The evening of December 8, 1813 was likely one of the happiest in Ludwig van Beethoven’s entire life. That night, at the University of Vienna, he took to the podium to conduct two of his newest works at a charity concert benefiting Austrian and Bavarian soldiers wounded at the Battle of Hanau, the most recent skirmish in the campaign to expel Napoleon’s forces from Germany. The orchestra’s roster that evening read like a “who’s who” of Viennese musical royalty and included violinist Louis Spohr; composers Johann Nepomuk Hummel, Giacomo Meyerbeer, Ignaz Moscheles and Antonio Salieri; and the Italian guitar virtuoso Mauro Giuliani sitting in the cello section. The concertmaster was the renowned violinist Ignaz Schuppanzigh, one of Beethoven’s few close friends. Opening the program was Wellington’s Victory, Beethoven’s patriotic work celebrating the British victory over Napoleon at the Battle of Vittoria. Wellington’s Victory caused a great deal of excitement due to its massive orchestra, replete with dueling percussion sections that included muskets and artillery sound effects. Following this spectacle, which a concert attendee commented was "seemingly designed to make the listener as deaf as its composer,” the orchestra played the premiere of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7.
Despite the fact that the music critic for the Viennese paper called it a “companion piece” to Wellington’s Victory, the audience was quite enamored with the symphony, especially the second movement, which they demanded be played again immediately. Beethoven, despite (or perhaps because of) his worsening hearing loss, was at his most animated on the podium, with Spohr noting that "as a sforzando occurred, he tore his arms with a great vehemence asunder ... at the entrance of a forte he jumped in the air.” The entire evening was such a huge success that a repeat performance was scheduled for days later, providing Beethoven with a much-needed boost to his bank account. Calling the work "one of the happiest products of my poor talents,” even the irascible Beethoven seemed to revel in the pure joy with which the symphony is imbued, and the work has continued to inspire audiences with its cheerful energy for more than 200 years.
The first movement opens with a lengthy and stately introduction, where long, sustained woodwind melodies are punctuated with chords from the string section. The mood is one of anticipation, almost as if courtly dancers are greeting one another tentatively on the dance floor. When everyone is in their place, the dance begins as the Vivace starts with a leaping motive that will form the basis of the rest of the movement. Whereas other composers would focus on a melody around which to structure the music, Beethoven instead focuses on this jumping rhythm in 6/8 meter, which stays continually present in some form throughout the remainder of the movement. The mood is joyful and playful, and one can almost picture Beethoven leaping up and down while conducting as the propulsive rhythm dominates.
The Allegretto is among the most beloved compositions Beethoven ever wrote. Arresting in its simplicity, the entire movement is again based upon a repeated rhythm, begun in the low strings, which underpins one of Beethoven’s most heartfelt melodies. Again, as in the previous movement, this simple rhythm is the focal point of the music, constantly present somewhere in the orchestra like a reassuring heartbeat.
The third movement is a boisterous scherzo, again characterized by a repeated rhythm—in this case, a galloping motive that recurs continually throughout the faster portion of the movement. The slower trio section is a stately affair, as restrained as the scherzo is untamed. The two sections alternate back and forth, with the rowdy music having the final word.
The final Allegro con brio is a joyous barn dance of a movement, featuring relentlessly whirling music in the strings punctuated by raucous brass and timpani. A quirky second theme features off-kilter accents that momentarily make us forget what foot we’re on, but the giddy spinning music always returns, ending in a joyous, foot-stomping conclusion. Richard Wagner called Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony “the apotheosis of the dance,” and indeed, it can be difficult to sit still while hearing it played. One suspects that Beethoven, leaping up and down and throwing his arms wildly asunder, would not have wanted us to.
Program notes by © Betsy Hudson Traba 2024