HERBERT F. PEYSER
Hector Berlioz
A Romantic Tragedy
Written for and dedicated to
the
RADIO MEMBERS
of
THE PHILHARMONIC-SYMPHONY SOCIETY
of NEW YORK
Copyright 1949
THE PHILHARMONIC-SYMPHONY SOCIETY
of NEW YORK
113 West 57th Street
New York 19, N. Y.
1865—Berlioz—Theme from the beginning of the Fantastique Symphony
FOREWORD
A thumbnail sketch like the present is, of course, thelast place in the world to recount even an infinitesimalpart of a life so vivid and crowded with bitter conflictand tragic experience as that of Hector Berlioz; and theperson who attempts it is beaten in advance. Moreover,such an effort seems almost gratuitous. For Berlioz hastold his own story better than anyone else could possiblydo it. When Ernest Newman was asked at one timeto write a new biography of the epoch-making composerhe informed the publisher who suggested it that “noLife by any other hands will ever be able to bear comparisonas a piece of literature with Berlioz’ Autobiography.All others are for the most part a wateringdown into the author’s inferior style of the sparklingprose of Berlioz himself”. How much more futile is it toattempt on the minuscule scale of the following tiny, iframbling, pamphlet to touch upon even a thousandthof those achievements and unremitting conflicts whichentered into the texture of this master’s agitated andinharmonious life! Actually, it aims to do no more thancontribute a mite toward a larger interest in the writingsand the great mass of insufficiently discovered compositionsof a Romanticist whose labors are still surprisinglyunrecognized art works of the future.
H. F. P.
HECTOR BERLIOZ
A Romantic Tragedy
By
HERBERT F. PEYSER
“No doubt I deserve to go to Hell”, said Berlioz onceto a friend who had reproached him for his treatment ofHenrietta Smithson, his first wife; “but what would youhave? I am in Hell already!”
It was not an exaggeration or a figure of speech.Berlioz was in hell the greater part of his life. Of allthe great composers he was perhaps the most consistentlywretched. Misery and frustration pursued him from hisyouth to his grave. Time and again his existence seemedlike the fulfillment of a curse. Actually, his mother hadcalled one down upon him at the very beginning of hiscareer and for the rest of his days it appeared to workitself out implacably. One might even believe the maledictionhad retained its power beyond the tomb. For theposthumous glory of Berlioz is by no means unchallenged.Almost alone among the masters he does not commandanything like universal admiration, let alone affection.He has his redoubtable champions and they includemany of the greatest musicians, living and dead. Butwhere Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin, Schubert,Brahms, Wagner need no defense Berlioz incontestablydoes. Rightly or wrongly he continues to be a problem,with all that this condition implies. Yet without him