Editor’s Note: this article was originally published in German translation in Gitarre & Laute magazine in 1988 (Nº X/5. 1988 Sept/Oct, “Die Bedeutung von Erstausgaben in der Editionspraxis”.) The article is an incisive examination of the editorial practices used by Brian Jeffery in bringing out a new edition, fully engraved and edited, of the Sonata Op. 15 by Mauro Giuliani. Shortly after its publication nine years ago, I have been asked by Lothar Friedrich, then chief editor of the Schott publishing company in Mainz, Germany, to act as a consultant for a new series of early nineteenth century guitar music to be published by that venerable publishing house, and to be edited by Dieter Kreidler. Apparently, the implications of my arguments appealed to Herr Friedrich’s sense of editorial rectitude and it was he who sought the contact with me, so kindly arranged by Gitarre & Laute editor Dr. Peter Päffgen. For various reasons, Herr Friedrich’s failing health possibly among them, the series never came into being. The publication of the article had brought another reaction: this was a series of lengthy letters I received from Erik Stenstadvold in which he questioned several of my readings of the writings of Alexander Weinmann. This exchange of correspondence have not convinced me that anything I have written here is in need of explanation or change. I am not free to quote this private correspondence here, but should Mr. Stenstadvold wish to submit his arguments as a public rebuttal to this article, I would be happy to post them in this on-line magazine. Needless to say, I have never heard from Brian Jeffery himself nor have I ever seen anything published by him anywhere, taking issue with my arguments. What I did see, is Jeffery’s continued insistence on a total reliance on first editions as the only possible source for that mythical pipe dream called “The Composer’s Intentions.” The issue have come into focus recently in several letters to the editor written by Brian Jeffery to Classical Guitar magazine in which he attacked the Chanterelle edition of studies by Sor, edited by Richard Savino, to which I contributed some historical comments. It is time, then, to re-examine the issues involved, and in English. The article as presented here, contains much of the same text as published originally in G&L, but updated to account for the difference in time and to the many changes that occured in our collective knowledge since then.


By Matanya Ophee

Some twenty five years ago, the ideas of modern music scholarship had begun their slow infiltration down to the consciousness of guitarists. Several Ph.d. dissertations, and notably that of Thomas Heck on Giuliani, were instrumental in sharpening our critical faculties. Questions have been asked about the textual validity of many mainstays of the repertoire. In recent years it has become increasingly fashionable to say unflattering things about editions of guitar music which were made during the early years of this century. We often read disparaging comments about the questionable reliability of these editions, the faulty scholarship of their editors and the superiority of more recent editions of the same works.

The process of creating the mind-set which allows one to insult the work of others is simple: define a set of parameters of what a “reliable” edition ought to be. Anything which does not square with your definition, must be “unreliable”, “without authority”, etc. It does not matter if your parameters are based on insufficient evidence, false assumptions or plain prejudice. If they are enunciated with the proper tone of authority, those who are not in a position to question you will buy it.

This article will attempt to clarify the limits of possibility in adapting early or first editions for modern performance. It will show that while we have successfully demonstrated the mistakes made by earlier editors, we also acquired a peculiar frame of mind which allows us to accept our own follies as authentic representations of a given composer’s original intentions. It will also argue that for the most part, we have no way of knowing precisely what the composer’s intentions were, and that most authoritarian pronouncements made by modern editors, including some that I made myself in the past, are no more than an expression of the modern editor’s prejudice.

It goes like this: the most authentic form of a composition and the only one which should be acceptable to serious musicians, is the autograph manuscript. Wanting that, the earliest known edition, by virtue of its assumed proximity in time to that of the composition itself, must be the most authentic representation of the composer’s will. There seem to be little disagreement about this idea and it has been expressed in many new editions of early nineteenth century guitar music. Interestingly enough, when we are dealing with verbal texts, such as guitar methods, the majority of scholars take precisely the opposite view: the last known version of a method, would represent the most recent, hence the most reliable notion about its author’s pedagogical philosophy as it applies to the guitar and its technique. Perhaps the best example of that is Brian Jeffery’s publication of Aguado’s 1843 Nuevo Método, even though there exist earlier, and decidely more complex pedagogical treatises by Aguado, such as his 1825 Escuela. One does not see any clamour to find the autograph manuscripts of guitar methods and claim that only these represent the true intentions of the author. And rightly so.

