorative Book of International Tributes

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Beethoven-Album: ein Gedenkbuch (1846)

Beethoven-Album: ein Gedenkbuch dankbarer Liebe und Verehrung für den großen Todten; gestiftet und beschrieben von einem Vereine von Künstlern und Kunstfreunden aus Frankreich, England, Italien, Deutschland, Holland, Schweden, Ungarn und Rußland.

The texts and documents on this page are by Luigi Bellofatto.

The musical examples on this page are by Graziano Denini.

Beethoven‑Album: a commemorative book of grateful love and veneration for the great departed, created and written by an association of artists and art‑lovers from France, England, Italy, Germany, Holland, Sweden, Hungary and Russia.

Stuttgart, Hallberger’sche Verlagshandlung, in collaboration with Paris, Bureau Central de musique; London, Ewer & Co.; Milan, G. Ricordi (1846). In 4to (26 × 18.5 cm), XVI + 312 pages with engraved steel‑plate frontispiece portrait.

Published following the celebrations for the inauguration of the Beethoven monument in Bonn, held the previous year (10–12 August 1845) in the presence of the King of Prussia and the Queen of England.

The project had already been conceived in 1835, but insufficient donations had prevented its realization until Franz Liszt (whose contribution appears on pp. 274–77) finally formed a committee after receiving financial support from the banker Mertens‑Schafhausen.

As a sign of “lasting remembrance” of those three historic days, the music was composed and the book published by the house of Ludwig Hallberger and the musicologist Gustav Schilling (1805–1880): “Beethoven’s umpteenth worthy monument, which—being accessible to all—may also be, for everyone and forever… a visible sign of great love and veneration.”

 

Another noteworthy—and much rarer—Beethoven Album

ALBUM‑BEETHOVEN. Dix Morceaux brillants pour le Piano, composed by Messrs. Chopin, Czerny, Döhler, Henselt, Kalkbrenner, Liszt, Mendelssohn Bartholdy, Moscheles, Taubert and Thalberg, and published by P. Mechetti to contribute to the expenses of the monument to Louis van Beethoven in Bonn. Vienna, Mechetti (PN 3593–3608) [February 1842].

It was published in 1842 and the proceeds (1304 Taler and 15 pence) were destined exclusively for the monument.

Among the various first editions included in this album, noteworthy are:

  • Liszt’s transcription of the funeral march from Beethoven’s Symphony No. 3 (Raabe No. 128)
  • Chopin’s Op. 45 (“Prélude pour le Piano”; Platzman 2nd ed., p. 176)
  • Mendelssohn’s 17 Variations sérieuses Op. 54 (Wehner S. 343)

This was the contribution of the Viennese publisher Mechetti to the Beethoven monument in Bonn. Only very few copies are known today.

This extremely rare book will be the subject of a dedicated study on our website.

Various remarks concerning the Bonn monument

“At least the Beethoven monument in Bonn is a sign of attention for the simple, ignorant wanderer” (Alster, p. 131).

Or that of L. C. Beckmann, Amsterdam (p. 149), who writes:

“A monument is erected for you… as if one feared forgetting your music… Then greater honour is paid to the master than by a likeness in stone… In his music his spirit lives again.”

Also noteworthy is the contribution of the musician Baron von Lannoy (p. 98), referring to Beethoven’s political stance at the time of the removal of the dedication of the Eroica to Napoleon.

And the contribution of E. von Heydebrand (Prussian officer in Oels, p. 228):

“Deep within my breast I silently preserve a strong admiration for that which neither word nor pen is sufficient for me!”

This book, which can also be downloaded in PDF format from our website, is considered extremely rare on the antiquarian book and music market.


Questo libro, che si può scaricare anche in formato PDF dal nostro sito, è considerato rarissimo sul mercato librario e musicale.

The artistic world of the time was called upon to write short contributions

The album is at the same time a reflection of the musical life of the period, with many contents published here for the first time.

One example is the piece:

  • “Never printed; discovered by A. Geissler, cantor in Zschopau” by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Die Nase, composed for his wife.

No less important are the three pages of recollections by the enchanting Schröder‑Devrient, who at the age of 17 had sung in Fidelio, and here recalls in particular the final rehearsal under the Maestro’s direction.

Among the 180 musical contributions, we may mention:

  • the 7 pages of music by Meyerbeer on a poem by Ferd. Braun, at Beethoven’s grave
  • Léon Kreutzer (nephew of Rodolphe)
  • Tobias Haslinger and Carl Haslinger, with two pages Hommage à Hector Berlioz

For Italy, there are contributions by Teresa Milanollo (1827–1904) and her sister Maria (1832–1848), celebrated violinists from Savigliano. Perhaps everything originated from their encounter with Liszt in 1843, when they had the honour of performing together with the great musician in Cologne.

There is also a contribution by the composer and conductor Gaspare Spontini, written only a few years before his death in January 1851.

Another publication by Herrmann Josef Landau

Erstes poetisches Beethoven‑Album: zur Erinnerung an den großen Tondichter und an dessen Säcularfeier, begangen den 17. Dezember 1870 Prague: Selbstverlag des Verfassers, 1872. – XIV, 450 pages.

