November 16, 2015. Beethoven's Symphonies nos. 1 and 2. Today we're publishing an essay on Ludwig van Beethoven's two early symphonies. To illustrate, we use the recordings made by the Orchestra of the Eighteenth Century, Frans Brüggen conducting (Symphony no. 1) and London Symphony Orchestra under the baton of Josef Krips (Symphony no. 2).♫
Beethoven and the symphony are nearly synonymous. It is impossible to speak of one without discussing the other. In short, the symphony was one of the genres of instrumental composition that was radically transformed at the mighty hands of Beethoven. Everything before him seems but a prelude; everything after, as Richard Wagner commented, an “epilogue.”
The symphony, as a musical composition, traces its roots to the waning years of the Renaissance. The term itself is far older—originating from the Greek “symphonia,” meaning “agreement or concord of sound.” The earliest pieces that bore the title of “symphony” were works by composers such as Giovanni Gabrieli, Andriano Banchieri, and Heinrich Schütz. These works were all sacred vocal compositions with or without instrumental accompaniment. As the Baroque period reached its maturity, the “symphony” or “sinfonia” was applied to a wide range of instrumental compositions from operatic overtures to keyboard pieces (Bach’s three-part inventions were called “Sinfonias”). By the 18th century, the Italian overture had developed into a well-defined form of three contrasting movements—fast, slow, fast—and is generally considered to be the immediate progenitor of the modern symphony.
As the Baroque period faded, the symphony became one of the hallmarks of the burgeoning Classical period. Pioneered by composers such as Sammartini, Wagenseil, von Dittersdorf, and Stamitz, it reached the brink of maturity in the works of Haydn and Mozart. Slowly, the four-movement form common since the 19th century replaced the inherited three-part design of the Baroque. Symphonies became an increasingly prominent fixture of public life and were thus written at a profuse rate (Haydn composed 107, and Mozart at least 47), fueled in large part by the musical establishments maintained by the aristocracy and the competition that resulted amongst them.
With Beethoven the fullest potential of the symphony was realized. Not writing for any court, Beethoven was free to develop the symphony into a vehicle for his artistic will. With the exception of Haydn and Mozart, the symphony had generally been the product of artisans throughout the Classical period. Beethoven made it the domain of artists—a blank canvas for the composer to envision the highest potential of his art. He adopted the symphonic design of his predecessors but vastly expanded the breadth and scope of each individual movement. His most well-known contribution is, of course, the transformation of the old Classical Minuet into the Scherzo, which became the dance movement of choice in virtually every multi-movement design throughout the Romantic period. The outer movements became more profound, not to mention larger, with every aspect developing out of their basic motives. In accordance with this change, coda sections also were greatly expanded, and became in essence added "developments" in which musical ideas were further explored. Lastly, within his slow movements, Beethoven plunged the depths of the human soul and soared into the heights of heaven.
Beethoven's radical transformations touched virtually every symphonist for the next century. Schubert quickly followed in his idol's footsteps, culminating his symphonic output with the severe pathos of his Unfinished Symphony and the colossal grandeur of his "Great" C major Symphony. Berlioz developed further on the programmatic elements of Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony, creating dramatic and ground-breaking works such as the Symphonie fantastique and the Roméo et JulietteSymphony. Following Schubert's death, the banner of German symphonism was carried by Mendelssohn and Schumann, and ultimately passed to Johannes Brahms. Brahms introduced his own innovations, supplanting the Scherzo with his characteristic Intermezzi in three of his four symphonies, while introducing the archaic passacaglia as an effective Finale in his Fourth. Yet, one can certainly find within them the hand Beethoven, particularly in his First Symphony. Anton Bruckner, forced to work in Brahms's shadow, created gargantuan symphonies that are certainly influenced by both Beethoven and Wagner. Mahler was a natural successor. His enormous symphonies stretch the form even further and one cannot miss his imitations of Beethoven's immortal Choral Symphony (continue here).