When only one edition of a given work can be vouched to have been published during the composer’s life time, it obviously must be given preeminence over editions of the same work published after the composer’s death. One obvious exception to this maxim, is when an edition published after the composer’s death is said to be based on infromation supplied to the editor by the composer himself during his life time. There are many examples in the music of J.S. Bach that come to us from copies made by his students and accepted by Bach scholars as authentic. The Sor studies published by his student Napoleon Coste is another well-known example. Coste had said that the changes he introduced in the studies were ones given to him in person by the composer. We can either believe him, in which case we ought to accept the changes as a valid expression of the composer’s intentions, or decide that he lied and disregard them. It seems to me that in order to set aside what amounts to be a first hand testimony by a composer who had no discernible motive to give false evidence, we need a bit more than a blind belief in the sanctity of a first edition. Still, in preparing modern editions based on such a source, it would behoove the diligent editor to establish that the author participated in all the complex preliminaries necessary to bring the work to the printer, such as the engraving process, proof-reading, graphic design etc. Otherwise, one has no way of knowing which dots and dashes on the printed page belong to the composer’s genius, and which belong to the engraver’s fancy and technical equipment or to the publisher’s financial and business decisions.

Even if a composer’s close supervision of the production process can be established, one must allow that misprints, those dreadful gremlins which are the bane of the publishing trade, could have occurred. As Walter Emery once said, the object is not to reproduce what the composer wrote, but what he meant to write.(Note 1)

Establishing that, is the really difficult part. Since we do not have access to the composer’s phone number, we have to use independent evidence to establish some consensus of opinion about what the composer’s intentions may have been. Sometimes, all that we have to work with is circumstantial in nature. The task become even more complex when there is more than one edition of the same work which can be vouched to have been published during the composer’s life time. The general tendency among scholarly editors in recent years, was to accept, without reservation, the earliest available edition as the more reliable. This attitude is unjustifiable in my view, because it ignores the possibility that the later version may have been the product of the composer’s own change of heart. People grow and with time they have a different perspective of their own creation. The fact that a second edition of a given work was published, must mean only one thing: there was a demand for it. When changes have been made in the second edition, they could be blamed on a sloppy engraver. At the same time, they could be charged to the composer’s own preference for a new reading of his work. The second edition is a good opportunity to change one’s mind. When we commit our own mistakes to print, we promise the critics that they will be corrected in the second printing. An optimist editor hopes that the demand for his work will warrant a second printing and this is an easy promise to make. A good example of this premise is the recent publication by Brian Jeffery of a second edition of Tecla 101, the so-called Complete Studies of Sor, into which, so he says, some changes over the first edition have been introduced, one of them being the addition of op. 44 which did not figure in the first edition published only a couple of years ago. Whether this second edition actually corrects mistakes which occured in the first will be the subject of a separate inquiry. Nevertheless, the stated intentions of the publisher were that it did. Why must we deny early nineteenth century composers the same privilege of correcting mistakes or changing their mind?

A poignant case in point is the publication by Brian Jeffery of the well known Sonata Op. l5 by Mauro Giuliani. (Note 2) A facsimile of the sonata was included in Volume 3 of the Complete Works of Giuliani published by Dr. Jeffery. (Note 3) I already expressed elsewhere my opinions about the virtues of “Complete Editions” and so-called “facsimiles” and I do not intend to rehash them here. My discussion revolves around the separate edition of this sonata in which the text was newly engraved.

