How I Compose

"How I Compose": Ferruccio Busoni's Views about Invention, Quotation, and the
Compositional Process
Author(s): Erinn E. Knyt
Source: The Journal of Musicology , Vol. 27, No. 2 (Spring 2010), pp. 224-264
Published by: University of California Press
Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1525/jm.2010.27.2.224
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“How I Compose”:
Ferruccio Busoni’s
Views about Invention,
Quotation, and the
Compositional Process
E rinn E . K nyt
A n anecdote circulating among pupils of Egon

Petri (1881–1962), a protégé of Ferruccio Busoni (1866–1924), was the
224 story Petri told of how on more than one occasion Busoni’s wife was mistak-
enly introduced as “Mrs. Bach-Busoni.”1 Whether fact or fiction, this social
faux pas illustrates how closely Busoni’s name has been associated with the
names of composers whose works he arranged. Despite his prolific compo-
sitional career, he is remembered more as a transcriber and arranger than
as a composer of original works. His practice of arranging others’ works
also affected his own compositions, which frequently contained borrowed
material. Busoni’s creative art thus blurred conventional boundaries be-
tween what are traditionally considered to be primary “original” works and
subsidiary transcriptions or arrangements.
Busoni was by no means the only early twentieth-century com-
poser who borrowed material from other composers’ work. As Linda
I would like to thank Stephen Hinton, Karol Berger, Heather

Hadlock, Tom Grey, and my anonymous reviewers for their
valuable comments and suggestions.
1 Oral communication by Herbert Myers, lecturer at Stanford University and a
former student of Egon Petri. See also Larry Sitsky, Busoni and the Piano: The Works, the
Writings and the Recordings, Contributions to the Study of Music and Dance 7 (New York:
Greenwood Press, 1986), 177.
The Journal of Musicology, Vol. 27, Issue 2, pp. 224–264, ISSN 0277-9269, electronic ISSN 1533-8347.
© 2010 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Please direct all requests
for permission to photocopy or reproduce article content through the University of California Press’s
Rights and Permissions website, http://www.ucpressjournals.com/reprintInfo.asp. DOI: 10.1525/
jm.2010.27.2.224.
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Hutcheon, J. Peter Burkholder, Christopher Reynolds, and David

Metzer have already documented, nineteenth- and twentieth-century
compositions were filled with allusions and the mixing of the old and
the new.2 Nor was Busoni the only keyboard composer to update, re-
touch, transcribe, and revise the music of his predecessors. As Franz
Liszt’s numerous transcriptions demonstrate, transcriptions and ar-
rangements were part and parcel of a piano virtuoso’s repertory in the
nineteenth century.
But what was an accepted compositional practice in the nineteenth
century became aesthetically questionable in the early twentieth cen-
tury, a time period when compositional originality—novelty of ideas
and musical material—was highly prized. As a letter to his wife attests,
Busoni encountered opposition to the programming of transcriptions
in Milan as early as 1895:
The Board of the society for which I am playing is very highly es-
teemed. The Directors are very conscientious (so they say), and permit
no transcriptions in their programme. I was obliged, therefore, to
withdraw the Tannhäuser Overture. But when I said that the Bach or-
gan fugue was also a transcription they said it would be better not to
mention that in the programme . . .3 225
Busoni himself considered the distinction between original composition

and transcription less strict. Not only did his transcriptions include sub-
stantial recompositions, but his original compositions often relied on
borrowed materials that he juxtaposed and contrasted with his own mu-
sic. As I demonstrate below by analyzing his compositional practice in the
context of his aesthetic writings, Busoni valued arrangements no less than
“new” compositions. In fact, one can argue that this creative mixture of
borrowed and new materials expressed best his compositional ideals.
Background
In a brief essay entitled “The Value of the Arrangement” (Wert der
Bearbeitung, 1910), Busoni illustrates just how vague the boundaries
2 See Linda Hutcheon, A Theory of Parody: The Teachings of Twentieth-Century Art Forms
(London: Methuen, 1985); J. Peter Burkholder, All Made of Tunes: Charles Ives and the Uses
of Musical Borrowing (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1996); Christopher Reynolds, Mo-
tives for Allusion: Context and Content in Nineteenth-Century Music (London: Harvard Univer-
sity Press, 2003); David Metzer, Quotation and Cultural Meaning in Twentieth-Century Music,
New Perspectives in Music History and Criticism 12 (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 2003).
3 Busoni’s letter to Gerda Busoni, 5 Dec. 1895, in Ferruccio Busoni, Letters to His
Wife, trans. Rosamund Ley, Da Capo Music Reprint Series (New York: Da Capo Press,
1975), 12.
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t he jo u rn al o f m u sic o l ogy
between arrangement and composition were for him. In the essay he

defended his rescoring of Liszt’s Spanish Rhapsody (Rhapsodie espagnole
[Folies d’Espagne et jota aragonesa], composed 1858/published 1867) for
piano and orchestra (1894):
Vivaldi’s concertos, Schubert’s lieder, Weber’s Invitation to the Dance

can each be heard in their respective transformations by Bach’s organ,
Liszt’s piano, and Berlioz’s orchestra. But where does arrangement be-
gin? Of this Spanish Rhapsody there exists a second version by Liszt that
bears the title: Grand Fantasy on Spanish Melodies. It is a different piece
with some of the same motives. Which of them is the arrangement?
The one that was written later? Or is the first not already an arrange-
ment of Spanish folk songs? The former Spanish Fantasy begins with a
motive that is identical to that in the dance in Mozart’s Figaro. And,
Mozart himself had already borrowed the motive; it is not by him, but
it is arranged. Furthermore, the same motive appears in Gluck’s ballet
Don Juan. . . . We have been able to link convincingly the motivic mate-
rial of both Spanish fantasies by Liszt with the names of Mozart, Gluck,
Corelli, Glinka, and Mahler. My humble name now joins them. Man
cannot create so much as merely use what exists on earth. And for the musi-
cian what exists are tones and rhythms.
226 (Vivaldis Konzerte, Schuberts Lieder, Webers Aufforderung zum Tanz
erklingen je in der Umlautung von Bachs Orgel, Liszts Klavier, Berlioz’
Orchester. Aber wo beginnt die Bearbeitung? Von dieser spanischen
Rhapsodie existiert eine zweite Lisztsche Fassung, welche den Titel hat:
Grosse Fantasie über spanische Weisen. Es ist ein anderes Stück, es sind
zum Teil dieselben Motive. Welche von beiden ist die Bearbeitung? Die,
die später geschrieben wurde? Oder ist nicht schon die erste eine Bear-
beitung spanischer Volkslieder? Jene spanische Fantasie beginnt mit einem
Motiv, welches mit dem Tanz in Mozarts “Figaro” gleichlautend ist. Und
Mozart hat das Motiv auch bereits übernommen, es ist nicht von ihm, es
ist bearbeitet. Überdies erschient—immer dasselbe Motiv noch in Glucks
Ballet “Don Juan” . . . Das Motivmaterial der beiden spanischen Fanta-
sien von Liszt haben wir nachweisbar mit den Namen Mozart, Gluck,
Corelli, Glinka, Mahler in Verbindung bringen können. Nun tritt noch
mein geringer Name hinzu. Der Mensch kann eben nicht schaffen, er
kann nur verarbeiten, was sich auf der Erde vorfindet. Und für den Musiker
sind es Töne und Rhythmen).4
4 Ferruccio Busoni, “Wert der Bearbeitung,” in Von der Einheit der Musik: von Drit-
teltönen und Junger Klassizität, von Bühnen und Bauten, und anschliessenden Bezirken, Verstreute
Aufzeichnungen, ed. Martina Weindel, Quellenkataloge zur Musikgeschichte, 36, ed. Rich-
ard Schaal (Wilhelmshaven: Florian Noetzel Verlag, 2006), 55–56. This essay originally
appeared in a concert program in Berlin, in November 1910. Unless otherwise indicated,
all translations are my own. For a somewhat different English translation see Busoni, The
Essence of Music and Other Papers, trans. Rosamund Ley (New York: Philosophical Library,
1957), 87–89. In her translation Ley does not distinguish between transcription and
arrangement. She erroneously translates the title of the essay as “Value of the Transcrip-
tion” instead of the “Value of the Arrangement.”
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Convinced that the boundaries between the borrowed and the truly
new are difficult to establish, Busoni questioned contemporaneous as-
sessments of arrangements as being inferior to original compositions.
By linking composers who used similar motives in their own pieces, he
suggested that not just arrangements but also original compositions are
often based upon “borrowed” material. Vivaldi’s concertos, for instance,
became the basis for some original works by Bach. Busoni found simi-
larities between the musical material used by such stylistically diverse
composers as Liszt, Gluck, Mozart, and himself.
Important to Busoni’s reasoning and compositional practice was
his belief that man cannot invent anything new because all music exists
already in some form. He maintained that the tones and rhythms that
composers use emanated from an inaudible heavenly source of music
in the form of sound waves. Busoni did not simply revise ancient theo-
ries about the harmony of the spheres, but drew specific links between
the art of music (Tonkunst) and this inaudible source that, according to
him, contained all possible motives, styles, and forms:
. . . electricity was there from the beginning also before we discovered it;
just as everything undiscovered was in being from the beginning, and is 227
therefore also now in being; so, too, the cosmic atmosphere teems with all
forms, motives, and combinations of past and future music.5
For Busoni, composers were prophets and ambassadors rather than

creators. They were people who divined music already in existence, and
sought to capture it in their compositions. Although they could not in-
vent anything new themselves, they could discover new or better ways of
representing heavenly music in tangible form:
At times, and in rare cases, a mortal is by listening made aware of