The first two of Beethoven’s nine symphonies fall into what is generally considered the composer’s “early period.” As such, they owe much to the spirit of Haydn and Mozart. Yet, they brim with the feverish energy so typical of Beethoven’s music, marking them as the work of an altogether different genius. The Symphony No. 1 in C major perhaps most invokes the spirit of those Viennese masters. It is uncertain when Beethoven completed work on his First Symphony, but sketches of the finale can be found next to counterpoint exercises written while he studied under Johann Georg Albrechtsberger in 1795. If this is a fair estimate of when the symphony was completed, then the work laid unheard for the next five years. It was finally premiered on April 2, 1800 at a concert given by the composer himself and which also included his Second Piano Concerto and Septet for winds and strings, as well as a symphony by Mozart and selections from Haydn’s The Creation. Initial reception of the symphony, however, was rather icy. Yet, despite being described as “a caricature of Haydn pushed to absurdity,” the symphony quickly become a favorite of audiences and critics alike. Even Carl Maria won Weber, who so often criticized Beethoven’s music, lavished praise upon it.
Premiered when the composer was thirty years of age, the Symphony in C is an indication of the deliberate process Beethoven brought to his art. Comparatively, by the same age, Mozart had produced all but his last three symphonic works, and Schubert, who died at thirty-one, had already left a remarkably vast output. Yet, in a similar manner, Brahms, with even greater deliberation, was still ten years away from unveiling his First Symphony to the public. Nonetheless, Beethoven’s command of the orchestra was by this time already well-developed. Prior to completing the Symphony in C, Beethoven’s only experience with writing for the orchestra had been two Cantatas written in 1790, the opening movement of a Violin Concerto in C, and his first two Piano Concerti. The Symphony is scored for the standard orchestra of Mozart and Haydn, but with the addition of clarinets—which he likely learned from Mozart’s operas. Beethoven dedicate the work to one his early friends and patrons, Baron Gottfried von Swieten, and who had once been a friend of Mozart’s.
The symphony opens with a brief Adagio molto introduction. To modern ears, it is hardly unusual at all and serves merely as a protracted progression from dominant to tonic. However, at its premiere, this simple prelude was perhaps the greatest offense critics took with the work. The opening discord, a dominant seventh on the tonic of C, lands the piece audaciously in the key of F before the first measure has passed. A few measures later and it has further wandered afield into the key of the dominant. To the established critics of the day, with their unimaginative expectations of musical proceedings, it was unthinkable that a piece professing to be in the key of C major should begin in such a daring manner. Curiously, though, Beethoven’s opening gesture was not without precedence as examples of compositions opening with discords can be found in Bach and even Haydn.
The Allegro con brio which follows the introduction opens with a crisp theme allotted to the first violins. On the whole, the movement is fairly straightforward and warrants only a few remarks. Statements of the principal theme are separated by chordal passages in the winds, initiating a playful exchange between the two contrasting groups that reappears multiple time throughout the entire symphony. Its nimble eighth notes become a prominent motivic figure., while the ascending staccato quarter notes that immediately follow are treated to several instances of imitation, a practice that certainly would have pleased Albrechtsberger. The second theme follows regularly after the first in the key of the dominant. Tossed between a solo flute and oboe, it derives its content from the opening gesture of each statement of the principal theme. One point of interest here emerges as the second theme slips into the key of G minor. The sudden change at this point from fortissimo to pianissimo is particularly characteristic of Beethoven. The basses take up an altered form of the theme while the oboes provide a new countermelody against it. Via B-flat major and E minor, Beethoven reestablishes the key of G major for the closing section of the exposition.
Beginning in A major, the development is also fairly regular. Foreshadowing his mature manner, Beethoven begins to fragment both of his themes, and to freely recombine them in new arrangements. Closing in the relative minor, octaves spread out across flutes, an oboe, and bassoons lead the music back into the recapitulation. Beethoven shortens the reprise of the opening music, as well as subjects his themes to some reorchestration. A substantial coda follows, at first imitating the woodwinds figures the announced the start of the development while the principal theme is nimbly given by the violins in octaves. A passage pitting the cellos and basses against the rest of the orchestra brings about the final cadence, after which the orchestra hammers out the tonic chord for twenty measures before the movement comes to a close.
