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Transcript of Music Thesis
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Hector Berlioz, The Musician and The Reader:
How Genetic Criticism Augments Our Understanding
Sean McCullough
Wittenberg University
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When attempting to understand the complex creations of artists, writers, and musicians,
one must first recognize the constraints imposed upon artistic expression. In the creation of their
works, writers and artists produce for the public readership, their audience. Even a letter is
written to someone. In a perfect world, writers and readers would share a symbiotic relationship,
but the exponential growth of the publication industry—from Johannes Gutenberg’s 1450
invention of the first printing press to the twenty-first-century digital age of tweets and blog
posts—has caused this relationship to evolve into a parasitic one that much more heavily favors
the audience. Furthermore, since Gutenberg’s invention the critic has become a dominant force, a
herald of the public opinion for all media.
In a similar fashion, composers of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries began to notice
a shift in reviews of their works. More and more members in their audiences were emerging as
acclaimed music critics, writers who understood the conventions of tonality and harmonic
texture. Robert Schumann (1810-1856), one of the first published and accepted music critics,
disturbed the once equal-tempered music industry. Music reviewers began to take authority from
the authors of pieces, brushing over nuanced passages and portraying complex art through their
eyes and not the eyes of the composers. During the romantic period, many musicians sought to
break free from the stringent method of transmission that had been used for over two-hundred
years, but critics and audience members often seemed reluctant to accept such change.
Composers were ready to leave the realm of program music and concentrated more upon
absolute music, music as an abstract, non-representational form. Hector Berlioz, a seminal
musician, helped facilitate this shift, not only through his idiosyncratic orchestration, but also
through his deep-seated obsession with literature—in particular, the works of William E.
Shakespeare. Most critics, however, because of Berlioz’ liminal position within this transitional
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period for Western music, attempt to divorce the artist from his context. This essay will argue the
contrary. The purpose of this essay is to purport the efficacy of genetic criticism—conceiving art
as a product of its artist and the artist as a product of his or her context—in achieving a more
complete understanding of both the meaning and the method of the music of Hector Berlioz.
Through the theoretical approach of genetic criticism, one can assert to more fully
understand the works of an artist, for, “if a poem is the product of an author and the author is the
product of an age, then nothing less than a full understanding of that age—the author’s entire
political, social, and intellectual milieu—is required if we are to fully understand that author’s
art.”1 Audience members, especially critics, have gained a significant amount of power in the
past few centuries. However, they must be responsible in their analyses. Many musicologists
seek to evaluate musicians and their music, but they find themselves further and further removed
from those composers’ lives. This being the case, many newer critiques of music from past
centuries fail to present an argument that both relates to the time period of the musician in
question and the present day. In most cases, the critics address one or the other. Through use of
genetic criticism, this paper will attempt to provide an understanding of Berlioz’s music that
considers the constraints of nineteenth-century France yet maintains relevance for contemporary
readers.
Louis-Hector Berlioz (1803-1869) attained status as the undisputed preeminent French
composer, but, unfortunately, not until after his death at the turn of the twentieth century. In part,
his late recognition resulted from his propensity for writing complex harmonies and rhythms that
only found an iconic home in the twentieth century and beyond. He also composed much of his
music without ever sufficiently learning to play the piano. In his Memoirs, Berlioz notes that his
lack of keyboarding skills came from his father Louis-Joseph Berlioz’ prohibition of teaching his
1 Donald Keesey. Contexts for Criticism (New York: The McGraw-Hill Companies, 2002.), 11.
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son the piano, noting that “he probably feared that the piano would take too strong a hold of me
and that I would become more deeply involved in music than he wished.”2 However, if Dr.