something immortal in the essence of music that melts in the hands as
one tries to grasp it, is frozen as soon as one wishes to transplant it to
earth, is extinguished as soon as it is drawn through the darkness of
our mentality. Yet enough still remains recognizable of its heavenly ori-
gin and of all that is high, noble and translucent in what surrounds us
and we are able to discern; it appears to us the highest, noblest and
most translucent.
Music is not, as the poet says, an “ambassador” of heaven, but the
ambassadors of heaven are the chosen ones on whom the high charge
is laid to bring us single rays of the original light through immeasur-
able space. Hail to the prophets!6
5 Busoni, “The Essence of Music: A Paving of the Way to an Understanding of the
Everlasting Calendar” [1924], in The Essence of Music and Other Papers, 197.
6 Ibid., 200.
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If composers could not invent anything new, distinctions and hi-

erarchies between original compositions and arrangements based on
the novelty of material or conception were obviously superfluous. For
Busoni, the value of a composition resided not in originality, but in how
fully it mirrored its heavenly model.
Busoni had few qualms about altering someone else’s piece of music,
especially if he felt he was making the piece better (i.e., truer to its heav-
enly model). This approach characterized his relationship not only to the
music of older composers, but also to the music of his contemporaries.
A heated exchange of letters in 1909–1910 between Arnold Schoenberg
and Busoni over Busoni’s arrangement of Schoenberg’s Klavierstück,
op. 11, no. 2 illustrates this compositional practice (see fig. 1).
Schoenberg sent his piano piece to Busoni to ask his opinion about
it. Instead of commenting on the piece, Busoni arranged the composi-
tion and sent the revised version back to Schoenberg with the follow-
ing note: “To complete my confession, let me tell you that I have (with
total lack of modesty) ‘rescored’ your piece. Although this remains my
own business, I shall not fail to inform you, even at the risk of your be-
ing annoyed with me.”7 He asserted that he had enhanced the com-
228 position in several ways, but especially in terms of the piano writing:
“Your means of expression are new, but not your piano textures, which
are simply poorer. I believe you have a far greater command of, say,
the orchestra.”8 Busoni believed that by extending or adding measures,
changing registers and dynamics, and making figures more idiomatic
for the piano, he had not only improved the piano writing and the
form, but also came closer to realizing Schoenberg’s intentions than
Schoenberg himself. (“I have penetrated so deeply and closely to your
thoughts that I myself was irresistibly urged to translate your intentions
into sound.”)9
Schoenberg disagreed and took offence at Busoni’s retouching of
his music. Regardless of whether it improved the piece or not, Busoni’s
arrangement challenged his authorship, and for Schoenberg author-
ship was more important than any abstract concept of perfection:
I fear that a transcription, on the other hand, would either introduce

what I avoid, either fundamentally or according to my preferences;
add what I myself—within the limits of my personality—would never
have devised, thus what is foreign or unattainable to me; omit what I
7 Busoni’s letter to Schoenberg, 2 August 1909, in Ferruccio Busoni, Selected Letters,
trans. and ed. Antony Beaumont (New York: Columbia University Press, 1987), 386.
8 Busoni’s letter to Schoenberg, 16 July 1910, ibid., 407.
9 Busoni’s letter to Schoenberg, 2 August, 1909, ibid., 386.
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figure 1. Busoni’s arrangement of Schoenberg, Klavierstück, op. 11, no. 2,

mm. 1–14 (Berlin Staatsbibliothek, Busoni-Nachlass, 243)
229
would find necessary, or improve where I am and must remain imper-

fect. Thus a transcription would be bound to do me violence: whether
it helps or hinders my work.
He doubted that anyone but himself could improve his ideas and
claimed that Busoni’s alterations to form, register, harmonies and pitches
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touched the aspects of the composition that were the most original and
hence, the most important for him:
I can see exactly that wherever things misfire, something highly origi-
nal was intended and I lack the courage to replace an interesting idea,
which has not been quite successfully carried out with a “reliable” so-
nority. And with a true work of art, the imagination of an outsider can
achieve no more than this!10
From Schoenberg’s perspective, alterations were seen as an affront to

the musical work:
I hope we shall reach an agreement. I hope you can see that I cannot
condone alterations to the form without damning that aspect of my
work. It seems to me like correcting the crooked lines in a picture of
van Gogh’s and replacing them with correct straight ones . . . I am sure:
he who knows how I write will realize this is not the spirit of my work.11
Schoenberg did not oppose arranging pieces of past historical

periods in order to modernize them and to take advantage of newer
230 instrumental possibilities; he supported Mahler’s reorchestration of
Beethoven’s symphonies and orchestrated Bach’s Organ Prelude and
Fugue in E  Major, BWV 552.12 But accepting alterations to his own mu-
sic was a different matter. Busoni’s blurred boundaries between com-
positional intent and the arranger’s license touched a sensitive nerve
and showed how unconventional Busoni’s approach had become by the
early 1910s.
Busoni’s Compositional Process

Busoni’s views about composition and arrangement, so vividly il-
lustrated by his exchange with Schoenberg, can be observed in his own
compositional practice. From the beginning of his career, his works
included a mixture of the borrowed, the reworked, and the new. He
often appropriated other composers’ ideas and freely borrowed themes
and even complete sections from other pieces.
Clues to why Busoni composed the way he did can be found in his
aesthetic writings, in which he described the compositional process from
initial spark to tangible manifestation. Each composition, he believed,
began with an Idee (idea) in the composer’s mind. He considered such
Ideen abstract, idealistic and “non-musical” entities taken from human
10 Schoenberg’s letter to Busoni, 24 August 1909, ibid., 393–95.

11 Schoenberg’s letter to Busoni, 3 July 1910, ibid., 403.
12 Schoenberg’s letter to Busoni, 24 August 1909, ibid., 394.
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experience. These ideas need not be entirely new, personal, or even

musical; they can be drawn from other realms such as literature, ar-
chitecture, or even from everyday events. Originally unrelated to mu-
sic, these abstract thoughts become abstract musical conceptions (Ein-
fälle) that are then transcribed into musical realizations and arranged into
larger structures.13
Busoni was not the only composer at the time who considered the
Idee to be a key factor in the construction of a musical masterpiece.
Schoenberg wrote extensively about the concept, and his views can
serve as a basis of comparison with Busoni’s ideas. Unlike Busoni,
Schoenberg viewed the Idee in strictly musical terms and required that
it originate with the composer. For Schoenberg, composing began with
the novel conception of a personal, concrete, and new musical idea.
The Idee was either a composer’s overall musical conception for an en-
tire piece, or the reasoning behind the musical unfolding of the com-
position; as Schoenberg put it, it was “thinking in tones and rhythms.”14
This is how Schoenberg described the Idee in his essay “New Music, Out-
moded Music, Style and Idea”:
In its most common meaning, the term idea is used as a synonym for 231
theme, melody, phrase, or motive. I myself consider the totality of a
piece the idea: the idea that the creator wanted to present. But because
of the lack of better terms I am forced to define the term idea in the
following manner:
Every tone which is added to a beginning tone makes the mean-
ing of that tone doubtful. If, for instance, G follows after C, the ear
may not be sure whether this expresses C major or G major, or even F
major or E minor; and the addition of other tones may not clarify this
problem. In this manner there is produced a state of unrest, of imbal-
ance which grows throughout most of the piece, and is enforced by
similar functions of the rhythm. The method by which balance is re-
stored seems to me to be the real idea of the composition.15
13 Busoni’s poietics bear some resemblance to eighteenth-century compositional
aesthetics that were informed by rhetorical models. In the eighteenth century, as Lau-
rence Dreyfus has noted in relation to Bach’s compositional process, the notion of in-
vention, rather than inspiration based on creative personal imagination, was important
during the compositional process. The invention of an idea or subject for a speech or a
composition could be drawn from a wealth of pre-existing themes or topoi or the work of
other authors. Once a proper idea had been decided upon, it was arranged or elaborated
upon and executed. Laurence Dreyfus, Bach and the Patterns of Invention (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 1996), 3.
14 Arnold Schoenberg, The Musical Idea and the Logic, Technique and Art of its Presen-
tation, ed., and trans. and with a commentary by Patricia Carpenter and Severine Neff
(New York: Columbia University Press, 1995), 15.
15 Arnold Schoenberg, Style and Idea: Selected Writings of Arnold Schoenberg, ed. Leon-
ard Stein, trans. Leo Black (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press,
1984), 122–23.
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In addition to the Idee, Schoenberg also used the term Gedanke to

refer to the main germinal musical component of a piece, which he
believed should also be novel and distinctive and originate with the
composer. In his incomplete treatise on the musical idea, he argued
that musical themes relate intimately to a piece’s textural, formal, and
stylistic unfolding:
The contrapuntal idea [Gedanke] is distinguished from the homopho-

nic idea [Gedanke] by its predisposition toward a different kind of im-
age production. In homophonic (main- or upper-voiced) music im-
ages arise through “developing variation”. . . . The contrapuntal idea
[Gedanke] produces images that must differ greatly from one another
in the total sound. . . . For a contrapuntal idea [Gedanke] has an ini-
tial formulation that permits shifting the position of the various con-
stituents (themes, gestalten, voices) in a kaleidoscope manner . . .16
In contrast, Busoni’s concept of the Idee is abstract and not spe-

