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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.