Transcript for:
Symphonie fantastique: The Story of Hector Berlioz

23-year-old music student Hector Berlioz has gone to the theatre to  see Shakespeare’s Hamlet. Now he doesn’t understand what’s  going on because it’s all in English but he’s captivated by Harriet Smithson the Irish actress playing the role of Ophelia. Not just captivated... COMPLETELY INFATUATED He turns into the ultimate stage-door Johnny inundating Smithson with impassioned love letters. They tell her nothing her army of  adoring male fans haven’t already said - that she’s so charismatic that she oozes the charm of Ophelia herself and blah blah blah... How very original Hector! His letters aren’t even in English so Harriet  doesn't understand what he’s on about. But lustful lunatic Berlioz steps up his game. He rents rooms next to Harriet’s  so that he can spy on her. He 'accidentally' bumps into her on  the street and rambles gibberish at her still in his own language. But then comes the worst news imaginable; she’s been having an affair with her manager. OF COURSE... Now when Berlioz gets upset we're not talking a few tears here and there. We’re talking severe mental breakdown uncontrollable mood swings diabolical nightmares. Nowadays, you’d see a shrink for this stuff. Perhaps dial a hotline. But Berlioz deals with painful emotions  in perhaps not the healthiest of ways. He gets engaged to the next woman who pops along. He gets hammered on opium and he channels his despair into  an autobiographical symphony. Now all the talk of 1827 is about Beethoven Europe’s greatest composer who has recently died. JUST when Berlioz was getting into him. What a bummer...just imagine missing  out on Beethoven live in concert. Berlioz loves the way the German genius  channelled his emotions through his symphonies. For Beethoven took music out of the  Classical era and into the Romantic age. Berlioz wants to take things further that that. He wants to write a psychological thriller of  a symphony that viscerally moves the listener. He wants to tell an epic, cinematic story. The full Tarantino treatment, you know? He even insists that audiences read his  detailed programme notes to understand   exactly what the music’s depicting. This was unprecedented. Just as unprecedented was  the size of the orchestra, the largest ever assembled for a symphony. He completed the Symphonie fantastique in 1830. It is in five movements spanning almost an hour. In the first movement, eerie woodwinds  introduce us to a lovesick young artist. The tentative music frequently pauses  as though time is slowing down. For our artist is dreaming and we’re  about to enter his world of melancholy. Waves of passion swell and hush. So we’ve got this young artist  with roller-coaster emotions... Remind us of anyone? Yes, this is a self-portrait of Berlioz. We then hear what Berlioz called  the idee fixe or fixed idea the central theme of the entire symphony. It represents the object  of the artist’s affection: that beloved woman of his dreams Harriet Smithson. It leaps up longingly only to  descend with a sigh of despair. It floats flirtatiously over the orchestra which pulses in imitation of the  artist’s quickening heartbeats. It explodes with joyous passion before returning to tender, painful dejection. The vulnerable romantic is  represented by his own motif. It weaves in and out of the idee fixe as though he’s chasing his beloved in his dream. He follows her lingering perfume trail her seductive on-stage gestures her beguiling voice. But the idee fixe overpowers the artist for she obsesses but eludes him. He becomes agitated frustrated by the failed love affair. He turns to religious prayer  to quell his depression and we hear the strings  chanting 'Amen' in accordance. The second movement starts  with two shimmering harps their first use in a symphony orchestra. In Berlioz’s time, you’d more often hear  the harp at a grand domestic soiree. Which is exactly where the artist  now imagines he’s wound up. He’s at a ball in town. Couples waltz elegantly across the dancefloor. Yards of silk swirl behind them. But the glittering scene fails to  distract him from memories of his beloved. For the haunting idee fixe returns as he  catches sight of her on the dancefloor. Her theme interweaves with the waltz but he soon loses her  amongst the twirling dancers. When they come face-to-face on the  dancefloor again, the artist freezes up. He just doesn’t know what to say to her! We’ve all been there right? Just as Berlioz was unable to  sustain Harriet’s attention so is the artist’s beloved  swept into the arms of another. Depressed about this whole episode, the artist  ventures into the countryside for solace. Berlioz now draws on his own childhood growing  up in a small French town near the Alps. For in this third movement  we hear a ranz des vaches – a simple melody traditionally played  by shepherds on the Swiss alpenhorn. A cor anglais engages in a  call and response with an oboe which Berlioz cleverly places offstage. So it sounds as though it is two shepherds  communicating across a vast distance. Cellos, violas and bassoons  play a theme representing   the artist’s inner thoughts and feelings. For he contemplates the beauty of nature  and discovers a sense of inner calm. Perhaps, he hopes, his  loneliness may soon be over. This was much-inspired by Beethoven’s  Pastoral Symphony of twenty years previously. But unlike that symphony, there’s no peace to  be found in this artist’s countryside escape. For oboes and flutes haunt him AGAIN  with a return of the idee fixe. Just what he needed! The idee fixe up high conflicts  with HIS wandering theme down low. The two themes jar uncomfortably. As he becomes increasingly  agitated, we hear tremolo strings. That’s really fast and furious bowing to  express the volatility of his emotions. Berlioz wonders: what if he  WERE to unite with his beloved only for her to betray him for someone else? Jesus, Hector, you’ll go crazy  if you keep thinking like this! I mean, you don’t just go up to a woman and say "So you’d never betray me, right?” before asking “Oh so you live opposite me yeah?” Gotta play the game, Hector! Play the game. Anyway, we hear again that shepherd  calling out his ranz des vaches. But