Jaren Hinckley

As mentioned in last week’s post, I am focusing each blog post in the month of October on pieces that use the “Dies Irae”—the medieval chant for the dead—to inspire dread in the hearts of the listeners. This week’s piece?…

 

TITLE: Symphonie Fantastique, Op. 14

 

This is a program symphony (a multi-movement work that tells a story through music [no words]) with a pretty insane origin. Here we go: Hector Berlioz attended the theater one night to see a production of Romeo & Juliet, which starred Irish actress Harriet Smithson. Berlioz fell madly in love and began to write fan letters to her. She responded at first, but soon realized that his letters were getting a bit too forward and perhaps even a bit creepy (“how I long for the day when we live in our mountain chateau and hear the pitter-patter of feet as our children play…”). She quit opening his letters and when she had a nice big bundle of them, sent them back to him in a package. She hoped he would get the message. He took this rejection hard. To him, it was as though they had years of a relationship; the worst break-up ever. He was heartsick and decided to kill himself. He took an overdose of opium (the trendy drug in that day), but instead of killing him, the drug plunged him into a deep sleep in which he had terrible vivid nightmares. When he awoke, he decided life was worth living after all AND that his nightmares would be a great inspiration for a program symphony.

DESCRIPTION OF THE PIECE: I am including Berlioz’ own “program” here so you can read what each movement is about:

 

1st mvt. “The author imagines that a young vibrant musician, afflicted by the sickness of spirit which a famous writer has called the wave of passions, sees for the first time a woman who unites all the charms of the ideal person his imagination was dreaming of, and falls desperately in love with her. By a strange anomaly, the beloved image never presents itself to the artist’s mind without being associated with a musical idea, in which he recognises a certain quality of passion, but endowed with the nobility and shyness which he credits to the object of his love. This melodic image and its model keep haunting him ceaselessly like an idée fixe (obsession). This explains the constant recurrence in all the movements of the symphony of the melody which launches the first allegro. The transitions from this state of dreamy melancholy, interrupted by occasional upsurges of aimless joy, to delirious passion, with its outbursts of fury and jealousy, its returns of tenderness, its tears, its religious consolations – all this forms the subject of the first movement.”

 

As you read his words, you can see that this program symphony is quite autobiographical. The idée fixe he mentions is a lengthy melody that represents the beloved woman. Here is the idée fixe in its entirety (around the five minute mark):

 

From this point on, whenever you hear that idée fixe melody whether in its entirety or fragmented, it will always be representative of “the beloved” woman.

Here’s Berlioz’ description of the 2nd movement, subtitled “Un bal” (a ball):

“The artist finds himself in the most diverse situations in life, in the tumult of a festive party, in the peaceful contemplation of the beautiful sights of nature, yet everywhere, whether in town or in the countryside, the beloved image keeps haunting him and throws his spirit into confusion.”

 

The idée fixe shows up twice in this movement. Once about midway through, when he is at a ball. I like to imagine that he sees her across the room, but she is unaware of him. Here’s the first occurrence of the idée fixe in this movement, and, since he is at a ball, the idée fixe has been re-written in a triple meter pattern to make it sound like a dance. While you listen to it, look at the music (above) to see how the note pattern remains the same, despite the change in meter.

 

 

It occurs again near the end of the 2nd movement in a fragmented form:

 

Third movement: “Scène aux champs” (Scene in the Fields)

 

“One evening in the countryside he hears two shepherds in the distance dialoguing with their alpen horns; this pastoral duet, the setting, the gentle rustling of the trees in the wind, some causes for hope that he has recently conceived, all conspire to restore to his heart an unaccustomed feeling of calm and to give to his thoughts a happier colouring. He broods on his loneliness, and hopes that soon he will no longer be on his own … But what if she betrayed him! … This mingled hope and fear, these ideas of happiness, disturbed by dark premonitions, form the subject of the adagio. At the end one of the shepherds resumes his alpen horn tune; the other one no longer answers. Distant sound of thunder … solitude … silence …”

 

The idée fixe appears in this movement at a moment when he is thinking of his beloved and is beset with doubts about her fidelity.

 

 

Fourth movement: “Marche au supplice” (March to the Scaffold)

“Convinced that his love is unappreciated, the artist poisons himself with opium. The dose of narcotic, while too weak to cause his death, plunges him into a heavy sleep accompanied by the strangest of visions. He dreams that he has killed his beloved, that he is condemned, led to the scaffold and is witnessing his own execution. As he cries for forgiveness the effects of the narcotic set in. He wants to hide but he cannot so he watches as an onlooker as he dies. The procession advances to the sound of a march that is sometimes sombre and wild, and sometimes brilliant and solemn, in which a dull sound of heavy footsteps follows without transition the loudest outbursts. At the end of the march, the first four bars of the idée fixe reappear like a final thought of love interrupted by the fatal blow.”