Berlioz had wished to stunt young Hector’s musical development, he probably should have let
him learn the piano. Upon reflection, Berlioz applauds his keyboarding deficiencies because he
believes all great works come from composers sitting down with pen and paper, not a “magic
box” that tempts one to merely use “conventional sonorities.”3
Even more fundamental for Berlioz’s musical development was his father’s insistence
upon his literary development, for Berlioz’ inspiration for most of his compositions—earlier and
later—came from literary works. When he was twelve, Berlioz fell in love with Estelle Duboeuf,
a neighbor of his grandfather’s in Meylan. However, as with his later love interests, his passion
for Ms. Duboeuf sprouted from her nominal resonance with Florian’s Estelle from his work
Estelle et Némorin, a work which Berlioz had “read and re-read a hundred times.”4 Potentially
such early cultivated sensibilities would have better supported a literary career, but from an early
age Berlioz best expressed himself in musical composition. When he was twelve, Berlioz
discovered Rameau’s Traite de l’Harmonie and Catel’s Traite d’Harmonie, both of which he
used to compose his early melodies and harmonies, despite never having actually read a full
score.5 These compositions did not always find their best fit in the context of their original
harmonies, but Berlioz typically established them in his later works, one example being a setting
of Florian’s poem “Je Vais Donc Quitter Pour Jamais,” which he includes in his Symphonie
Fantastique.6
2 Hector Berlioz. Memoires. Ed. David Cairns (New York: W.W. Norton and Co., 1975.), 41.3 Ibid. 41.4 Ibid. 41.5 Groves 1803-1821.6 Ibid.
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From an early age Berlioz showed an acuity for understanding texts, even if they did not
at first satiate his childhood desire for adventure. In his famous Memoirs, Berlioz recounts how
his father Louis Berlioz, a revered doctor, sent young Hector at the age of ten to secondary
school in La Cote, where he would study Latin and grammar, but this instruction was short-lived,
for Dr. Berlioz would take over his son’s education not long after sending him away in the first
place.7 Dr. Berlioz would require his son to learn a few lines of the classic poets—Horace, Virgil,
Ovid—a day, but these lines did not inspire Hector’s admiration for well-crafted, passionate
language; this admiration would not begin to be cultivated until Berlioz read through the fourth
book of Virgil’s Aeneid. Berlioz recalls one incident in particular in which he physically and
visibly shuddered as he read of Queen Dido, “gnawed by the pangs of love” for her Aeneas, and
seeking “light from heaven” and finding it.8 This early effusion of such intense emotion at the
hand of a few, simple lines from an ancient poet would stick with Berlioz until his death, and
Berlioz would eventually pay homage to Virgil with his opera Les Troyens (1858). Berlioz,
possibly influenced by contemporary composer Richard Wagner, composed the libretto for this
grand five-act opera.
Along with his literary education, Dr. Berlioz required that young Hector learn to play
musical instruments in order that he would receive a well-rounded education. To start, Dr.
Berlioz taught his son to play the flagelot, a prototype to the more modern flute, which Berlioz
eventually learned along with the guitar under the instruction of local instructors Imbert and
Dorant respectively.9 Berlioz excelled in his musical studies, and by attaining knowledge of these
distinctive instruments, he was able to better understand the art of orchestration in his
“Juvenilia.” His early proficiencies became the precursor for his illustrious career as a composer
7 Hector Berlioz. Memoires. Ed. David Cairns (New York: W.W. Norton and Co., 1975.), 34.8 Ibid. 35.9 Groves. 1803-1821.
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of romantic music, but his journey to such an end would not be an easy one, for as the eldest
child, his father hoped that Berlioz would enter the medical field and eventually take over the
family business. At the age of 17, Berlioz listened to his father and enrolled at the Ecole de
Médecine in Paris, but Berlioz’ reservations toward pursuing medicine would quickly conquer
his father’s desires. In his Memoirs, Berlioz exclaims “Become a doctor! Study anatomy!
Dissect! Take part in horrible operations—instead of giving myself body and soul to music,
sublime art whose grandeur I was beginning to perceive!”10
While attending medical school, Berlioz continued to compose, attending many musical
productions as well, leading to his eventual withdrawal from the school. While in school, Berlioz
witnessed works of Gluck, Salieri, Sacchini, Méhul, Spontini, and Boildieu, which all served as
the foundation for his stylistic development as a composer, particularly as a composer of
operas.11 There exists no record of his compositional attempts while attending medical school,
however, the environment potentially being too stifling to the young composer’s creativity.
Berlioz did in fact withdraw from the school fairly soon after arriving, enrolling in a composition
course taught by Le Sueur at the end of 1822. Hecontinued to study under Le Sueur after
officially being admitted to the Paris Conservatoire in 1826, where he also studied counterpoint
and fugue with Reicha.12 Although Dr. Berlioz did not approve of his son’s decision, Berlioz
would soon prove to his father that he had made the right choice and gain back his approval.
