When Lola Montez danced on the table: The Beethoven Festival of 1845

When Lola Montez danced on the table: The Beethoven Festival of 1845

by | Aug, 2025 | EN, famous people from Bonn, history, Music, tradition

Nowadays, Beethoven festivals are almost routine. They take place annually. There is stable funding (we will draw a veil over the years 1993 to 1998), early planning by the artistic director and a firm foothold in the city’s society. At the first Beethoven Festival in 1845, everything was very different.

The occasion for the celebrations was not only the 75th birthday of the master, who died in 1827, but above all the inauguration of the Beethoven monument by the Dresden sculptor Ernst Hähnel on Münsterplatz. It all stemmed from what we would today call a ‘civic initiative’. At its helm was August Wilhelm Schlegel, one of the greats of the German scholarly world. His successor was a less fortunate choice. Heinrich Carl Breidenstein, the university’s ‘music director’, was a proven expert but had a difficult character. He was always controversial in Bonn society and was also openly hostile due to his enthusiasm for modern music (apart from Beethoven, he admired Liszt and Berlioz). He was simply not up to the task of organising a music festival with hundreds of guests in a small town without infrastructure or experience (Bonn had less than 20,000 inhabitants at the time). The matter was further complicated by the fact that King Frederick William IV and his guest Queen Victoria intended to attend. The support of Franz Liszt, which had already been needed to finance the monument, was a double-edged sword. Liszt’s connections were helpful, but his exuberant self-confidence was not. He polarised opinions and virtually invited criticism.

When Liszt arrived in Bonn a few weeks before the festival, at which he was to conduct alongside court conductor of Kurhessen Spohr, he immediately made his mark. He flatly rejected Breidenstein’s idea of using the Hussars’ riding arena in front of the northern city wall as a concert hall – according to a contemporary source, a ‘stinking hut’. The result was perhaps the greatest miracle in Bonn’s architectural history, which is otherwise not particularly rich in miracles: in less than two weeks, a consortium of Bonn carpenters, with the support of Cologne cathedral master builder Zwirner, erected a wooden festival hall in the ‘Raess’schen Gärten’. Today, we know this area as the car park in the Viktoriakarrée. With a height of around 7 metres, the building measured approximately 62 × 23 metres. However, it is difficult for us today to understand how contemporaries calculated that this space of just over 1,400 square metres could accommodate up to 3,000 visitors plus an orchestra and choir. The Bayernzelt at Pützchens Markt needs more than 2,000 square metres for such large numbers. In any case, the concerts are said to have been attended by around 2,000 people each. Incidentally, the hall was sold for demolition a few weeks after the end of the festival. The wish of the correspondent of the Leipziger illustrirte Zeitung thus remained unfulfilled. At the end of September, he had wished the hall a long life as a music venue and not as a ‘fool’s hall’. This is somewhat reminiscent of the current discussions about the use of today’s Beethoven Hall.

It was thanks in no small part to Liszt that hundreds of guests from out of town had gathered in Bonn on the eve of the celebrations. In addition to Beethoven enthusiasts including many Englishmen and a large group of Frenchmen led by Hector Berlioz, Liszt’s personal fan club also attended (mainly ladies who were almost hysterically devoted to him). Among them was the ‘it girl’ of her generation, the dancer and scandalous Lola Montez. How close she was to the maestro during those days was obvious.

The festival got off to a good start. The opening concert on the evening of August 10th, conducted by Louis Spohr, featured the Ninth and the Missa Solemnis. Even the critical critics were satisfied – although Spohr admitted that he had not known the Missa at all and had had to learn it in a crash course shortly before the concert. The next day was a day of rest, so to speak. The programme was limited to christening a ‘steamboat’ named Ludwig van Beethoven and taking it on a day trip to Nonnenwerth. On this and many other occasions, the people of Bonn held out their hands. The out-of-town guests found this unusual, and even local Gottfried Kinkel complained about the rampant commercialism and excessive merchandising.

The main reason for the festival, the unveiling of the monument on 12 August, was no longer under a lucky star. After a high mass in the cathedral, during which Berlioz had to climb over a barrier to reach his seat, the crowd gathered tightly packed on the cathedral square. It took an hour and a half before Their Highnesses, coming from Brühl, appeared on the balcony of the Fürstenberg Palace, today’s post office. The festive song composed by Breidenstein and ‘sang by a male choir’ was blown away by the wind, as was his speech, which was delivered too quietly. The unveiling itself, however, was not the ‘scandal’ that many later generations would have us believe. Queen Victoria merely noted in her diary that it was unfortunate that the statue could only be seen from the back. It was not she, but King Frederick William IV who expressed his surprise, audible only to his immediate neighbours. Alexander von Humboldt, standing next to him, made the matter the most famous anecdote in Bonn’s city history with his reply: ‘Your Majesty, please bear in mind that Beethoven was also a rough fellow during his lifetime.’

The final day was the 13th and indeed an unlucky day. The grand morning ‘artists’ concert’ began an hour late, even though the king had asked for it to start without him and his guests. The egomaniac Liszt nevertheless delayed the start because he did not want to conduct his own cantata without royal accompaniment. This was untenable, but as luck would have it, the distinguished guests arrived just as the piece ended. So the maestro started from the beginning. The rest of the audience was not amused. After a few more items on the programme, the princes had to leave for Cologne to visit the cathedral. They were once again among themselves and had two more hours of music to endure. When it was time for lunch, most of the audience left the hall (‘Too much torment!’). The concert lasted until half past one.