The following Andante cantabile con moto opens with an elegant theme in F major, announced solely by the second violins but is soon taken up, in contrapuntal imitations that once again point to Beethoven’s tutelage under Albrechtsberger, by the violas and cellos, basses and bassoons, and lastly by the first violins. This opening exchange leads into a dignified passage dominated by the strings, and which ultimately transitions into the movement’s secondary theme. However, of particular interest here is Beethoven’s use of the timpani following the second theme’s close. Firmly in the key of the dominant (C major), the timpani quietly take up the dotted rhythm of the theme against playful triplets and hemiolas from the rest of the orchestra. That the timpani should be given such a unique part is enough to warrant attention. However, to achieve his desired effect, Beethoven calls on the timpanist to play, not in the indicated key of the movement (F major) but in its dominant. Perhaps for the first time in music, the timpani are here tuned to notes other than the tonic and dominant. Beethoven would again find strikingly original use for the timpani in his final symphony. Twice more the solo occurs—first, at the close of the development, and lastly at the corresponding section in the recapitulation.
While the first two movements have their own moments of originality, the third is wholly a stroke of genius. Though titled a “Menuetto,” its tempo (Allegro molto e vivace) and humorous spirit make it the prototype of the composer’s later scherzo. Despite its adherence to the minuet and trio form, it is every bit the kin, though in a more diminutive form, of its eventual brethren. The outer sections are lively and jocose, not to mention daring, From C major, the music ventures within a short space into the far-off key of D-flat major. Further darkening into B-flat minor, Beethoven leads us, seemingly by magic, back into the brilliant key of C with a dazzling return of the principal theme. The Trio, on the other hand, is more subdued. It further develops upon the dichotomy of winds and strings, pitting sustained harmonies in the winds against rustic stirrings in the violins. The lowers strings (violas, cellos, and basses) are excluded from all but the closings statement of the section.
Leaving behind the Minuet and Trio, the Finale opens with an amusing Adagio introduction. The dominant (G), spread out in octaves, is sounded by the full orchestra, after which the first violins humorously creep up the scale. A curious story connected with these mere five measures, involves Türk, who directed the Musical Society of Halle in 1809. When performing this symphony, Türk always omitted the Adagio introduction of the finale because he was sure it would make the audience laugh. Nevertheless, the final ascent launches into an Allegro molto. Lively and full of good humor, the Finale is nonetheless decidedly more Haydn than Beethoven, making it the weakest part of the work. Yet, its energy never abates and concludes the symphony with great joyousness.
Beethoven’s Second Symphony followed soon after the premiere of the first. Apparently completed in the 1802, it was premiered the following year on April 5th in a concert at the Theater-an-der-Wien that also included the composer’s oratorio, The Mount of Olives, the First Symphony and the Piano Concerto in C minor. The date of the symphony’s composition is important. Beethoven passed the summer of 1802 (from May to October) at Heiligenstadt. It was there, on October 6, that he penned the famous Heiligenstadt Testament, a despairing letter to his brothers Carl and Johann in which he described the bitter battle he faced in his coming to terms with his growing deafness. It was during the months leading up to the cathartic event that the Second Symphony was penned. How remarkable it is that such a vibrant, joyous work could be created as a composer faced the terrifying reality of losing the sense most valuable to him! There is not a single downcast measure—not a single moment of pity or woe.
Compared to the First Symphony, the Second is greatly expanded in terms length. Yet, while burning with a fire that is certainly characteristic of its creator, it still remains largely, in the essence and handling of its thematic material, a product of the era of Haydn and Mozart. Beethoven had yet to cross the threshold into the unknown where he would produce his greatest masterpieces, but it is evident in the Second Symphony that he was only mere steps away. Like the First Symphony, it, too, received a rather hesitant and cool reception. The wild energy that courses through the work was surely unbecoming to audiences accustomed to the powdered graces of Mozart and even those of Haydn. A review of its premiere in Leipzig was particularly harsh, in which it was described as a “wounded snake, unwilling to die, but writhing in its last agonies, and bleeding to death.” However, this is a rather extreme example, though the Second Symphony was in general considered less “safe” than the First. The work had an even more difficult time becoming accepted in France. At a performance in 1821, the Larghetto second movement had to be replaced with the famous Allegretto of the Seventh for the work to even be considered as suitable for a French audience. What more, the Allegretto alone was encored! However, today, the Second Symphony garners far greater praise. Though it still and will always be ranked behind its more worthy companions, it is one of the most ebullient and raucous of Beethoven’s symphonies, and displays a mind on the verge of creating those later masterpieces.
