Musicians of To-Day | Page 3

handful of works that they themselves hardly
understand. Meanwhile, music, by its unceasing growth, gives the lie to
their theories, and breaks down these weak barriers. But they do not see
it, do not wish to see it; since they cannot advance themselves, they
deny progress. Critics of this kind do not think favourably of Berlioz's
dramatic and descriptive symphonies. How should they appreciate the
boldest musical achievement of the nineteenth century? These dreadful
pedants and zealous defenders of an art that they only understand after
it has ceased to live are the worst enemies of unfettered genius, and
may do more harm than a whole army of ignorant people. For in a
country like ours, where musical education is poor, timidity is great in
the presence of a strong, but only half-understood, tradition; and
anyone who has the boldness to break away from it is condemned
without judgment. I doubt if Berlioz would have obtained any
consideration at all from lovers of classical music in France if he had
not found allies in that country of classical music, Germany--"the
oracle of Delphi," "Germania alma parens,"[2] as he called her. Some
of the young German school found inspiration in Berlioz. The dramatic
symphony that he created flourished in its German form under Liszt;
the most eminent German composer of to-day, Richard Strauss, came
under his influence; and Felix Weingartner, who with Charles

Malherbe edited Berlioz's complete works, was bold enough to write,
"In spite of Wagner and Liszt, we should not be where we are if Berlioz
had not lived." This unexpected support, coming from a country of
traditions, has thrown the partisans of Classic tradition into confusion,
and rallied Berlioz's friends.
[Footnote 2: _Mémoires_, II, 149.]
But here is a new danger. Though it is natural that Germany, more
musical than France, should recognise the grandeur and originality of
Berlioz's music before France, it is doubtful whether the German nature
could ever fully understand a soul so French in its essence. It is,
perhaps, what is exterior in Berlioz, his positive originality, that the
Germans appreciate. They prefer the Requiem to _Roméo_. A Richard
Strauss would be attracted by an almost insignificant work like the
_Ouverture du roi Lear_; a Weingartner would single out for notice
works like the Symphonic fantastique and Harold, and exaggerate their
importance. But they do not feel what is intimate in him. Wagner said
over the tomb of Weber, "England does you justice, France admires
you, but only Germany loves you; you are of her own being, a glorious
day of her life, a warm drop of her blood, a part of her heart...." One
might adapt his words to Berlioz; it is as difficult for a German really to
love Berlioz as it is for a Frenchman to love Wagner or Weber. One
must, therefore, be careful about accepting unreservedly the judgment
of Germany on Berlioz; for in that would lie the danger of a new
misunderstanding. You see how both the followers and opponents of
Berlioz hinder us from getting at the truth. Let us dismiss them.
Have we now come to the end of our difficulties? Not yet; for Berlioz
is the most illusive of men, and no one has helped more than he to
mislead people in their estimate of him. We know how much he has
written about music and about his own life, and what wit and
understanding he shows in his shrewd criticisms and charming
_Mémoires_.[3]
[Footnote 3: The literary work of Berlioz is rather uneven. Beside
passages of exquisite beauty we find others that are ridiculous in their
exaggerated sentiment, and there are some that even lack good taste.

But he had a natural gift of style, and his writing is vigorous, and full of
feeling, especially towards the latter half of his life. The Procession des
Rogations is often quoted from the _Mémoires_; and some of his
poetical text, particularly that in _L'Enfance du Christ_ and in Les
Troyens, is written in beautiful language and with a fine sense of
rhythm. His _Mémoires_ as a whole is one of the most delightful books
ever written by an artist. Wagner was a greater poet, but as a prose
writer Berlioz is infinitely superior. See Paul Morillot's essay on
_Berlioz écrivain_, 1903, Grenoble.] One would think that such an
imaginative and skilful writer, accustomed in his profession of critic to
express every shade of feeling, would be able to tell us more exactly his
ideas of art than a Beethoven or a Mozart. But it is not so. As too much
light may blind the vision, so too much intellect may hinder the
understanding. Berlioz's mind spent itself in details; it reflected light
from too many facets, and did not focus itself in one strong beam which
would have