Symphony No.2 in C major, Op.61

Disappointed by the failure of his Symphony in D minor and dismayed by his first major breakdown, Schumann was determined that his Symphony in C major would be both structurally and morally impregnable. He called on the inspiration of his favourite composers - Bach, Beethoven, Schubert, Mendelssohn - and set out to demonstrate the supremacy of the human spirit over every kind of weakness.

Mendelssohn, who conducted the first performance of the new work in Leipzig in 1846, must have been moved to find that the symbol of Schumann’s faith - a fanfare quietly proclaimed by the brass in the opening bars - was taken from his “Reformation” Symphony in D minor. He would also have noted that at the same time there is something faintly irrational in some of the chromatic intervals in the legato figure on the strings. This subsidiary material was of such significance to Schumann that in the Allegro non troppo he evidently felt no need to introduce a formal second subject, to counterbalance the fighting spirit of the main theme, when he could simply allow its subtle influence to invade and dominate the development section.

Although it is the C major heroism which wins through at the end of the first movement, the irrational element resurfaces in the Allegro vivace which - except in the playful first trio and the lyrical second trio - is far more obsessive than healthy, in spite of the last-minute intervention of the faithful fanfare on trumpet and horns. The air is cleared by the slow movement, a poetic and beautifully sane Adagio. Beginning in C minor, ending in the major, and incorporating a contrapuntal section in the middle, it might well be modelled on Beethoven’s Eroica . The melodic inspiration, however, is unmistakably Schumann’s own and perhaps the most characteristic example in any of his orchestral works. So the last movement only has to confirm the situation - which it does partly through its own confident main theme, partly by means of allusions to previous movements (most prominently the Adagio ), partly by the last adoption of a meaningful theme by Beethoven, and finally by a conclusive recall of the faithful fanfare.

“I wrote it in December 1845 when I was still only half recovered from illness,” said Schumann of his Symphony in C major. “It seems to me that one can hear that in it. Only in the last movement did I begin to feel myself again . . . Otherwise it reminds me of a dark period in my life.” It was a period of disturbing symptoms of mental illness aggravated, in spite of himself, by his resentment of the far greater fame of his pianist wife Clara. As he confided to Mendelssohn, who was to conduct the first performance of the Second Symphony in Leipzig in 1846, “The only thing to be done is hope, hope - and so I will.”

The first movement begins in hope with a brave trumpet call which had been echoing in Schumann’s head for several months. As fanfares go, it is unusually quiet and thoughtful on its first appearance in the slow introduction, where its potential is further constricted by the worrying harmonies and the string lines that wind themselves around it. Although the briskly courageous main theme of the Allegro ma non troppo pulls itself gradually together as the introduction accelerates in tempo, the fears are always there. Thickets of irrational harmonies and refractory rhythms only occasionally allow light to fall on more sympathetic lyrical episodes. The movement does end, however, with a high-profile intervention of the trumpet fanfare in a fiery coda.

The irrational element resurfaces in the Allegro vivace which – a scherzo with two contrasting trio sections – is more obsessive than healthy, in spite of the last-minute intervention of the faithful fanfare on trumpet and horns. The air is cleared by the slow movement, a poetic and beautifully sane Adagio. While, structurally, it might well be modelled on the corresponding movement in Beethoven’s Eroica, the melodic inspiration is unmistakably Schumann’s own and surely the most touchingly characteristic example in any of his orchestral works.

So the last movement only has to confirm the situation, which it quite unmistakably does through its own cheerfully confident main theme and a conclusive recall of the faithful fanfare. But there are also healing allusions to previous movements – most prominently and most effectively the Adagio – and a late, reconciliatory embrace of a theme from Beethoven’s An die ferne Geliebte, which to Robert and Clara Schumann was a private symbol of amorous significance.

“I wrote it in December 1845 when I was still only half recovered from illness,” said Schumann of his Symphony in C major. “It seems to me that one can hear that in it. Only in the last movement did I begin to feel myself again . . . Otherwise it reminds me of a dark period in my life.” It was a period of disturbing symptoms of mental illness aggravated, in spite of himself, by his resentment of the far greater fame of his pianist wife Clara. As he confided to Mendelssohn, “The only thing to be done is hope, hope - and so I will.”