The Second Symphony, like the First, opens with an Adagio introduction, though now greatly expanded from twelve measures to thirty-three. Yet, despite the greater expanse, it admits little development of its melodic material. Its most startling feature, however, is the appearance of a descending D minor arpeggio, scored in octaves across the entire orchestra, that anyone familiar with Beethoven’s symphony would be hard pressed not to recognize its affinity to the great subject of the opening movement of the Ninth. It is also not the only foreshadowing of that immortal work present in the Second Symphony. From the introduction, the music moves into the first movement proper, a sprightly Allegro con brio with a clean-cut first subject announced in the cellos and basses. Following soon after in the usual key of the dominant is the second subject, announced in the winds and then taken up by the strings. Of particular note during the exposition are the brilliant lines allotted to the violins, one of which is an almost obstinate tremolo figure that becomes a unifying element throughout the later movements. Another highlight is the exposition’s close. A single chord from closing in the key of the dominant, Beethoven rudely interrupts the cadence with a capricious passage built around the characteristic turn of the principal theme. The remaining sections of the movement—the development and recapitulation—are worked out with fine skill, the development particularly so as Beethoven makes wonderful use of such technical devices as canon and double counterpoint to work out his themes.
Though sharing the same form, the Larghetto is a sharp contrast to the Allegro. In the key of A major it glows softly with ethereal beauty and delights in its unhurried gracefulness. Strings announce the first theme, yet each of their phrases is answered by the winds, ultimately developing into exquisite dialogue between the two groups. In the key of E, the second theme appears soon after. Its syncopated rhythms, not only in the melody itself but in the accompanying bass, and poignant appoggiaturas afford the listener yet another premonition of the Ninth Symphony: the D major second theme of the Adagio third movement. Two more ideas follow—another syncopated figure and then a charming melody given to the cellos—before the exposition comes to a close. Beethoven then proceeds to develop these ideas throughout the remainder of the Larghetto with the utmost refinement, lavishing wonderful embellishments that only increase their grace and beauty.
Like its predecessor, the third movement is one of the most original movements of the work. Beethoven even here abandons the “Minuetto” title for “Scherzo.” The principal theme itself if rather stark, but this affords Beethoven the opportunity of exploiting the different colors of the orchestra. Within the opening section alone, the listener hears the full ensemble, violins only, two horns, horns and oboes, oboes and violas, and winds (minus clarinets). Modulation then becomes the focal point of the succeeding section. Jumping with hardly any warning into B-flat major, the violins erupts into sweeping scales and figures that recall the principal theme of the first movement. With the same deftness, Beethoven returns to D major to reprise the skeletal theme, only to then sidestep into F major for yet another development of it before closing the Scherzo in the tonic. Curiously, the Trio maintains the D major tonality, at least at first. A rustic eight-measure tune is given in four-part harmony by the oboes and bassoons. Besides an brief episode in which the strings venture into the key of F-sharp major, this theme wholly dominates the Trio. A keen listener may here be once again reminded of the Ninth—this time, the Trio section of its Scherzo. Indeed, even the later occurrences of the theme are here embellished by a moving bass line in a similar manner as that later work.
While the previous movements had their audacious moments that surprised early 19th century audiences, none of them likely prepared them for the ensuing Finale. This movement alone perhaps gives the clearest foresight into the “unbuttoned” manner that is so beloved of Beethoven’s mature style. In short, it was a bewilderment. Wild and capricious, it completely shuns any sense of propriety. Furthermore, early orchestras struggled to master the technique of the movement. It begins with a fiery theme once again entrusted to the violins. Its gruff pickup and capricious trill become prominent features of the movement. A more lyrical theme in longer note values and divided among the winds balances the impertinent manners of the first. Yet, the underlying accompaniment of the strings, with occasional interjections from the violins, maintain the high spirits with which the movement began. The themes are worked out and reprised with the same vivaciousness as the opening movement, but it is the lengthy Coda that is the most strikingly Beethovenian section of the entire symphony. Once again approaching a close, Beethoven pauses on the first inversion of a dominant seventh given by the entire orchestra. Then, the strings reenter, piano and on the chord of F-sharp major! From thence begins a boisterous, head-long rush to the end, peppered with fragments of the principal theme. With this final stroke, Beethoven left behind the old manner and embarked on his "new road." Within a couple of years, this new direction would be exemplified in the groundbreaking Eroica.
