FOOTNOTES:[1]The reader who is interested in the matter may turn to letters to Liszt of 1852. Here he speaks slightingly of Berlioz'sCellini, and alludes to "the platitudes of his FaustSymphony(!)" The last phrase alone is sufficient to show that Wagner was completely ignorant of the work he had the impertinence to decry—for every one knows that Berlioz'sFaustis not a symphony. In a recent article inThe Speakeron "The Relations of Wagner and Berlioz," I have, I think, shown that Wagner could not have known a note either of theFaustor theCellini; the dates of performance and of publication put any such knowledge on his part out of the question. It is necessary, however, to warn the reader that in both the English translation of the Wagner-Liszt letters (by Dr. Hueffer, revised by Mr. Ashton Ellis), and the big Glasenapp-EllisLife of Wagner, the real facts are kept from the English public. The incriminating phrase, "Faust Symphony," is quietly abbreviated to "Faust," so that there is nothing to rouse the reader's suspicions and make him look further into the matter. In the bigLife, again, now in course of publication, Mr. Ellis, though he has thousands of pages at his disposal—though, indeed, he can devote a whole volume of five hundred pages to two years of Wagner's life—still cannot find room for the brief line or two from the 1852 letter that would put the real facts before the reader; discreet and silent dots take their place. The British public is apparently to be treated like a child, and told only so much of the truth about Wagner as is thought to be good for it—or at any rate good for Wagner.[2]This is an error; he arrived in Paris in 1821.[3]See Julien Tiersot'sHector Berlioz et la société de son temps(1904)—an excellent book that is indispensable to every student of Berlioz.[4]It is interesting to note that Alfred de Musset anticipated Arthur Rimbaud and the modern symbolists in having coloured audition. He once maintained that the note F was yellow, G red, a soprano voice blond, a contralto voice brown. See Arvède Barine'sAlfred de Musset(inLes Grands Écrivains Français), p. 115.[5]Hoffmann was, of course, a musician as well; but he is more truly the novelist who wrote about music than the musician who wrote fiction.[6]Buckle (note 316 to Chap. VII. of theHistory of Civilisation) remarks that "All great revolutions have a direct tendency to increase insanity, as long as they last, and probably for some time afterwards; but in this as in other respects the French Revolution stands alone in the number of its victims." See the references he gives, bearing upon "the horrible but curious subject of madness caused by the excitement of the events which occurred in France late in the eighteenth century." Buckle speaks only of the Revolution, but of course the subsequent wars must have operated in much the same way.[7]Chateaubriand,Souvenirs d'enfance et de jeunesse, p. 2.[8]In his letter of March 18, 1839, he gives Ernest Chevalier the plan of a work that is curiously like that of Berlioz mentioned on page 38, in its preposterous fantasies and its over-emphasis of form and colour.[9]He puts the same rhodomontade into the mouth of his Lélio.[10]One or two of these dates can only be looked upon as approximative, but if wrong at all, they are so only to the extent of a year or two, which does not affect the question.[11]It appears from the Sayn-Wittgenstein letters that the beautiful theme of the love-scene inRoméo et Juliettewas inspired by the youthful love for Estelle that also produced the opening theme of theSymphonie fantastique. It must, therefore, have been quite a boyish invention, though no doubt its development and general treatment really belong to 1838.[12]M. Julien Tiersot, in his admirableBerlioz et la société de son temps, divides the life of Berlioz into five epochs—1803-1827 (his childhood, youth, and apprenticeship), 1827-1842 (the epoch of his greatest activity), 1843-1854 (in which he does little exceptFaust, which in reality, perhaps, dates from an earlier time), 1854-1865 (the epoch ofL'Enfance du Christ,Béatrice et Benedict, andLes Troyens), and 1865-1869 (barren of works). The discussion in the text will make it clear why I have substituted my own classification for that of M. Tiersot, and will, I hope, be convincing. One other point deserves noting. Towards the end of hisMémoiresBerlioz tells us that he had dreamed a symphony one night, but deliberately refrained from writing it because of the expense of producing and printing it. Such a reason may have weighed a little with him; but no one who knows anything of artistic psychology can regard it as the total explanation. If the dream-work had really sunk into Berlioz's soul and he had felt that he had full command of it, he could not have rested until he had it down on paper, if only for his own gratification. It is far more probable that he felt himself unequal to the mental strain of thinking out his vision and forcing the stubborn material into a plastic piece of art. There was, I take it, a lassitude of tissue in him at this time that made protracted musical thinking a burden to him.