Berlioz
[I joined this forum to learn more about the mighty Ludwig van Beethoven – man and music. I joined the Mozartforum with a similar desire about the great Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Both forums (or should that be fora) rightly do not restrict discussion to just their eponymous composers since neither WAM nor LvB lived and worked in a vacuum. However, a high proportion of the bandwidth on this forum seems to have been taken up by an issue which is not only not about Beethoven, but is only, if you think about it, secondarily about music.
I therefore introduce my post in a new thread with an apology that this might seem to be in a similar category.]
It is always pleasant to find oneself changing one's opinion in a positive way about anyone, whether living or dead. I had such an experience over this past weekend.
As those who have bothered to read my posts on the non-Beethoven threads in this forum will realise, I have not exactly been enthusiastic about Hector Berlioz, man or music. The music bit is of course personal taste. The man bit is because I had read extracts of his writings which made him seem to me to be a rather silly person, and, much worse, a xenophobe, and indeed a bit of a racist (as far as non-Europeans were concerned). The excessive adulation which he seemed to evoke in some people did not help his image in my eyes. As far as I could see, he certainly could not be described as a “great man”, whatever his merits as a composer.
Last Saturday, I visited a local second-hand bookshop which has a music section where in the past I have managed to find some interesting books. This last week there was a copy of “A Life of Love and Music”, the memoirs, indeed autobiography, of none other than Berlioz. This was a 1987 reprint (with corrections) of the translation by David Cairns. I hope atheists will understand when I say that I almost felt a sense of divine guidance that I should look again at this rather strange man, who, whatever my personal reaction to him and his music might be, was clearly an “interesting historical figure” in the history of music.
I haven’t had much time yet to properly read more than the first few chapters. However, I find that I am already feeling much warmer about Monsieur Berlioz (as a man) than I did before. I realise that the extracts of his writings which I had read before were unrepresentative of the man as a whole. They tended very much to represent only a few facets of his complex personality, and facets which I found rather unattractive.
I haven’t, as yet, been anywhere near converted to the “Berlioz was a great man” idea. But I do believe that he was an altogether “weightier” personality than I had thought. He still strikes me as being sometimes (quite often) rather silly. But instead of finding that irritating, I now find it rather touching – even endearing. And I am beginning to be moved by many of the circumstances of his life, and his struggle for recognition (I haven’t yet got very far in his book, but I have read about him in other books, such as “The Lives of the Great Composers” by Harold Schonberg). In particular the sadness of his lonely and isolated final years strikes me as a tragedy in the full, deep, and original Greek, meaning of this term – in that was an almost predictable outcome of his character, both in its strengths and its weaknesses.
As for his xenophobia, in this he was sadly probably expressing no more than the general views of Europeans, including the French, of his time. In this particular respect he was totally conventional, not a “revolutionary” at all. It would be good had he been more enlightened in this, but at least he wasn’t a really evil and dangerous racist of the type of Wagner.
Having rather changed my mind on Berlioz as a man, this has prompted me to see if I can change my mind on him as a composer as well. When I was younger, I didn’t like Bruckner as a composer, but changed my mind after hearing a marvellous performance of his 9th symphony a few years ago.
Just today, looking through the CDs at a local shop, I found a CD of the “Symphonie Fantastique”, together with the overtures “Le Corsaire” and “Le Carnaval Romain”. I bought it, and have just listened to it. While I wasn’t blown over by it, there were some passages which I found very enjoyable. I must persevere. I understand from Schonberg’s book that his finest music is in “Les Troyens”, some of the best passages which are, according to him, up to the standards of Wagner.
Meanwhile, to anyone who has not read it, I recommend “A Life of Love and Music” as a very good read. As has sometimes been pointed out, it “reads like a novel”. Of course, we should remember that this is Berlioz’s own account of himself and his dealings with others. In most cases we don’t have the other side of the story – this is the story as Berlioz wants us to see it. And, as the translator David Cairns points out “Like most autobiographies, Berlioz’s contains errors of fact and emphasis”.
