The Symphonie Fantastique, to return to the most applauded work of Berlioz, after Faust, is one of the most bizarre eccentricities ever hatched in a composer’s brain; but it is also one of the most impressive. The first movement, Rêveries-passions, at once so sad and tender, is, however, excelled by the Scène aux champs, which soothes and charms us with its peacefulness. It is the most inspired movement of the symphony. Le Bal and the Marche au supplice are aflame with the extraordinary verve of the composer, who, taking motives that are neither very striking nor very original in themselves, develops them with extraordinary power, and with such fullness that each movement attains an almost incredible expressiveness. Though in the Songe d’une nuit de Sabbat, the Dies Iræ is burlesqued and degraded by the mocking accents of the piccolo, the tinkling of bells, the bellowing of ophicleides, yet this last part produces an irresistible effect and drags the hearer along in the train of the hellish turmoil. In Harold en Italie Berlioz pushes this seeking for extremely varied tone-colors, and unexpected contrasts, and curious surprises for the ear so far, that he frequently falls into excess. The fine Marche des Pélerins has eclipsed the other portions of the symphony, but the first movement, Harold aux montagnes, is full of poetic melancholy, and the Serénade d’un montagnard, breathes a tranquil peace with which the fiery and tumultuous Orgie de brigands forms a powerful, nay, almost exaggerated contrast.
In the exquisite religious legend L’Enfance du Christ, and the graceful opera comique, Béatrice et Bénédict we make the acquaintance of a Berlioz tempered by age and who no longer seeks to “make a noise in the world.” The second part of his oratorio-drama La Fuite en Egypte, is universally known through its delightful chorus of shepherds and its lovely tenor recitative; there is also much charm in the first duet of Mary and Joseph as they watch over Jesus. The third part includes a powerfully dramatic scene in which the fugitives knock in vain at every door, followed by a patriarchal scene with the beautiful phrase of the father of the family welcoming Jesus, and the trio, with two flutes and harps, of young Ishmaelites. This is music that delights the world. It is the same with the famous duet-nocturne in Béatrice et Bénédict, whose beauty dwells in the opening strain of Hero’s air, and in the splendid andante, à la Gluck, sung by Beatrice. What gaiety, perhaps a little forced now and then, emanates from the mocking duet between Beatrice and Benedict; from the trio of men and the trio of women. What exquisite sweetness there is in the Chant d’hyménée heard from afar; what verve in the piquant rondo sung at the close by the reconciled lovers!
Benvenuto Cellini, a work that has never been revived, is not one of the finer achievements of Berlioz; in it we meet too many concessions to the virtuosity of the conventional opera prima-donna, but it is pervaded by a spirit wholly youthful, set off by sparkling instrumentation. The trio of the first act, and the sad air of Teresa; the grand quartet in the Place Colonne with its different themes ingeniously blended and strongly marked; the couplets of Ascanio; the narrative air of Cellini; the scene in which the poltroon Fieramosca simulates a duel; the charming love-duet between Teresa and Cellini,—here, indeed, are page after page of limpid melody that delight their hearers, as did the opening brilliant overture with the following long carnival scene, which reproduces with extraordinary effect the mutterings and rumblings of a crowd. This is, in truth, the climax of the work. To this opera must be joined the overture, Le Carnaval Romain, written later by Berlioz, and perhaps the most beautiful of his isolated overtures. In any case, it is that which has had the greatest success, eclipsing the overture, Les Francs Juges, even in Germany where it was at first so much applauded, as well as the overtures, Waverly, The Corsair, and King Lear, the last, though so expressive, having never enjoyed equal favor with Le Carnaval Romain.