At last count, there were some twenty modern editions of Op. 15 in general circulation including the edition by Thomas Heck, in his Heugel anthology of Giuliani, which is also currently in print. (Note 4) Is the guitar world in urgent need of another modern edition of this work? that is a question that can best be answered by the marketing department of the publisher in question. If it is sold, then there is a need for it. Which of the currently available editions should prospective buyers choose? that question can best be answered by the buyers themselves, depending on their own personal predilections.

My concern here is with the underlying assumptions on which the new edition is based. I am also interested in examining the relationship between these assumptions and the end result—the newly engraved edition.

In his Preface to the edition, Dr. Jeffery states that the reason his new edition of Op. 15 is provided, is that “ . . . practically all . . . ” twentieth century editions of this work have based themselves on an “unauthentic" second edition, which, according to him, does not have any textual authority. His new edition is based on the earliest known edition of the work published by the Imprimerie Chimique in Vienna in 1808. (Note 5) Dr. Jeffery does not tell us how he knows that the second “unauthentic” edition is the source for “practically all” modern editions. That may be so. Yet, any divergences from the first edition may be traced to other sources, not least of which is the modern editor’s own imagination.

The second edition, on which Jeffery does not bestow much credence, was, presumably, also published in Vienna during Giuliani’s residence there. The publisher was A. Steiner. Certainly, there are many differences between the two editions. Jeffery says: “ . . . At this distance in time, and when dealing with two editions so close to each other in time and both published in Vienna while Giuliani was living in that city, we are unlikely ever to know for certain the reasons for the many differences in detail . . . ”. (Note 6) I couldn’t agree more. What I find baffling is the very next sentence in which Jeffery says: “However, a close study of them [the differences] does suggest that it was the first edition alone, that of the Imprimerie Chimique, which used Giuliani’s original manuscript; that Giuliani himself had nothing to do with the changes made in the Steiner edition; and that the changes probably originated with a reviser or an engraver rather than with Giuliani and therefore have no textual authority”. (Note 7) Having made this determination, Jeffery could then proceed to endow us, for better or for worse, with yet another edition of this work. Since Jeffery did not describe the “close study” which he made, the one which prompted his determination that only the first edition has textual authority, one is hard pressed to understand the rationale behind his conclusions. Unless we are told exactly what this “close study” entailed, what parameters were looked at, how they were judged, what corroborating evidence has been used in reaching this or that conclusion, in short, providing the full support of a critical apparatus, we may be entirely justified in questioning the assertion. If the author indeed made such a “close study”, it’s nature is hidden from us, and for all practical purposes it may be nothing more than a figment of his imagination.

Unfortunately, the second edition of Op. 15, that of Steiner which was published in Vienna during Giuliani’s stay there, was not seen by Jeffery and any comparisons he made, were made with another edition altogether, which may have been the third or the fourth. Therefore, any conclusions drawn from that comparison may or may not be valid. Their validity can only be established with a direct examination of the true second edition. For the time being, they are entirely irrelevant.

Here is how I know all of this: In his well-known thematic catalogue of Giuliani, Thomas Heck gives the text of the title-page of the original edition as follows:

“SONATE / pour / LA GUITARRE / composée et dediée / a Mademoiselle / JOSEPH NOBLE de MAILLARD / par / MAURO GIULIANI/ oeuv. 15 . . .  Vienna: Imprimerie Chimique, Pl. Nr. 933.