Published on the occasion of the centenary of Beethoven’s birth, it contains numerous essays and writings on Beethoven and his music, some published here for the first time.

The contributions come from all over Germany and Austria, with accounts of the concerts held for the centenary in various cities.

The Italian critic Filippo Filippi took part in the ceremony in Vienna, and his report is described in detail in his book Musica e Musicisti.

This book too can be downloaded exclusively from our website.

Texts and ownership of the individual volumes:
Luigi Bellofatto

036 – Lied “Unter den dunkeln Linden”, for voice and piano

The Lied Unter den dunkeln Linden, for voice and piano, is available in PDF in its complete version.

053 – Gebet – Song for two sopranos, tenor and bass

The chorale Gebet was initially reproduced exactly as found in the book. However, it did not sound correct, and harmonically it was somewhat too daring. There was also an unjustified natural sign in the tenor, and the soprano parts used the C‑clef while the tenor did not.

I therefore tried changing the tenor clef without altering the position of the notes; naturally, the entire part shifted one note downward.

I then attempted to interpret the final natural sign in the second soprano part (which makes no sense), and it also makes no sense that Soprano I sings E–D–D–C and Soprano II D–E–D–C (!!), with parallel octaves (!!), written moreover by a Kapellmeister!

Could it be another printing error?

I therefore tried writing G–F♯–F♮–E–D. Swapping the parts (D–E in II, E–D in I) is ugly. And what if everything had been mis‑engraved during printing?

It could therefore be G–F♯–F♮–G–F–E — excellent!

096 – Abendlied by Goethe, for four solo voices

Abendlied by Goethe for four solo voices (notes on the Lied):

This Lied was written by Johannes Daniel Falk (1768–1826) in 1817 with the title Unter allen Wipfeln ist Ruh (also set by Kuhlau). It follows the model of Goethe’s Wandrers Nachtlied II (1780), set among others by Schubert.

It is said that Goethe wrote this poem on the wall of a forester’s cabin at the top of the Kickelhahn near Ilmenau, where he spent the night.

124 – Four Beethoven sketches

Minuet in B minor (Hess 331) Found on p. 61 of the sketchbook Grasnick 2, preserved at the Preussische Staatsbibliothek in Berlin. This sketchbook includes drafts for the six string quartets Op. 18. Since this is roughly contemporary with other sets of dances for piano, orchestra and string trio, this minuet may be considered a sketch for a minuet intended for one of these sets.

After examining the notebook, we discovered that the sketch seems to continue beyond the point published in the Beethoven‑Album.

Pastorella in D major (Hess 332) This composition (actually only a melodic line) appears among sketches for the Quartet Op. 18 No. 5 and can be related to that quartet. The piece consists of two eight‑bar phrases, each with a repeat. It is found on p. 67 of Grasnick 2.

Presto (Hess 333) – Beginning of a composition. A single voice on the staff. Appears among sketches for the Quartet Op. 18 No. 5 and can be related to the quartet. The piece consists of two eight‑bar phrases. Also on p. 67 of Grasnick 2. After examining the notebook, we discovered that the sketch seems to continue beyond the point published in the Beethoven‑Album.

Minuet–Presto in A major (Hess 334) This beginning of a composition contains only the first and second violin parts. Appears among sketches for the Quartet Op. 18 No. 5 and can be related to the quartet. The piece consists of eleven bars. Found on p. 67 of Grasnick 2.

You can also find these four sketches in another section of the site.

The Relationship Between Beethoven and Spontini – Cumulative Article

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The Relationship Between Beethoven and Spontini

Article by the staff of the Beethoven Music Research Center – www.lvbeethoven.org

The organist Karl Gottlieb Freudenberg, principal organist of Breslau, met Beethoven in July 1825 and left a vivid and passionate recollection of the encounter.

“Soon a vigorous, medium‑sized man appeared, with a friendly gesture and a benevolent gaze… We chatted freely for about an hour. Naturally, the subject of our conversation was music and its young adepts. I thought that Rossini, then so fashionable, would be mocked by Beethoven. Instead, he acknowledged that Rossini had great talent as a composer of melodies, even though his music, like the spirit of the age, was frivolous and sensual. Spontini had many good qualities; he always achieved theatrical effects with great precision… Spohr, in his view, used too many dissonances, and his chromatic melody detracted from the pleasure his music could give. He held Sebastian Bach in the highest esteem: ‘Not Bach [brook], but ocean he should have been called, for the infinite and inexhaustible wealth of his harmonic combinations. He was the ideal of every organist.’ I too, he said, played the organ in my youth, but my nerves could not withstand the power of that gigantic instrument. I consider a master organist among the greatest of virtuosos. He then observed that true church music should be performed only by voices, and for this reason he preferred Palestrina above all other composers of sacred music. He also believed it madness to try to imitate him unless one possessed both his genius and his religious faith.”