Beethoven, Symphonies nos. 1 and 2
November 16, 2015. Beethoven's Symphonies nos. 1 and 2. Today we're publishing an essay on Ludwig van Beethoven's two early symphonies. To illustrate, we use the recordings made by the Orchestra of the Eighteenth Century, Frans Brüggen conducting (Symphony no. 1) and London
Symphony Orchestra under the baton of Josef Krips (Symphony no. 2). ♫
Beethoven and the symphony are nearly synonymous. It is impossible to speak of one without discussing the other. In short, the symphony was one of the genres of instrumental composition that was radically transformed at the mighty hands of Beethoven. Everything before him seems but a prelude; everything after, as Richard Wagner commented, an “epilogue.”
The symphony, as a musical composition, traces its roots to the waning years of the Renaissance. The term itself is far older—originating from the Greek “symphonia,” meaning “agreement or concord of sound.” The earliest pieces that bore the title of “symphony” were works by composers such as Giovanni Gabrieli, Andriano Banchieri, and Heinrich Schütz. These works were all sacred vocal compositions with or without instrumental accompaniment. As the Baroque period reached its maturity, the “symphony” or “sinfonia” was applied to a wide range of instrumental compositions from operatic overtures to keyboard pieces (Bach’s three-part inventions were called “Sinfonias”). By the 18th century, the Italian overture had developed into a well-defined form of three contrasting movements—fast, slow, fast—and is generally considered to be the immediate progenitor of the modern symphony.
As the Baroque period faded, the symphony became one of the hallmarks of the burgeoning Classical period. Pioneered by composers such as Sammartini, Wagenseil, von Dittersdorf, and Stamitz, it reached the brink of maturity in the works of Haydn and Mozart. Slowly, the four-movement form common since the 19th century replaced the inherited three-part design of the Baroque. Symphonies became an increasingly prominent fixture of public life and were thus written at a profuse rate (Haydn composed 107, and Mozart at least 47), fueled in large part by the musical establishments maintained by the aristocracy and the competition that resulted amongst them.
With Beethoven the fullest potential of the symphony was realized. Not writing for any court, Beethoven was free to develop the symphony into a vehicle for his artistic will. With the exception of Haydn and Mozart, the symphony had generally been the product of artisans throughout the Classical period. Beethoven made it the domain of artists—a blank canvas for the composer to envision the highest potential of his art. He adopted the symphonic design of his predecessors but vastly expanded the breadth and scope of each individual movement. His most well-known contribution is, of course, the transformation of the old Classical Minuet into the Scherzo, which became the dance movement of choice in virtually every multi-movement design throughout the Romantic period. The outer movements became more profound, not to mention larger, with every aspect developing out of their basic motives. In accordance with this change, coda sections also were greatly expanded, and became in essence added "developments" in which musical ideas were further explored. Lastly, within his slow movements, Beethoven plunged the depths of the human soul and soared into the heights of heaven.
Beethoven's radical transformations touched virtually every symphonist for the next century. Schubert quickly followed in his idol's footsteps, culminating his symphonic output with the severe pathos of his Unfinished Symphony and the colossal grandeur of his "Great" C major Symphony. Berlioz developed further on the programmatic elements of Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony, creating dramatic and ground-breaking works such as the Symphonie fantastique and the Roméo et Juliette Symphony. Following Schubert's death, the banner of German symphonism was carried by Mendelssohn and Schumann, and ultimately passed to Johannes Brahms. Brahms introduced his own innovations, supplanting the Scherzo with his characteristic Intermezzi in three of his four symphonies, while introducing the archaic passacaglia as an effective Finale in his Fourth. Yet, one can certainly find within them the hand Beethoven, particularly in his First Symphony. Anton Bruckner, forced to work in Brahms's shadow, created gargantuan symphonies that are certainly influenced by both Beethoven and Wagner. Mahler was a natural successor. His enormous symphonies stretch the form even further and one cannot miss his imitations of Beethoven's immortal Choral Symphony (continue here).
