ILLUSTRATIONS
| [Berlioz] | [Frontispiece] | |
| [The Villa Medici][A] | to face page [112] | |
| [Montmartre Cemetery][A] | ” ” [216] | |
| [Grenoble][A] | ” ” [257] |
INTRODUCTION
Autobiography is open to the charge of egoism; somewhat unjustly since, in writing of oneself, the personal note must predominate and, in the case of a genius—sure of his goal and of his power to reach it—faith in himself amounts to what, in a smaller man, would be mere conceit.
This must be condoned and discounted for the sake of the priceless gift of insight into a personality of exceptional interest.
Berlioz’ Memoir, graphic as it is, cannot be called satisfactory as a character-study. He says plainly that he is not writing confessions, but is simply giving a correct account of his life to silence the many false versions current at the time. Therefore, while describing almost too minutely some of his difficulties and most of his conflicts—whereby he gives the impression of living in uncomfortably hot water—his very real heroism comes out only in his Letters, and then quite unconsciously.
The Memoir and Letters combined, however, make up an interesting and fascinating picture of the heights, depths, limitations and curious inconsistencies of this weird and restless human being.
The music-ridden, brutal, undisciplined creature of the Autobiography—more a blind, unreasoning force of Nature than an ordinary being, subject to the restrictions of common humanity—could not possibly be the man who was rich in the unswerving affection of such widely different characters as Heine, Liszt, Ernst, Alexandre, Heller, Hiller, Jules Janin, Dumas and Bertin; there must be something unchronicled to account for their loyalty and patience. This something is revealed in the Letters.