Meanwhile I reflect that, perhaps more than other great composers, Berlioz has not been well served by his “fans”. As I’ve said, the extracts of his writings which tend to be quoted are those which stress only particular aspects of his character, usually the overblown, hyper-Romantic parts. [And I wish that that xenophobic, racist, newspaper music reviewer hadn’t chosen to concentrate with special glee on the few indications of Berlioz’s own, probably much milder, xenophobia]. Berlioz enthusiasts seem to have a tendency to be so “over the top” in their expressions of their love, that it will put off many not already converted to his cause.
It may be that Berlioz, by his very character, both real and as self-portrayed, tends to attract people of a particular emotional type – obsessive, enthusiastic, fanatical. People of this type have many strong positive features – indeed I am sure that they figure prominently among the “movers and shakers of the world”*. “Movers and shakers” both of good – and evil. Without people of this type, we might still be in the Dark Ages. But without other people of this type, we might never have had Auschwitz or the Gulags.
The end of Schonberg’s chapter on Berlioz reads: “Perhaps Berlioz will always remain the object of veneration by a strong and articulate minority. He could not speak to Everyman. But there is not one piece of his that lacks its incandescent moments. And then Berlioz is seen plain, his eagle beak defiantly thrust at the heavens, glorifying in a kind of tonal magnificence and an ideal of self-expression that make the concept of Romanticism very clear”.
Regards to all,
Frank
[* This oft-quoted phrase comes from a poem “The Music Makers” by the British poet Arthur O’Shaughnessy. The poem strikes me as almost an anthem of High Romanticism. As such, and as I have been asked to define what I mean by “Romanticism”, I will quote it in full:
We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.
With wonderful deathless ditties,
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample a kingdom down.
We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.
A breath of our inspiration,
Is the life of each generation.
A wondrous thing of our dreaming,
Unearthly, impossible seeming-
The soldier, the king, and the peasant
Are working together in one,
Till our dream shall become their present,
And their work in the world be done.
They had no vision amazing
Of the goodly house they are raising.
They had no divine foreshowing
Of the land to which they are going:
But on one man's soul it hath broken,
A light that doth not depart
And his look, or a word he hath spoken,
Wrought flame in another man's heart.
And therefore today is thrilling,
With a past day's late fulfilling.
And the multitudes are enlisted
In the faith that their fathers resisted,
And, scorning the dream of tomorrow,
Are bringing to pass, as they may,
In the world, for its joy or its sorrow,
The dream that was scorned yesterday.
But we, with our dreaming and singing,
Ceaseless and sorrowless we!
The glory about us clinging
Of the glorious futures we see,
Our souls with high music ringing;
O men! It must ever be
That we dwell, in our dreaming and singing,
A little apart from ye.
For we are afar with the dawning
And the suns that are not yet high,
And out of the infinite morning
Intrepid you hear us cry-
How, spite of your human scorning,
Once more God's future draws nigh,
And already goes forth the warning
That ye of the past must die.
Great hail! we cry to the comers
From the dazzling unknown shore;
Bring us hither your sun and your summers,
And renew our world as of yore;
You shall teach us your song's new numbers,
And things that we dreamed not before;
Yea, in spite of a dreamer who slumbers,
And a singer who sings no more.
If you like the poem, you are far from alone. It was admired by W.B.Yeats, and set to music at least twice, by Edward Elgar and Zoltan Kodaly. I personally find it both aspirational and arrogant, both inspirational and pompous. Usually only the first three stanzas are quoted, which rather improves it, in that this section includes the finest imagery, and excludes the most obvious “better than the common herd” arrogance (of, especially, the seventh stanza). The whole encapsulates for me both the strengths and the weaknesses of the Romantic movement, in which the mighty Ludwig van Beethoven played no small part.]
[This message has been edited by Frank H (edited 02-20-2006).]