[13]On the whole question see the chapter on "Le Tempérament" in Edmond Hippeau'sBerlioz Intime.[14]The date ofLéliois 1831-1832, but the most absurd thing in it, theChanson de brigands, was written in January 1830—at the same epoch, therefore, as theSymphonie fantastique. It is fairly clear that 1829-1830 marked the climax of Berlioz's eccentricity, and that his passion for Henrietta Smithson had much to do with it.[15]Jullien (p. 241) says "it was about this time that the neuralgiato which he had always been subjectsettled in the intestines...."[16]He himself describes it as "a caprice written with the point of a needle, and demanding excessive delicacy of execution." Yet this is the man for whom the world can find only the one epithet of "extravagant"!
FOOTNOTES:
FOOTNOTES:
[1]The reader who is interested in the matter may turn to letters to Liszt of 1852. Here he speaks slightingly of Berlioz'sCellini, and alludes to "the platitudes of his FaustSymphony(!)" The last phrase alone is sufficient to show that Wagner was completely ignorant of the work he had the impertinence to decry—for every one knows that Berlioz'sFaustis not a symphony. In a recent article inThe Speakeron "The Relations of Wagner and Berlioz," I have, I think, shown that Wagner could not have known a note either of theFaustor theCellini; the dates of performance and of publication put any such knowledge on his part out of the question. It is necessary, however, to warn the reader that in both the English translation of the Wagner-Liszt letters (by Dr. Hueffer, revised by Mr. Ashton Ellis), and the big Glasenapp-EllisLife of Wagner, the real facts are kept from the English public. The incriminating phrase, "Faust Symphony," is quietly abbreviated to "Faust," so that there is nothing to rouse the reader's suspicions and make him look further into the matter. In the bigLife, again, now in course of publication, Mr. Ellis, though he has thousands of pages at his disposal—though, indeed, he can devote a whole volume of five hundred pages to two years of Wagner's life—still cannot find room for the brief line or two from the 1852 letter that would put the real facts before the reader; discreet and silent dots take their place. The British public is apparently to be treated like a child, and told only so much of the truth about Wagner as is thought to be good for it—or at any rate good for Wagner.
[1]The reader who is interested in the matter may turn to letters to Liszt of 1852. Here he speaks slightingly of Berlioz'sCellini, and alludes to "the platitudes of his FaustSymphony(!)" The last phrase alone is sufficient to show that Wagner was completely ignorant of the work he had the impertinence to decry—for every one knows that Berlioz'sFaustis not a symphony. In a recent article inThe Speakeron "The Relations of Wagner and Berlioz," I have, I think, shown that Wagner could not have known a note either of theFaustor theCellini; the dates of performance and of publication put any such knowledge on his part out of the question. It is necessary, however, to warn the reader that in both the English translation of the Wagner-Liszt letters (by Dr. Hueffer, revised by Mr. Ashton Ellis), and the big Glasenapp-EllisLife of Wagner, the real facts are kept from the English public. The incriminating phrase, "Faust Symphony," is quietly abbreviated to "Faust," so that there is nothing to rouse the reader's suspicions and make him look further into the matter. In the bigLife, again, now in course of publication, Mr. Ellis, though he has thousands of pages at his disposal—though, indeed, he can devote a whole volume of five hundred pages to two years of Wagner's life—still cannot find room for the brief line or two from the 1852 letter that would put the real facts before the reader; discreet and silent dots take their place. The British public is apparently to be treated like a child, and told only so much of the truth about Wagner as is thought to be good for it—or at any rate good for Wagner.