(Freudenberg, quoted in Prod’homme)

From www.barbadillo.it

Culture (P. Isotta): Spontini and Cherubini, the great (and uncomfortable) Italians we forget today

Spontini considered Beethoven his first model. It is worth recalling that when he moved to Berlin, the Italian inventor of modern conducting was the first to conduct Bach’s Great Mass and Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis outside Vienna; he was also the first to restore the original edition of Mozart’s Don Giovanni.

From www.musicandosite.com

History of Opera: Opera in France with Spontini and Cherubini

Among Spontini’s Berlin operatic productions—he is regarded in music history as the first eminent conductor—one must remember the opera Agnese di Hohenstaufen (1829). Its score, aligned with the new course of Romantic opera, presented a historical subject no longer tied to the classical world, while the music reflected the arrival on the operatic stage of Beethoven’s Fidelio and Weber’s works.

A Personal Curiosity

It is curious to see that the busts of Beethoven and Spontini were placed on the façade of the Paris Opera, with Mozart’s bust between them.

Busts of Mozart, Beethoven and Spontini by Chabaud, façade of the Palais Garnier, Paris.

From www.treccani.it — Andrea Chegai

In Berlin, Spontini conducted works by Händel, Haydn, Beethoven, as well as Don Giovanni and even Der Freischütz, in memory of the recently deceased composer and for the benefit of his family (6 November 1826).

Beethoven and Spontini: A Historical Relationship Reconsidered

Although Beethoven and Gaspare Spontini never developed a personal friendship nor exchanged letters, their relationship occupies a meaningful place in early nineteenth‑century musical culture. What survives is a network of testimonies, artistic judgments, and documented performances that reveal a mutual, if indirect, professional respect.

Spontini as a Promoter of Beethoven in Berlin

When Spontini became Generalmusikdirektor of the Royal Opera in Berlin (1820–1840), he played a decisive role in shaping the city’s musical identity. His programming frequently included works by Beethoven, whom he regarded as a model of the new orchestral and dramatic aesthetics. One of the most significant events was the concert spirituel of 1828, in which Spontini conducted movements from Beethoven’s Missa solemnis alongside Bach’s Mass in B minor. This pairing was not accidental: it reflected Spontini’s intention to elevate Berlin’s musical life by presenting Beethoven as a central figure of the German canon.

Beethoven’s View of Spontini

Beethoven’s opinion of Spontini is preserved through the testimony of the organist Karl Gottlieb Freudenberg, who visited him in 1825. According to Freudenberg, Beethoven acknowledged that Spontini possessed “many good qualities” and praised his ability to achieve theatrical effects with precision and clarity. This is one of the very few direct assessments Beethoven ever made of Spontini, and it shows a tone of measured but genuine respect.

Spontini’s Admiration for Beethoven

Spontini, for his part, considered Beethoven a primary artistic reference. His Berlin years were marked by an effort to promote composers who embodied the ideals of seriousness, structural rigor, and expressive depth—qualities he associated with Beethoven. By conducting Beethoven’s works outside Vienna, Spontini contributed to the European reception and canonization of Beethoven’s music.

No Direct Correspondence

Despite these artistic connections, modern critical editions of Beethoven’s letters confirm that no direct correspondence between Beethoven and Spontini has survived. Their relationship was therefore professional rather than personal, mediated through performances, testimonies, and the broader cultural discourse of their time.

A Relationship of Influence, Not Intimacy

In sum, the Beethoven–Spontini relationship is best understood as a dialogue of reputations:

  • Beethoven respected Spontini’s theatrical craftsmanship.
  • Spontini championed Beethoven’s music in one of Europe’s most influential cultural capitals.

Their paths never crossed closely, yet each contributed—directly or indirectly—to the other’s historical legacy.

Notes on Letters and Conversation Books

Letters: ILTE / Anderson p. 235, letter 192 – p. 1140, letter 1172 (contextual references)

Conversation Books: p. 202, Book VI, January 1820, folio 10b p. 363, Book IX, 11–17 March 1820, folio 38b p. 1366, Book XXXV, June–early July 1823, folios 48b / 49a

Erste Beethoven Album – Ten Brilliant Piano Pieces for the Beethoven Monument

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Album Beethoven – Dix Morceaux brillants pour le Piano

composés par Messieurs Chopin, Czerny, Döhler, Henselt, Kalkbrenner, Liszt, Mendelssohn Bartholdy, Moscheles, Taubert et Thalberg, et publiés par l’Editeur P. Mechetti pour contribuer aux Frais du Monument de Louis van Beethoven à Bonn. Vienne, Mechetti (PN 3593-3608) [Febr. 1842]

The texts and documents on this page are by Luigi Bellofatto.

The musical examples on this page are by Graziano Denini.

The Beethoven Album appeared in an edition of 500 copies, the proceeds of which—1,304 thalers and 15 kreuzers—were used to finance the erection of the Beethoven Monument in Bonn, inaugurated in 1845. Today, only a handful of copies are known to survive in Europe, including one in Germany (naturally at the Beethoven‑Haus in Bonn), and a single copy in the United States (at the Beethoven Center).