[This message has been edited by Frank H (edited 02-20-2006).]
[This message has been edited by Frank H (edited 02-21-2006).]
[This message has been edited by Frank H (edited 02-21-2006).]
I therefore introduce my post in a new thread with an apology that this might seem to be in a similar category.]
It is always pleasant to find oneself changing one's opinion in a positive way about anyone, whether living or dead. I had such an experience over this past weekend.
As those who have bothered to read my posts on the non-Beethoven threads in this forum will realise, I have not exactly been enthusiastic about Hector Berlioz, man or music. The music bit is of course personal taste. The man bit is because I had read extracts of his writings which made him seem to me to be a rather silly person, and, much worse, a xenophobe, and indeed a bit of a racist (as far as non-Europeans were concerned). The excessive adulation which he seemed to evoke in some people did not help his image in my eyes. As far as I could see, he certainly could not be described as a “great man”, whatever his merits as a composer.
Last Saturday, I visited a local second-hand bookshop which has a music section where in the past I have managed to find some interesting books. This last week there was a copy of “A Life of Love and Music”, the memoirs, indeed autobiography, of none other than Berlioz. This was a 1987 reprint (with corrections) of the translation by David Cairns. I hope atheists will understand when I say that I almost felt a sense of divine guidance that I should look again at this rather strange man, who, whatever my personal reaction to him and his music might be, was clearly an “interesting historical figure” in the history of music.
I haven’t had much time yet to properly read more than the first few chapters. However, I find that I am already feeling much warmer about Monsieur Berlioz (as a man) than I did before. I realise that the extracts of his writings which I had read before were unrepresentative of the man as a whole. They tended very much to represent only a few facets of his complex personality, and facets which I found rather unattractive.
I haven’t, as yet, been anywhere near converted to the “Berlioz was a great man” idea. But I do believe that he was an altogether “weightier” personality than I had thought. He still strikes me as being sometimes (quite often) rather silly. But instead of finding that irritating, I now find it rather touching – even endearing. And I am beginning to be moved by many of the circumstances of his life, and his struggle for recognition (I haven’t yet got very far in his book, but I have read about him in other books, such as “The Lives of the Great Composers” by Harold Schonberg). In particular the sadness of his lonely and isolated final years strikes me as a tragedy in the full, deep, and original Greek, meaning of this term – in that was an almost predictable outcome of his character, both in its strengths and its weaknesses.
As for his xenophobia, in this he was sadly probably expressing no more than the general views of Europeans, including the French, of his time. In this particular respect he was totally conventional, not a “revolutionary” at all. It would be good had he been more enlightened in this, but at least he wasn’t a really evil and dangerous racist of the type of Wagner.
Having rather changed my mind on Berlioz as a man, this has prompted me to see if I can change my mind on him as a composer as well. When I was younger, I didn’t like Bruckner as a composer, but changed my mind after hearing a marvellous performance of his 9th symphony a few years ago.
Just today, looking through the CDs at a local shop, I found a CD of the “Symphonie Fantastique”, together with the overtures “Le Corsaire” and “Le Carnaval Romain”. I bought it, and have just listened to it. While I wasn’t blown over by it, there were some passages which I found very enjoyable. I must persevere. I understand from Schonberg’s book that his finest music is in “Les Troyens”, some of the best passages which are, according to him, up to the standards of Wagner.
Meanwhile, to anyone who has not read it, I recommend “A Life of Love and Music” as a very good read. As has sometimes been pointed out, it “reads like a novel”. Of course, we should remember that this is Berlioz’s own account of himself and his dealings with others. In most cases we don’t have the other side of the story – this is the story as Berlioz wants us to see it. And, as the translator David Cairns points out “Like most autobiographies, Berlioz’s contains errors of fact and emphasis”.