A copy of the edition was found by Heck in the Wiener Stadt-und Landesbibliothek in Vienna under call No. Mc 28115, advertised for sale in 1808. This is the source for Thomas Heck’s edition of Op. 15, and also the source for Dr. Jeffery’s edition of the same. It is reproduced by Brian Jeffery in Volume 3 of the Complete Works and also in the present volume. In further comments, Heck says:

“LATER EDITIONS: Steiner took over the Imprimerie Chimique in 1812 and republished the original plates with a corrected title page, emending the dedicatee’s name to read "Josephine Edlen von Maillard.” COPY: in the personal collection of Prof. Karl Scheit of Vienna.” (Note 8)

Quite obviously, to have made the determination that the Scheit copy was produced by using the original plates, Dr. Heck must have compared it with the original. Wanting any evidence to the contrary, we have to assume that during his stay in Vienna in 1969 while working on his dissertation, that is precisely what he had done and we must take the statement at face value. The statement is also reproduced by Jeffery in the Preface to Volume 3 of his Complete Works of Giuliani. He says that he did not see the Scheit copy of the Steiner edition. What he did see, and also reproduced in Volume 3, is another Steiner edition which, as correctly observed by him, is not a reissue of the same plates, but a totally new engraving. This one comes from the Royal Library in Copenhagen. He says about this copy that: “ . . . its date appears to be early, probably 1812 or shortly thereafter”. He does not provide any dating information, and we do not know how he came to this conclusion. This is important, because if the Copenhagen copy can be ascertained to have been printed during Giuliani’s residence in Vienna, Jeffery’s comparison of it with the first edition of the Imprimerie Chimique would then be cast in a more plausible light. If it was printed at a later date, after Giuliani had gone back to Italy, it does not serve Jeffery’s arguments or any refutations thereof. It would be then entirely irrelevant.

In his Preface to Volume 3, Jeffery states clearly that he did not see the Scheit copy. He says that he had ”..not checked that particular copy to see whether it is in fact a reissue". He seems to suggest that perhaps Thomas Heck’s examination of the Scheit copy was not as reliable as one would wish. One cannot be too careful in these matters and double-checking Dr. Heck’s work would have been the prudent course of action to take. However, unless one actually undertakes to reexamine the work of others and establish different conclusions than theirs, it is deceptive to insinuate that their conclusions may have been faulty. If you know what you are talking about, say so. If you don’t, guard your peace.

I also have not seen the Scheit copy. However, Dr. Heck’s description of it leave no doubt as to it’s nature. We have no reason to doubt that Heck’s determination is anything but what it says it was. Until such time that I have the opportunity to examine the Scheit copy, I have no choice but to accept Dr. Heck’s conclusions.

The Imprimerie Chimique was established by Alois Senefelder, the inventor of the process of lithography, in partnership with a certain Rochus Granitzky and with Sigmund Anton Steiner. Eventually, in 1812, Steiner became sole owner of the firm.(Note 9) It is only natural that as a partner in the original firm and as the new sole owner, he would have had access to the original printing stones used. For all we know, he may have been the original engraver!

It seems to me that the need for a new title page, besides the fact that Steiner needed to put his name on it once sole ownership passed to him, was not so much the emendation of the dedicatee’s name as stated by Heck, as the need to render it in German. The first edition was printed in 1808, when the French occupied Vienna. The second edition, therefore, would have been printed at some later time, perhaps after the French had gone home. If Steiner used the same stones for the music pages, he would have kept the same plate number—933. The text of the title page on the Copenhagen copy, has the same version of the dedicatee’s name as the Scheit copy: “Josephine Edlen von Maillard”. The plate number is the same—933, even though this is a totally new engraving.(Note 10) The Copenhagen copy also has a price printed on the title page. It cost 45 Kr. Conv.M. to buy it. This was the Conventions-Münze currency, which was established by treaties and conventions with other countries. In 1811, a second type of currency was entered into use in Austria—the Wiener Währung. After 1811 it became necessary, when quoting prices, to indicate which currency was intended, the C.M. or the W.W. Hence, the designation of C.M. or W.W., indicates a date of 1811 or later.(Note 11) How much later? the double currency arrangement existed for many years until the Neukreutzer was introduced in 1857. In fact, the C.M. indication can be found on many editions of Haslinger, who was Steiner’s successor. See for example the title pages of the Bardenklänge by Mertz which dates from the 1840s and ’50s.(Note 12) In other words, the Copenhagen copy of the Steiner edition could have been issued anytime between 1812 and 1826, the year the firm was taken over by Tobias Haslinger.(Note 13) Another important aspect of the Copenhagen copy, is that it was no longer produced in lithography, but in the more traditional method of metal-plate engraving. According to Weinmann, S.A. Steiner gave up his lithographic printing licence in 1821. Under the influence of his employee Tobias Haslinger, who was later to succeed him, the firm switched to copper-plate engraving and at one point had its own music engraving establishment and a copper-plate printing office with some 14 presses and 50 employees.(Note 14) Since the Copenhagen copy was printed with copper-plate engraving, it must have been printed after 1821. As we know, Giuliani left Vienna in 1819.