cifically musical. Moreover, different sections of a composition can be
based on different Ideen. Busoni’s Idee is not necessarily an overarching
vision for a complete composition. Virginia Allen Englund suggests
232 that Busoni was using the term in a Platonic sense to denote a univer-
sal absolute independent of the phenomenal world.17 Although she
is correct to note that Busoni thought that the Idee transcended any
tangible musical work, she ignores the fact that Busoni’s essays also im-
ply a less abstract interpretation. Unlike Plato, Busoni did not believe
that the Idee is an ideal metaphysical type that the phenomenal ob-
ject merely represents. Neither was it related to specific compositions,
musical tones, or rhythms. In Busoni’s aesthetics the Idee is a tangible
image formed in the psyche of the composer as a result of his interac-
tions with the world.
To designate a strictly musical idea Busoni used the term Einfall. The
Einfall is not consistently distinguished in English translations from the
more general Idee, and for this reason it has received little scholarly atten-
tion. For Busoni, Einfall was an abstract musical concept intimately related
to the Idee. The Einfall, like the Idee, was abstract in that it originated in the
composer’s psyche and had no concrete audible manifestation or form.
It was not necessarily the overall conception of a piece, as Schoenberg’s
Idee, nor was it a specific tangible musical theme like Schoenberg’s
Gedanke. The Idee of Gothic architecture, for instance, could lead to an
16 Schoenberg, The Musical Idea and the Logic, Technique and Art of its Presentation,
111.
17 Virginia Allen Englund, “Musical Idealism in Ferruccio Busoni’s Klavierübung”
(DMA diss., University of Alabama, 1991), 3–4.
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Einfall consisting of related musical impressions, textures, styles, forms or

even remembrances of themes that could be combined or transformed;
counterpoint, ornamentation, fugues and fantasies might come to mind.
For Busoni, Einfälle need not be restricted to any particular genre, form,
or piece; an Einfall could assume different forms, manifestations, dimen-
sions, and could be placed in various genres, just as a human could en-
gage in different occupations. An Einfall could be reused in multiple
pieces, and a single piece could contain more than one Einfall. The Ein-
fall, like the Idee, need not be entirely novel or even one’s own. It could
include the remembrance of a previously heard theme that the composer
quotes, revises and places in a new context.
In the essay “How I Compose,” Busoni described the formation of
the Idee and its related musical Einfall, demonstrating their difference
by using a section from his opera Die Brautwahl (1912). He claimed
that he borrowed the Idee for this section from E. T. A. Hoffmann’s
literary description of an orthodox Jewish man. This Idee then became
an abstract musical concept, an Einfall, which Busoni based on music
already in existence, a Jewish melody. This Einfall needed to be tran-
scribed into tangible tones, then arranged and expanded into a com-
plete work: 233
How do people compose? I answer you willingly because it interests

me to investigate the psychic mechanism. It can be said in a few
words. First comes the idea [Idee], then the conception [Einfall], or
one seeks for it, then follows the execution. . . . In the opera I am
now working on, which is an opera and not a light opera, and it is
not called the Braut-Wacht nor the Braut-Nacht, but the Brautwahl, a
change of scene occurs with a drop curtain between.18 The scene fol-
lowing shows a half-dark Weinstube in which an ancient mysterious
Jew, Manasse, sits alone and silent. I used this intermission to paint
with the orchestra a kind of portrait of this Hebrew. Old and surly,
ghostlike and gruesome, rather than a big, imposing person and
above all, called an “Orthodox.” “He seems to have come back from
a time long past,” says E. T. A. Hoffmann, from whom I have bor-
rowed the subject.
Do you see that now I have the idea [Idee]? From this there is a
hint that an extremely old Jewish melody could be used as a musical
motive—it will certainly be familiar to you from synagogue ritual. Thus
the interval of time between idea [Idee] and conception [Einfall] was
considerably shortened for me.19
18 The words Brautwahl, Brautwacht, and Brautnacht refer to different stages of mar-
riage: the initial selection of the bride, the bride’s waiting for the groom, and the wed-
ding night. The choice of Brautwahl for the opera’s title seems the most apt, however,
given the plot’s emphasis on the quest for the bride’s hand in marriage.
19 Busoni, “How I Compose,” in The Essence of Music and other Papers, 50–51.
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Other parts of the opera were based on different Ideen and Einfälle.
Busoni indicates, for instance, that the second part was based on a poem
by Fouqué.20
Busoni often based his instrumental works on abstract Ideen drawn
from literature, architecture, or human experience. Gothic architec-
ture served as an inspiration for the Fantasia Contrappuntistica (1910);
Busoni drew a rough sketch illustrating the architectural Idee behind the
1910 Grosse Fuge that eventually formed the basis for the conclusion of
the Fantasia Contrappuntistica, a fugue based on music borrowed from J.
S. Bach’s Art of Fugue. Busoni included a refined architectural diagram
in the published version of the two-piano version explaining his vision
behind the piece (see fig. 2). The Einfälle, themes from Bach’s Art of
Fugue, aspects of Beethoven’s Grosse Fuge, contrapuntal textures, vast-
ness of scope, improvisatory passages, and ornamental figures contrib-
uted to this Gothic architectural style. Busoni exclaimed that though he
had used another’s theme, he had turned it into something new: “That
Bach did not even exhaust all the possibilities with his 16 fugues on the
same motif is proved by my ‘Grosse Fuge’ which, when you compare it,
introduces something like 20 pages of new combinations.”21 The death
234 of his father provided the abstract Idee for the Fantasia nach J. S. Bach
(1909). The musical realization of this Idee was a musical fantasy in F
minor based on the interweaving of three chorale melodies and related
organ pieces by J. S. Bach, along with newly composed material by
Busoni, to be played with a dolente affect.22
Because of the abstract nature of music in general, Busoni did not
think that music should imitate specific emotions or objects, but he
believed a composition could evoke general human emotions, or reac-
tions to universally experienced human events, like death. It could also
reflect human approaches to organization and structure, to the way the
human mind planned great and intricate buildings, and to the way an
author imagined the internal characteristics of literary characters. But
music was not to imitate specific buildings or create the likenesses of
people. The musical artwork, Busoni believed, was related to abstract
thoughts that passed through the composer’s mind.
For Busoni, the next step in the compositional process was to real-
ize the Einfall in music. He described this step most clearly in his Sketch
of a New Aesthetic of Music. Although the process Busoni outlines—how
20 Busoni’s letter to Hugo Leichtentritt, 25 Feb. 1914, in Selected Letters, 176.
21 Busoni’s letter to Egon Petri, 12 July 1910, ibid., 109.
22 Busoni’s theories about representation in music are too complex to explore in
detail in this article. For further explanation, see chapter five in my forthcoming disserta-
tion, “Ferruccio Busoni and the Ontology of the Musical Work: Permutations and Possi-
bilities” (Ph.D. diss., Stanford University, 2010).
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figure 2. Diagram of the formal structure of the two-piano version of

Busoni’s Fantasia Contrappuntistica für zwei Klaviere: Choralva-
riationen über “Ehre sei Gott in der Hohe gefolgt” von einer
Quadrupelfuge über ein Bachsches Fragment
235
an abstract musical concept is recorded on paper—is not unusual,

Busoni’s choice of terminology is unexpected. He specifically deempha-
sizes novelty of invention through his choice of the terms Transkription
and Arrangement:
“Notation” [Skription] (“writing down”) brings up the subject of tran-

scription [Transkription], nowadays a much misunderstood, almost dis-
reputable concept [schimpflicher Begriff ]. The frequent antagonism,
which I have excited with “transcriptions,” and the opposition to
which an oftimes irrational criticism has provoked me, caused me to
seek a clear understanding of this point. My final conclusion concern-
ing it is this: Every notation is, in itself, the transcription [Transkrip-
tion] of an abstract musical concept [Einfall ]. The instant the pen
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seizes it, the thought [Gedanke] loses its original form. The very inten-
tion to write down the musical concept [Einfall ] compels a choice of
measure and key. The form, and the sound means [Klangmittel ], which
the composer must decide upon, still more closely define the way and
the limits. It is much the same with man himself. Born naked and yet
without definite aspirations, he decides, or at a given moment is made
to decide, upon a career. From the moment of decision, although
much that is original and imperishable in the musical concept [Ein-
fall ] may live on, it is pressed [herabgedrückt] into the type of a genre
[Klasse]. The musical concept [Einfall ] becomes a sonata or a con-
certo; the man a soldier or a priest. That is an arrangement [Arrange-
ment] of the original. From the first transcription to the second step is
comparatively short and unimportant. And yet it is only the second, in
general, of which any notice is taken; overlooking the fact that a tran-
scription [Transkription] does not destroy the archetype, which is there-
fore not lost through transcription.23
In the above-quoted passage Busoni specifically uses the term Tran-

skription to refer to the translation of Einfälle into concrete musical
themes, melodies, or motives. When composers capture their Einfälle
in more tangible manners by notating them and setting them into keys
236
and meters, they “transcribe” them in a manner similar to the transcrip-
tion of folk melodies. Rather than the creation of a novel original, the
process thus involves the musical realization of an abstract conception.
Because performance is also the translation of the written medium into
sound, Busoni views it as a type of transcription; the performer’s job is
to perceive and revive the Einfall from its static notated state.
In his writings and compositions, Busoni uses the term Transkrip-
tion not only in a more traditional manner to refer to the transferring
of a piece from one instrumental medium to another (which he also
calls Übertragung), but also to refer to the transferring of an Einfall into
notation during composition, or from notation into aural sound during
performance.24 The above-quoted passage suggests that Busoni saw a
23 Busoni, Sketch of a New Aesthetic of Music, [1911]. My revised translation is based
on that by Theodor Baker in Three Classics in the Aesthetic of Music (New York: Dover Pub-
lications, 1962), 84–85. I replaced the word “idea” in the English translation with the
phrase “musical concept” to better reflect Busoni’s use of the German term Einfall. I also
corrected a few errors in the translation.
24 In a literary sense the term Übertragung means “translation” (the translation from
one language to another). Translation in this sense includes a degree of interpretation,

since literal word-for-word translations rarely convey the originally intended meaning.
When Busoni uses Übertragung with regard to music, there is no exact English equivalent
of the term. The transfer from organ to piano, for instance, does not involve a change of
language, only of medium. Nevertheless, this musical act also involves a degree of inter-
pretive translation, since the new musical medium often requires a non-literal transfer of
musical thoughts.
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parallel between the two. He argued that a transcription in the tra-