Meanwhile I reflect that, perhaps more than other great composers, Berlioz has not been well served by his “fans”. As I’ve said, the extracts of his writings which tend to be quoted are those which stress only particular aspects of his character, usually the overblown, hyper-Romantic parts. [And I wish that that xenophobic, racist, newspaper music reviewer hadn’t chosen to concentrate with special glee on the few indications of Berlioz’s own, probably much milder, xenophobia]. Berlioz enthusiasts seem to have a tendency to be so “over the top” in their expressions of their love, that it will put off many not already converted to his cause.
It may be that Berlioz, by his very character, both real and as self-portrayed, tends to attract people of a particular emotional type – obsessive, enthusiastic, fanatical. People of this type have many strong positive features – indeed I am sure that they figure prominently among the “movers and shakers of the world”*. “Movers and shakers” both of good – and evil. Without people of this type, we might still be in the Dark Ages. But without other people of this type, we might never have had Auschwitz or the Gulags.
The end of Schonberg’s chapter on Berlioz reads: “Perhaps Berlioz will always remain the object of veneration by a strong and articulate minority. He could not speak to Everyman. But there is not one piece of his that lacks its incandescent moments. And then Berlioz is seen plain, his eagle beak defiantly thrust at the heavens, glorifying in a kind of tonal magnificence and an ideal of self-expression that make the concept of Romanticism very clear”.
Regards to all,
Frank
[* This oft-quoted phrase comes from a poem “The Music Makers” by the British poet Arthur O’Shaughnessy. The poem strikes me as almost an anthem of High Romanticism. As such, and as I have been asked to define what I mean by “Romanticism”, I will quote it in full:
We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.
With wonderful deathless ditties,
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample a kingdom down.
We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.
A breath of our inspiration,
Is the life of each generation.
A wondrous thing of our dreaming,
Unearthly, impossible seeming-
The soldier, the king, and the peasant
Are working together in one,
Till our dream shall become their present,
And their work in the world be done.
They had no vision amazing
Of the goodly house they are raising.
They had no divine foreshowing
Of the land to which they are going:
But on one man's soul it hath broken,
A light that doth not depart
And his look, or a word he hath spoken,
Wrought flame in another man's heart.
And therefore today is thrilling,
With a past day's late fulfilling.
And the multitudes are enlisted
In the faith that their fathers resisted,
And, scorning the dream of tomorrow,
Are bringing to pass, as they may,
In the world, for its joy or its sorrow,
The dream that was scorned yesterday.
But we, with our dreaming and singing,
Ceaseless and sorrowless we!
The glory about us clinging
Of the glorious futures we see,
Our souls with high music ringing;
O men! It must ever be
That we dwell, in our dreaming and singing,
A little apart from ye.
For we are afar with the dawning
And the suns that are not yet high,
And out of the infinite morning
Intrepid you hear us cry-
How, spite of your human scorning,
Once more God's future draws nigh,
And already goes forth the warning
That ye of the past must die.
Great hail! we cry to the comers
From the dazzling unknown shore;
Bring us hither your sun and your summers,
And renew our world as of yore;
You shall teach us your song's new numbers,
And things that we dreamed not before;
Yea, in spite of a dreamer who slumbers,
And a singer who sings no more.
If you like the poem, you are far from alone. It was admired by W.B.Yeats, and set to music at least twice, by Edward Elgar and Zoltan Kodaly. I personally find it both aspirational and arrogant, both inspirational and pompous. Usually only the first three stanzas are quoted, which rather improves it, in that this section includes the finest imagery, and excludes the most obvious “better than the common herd” arrogance (of, especially, the seventh stanza). The whole encapsulates for me both the strengths and the weaknesses of the Romantic movement, in which the mighty Ludwig van Beethoven played no small part.]
[This message has been edited by Frank H (edited 02-20-2006).]
[This message has been edited by Frank H (edited 02-20-2006).]
[This message has been edited by Frank H (edited 02-21-2006).]
[This message has been edited by Frank H (edited 02-21-2006).]
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