Symphony No. 102 in B-flat major, Hob. I:102

Program notes

About the Work

By the time Haydn wrote his Symphony No. 102, he was the most famous composer in Europe and the toast of London. The twelve ‘London’ symphonies (Nos. 93–104) were composed for two extended visits to the English capital, in 1791–92 and 1794–95, arranged by the violinist-impresario Johann Peter Salomon, who lured Haydn from his long service to the Esterházy court with the promise of a paying public and an orchestra larger and more brilliant than any he had known. No. 102 belongs to the second London journey: completed in 1794, it was first heard at the King’s Theatre on 2 February 1795.

It is one of the grandest and most tightly argued symphonies Haydn ever wrote, even though it is the only one of his last five symphonies without a nickname to make it famous. In fact it was cheated of the best nickname of all. At its premiere a chandelier fell from the ceiling during the finale, yet nobody was hurt, reportedly because the audience had pressed forward to get a closer look at Haydn. The incident was later confused with the premiere of Symphony No. 96, which is why that work, and not this one, is known as the ‘Miracle’. What No. 102 lacks in fame it makes up in sheer symphonic command: a slow introduction of mysterious gravity, a first movement of relentless rhythmic drive, and a finale of dazzling wit.

Haydn had by now perfected the public symphony as a form of theatre. Writing for a sophisticated paying audience rather than a private court, he learned to combine learned counterpoint with broad, immediately graspable gestures: sudden silences, surprising harmonic turns, jokes timed with an almost comic precision. No. 102 deploys all of these at the highest level. Its orchestration is full and bright, with prominent trumpets and timpani, and in the slow movement Haydn reached for an unusual coloristic effect: muted trumpets and muted timpani that lend the music a veiled, otherworldly glow. The result is a symphony of monumental ambition that never loses its sense of delight, the summation of decades of patient invention now poured out for the most appreciative public Haydn had ever met.

What to Listen For

The first movement opens with a slow introduction (Largo) of bare, sustained sound, a single held note blossoming into searching harmony, before the Allegro vivace bursts in, lean and propulsive, built from a deceptively plain little theme that Haydn drives forward with tireless energy and unexpected contrapuntal turns.

The Adagio is the symphony’s secret jewel. The same music also exists as the slow movement of Haydn’s Piano Trio in F-sharp minor, Hob. XV:26; here he clothes it in muted trumpets and veiled drum-taps, producing a hushed, almost hymn-like serenity. Listen for the way the sound seems to come from behind a gauze.

The third movement is a robust, swinging Menuetto, with a quieter, more serious Trio at its centre before the dance returns. The finale (Presto) is Haydn at his most exhilarating: a fleet rondo whose chattering main theme is tossed around the orchestra, punctuated by abrupt pauses and false endings that keep the audience guessing right up to the brilliant final chord.