Symphony No. 2 in D Major, Op. 36
Ludwig van Beethoven
(b. December 17, 1770 in Bonn, Germany; d. March 26, 1827 in Vienna, Austria)

There is an unfortunate, if unspoken, perception in the concert hall that Beethoven’s even-numbered symphonies are somehow lesser—not up to the standard of the others in inspiration, excitement, or musical attractiveness.. We save our serious appreciation for the odd-numbered titans: the revolutionary Third, the fateful Fifth, the Seventh that danced its way into our hearts, and the Ninth that added a chorus and spoke for all humankind. So when Beethoven’s Second Symphony appears on a program, a quiet grumble, "Who programs that?"

The symphony itself refutes that prejudice. Far from being a "second-tier" work, it is a powder keg. This is the piece where Beethoven, in the white heat of a personal hell, forged the very weapons he would later deploy in his "heroic" style. It is not merely a stepping stone to the mighty Eroica Symphony; it is the foundry where the steel was hammered out.

Its reputation as a "loser" began almost immediately. The symphony premiered on April 5, 1803, at a mega-concert in Vienna’s Theater an der Wien. It was an over-stuffed, composer-produced benefit evening where Beethoven himself conducted and premiered not only this symphony but also his Third Piano Concerto (as soloist) and the oratorio Christ on the Mount of Olives. His patron, Prince Lichnowsky, had to bring lunch baskets to the orchestra during the grueling rehearsal. The critics, exhausted and baffled, were merciless. One Parisian reviewer dismissed it as "barbaric," sounding "as if doves and crocodiles were locked up together." A Viennese critic for the Zeitung für die elegante Welt famously called it "a hideously writhing, wounded dragon that refuses to die, but writhing in its last agonies and, in the fourth movement, bleeding to death."

What on earth were they hearing? They were hearing the future, and it terrified them.

This "wounded dragon" was, in fact, an act of sheer, defiant will. Beethoven composed the bulk of the symphony in the summer and fall of 1802 in the village of Heiligenstadt. This was the exact time and place he wrote the "Heiligenstadt Testament," his agonizing, unsent letter to his brothers. In it, he confessed his encroaching deafness ("I was compelled to isolate myself, to live life alone"), his social despair ("what a humiliation for me when someone standing next to me heard a flute in the distance and I heard nothing"), and his contemplation of suicide.

But the symphony he wrote there is not a work of despair. It is a "smiling," "genial," and explosive rebuttal to it. But the symphony he wrote there is not a work of despair. It is a "smiling," "genial," and explosive rebuttal to it. The critics heard a "dragon" because they were hearing a new, revolutionary musical language they couldn't yet comprehend. Beethoven had uncaged a new kind of symphony, incorporating three disruptive innovations destined to become trademarks of his "heroic" style:

 - A New Scale: The symphony is far grander and more dramatic than his First. The slow introduction is a brooding majesty, and the finale is capped with a "monster" coda of unprecedented length and fury.

 - A New Engine: Beethoven permanently throws out the polite, aristocratic Minuet and replaces it with a fiery, unpredictable Scherzo (Italian for "joke"). This was no mere rebranding; it was a shift from a courtly dance to a vehicle for rhythmic disruption, "unruly offbeat accents," and sudden, ferocious jabs.

 - A New Humor: The finale kicks off not with a noble theme, but with a sound one critic called a "high whoop and a low gurgle"—a jagged, eccentric musical hiccup. This was boisterous, even crude, humor.

A brief tour of the work reveals this defiant energy:

Adagio molto – Allegro con brio: A long, dramatic slow introduction builds enormous tension before the Allegro bursts forth, full of propulsive, rumbling energy.

Larghetto: This "pure smiling grace" is one of Beethoven’s longest and most beautiful slow movements, but even here, a restless, fidgety quality keeps it from ever becoming polite background music.

Scherzo: Allegro: The revolution in miniature. It’s a fast, vigorous, side-slapping Austrian dance, full of displaced accents that keep the listener off-balance.

Allegro molto: The dragon's thrashing tail. It leaps out with its famous "hiccup" and proceeds with a relentless, driving energy that baffled and overwhelmed its first audience.

A man in profound despair produced a symphony filled with bold and energetic music. It seems paradoxical but the Heiligenstadt Testament is the key to understanding. His testament is more than a confession of despair; it is a pivot point. In a lesser-known postscript dated October 10th (four days after the main letter), Beethoven's sadness is palpable as he abandons all hope of a cure: "Thus I say goodbye to you... yes, you beloved hope... I must now entirely abandon, as the autumn leaves fall." Yet, this very despair over his outward "incurable" state seems to have driven him to an "unimagined profundity" and a "higher gear" of composition. After plumbing the depths, he finds his resolve: "It was only my art that held me back," he wrote. "Ah, it seemed to me impossible to leave the world until I had brought forth all that I felt was within me."

The Second Symphony is that art. It is the sound of a man choosing to live, choosing to fight, and choosing to compose not in spite of his suffering, but against it.

History, of course, has been kinder than the early critics. While once overshadowed, the Second is now seen as a "colossal work" and a crucial test for any conductor. A complete Beethoven cycle is the mark of a great orchestra, and a conductor's interpretation of the Second—its "hot potato" Larghetto tempo, its volatile Scherzo—reveals their understanding of his entire legacy. It is no longer a "lesser" work, but a manifesto.

(c) 2014, 2016, 2025 by Steven Hollingsworth
Creative Commons Public Attribution 3.0 United States License
contact: steve@trecorde.net