There are only five CDs in the third category according to which Berlioz: The Complete Works, the 27-CD boxed set released by Warner Classics, has been organized. This should not be a surprise. Berlioz’ work did not lead him to the church; and, in light of his amorous obsession with the Irish Shakespearean actress Harriet Smithson, one might almost say that the complete works of William Shakespeare were more of a bible to him than any Holy Scripture ever was.
Even his best known work of sacred music had secular roots. In 1837 Berlioz was approached by Adrien de Gasparin, then France’s Minister of the Interior. He was asked to compose music for a Requiem Mass in memory of the soldiers who died during the July Revolution, the “Three Glorious Days” that marked the fall of the Bourbon monarchy and the emergence of a new constitutional order.
The result was the Opus 8 Grande Messe des morts, a work that could be said to have pulled out all the stops were it not for the fact that, by some fluke or another, the pipe organ happened to be missing from the score’s massive instrumentation. Those interested in the full details can find them on the IMSLP Web page for the Opus 8 score, but note that this will involve clicking on the hyperlink for the text “more…”! The score was first performed on December 5, 1837 at Les Invalides, the complex of military-related buildings in Paris, in the Cathedral of Saint-Louis des Invalides. This is an imposing space, fully capable of accommodating all of Berlioz’ resources, including four brass choirs positioned to the north, east, west, and south.
Excerpt of the brass choir music from Berlioz’ Opus 8 (holograph manuscript, from IMSLP, public domain)
This is the sort of music that went down well in the days when “hi-fi” was first being promoted. As might be guessed, the magnitude of it all was dazzlingly captured by RCA Victor engineers responsible for recording a performance given by Charles Munch conducting the Boston Symphony Orchestra. I was a teenager when that album was released; and, like many of my contemporaries, I was obsessed with it. Here was a composer who could easily lord it over even the most aggressive of rock stars!
In retrospect, however, I would say that Munch had the gift of unleashing awesome power without ever being vulgar about it. As a result, I have to say that I miss that sort of excess and found Louis Frémaux’ account with the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra & Chorus to be much too lame to be consistent with Berlioz’ visions. Somewhat more satisfying is the vigorous account of the Opus 22 “Te Deum” setting with John Nelson conducting the Orchestra de Paris; but this is still a case where there is too much letter and not enough spirit.
Far more satisfying is the somewhat dirty little secret about Berlioz that lurks on the first CD in this set, a Mass setting completed in 1825 that was never given an opus number. Once again, this is early Berlioz working with material that would eventually find its way into the published compositions; and those preliminary moments will be recognized by just about all Berlioz lovers. Sure enough, those “first drafts” include the music that would subsequently be assigned to those four brass choirs in the Cathedral of Saint-Louis des Invalides. As might guessed, Berlioz flexed his brass-writing muscles in setting the “Resurrexit” portion of the Mass text. The results are a curious blend of the amusing and the exciting; but, as many a Hollywood producer has declared, “It needs work!”
The remaining major composition in the collection is the Opus 25 oratorio L’Enfance du Christ. This is the quieter side of Berlioz at its best. In terms of personal preferences, just as I previously reported my pleasure in listening to José van Dam sing Mephistophélès in the Opus 24 La Damnation de Faust, I have to say that van Dam brought far more lyricism to the music for Herod than that character probably deserved. Nevertheless, it is unlikely that I shall be listening to Opus 25 in the future on any regular basis.
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