The year 1827 was a pivotal year for the young composer for two reasons: First, Berlioz
attended his first Shakespeare production, Hamlet. The play was performed by an English
company, and although Berlioz did not know enough English yet to understand any of the
dialogue, he could understand and appreciate Shakespeare’s artful use of language and dramatic
10 Hector Berlioz. Memoires. Ed. David Cairns (New York: W.W. Norton and Co., 1975.), 43.11 Groves. 1821-1830.12 Ibid.
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design.13 He could also appreciate Harriet Smithson’s portrayal of Ophelia’s passionate hysteria,
saying in his Memoirs, “The impression made on my heart and mind by her extraordinary talent,
nay her dramatic genius, was equalled only by the havoc wrought in me by the poet she so nobly
interpreted.”14 Berlioz was not alone in his praise for Smithson’s beautiful portrayal of Ophelia;
her acting is reported to have impressed most others in the audience as well, bringing many
viewers to tears.15 The second reason that 1827 proved fruitful for Berlioz’ artistic development
is because Berlioz also saw Smithson play Juliet in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet four nights
later, designing to both marry Juliet (Smithson) and to write a magnificent symphony on
Shakespeare’s drama.16
But Berlioz may not have succeeded in writing a symphony on Shakespeare’s most
iconic play if he had not heard the performances of Beethoven’s Third and Fifth Symphonies in
March of the succeeding year. To this point, Berlioz had seen many operas and studied the works
of opera’s preeminent French and Italian composers, but he had not heard many more
contemporary composers, which is surprising because of his already natural predilection for
defying the musical conventions that dominated the works he studied most. While operas
provided a more natural means of transmission of plot, Berlioz’s contemporaries in Germany
were experimenting with the concept of absolute music, music for the sake of music. This
abstract conceptualization of music enabled one to compose pieces which adhered to no text and
which presented no particular story. It was through the combination of Berlioz’ obsessions with
literature—mainly Shakespeare—and this new, uninhibited method of composition that Berlioz
was able to produce his most expressive and passionate works (Roméo et Juillet, Symphonie
Fantastique, Les Troyens, Le Grand Ouverture du Roi Lear, etc.)—with or without text. Upon 13 Ibid.14 Hector Berlioz. Memoires. Ed. David Cairns (New York: W.W. Norton and Co., 1975.), 95.15 John R. Elliot, Jr. “The Shakespeare Berlioz Saw (Music & Letters 57.3. 1976),” 294.16 Ibid. 292.
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hearing Beethoven, Berlioz says, “Beethoven opened before me a new world of music, as
Shakespeare had revealed a new universe of poetry.”17 By looking to these two masterful
composers, Shakespeare of verse and Beethoven of harmony, one can attempt to understand
Berlioz’s stylistic foundation, for even in his works that do not pertain to any particular
Shakespeare play, such as Les Troyens, one can trace Berlioz’s imitation of his admired poet.
And even as Berlioz digresses from his Beethoven-inspired rocket themes and progressions, a
keen listener can understand just how crucial Beethoven’s good first impression was for
Berlioz’s compositions.
Many scholars see Berlioz’s admiration of Beethoven as a natural precursor to his
inevitable advancement of Beethoven’s style, but as Brian Primmer notes, “The details of
Berlioz’ tonal procedures show but a quantitative advance upon those of Beethoven.”18 On the
surface, Berlioz, like Beethoven, adhered to typical conventions of form, modulating from the
tonic to the dominant and returning to the tonic at the close of a piece. However, while
Beethoven loosened the bonds of tonality, Berlioz proverbially broke them. Beethoven mixed
modes and repeated introductory passages within stringent sonata forms, but Berlioz developed
his own system of notes, a “form of a semi-chromatic and ambimodal scale,” which allowed him
to capitalize upon “all the elements of both the major and minor modes, including the flattened
seventh, in any one tonality.”19 This paradigmatic organization of notes afforded Berlioz many
advantages, but it also presented many apparent weaknesses. Berlioz composed works that were
less limited to form and diatonicism, but these works were also harder to follow for his audiences
because his systematic structure created weak cadences and transitions that confused listeners
due to their lack of clearly defined tonality. So despite the fact that Berlioz’s prelude to his
17 Hector Berlioz. Memoires. Ed. David Cairns (New York: W.W. Norton and Co., 1975.), 104.18 Brian Primmer. The Berlioz Style (London: Oxford University Press, 1973.), 44.19 Ibid. 45.
