Haydn Vol. II

So, for example, one of the first London reviewers of this 94th symphony, the day after its première on 23 March 1792, declared:
»A new composition from such a man as haydn is a great event in the history of music. His novelty of last night was a grand Overture [the  usual English word for a symphony at that period], the subject of which was remarkably simple, but extended to vast complication, exquisitely modulated, and striking in effect. Critical applause was fervid and abundant.«

Another critic from the same evening pointed specifically to the legendarily sudden sforzando chord in the slow movement:
»The Second Movement was equal to the happiest of this great Master’s conceptions. The surprise might not be unaptly likened to the situation of a beautiful Shepherdess who, lulled to slumber by the murmur of a distant Waterfall, starts alarmed by the unexpected firing of a fowling-piece [a shotgun for the hunting of birds]. The flute obligato was delicious.«

Soon afterwards, English audiences everywhere came to know this symphony as The Surprise, a coinage which no doubt contributed to its ever afterwards being performed in their country probably more often than any other of Haydn’s symphonies – though it is worth pointing out that the loud chord in the slow movement is only one of a great many such surprises in this piece, all of which were certainly just as much noticed and enjoyed by those same early audiences. In December 1793, Haydn conducted two charity concerts in Vienna for the widows and orphans of the Tonkünstler-Societät, where he introduced this symphony to his countrymen with similar success (albeit, apparently, with considerably more performers than were available to him in London). Here too it was the ›surprise‹ that immediately caught people’s attention and led to the piece immediately
acquiring the nickname: Symphonie mit dem Paukenschlag. As often happened in London, poems – mostly of appalling quality – were published in honour of this occasion, in one of which we read:
The soft melody lingers, stirring sweet delight,
As gentle imagery drifts before us.
Abruptly, the music falls silent: a loud drum stroke like a fright,
Rouses us from our pleasant slumbers.
(freely translated from the German)

So, for example, one of the first London reviewers of this 94th symphony, the day after its première on 23 March 1792, declared:
»A new composition from such a man as haydn is a great event in the history of music. His novelty of last night was a grand Overture [the  usual English word for a symphony at that period], the subject of which was remarkably simple, but extended to vast complication, exquisitely modulated, and striking in effect. Critical applause was fervid and abundant.«

Another critic from the same evening pointed specifically to the legendarily sudden sforzando chord in the slow movement:
»The Second Movement was equal to the happiest of this great Master’s conceptions. The surprise might not be unaptly likened to the situation of a beautiful Shepherdess who, lulled to slumber by the murmur of a distant Waterfall, starts alarmed by the unexpected firing of a fowling-piece [a shotgun for the hunting of birds]. The flute obligato was delicious.«

Soon afterwards, English audiences everywhere came to know this symphony as The Surprise, a coinage which no doubt contributed to its ever afterwards being performed in their country probably more often than any other of Haydn’s symphonies – though it is worth pointing out that the loud chord in the slow movement is only one of a great many such surprises in this piece, all of which were certainly just as much noticed and enjoyed by those same early audiences. In December 1793, Haydn conducted two charity concerts in Vienna for the widows and orphans of the Tonkünstler-Societät, where he introduced this symphony to his countrymen with similar success (albeit, apparently, with considerably more performers than were available to him in London). Here too it was the ›surprise‹ that immediately caught people’s attention and led to the piece immediately
acquiring the nickname: Symphonie mit dem Paukenschlag. As often happened in London, poems – mostly of appalling quality – were published in honour of this occasion, in one of which we read:
The soft melody lingers, stirring sweet delight,
As gentle imagery drifts before us.
Abruptly, the music falls silent: a loud drum stroke like a fright,
Rouses us from our pleasant slumbers.
(freely translated from the German)

Why did this make such a difference? In earlier symphonies, the flutes and oboes lent brightness, definition and clarity to the upper registers of the orchestra, while the bassoons tended to be more intimately connected to the sound of the lower strings (cellos and violas). The upper and lower parts of the wind section were often, as it were, almost separated from one another. But here, in the very first chord of this new symphony, the clarinets radically alter that balance by connecting the whole sound spectrum of the wind section from the bass to the top,
thereby giving the wind section a new independence, like a second orchestra which maintains its own coloristic and emotional world at the same time as the strings of the orchestra. This was a huge gain in depth, grandeur, and dramatic and acoustic possibilities.

Another aspect of this new symphony that must have sounded very exciting and very new to those London audiences was a considerable shift in Haydn’s harmonic language. In the marvellously imposing slow introduction to the first movement, there are striking moments of dissonance and harshness, and intense chromatic alterations in the voice leading, and that feeling of greater harshness and darkness
continues throughout the rest of the piece. Not that Haydn had ever been afraid of that kind of daring but now, it seems, he was prepared to take that idea much further, giving the music a rather less playful surface, and seriousness which announces that this music is going to take audiences and players to depths that they have not experienced before.