[2]This is an error; he arrived in Paris in 1821.
[2]This is an error; he arrived in Paris in 1821.
[3]See Julien Tiersot'sHector Berlioz et la société de son temps(1904)—an excellent book that is indispensable to every student of Berlioz.
[3]See Julien Tiersot'sHector Berlioz et la société de son temps(1904)—an excellent book that is indispensable to every student of Berlioz.
[4]It is interesting to note that Alfred de Musset anticipated Arthur Rimbaud and the modern symbolists in having coloured audition. He once maintained that the note F was yellow, G red, a soprano voice blond, a contralto voice brown. See Arvède Barine'sAlfred de Musset(inLes Grands Écrivains Français), p. 115.
[4]It is interesting to note that Alfred de Musset anticipated Arthur Rimbaud and the modern symbolists in having coloured audition. He once maintained that the note F was yellow, G red, a soprano voice blond, a contralto voice brown. See Arvède Barine'sAlfred de Musset(inLes Grands Écrivains Français), p. 115.
[5]Hoffmann was, of course, a musician as well; but he is more truly the novelist who wrote about music than the musician who wrote fiction.
[5]Hoffmann was, of course, a musician as well; but he is more truly the novelist who wrote about music than the musician who wrote fiction.
[6]Buckle (note 316 to Chap. VII. of theHistory of Civilisation) remarks that "All great revolutions have a direct tendency to increase insanity, as long as they last, and probably for some time afterwards; but in this as in other respects the French Revolution stands alone in the number of its victims." See the references he gives, bearing upon "the horrible but curious subject of madness caused by the excitement of the events which occurred in France late in the eighteenth century." Buckle speaks only of the Revolution, but of course the subsequent wars must have operated in much the same way.
[6]Buckle (note 316 to Chap. VII. of theHistory of Civilisation) remarks that "All great revolutions have a direct tendency to increase insanity, as long as they last, and probably for some time afterwards; but in this as in other respects the French Revolution stands alone in the number of its victims." See the references he gives, bearing upon "the horrible but curious subject of madness caused by the excitement of the events which occurred in France late in the eighteenth century." Buckle speaks only of the Revolution, but of course the subsequent wars must have operated in much the same way.
[7]Chateaubriand,Souvenirs d'enfance et de jeunesse, p. 2.
[7]Chateaubriand,Souvenirs d'enfance et de jeunesse, p. 2.
[8]In his letter of March 18, 1839, he gives Ernest Chevalier the plan of a work that is curiously like that of Berlioz mentioned on page 38, in its preposterous fantasies and its over-emphasis of form and colour.
[8]In his letter of March 18, 1839, he gives Ernest Chevalier the plan of a work that is curiously like that of Berlioz mentioned on page 38, in its preposterous fantasies and its over-emphasis of form and colour.
[9]He puts the same rhodomontade into the mouth of his Lélio.
[9]He puts the same rhodomontade into the mouth of his Lélio.
[10]One or two of these dates can only be looked upon as approximative, but if wrong at all, they are so only to the extent of a year or two, which does not affect the question.
[10]One or two of these dates can only be looked upon as approximative, but if wrong at all, they are so only to the extent of a year or two, which does not affect the question.
[11]It appears from the Sayn-Wittgenstein letters that the beautiful theme of the love-scene inRoméo et Juliettewas inspired by the youthful love for Estelle that also produced the opening theme of theSymphonie fantastique. It must, therefore, have been quite a boyish invention, though no doubt its development and general treatment really belong to 1838.
[11]It appears from the Sayn-Wittgenstein letters that the beautiful theme of the love-scene inRoméo et Juliettewas inspired by the youthful love for Estelle that also produced the opening theme of theSymphonie fantastique. It must, therefore, have been quite a boyish invention, though no doubt its development and general treatment really belong to 1838.
