33 Variations on a Waltz by Diabelli

When Diabelli published Beethoven’s monumental Variations Op.120 he advertised them as “a great and important masterpiece” worthy of “a place beside Sebastian Bach’s masterpiece in the same form”. And that, in spite of his contempt for Diabelli’s “cobbler’s patch” of a waltz tune, is precisely what Beethoven had in mind – perhaps not at first but surely after he realised that much of the melodic interest of the theme is in its the bass and that, like Bach in his “Goldberg” set, he could concentrate on the harmonic structure rather than the melody. The earliest example of that sort of variation here is is No.7.

The more Beethoven thought in “Goldberg” terms, it seems, the more committed he became. As the variations proceed they increase in technical boldness. The extraordinarily slow-moving harmonies of No.20 would make little sense out of context and without the image of the theme in the listener’s mind. His growing ambition did not prevent him indulging either his sense of humour, as in the allusions to to Mozart’s “Notte e giorno faticar” in No.22, or his taste for keyboard virtuosity, as in No.23. Alongside them, however, are the seriously expressive Fughetta of No.24 and the three particularly inspired variations, Nos.29 to 31, in C minor. The canonic treatment of No.30 recalls Bach and at the same time anticipates Schumann. A still more remarkable variation is No.31 (Largo molto espressivo), which is a deliberate tribute to Bach in emulation of the highly ornamented 25th variation of the “Goldberg” set but also an uncanny anticipation of Chopin in its keyboard figuration. The climax of the set is the great, Handelian rather than Bachian, double fugue of No.32. But it is in the wrong key to end the work. After an ethereal transition to C major, there is as a sublimely witty transformation of Diabelli’s waltz-in the-street into the noble and sensitive minuet it might have been, even with the “cobbler’s patch” still showing.

Thirty-three Variations on a Waltz by Diabelli, Op.120

When the Diabelli Variations, Beethoven’s last large-scale work for the piano, were published in 1823 they were advertised as “a great and important masterpiece” by a composer who was “the greatest living representative of true art.” With no less sincerity, the theme of the variations was described as one “which surely no one else would have considered capable of such treatment.” The copy-writer was probably no other than Anton Diabelli, whose little waltz had inspired not only Beethoven’s thirty-three variations but also at least one each by fifty other Austrian composers. It was part of a publicity effort to launch the new publishing firm of Cappi and Diabelli, whose first major enterprise was to circularise every Austrian composer they could think of - including Schubert, Mozart’s son Franz, and the ten-year old Liszt - with a request to contribute a variation on the enclosed waltz by Diabelli.

Not surprisingly, Beethoven would at first have nothing to do with the anthology. Later he offered Diabelli a set of seven variations and finally sent him no fewer than thirty-three. It is said that what moved him to start work on the variations was Diabelli’s generous offer of eighty ducats for only six or seven of them. “Well, he’ll have a variation or two on his cobbler’s patch,” Beethoven said, referring in contemptuous professional terms to the clumsy sequences which are such a prominent feature of Diabelli’s tune.

It seem fairly clear from the sketch books that the first six or seven variation are those Beethoven wrote when his ambition extended scarcely further than to provide the minimum number of variations for the maximum number of ducats. Though masterful examples of their kind, they are more ingenious than inspired. Like the theme itself and the majority of variations in the set, the first eight are in C major and are divided into two equal parts, each of which begins with an upbeat and is repeated. By preserving the basic shape, tonality and dimensions of the waltz, Beethoven could develop the theme as freely as he liked without fear of disorientating the listener.

While working on these early variations, however, Beethoven must have begun to realize how very promising Diabelli’s waltz was. The “cobbler’s patches” in particular, with their awkward harmonies and displaced rhythmic accents, offered endless scope for his wit and imagination. As early as the two contrapuntal variations, Nos.3 and 4, there are already interesting syncopation in the ninth bar of each half, to correspond with Diabelli’s sforzando sequences. In most of the subsequent variations some pronounced rhythmic change and, often, some highly imaginative form of sequence emerges at this point. Another apparently discouraging characteristic of the theme, its tunelessness, is even more fruitful. Melodic interest is contained largely in the bass, and this must at some point have reminded Beethoven of Bach’s great “Goldberg” set, which is a series of variations not on the melody of the aria but on its bass. The earliest example of this sort of variation in Beethoven’s set is No.7.

Clearly, the more Beethoven thought on the “Goldberg” scale, and even in the “Goldberg” style, the more committed he became to the work. The mysterious No.8, the obsessive No.9 (in C minor) and the delightful Presto No.10 are already more developed and more distinctive in character than the earlier ones. The similarity in figuration between Nos.11 and 12 suggests that he regarded them as a pair, which suggests in its turn that he was by now thinking on a larger scale. No.13, a witty scherzo which leaves the imagination to fill in the missing notes, and the seriously baroque No.14 are linked by direct contrast. The Brahms-like No.15 contains its own contrasts but Nos.16 and 17 are obviously another pair, based on the same material but with melodic and accompaniment duties transferred from one hand to the other.

As the variation proceed they increase in technical boldness. The extraordinarily slow-moving harmonies of No.20 would make little sense outside their context and without the imprint of the theme on the listener’s subconscious. Or take the witty reference to Mozart’s “Notte e giorno faticar” in No.22 (Diabelli and Mozart have the interval of a fourth in common), the keyboard virtuosity of No.23 and the expressive Fughetta of No.24. The next three are linked by their 3/8 metre and their increasing impetus, leading by way of the obsessive pairs of quavers of No.28 into the three inspired C minor variations. The canonic treatment of No.30 recalls Bach and, at the same time, anticipates Schumann. The most remarkable variation of all is No.31 (Largo e molto espressivo), which is a deliberate tribute to Bach in imitation of the highly ornamented 25th minor-key variation of the “Goldberg.” But in imitating Bach it comes almost as close to Chopin in its keyboard style.

The great double fugue of No.32 is the climax of the set although, unlike the fugue at the equivalent point in the “Eroica” Variations, it is in the wrong key and must be followed by a last variation in the tonic. After an ethereal Poco adagio transition, this emerges as a sublimely witty transformation of Diabelli’s waltz-in-the street into the noble and sensitive minuet it might have been, even with its “cobbler’s patches” still showing.

Gerald Larner© 2001

When the Diabelli Variations – the last of Beethoven’s major piano pieces and the longest of them all – were published in 1823 they were advertised as “a great and important masterpiece” worthy of “a place beside Sebastian Bach’s masterpiece in the same form.“ The writer was probably no other than Anton Diabelli, whose modest little Waltz had not only inspired Beethoven’s 33 variations but would also give rise to at least one each by 50 other composers. It was part of an effort to launch the new publishing house of Cappi and Diabelli, whose first major enterprise was to write to every Viennese composer they could think of – including Schubert and the ten-year-old Liszt – with an invitation to contribute a variation on the enclosed Waltz.

It has been said that Beethoven would at first have nothing to do with material he allegedly dismissed as a “cobbler’s patch” – a contemptuous professional reference to such clumsily unprofessional sequences as those that are such a prominent feature of Diabelli’s theme. Academic opinion has it, however, that he immediately set to work, in March 1819, on what was even then to be large-scale construction – possibly to match the proportions of a project cherished by his pupil Archduke Rudolph, who was working at the time on a set 40 variations on his master’s “O Hoffnung.” Beethoven then apparently set aside the half-completed Diabelli Variations in May, returned to them in December and completed the work in April 1823.

All that is no doubt true. On the internal evidence, however, it is difficult to accept the companion contention that some of the early-numbered variations were added at the same stage as the prophetic Largo molto espressivo No.31 and the wonderful Tempo di Minuetto at the end. This is not to say that they are anything less than masterly but it does seem that the first six or seven variations – those which, according to a now descredited report by Anton Schindler, Beethoven agreed to write after initially rejecting the idea – represent an early stage in a gradual development in creative interest as the process of composition went on. Like the theme itself, the first eight variations are in C major and are divided into two equal halves, each one of which begins with an upbeat and is repeated. Including repeats all but one of them are 64 bars long.

It must have been while working on these early variations, however, that Beethoven began to realise how very promising Diabelli’s Waltz was. The “cobbler’s patches” in particular, with their awkward harmonies and displaced rhythmic accents, offered endless scope for his wit and imagination. As early as the two contrapuntal variations, Nos.3 and 4, there are already interesting syncopations in the ninth bar of each half, to correspond with Diabelli’s sforzando-emphasised sequences. In most of the subsequent variations some pronounced rhythmic change and, often, some superior form of sequence occurs at this point. Another apparently discouraging feature of the theme, its tunelessness, is even more important. Melodic interest is contained partly in the bass, which must at some point have reminded Beethoven of Bach’s great “Goldberg” set, which is a series of variations not on the melody of the aria it begins with but on its bass. The earliest example of this sort of variation here is is No.7.

The more Beethoven thought in “Goldberg” terms, it seems, the more committed he became. The mysterious No.8, the energetic No.9 in C minor, and the delightful Presto No.10 are already more developed and more distinctive than the earlier ones. The similarity in figuration between Nos.11 and 12 suggest that he regarded them as a pair, which suggests in its turn that he was by now thinking on a larger scale. No.13, a witty scherzo which leaves the imagination to fill in the missing notes, and No.14 are linked by direct contrast. While the Brahms-like No.15 contains its own contrasts, Nos.16 and 17 are obviously another pair, based on the same material but with melodic and accompaniment duties transferred from one hand to the other.

As the variations proceed they increase in technical boldness. The extraordinarily slow-moving harmonies of No.20 would make little sense out of context and without the image of the theme in the listener’s mind. Then there are the witty references to “Notte e giorno faticar” from Don giovanni in No.22 (Diabelli and Mozart have the interval of a fourth in common), the keyboard virtuosity of No.23 and the expressive Fughetta of No.24. Nos.25, 26 and 27 are linked by their 3/8 metre and their increasing impetus, leading by way of the obsessive pairs of quavers of No.28 into the three inspired C minor variations. The canonic treatment of No.30 recalls Bach and at the same time anticipates Schumann. A still more remarkable variation is No.31 (Largo molto espressivo), which is a deliberate tribute to Bach in emulation of the highly ornamented 25th variation of the “Goldberg” set but also an uncanny anticipation of Chopin in its keyboard figuration.

The great, Handelian rather than Bachian, double fugue of No.32 is the climax of the set although, unlike the fugue at the equivalent point in the “Eroica” Variations, it is in the wrong key and must be followed by a last variation to return to the basic tonality. After an ethereal Poco adagio transition, this emerges as a sublimely witty transformation of Diabelli’s waltz-in the-street into the noble and sensitive minuet it might have been, even with the “cobbler’s patch” still showing.