All of which means that Jeffery’s argument is based on a comparison between the first edition and an edition which was printed after Giuliani’s departure from Vienna. Certainly NOT the second edition. Nevertheless, Jeffery’s rejection of the variant aspects of the Copenhagen copy is entirely justified. If it was printed after 1821, Giuliani certainly could not have been involved in bringing it out. As I said before, the Copenhagen copy is irrelevant to Jeffery’s arguments and to this whole discussion.

What has direct bearing on the discussion is another Steiner edition which is in my possession. Here is a full color facsimile of the title page.

(Click on image to view full size).

As we can see, the text is the same as that of the Copenhagen copy, with the exception of the shortening of the dedicatee’s Christian name from Josephine to “Jos:” The plate number is the same—933. The difference is in the address which reads:

WIEN / bei S.A. Steiner und Comp / Inhaber der k.k. pr. Chemie Druckerey und pr. Kunsthandler / 3 bög(Note 15)

Since Steiner makes a reference to the previous name of the firm, the Chemical Printing House, it stands to reason that this edition is much closer in time to 1812, the year he took over, than the Copenhagen copy in which he drops all reference to the previous trade-name. Hence, it would have been printed within a few years after 1812, while the buying public still remembered the previous trade-name of the firm.(Note 16) Giuliani was still around. I do not intend to present here a thorough comparison of my copy with the first edition. In general terms, it appears to have its own share of variants, some of which were carried over to the Copenhagen copy. Here is a full color facsimile of the top part of the first page:

(Click on image to view full size).

Unfortunately, some previous owner of this copy, perhaps in mid-nineteenth century, decided to bind it in a volume of guitar music. The top did not fit the binding, so it was trimmed off, taking away with it part of the tempo indication. Another previous owner used a blue ball-point pen to mark his fingering in, which complicates the process of examination a bit. Nevertheless, when you view this in full size, you can easily distinguish between these ball-point pen markings and the original print. As we can see, this is a different engraving than the first edition, but it is still in lithography. Because it is not a reissue of the original plates, it is certainly a different edition than the one owned by Prof. Scheit. I would like to suggest that my copy is the true second edition of Op. 15. Prof. Scheit’s copy is not a second edition in the true sense of the word, but rather another state of the same first edition, and as such, it is also irrelevant to our case.

The reason I think my copy is the authentic second edition, is the simple fact that it follows the first edition within a short period of time, and that it is a completely new engraving. It is not a reissue of the original plates. Why would Steiner find it necessary to re-engrave?

If the first edition was produced by metal-plates engraving, the need to re-engrave upon increased sales is obvious. The number of copies that can be drawn from a metal-plate is extremely limited. In most cases, one could not print more than a few hundred copies from any single plate. When sales for a given work demand more copies in stock, the early nineteenth century publisher had no choice but to have a new plate re-engraved. The problem was solved by the introduction of the lithography process by Alois Senefelder, the chief partner in the Chemical Printing House. A lithographic stone could yield thousands of copies, and could be used over and over without any practical limits. In his own autobiography, Senefelder says that when he proposed to establish a publishing house in Vienna, Viennese publishers “left no stone unturned” in their efforts to prevent him from getting a printing licence. His ability to turn out 6000 pages of music a day, as he said himself, would have put him at a huge financial advantage over those who used metal plate engravings.(Note 17) With the labor costs in engraving a metal-plate and a lithographic stone being presumably similar or equal, the ability to increase significantly the number of copies that can be drawn from the printing medium, would have also significantly reduce the publisher’s cost-per-copy and increase his profit margin.