And finally, there is a much richer use of counterpoint. Haydn had always been a deeply gifted contrapuntist, and along with his friend Mozart he had studied in Baron van Swieten’s library in Vienna the manuscripts of earlier composers like Bach and Handel, from whom he learned a great deal. It’s interesting in this regard that one of the subjects he forced his young student Beethoven to concentrate on
was counterpoint … though Beethoven later peevishly complained that Haydn could actually never be bothered to correct his pupil’s mistakes. However the truth of that may be, the last movement of this 99th symphony takes off into a firework display of contrapuntal acrobatics, dazzling our ears from phrase to phrase, and surprise to surprise, so that from moment to moment we can never work out what the music is going to do next.

No wonder those London listeners were so excited.

Why did this make such a difference? In earlier symphonies, the flutes and oboes lent brightness, definition and clarity to the upper registers of the orchestra, while the bassoons tended to be more intimately connected to the sound of the lower strings (cellos and violas). The upper and lower parts of the wind section were often, as it were, almost separated from one another. But here, in the very first chord of this new symphony, the clarinets radically alter that balance by connecting the whole sound spectrum of the wind section from the bass to the top,
thereby giving the wind section a new independence, like a second orchestra which maintains its own coloristic and emotional world at the same time as the strings of the orchestra. This was a huge gain in depth, grandeur, and dramatic and acoustic possibilities.

Another aspect of this new symphony that must have sounded very exciting and very new to those London audiences was a considerable shift in Haydn’s harmonic language. In the marvellously imposing slow introduction to the first movement, there are striking moments of dissonance and harshness, and intense chromatic alterations in the voice leading, and that feeling of greater harshness and darkness
continues throughout the rest of the piece. Not that Haydn had ever been afraid of that kind of daring but now, it seems, he was prepared to take that idea much further, giving the music a rather less playful surface, and seriousness which announces that this music is going to take audiences and players to depths that they have not experienced before.

And finally, there is a much richer use of counterpoint. Haydn had always been a deeply gifted contrapuntist, and along with his friend Mozart he had studied in Baron van Swieten’s library in Vienna the manuscripts of earlier composers like Bach and Handel, from whom he learned a great deal. It’s interesting in this regard that one of the subjects he forced his young student Beethoven to concentrate on
was counterpoint … though Beethoven later peevishly complained that Haydn could actually never be bothered to correct his pupil’s mistakes. However the truth of that may be, the last movement of this 99th symphony takes off into a firework display of contrapuntal acrobatics, dazzling our ears from phrase to phrase, and surprise to surprise, so that from moment to moment we can never work out what the music is going to do next.

No wonder those London listeners were so excited.

For many listeners and commentators, it is the minuet of this symphony that is the most impressive part. And that seems to confuse them, perhaps because they expect a minuet to be the most frivolous and lightweight part of a symphony, rather than its beating heart. As always with listeners to Haydn, they have been caught out by the composer’s restless desire to surprise.

Of course, minuets, however beautiful and engaging, pose a problem for modern listeners. Most of us don’t dance minuets anymore, so we have a much less clear idea of what is going on. But in Haydn’s day, everyone danced this dance, at least in the upper levels of society, and this symphony’s first listeners would have immediately heard this music not so much through their minds as through their bodies and the familiar steps and gestures of this hugely popular form of entertainment. In other words, as in the previous movements, what we have here is social music, music about how people behave when they are together in company with one  another. C minor does not necessarily turn music into private or tragic contemplation!

Apropos all of this, it is worth remembering a brilliant description from Haydn’s London notebooks of a banquet for the Lord Mayor of London, given in the city’s extremely imposing Guildhall, a few months after the composition of this symphony, towards the end of 1791:
»The Lord Mayor was escorted according to rank before and also after dinner, and there were many ceremonies, a sword was carried in front of him, and a kind of golden crown, to the sound of trumpets accompanied by a wind band … After dinner … we other guests were taken to another adjoining room … In this small room there are 4 tiers of raised benches on each side, where the fair sex mostly has the upper hand. Nothing but minuets are danced in this room; I couldn’t stand it longer than a quarter of an hour; first, because the heat caused by so many people in such a small room was so great; and secondly, because of the wretched dance band, the entire orchestra consisting of only two violins and a violoncello. … From there I went to another room, which was more like a subterranean cavern. … The music was a little better because there was a drum in the band which drowned the misery of the violins …«3

Haydn’s sense of the absurd and the amusing – whether expressed in words or music – is irrestistible!

3 Original in German

For many listeners and commentators, it is the minuet of this symphony that is the most impressive part. And that seems to confuse them, perhaps because they expect a minuet to be the most frivolous and lightweight part of a symphony, rather than its beating heart. As always with listeners to Haydn, they have been caught out by the composer’s restless desire to surprise.

Of course, minuets, however beautiful and engaging, pose a problem for modern listeners. Most of us don’t dance minuets anymore, so we have a much less clear idea of what is going on. But in Haydn’s day, everyone danced this dance, at least in the upper levels of society, and this symphony’s first listeners would have immediately heard this music not so much through their minds as through their bodies and the familiar steps and gestures of this hugely popular form of entertainment. In other words, as in the previous movements, what we have here is social music, music about how people behave when they are together in company with one  another. C minor does not necessarily turn music into private or tragic contemplation!

