Symphony No. 100 in G (Military)

It’s hard to have a grasp over all 104 symphonies by Franz Joseph Haydn (1732-1809). Most commentaries select a few highlights from the early and middle numbers, but the final dozen—the so-called “London” Symphonies—offer a more unified set of exemplary quality. Their popular name points to their greatest shared attribute. Haydn wrote the twelve symphonies for two trips to London made between 1791 and 1795. English orchestras and audiences clearly stimulated his creativity, for they doted on Haydn’s ability to blend sublime grandeur with refreshing directness and good humor.
The Symphony No. 100 in G Major reminds us not to put too much emphasis on the poetic subtitles applied by Haydn’s publishers. Such subtitles do help us find the highlights among the 104 symphonies better than mere numbers and keys. This symphony’s slow introduction epitomizes grace and charm—hardly the attributes one would expect from a “military” symphony. The ensuing Allegro theme does not embrace the military ethos any better. Instead, it delightfully contrasts winds and strings, presenting two light, rustic tunes that carry the movement along. During the development section, which opens unexpectedly in B-flat major, some of the chromatic seeds sown earlier by Haydn start bearing fruit. (That aspect will play an even more important role in the finale.) And he cannot resist the chance to dramatically veer off course into E-flat major during the recapitulation of the main theme.
It is during the slow movement that we finally discover the “military” sound. Again, the placid first section gives no hint of what is to come. But after a short wind sectional, Haydn flips C major to C minor and tosses in the rousing timbres of triangle, cymbals, and bass drum. Not typically found in classic-era symphonies, these percussion instruments remind one of the Janissary topic in Mozart’s famous Rondo a la Turca. Pizzicato strings also nicely suggest precise horse maneuvers. This is an army on parade, not on patrol; this is pageantry rather than the pathos of war. Later, signaled by a striking trumpet call (think, Mendelssohn’s Wedding March), Haydn does muster a fleeting cloud of war, but that effect dissipates as quickly as it emerged.
By the third movement, all is sunshine again. The composer’s penchant for chromaticism turns up—or better, down—in a falling semitonal slide at the tail end of the main theme. Still, this offers just a glimpse of what Haydn will achieve in the finale. That last movement opens with fleet good humor, suggesting a comic trope on the conventional “storm and strain” idiom that Haydn mastered in his youth. He is without equal when writing comic rondo themes. In addition to the simple harmony and buoyant rhythm, Haydn adds the interest of unexpected tonal shifts. Sometimes this centers on a single “wrong” notes, as when an expected D is replaced by a D-sharp. At other times he opens a hidden door onto a whole new key. This unsettling effect helps make the periodic returns of the rondo theme so delightful. The rondo becomes personified. For no matter how far we stray from the home key of G major—and we do stray, all the way to F major, C-sharp minor, E major, and more; no matter how far we stray, the rondo theme pops up to get us safely back on track.

(c) Jason Stell