The importance of this undertaking is evident from the large number of foreign publishers listed on the title pages, who were involved in the distribution of the edition: R. Cocks & Co., Cramer, Addison & Beale, and J. J. Ewer & Co. in London; the publisher Lucca in Milan; Simon Richauld, Maurice Schlesinger, and E. Troupenas in Paris; and finally À l’Odéon and Dépôt de Musique in St. Petersburg.

Distribution was restricted to Germany so as not to infringe copyright laws in other countries. The frontispiece of the presentation volume contains a fine engraving of the planned monument by J. N. Geiger, along with drawings of Beethoven’s birthplace, the Schwarzspanierhaus—where he died in Vienna in 1827—and his grave.

This remarkable book was advertised for the first time on 19 January 1842 in the Wiener Zeitung. And here is the full title of the anthology:

ALBUM‑BEETHOVEN. / TEN / Brilliant Pieces / for the / PIANO / composed by Messrs. / Chopin, Czerny, Döhler, Henselt, Kalkbrenner, / Liszt, Mendelssohn Bartholdy, Moscheles, / Taubert and Thalberg, / and published by / THE PUBLISHER P. MECHETTI / to contribute to the expenses of the Monument / to / Ludwig van Beethoven / in / Bonn.

The Album Beethoven thus came into being between 1841 and 1842. According to Rudolf Elvers, Felix Mendelssohn received his personal copy accompanied by an undated letter—probably written between 29 and 30 December 1841.

The frontispiece of the volume is adorned with a characteristically Biedermeier illustration: a pen‑and‑ink drawing by J. N. Geiger idealizing, in a classically inspired posture, a statue of Beethoven enthroned upon a pedestal, in the guise of an Orpheus holding a lyre.

At the foot of the monument, the scattered sheets of music recall Beethoven’s great works: the Eroica and Pastoral Symphonies (and, curiously, not the Ninth Symphony, which would instead appear some fifty years later in Gustav Klimt’s Beethovenfries), the Pathétique Sonata, the Septet, Prometheus, Egmont, Fidelio, and Coriolan. Other generic headings without specific titles allude to concertos, sacred music, and chamber works.

A comparable project—the album dedicated to Mozart in 1842 (created to support the erection of the Mozart Monument)—also included compositions for voice and piano (Lieder). This was the Mozart‑Album (zum Besten des Mozart‑Denkmals), published by August Pott (Brunswick: J. P. Spehr, [1842]). The anthology had been conceived as early as 1839 and is divided into three sections: original Lieder, Lieder written specifically for the occasion with piano accompaniment, and piano pieces.

Felix Mendelssohn was represented in this anthology as well, though not with an original composition; instead, he appeared through Carl Czerny’s piano arrangement of Mendelssohn’s Lied The Garland, on a text by Thomas Moore: Der Blumenkranz. Lied ohne Worte / comp. von Mendelssohn‑Bartholdy / bearb. für Klavier von C. Czerny (pp. 124–125).

A complete copy of this extremely rare Mozart Album is preserved in the Music Department of the Staatsbibliothek Preußischer Kulturbesitz in Berlin.

Mechetti’s anthology, however, is devoted entirely to Beethoven’s principal instrument: the piano. It opens with what might aptly be described as a tombeau de Beethoven—a piano transcription by Franz Liszt of the “Marche funèbre” from the Eroica Symphony.

This opening piece is followed by contributions from the other composers, arranged in alphabetical order: the Prélude in C‑sharp minor, Op. 45, by Frédéric Chopin; the Nocturne in E‑flat major, Op. 647, by Carl Czerny; Deux Impromptus Fugitives, No. 1 in G major and No. 2 (a Tarantella) in G minor, Op. 39, by Theodor Döhler; the Wiegenlied in G‑flat major, Op. 13 No. 1, by Adolf Henselt; L’Echo! Scherzo brillant in C minor by Frédéric Kalkbrenner; the 17 Variations sérieuses in D minor, Op. 54, by Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy; Deux Études, No. 1 in F major and No. 2 in D minor, Op. 105, by Ignaz Moscheles; and the Fantasie in B‑flat major, Op. 54, by Wilhelm Taubert.

The volume concludes with the Romance sans paroles in G minor, Op. 41 No. 1, by the virtuoso Sigismond Thalberg, which Mechetti also published separately together with a four‑hand version of the same piece.

As one reviewer observed, “Thalberg’s Romance produces a great effect, but it is not exactly a masterpiece of invention.” Felix Mendelssohn—himself the author of many Romances sans paroles (and who here ceded the field to Liszt’s pianistic rival)—might well have agreed with this assessment.

What is striking, however, is that Mendelssohn chose precisely this occasion to engage with the genre of the variation, already widely cultivated at the time. The publication of the Variations sérieuses constitutes a genuine homage to Beethoven. Mendelssohn completed the work on 4 June 1841 and sent it to the Viennese publisher Pietro Mechetti on 16 August of the same year, so that it might be included in the Album Beethoven.