Apropos all of this, it is worth remembering a brilliant description from Haydn’s London notebooks of a banquet for the Lord Mayor of London, given in the city’s extremely imposing Guildhall, a few months after the composition of this symphony, towards the end of 1791:
»The Lord Mayor was escorted according to rank before and also after dinner, and there were many ceremonies, a sword was carried in front of him, and a kind of golden crown, to the sound of trumpets accompanied by a wind band … After dinner … we other guests were taken to another adjoining room … In this small room there are 4 tiers of raised benches on each side, where the fair sex mostly has the upper hand. Nothing but minuets are danced in this room; I couldn’t stand it longer than a quarter of an hour; first, because the heat caused by so many people in such a small room was so great; and secondly, because of the wretched dance band, the entire orchestra consisting of only two violins and a violoncello. … From there I went to another room, which was more like a subterranean cavern. … The music was a little better because there was a drum in the band which drowned the misery of the violins …«3

Haydn’s sense of the absurd and the amusing – whether expressed in words or music – is irrestistible!

3 Original in German

This gesture was perhaps also a way for Haydn to tease – and please – his adoring London audiences, who, to his amusement, always had a weakness for the unexpected effect. As Haydn later told one of his biographers, every time he performed this symphony in the English capital, the last movement was encored. Which makes it intriguing that when he later revised the symphony for performance in Vienna, he cut out this delightful passage.

But perhaps the deepest reason for the unusual power of the sound of this symphony lies in the musical material itself. First, there is the unusual amount of music in a minor key, and several times in a remote minor key. Just as the C minor symphony keeps bursting into bustling major keys, this major-key symphony keeps dissolving into minor keys, often with complex harmonies, which give the music at times a tragic feel, perhaps another obvious reason why romantic listeners wanted to hear this music as mourning the death of Mozart. The whole of the slow
introduction to the B flat major first movement is in B flat minor, and for strings alone; this in an especially unusual and remote key for stringed instruments, driving them to a darkness of tone, a parallel perhaps to the darkness of the trumpets in B flat major.

And the dramatic, recitative-like gesture of the opening – reminiscent  of the beginning of a tragic aria in an opera – then returns spectacularly in many places through the rest of the symphony, most famously in the first movement where in bright major-key form it turns itself into literally all the different ideas we hear, but also seizing our attention at the most surprising moments in the third and fourth movements. This gives the whole symphony an unusually powerful sense of unity, as though every movement were growing directly out of the music that just came before.

Finally, there is the hauntingly beautiful slow movement with its principal melody clearly derived from the English anthem »God Save the King« (itself adapted from an ancient folk-dance from Portugal and Spain). Some have suggested this is the moment where Haydn most touchingly thinks of Mozart. Maybe; but it is surely just as likely he is paying tribute to the German-speaking king and queen of England, George lll and Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, who, unlike the aristocracy of Vienna, welcomed him into their home as an honoured guest – as the King put it: »As a good honest German man«.

This gesture was perhaps also a way for Haydn to tease – and please – his adoring London audiences, who, to his amusement, always had a weakness for the unexpected effect. As Haydn later told one of his biographers, every time he performed this symphony in the English capital, the last movement was encored. Which makes it intriguing that when he later revised the symphony for performance in Vienna, he cut out this delightful passage.

But perhaps the deepest reason for the unusual power of the sound of this symphony lies in the musical material itself. First, there is the unusual amount of music in a minor key, and several times in a remote minor key. Just as the C minor symphony keeps bursting into bustling major keys, this major-key symphony keeps dissolving into minor keys, often with complex harmonies, which give the music at times a tragic feel, perhaps another obvious reason why romantic listeners wanted to hear this music as mourning the death of Mozart. The whole of the slow
introduction to the B flat major first movement is in B flat minor, and for strings alone; this in an especially unusual and remote key for stringed instruments, driving them to a darkness of tone, a parallel perhaps to the darkness of the trumpets in B flat major.

And the dramatic, recitative-like gesture of the opening – reminiscent  of the beginning of a tragic aria in an opera – then returns spectacularly in many places through the rest of the symphony, most famously in the first movement where in bright major-key form it turns itself into literally all the different ideas we hear, but also seizing our attention at the most surprising moments in the third and fourth movements. This gives the whole symphony an unusually powerful sense of unity, as though every movement were growing directly out of the music that just came before.

Finally, there is the hauntingly beautiful slow movement with its principal melody clearly derived from the English anthem »God Save the King« (itself adapted from an ancient folk-dance from Portugal and Spain). Some have suggested this is the moment where Haydn most touchingly thinks of Mozart. Maybe; but it is surely just as likely he is paying tribute to the German-speaking king and queen of England, George lll and Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, who, unlike the aristocracy of Vienna, welcomed him into their home as an honoured guest – as the King put it: »As a good honest German man«.