33 Variations - Circus Music

Schindler: Diabelli! What are you doing in here? Are you mad?

Diabelli: Look at this, Schindler. Look! He’s mocking my waltz. He’s mocking me!

Schindler: Do you know what he will do if he found you touching his sketches?

Diabelli: He’s turned my waltz into a mad march. Like toy soldiers marching. He can’t do this. This is the first variation. The first variation must always follow the meter of the theme. He can’t turn my waltz into a march. That’s just not done. These are the rules!

Schindler: You really expect Beethoven to conform to the musical conventions of the day?

Diabelli: And look at this one. It’s like circus music. Look! Clowns will dance to this music!

Schindler: Diabelli, watch what you’re saying.

Diabelli: And here what’s this — a fugue?! Everyone knows Beethoven can’t write fugues. His fugues are terrible.

Schindler: They are not terrible. They are just not very good.

Diabelli: Schindler. His fugues are terrible! Is this why he took on this commission, to Mock me?

Schindler: That would be like looking at a pencil sketch of the Mona Lisa and complaining about the color.

Diabelli: But my waltz is so… my theme is so…

Schindler: Diabelli, it is a testament to your composition that the master us finding so much in it.

Diabelli: Schindler, please don’t flatter me…

Schindler: I keep urging him to work on the Mass or the Ninth, both are lucrative by far. But he’s obsessed with your waltz.

Diabelli: Really? So, these are all sketches for my variations?

Schindler: Yes. He returns to it at all hours, day and night.

Diabelli: He does?

Schindler: You should be happy Beethoven is even looking at your insignificant waltz!

Diabelli: You hate my waltz! You think it’s insignificant.

Schindler: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so blunt. But you drive one to madness with your eternal nagging.

Diabelli: Thank you. That makes me feel much better. So if it’s so insignificant, why is the master pursuing it?

Schindler: It’s baffling to me.

Diabelli: Of course it’s baffling to you. You aspire to the stuffy rooms of the palaces and aristocracy. You can’t understand what I mean with my waltz. But maybe your master can.