The first movement begins in hope with a brave trumpet call which had been echoing in Schumann’s head for several months. As fanfares go, it is unusually quiet and thoughtful on its first appearance in the slow introduction, where its potential is further constricted by the worrying harmonies and the string lines that wind themselves around it. Although the briskly courageous main theme of the Allegro ma non troppo pulls itself gradually together as the introduction accelerates in tempo, the fears are always there. Thickets of irrational harmonies and refractory rhythms only occasionally allow light to fall on more sympathetic lyrical episodes. The movement does end, however, with a high-profile intervention of the trumpet fanfare in a fiery coda.

The irrational element resurfaces in the Allegro vivace which - a scherzo with two contrasting trio sections - is more obsessive than healthy, in spite of the last-minute intervention of the faithful fanfare on trumpet and horns. The air is cleared by the slow movement, a poetic and beautifully sane Adagio. While, structurally, it might well be modelled on the corresponding movement in Beethoven’s Eroica, the melodic inspiration is unmistakably Schumann’s own and surely the most touchingly characteristic example in any of his orchestral works.

So the last movement only has to confirm the situation, which it quite unmistakably does through its own cheerfully confident main theme and a conclusive recall of the faithful fanfare. But there are also healing allusions to previous movements - most prominently and most effectively the Adagio - and a late, reconciliatory embrace of a theme from Beethoven’s An die ferne Geliebte, which to Robert and Clara Schumann was full of romantic significance.

Mendelssohn, who was clearly not put off by the resemblance between Schumann’s trumpet call and a similarly prominent one in his own “Reformation” Symphony, conducted the first performance of the Symphony in C major in the Leipzig Gewandhaus on 5 November 1846. Not a great success on that occasion, after some structural revision and the addition of trombone parts to the original score, it was warmly applauded in the same hall less than two weeks later.

Gerald Larner©2001

schumann: symphony No.2

Robert Schumann (1810-1856)

Symphony No.2 in C major, Op.61

Sostenuto assai - allegro ma non troppo

Scherzo: allegro vivace

Adagio espressivo

Allegro molto vivace

When Schumann sent Mendelssohn the manuscript of his Symphony in C major in the autumn of 1846 his great friend and colleague must have been intrigued to find that he recognised the opening trumpet call as being rather like one of his own. He couldn’t have felt any resentment about the thematic similarity: it is a very basic melodic shape and, anyway, it was very unlikely that Schumann could have known the (still unpublished) Reformation Symphony in which Mendelssohn’s version of the theme occurs. Certainly, Mendelssohn agreed to conduct the first performance of the Symphony in C at the Gewandhaus in Leipzig on 5th November 1846 and, after trombone parts had been added to the original score, he secured a notably successful second performance in the same hall less than two weeks later.

If Mendelssohn knew the background to the work, as he almost certainly did, he could have felt nothing but sympathy and admiration for Schumann’s achievement here. As Schumann explained a few years later, “I wrote the Symphony in December 1845 when I was still only half recovered from illness. It seems to me that one can hear that in it. Only in the last movement did I begin to feel myself again . . . Otherwise it reminds me of a dark period in my life.” Unstable even at the best of times, after accompanying his wife on a particularly trying concert tour to Russia - where he was greeted as “Clara Schumann’s husband” - he had suffered a severe and prolonged breakdown. His work on the Symphony in C, beginning with a brave trumpet call which had been echoing in his head for several months, was his way of fighting off his depression.

As fanfares go, Schumann’s is unusually quiet and thoughtful on its first appearance in the slow introduction, where its potential is further constricted by the chromatic harmonies and legato string lines that wind themselves around it. The briskly courageous first subject of the Allegro ma non troppo pulls itself gradually together as the introduction accelerates in tempo, just after a second appearance of the fanfare. But exactly where the second subject of the Allegro ma non troppo begins, and exactly what it is, Schumann is in no mood to define. He is more concerned with fighting his way through thickets of irrational harmonies and refractory rhythms, only occasionally and fleetingly lighting on a more sympathetic lyrical episode. The aim is not to achieve a conventional recapitulation - though there is certainly a hyperactive recall of the first subject in C major - but to earn an up-tempo and high-profile intervention of the trumpet fanfare. That end is briefly achieved in the con fuoco coda.