Symphony No. 1 in C major (here)
The first two of Beethoven’s nine symphonies fall into what is generally considered the composer’s “early period.” As such, they owe much to the spirit of Haydn and Mozart. Yet, they brim with the feverish energy so typical of Beethoven’s music, marking them as the work of an altogether different genius. The Symphony No. 1 in C major perhaps most invokes the spirit of those Viennese masters. It is uncertain when Beethoven completed work on his First Symphony, but sketches of the finale can be found next to counterpoint exercises written while he studied under Johann Georg Albrechtsberger in 1795. If this is a fair estimate of when the symphony was completed, then the work laid unheard for the next five years. It was finally premiered on April 2, 1800 at a concert given by the composer himself and which also included his Second Piano Concerto and Septet for winds and strings, as well as a symphony by Mozart and selections from Haydn’s The Creation. Initial reception of the symphony, however, was rather icy. Yet, despite being described as “a caricature of Haydn pushed to absurdity,” the symphony quickly become a favorite of audiences and critics alike. Even Carl Maria won Weber, who so often criticized Beethoven’s music, lavished praise upon it.
Premiered when the composer was thirty years of age, the Symphony in C is an indication of the deliberate process Beethoven brought to his art. Comparatively, by the same age, Mozart had produced all but his last three symphonic works, and Schubert, who died at thirty-one, had already left a remarkably vast output. Yet, in a similar manner, Brahms, with even greater deliberation, was still ten years away from unveiling his First Symphony to the public. Nonetheless, Beethoven’s command of the orchestra was by this time already well-developed. Prior to completing the Symphony in C, Beethoven’s only experience with writing for the orchestra had been two Cantatas written in 1790, the opening movement of a Violin Concerto in C, and his first two Piano Concerti. The Symphony is scored for the standard orchestra of Mozart and Haydn, but with the addition of clarinets—which he likely learned from Mozart’s operas. Beethoven dedicate the work to one his early friends and patrons, Baron Gottfried von Swieten, and who had once been a friend of Mozart’s.
The symphony opens with a brief Adagio molto introduction. To modern ears, it is hardly unusual at all and serves merely as a protracted progression from dominant to tonic. However, at its premiere, this simple prelude was perhaps the greatest offense critics took with the work. The opening discord, a dominant seventh on the tonic of C, lands the piece audaciously in the key of F before the first measure has passed. A few measures later and it has further wandered afield into the key of the dominant. To the established critics of the day, with their unimaginative expectations of musical proceedings, it was unthinkable that a piece professing to be in the key of C major should begin in such a daring manner. Curiously, though, Beethoven’s opening gesture was not without precedence as examples of compositions opening with discords can be found in Bach and even Haydn.
The Allegro con brio which follows the introduction opens with a crisp theme allotted to the first violins. On the whole, the movement is fairly straightforward and warrants only a few remarks. Statements of the principal theme are separated by chordal passages in the winds, initiating a playful exchange between the two contrasting groups that reappears multiple time throughout the entire symphony. Its nimble eighth notes become a prominent motivic figure., while the ascending staccato quarter notes that immediately follow are treated to several instances of imitation, a practice that certainly would have pleased Albrechtsberger. The second theme follows regularly after the first in the key of the dominant. Tossed between a solo flute and oboe, it derives its content from the opening gesture of each statement of the principal theme. One point of interest here emerges as the second theme slips into the key of G minor. The sudden change at this point from fortissimo to pianissimo is particularly characteristic of Beethoven. The basses take up an altered form of the theme while the oboes provide a new countermelody against it. Via B-flat major and E minor, Beethoven reestablishes the key of G major for the closing section of the exposition.
Beginning in A major, the development is also fairly regular. Foreshadowing his mature manner, Beethoven begins to fragment both of his themes, and to freely recombine them in new arrangements. Closing in the relative minor, octaves spread out across flutes, an oboe, and bassoons lead the music back into the recapitulation. Beethoven shortens the reprise of the opening music, as well as subjects his themes to some reorchestration. A substantial coda follows, at first imitating the woodwinds figures the announced the start of the development while the principal theme is nimbly given by the violins in octaves. A passage pitting the cellos and basses against the rest of the orchestra brings about the final cadence, after which the orchestra hammers out the tonic chord for twenty measures before the movement comes to a close.