Steiner’s decision to re-engrave Op. 15, even though the original lithographic stones could be used, and as we know, were actually re-used at least once, is something we can only speculate upon. One aspect can be safely assumed: sales of Op. 15 required additional printing. The decision to go the extra expense of re-engraving can be tied to several possibilities:

1. The public was tired of the sloppiness and rather amateurish image of the first edition. Public demand for better quality was then, as is today, a factor in any business decision.

2. Engraving technology was already at a higher stage of development. This would have enabled Steiner to satisfy public demand for quality at a much reduced cost.

3. The new engraving used only 3 folios of paper (3 bög)—12 pages, as opposed to the original less economical spread over 4 folios—16 pages.

4. Notational conventions were in the process of modernization. What was good only a few years ago, was no longer acceptable to the sheet-music buying public.

5. The composer demanded a new engraving in order to correct mistakes in the first edition.

6. The composer demanded a new engraving in order to introduce his latest ideas about the work.

7. Any combination of the above.

In order to assess the plausibility of any speculations on this subject, let us now come back a full circle and finally do a comparison between the first and second editions. This will enable us to determine if Jeffery’s conclusions in regard to his newly engraved edition of Op. 15 can be accepted as reasonable, or rejected as nothing more than the editor’s own convoluted thinking. Look at the first two lines from the first edition:

The first dynamic marking is a “pmo”, which ostensibly stands for “pianissimo”. In the second edition, reproduced above, this appears as a “P”, which stands for “piano”. This change occurs many more time throughout the work. Jeffery sees this as a most serious offence against the purity of the original. He says: ” . . . We know that dynamic contrast was very much a part of Giuliani’s compositional technique, which suggest strongly that “pmo” was indeed his original marking . . . ."(Note 18)

Since the subject of this statement is not dynamics per se, but very specifically dynamic contrast, perhaps it would have been useful if Jeffery could elaborate on this and specify how he knew that Giuliani intended a very marked contrast to be evident between the beginning of the piece and the “pf” marking which occurs in bar 6. Dynamic markings are, at best, vague generalities which mean different things to different people. They certainly carry little or no relevance to a guitaristic population such as ours, in which the dynamic range of most performers extends all the way from mezzo-piano to mezzo-forte. As the poet said, C’est immorale, mais c’est comme-ça! One cannot assign to dynamic markings absolute values of sound-pressure, like so many decibels at a given distance from the instrument. On the other hand, the difference between piano and pianissimo is a relative one. Relative to the “pf” marking at bar 6, which is found in both versions. Yet, what may be piano to one performer is pianissimo to another. To establish that Giuliani intended a greater contrast between the beginning and end of the phrase, one need to do a bit more than to trumpet indeterminate abstractions.

As we can see, the “pmo” marking in the first edition was written by hand on the lithographic stone. It has a different shape every time it occurs. On the other hand, the “P” marking in the second edition is identical every time it occurs. This will suggest to us that a stamp of sorts was used in the second engraving. It could be argued then, that perhaps the engraver did not have a stamp which said “pmo”, and therefore, the “P” stamp was used instead. This would render the dynamic markings in the second edition as "unauthentic”, “unreliable”, “not reflecting the composer’s intentions” and other nasty things one can dream of. On the other hand, it may well have been that the engraver did in fact have a stamp which said “pmo”, but did not use it because the composer told him not to. The original “pmo” could have been a mistake based on a misreading by the engraver of the autograph Ms., or it could be that Giuliani changed his mind. As Jeffery said, and I ask your indulgence in repeating this: “ . . . .when dealing with two editions so close to each other in time and both published in Vienna while Giuliani was living in that city, we are unlikely ever to know for certain the reasons for the many differences in detail . . . ”. I couldn’t have said it better myself.