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unfinished opera Le Roi Lear modulates from tonic (C) to dominant (G) and back to the tonic,
his system “added the relationship of major tonic to flattened mediant,” 20 allowing one to
analyze the B section of his prelude in the Eb major (see Figure 1 attached).21 The chromatic-
mediant relationship is not entirely apparent, but the flattened seventh scale degree and the
flattened third scale degree adhere more to the key of Eb major than they do to that of G major.
Additionally, Berlioz’s apparent lack of certainty in choice of key can be explained by the
originality of such a tonal relationship in his music. Until the late nineteenth and early twentieth
centuries, composers did not attempt such a relationship. Thus, not only did Berlioz obfuscate his
modes of tonal transmission, he also created tonic ambiguities that allowed him to much more
easily express and change the emotion and tenor of his pieces. An unadulterated I – V – I
progression leaves little room for emotional development.
However progressive Berlioz’s method of arrangement of musical ideas may have been
perceived, his obsession with Shakespeare was much less conventional. Despite the unanimous
laudation of Smithson, French national sentiment toward Shakespeare was not exactly positive.
But Berlioz derides “the utter absurdity of the French view of Shakespeare which derives from
Voltaire: ‘That ape of genius, sent by Satan among men to do his work,’”22 instead seeing
Shakespeare as the catalyst for his own artistic renaissance. At this point in history, it is
important to note that France had just gone through its first and second restorations of the
Bourbon kings. In the first French Revolution of 1789, King Louis XVI (a Bourbon king) was
executed, and France vacillated between a pseudo-republic and a monarchy for about four
decades. In this period of political unrest, music, literature, and the arts had suffered. The stage
simply was not set for Shakespeare in France, and French nationalism had been at its pinnacle
20 Ibid. 46.21 Hector Berlioz. Grand Ouverture du Roi Lear (New York: Eulenberg Miniature Scores, 1955.), 39.22 Hector Berlioz. Memoires. Ed. David Cairns (New York: W.W. Norton and Co., 1975.), 95.
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during the infamous Reign of Terror of Robespierre who sought to quell any seditious voices
through capital punishment. Thus, knowledge of the English language was not a priority.
During his time at the Paris Conservatoire, Berlioz submitted several compositions to win
the prestigious Prix de Rome (1830), eventually winning with La mort de Sardanapale, a piece
adhering less to Berlioz’s idiosyncrasies than his past submissions and more to conventionally
acceptable tendencies. Berlioz composed in such a way in order to have a better chance of
winning.23 This accomplishment, however hollow because of Berlioz’s self-enforced restraint
upon his own stylistic expression, may have helped to facilitate a reconciliation between Berlioz
and his father that allowed him to continue to pursue composition under a clear conscience, and
it helped Berlioz to draw audiences into his performances. More significantly, however,
Berlioz’s willingness to conform his compositional style to the demands of an audience showed
the young composer’s maturity. In his willingness to adapt his style, Berlioz also demonstrated
resourcefulness, for during this time, scholar Peter Bloom reminds musicologists that “given the
overwhelming preoccupations of the public, new works would have little chance of any artistic
or box-office success.”24 This malediction did not seem to inhibit Berlioz though, and he even
appeared to use the fears and trepidations of his society to his advantage. In a letter in which
Berlioz invites to one of his concerts the restored King of France Louis-Philippe, Berlioz writes,
“Sire, the fine arts, too, have a role to play in enhancing the grandeur of our country. The
enlightened manner in which Your Majesty has always honored them renders me confident that
my request will not be considered improper.” Louis-Phillipe did not attend, but he did send
Berlioz three hundred francs. 25
23 Ibid. 5.24 Peter Bloom. The Life of Berlioz (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998.), 44.25 Ibid. 44.
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Before heading to Rome, a requirement of his achievement of the Prix de Rome, Berlioz
gave a concert on December 5, 1830, in which he debuted his Symphonie Fantastique.26 Franz
Liszt, an eventual friend and correspondent, was in attendance. This work encapsulated Berlioz’s
passion for Harriet Smithson, and it reigns today as an example of Berlioz’s intricate and unique
method of orchestration. Upon hearing the premiere of his famous symphony, critic Ludwig
Börne noted that there was “an entire Beethoven inside of this Frenchman,” but many other
critics were not as generous; they were instead “hesitantly appreciative of Berlioz’s novel forms
and uncommon sonorities.”27 The symphony adheres to classical formal stipulations—it bears
five movements, some of which can be simplified as rounded binary form; however, it is
Berlioz’s incessant use of codas and transitions that disrupts listeners’ cognizance of phrasing
and flow. Much like Beethoven, Berlioz distorts classical forms to emancipate his mode of
expression, one which follows—ironically—more of a free verse than one would expect,
especially given Berlioz’s obsession with Shakespeare.