[12]M. Julien Tiersot, in his admirableBerlioz et la société de son temps, divides the life of Berlioz into five epochs—1803-1827 (his childhood, youth, and apprenticeship), 1827-1842 (the epoch of his greatest activity), 1843-1854 (in which he does little exceptFaust, which in reality, perhaps, dates from an earlier time), 1854-1865 (the epoch ofL'Enfance du Christ,Béatrice et Benedict, andLes Troyens), and 1865-1869 (barren of works). The discussion in the text will make it clear why I have substituted my own classification for that of M. Tiersot, and will, I hope, be convincing. One other point deserves noting. Towards the end of hisMémoiresBerlioz tells us that he had dreamed a symphony one night, but deliberately refrained from writing it because of the expense of producing and printing it. Such a reason may have weighed a little with him; but no one who knows anything of artistic psychology can regard it as the total explanation. If the dream-work had really sunk into Berlioz's soul and he had felt that he had full command of it, he could not have rested until he had it down on paper, if only for his own gratification. It is far more probable that he felt himself unequal to the mental strain of thinking out his vision and forcing the stubborn material into a plastic piece of art. There was, I take it, a lassitude of tissue in him at this time that made protracted musical thinking a burden to him.
[12]M. Julien Tiersot, in his admirableBerlioz et la société de son temps, divides the life of Berlioz into five epochs—1803-1827 (his childhood, youth, and apprenticeship), 1827-1842 (the epoch of his greatest activity), 1843-1854 (in which he does little exceptFaust, which in reality, perhaps, dates from an earlier time), 1854-1865 (the epoch ofL'Enfance du Christ,Béatrice et Benedict, andLes Troyens), and 1865-1869 (barren of works). The discussion in the text will make it clear why I have substituted my own classification for that of M. Tiersot, and will, I hope, be convincing. One other point deserves noting. Towards the end of hisMémoiresBerlioz tells us that he had dreamed a symphony one night, but deliberately refrained from writing it because of the expense of producing and printing it. Such a reason may have weighed a little with him; but no one who knows anything of artistic psychology can regard it as the total explanation. If the dream-work had really sunk into Berlioz's soul and he had felt that he had full command of it, he could not have rested until he had it down on paper, if only for his own gratification. It is far more probable that he felt himself unequal to the mental strain of thinking out his vision and forcing the stubborn material into a plastic piece of art. There was, I take it, a lassitude of tissue in him at this time that made protracted musical thinking a burden to him.
[13]On the whole question see the chapter on "Le Tempérament" in Edmond Hippeau'sBerlioz Intime.
[13]On the whole question see the chapter on "Le Tempérament" in Edmond Hippeau'sBerlioz Intime.
[14]The date ofLéliois 1831-1832, but the most absurd thing in it, theChanson de brigands, was written in January 1830—at the same epoch, therefore, as theSymphonie fantastique. It is fairly clear that 1829-1830 marked the climax of Berlioz's eccentricity, and that his passion for Henrietta Smithson had much to do with it.
[14]The date ofLéliois 1831-1832, but the most absurd thing in it, theChanson de brigands, was written in January 1830—at the same epoch, therefore, as theSymphonie fantastique. It is fairly clear that 1829-1830 marked the climax of Berlioz's eccentricity, and that his passion for Henrietta Smithson had much to do with it.
[15]Jullien (p. 241) says "it was about this time that the neuralgiato which he had always been subjectsettled in the intestines...."
[15]Jullien (p. 241) says "it was about this time that the neuralgiato which he had always been subjectsettled in the intestines...."
[16]He himself describes it as "a caprice written with the point of a needle, and demanding excessive delicacy of execution." Yet this is the man for whom the world can find only the one epithet of "extravagant"!
[16]He himself describes it as "a caprice written with the point of a needle, and demanding excessive delicacy of execution." Yet this is the man for whom the world can find only the one epithet of "extravagant"!