The following Andante cantabile con moto opens with an elegant theme in F major, announced solely by the second violins but is soon taken up, in contrapuntal imitations that once again point to Beethoven’s tutelage under Albrechtsberger, by the violas and cellos, basses and bassoons, and lastly by the first violins. This opening exchange leads into a dignified passage dominated by the strings, and which ultimately transitions into the movement’s secondary theme. However, of particular interest here is Beethoven’s use of the timpani following the second theme’s close. Firmly in the key of the dominant (C major), the timpani quietly take up the dotted rhythm of the theme against playful triplets and hemiolas from the rest of the orchestra. That the timpani should be given such a unique part is enough to warrant attention. However, to achieve his desired effect, Beethoven calls on the timpanist to play, not in the indicated key of the movement (F major) but in its dominant. Perhaps for the first time in music, the timpani are here tuned to notes other than the tonic and dominant. Beethoven would again find strikingly original use for the timpani in his final symphony. Twice more the solo occurs—first, at the close of the development, and lastly at the corresponding section in the recapitulation.
While the first two movements have their own moments of originality, the third is wholly a stroke of genius. Though titled a “Menuetto,” its tempo (Allegro molto e vivace) and humorous spirit make it the prototype of the composer’s later scherzo. Despite its adherence to the minuet and trio form, it is every bit the kin, though in a more diminutive form, of its eventual brethren. The outer sections are lively and jocose, not to mention daring, From C major, the music ventures within a short space into the far-off key of D-flat major. Further darkening into B-flat minor, Beethoven leads us, seemingly by magic, back into the brilliant key of C with a dazzling return of the principal theme. The Trio, on the other hand, is more subdued. It further develops upon the dichotomy of winds and strings, pitting sustained harmonies in the winds against rustic stirrings in the violins. The lowers strings (violas, cellos, and basses) are excluded from all but the closings statement of the section.
Leaving behind the Minuet and Trio, the Finale opens with an amusing Adagio introduction. The dominant (G), spread out in octaves, is sounded by the full orchestra, after which the first violins humorously creep up the scale. A curious story connected with these mere five measures, involves Türk, who directed the Musical Society of Halle in 1809. When performing this symphony, Türk always omitted the Adagio introduction of the finale because he was sure it would make the audience laugh. Nevertheless, the final ascent launches into an Allegro molto. Lively and full of good humor, the Finale is nonetheless decidedly more Haydn than Beethoven, making it the weakest part of the work. Yet, its energy never abates and concludes the symphony with great joyousness.
Symphony No. 2 in D major (here)
Beethoven’s Second Symphony followed soon after the premiere of the first. Apparently completed in the 1802, it was premiered the following year on April 5th in a concert at the Theater-an-der-Wien that also included the composer’s oratorio, The Mount of Olives, the First Symphony and the Piano Concerto in C minor. The date of the symphony’s composition is important. Beethoven passed the summer of 1802 (from May to October) at Heiligenstadt. It was there, on October 6, that he penned the famous Heiligenstadt Testament, a despairing letter to his brothers Carl and Johann in which he described the bitter battle he faced in his coming to terms with his growing deafness. It was during the months leading up to the cathartic event that the Second Symphony was penned. How remarkable it is that such a vibrant, joyous work could be created as a composer faced the terrifying reality of losing the sense most valuable to him! There is not a single downcast measure—not a single moment of pity or woe.
Compared to the First Symphony, the Second is greatly expanded in terms length. Yet, while burning with a fire that is certainly characteristic of its creator, it still remains largely, in the essence and handling of its thematic material, a product of the era of Haydn and Mozart. Beethoven had yet to cross the threshold into the unknown where he would produce his greatest masterpieces, but it is evident in the Second Symphony that he was only mere steps away. Like the First Symphony, it, too, received a rather hesitant and cool reception. The wild energy that courses through the work was surely unbecoming to audiences accustomed to the powdered graces of Mozart and even those of Haydn. A review of its premiere in Leipzig was particularly harsh, in which it was described as a “wounded snake, unwilling to die, but writhing in its last agonies, and bleeding to death.” However, this is a rather extreme example, though the Second Symphony was in general considered less “safe” than the First. The work had an even more difficult time becoming accepted in France. At a performance in 1821, the Larghetto second movement had to be replaced with the famous Allegretto of the Seventh for the work to even be considered as suitable for a French audience. What more, the Allegretto alone was encored! However, today, the Second Symphony garners far greater praise. Though it still and will always be ranked behind its more worthy companions, it is one of the most ebullient and raucous of Beethoven’s symphonies, and displays a mind on the verge of creating those later masterpieces.
