Run Time: Approx. 27 minutes

The story of Haydn’s “Farewell” Symphony is one of the most charming in classical music, and, somewhat unusually, it is verifiable—the composer himself later recounted the work’s origins to his biographers.

It goes like this: Haydn served as Kappelmeister for the Esterházy court, a job title that essentially made him composer-in-residence, orchestra conductor, occasional violinist, and orchestra personnel manager. The Esterházy party had been staying at one of the Prince’s favorite country residences, located far from the musicians’ families. What was intended to be a temporary stay dragged on longer than expected, and the orchestra grew increasingly unhappy. Eventually, the musicians appealed to Haydn for help. But, this being pre–French Revolution Europe, Haydn could not simply approach the Prince and lodge a complaint. So, he devised a plan to put the grievance into music instead.

What he created is one of the most unusual endings in the symphonic repertoire. At the conclusion of a fiery final movement, the music unexpectedly subsides into a calm, extended coda, during which, the musicians were instructed to stand and quietly leave the stage one by one, until only two violins remained to finish the symphony.

What makes this story especially satisfying is that it worked! According to Haydn, Prince Esterházy remarked to him after the performance that he understood the message, and that they would depart the following day.

The famous theatrical ending is certainly the most affecting part of the work, but it doesn’t come out of nowhere. Haydn sets it up with a number of other oddities, leaving breadcrumbs throughout the symphony that would have raised eyebrows in the audience, and perhaps primed the message’s intended recipient to listen more closely.

The first of these clues is the work’s key. F-sharp minor was an extraordinary choice in the 18th century, so unusual that Haydn had to commission special horn crooks from the Esterháza blacksmith in order for the horns to play in it at all. At the time, horns and trumpets lacked valves and could only play in specific keys by adding different lengths of tubing, called crooks. Why go to such trouble? Perhaps to announce that this would not be just an ordinary symphony.

From the outset, the work is undeniably dramatic. The opening material is driven by an urgent, pulsing accompaniment in the violas reminiscent of trotting horse hooves—a nod to the journey the musicians so earnestly desired. Throughout the work, there is a pervasive sense of melancholy and longing that sets it apart from the more conventional symphonies of the period.

The Minuet, too, is just a bit strange. It starts lightly, almost cute, but then introduces chords that are strikingly dissonant. One might momentarily wonder if someone played a wrong note, if the effect didn’t recur. Then, a sudden outburst of dramatic and turbulent minor-key material further disrupts the expected courtly dance. An audience accustomed to the typically lighter symphony of the time must have been jarred to say the least. And the Prince, who was well versed in music, would surely have been wondering what on earth Haydn was up to.

Imagine, then, how stirring the scene must have been—a nighttime concert near the water, the musicians one-by-one snuffing out their candles as they quietly left the stage. While modern orchestras are rarely able to recreate that unique atmosphere—the unavoidable consequence of modern fire codes—the evocative and poignant ending makes this work a fan favorite, and a unique testament to the power of music to change minds.