The tribute to Beethoven is not limited to the charitable purpose of the publication; it is woven into the very structure of the composition. In crafting this remarkable series of seventeen variations on an Andante sostenuto theme—solemnly conceived in the spirit of a chorale with austere four‑part writing—Mendelssohn took as his model Beethoven’s Thirty‑Two Variations in C minor. The “seriousness” invoked by the title also points unmistakably to the Bachian model, especially the Chaconne for solo violin, which since the nineteenth century had inspired a flourishing tradition of piano transcriptions.

Finally, the alphabetical ordering of the Album Beethoven recalls the anthology published by Anton Diabelli in Vienna some twenty years earlier. As is well known, Beethoven contributed to that collection his celebrated Thirty‑Three Variations, Op. 120. Already upon its publication, the preface justified the alphabetical arrangement as “an alphabetical index of all those names [of the time] already renowned or promising for the future.”

Two separate volumes were issued: one containing Beethoven’s own variations, and another comprising the fifty variations by other composers. The project was described as “formed of variants for the pianoforte on a given theme, composed by the most distinguished musicians of Vienna and of the Imperial and Royal Austrian States.” (These two volumes will be discussed in a dedicated article.)

The malleability of Diabelli’s waltz theme allowed the various composers to give free rein to their imagination, and it highlights the techniques of thematic variation characteristic of this particular period in the history of music. Among the contributors to our Album Beethoven who also appear in the Diabelli collection are Czerny, Kalkbrenner, Liszt, and Moscheles. Beethoven’s fertile “act of presumption” in this context is well known; what remains striking today—as it was in 1824—is that Beethoven’s name was placed alongside those of composers then unknown or, at best, promising talents.

In this light, it is not at all accidental that Mendelssohn chose to contribute to the Album Beethoven in a genre that Adolf Bernhard Marx rightly regarded as “one of the sources of Beethoven’s historical legacy.”

Sonata Op. 101 for violin and piano, Dorothea Ertmann and the Milan Ricordi edition by Luigi Bellofatto

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Articles – Sonata Opus 101 for Violin and Piano – Dorothea Ertmann, the Opus 101 Sonata, and Its Publication in Milan by Ricordi

Article by Luigi Bellofatto on the violin‑and‑piano transcription of the Piano Sonata Opus 101, published in Milan by Ricordi in 1820. Multimedia and musical apparatus by Graziano Denini.

Catharina Dorothea Graumann (3 May 1781 – 16 March 1849), originally from Frankfurt am Main, had already shown pianistic gifts from a very young age. In August 1798 she became a baroness by virtue of her marriage to the Austrian baron Stephan Leopold von Ertmann (1769–1835), an officer in the army.

Her friendship and association with Beethoven probably dates from this period. A testimony of the first meeting between Ertmann and Beethoven is preserved in a chapter of the memoirs of Mathilde Graumann, daughter of Johann Friedrich Graumann, Dorothea’s younger brother. In her volumes of memoirs, Erinnerungen aus meinem Leben (1877) and Aus meinem Leben (1888), Marchesi recalled several important moments in the artistic and musical life of her aunt Dorothea, including her relationship with Beethoven, as they had been recounted to her directly: “For hours I would sit beside her, listening to her splendid performances at the piano and to her recollections of Beethoven.”

Concerning the first encounter between Ertmann and Beethoven, reporting her aunt’s words, Mathilde Marchesi writes:

Agli inizi – così mi raccontò – sia il grande maestro sia l’orientamento musicale che aveva intrapreso venivano pesantemente avversati. La sua musica era considerata incomprensibile e noiosa. Curiosa di conoscere le sue nuove sonate mi recai un giorno nel negozio di musica del signor Haslinger, mi feci consegnare alcune di tali composizioni e le suonai immediatamente su un pianoforte che si trovava lì. Nella foga non mi ero accorta di un uomo giovane che stava timidamente in un angolo e che poi in silenzio si appressò a me. Chi potrebbe descrivere il mio stupore quando egli improvvisamente mi afferrò le mani e mi ringraziò con le espressioni più calorose per l’esecuzione assai riuscita delle sue sonate? Era Beethoven. A partire da quel momento divenimmo amici.


Catharina Dorothea Graumann

In 1802 or 1803 the couple, together with their child Franz Carl, born in 1800, settled in Vienna, where the young Dorothea von Ertmann soon came to be appreciated as a highly accomplished pianist. Gifted, well‑trained, and an enthusiastic admirer of Beethoven, the baroness became one of his piano pupils.

For New Year’s Day 1804 Beethoven sent the baroness an artistic reproduction depicting two angels—one holding a lyre, the other a sheet of music and a pencil—together with a greeting card: “To Baroness Ertmann for the New Year 1804, from her friend and admirer Beethoven.” This brief note is the earliest document attesting to the acquaintance between the composer and the baroness.

On 19 March 1804, less than three months after Beethoven had sent his New Year’s greeting, the little Franz Carl von Ertmann, the couple’s only child, died at the age of just over three and a half. Contemporary sources report that Beethoven attempted to console the grieving mother by improvising at length at the piano with incomparable refinement and empathy.