The tragedy Les Troyens, imitated from Virgil, marked the return to first principles made by Berlioz when maturity had calmed the effervescence of youth and the ebulition of middle age. It was taken up again in a moment of classic aspiration and shows how much the teachings of Lesueur influenced him. La Prise de Troie and Les Troyens à Carthage, separate works, but performed together for the first time at Carlsruhe in December, 1870, are of equal worth and of a superior order. In La Prise de Troie the despairing appeals of Cassandra, the tender replies of Corèbe; the fiery choruses, the ballet music, of which the local color is so appropriate; the epic grandeur of the benediction of Astyanax by Paris; the excited joy of the Trojan people welcoming the entrance of the wooden horse; the woe-fraught prophecies of Cassandra. In Les Troyens à Carthage the peaceful songs of the Trojans; the sublimely touching melodies of Dido; the caressing responses of Anna; Æneas’ call to arms, and the stirring orchestral scene of the royal hunt; the third act, an unmistakable masterpiece, with its pretty dance tunes, its quintet, its incomparable septet, and its fine love-duet; the last two acts, with the sweet plaint of the sailor, Hylas; the pathetic farewell of Æneas and the splendid death scene of Dido,—all prove that both parts of Les Troyens must be placed in the same rank as two great works that blend into one perfect whole.
Berlioz, in addition to his large symphonic and vocal works, wrote numerous detached songs with orchestral or pianoforte accompaniment. La Captive, which was greatly extended from the original sketch written in Italy; Le 5 mai, a magnificent song glorifying the first Napoleon; Sara la baigneuse, and La Mort d’Ophélie, lovely works for two female voices; a fine Hymne à la France; Neuf mélodies Irlandaises, a youthful effort, inspired by the poems of Thomas Moore; Les nuits d’été, six settings of poems by Théophile Gautier, are the most notable of this class of compositions. By adding to these the pieces collected to form Lelio; Rêverie et Caprice, for violin solo and orchestra; a charming Meditation religieuse, after Thomas Moore; and a striking Marche Funêbre for the interment of Hamlet; we have enumerated all the works of Berlioz, great and small, that are worth remembering.
The true domain of Berlioz, that in which he is really king, is the orchestra. He gave an extraordinary impetus to the art of instrumentation,—even after Beethoven and Weber, on whom he leaned,—by his marvellous instinct for blending the various timbres of orchestral instruments, by his indefatigable search for new combinations of tone, by his constant effort to add to the power and the expressiveness of the orchestra in order to make it translate the most diverse sentiments, thus giving to his music a stronger relief, a more animated color. The prodigious result was, that he almost recreated the art of orchestration, opened a new horizon to it, and therefore deserves the title of the French Beethoven. Is it not also astonishing that his genius, audaciously innovating in regard to instrumentation, exercised an influence not only on all those musicians who began their career after his success was established, but on others who were his elders by age and reputation, such as Meyerbeer, or somewhat younger, such as Richard Wagner? These two composers, not the least able of their day, having heard the works of Berlioz at a time when very few took him seriously, had an intuition of his worth and from the very first felt instinctively even more than Schumann, that it was necessary to respect this young man gifted with such extraordinary imagination.
CARICATURE OF BERLIOZ.
By Benjamin—Nov. 1, 1838.
Thenceforward Meyerbeer, one of those rare musicians, be it said to his honor, who feel a concern for other creations than their own, took a lively and permanent interest in all that Berlioz produced. Wagner, on his side, admitted to friends that he no sooner reached Paris than he made a profound study of Berlioz’s instrumentation; that he had since reread his scores many times, and that he had often profited by the works of “that devilishly clever man.” Moreover, from 1841, he regarded Berlioz as a musician filling a place of his own, mingling with none, while loving, understanding, worshipping Beethoven; dreaming perhaps to be German in the hours when his genius urged him to write in imitation of this great master; but unable to assimilate French love of external effect with Beethoven’s profound symphonic style; possessing a wonderful fancy, an imagination of extraordinary energy; torn between his artistic impulses and the tastes of his fellow countrymen, whom he wished to win; incapable of asking or of receiving advice; possessed of that virtue, rare even among Germans, of not wishing to write for money; turning his back on all musical triviality; eminently fitted by reason of these qualities and of these faults to create great works, popular or national as in the Symphonie de Juillet, the best in his eyes, of Berlioz’s works, and the only one which, to him, seemed destined to live.