ditional sense of the word is similar to the writing down of a melody,
theme, or other compositional aspect of one’s own Einfall. Both require
translation, the one from one instrument to another, the other from the
abstract idea to concrete realization. By drawing parallels between the
translating of another’s composition into a piece for a new instrument
and the translating of one’s own Einfall into a tangible notated form, he
conceptually related the process of composition and transcription.
The final step in the compositional process for Busoni was the elab-
oration and expansion of the transcribed Einfall into a complete form
or structure. His use of the term Arrangement to describe this process
shows just how blurred the boundaries were for him between the cre-
ation of new pieces and the creativity involved in the arrangement of
sections of pieces already in existence. Although in popular usage the
English term “arrangement” has been viewed fairly synonymously with
the term “transcription” in reference to pieces arranged for other in-
struments, in Busoni’s practice “arrangement” refers to the organizing
of pitches, the developing of the transcribed Einfall, and to the working
out of the transcribed musical conception into a composition.25 It also
includes the choosing of the specific configuration and combination 237
of notes and structures, the instrumentation and register, the phrasing
and form, and the large-scale development and structure. Although
there is probably some conceptual and practical overlap between the
Transkription and the Arrangement of the Einfall, it seems that the former
refers mainly to steps and decisions required for placing an abstract
musical conception into concrete written form, whereas the latter in-
volves creative elaboration and choices about how to develop the Einfall
into the musical artwork. Busoni specifically mentioned the choice and
placement of a “transcribed” Einfall into a genre or form as an example
of Arrangement. For him even a composer’s choice to expand a motivic
idea into a sonata or concerto counted as an Arrangement. Busoni thus
considered any transformation of the Einfall, whether by the composer
or by another individual, to be an arrangement. This aspect of the com-
positional process greatly interested Busoni. The intricacy of the Ar-
rangement, how well the musical material was organized, the uniqueness
of structure, and the relation of the Einfall to the chosen instrument in
terms of color and register, were no less important to him than the nov-
elty of the conception.
25 See the definition of the term in The Harvard Dictionary of Music (Cambridge,
Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2003): “The adaptation of a composition for a medium
different from that for which it was originally composed. . . . The terms transcribe and
transcription are sometimes used interchangeably with arrange and arrangement. Often,
however, the former implies greater fidelity to the original.”
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Since Busoni believed that composition was primarily the arrange-

ment of notes, he thought that it was impossible to determine where an
arrangement (in the traditional sense of the word) ended and a new
composition began. The mixture of arrangement, transcription, and
original composition can be demonstrated in the fifth piece from his
Fünf kurze Stücke zur Pflege des polyphonen Spiels (1923) he composed “af-
ter Mozart” (nach Mozart). Whereas the first half of the piece is largely a
transcription of the chorale tune “Ach Gott vom Himmel sieh darein,”
taken from the Adagio of the two armored men in Mozart’s The Magic
Flute (no. 21), the last page is an arrangement that conflates the cho-
rale melody and the paired thirty-second-note accompanimental figures
from the opera’s trio (no. 16) for the three boys. Throughout the piece
Busoni interwove polyphonic figures and chromatic writing of his own
conception.26
The various designations of Busoni’s transcriptions differentiate
between the pieces according to the amount of borrowed material:
Transkription or Übertragung indicate the reworking of a piece for a new
instrument, Bearbeitung refers to a more invasive reworking of a work
by another composer, and Nachdichtung means the quotation from and
238 reinterpretation of one or multiple excerpts from one or more compo-
sitions within the context of newly composed musical material.27 These
categories frequently overlap. Moreover, one finds reworked versions of
Busoni’s own pieces and explicit quotations or allusions to other com-
posers’ works or to other musical styles even in those of his composi-
tions that lack such designations.
For Busoni the difference between compositions and arrangements
was conceptual. Borrowing or reworking musical material was an essen-
tial part of his compositional process both in arrangements and in orig-
inal compositions. The difference was that while a composer chooses
his own Ideen and Einfälle, an arranger accesses and retouches anoth-
er’s Einfälle. Since the quality of the Arrangement was no less important
for him than the novelty of conception, he did not consider arrange-
ments (Bearbeitungen) to be of lesser value than new compositions. He
pointed out the inconsistency of those who denigrated arrangements
but praised variations as “original” compositions:
Strangely enough, the variation-form is highly esteemed by the Wor-

shippers of the Letter. That is singular; for the variation-form when
built upon a borrowed theme produces a whole series of “arrange-
ments” which, besides, are least respectful when most ingenious. So
26 I am grateful to Stephen Hinton for suggesting the inclusion of this example.
27 Many Nachdichtungen are identified by the word “nach” in their title (see Fantasia
nach J. S. Bach).
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the arrangement is not good, because it varies the original; and the
variation is good, although it “arranges” the original.28
Compositional Practice
The compositional process Busoni explained in his writings was more
complicated in practice than in theory. A glimpse at Busoni’s sketches
reveals that the compositional steps described above frequently over-
lapped. On some occasions Busoni was still choosing meters and keys
for themes (a phase that in theory he considered part of the Transkrip-
tion of Einfälle) while already working on the phrasing, development,
and overall structure (a phase he designated as the Arrangement). Yet
it appears that the basic procedures Busoni described, and that origi-
nated in his interest in the multiple ways notes could be “arranged,” did
indeed inform how he composed.
Five sketches for the Nocturne Symphonique (1913), a piece that
Busoni originally envisioned as a piano sonatina, reveal Busoni’s at-
tempts to first transcribe his abstract musical conceptions into themes.
The initial sketch includes only rudimentary pitches for theme two,
suggestions for the key, and contours for other themes. Squiggly lines
indicate the direction and shape of themes that Busoni transcribes into 239
actual pitches only later. In further sketches the first theme appears ini-
tially, it seems, as a counter melody to theme three. Later sketches in-
clude more detail and the combination of themes into longer phrases,
as well as harmonizations or contrapuntal treatment of themes. Busoni
explores multiple ways the themes can be combined before eventually
portraying the final ordering and configuration. Textural suggestions
in prose in the initial sketch, “Imitat. Bass u. Mitt” (Imitation in the
bass and middle voices) only become realities in later stages as Busoni
begins “arranging” his themes. In the final two sketches Busoni reworks
the material for specific instruments and adds nuanced interpretation
markings while weaving the themes into a longer and more complete
form.
Although Busoni does not explicitly indicate his Idee for the piece,
the date of the composition implies a biographical context. Busoni
wrote it during a time period when he was fascinated with magic and
occultism, and was working on the score of Doktor Faust (1916–24). It
is likely that these fascinations informed his Idee for the Nocturne Sym-
phonique and its related Einfall. Such hypothesis could perhaps be sup-
ported by the title word “nocturne,” with its association of night and
darkness, as well as by the prevailing chromaticism, and by Busoni’s
plan to use a glass harmonica in the final section of the composition.
28 Busoni, Sketch of a New Aesthetic of Music, 19.
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According to Antony Beaumont, Busoni was inspired by a specific liter-

ary Ide:
Its literary inspiration undoubtedly comes from Mereshkovsky’s Leon-

ardo romance; a scene from this book that particularly fired Busoni’s
imagination was a courtly entertainment provided by Leonardo for
Ludovico Sforza, Duke of Milan. The artist had devised a system of
crystal spheres from which music emanated.29
Nothing in Busoni’s writings appear to definitively substantiate this

claim. But it is provable that the Arrangement of the Einfall underwent a
transformation during the compositional process, in which the piano
sonatina (Busoni’s initial plan) turned into an orchestral piece. This is
how Busoni described the transformation:
The third sonatina seems to have the character of a butterfly (hoping

straight away for the best)—at any rate it is undergoing a metamor-
phosis, has for the moment assumed the form of a caterpillar, is feed-
ing on smuggled half-hours and crawling up the trunk of the orchestra
tree.30
240
The Nocturne Symphonique later mutated again when it provided material
for Doktor Faust. Themes and complete sections from it appear through-
out the opera score; in the opening Symphonia from Doktor Faust, for
instance, nearly atonal music quoted from the Nocturne Symphonique in-
terrupts the neo-modal opening suggestive of pealing bells.
This obscuring of boundaries between composition and arrange-
ment characterize Busoni’s entire oeuvre, as seen in his numerous com-
positions published with hyphenated authorship designations such as
Bach-Busoni, Mozart-Busoni, Liszt-Paganini-Busoni, and Busoni-Schoen-
berg demonstrate. Some pieces, like the Fantasia nach J. S. Bach and the
Kammerfantasie über Carmen (1920), acknowledge the borrowed material
in their titles. Others contain short quotations, fragments, and allusions
that are not acknowledged at all. Both in his original compositions
and in his reworkings of other composers’ works Busoni was interested
in refining, perfecting, and “arranging” the music, showing alternative
means of expression for his and others’ Einfälle.
That Busoni’s practice was unusual at the time can be demon-
strated by a brief comparison with another keyboard-composer, Leo-
pold Godowsky (1870–1938), whom Busoni admired as a pianist. Both
29 Antony Beaumont, Busoni the Composer (Bloomington: Indiana University Press,
1985): 185.
30 Busoni’s letter to Egon Petri, 8 Oct. 1912, in Selected Letters, 156.
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Busoni and Godowsky were virtuoso pianists who were renowned for
their arrangements and dynamic performances, and were also active
as composers. But Godowsky, unlike Busoni, upheld clear distinctions
between the “composed” and the “arranged.”
Godowsky’s arrangements, which are witty, lyrical, virtuosic, and ef-
fective concert pieces, served mainly educational and virtuosic purposes.
His arrangements of Chopin’s piano etudes range from nearly identical
transcriptions for left hand only to freer arrangements. Godowsky often
transcribed Chopin’s works for the greatest visual affect. The spectacle
of watching a pianist playing Godowsky’s free left-hand arrangement of
Chopin’s Etude in C Major, op. 10, no.1 (transposed to D-flat major),
would have been sure to elicit surprise, wonderment, and adoration
from listeners. In Godowsky’s version Chopin’s etude becomes at once
an exercise for the left hand and a freakish display of sheer strength
and virtuosity. Similarly spectacular is Godowsky’s arrangement of “The
Star-Spangled Banner” that ends with a fff dynamic designation, left-
hand tremolos, and octave runs that are reinforced by massive right-
hand block chords featuring four-six notes each. This surely was in-
tended to elicit applause from American concert audiences.
Unlike Busoni, Godowsky followed the example of other contem- 241
poraneous performers by maintaining traditional hierarchies and dis-
tinctions between new compositions and arrangements or transcrip-
tions. His own compositions are usually based on original themes. And
while he creatively arranged many pieces, he maintained reverence for
the originals. In the preface to his Chopin studies, he specifically con-
demned altering the slightest detail when performing the etudes in
their original form:
Being adverse to any alterations in the original texts of any master

