Other contributions of 1801 are two grand sonatas, the “Pastorale” in D, opus 28, the Andante of which is said to have been a favorite of Beethoven’s and was often played by him, and the one in A flat, opus 26, dedicated to Prince Karl Lichnowsky and containing a grand funeral march.  Then there are the sonatas in E flat and C sharp minor, published together as opus 27, and designated Quasi una Fantasia.  The latter is famous as the “Moonlight” sonata, dedicated to Julia Guicciardi.  Neither of these names were authorized by Beethoven.  Besides these, there are the two violin sonatas, A minor, and F, dedicated to Count Fries, and lesser compositions.  The Second Symphony (in D) is the chief production of 1802.  In addition there are the two piano sonatas in G, and D minor, opus 31, and three sonatas for violin and piano, opus 30, the latter dedicated to the Emperor of Russia.  They form a striking example of Beethoven’s originality and the force of his genius, and must have been caviar to his public.

The Second Symphony is a great advance on the first, and consequently a greater departure from the advice laid down to him by others.  His independence and absolute faith in himself and the soundness of his judgment are clearly illustrated here.  The composition is genial and in marked contrast to the gloomy forebodings that filled his mind at this time.  The second movement, the Larghetto, is interesting on account of the introduction of conversation among the groups of instruments, an innovation which he exploited to a much greater extent in subsequent works.  In the Larghetto one group occasionally interrupts the other, giving it piquancy.  There is a rhythm and swing to it which makes it the most enjoyable of the four movements.  The critics hacked it again as might have been expected, the result being that the next one diverged still more from their idea of what a good symphony should be.

It was at this period that life’s tragedy began to press down on him.  He had left youth behind, and had entered on a glorious manhood.  He was the idol of his friends, although his fame as a great composer had yet to be established.  The affirmations of his genius were plainly apparent to him, if not to others, and he knew that he was on the threshold of creating imperishable masterpieces.  A great future was opening out before him, which, however, was in great part to be nullified by his approaching deafness and other physical ailments.  His letters at this time to his friend Dr. Wegeler, at Bonn, and to others, are full of misgivings.

But not alone is this unhappy frame of mind to be attributed to approaching deafness or any mere physical ailment.  The psychological element also enters into the account and largely dominates it.  The extraordinary character of the First and Second Symphonies seem to have had a powerful effect on his trend of thought making him introspective and morbidly conscientious.  In a mind constituted as was his, it is quite within