The title pages of both editions use a different appellation for the work. In the first edition it is called simply a "Sonate” while in the second a edition the adjective “brillant” was added. Jeffery Says: “ . . . there is no reason to suppose that the word ‘brillant’ had Giuliani’s approval." Following the same logic as above, we can say that there is also no reason to suppose that the word “brillant” did NOT have Giuliani’s approval. The assertion may be valid for the Copenhagen copy, but it becomes instantly invalid for my copy, since it was produced in Vienna, during Giuliani's sojourn there.

One can go in much greater detail into examining all editorial decisions made by Jeffery in bringing out this work. One may agree with some and disagree with others. But this is not the issue here. The issue here is whether we are willing to accept the editor’s authoritarian pronouncements as reasonable and valid, or as reflections of a given set of prejudices. My choice is quite clear. What’s yours?

End Notes

1. Walter Emery, Editions and Musicians, London, Novello, 1957, p.7.Return to text

2. Tecla Editions, London, 1986. No. TE-497. Return to text

3. London, Tecla Editions, 1984. ISBN 0-906953-63-4. In the Preface to TE-497, it is said that the facsimile is reproduced in Volume 2. Those awful gremlins at work again . . .  Return to text

4. Le Pupitre, No. LP.46. Return to text

5. This is of course, the same source used by Thomas Heck in preparing his own version, which accounts for Jeffery’s “Practically all” qualifying statement above. Return to text

6. The statement is repeated verbatim in the Prefaces to both Volume 3 of the Complete Works and the separate edition of Op. 15. Return to text

7. Also repeated verbatim in both Prefaces. Return to text

8. Thomas F. Heck, The Birth of the Classic Guitar...Vol. II pp. 18-19. Return to text

9. Alexander Weinmann, “Haslinger”, article in The New Grove, Vol. 8, p.274-76. Return to text

10. The fact that several editions of this work bear the same plate number, ought to suggest to scholars that plate numbers, in this and in similar occurences is not a plate number per se, but rather an edition number. hence plate number lists cannot, by themselves, be used as reliable guides in dating a musical composition. Return to text

11. For a more detailed discussion of this topic see: James J. Fuld, The Book of World-Famous Music . . . New York, Crown Publishers, 1971. p. 13. Return to text

12. Johann Kaspar Mertz, Guitar Works, Vol. III+IV, Edited by Simon Wynberg. Heidelberg, Chanterelle Verlag, 1983. Return to text

13. Alexander Weinmann, “Haslinger”, New Grove. Return to text

14. Ibid. Return to text

15. “3 bög": the word “bög” here stands for Bögen, not bow or bend in the modern sense, but fold or folio in the older bookbinder’s sense (modern word now is Blatt). This reading is consistent with Giuliani’s op. 3 occupying 12 sides of paper, or 3 folios (3 bögen), and with the first edition of the Imprimerie Chimique of Op. 15 occupying “4 B” = 4 folios = 16 pages. I am indebted to Thomas Heck for this information. Return to text

16. According to Weinmann, the trade-name “Steiner und Comp” was used by the firm after Steiner took Tobias Haslinger as a partner in 1815. Hence, this edition would date from after that date. Return to text

17. Alois Senefelder, A Complete Course of Lithography, Translated by the Author. London, R. Ackerman, 1819. Reprint: New York, Da Capo, 1968. Quoted by Hans Lenneberg in “The Haunted Bibliographer”, article in Notes, The Quarterly Journal of the Music Library Association. December, 1984, Volume 41, No. 2. p. 243. The Lenneberg article is a must reading for anyone wishing a more realistic understanding of the issues involved. Return to text

18. Preface to TE-497. Return to text

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