Thus, it would seem that while Shakespeare helped Berlioz to shape his librettos and
melodic lines, Beethoven played a much larger role in Berlioz’s harmonic and formal expression.
This assertion can be predicated upon Berlioz’s premier in his Symphonie Fantastique of his Idée
Fixe. Bloom concisely defines this melodic concept within the context of Berlioz’s symphony,
saying, “It is played in full as the principle theme of the first movement, and it is echoed in the
four movements that follow, thus giving the work a cyclic unity of a purely architectural sort.”28
The melody is regular and repeated, but the form is quite irregular. The line bears a consequent
phrase that occupies eight bars, but the antecedent phrase occupies seven.29 This use of
asymmetry has puzzled listeners and critics for centuries because music up to that point was 26 Groves. 7.27 Hector Berlioz. Memoires. Ed. David Cairns (New York: W.W. Norton and Co., 1975.), 45.28 Ibid. 46.29 Ibid. 47.
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always symmetrical. It was not until Schoenberg’s school of Twelve-Tone Serialism took hold in
Western music that composers even conceived of asymmetrical phrases. Berlioz was criticized
heavily for this “infraction,” causing many critics to struggle to understand why Beethoven was
never criticized so harshly for his unconventional sonorities. Bloom notes that the answer to this
puzzle lies in the fact that Berlioz never normalized any of his innovations; he never repeated his
“mistakes.”30
What has been the subject of the most controversy with his magnum opus, however, is its
perceived ability to tell a story. Popular absolute music was not supposed to be story-bound, and
many composers even questioned the ethics of such an idea. Should the arts coalesce? This
question came from composers more recalcitrant to the impositions of the Romantic period, one
which Berlioz sufficiently championed in France. Upon his first performance of his grand first
symphony, a columnist “for the Revue de Paris said that one ought not to encourage such extra-
musical baggage.”31 This criticism was not uncommon for other composers of the time.
Beethoven received similar reprimands, and so did Wagner. Berlioz does tell a story through his
work, but it is still complicated within the inherent contrivances of art. Even works of literature
must be partially contrived “to satisfy the demands of art.”32
Moreover, in all of Berlioz’s music, one can see an artist who truly immersed himself in
every aspect of his projects. Even when he composed works bearing no libretto, such as his
Symphonie Fantastique, listeners could expect to hear an intricate and well-developed dramatic
story. From an early age, Berlioz wed his musical intentions to profound and moving stories:
“Even in his instrumental compositions he strove perhaps more consistently than any other
romantic composer to effect an original, convincing rapprochement between literary models and
30 Ibid. 47.31 Ibid. 50.32 Ibid. 53.
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music, between ideas and sound.”33 His music could neither be considered program nor absolute.
Berlioz truly defied all conventions, even those of genre. Moreover, in his Fantastic Symphony,
Berlioz claims to have created a new genre.34 Perhaps, if one were to name such a genre, he
might call it absolute program music, music that truly transcends the boundaries that both
conventions of literature and music can impose on artistic expression, but such a genre comes
from no precedent and combines two largely incongruous ideas. However, with the creation of
his genre, Berlioz would not have to have made his music conform to the text or vice versa.
Every piece could work together to capture the fiercest and most tender of human emotions, the
passions of the heart. In this manner, one can clearly see Berlioz’ cognizance of the demands of
his audience. The romantic era produced music, art, and literature that expressed the most tender
and intense of emotions. Berlioz’ compositions offer no exception to this regime.
While Berlioz assumes to have created a new genre, some critics cite earlier
manifestations of this collusion between drama and non-vocal music. They assert that Berlioz
adhered to the stylistic traits of Jean Jacques Rousseau’s melodrama, which was augmented by
Mozart, Beethoven, and Weber.35 Examples of works that purport to follow such a formal
representation are his sequel to his Symphonie Fantastique, Leilio, and his Tempest fantasia.