works when played in their original form, the author would strongly
condemn any artist for tampering ever so little with such works as
those of Chopin. The original studies remain as intact now as they
were before any arrangements of them were published; in fact, the au-
thor claims that after assiduously studying the present versions, many
hidden beauties in the original studies will reveal themselves even to
the less observant student.31
Busoni had no such qualms about changing the original work. He

changed something in nearly everything he performed or studied, in-
cluding major pieces by such canonical figures as Mozart.32 The range
31 Leopold Godowsky, “Personal Remarks,” Studies after Frederic Chopin (Berlin, Schle-
singer, n.d. [1903–1914]), iv.

32 Busoni’s prowess at the piano doubtless colored how he arranged pieces, as well
as what pieces he altered. Yet although improvisations featured prominently in his early
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of Busoni’s alterations of his own and other composers’ works extends

from minor interpretive choices and fairly literal transcriptions of
pieces for different instruments, and the rearrangement of works for
the same instrument, to quotation or parody of other composers’ works
in his own compositions and the creation of multiple versions of pieces.
The scope and spectrum of practices falling somewhere between com-
position and arrangement in Busoni’s oeuvre is broad and can be il-
lustrated using four examples: his edition of Bach’s Well Tempered-Clavier
(book I 1894, book II 1916), of Liszt’s Grandes Étude de Paganini, no. 6
(1914), of Mozart’s Piano Concerto in G Major, K. 453 (undated), and
his Fantasia nach J. S. Bach.
As an editor Busoni wanted to present Bach’s text as accurately as
possible. He studied autograph manuscripts and first editions whenever
he could, compared multiple contemporary editions, and cited variant
versions in footnotes. His edition of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier thus
differed from other performance editions, such as Hans Bischoff’s less
scholarly performance edition in 1883. Yet despite his scholarly intent,
he, like Bischoff, also added his own ideas to the text, making no dis-
tinction between Bach’s text and his own editorial insertions. He also
242 included his own revised or recomposed versions of some preludes and
fugues, some of which he considered to be equal or even superior to
Bach’s original text.
Busoni’s most extensive revisions occur in the second book, which
appeared in 1916. He revised Bach’s text assuming that he could show
connections between the preludes and fugues better than Bach. His
revisions were intended to correct what he perceived as weaknesses in
Bach’s Arrangement of the pieces, for he felt that he understood Bach’s
intentions—or more precisely, his Einfälle. In his introduction to the
score he acknowledged that his additions were unusual:
The relationship between the obligatory prelude to its fugue does not
seem to me to be established clearly enough. The preludes of the Well-
Tempered Clavier obviously do not make it easy for one to become more
certain over this question. As editor I have devoted some diligence
to establishing a definite connection between prelude and fugue,
concert programs, they disappeared in his maturity. If he changed pieces more exten-
sively for performance, he reworked the pieces first in writing and ironed out perceived
flaws; he notated extensive changes before the time of performance and considered such
to be acts of composition, however closely the revisions were linked to his performance
engagements and recitals. A letter to his wife shows that when altering pieces, such as a
sonata by Weber, he often studied and took into account multiple versions: “I was obliged
to buy a copy of the Weber sonata and I took the Liszt edition ‘just to see’ (as one says in
poker). Many of the things I have arranged and altered, which are almost self-evident, did
not occur to Liszt. On the other hand, we have done some things alike . . .” Busoni’s letter
to Gerda Busoni, 20 November 1901, in Letters to his Wife, 52.
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occasionally showing this by means of example. In the later examples I

believe I have overstepped Bach’s intentions.
All changes and additions, however, follow the educational in-
tention of giving the learner an insight into the mechanism of the
composition.33
In his edition Busoni established thematic connections between pre-

ludes and fugues, rescored fugues on four staves, included analyses
of the compositional techniques employed, orchestrated sections, and
even inserted alternate versions of the pieces. In the commentary on
the fugue in F minor from book 2, for instance, he showed thematic
relationships between voices and between the prelude and fugue while
also providing examples that demonstrated further canonic and contra-
puntal possibilities (see fig. 3). In examples 3 through 6 he illustrated
alternate ways of combining the voices. Example 3 portrays a canon
with voice entrances one measure apart at the subdominant. Example
4 shows a canon with entrances a half measure apart and with free in-
tervallic relationships. Example 5 shows the opening of a canon at the
tenth, and example 6 is a canon at the octave.
Busoni’s interest in exploring multiple realizations of Einfälle is 243
demonstrated even more vividly in his version of the sixth Grandes Étude
de Paganini by Liszt. Although Busoni had previously edited the Grandes
Études de Paganini with fidelity to the text, he also made his own ar-
rangements that were thoughtful compromises between Liszt’s version,
Paganini’s original, and Busoni’s own conception of the pieces.
For a performer like Busoni it was not unusual to arrange a virtuoso
etude. What was out of the ordinary was how he did it. Rather than
completing definitive versions of each and publishing only his revised
versions, Busoni included original and revised texts together and even
published multiple versions of some etudes.34 In the sixth etude he de-
rived his own compositional ideas from both Liszt’s and Paganini’s ver-
sions, selecting features that he liked from each version. Rather than
creating a new set of variations based on one original source, as Brahms
and Rachmaninov did when composing variations on the same theme,
he showed many possible realizations so that performers could compare
multiple versions and choose from various possibilities. Probably it is be-
cause of this fluidity of the published text that Busoni’s version—which
33 Busoni’s introduction to the Bach edition, in The Essence of Music and Other
Papers, 99.
34 In the earlier published versions, only variations 2, 3, 4 and 6 include the Lisztian
version in the score. Etudes 1 and 5 contain only Busoni’s arrangement. The autograph
manuscripts, however, include Busoni’s alterations indicated directly in his performance
scores. The final version (1925) of the etudes 1, 4, 5 and 6 also omit the Paganini and
Liszt versions.
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figure 3. Busoni’s commentary on Bach’s Fugue in F-Sharp Minor, in

Das wohltemperierte Klavier II, vol. 3, ed. Busoni, Egon Petri and
Bruno Mugellini (Leipzig: Breitkopf and Härtel, 1916), 11
3) At the interval of one measure and at the relationship of
the sub-dominant
4) At the interval of a half-measure, four voices, with freer
intervallic treatment of the beginning motive
5) Counterpoint at the tenth
6) Canon at the octave, combined over the first entry of the
theme in the second part of the fugue (mm. 28–31); the
original three-voice phrase unchanged, the Soprano added
Below 6) Other canonic possibilities, such as that of
augmentation and inversion, neither of which happen in
the fugue, will be merely mentioned here, so that the
student maintains space for his own thoughts.
244
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figure 3. (continued)
was simultaneously an arrangement, a composition, and a transcription—is

largely forgotten, whereas Brahms’s and Rachmaninov’s variations on the
same theme are considered masterpieces.
Both the published versions and autograph manuscripts (the latter
located in Staatsbibliothek Berlin) document Busoni’s alterations in his
arrangement. In his score multiple versions are positioned on top of 245
one another, thereby creating an either/or situation as Liszt had previ-
ously (but less systematically) done with his ossia passages in transcrip-
tions, arrangements, and compositions. In his 1914 version of the sixth
etude, Busoni provided the original Paganini version from the Caprice
no. 24 in A Minor, Liszt’s 1838 and 1851 transcriptions/arrangements
of the work for piano, and his own new arrangement. By placing his
own arrangement neither in the highest nor in the lowest line, Busoni
acknowledged the equal validity of each version (see fig. 4). In the pref-
ace to the 1914 edition, he highlighted the novelty of his approach:
The editor has here for the first time placed both versions over one
another and also placed them beside the original Paganini text as a
clarifying guide. The variants of the editor attempt to show still further
possibilities of transcription; they present the form that he has made
for his own concert performance and the striving to more closely
approach the original.
(Der Herausgeber hat hier zum ersten Male die beiden Versionen über
einander gestellt und ihnen dem Paganinischen Originaltext als erläutern-
den Führer beigestellt. Die Varianten des Herasugebers wollen versuchen,
noch andere Möglichkeiten der Transkription zu zeigen; sie stellen die
Form dar, die er für den eigenen Konzertvortrag sich zurechtgelegt hat,
und das Bestreben, dem Originale sich enger anzuschliessen).35
35 Busoni, “Preface,” Paganini-Liszt Etüde No. 6: Thema mit Variationen, eine Transkrip-
tionsstudie (New York: Breitkopf und Härtel, 1914), i. Translation mine.
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figure 4. Busoni, Paganini-Liszt Etüde No. 6: Thema mit Variationen, eine

