Symphony No. 104 in D major, Hob. I:104 (‘London’)

Program notes

About the Work

Symphony No. 104 is the last symphony Joseph Haydn ever wrote, the final word in a form he had done more than anyone to shape across more than a hundred works over four decades. Composed in 1795 and premiered at the King’s Theatre in London on 4 May of that year, it is the twelfth and crowning member of the ‘London’ set. Although all twelve were written for the English capital, it is this one, by a quirk of nicknaming, that bears the title ‘London’ alone. Haydn directed the premiere, in a concert of his own music, and noted with satisfaction in his diary that he had made 4,000 gulden that evening: ‘such a thing is possible only in England.’

That Haydn should close his symphonic life here, at the height of his fame and powers, lends No. 104 a valedictory grandeur. It distils everything he had learned: the symphony is broad, confident, and superbly balanced, with a richness of orchestration (full woodwind including clarinets, bright brass, timpani) that reflects the splendid London band at his disposal. Like several of its companions it opens with a slow introduction, here a stern, almost tragic fanfare in D minor that makes the warmth of the ensuing Allegro all the more radiant.

The symphony is also a meeting of high art and popular song. Its finale is built on a swinging tune that has been heard as a London street-vendor’s cry (‘Hot Cross Buns’) and, by the Croatian scholar Franjo Kuhač, as ‘Oj, Jelena’, a ballad sung by the Croats around Eisenstadt, where Haydn had lived. Neither origin is certain. It is set over a drone that evokes a bagpipe or hurdy-gurdy: the learned symphonist tipping his hat to the music of the street and the village green. After a lifetime of innovation, surprise and wit, Haydn signs off with a dance everyone could hum, lifted to symphonic dignity. It is a fittingly generous farewell from the composer who, more than any other, taught the symphony to speak to a whole public.

What to Listen For

The symphony opens with a grave, arresting introduction (Adagio) in D minor, a unison fanfare and a brooding answer, before the Allegro arrives in radiant D major, its graceful main theme launching a movement of poise and quiet mastery. Notice how much Haydn builds from a single, songful idea.

The Andante is broad and serene, a long-breathed melody that Haydn interrupts midway with surprising minor-key storm clouds before the calm returns: a reminder that even in his last slow movement he kept the power to unsettle.

The Menuetto is vigorous and full-bodied, with sudden accents and a jaunty Trio led by oboe and bassoon. The finale (Spiritoso) is the famous one: listen for the rustic tune over its sustained drone, sounding like a bagpipe under a folk dance, which Haydn then develops with all his contrapuntal cunning. The seed of the whole movement is sown in those first bars, and from that humble song Haydn builds a jubilant, swelling close: the last page of his last symphony, and one of the great farewells in music.