Neither of these was considered to be successful.36 Perhaps these works’ “failures” can be
attributed to Berlioz’s apparent emulation of Rousseau’s genre, for Berlioz produced his best
music when working outside of the constraints of musical conventions. His symphonic poem
Romét et Juliette produced quite the opposite response, noted as being “surely the most
successful product of Berlioz’ experimentation with in-between genres.”37 In the composing of
33 Leon B. Plantinga. “Berlioz’ Use of Shakespearean Themes (Yale French Studies 33. 1964.),” 72-73.34 Ibid. 73. 35 Ibid. 75.36 Ibid. 75.37 Ibid. 78.
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this piece, Berlioz attempted to craft music that equivalently expressed the story that so
viscerally affected him. Furthermore, his personal experience with this play also provided an
emotional, expressive framework from which to assemble his melodies and harmonies. Whereas
in the other works Berlioz attempted to construct a musical setting and plot from the pages of the
works themselves, in his tone poem he had a poignant personal narrative to weave into his
composition. And, as with his Symphonie Fantastique, he was able to employ his muse Harriet
Smithson.
What the critics fail to recognize is the need for one to analyze music and art not only
from a foreground of knowledge of the social, philosophical, historical, and artistic constraints
that surrounded the work, but also from an understanding of the composer’s life and thought
processes. Approaching Berlioz’ works from the framework of a genetic criticism, one can better
comprehend his shortcomings and triumphs. When Berlioz worked from the texts he merely read
and did not fully experience, he produced works such as Leilio and his Tempest fantasia. When
Berlioz saw the production of Romeo and Juliet in 1827, however, he did not understand much
of the text, but what he did understand was Harriet Smithson’s expert portrayal of her love,
agony, desire, and passion. What Berlioz saw was not Shakespeare as Shakespeare would have
intended. He witnessed acting uninhibited by text, a romantic concept that would have generated
a positive response from most audience members at this time in France. Incidentally, Smithson
would go on to perform pantomimes at the decline of her acting career.38
However, the acting did not present the only discrepancy in terms of Shakespeare’s
literary intent and the performance practice. After Shakespeare’s death, dramatists significantly
revised Shakespeare’s plays to mitigate the problems associated with staging the great poet’s
works. Rife with ambiguous stage directions and logistically challenging scene changes,
38 Peter Bloom. The Life of Berlioz (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998.), 45.
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directors needed to alter the plays in order to enhance their appeal. When Berlioz saw Hamlet
and Romeo and Juliet in 1827, he really saw two-thirds of the former and a collage of
Shakespeare’s and David Garrick’s plots in the latter.39 These altered plays appealed to Berlioz’s
creative mind because they were directed to be overly-romanticized to compensate for the
insufficiencies that the cuts created in their plots and settings. In these versions, the “scenery was
lavish, elaborate, and realistic, rendering obsolete or at least redundant many of Shakespeare’s
passages of verse description.”40 By diminishing the value of Shakespeare’s well-crafted
language, directors catered to the French audience members who were more impressed with the
expressive nature of the works and the visual appeal, not the flowery language that one typically
associates with Shakespearean verse and its appreciation.
Upon his return from his tour of Italy, Berlioz gave another concert of his works in Paris
on December 9, 1832. This concert featured his Symphonie Fantistique and its sequel Leilio
(then titled Le Retour á La Vie), the performance evoking polar responses from reviewers who
were in attendance; however, Liszt, Paganini, and Chopin lauded the young composer for his
display of artistry.41 But one cannot blame the media. Berlioz certainly must not have because
Maurice Schlesinger, a publisher in attendance, had invited none other than Harriet Smithson
who would write Berlioz a personal letter of congratulations for his performance.42
Berlioz would eventually woo this starving artist, but her inability to rekindle the love of
Shakespeare that the French briefly shared would cause her to become bored with France and
Berlioz himself. Berlioz would also realize that young love is hard to overcome, expressing in
his Memoirs the timeless power of love: “No other loves can efface the imprint of this first love.
I was thirteen when I ceased to see her. I was thirty when I returned from Italy across the Alps 39 John R. Elliot, Jr. “The Shakespeare Berlioz Saw (Music & Letters 57.3. 1976),” 294.40 Ibid. 294.41 Peter Bloom. The Life of Berlioz (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998.), 60-61.42 Ibid. 61.