Transkriptionsstudie, mm. 1–4, showing Liszt’s first and sec-
ond versions, and Busoni’s own variant with Paganini’s origi-
nal (Staatsbibliothek Berlin, Busoni-Nachlass, 278), 1
246
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Busoni arranged the etudes for his own concert use. He etched al-
terations directly in his own performance score, crossed out measures,
and inserted loose leaf sheets of manuscript paper with his changes no-
tated in corresponding locations.36 Additionally, Busoni intended the
sixth etude to be an instructional aid in transcription, as indicated by
the title page: “Paganini-Liszt Thema mit Variationen: Eine Transkrip-
tionstudie von Ferruccio Busoni” (Paganini-Liszt Theme with Varia-
tions: A Transcription Study by Ferruccio Busoni). Presenting the vari-
ous versions together documents the piece’s genealogy and the many
ways Einfälle could be recorded and realized.
Most significantly, Busoni’s method of notation showed the mul-
tiple attempts, including his own, to access both the composer’s Einfall,
and its origin in the treasury of motives found in the vibrating universe.
Busoni believed that as an arranger he had as much access to this “orig-
inal” as the composer. He could therefore perfect Paganini’s and Liszt’s
attempts to arrange the Einfall by adding his own.
Busoni’s arrangement showed his own perspective on the piece.
Throughout the score he selected aspects that he liked from previ-
ous versions and added some of his own ideas. In the opening four
measures of the theme, for instance, he retained the dramatic broken 247
chords of the two Liszt versions, but in the original register of the Pa-
ganini model. In the following measures he switched to the register of
both Lisztian versions, only to choose the register of Paganini’s origi-
nal again in measures 13–14. In variation 1 he copied Liszt’s second
version, but changed the register in measures 5–8, placing pitches one
octave higher than written. He also inserted a repetition of the second
phrase and included his own ossia version in the second half. In varia-
tion 3 he used the staccato textures from the first Lisztian version and
the register of the second version while thinning bass textures and
eliminating repetitions of block chords. In variation 11 he copied
the texture and rhythm of the Paganini version in the first four mea-
sures and modeled his own version after the second Lisztian version
thereafter.
Throughout, he also chose lighter textures more closely associated
with the violin, but used the basic arrangement of pitches selected by
Liszt. The eighth variation is a varied rendition of the second Liszt ver-
sion. Melody notes appear in a lighter broken (as opposed to block)
form (see fig. 5). In variation 6, Busoni likewise lightened the bass,
drawing attention to the treble line of the original Paganini version
36 The arrangements first appeared individually and then as a collection in the
second edition of Busoni’s Klavierübung in 1925. The autograph manuscript for the sixth
etude was dated 1913 and was first published in 1914. It appeared again in altered form
in 1921 and 1925.
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figure 5. The first four measures of the four versions of variation 8

in Busoni, Paganini-Liszt Etüde No. 6 (Staatsbibliothek Berlin,
Busoni-Nachlass, 278), 37
248
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while changing the affective designation from Liszt’s con brio or con
strepito to con leggiero. At the conclusion of the variation he copied Pa-
ganini’s version in the treble, eliminating Liszt’s virtuosic and thicker
right hand-octaves (see fig. 6). In the coda he featured brilliant single-
note arpeggios closer to the Paganini model.
Busoni also offered performers the option to switch back and forth
between versions. In one penciled comment inserted into the auto-
graph of variation 3, he stated that the performer could switch from his
to the Lisztian version should he or she decide to include a repetition
(see fig. 7). He also included optional ossia passages to be used at the
performer’s discretion. For instance, in variation 1, measures 11–14, he
notated a slightly altered rendition to be inserted upon repetition that
included extra dynamic markings and an alto voice. His version of vari-
ation 4 consists solely of an alternate ossia rendition of the right-hand
passage of the second Liszt version.
Busoni did not compose alternate versions of variations 2, 5, 7,
9, and 10. Because he still included Paganini’s and Liszt’s versions of
each of the omitted variations, it is likely that he intended perform-
ers to choose one of the earlier versions by the other composers.
The more extensively revised 1925 version includes newly arranged 249
versions of several variations that were initially omitted in the 1914
version.37
Busoni’s tendency to retouch or revise works based on others’
Einfälle was not limited to virtuosic pieces, but extended to more re-
vered classical masterworks. His Mozart arrangements in particular in-
cited ire from some concert reviewers, such as the anonymous critic
quoted below:
Where shall we draw the historical line? How decide what music needs
the hand of the retoucher? What music can suffer such liberties? And
how far may the transcriber go in his arbitrariness, without offending
both style and taste? Much that the early masters wrote seems dull and
colorless to Busoni’s acutely developed tonal sense. . . . Personally, I
conceive such treatment applied to Mozart as an act of violence done
to the spirit and character of the music. For me, the transparency, the
moderation in tonal volume, is no lack, but an integral part of its
charm and characteristic quality; and I absolutely refuse to accept such
changes as Busoni has made to the Andante of Mozart’s Ninth Piano
Concerto.38
37 In the 1925 edition Busoni included an ossia transcription of variation 5 and
added a second version of variation 6 as well. He also included an alternative version of

variation 9. The ending coda is also more brilliant and original in the 1925 edition.
38 Untitled concert review, The Musical Leader, 1914 (Berlin Staatsbibliothek, Busoni-
Nachlass, F4, 81).
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figure 6. The end of variation 6 in Busoni, Paganini-Liszt Etüde No. 6

(Staatsbibliothek Berlin, Busoni-Nachlass, 278), 32. “Der
Herausgeber lässt, beim öffentlichen Vortrag, diese Variante
der Liszt’schen Version derselben Variation vorangehen.”
(The editor allows, in public performance, this [Busoni’s]
version of the variation to precede the one by Liszt.)
250
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figure 7. Variation 3 in Busoni, Paganini-Liszt Etüde No. 6 (Staatsbiblio-

thek Berlin, Busoni-Nachlass, 278). 20. (“bei etwaiger Wieder-
holung des II. Theiles, benutze man die Liszt’sche Version”
[in the case of a repetition of the second part, use Liszt’s
version])
251
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According to Daniell Revenaugh, Busoni originally intended to ar-

range all of Mozart’s piano concertos for use on the modern piano.
He also planned to create an edition of them.39 Little remains docu-
mented of this project.40 But in one of the few surviving scores Busoni
included his own version together with Mozart’s. As with the Paganini
example, he appears to have wanted to document musical genealogy
and give performers a chance to choose between versions. Busoni’s
arrangement of the solo part in Mozart’s Piano Concerto in G Major,
K. 453, survives only as an unfinished, unpublished, and undated man-
uscript in an unknown hand in the Staatsbibliothek Berlin. It contains
both the original and varied versions, with a piano reduction of the or-
chestral part by Egon Petri appearing in pencil below the solo parts.41
Unfortunately the copyist included only the complete Mozart solo part,
cadenzas by Busoni, and two fragments of Busoni’s arrangement of the
solo part (one in the first movement and one in the second).42 The title
page names Busoni as the arranger of the solo piano part and Petri as
the arranger of the orchestral parts for two piano.43
Although the motivation for this arrangement is not explicitly
stated, it was probably to modernize the piece for the concert grand
252 piano of Busoni’s time, to perfect any perceived compositional defi-
ciencies, and to show an additional, better realization. Certainly com-
positional perfection was Busoni’s motivation to revise the rondo finale
of Mozart’s Piano Concerto in E  Major, K. 482, in 1919, which Busoni
believed Mozart had not had the time to perfect.44 He described the
process of adding transitions and varied returns to the finale in a letter
to the Polish musicologist Alicja Simon:
39 Oral communication by Petri’s student, Daniell Revenaugh, 25 October 2008.

40 Surviving Mozart Piano Concerto Arrangements by Busoni include: Concerto in
G Major, K. 453 (fragment), 1921?; Concerto in E Major, K. 482 (all lost, except finale),
1919; Duettino Concertante nach Mozart—Two piano (four hand), adaptation based
loosely on the Concerto in F Major, K. 459, 1921; Concerto in E Major, K. 271 (only the
Andantino movement), 1914.
41 Although undated, the manuscript was likely created around 1921, since Busoni
first performed the concerto then. See Edward Dent, Ferruccio Busoni: A Biography [1933]
(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966), 327.
42 Daniell Revenaugh’s oral communication, 25 October 2008. Revenaugh con-
tends that the handwriting on the clean but unfinished copy in the Berlin Staatsbibliothek
is neither Busoni’s nor Petri’s, and surmises that the copyist was likely working from a
now lost performance score.
43 Bearbeitung der Solostimme von Ferruccio Busoni. Übertragung des Orchesters
von Egon Petri. Ausgabe für zwei Klaviere (Berlin Staatsbibliothek, Busoni-Nachlass, 341).
44 “Yesterday I revised the Rondo of that Mozart concerto, which I am going to
play in Zurich. It is so full of places which are not worked out, obviously written quickly,
easily and brilliantly. I believe it will be splendid now. That occupied me from early
morning until 5:30 p.m.” Busoni’s letter to Gerda Busoni, 22 October 1919, in Letters to
his Wife, 277.
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I have completed a concert-edition (with some license) of the Rondo-

