Symphony in B minor, “Unfinished” (1822)
Franz Schubert (1797-1828)
Run time: Approx. 26 minutes

The mystery surrounding Schubert’s “Unfinished” Symphony has frustrated scholars since the work’s premiere. The first and most obvious question—where is the rest of it?—has never been definitively answered. Did he try to write more and then abandon it? If so, why? Did the onset of his health problems have something to do with it? He likely began noticing symptoms of the illness that would eventually kill him around this time. Or maybe he simply got distracted and moved on to other material.
These questions are unlikely to be answered with any certainty, but perhaps that’s for the best. The music itself teems with an uncertainty that feels perfectly suited to this backdrop. Right from the opening bars, the minor theme played in the low strings, followed by a trembling melody in the violins, creates an air of unease that plagues the entire first movement, no matter how hard it tries to find solid footing. Even the second movement, whose main theme unfolds as a stately, reverent chorale, cannot help but slip back into the minor from time to time. Its yearning middle section, ushered in by a poignant clarinet solo, brings flashes of Beethovenian drama: those sudden, striking thunderbolts that break through the otherwise tender moments.

Discovery:
In 1822, Schubert gave the manuscript of the two completed movements to his friend Anselm Hüttenbrenner as a gift, thanking him for helping secure a membership in an Austrian musical society. This was an important step for a composer who was largely unknown during his lifetime and often struggled to get his music performed. After that, we can only assume the work sat in a drawer gathering dust. There’s no further mention of the symphony by Schubert, Hüttenbrenner, or anyone else. Oddly, Schubert seems not even to have mentioned it to his other friends.
When Hüttenbrenner finally brought the work to light decades later, Schubert had long been dead, but his music was beginning to gain widespread recognition. In 1865, Hüttenbrenner showed the manuscript to conductor Johann von Herbeck, who organized its long-delayed premiere. Why Hüttenbrenner waited nearly 40 years to share it remains another mystery. When he finally did, rumors of an unfinished B‑minor symphony were already circulating. Perhaps he had simply wanted to keep a piece of his friend—gone far too soon—for himself.

Possible additional movements:
Amongst Schubert’s belongings, scholars discovered the outline of a third movement Scherzo that has been definitively linked to this symphony. He did begin orchestrating it, but only managed to complete a few bars.
Some have posited that Schubert’s Entr’acte to the play Rosamunde, one of the only other works he wrote in the key of B-minor, may have been repurposed from music originally intended to be a Finale to the “Unfinished” Symphony, though this is highly contested.

Schubert’s mature style:
In addition to the former questions concerning the work’s history, there’s one more to consider: why are we so bothered that Schubert didn’t finish it? Surely artists abandon works all the time. Schubert himself left one or two other symphonies incomplete, yet we rarely dwell on those. So what is it about this one that keeps drawing us in?
Think for a moment of van Gogh’s Starry Night, a work that helped solidify the painter’s mature style. Imagine if he had abandoned it when it was nearly complete—the sketch done, the initial layers in place, almost realized. That’s what we have of Schubert’s “Unfinished” Symphony: two movements complete, a third waiting for its colors to be filled in. It’s within reach of something truly remarkable, and it’s cited more than any other work as the beginning of his mature compositional period. After this, he would go on to produce everything he’s most famous for, including his monumental genre-defining song cycles like Winterreise and Die schöne Müllerin, and, of course, his 9th and final symphony, “the Great.” And what we do have of the 8th Symphony is substantial: the first two movements alone last 26 minutes, hinting at a work of epic scale, echoing the might of romantic Beethoven. That such a creation was left incomplete remains an irresistible conundrum.

A life unfinished:
Schubert died at just 31, likely of syphilis, which plagued him for eight years—one of the most tragic early deaths in music. In that short life he produced a prolific body of work, largely defining 19th-century German art-song and song cycle, penning over 600 Lieder, numerous string quartets, and nine symphonies. With such a catalog, it’s impossible not to wonder what he might have done had he lived longer. Perhaps that’s part of the allure of the “Unfinished”: it feels like an allegory for Schubert himself—startlingly brilliant, poignantly expressive, and ultimately over far too soon.

 

Symphony No. 45 in F-sharp minor, “Farewell”(1772)
Franz Joseph Haydn (1732-1809)
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. —Notes by Valerie Sly, 2026