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and saw in the distance Saint-Eynard and the little white house and the old tower through a mist
of tears. I still loved her.”43 In this effusive amatory passage, Berlioz is of course referencing his
unrequited love for Estelle Dubeouf. It would seem that Berlioz had experienced all of life that
he required to compose his masterful music by the mere age of thirteen. In his Symphonie
Fantastique, he drew largely from his experience with unrequited love for Harriet Smithson, but
as previously stated, the composer also drew from his juvenile work set to Florian’s poem “Je
Vais Donc Quitter Pour Jamais.” Berlioz’s tumultuous love affair with Smithson must have
evoked in the composer a resonance to his unreturned love for Ms. Dubeouf. His love for
Dubeouf would never subside. In his penultimate opera Les Troyens, Berlioz evinces his inability
to overcome his unsatisfied desires for his Estelle.
Les Troyens, based upon the second and fourth books of Virgil’s Aeneid, was an
undertaking of great proportion, and Berlioz knew this; however, the harsh prompting of a
recently acquainted Princess Wittgenstein made the task impossible to leave unfinished:
“‘Listen,” she said, “if you shrink from the difficulties this work can and must bring you, if you
are so feeble as to be afraid to face everything for Dido and Cassandra, then never come back
here—I refuse to see you again.’”44 Princess Wittgenstein may not have needed to resort to such
a strong and metaphorically affective ultimatum to convince Berlioz; he possessed a natural
affinity for literature of antiquity. But Berlioz certainly heeded her command, composing the
lyric poem upon his return to Paris and completing the score in three and a half years.45 Berlioz,
by completing such a cumbersome production, set an important precedent for his highly
successful future opera of similar proportion Béatrice et Bénédict.
43 Hector Berlioz. Memoires. Ed. David Cairns (New York: W.W. Norton and Co., 1975.), 37.44 Ibid. 484-485.45 Ibid. 485.
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Despite Berlioz’ fear of Les Troyens being too grand of a production to bring to fruition,
he succeeded in creating one of his more syntactically simple works; perhaps Berlioz’ initial
reservations which he expressed to Princess Wittgenstein concerning the logistics of completing
Les Troyens led to this understated final design. Or perhaps his work’s simplicity derives from
his poignant childhood reading experience, his impetus to produce such an opera having come
from a moment of childish innocence: the quintessence of simplicity. In this regard, Berlioz
cannot express complex emotions from the perception of a comprehending adult; he must
communicate his own initial experience from the algorithmically simplistic mind of a child:
Berlioz loves to watch his Dido love, but it hurts to watch his Dido hurt. In the same way, the
audience can experience true, unadulterated emotion, no esoteric nuances, just love, hate, joy and
pain.
When composing the libretto for his work, Berlioz also modeled his verses after those of
Shakespeare, paraphrasing certain passages that he felt would augment his own drama. One
passage in particular comes from Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice, an exchange between
Jessica and Lorenzo wherein Lorenzo compares his Jessica to Dido herself.46 Berlioz
appropriates Shakespeare’s artful repetition of “In such a night” between the two lovers to build
his drama both literarily and musically. Restatement of a theme is a powerful mechanism in both
literature—called parallel structure in the practice of writing—and music. Berlioz’ use of this
seemingly simple device allows his algorithm of parallel emotions to work successfully. Dido
and Aeneas both express their desolation at having to part forever “On such a night.”
Similarly, one can best observe Berlioz’ prosaic mode of musical transmission in his brief
“Prelude” to Les Troyens. Many early and recent critics have conflated Berlioz with other
eccentric composers of his time, such as Richard Wagner, but, by approaching this piece from a
46 Peter Bloom. The Life of Berlioz (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998.), 148.
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genetic perspective, one can understand Berlioz’ grand oeuvre as not a work promoting “fascist
ideals,” but one that displays his early-cultivated sensibilities.47 Scholar Brian Primmer analyzes
best when he refers to Berlioz’s orchestral Prelude as “French musical Republicanism at its most
refined,” pointing out that “Every phrase starts on a downbeat and all are of very narrow
range.”48 The composer marks the opening tempo of his piece Andante un poco lento, and he
writes it in common time. In the first measure, the orchestra players hold a vi chord and, on the
last sixteenth beat of the fourth beat of the measure, they play a preparatory iii6 chord for the next
measure. The rocket theme continues, moving from the iii6 chord to a V4/3 chord, which then
shifts to a I6 chord to loosely establish the key of F major. One could argue that Berlioz wrote in
a minor key (D minor), but modal mixture was not uncommon at this time, and along with
Berlioz’ obsession for Shakespeare, he also idolized Romantic composer Ludwig Van Beethoven
who was known for obscuring keys through mixed modality. Moreover, the iii6 chord, a first-
inversion A minor chord, does not adequately establish the key of D minor. It instead finds a
diatonic home within the key of F major, and Berlioz also ends his introductory rocket theme on
an imperfect authentic cadence, which would more reasonably establish the key of F major.