Finale from Mozart’s E concerto [K. 482]. As it now stands, it is a bril-
liant piece (little science and much pleasure).
This work gave me the rare pleasure of observing how a “climax”
was gradually built up from a piece which I had originally disparaged.
At first I considered it too light-weight a counterpart to the sublime
minor-key Adagio. But now I have come to admire the instinct with
which the listener is drawn back out of those depths. It had gaps in it
(evidently passages which had not been worked out); a cadenza was
called for; two transitions were completely missing; the piano writing
could bear a few (discreet) amendments; the theme returns six times
in exactly the same guise: I took the liberty of introducing three
variants.—In this way I enjoyed 3 stimulating mornings.—Now I am
thinking of other things again.45
In the remaining fragments of his version of Mozart’s Concerto

in G major, Busoni mainly altered textures and registers. In the manu-
script, which presents Busoni’s arrangement of the solo exposition of
the first movement, the left-hand Alberti bass figures are changed into
alternating left-hand thirds. Throughout the passage he changed tex-
tures and registers, added a second voice to single notes in the right
and the left hands, and created chords in the bass where block intervals 253
existed previously. In single-note right-hand passagework over sustained
whole-note bass chords, he presumably relied on the pedal’s sustaining
qualities so that the left hand could be free to harmonize the right a
tenth below (see fig. 8). Busoni’s arrangement of the six-measure frag-
ment appearing in the Andante mainly features registral displacement.
He placed right-hand figural passagework one octave higher than indi-
cated and replaced sustained notes with scales and arpeggios.
These modifications of the piano writing were not as structurally in-
vasive as his revisions to the finale of the Concerto in E  major, yet they
represented important aspects of composition. According to Busoni
how one scored a piece was an essential part of the Arrangement, not
just a necessary step for its performance. In a treatise on orchestration
he claimed that “orchestration is composition, not instrumentation.”46
Changing textures and registers was part of Busoni’s effort to reach
a more perfect representation of Mozart’s Einfälle. Unlike Mahler’s
reorchestration of Beethoven’s symphonies, which served a practical
purpose, namely the introduction of modern instruments, Busoni’s ar-
rangement had a conceptual aim, which was to show yet another com-
positional possibility for performers.
45
Busoni’s letter to Alicja Simon, 28 Oct. 1919, in Selected Letters, 296.
46
Busoni, from “Einleitung” in Aesthetik des Orchesters (Berlin Staatsbibliothek, Busoni-
Nachlass, C1–135).
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figure 8. Busoni’s arrangement of the solo part of Mozart, Piano Con-

certo in G Major, K. 453 written below Mozart’s version
(Staatsbibliothek Berlin, Busoni-Nachlass, 341), 9
254
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In Busoni’s compositional practice it is just as difficult to distin-

guish between the new and the borrowed as in his arrangements. He
frequently derives the main motivic material from the works of others,
and often borrows entire sections. Sometimes he bases even the Einfall
on others’ music. This is characteristic especially of his Nachdichtungen,
pieces that hover somewhere between new compositions and arrange-
ments as extensive quotations are interwoven with new material.
In both literature and music the term Nachdichtung refers to the
assimilation of a work in an older style into a newer and more modern
idiom. In music Nachdichtung means a free translation or arrangement,
as the word indicates, the writing of a poem after, or “in the manner of”
another poet.47 Nachdichtung designates musical works that are based
on themes, styles, or ideas of other composers, but represent at the
same time the composer’s own conception of those elements.
Although Busoni did not use the term systematically, he did apply it
to his Sonatina brevis, in signo Joannis Sebastiani Magni (1918), subtitled
In freier Nachdichtung von Bachs kleiner Fantasie und Fuge D Moll.48 The
fourth volume of his Bach edition is also labeled Kompositionen und
Nachdichtungen. This volume contains, among other pieces, his Fantasia
nach J. S. Bach and the Fantasia Contrappuntistica. 255
Busoni’s Nachdichtungen blur the boundaries between original com-
position and arrangement, transcription, and paraphrase by featuring
elements of each. They mix older compositions (either quoted exactly
or in varied form) with newly composed sections, in other words they
place the older music in new contexts. Ulrich Prinz has already demon-
strated parallels between Nachdichtung technique and sixteenth-century
compositional techniques in which previously composed works were
reused and incorporated into new ones for dramatic or musical purpos-
es.49 Both Busoni and sixteenth-century composers sometimes borrow
one or more voices from another piece; both might quote themes and
motives, copy fragments, or paraphrase works. Yet there are also some
important differences between Busoni’s practice and earlier practices.
Busoni’s technique includes juxtapositions of musics from different
time periods. He places tonal sections next to bitonal ones and mixes
old idioms with modern sounds. Sometimes Busoni also superimposes
borrowed music or diverse styles.
47 Marc-André Roberge has previously discussed the meaning of this term and its
relation to Busoni’s oeuvre. See “The Busoni Network and the Art of Transcription,”
Canadian University Music Review 11, no. 1 (1991): 75–76.
48 The fantasy and fugue to which Busoni is referring is BWV 905.
49 Ulrich Prinz, “Ferruccio Busoni als Klavierkomponist” (Ph.D. diss., Heidelberg
University, 1970), 28.
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One such Nachdichtung was Busoni’s Fantasia nach J. S. Bach, which

he composed in memory of his father. The Einfall for this piece, in-
spired by the death of Busoni’s father, seems to have been a serious and
reverential setting characterized by counterpoint and the invocation
and quotation of several chorale melodies.
The Transkription process is difficult to trace, since the surviving au-
tograph fragment contains only a few sketches. The choice of a minor
key supports the mournful Idee. The Arrangement— that is, how Busoni
decided to organize the Einfall into a complete composition—can be
deducted from the finished piece. Slightly altered renditions of quota-
tions from three chorale compositions by Bach—the organ variations
Christ der du bist der helle Tag (BWV 766), the fughetta Gottes Sohn ist kom-
men (BWV 703), and the organ chorale prelude Lob sei dem allmächtigen
Gott (BWV 602)—are juxtaposed with newly composed sections that also
borrow motivic material from the quotations. Busoni’s choice of these
three chorales had probably been influenced by the intervallic similari-
ties between their melodies (all three melodies begin with either step-
wise or skipping rising thirds) and their shared religious aura, which
Busoni, who rejected Christianity, evoked without any religious function.
256 The piece features a range of techniques falling somewhere be-
tween arrangement and composition: transcription from organ to pi-
ano, adaptation and quotation, and the creation of new material based
on borrowed motives. Busoni quotes variations 1, 2 and 7 from BWV
766; he uses the chordal chorale texture presented in variation 1 in
its original key and copies the melodic line and harmonies. He thick-
ens the texture by doubling notes in order to create a more massive
and organ-like sonority on the piano. Variation 2 also appears in its
entirety with only minor changes in phrasing and expression mark-
ings. Variation 7 exhibits only minor changes before it dissolves into
free sequential adaptation of the material. Busoni maintains the overall
contrapuntal and imitative style of BWV 703; he copies the subject and
its answer on the dominant in the alto voice, but he elaborates upon
Bach’s material, extending it from twenty-one to forty-two measures
while adding bass octaves and more complex harmonies (see fig. 9
and ex. 1). He quotes the chorale melody of BWV 602, but transposes
it into A major with free imitation of the sixteenth- and thirty-second-
note figures in the accompanying voices. He quotes the first six mea-
sures of the melody closely, using full four-voice chords in the right
hand and octaves in the left hand before breaking off just before the
melodic cadential figure of the chorale (see fig. 10 and ex. 2).
Busoni inserted newly composed sections between the quotations
and framed the piece with new material. Even these newly composed
sections derive from the chorale melodies. Busoni wrote the opening
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figure 9. Quotation of J. S. Bach’s fughetta Gottes Sohn ist kommen

(BWV 703) in Busoni’s manuscript of his Fantasia nach J. S.
Bach (Staatsbibliothek Berlin, Busoni-Nachlass, 239), 5
257
thirteen measures in the neo-Baroque style of instrumental prelude or

fantasia, characterized by rising sequential figures. Rising stepwise mo-
tion outlining a third (F, G, A or A ) in constant sixteenth notes ap-
pears in the bass, along with a longer fragment of the chorale melody
that emerges in the upper voice in measure 3. Although the pedal in
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example 1. J. S. Bach, Gottes Sohn ist kommen, in Chorale Preludes V: Kirn-
berger Chorale Preludes, BWV 690–713, Bach-Gesellschaft
Ausgabe, vol. 40, ed. Ernst Naumann (Leipzig: Breitkopf
and Härtel, 1893), 21
3    
 4  



    
 3    
4
                                  
    
5

   

      
8
                          
      
 
258

         
 
11
 
             
     
   

               

      
14
  
                 
  
          
  
17
  
      
                 
       

            
                
20
  
   
       
   
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figure 10. Quotation of J. S. Bach’s organ chorale prelude Lob sei dem

allmächtigen Gott (BWV 602) in Busoni, Fantasia nach J. S.
Bach (Staatsbibliothek Berlin, Busoni-Nachlass, 239), 7
259
the bass seems to establish F as the tonal center, there is no cadence in

F. The lack of cadence and the strange scale patterns obscure the tonal-
ity. In the following fifteen measures (mm. 14–29) Busoni develops
sequentially the same three pitches, F, G and A b. This time the pattern
appears in retrograde over gentle left-hand arpeggios, which, together
with an added chromatic inflection on G, contribute to the mournful
(dolente) affect originating in the Idee. The material from the opening
returns at the end, the melody sounding now in bell-like octaves over
sixteenth notes. Peace (indicated by Busoni’s inscription of “Pax” in the
score) is achieved as the music slowly dies away.
This mixture of new and old material is present in other pieces by
Busoni. Die Brautwahl, for instance, contains material from the “Hebrews’
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example 2. J. S. Bach, Lob sei dem allmächtigen Gott, Chorale Preludes
(Orgelbüchlein), BWV 599–644, organ score, Bach-Gesell-
schaft Ausgabe, ed. Wilhelm Rust (Leipzig: Breitkopf and
Härtel, 1878), 6

             


                    


                          

      

     

   
                
3
        
          
        
  
  

260
        


 
5
                                

                                 
  
           