In the Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung of Leipzig, 7 February 1810, in a detailed and extensive review of the edition of Reichardt’s letters, the reviewer allows himself an ironic remark regarding Reichardt’s enthusiastic praise of Ertmann:

Madame von Ertmann is not only (as is right) preferred to all the female pianists of Vienna, nor merely (as is probably not incorrect) to all the female pianists of the world, but she is even preferred to all pianists whatsoever—and for this Herr Reichardt must take full responsibility!

Baron von Ertmann, who had distinguished himself in the Battle of Aspern (21–22 May 1809) near Vienna against Napoleon and had risen in the ranks of the Austrian army, also took part, on 8 February 1814, in the Battle of the Mincio. On this occasion too, holding the rank of colonel, he played an important role in the fighting. Shortly thereafter, with the return of the Austrians to Milan after the long Napoleonic interval, the baron was promoted to commander of the Deutschmeister Regiment—that is, commander of the Austrian garrison then stationed in Milan.

The Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung of 24 August 1814 reports news from Milan concerning Ertmann’s husband:

Baron Ertmann, colonel of the Deutschmeister Regiment, currently garrisoned in this city, has recently returned from Vienna in the company of his wife, a pupil of Beethoven. Since it is possible to hear the baroness only in compositions by her illustrious master—works which in Italy are scarcely known and for which it is difficult to find anyone capable of performing them—we admire her not only as an excellent pianist, but in particular for her splendid interpretations of these very pieces.

Some time later, the Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung of September 1814 reported that the baroness had wasted no time in making “heard pieces by her great master, which in Italy are scarcely known and for which scarcely any performer can be found.” The Ertmanns’ stay in Milan at this time was not permanent: the couple frequently returned to Vienna and also spent extended periods in other locations, since Stephan von Ertmann—often without his wife—had to follow the movements of his regiment (at least until 1824, when, having been promoted once again, he was definitively assigned to Milan).

A further concise confirmation of Ertmann’s excellence as a rigorous and faithful Beethoven interpreter comes from a later memoir (1852), though referring to these years, by Dr. Andreas Bertolini, a friend of Beethoven and his physician from 1806 to 1814: Above all, Beethoven preferred to have his sonatas performed by Madame von Ertmann; he himself no longer liked to play them at that time.

Around mid‑January 1817, at the beginning of a letter to the Viennese publisher Tobias Haslinger, Beethoven specifies the dedication of his last piano sonata:

Circumstances have led me to the following dedication for the new sonata: “Sonata for the pianoforte or Hammerklavier, composed and dedicated to Baroness Dorothea Ertman[n], née Graumann, by L. v. Beethoven.” […] As for the dedication, I beg you to observe the utmost discretion, since I intend it as a surprise.


The first edition of Op. 101 published in Vienna by Steiner

At the publishing house S.A. Steiner & Comp. of Vienna, the Sonata for Piano “difficult to perform” in A major, Op. 101, bearing the dedication desired by the composer, appeared the following month. On 23 February, or a few days earlier, Beethoven again sent a letter to Haslinger asking when he might “have a copy of the sonata for Baroness v. Ertmann, since she will be leaving here [Vienna] perhaps the day after tomorrow at the latest” to join her husband, who was stationed in Sankt Pölten. Whatever the precise date of this letter, on 23 February Beethoven had a copy of the sonata delivered to the baroness, accompanied by a letter addressed to “my dear excellent Dorothea Cäcilia,” in which he expressed himself, among other things, as follows: “accept, then, what has long been destined for you and which must serve as proof of my devotion to your artistic talent and to your person.”

Beethoven composed and dedicated to Ertmann the Piano Sonata in A major, Op. 101, and when sending her a copy (13 September 1817) he addressed her as “My dear and beloved Dorothea.” The Op. 101 Sonata, highly complex and innovative, contains in all four movements elements (including a fugue) that may be traced to the contrapuntal style of Johann Sebastian Bach. This is likely one of the reasons it is dedicated to Dorothea von Ertmann, since the baroness—as we know from the testimonies of Reichardt and Rust—was an enthusiastic admirer and performer of the keyboard works of Bach and Handel. In addition to Beethoven’s sonata, Ertmann was the dedicatee of further compositions by Czerny, Eberl, Dessauer, and Reichardt, confirming her prestige within the pianistic musical landscape of the time.

As for Ertmann’s interpretation of Beethoven’s works and her inspiring manner of playing, precise details may be found in an extensive, detailed, and in this case probably entirely reliable account left by Anton Schindler (1795–1864), who for a period served as the composer’s secretary, in his Biography of Beethoven:

In the musical Vienna of that time, Dorothea von Ertmann occupied, as a pianist, one of the foremost positions. […] This artist, in the truest sense of the term, excelled above all in expressing what in music is graceful, delicate, and naïve, as well as what is profound and sentimental. Consequently, her repertory consisted of all the works of Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prussia and of a portion of those by Beethoven. What she was able to draw from such music was absolutely inimitable. She succeeded in intuitively revealing even the most hidden intentions present in Beethoven’s works with such assurance as if they were written plainly before her eyes. In a similar manner, this lady—endowed with such sensitivity—handled the nuances of tempo which, as is well known, in many cases cannot be indicated in words. She was able to give each phrase the movement appropriate to its spirit and to connect one to the next in an artistic manner, making everything appear logically motivated. In doing so, she often succeeded in eliciting a particularly special admiration for our Great Master.