Through his tonal ambivalence, perhaps Berlioz attempts to encapsulate his initial uncertain
reaction to Queen Dido’s tragic amatory pangs. The piano reduction of the score in the attached
Figure 2 demonstrates Berlioz’s harmonic progression.49
In the third scene of the fourth act of his grand opera, Berlioz finally attempts to
understand and relay Dido’s tragic ending at the hands of the gods and the Roman soldiers who
take her Aeneas away from her. In his portrayal, his Dido sings, “Je vais mourir (I am going to
die).” For the first eight measures, he writes in moderato, but alternates between that tempo and
47 D. Kern Holoman. “Berlioz, Lately (19th-Century Music 25.2-3. 2001-02),” 343.48 Brian Primmer. The Berlioz Style (London: Oxford University Press, 1973.), 36.49 Hector Berlioz. Les Troyens: Poëme Lyrique en 5 Actes et 8 Tableaux. Ed. Choudens (Paris: Choudens, 1889.), 1.
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Andante, un peu plus lent. He also writes in common time and in the key of Eb minor. Berlioz
composes a simple homophonic texture for this brief song, allowing Dido to express her
melancholy uninhibited. She often begins and ends her vocal lines off of the common beats,
ending her line at the start of a new measure or beginning in the midst of an already occurring
measure. Her melody progresses in mostly conjunct motion, undulating to match the text and
making it appear that she is merely speaking her pain at times, especially during passages of
repeated notes. Dido’s vocal line with piano accompaniment is shown in the attached Figure 3.50
Attempting to convey an analysis of Berlioz’s grand opera without first understanding his
natural sensibilities and literary intrigue can inhibit the work of a scholar, and it does not grant
Berlioz the artistic reverence that he deserves. Furthermore, the same can be said when analyzing
any of Berlioz’s works. Berlioz was an avid reader for his entire life, and through use of genetic
criticism, one can purport that his obsession with the way in which works of literature could
move an audience was integral to his musical expression. Berlioz told stories through his music,
and, as is the case with his Memoirs, these stories were largely autobiographical. In this regard,
Les Troyens can be best understood as an effusion of Berlioz’s dormant adoration and agony for
Virgil’s depiction of Dido’s tragic death. And the success of Romét et Juliette can best be
attributed to Berlioz’s introduction to this admired play and its perhaps more widely admired
Juliet. Through a combination of an understanding of the history, musical period, the biography,
and the characteristics of Berlioz, one can better grasp the meaning and value of his works.
50 Ibid. 317.
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References
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Berlioz, Hector. Grand Ouverture du Roi Lear. New York: Eulenberg Miniature Scores, 1955.
Print.
Berlioz, Hector. Memoires. Ed. Cairns, David. New York: W.W. Norton and Co., 1975. Print.
Berlioz, Hector. Les Troyens: Poëme Lyrique en 5 Actes et 8 Tableaux. Ed. Choudens. Paris:
Choudens, 1889. Print.
Bloom, Peter. The Life of Berlioz. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Print.
Elliot, John R. Jr. “The Shakespeare Berlioz Saw.” Music & Letters 57.3. (1976): 292-308. Web.
Groves Music Online. “Berlioz, (Louis)-Hector.” Accessed April 10, 2015. Web.
http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/51424#S51424
Holoman, D. Kern. “Berlioz, Lately.” 19th-Century Music 25.2-3. (2001-02): 337-346. Web.
Keesey, Donald. Contexts for Criticism. New York: The McGraw-Hill Companies, 2002. Print.
Plantinga, Leon B. “Berlioz’ Use of Shakespearean Themes.” Yale French Studies 33. (1964):
72-79. Web.
Primmer, Brian. The Berlioz Style. London: Oxford University Press, 1973. Print.