            
7
           

       

  
            
    
    
      
9
         


      
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March” of Giacomo Rossini’s Mosè (1818), quotations from Carissimi’s

Jepthe (1648), German folksongs, and Gregorian chant, juxtaposed with
various exotic scales. Doktor Faust combines a fragment from the Grego-
rian Credo I, choral writing in the style of Palestrina, chorales, Baroque
counterpoint, and a dance suite and multiple quotations borrowed
from Busoni’s own oeuvre (like the nearly atonal passages from Nocturne
Symphonique).50 Arlecchino (1914–16) contains quotations from the music
of Mozart and imitates the styles of Gaetano Donizetti and Richard Wag-
ner. In his Third Piano Elegy, Meine Seele bangt und hofft zu Dir (1907),
Busoni quotes fragments from a Lutheran chorale, “Allein Gott in der
Höh sei her,” derives motivic material from it, and places the borrowed
motives in a mixture of bitonal, modal, or tonal settings. The opening of
the piece presents only the initial ascending minor third of the melody,
which becomes a generative melodic and rhythmic cell for the entire
composition. The most complete (chromatically altered) seven-measure
statement of the melodic line begins in measure 20, but dissolves before
its completion into descending sequential reiterations of a two-note de-
scending melodic pattern derived from the chorale.
Conclusion 261
We have seen repeatedly how composing original pieces and creating
arrangements were closely related in Busoni’s mind. For him novelty of
conception was not necessarily a prerequisite for a musical work. Neither
the Idee nor the Einfall had to originate with the composer; both could
be appropriated from another source. The composer’s role was not to
invent, but to form and develop the material. But even the working out
of the Einfall could involve the reuse of themes, motives, or even com-
plete sections of pieces. According to Busoni Tonkunst was never entirely
new, yet it was eternally young and eternally classic, as it evolved from the
source of music and from one piece to the next throughout time. Where
the old left off and the new began was debatable.
This mixing of borrowed and original material was not unique
to Busoni’s aesthetics, especially not in the first decades of the twen-
tieth century when neoclassicism was on the rise. But the degree to
which Busoni conflated practices of arrangement and composition
in his writings and compositions was unusual, as can be illustrated by
comparative examples. In 1909 Mahler combined and reorchestrated
two suites by Bach. Offering little in the way of newly composed ma-
terial, the resulting orchestra suite can be considered as an arrange-
ment of Bach’s music. In 1933 Rachmaninov transcribed the prelude,
50 Antony Beaumont has already documented many of the quotations and allusions
in Doktor Faust. See Beaumont, Busoni the Composer.
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gavotte, and gigue from Bach’s third Violin Partita for keyboard,
adding richer harmonies and contrapuntal textures. Like Mahler, he
added little new material. Between 1918 and 1922 Schoenberg and
his circle arranged pieces for the Society for the Private Performance of
Music. These arrangements served a practical purpose: they enabled
the Society to provide expert performances of contemporary music
in chamber settings. Perhaps a closer parallel to Busoni’s practice is
Schoenberg’s transcription of Handel’s Concerto Grosso, op. 6, no.
7 as his Concerto for String Quartet and Orchestra (1933). Not only
did Schoenberg modernize the instrumentation, but he also sought
to improve the thematic development and correct perceived compo-
sitional defects. The procedure, however, was not typical of Schoen-
berg’s compositional practice and little of his modern style appears
in the piece. Stravinsky’s reuse of pieces by Pergolesi in his Pulcinella
Suite (1920–21) was closer to Busoni’s practice. Yet despite the bor-
rowed material, Stravinsky saw Pulcinella primarily as his original com-
position, in which familiar music was defamiliarized through strident
harmonies and new instrumental colors. Moreover, Stravinsky never
appropriated or arranged revered classics, even though his neoclas-
262 sicist period continued well into the later 1940s.
Many contemporaneous keyboard virtuosi created new arrange-
ments for their own use, especially of Bach’s music. A performer of
arrangements by Bach, Mozart, Liszt and others, Busoni was an heir
to this virtuoso tradition. One can argue that the boundaries between
original composition and arrangement or transcription had already
been blurred in nineteenth-century keyboard works, especially in Liszt’s
opera fantasies and in his transcriptions of orchestral works such as
Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique.51 Busoni’s approach, which included jux-
taposition of exact quotations with newly composed sections that de-
rived from quoted material and featured contrasting tonal languages,
was nonetheless idiosyncratic. He alone published multiple versions of
the same piece in order to show diverse solutions for the realizations of
the Idee, thereby revealing musical genealogies and presenting the per-
former with alternatives.
From today’s perspective, Busoni’s approach to composition seems
refreshingly liberating. As he liked to say, it was quality—“good” versus
“bad” music—that eventually mattered. In his time, when originality
was valued beyond quality, he could not achieve the exalted status of an
original composer and was denigrated to the underappreciated position
of the arranger. Yet by calling into question the musical hierarchies of
51 Jonathan Sanvi Kregor, “Franz Liszt and the Vocabularies of Transcription,
1833–1865” (Ph.D. diss., Harvard University, 2007).
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his own era, he articulated an alternative view, which ultimately proved

him to be one of the most original thinkers of his day.
Stanford University
Abstract
An anecdote circulating among pupils of Egon Petri (1881–1962),
a protégé of Ferruccio Busoni (1866–1924), was the story Petri told
of how on more than one occasion Busoni’s wife was mistakenly intro-
duced as “Mrs. Bach-Busoni.” Whether fact or fiction, this social faux
pas illustrates how closely Busoni’s name has been associated with the
names of composers whose works he arranged. Despite his prolific com-
positional career, he is remembered more as a transcriber and arranger
than as a composer of original works. His practice of arranging others’
works also affected his own compositions, which frequently contained
borrowed material. Busoni’s creative art thus blurred conventional
boundaries between what is traditionally considered to be primary
“original” works and subsidiary transcriptions or arrangements.
While Busoni’s tendency to blur boundaries between new pieces
263
and arrangements has been already noted, his compositional aesthet-
ics has only been cursorily studied. Relying on the essay “How I Com-
pose,” the section on notation from The Sketch of a New Aesthetic of Mu-
sic (1907), and unpublished sketches from the Staatsbibliothek Berlin,
I examine Busoni’s idiosyncratic compositional ideology, explain the
meaning of his terms Idee, Einfall, Transkription and Bearbeitung in his
compositional process, and show that Busoni valued the creativity in-
volved in transforming already existing musical material no less than
invention of the new. I illustrate Busoni’s compositional aesthetics
through analyses of his arrangements of Liszt’s sixth Paganini Etude,
Mozart’s Piano Concerto, K. 453, and his Fantasia nach J. S. Bach.
Keywords: arrangement, J. S. Bach, Ferruccio Busoni, Fantasia nach J. S.

Bach, musical borrowing, transcription.
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How I Compose

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"How I Compose": Ferruccio Busoni's Views about Invention, Quotation, and the

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A n anecdote circulating among pupils of Egon

I would like to thank Stephen Hinton, Karol Berger, Heather

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Hutcheon, J. Peter Burkholder, Christopher Reynolds, and David

Busoni himself considered the distinction between original composition

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between arrangement and composition were for him. In the essay he

Vivaldi’s concertos, Schubert’s lieder, Weber’s Invitation to the Dance

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For Busoni, composers were prophets and ambassadors rather than

At times, and in rare cases, a mortal is by listening made aware of

5 Busoni, “The Essence of Music: A Paving of the Way to an Understanding of the

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If composers could not invent anything new, distinctions and hi-

I fear that a transcription, on the other hand, would either introduce

7 Busoni’s letter to Schoenberg, 2 August 1909, in Ferruccio Busoni, Selected Letters,

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figure 1. Busoni’s arrangement of Schoenberg, Klavierstück, op. 11, no. 2,

would find necessary, or improve where I am and must remain imper-

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From Schoenberg’s perspective, alterations were seen as an affront to

Schoenberg did not oppose arranging pieces of past historical

Busoni’s Compositional Process

10 Schoenberg’s letter to Busoni, 24 August 1909, ibid., 393–95.

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experience. These ideas need not be entirely new, personal, or even

13 Busoni’s poietics bear some resemblance to eighteenth-century compositional

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In addition to the Idee, Schoenberg also used the term Gedanke to

The contrapuntal idea [Gedanke] is distinguished from the homopho-

In contrast, Busoni’s concept of the Idee is abstract and not spe-

(DMA diss., University of Alabama, 1991), 3–4.

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Einfall consisting of related musical impressions, textures, styles, forms or

How do people compose? I answer you willingly because it interests

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figure 2. Diagram of the formal structure of the two-piano version of

an abstract musical concept is recorded on paper—is not unusual,

“Notation” [Skription] (“writing down”) brings up the subject of tran-

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In the above-quoted passage Busoni specifically uses the term Tran-

one language to another). Translation in this sense includes a degree of interpretation,

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parallel between the two. He argued that a transcription in the tra-

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Since Busoni believed that composition was primarily the arrange-

figure 1. Busoni’s arrangement of Schoenberg, Klavierstück, op. 11, no. 2,

figure 2. Diagram of the formal structure of the two-piano version of

figure 3. Busoni’s commentary on Bach’s Fugue in F-Sharp Minor, in

figure 4. Busoni, Paganini-Liszt Etüde No. 6: Thema mit Variationen, eine

figure 5. The first four measures of the four versions of variation 8

figure 6. The end of variation 6 in Busoni, Paganini-Liszt Etüde No. 6

figure 7. Variation 3 in Busoni, Paganini-Liszt Etüde No. 6 (Staatsbiblio-

figure 8. Busoni’s arrangement of the solo part of Mozart, Piano Con-

figure 9. Quotation of J. S. Bach’s fughetta Gottes Sohn ist kommen