this time, that other shepherd doesn’t reply. Instead, we hear the distant sound of  thunder played by a quartet of timpani, totally revolutionary orchestration for the time. It’s a metaphor for the passing storm  of emotions that torments our artist. Haunted by these torturous  dreams of unrequited love the artist poisons himself with opium. But the dose is too weak to kill him. It merely plunges him into a  series of even WILDER delusions. He hears marching footsteps. Four baying bassoons announce  a procession of soldiers. They’re escorting a prisoner to the  scaffold for a public execution. And to his horror, he hallucinates  that it is HE who is the prisoner HE who has been convicted of murdering his  beloved so that no-one else can have her. A bit far-fetched? Well...no actually. As we know, Berlioz WAS a man of extreme gestures. A year after he wrote the symphony,   Berlioz discovered his fiancée was  having an affair with some sugar daddy. So he bought poisons, pistols and a disguise hatching an elaborate plan to  murder both parties and himself. Thankfully, he never followed through but it’s these episodes that explain why  the subject came so naturally to him. In fact, Berlioz wrote this extraordinary  fourth movement in a single night. A brass band strikes up a military  march typical of those heard at the   public executions that took place Berlioz’s Paris. The artist steps up to the scaffold  and in the last moment of his life   suddenly remembers his beloved. Solo clarinet plays the idee fixe only to  be cut short by the slam of the guillotine. His head bounces down the steps  to the sound of pizzicato strings. Drums roll and the crowds roar in celebration. The final movement continues  the psychedelic opium trip. The artist imagines a black sabbath. We’re not talking Ozzy Osbourne here. We’re talking witches at a  black mass for the artist. OK, maybe that IS Ozzy Osbourne. Strange groans, whispers, bursts  of laughter, distant cries - the artist lies dead on the altar  before these wicked weirdos. And then the chief witch enters. And WOULD YOU KNOW, it’s none other than... ...his murdered beloved! She’s come to preside over his funeral. Shrill clarinets and vulgar  piccolos play her idee fixe. This time it’s no longer a shy and noble theme. It’s now reduced to a grotesque tavern tune,   for Berlioz has transformed the  artist’s beloved into a whore in hell. This was his ultimate revenge on Harriet Smithson  for running off with that manager of hers. A bell chimes the death knell  to start the sinister rite. The devilish cohort sing  the medieval hymn Dies irae: the plainchant of the dead. It’s played on tubas though  Berlioz originally wrote the   part for an unusual now-extinct  instrument called an ophicleide, a cross between a bassoon and saxophone. Time for a merry witches’ round dance as the  gathered cackle over their bubbling cauldrons. Berlioz wrote this bit as a fugue; a sort of complex puzzle in which several musical  ideas develop independently of each other. It is what we call counterpoint. Fugues had to follow strict rules so fugue-WRITING was an academic exercise that   tortured Berlioz when he was  studying at the Paris Conservatoire. What better way to represent hell than with a fugue?! Berlioz instructs the violins  and violas to play col legno meaning to beat the strings with  the wooden backs of the bow. The witches’ dance combines with the Dies irae. Just imagine how controversial this was -  Berlioz essentially parodying the Catholic Mass by placing it in the context of a satanic orgy. The piece ends bombastically with the artist’s  beloved gloating over his soul in damnation. Symphonie fantastique premiered  in 1830 to a mixed reception. Free-thinking Liszt hailed Berlioz a genius. Revolutionary Wagner thought him  a worthy successor to Beethoven. But gentle Mendelssohn was shaken to  the core by the symphony’s excesses. Love or loathe it, no-one was unmoved. Symphonie fantastique was the epitome of  Romanticism: unabashed psychological melodrama straight from the heart and soul of the composer. That Berlioz put something so personal  into his music was shockingly novel. But did it catch the  attention of Harriet Smithson? Well...sadly not. Berlioz moved heaven and  earth to assure her attendance but he’d have to wait another two years to  get her along as a guest of a third party. On that occasion in 1832, she was not  warned of the music on the programme nor was she aware that Berlioz  himself would be there. But he’d given her the best box seat  tickets, a mere ten feet away from him. Countless celebrities were in the audience:  Liszt, Chopin, Paganini, Victor Hugo. But it was Harriet who, without even  knowing it, had inspired the entire evening. As she read Berlioz’s  programme notes very carefully she realised that Symphonie  fantastique was all about her. She was the idee fixe. Harriet agreed to meet Berlioz  but would she marry him? Well, it’s a bit tricky after you’ve  just heard a symphony that says “Erm...I had a dream about you where I killed  you because you didn’t return my love." "Oh and I also turned you into a  devil-whore because of your betrayal.” In typical Berlioz manner, the  composer eventually got what he wanted. He swallowed a lethal dose of  opium right in front of her eyes. At this point, hysterical Harriet  could only consent to marry him. Oh...and five minutes later he conveniently  produced the antidote from his pocket. You scoundrel Berlioz! He’d given hope to stalkers everywhere. Perseverance and a little bit of  genius will get you there in the end. But in a strange twist of fate, the  couple started to act out in REALITY   what the Symphonie fantastique had only imagined. For what Berlioz didn’t know was that this wasn’t  the same Harriet Smithson of six years previously. She was now an alcoholic with a declining  career who’d only married him for his money. She soon lost her looks and  Berlioz’s obsession faded. The marriage grew bitter. They couldn’t even argue in the same language. They separated only a few years later,   Harriet unable to live up to the  woman his symphony had idolised. So the moral of the story? Be careful what you wish for. Oh and also: don’t do drugs kiddos.