The Second Symphony, like the First, opens with an Adagio introduction, though now greatly expanded from twelve measures to thirty-three. Yet, despite the greater expanse, it admits little development of its melodic material. Its most startling feature, however, is the appearance of a descending D minor arpeggio, scored in octaves across the entire orchestra, that anyone familiar with Beethoven’s symphony would be hard pressed not to recognize its affinity to the great subject of the opening movement of the Ninth. It is also not the only foreshadowing of that immortal work present in the Second Symphony. From the introduction, the music moves into the first movement proper, a sprightly Allegro con brio with a clean-cut first subject announced in the cellos and basses. Following soon after in the usual key of the dominant is the second subject, announced in the winds and then taken up by the strings. Of particular note during the exposition are the brilliant lines allotted to the violins, one of which is an almost obstinate tremolo figure that becomes a unifying element throughout the later movements. Another highlight is the exposition’s close. A single chord from closing in the key of the dominant, Beethoven rudely interrupts the cadence with a capricious passage built around the characteristic turn of the principal theme. The remaining sections of the movement—the development and recapitulation—are worked out with fine skill, the development particularly so as Beethoven makes wonderful use of such technical devices as canon and double counterpoint to work out his themes.
Though sharing the same form, the Larghetto is a sharp contrast to the Allegro. In the key of A major it glows softly with ethereal beauty and delights in its unhurried gracefulness. Strings announce the first theme, yet each of their phrases is answered by the winds, ultimately developing into exquisite dialogue between the two groups. In the key of E, the second theme appears soon after. Its syncopated rhythms, not only in the melody itself but in the accompanying bass, and poignant appoggiaturas afford the listener yet another premonition of the Ninth Symphony: the D major second theme of the Adagio third movement. Two more ideas follow—another syncopated figure and then a charming melody given to the cellos—before the exposition comes to a close. Beethoven then proceeds to develop these ideas throughout the remainder of the Larghetto with the utmost refinement, lavishing wonderful embellishments that only increase their grace and beauty.
Like its predecessor, the third movement is one of the most original movements of the work. Beethoven even here abandons the “Minuetto” title for “Scherzo.” The principal theme itself if rather stark, but this affords Beethoven the opportunity of exploiting the different colors of the orchestra. Within the opening section alone, the listener hears the full ensemble, violins only, two horns, horns and oboes, oboes and violas, and winds (minus clarinets). Modulation then becomes the focal point of the succeeding section. Jumping with hardly any warning into B-flat major, the violins erupts into sweeping scales and figures that recall the principal theme of the first movement. With the same deftness, Beethoven returns to D major to reprise the skeletal theme, only to then sidestep into F major for yet another development of it before closing the Scherzo in the tonic. Curiously, the Trio maintains the D major tonality, at least at first. A rustic eight-measure tune is given in four-part harmony by the oboes and bassoons. Besides an brief episode in which the strings venture into the key of F-sharp major, this theme wholly dominates the Trio. A keen listener may here be once again reminded of the Ninth—this time, the Trio section of its Scherzo. Indeed, even the later occurrences of the theme are here embellished by a moving bass line in a similar manner as that later work.
While the previous movements had their audacious moments that surprised early 19th century audiences, none of them likely prepared them for the ensuing Finale. This movement alone perhaps gives the clearest foresight into the “unbuttoned” manner that is so beloved of Beethoven’s mature style. In short, it was a bewilderment. Wild and capricious, it completely shuns any sense of propriety. Furthermore, early orchestras struggled to master the technique of the movement. It begins with a fiery theme once again entrusted to the violins. Its gruff pickup and capricious trill become prominent features of the movement. A more lyrical theme in longer note values and divided among the winds balances the impertinent manners of the first. Yet, the underlying accompaniment of the strings, with occasional interjections from the violins, maintain the high spirits with which the movement began. The themes are worked out and reprised with the same vivaciousness as the opening movement, but it is the lengthy Coda that is the most strikingly Beethovenian section of the entire symphony. Once again approaching a close, Beethoven pauses on the first inversion of a dominant seventh given by the entire orchestra. Then, the strings reenter, piano and on the chord of F-sharp major! From thence begins a boisterous, head-long rush to the end, peppered with fragments of the principal theme. With this final stroke, Beethoven left behind the old manner and embarked on his "new road." Within a couple of years, this new direction would be exemplified in the groundbreaking Eroica.