The irrational element resurfaces in the Allegro vivace which - except in the playful first trio and the lyrical second trio - is more obsessive than healthy, in spite of the last-minute intervention of the faithful fanfare on trumpet and horns. The air is cleared by the slow movement, a poetic and beautifully sane Adagio. Beginning in C minor, ending in the major, and incorporating a contrapuntal section in the middle, it might well be modelled on the corresponding movement in Beethoven’s Eroica. The melodic inspiration, however, is unmistakably Schumann’s own and surely the most touchingly characteristic example in any of his orchestral works.

So the last movement only has to confirm the situation, which it quite unmistakably does through its own cheerfully confident main theme and a conclusive recall of the faithful fanfare. But there are also healing allusions to previous movements - most prominently and most effectively the Adagio - and a late, reconciliatory embrace of a theme from Beethoven’s An die ferne Geliebte, which to Robert and Clara Schumann was full of romantic meaning.

Gerald Larner ©2005

Schumann’s Symphony No.2 in C major - his third in order of composition - was conceived in rather different circumstances from those which prevailed in 1841, when he wrote both the Symphony No.1 in B flat and the Symphony in D minor that was to be published twelve years later as Symphony No.4. As before, the immediate stimulus was a performance of Schubert’s “Great” C major, which he had heard again in Dresden in December 1845 and which had provoked what he described as “symphonic thoughts.” He was not, on the other hand, anywhere near as happy as he had been in the first couple of years of his marriage to Clara Wieck. The marriage hadn’t gone wrong in any way but the strains inevitably associated with two professional musicians living in the same house - a celebrated pianist who had to practice and a composer who needed silence to work - had taken their toll on his always vulnerable mental health. A prolonged concert tour in Russia, where the composer was consistently greeted as “Clara Schumann’s husband,” had been particularly trying and was one of the factors that led to a severe breakdown in 1844.

“I wrote the Symphony in December 1845 when I was still only half recovered from illness,” Schumann explained later. “It seems to me that one can hear that in it. Only in the last movement did I begin to feel myself again . . . Otherwise it reminds me of a dark period in my life.” As he wrote to Mendelssohn, “The only thng to be done is hope, hope - and so I will.” The Symphony in C major begins in hope with a brave trumpet call which had been echoing in his head for several months. As fanfares go, it is unusually quiet and thoughtful on its first appearance in the slow introduction, where its potential is further constricted by the worrying harmonies and the string lines that wind themselves around it. Although the briskly courageous main theme of the Allegro ma non troppo pulls itself gradually together as the introduction accelerates in tempo, the fears are always there. Thickets of irrational harmonies and refractory rhythms only occasionally allow light to fall on more sympathetic lyrical episodes. The movement does end, however, with an up-tempo and high-profile intervention of the trumpet fanfare in a fiery coda.

The irrational element resurfaces in the Allegro vivace which - a scherzo with two contrasting trio sections, following the precedent of the thrid movement of Symphony No.1 in B flat - is more obsessive than healthy, in spite of the last-minute intervention of the faithful fanfare on trumpet and horns. The air is cleared by the slow movement, a poetic and beautifully sane Adagio. While, strucurally, it might well be modelled on the corresponding movement in Beethoven’s Eroica, the melodic inspiration is unmistakably Schumann’s own and surely the most touchingly characteristic example in any of his orchestral works.

So the last movement only has to confirm the situation, which it quite unmistakably does through its own cheerfully confident main theme and a conclusive recall of the faithful fanfare. But there are also healing allusions to previous movements - most prominently and most effectively the Adagio - and a late, reconciliatory embrace of a theme from Beethoven’s An die ferne Geliebte, which to Robert and Clara Schumann was full of romantic meaning.

Completed in October 1846, Symphony No.2 in C major was first performed on 5 November in the Leipzig Gewandhaus under the direction of Felix Mendelssohn - who, clearly, was not put off by the resemblance between Schumann’s trumpet call and a similarly prominent one in his own “Reformation” Symphony. It was not a great success on this occasion but, after some structural revisions and the addition of trombone parts to the original score, it was warmly applauded when Mendelssohn conducted it again in the same hall less than two weeks later.

Gerald Larner©