The low point in the evening was reached at the banquet in the ‘Hotel zum goldenen Stern’ on the market square. Despite many toasts, Liszt did not acknowledge the French delegation. This led to turmoil and the ladies present fled. Only Lola Montez remained and danced on the table. Liszt had to lock her in her hotel room, where she promptly smashed the furniture.

Today’s Beethoven festivals are more civilised. The only reminder of 1845 is the iconic monument on Münsterplatz. And perhaps that’s just as well.

May in Bonn is cold and grey – Le Carré’s ‘A Small Town in Germany’

May in Bonn is cold and grey – Le Carré’s ‘A Small Town in Germany’

by | May, 2025 | EN, famous people from Bonn, history

Apart from the seemingly inevitable local crime novels and a few autobiographical special cases, Bonn hardly ever appears as the setting for a novel. This also applies to its years as the capital city of Germany. Of the few novels that deal with the politics of the ‘Bonn Republic,’ Wolfgang Koeppen’s ‘Das Treibhaus’ (The Greenhouse) alone satisfies the highest literary standards as a roman à clef of the young Federal Republic. Unfortunately, it is hardly known outside Germany.

This means that Bonn makes only one appearance in world literature. It was created by John Le Carré (actually David John Moore Cornwell, 1931-2020) in his novel ‘A Small Town in Germany’, published in 1968. The author of The Spy Who Came in from the Cold and literary father of George Smiley is usually classified as a writer of pulp fiction in Germany. In the English-speaking world, he is rightly regarded as one of the most important authors of the recent past.

A Small Town in Germany is one of Le Carré’s lesser-known books. This may be because, unlike most of his works from the 1960s and 1970s, it does not revolve around the theme of the Cold War and does not feature the anti-Bond character George Smiley. Instead, the plot is embedded in the domestic politics of the Federal Republic of Germany and is therefore less accessible to an international audience than the global East-West conflict. It is set exclusively in Bonn and its immediate surroundings. Le Carré draws on his own experiences. From 1961 to 1963, he was stationed in Germany by the British Secret Service working undercover as Second Secretary at the British Embassy in Bonn. At that time writing was a part-time endeavour.

As Le Carré once remarked elsewhere, the plot takes place in the ‘near future’ from the year the book was published – if you look closely: in May 1970. The political panorama that forms the backdrop is bleak. Le Carré composes it from elements that helped shape the domestic politics of the Federal Republic in the 1960s, adding fictional and exaggerated elements to create an ugly dystopia: the grand coalition is still in power. The opposition FDP is infiltrated by shady figures with roots in the Nazi era. There is a powerful political alliance between the student movement and what we would today call right-wing populists. The target of their hatred is Great Britain. The Bundestag is still debating emergency laws, an amnesty for Nazi criminals comes into force, and accession negotiations between the EEC and Great Britain are going badly in Brussels. The country is on the brink of major unrest.

In this situation, a troubleshooter arrives in Bonn from London. A junior embassy employee has disappeared, apparently gone into hiding. Suspicions of espionage are rife. Alan Turner is tasked with getting to the bottom of the matter. Over the course of several weeks in May, he scrutinises the embassy’s operations, uncovers some of the staff’s dirty secrets and gets closer and closer to the man he is looking for, his character and his motives. This man is, if you will, the real protagonist of the novel. Yet he hardly ever appears in the book – only briefly at the beginning and end. This much can be revealed: it does not end well.

Le Carré’s picture of Bonn is as bleak as the plot. It begins with the weather – although it is May, it is consistently hazy and damp. There is no sign of warmth, and much of the action takes place at night. Le Carré anticipates an atmosphere that J.K. Rowling’s dementors would later spread. The city is cramped and narrow-minded – just like the republic that gave birth to it. This image is further embellished with all the prejudices that have always hurt Bonn’s local patriots: it rains, or the railroad crossing barriers are down; the nightlife is in Cologne; Bonn became the capital because Adenauer wanted it to be; it’s a waiting room for Berlin, etc. The tongue-in-cheek humour with which these sayings were often accompanied in Bonn is completely absent. The author is deadly serious. He even invents his own nastiness. In Bonn, even the flies are civil servants.

Woven into the backdrop of the book are many detailed descriptions. They range from the university and the railway station to the town hall and the British Embassy (sacrificed to Telekom in 2004) to the diplomatic settlements in Plittersdorf and Bad Godesberg. The protagonist lives on the slopes of the Petersberg, and the traffic problems are closely observed. Anyone reading the novel from this perspective may notice how Le Carré alters the city’s geography and even individual buildings to suit the needs of the plot. And, of course, he describes the buildings and structures as he remembers them from the early 1960s. They no longer correspond to the Bonn of 1970, let alone to the Bonn of today. Such a search for clues is great fun!

Why Bonn comes across so negatively in its only appearance in world literature remains an open question. It may have something to do with Le Carré’s bad memories of his time in Bonn. And, of course, it is also due to the dark subject matter. It may be comforting to know that he actually shows all the locations in his books from their ugly side. And perhaps there is a tiny grain of truth in his Bonn.