 

Here is the fragmented idée fixe just before the axe falls (the last minute or so of the movement). Incidentally, Berlioz’ description is not quite specific enough for my taste, so let me be even more specific—you’ll hear the first few notes of the idée fixe, then you’ll hear the axe fall, then the head falling and bouncing at least once, and finally the “Hurrah”s of the assembled crowd.

 

 

Fifth movement: “Songe d’une nuit de sabbat” (Dreams of a Witches’ Sabbath)

 

“He sees himself at a witches’ sabbath, in the midst of a hideous gathering of shades, sorcerers and monsters of every kind who have come together for his funeral. Strange sounds, groans, outbursts of laughter; distant shouts which seem to be answered by more shouts. The beloved melody appears once more, but has now lost its noble and shy character; it is now no more than a vulgar dance tune, trivial and grotesque: it is she who is coming to the sabbath … Roar of delight at her arrival … She joins the diabolical revelry … The funeral knell tolls, burlesque parody of the Dies irae, the dance of the witches. The dance of the witches combined with the Dies irae.”

 

I love this movement on so many levels. First of all, it’s creepy in its musical description of hell (or purgatory), plus the use of the idée fixe is fantastic. In this movement, as mentioned above, the idée fixe is mocking the whole concept of the “beloved.” Here it is, first stated in a fragment by the normal clarinet, interrupted by an orchestral outburst, immediately followed by a full version of the idée fixe played by the grating, high, shrill e-flat clarinet:

 

 

HIGHLIGHT: But all this idée fixe business is not why I chose this work for this week’s blog post. I chose it because it also features the use of the “Dies Irae” to help inspire dread in the listener; to help illustrate the plight of the main character in Symphonie Fantastique.” Shortly after the “beloved” appears and we hear the idée fixe in its transformed state, we hear a bell toll followed by the “Dies Irae.” Here’s a reminder of what the original medieval “Dies Irae” sounded like:

 

 

And here it is, the first time it appears in the fifth movement:

 

 

And here it is over and over again, played by different instrument groupings at different tempi in the final movement of Berlioz’ masterwork Symphonie Fantastique.  Enjoy…and tremble in your boots!

 

 

I would, of course, highly recommend that you listen to the entire work–especially since you have the story, in Berlioz’ own words provided for you (above).  Here’s a YouTube link to a complete performance of the work.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yK6iAxe0oEc

WHAT’S LEFT TO LISTEN TO BY BERLIOZ?:

A lot, including another massive symphony called “Lelio” based on the EXACT SAME idée fixe!

 

HILARIOUS EPILOGUE: After his rejection by Harriet Smithson—and after he got over the break-up by writing Symphonie Fantastique—he got engaged to another woman named Camille, a pianist. Shortly after their engagement, he won the prestigious composition competition—the Prix de Rome—which required that he relocate to Italy for a year. He asked Camille to wait for him, which she agreed to. Off he went to Rome. Shortly after he arrived in Italy, a friend wrote him to inform him that Camille had married a piano-maker. Berlioz hopped on a boat to take him back to France with revenge on his mind. He decided that he would kill Camille, her new husband and her mother (who should have prevented the marriage). Armed with two pistols, a bottle of poison, and a maid’s uniform, his plan was to dress up in the uniform to gain entrance to their home. However, on the boat ride over, he thought better of his plan and decided to kill himself by leaping overboard. When he leapt overboard, the ship was just pulling into the harbor and people on shore jumped in to save him. The dip in the cold water brought him to his senses and he decided to take his revenge another way. He wrote a short story about a loose woman named “Ellimac” (Camille backwards) who used her beauty to get gifts and money from men. As her looks faded, she resorted to prostituting herself. The story ends with her being crushed to death, when the seedy brothel in which she plies her trade collapses.

 

Satisfied by this revenge, and now that he was becoming famous as a composer, he decided to write to Harriet Smithson again. Her fame was on the wane, so she thought, “Hey, maybe if I marry a famous composer, I’ll be famous again” and she accepted his advances. They were married for 11 years before they separated (due to constant fighting), at which point, Berlioz moved in with a mistress, Marie Recio. Berlioz continued to financially support Harriet through the years; when she suffered a series of strokes and became an invalid, Berlioz paid all her medical bills and watched over her with great concern and love. When she passed away in 1854, Berlioz married Marie. She preceded him in death by seven years. All three of them—Hector, Harriet, and Marie—are buried in the Montmartre cemetery in Paris, France. Here are two pictures–one of their tomb (note me and Emma peeking through the headstone) and one of the side of the tomb with the inscription for Harriet and Marie: