The Diabelli Variations were little known in the 1930s. Beethoven had begun them in 1819 and made the final revisions in 1823. The reason why he had composed them is unclear. The composer Antonio Diabelli had invited numerous Viennese composers to each write a single variation on his German waltz theme. From this humble material Beethoven created a work of monumental proportions. So daunting was the work that even by the twentieth century few pianists ventured to play it in public. By championing the work Schnabel challenged his listeners. Following a February 1929 performance at the Queen’s Hall in London, the critic of The Times (possibly Ernest Newman) noted that by placing the Variations at the end of a very long and demanding programme Schnabel ‘was to test the endurance of the audience rather severely’. Despite the work’s length and form, Schnabel ‘kept his hearers entranced not by his own virtuosity, but the inexhaustible fertility of Beethoven’s mind and art. When he sailed into the final repose of the Tempo di Menuetto he had spanned the Beethoven of the last Sonatas and the last quartets in a performance of singular clarity and vision.’ At this performance, Schnabel was said to have attracted ‘a large audience, who came in the most reverential mood’. This was not always the case. Later that same year Schnabel embarked upon a tour of Spain, where he continued to perform the Diabelli Variations. He relates in his autobiography, My Life and Music, that while playing the work in Seville he thought ‘Now this is really unfair! I am the only person here who is enjoying this, and I get the money; they pay, and have to suffer’...

 

By looking back at the initial reception of these recordings, we may gain a better appreciation of Schnabel’s enormous contribution to sound recording and to the Beethoven discography. In his 1957 biography of Schnabel, César Saerchinger writes: ‘It must be understood that he was – as always – not merely learning but forcing others to learn. He rejected out of hand the contention that recordings must be made within a certain limited range of dynamics, and he decided that this was one of the main reasons for the smooth but un-plastic, impersonal recordings of performances by artists who certainly could play better than they sounded on records, and for the pale and partial reflections of great masterpieces that already crowded the market.’ Returning to Schnabel’s recordings in this considerably more saturated market is time well spent. Few listeners in the 1930s agreed with everything Schnabel did, but through his performances many discovered aspects of Beethoven that they heard nowhere else. Given Schnabel’s reputation, the recordings are now essential documents in the genealogy of Beethoven interpretation. They are also simply to be appreciated for the vibrancy and beauty they contain."

 

Brian C. Thompson