MISS SMITHSON.
Reproduction of a French lithograph portrait by Francis—published in 1827.
On his return to Paris he felt a reawakening of his passion for Miss Smithson, who had been temporarily forgotten and patronizingly dubbed “the Smithson girl,” while his heart was interested elsewhere. At the time of his setting out for Rome, he had thoughts for none but the young and attractive pianiste, Marie Moke, whom he had known through his friend Ferdinand Hiller; to her he had shown some attention, finally declaring to her his uncontrollable passion.
This young lady had coolly married Camille Pleyel—a name which she was to make famous as a virtuoso—while her mad lover, her pretended fiancé, was in Italy.
He made haste, as soon as he got back to Paris, to organize a concert for the purpose of performing in honor of Miss Smithson, the Fantastic Symphony, and on that day (Dec. 9, 1832) he experienced a double triumph, since this masterpiece, which she believed to be inspired by herself, deeply touched the tragedienne and won her heart for Berlioz. Little did she suspect that this composition had been written with a view to stigmatize her, at the time when Berlioz was madly in love with Mademoiselle Moke, and that before going to Rome he had it played in honor of Mademoiselle Moke, as it was now being given in Miss Smithson’s honor. Meanwhile, the families of the two lovers made just opposition to their fine projects for the future; but Berlioz and his fiancée taking the lead, strove their utmost to overcome these obstacles, and to tie the indissoluble bond which was to render them equally miserable.
During all these negotiations the English Theatre of Paris was obliged to close its doors, and Miss Smithson, who had assumed direction of it, found herself without resources, not having enough to pay the debts of the enterprise. To make matters worse, she broke her leg while getting out of a carriage, in which she was going about to organize a benefit concert. While she was confined to the house by her accident, Berlioz had the customary “respectful summons” to make to her family, and as soon as she was well he married her; “she was mine,” he said, “and I bade defiance to every thing!” The young household was not rolling in wealth; the wife had nothing but her debts, and the husband had but three hundred francs which a friend had lent him. No matter, even a sad life is not without its sunshine. Berlioz was obliged to have recourse to his pen, and began to write for the newspapers through sheer necessity, a thing which he had hitherto done through love of controversy and in self-defence.
His first appearance in literature was made in 1829 in the Correspondent, with a pretty well developed article on Beethoven, whom the artists and amateurs of Paris were just beginning to know, thanks to Habeneck and his Société des Concerts at the Conservatoire. He also furnished some articles to the Revue Européenne and the Courrier de l’Europe; finally, that influential paper, the Gazette musicale de Paris, which in 1881 ended a glorious career of forty-seven years, espoused Berlioz’s cause, and worked faithfully for his success. Shortly after, in 1835 he allied himself with the Journal des Débats as musical critic, a post which he held for thirty years, finding in its proprietors, MM. Bertin, staunch friends and protectors. Besides giving him a comfortable living, Berlioz’s articles served him at first in establishing relations with the press, as much as they injured him later by exciting bitter jealousy and enmity.
It was in the midst of financial difficulties that Berlioz wrote the symphony Harold in Italy, inspired no doubt by his own excursions in the vicinity of Rome. In this he introduced a viola part for Paganini, but the part was too much subordinated to the orchestra to suit the great violinist, who desired a veritable concerto with a simple orchestral accompaniment; fortunately Berlioz did not give heed to this demand. The performance of Harold (Nov. 23, 1834) made Berlioz known to connoisseurs, and soon after M. de Gasparin, Minister of the Interior, ordered of him a Requiem for the anniversary service of the victims, not of the Revolution of 1830, but of the Fieschi outrage. This Requiem did not reach its destination, but was performed at the celebrated service in the church of the Invalides, Dec. 5, 1837, for the French soldiers and General Danrémont, killed at the siege of Constantine.
Fortune seemed at last to smile on the persistent efforts of the young composer, when a failure came to overturn his fond hopes. His opera Benvenuto Cellini, written on a poem by Léon de Nailly and Auguste Barbier, was performed at the Opéra Sept. 10, 1838; it was well sustained by Mmes. Stolz and Dorus-Gras, but badly rendered by Duprez, and disappeared from the bills after three performances, the celebrated tenor not wishing to appear in a work in which he was quite eclipsed by the two prima donnas. Berlioz, in order to recover from the effect of this failure, organized two Conservatoire concerts, thinking that the performance of the Fantastic Symphony would recompense him for the loss of his rights at the Opéra. The first concert barely covered expenses, but the second had a memorable result. Scarcely was the symphony ended when a man jumped upon the platform, and kissed the hands of the stupefied composer. The next day Berlioz received a letter in which, as a token of admiration, he was asked to accept a sum of twenty thousand francs, and this letter was signed by the enthusiastic listener of the evening before, Nicolo Paganini. This sum—whether it was, as some think, a secret manifestation of Bertin’s liberality, or whether it was really given by Paganini for the purpose of defending himself in the eyes of the Parisians against an accusation of avarice—made Berlioz easy in his finances for some little time, and enabled him to work with an unperturbed mind. He profited by the first hours of leisure which he had found since his return, and wrote first his symphony with solos and choruses, Romeo and Juliet, which he dedicated to his official benefactor and which was first heard Nov. 24, 1839, and then the grand Funeral and Triumphal Symphony, performed at the inauguration of the column of July in 1840. He also wrote, about this time, a number of songs or choral compositions, and the brilliant overture Le Carnival Romain.
NICOLO PAGANINI.
From a drawing by Ingres in Rome, 1818. Engraved by Calamatta. Paganini in his thirty-fourth year.