Mathilde Graumann, daughter of Johann Friedrich Graumann, the younger brother of Ertmann. Erinnerungen aus meinem Leben (Recollections of My Life, 1877) contains many reminiscences of her aunt Dorothea Ertmann (copy with the author’s autograph dedication).


Mathilde Graumann, daughter of Johann Friedrich Graumann, the younger brother of Ertmann. Erinnerungen aus meinem Leben (Recollections of My Life, 1877) contains many reminiscences of her aunt Dorothea Ertmann (copy with the author’s autograph dedication).

In 1820 the Ertmanns returned to Vienna, and their presence around the middle of August is confirmed by an entry in the Conversation Books. Carl Joseph Bernard notes: “I have been only twice to Dornbach, to the mother of Herr von Frank and to him, where Baroness Ertmann performed.”

Around mid‑September, Anton Schindler writes in the Conversation Books: “If it is confirmed that the Deutschmeister Regiment too must go to Italy, then we shall also lose the wife of General Ertmann, and our Matinées at Czerny’s will suffer greatly from this.”

Also dating from 1820 are certain pieces of information concerning a piano sonata by Beethoven in relation to Milan. In the Conversation Books from early March, a visitor not clearly identifiable—but almost certainly a collaborator of the Viennese music publisher Artaria—notes: “Out of curiosity, even in Milan they ardently desire the Sonata, although there is no one there capable of playing such a thing.”

 

Guglielmo Barblan maintains that the Sonata in question is Op. 106, the subject of the conversation shortly before; the publisher Ricordi had in fact requested from the Viennese publisher Artaria the possibility of a co‑edition for Milan. Indeed, Op. 106 was published in 1819 in a co‑edition with Ricordi, together with several other publishers. The Ertmanns’ stay in Milan was, however, occasionally interrupted by travels—for example, toward the end of 1825 and the beginning of 1826, when Ertmann went to Hungary to visit Baron Nicolaus von Zmeskall, a dear friend of hers and of Beethoven; and also during their Viennese sojourns, such as the long stay from 30 May to 16 September 1826. Awaiting her return to Vienna, a few days before her arrival in the capital, Karl Holz notes in a Conversation Book: “The arrival of Ertmann is expected from day to day.” The following month, Ertmann and Beethoven had the opportunity to meet.

Then, in July 1826, Ertmann expressed a strong desire to hear one of Beethoven’s late string quartets, as recorded in the Conversation Books by Holz (“Mylord said that Ertmann wishes to hear a quartet, and is even willing to pay for the purpose”) and by Schuppanzigh himself (“Have you already seen Ertmann? She is most eager to hear your new quartets”).


The publication of Op. 106 by the Milan publisher Riccordi (rather than Ricordi) in 1819

On 16 September 1826 the Ertmanns left Vienna to return once more to Milan, where at that time Carl Thomas Mozart (Vienna 1784 – Milan 1858, the elder of the two surviving sons of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart) was also residing. He was almost certainly a habitué of Ertmann’s Milanese musical salon, if not indeed one of its regular animators. Having been in Italy since 1797, the young Mozart, beginning in 1805, completed his already advanced musical studies in Napoleonic Milan under Bonifazio Asioli (to whom he had presented himself with a letter of introduction from Haydn). However, after abandoning musical studies in 1810—despite being an “excellent pianist”—he became a civil servant, first under the French and then under the Austrians. Having become an employee of the Austrian Imperial Archive in Milan, the excellent training he had received in Prague and Milan enabled him to preside over the city’s principal musical activities, and he himself came to regard Milan as his second homeland. He never abandoned his passion for music, however, and also worked privately as a piano teacher.

In July 1831 the twenty‑two‑year‑old Mendelssohn stayed in Milan, and in addition to attending performances at La Scala and other theatres, he made a point of seeking an encounter with Baroness Ertmann, whose husband, in the meantime, had been promoted to general. In the early afternoon of the hot Milanese summer, after viewing Raphael’s Marriage of the Virgin at Brera, Mendelssohn climbed the stairs of Palazzo Cusani, where the baroness welcomed him warmly and played for him the two Sonatas Op. 27 No. 2 and Op. 31 No. 2. It was on this occasion that the general, as Mendelssohn wrote to his family on 14 July, “wept for joy, for he had never heard his wife play for so long, since in Milan there was no one willing to listen to such music.” Although somewhat out of practice, the visitor observed, the baroness “plays Beethoven’s compositions very well; she often exaggerates a little in expression and thus slows down and then hastens, yet she performs certain pieces wonderfully, and I believe I have learned something from her.”

On 16 March 1849, at nearly sixty‑eight years of age, the baroness died as a result of “contagious material settling upon the brain.” On 18 March, exactly one year after the outbreak of the Five Days of Milan and in the very last days of the First War of Independence—which marked the beginning of the decline of Vienna’s beneficial musical influence on Milan—her funeral took place. As stated in the funeral announcement:

The body will be blessed on Sunday, 18 March, at four in the afternoon, in the residence of the deceased, in the city, Strauchgasse 243, according to the custom of the Evangelical Church A.C., and will then be laid to rest in peace in her own tomb in the Währing cemetery.

The same cemetery—then still outside Vienna—where her friend and master Ludwig van Beethoven had been resting for twenty‑two years.

Returning to Beethoven’s Op. 101 Sonata and its publication in Italy: in October 1820 Ricordi published it in Milan, though in a version that appears to us today quite singular. That the demanding Op. 101 Sonata made something of an impression even in Milan is demonstrated by the fact that Ricordi published it before earlier, far more accessible and well‑known sonatas such as the Pathétique or the Moonlight. It was almost certainly an edition motivated by the desire to please the city’s military commander; but the publication is of particular interest because it appeared as a composition “for harpsichord and violin.”

It may seem surprising to see a Beethoven piano sonata—and above all this Op. 101, with which the so‑called “third period” is often said to begin, and which Beethoven himself wished to precede with the precise indication für das Hammerklavier—published with the addition of a violin part. How and why, with the dedicatee herself likely involved, was such a compromise reached?

Given that the most astonishing adaptations of classical works were extremely common in the nineteenth century, it cannot be excluded that this arrangement resulted from collaboration between Ertmann and Alessandro Rolla (1757–1841, the well‑known violinist who in Milan was a major disseminator of music from beyond the Alps), or between the baroness and some Austrian officer who was a competent amateur violinist. The adaptation was probably intended to facilitate the reception of this demanding work among those attending the elegant academies held in the magnificent salons of Palazzo Cusani in Via Brera, which had become the seat of the Ministry of War and remained so after the return of the Austrians. Ricordi did not hesitate to make it a point of pride; that this act of Beethovenian dissemination within Milan’s aristocratic milieu around 1820 should have met with notable success would have been bold to expect.

The publication date, 2 October 1820, is derived by Barblan from the plate number (922) checked in the Ricordi archives. The reduction procedure is quite simple: in general, the violin sustains one of the inner voices removed from the piano texture, or doubles the melody. For example, in the exposition of the first theme of the opening movement, the violin plays the alto part. In the Adagio, the four bars that introduce the piano phrase are doubled an octave higher by the violin; in the second section, the violin instead accompanies with pizzicati. Naturally, in this edition the march movement is omitted.

Finally, it is worth noting that in April 1816 the Conservatory’s committee for the selection of honorary members proposed the appointment of three new musicians: Salieri, Beethoven, and Krommer. The appointment of honorary members was a special privilege granted to the Institute since the Napoleonic era, and it was a recognition bestowed upon “national or foreign” musicians who had particularly distinguished themselves. The recipients were given a diploma and a medal. The news concerning Beethoven, reported by Lichetenthal in the Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung of 3 April 1816, is not documented by other sources. The same correspondent, in September 1817, reported that Krommer had already received his diploma, while for Salieri and Beethoven “such communication will be made after the next semi‑annual examination session.” It should also be borne in mind that confirmation by the Austrian government of the Conservatory’s privilege to issue honorary diplomas required that Austrian candidates for such distinction, in addition to demonstrating their actual talents, be found “commendable in political principles and of good conduct.” It is therefore not impossible that Beethoven’s nomination was rejected, precisely for political reasons, during the governmental authorization process.

Luigi BELLOFATTO

Some Considerations by Graziano Denini, Editor of the Revision of the Sonata Opus 101 for Violin and Piano

I) Allegretto ma non troppo – II) Adagio, ma non troppo (attacca) – III) Allegro

This PDF version—very likely prepared for the first time in modern times, and FREELY DOWNLOADABLE AND USABLE—is characterized, as I mentioned several times to Armando during our musical conversations already in mid‑2016, by a measure entirely missing from the violin part (something far from unusual; many printers knew little about music, and errors are abundant in scores of the period that were not revised by the authors, as Beethoven himself was well aware). I wished to reproduce ONLY what is written in the score, that is, how two Milanese performers of the time might have played it.

All additional indications (marked, as usual, in the part I attach in PDF) correspond to what two excellent Italian musicians—having only the violin and harpsichord score (an old designation: it is, in fact, a pianoforte)—might have written, provided they had a solid contrapuntal education (for example, all the fugue subjects begin with a dotted rhythm, even when not always notated as such) and, naturally, a fine musical ear.

A clarification: there are some errors that I have left untouched. The most conspicuous is an incorrect measure in the harpsichord part in the Adagio. I deliberately left it as it is. I would like to follow this version with an Urtext edition, comparing it with the pianistic version—how the sonata might have been performed had Beethoven himself been present, with his corrections. The idea seems appealing to me, and it would make the music somewhat more vivid and less bogged down; I shall soon devote myself to this new musical venture.

Graziano Denini

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