Hector Berlioz (1803-1869)
Roméo et Juliette, Dramatic Symphony for Soloists, Chorus and Orchestra, Op 17 (1839)
 Alfreda Hodgson (mezzo-soprano); Philip Langridge (tenor); Stephen Roberts (baritone)
Chor des Bayerischen Rundfunks; Südfunk Chor
Radio-Sinfonieorchester Stuttgart des SWR / Gary Bertini
rec. live 28 January, 1982, Stuttgart, Liederhalle
French text, English & German translations included
SWR Music SWR19167CD [2 CDs:100]

Ralph Moore’s recent review of the complete Mahler symphony cycle by the Cologne Radio Symphony Orchestra and Gary Bertini (1927-2005) piqued my interest and motivated me to request this Berlioz recording, made at a concert when Bertini was guest conducting in Stuttgart.  

Before I go any further, I should clear up one matter. The documentation accompanying these discs states that the baritone soloist was John Shirley-Quirk. I did some sampling of the discs when they arrived and one passage on which I alighted was Père Laurence’s solo, ‘Pauvres enfants que je pleure’. It was immediately obvious to me that the sound which I was hearing was not that of the distinctive voice of John Shirley-Quirk, though I could not identify who I was hearing. An enquiry of the label established that there has been a misattribution: the soloist is Stephen Roberts.

Roméo et Juliette offers a particular example of the innovative genius of Hector Berlioz. Beethoven had memorably included voices in the finale of his Ninth symphony but Berlioz took this innovation much further, using singers, both solo and choral, at several strategic points in his symphonic work inspired by Shakespeare’s play. As Norbert Florian Schuck reminds us in his booklet notes, when Berlioz saw stagings of Hamlet and then Romeo and Juliet on consecutive days in 1827, he was completely smitten and thereafter the Bard exercised a significant creative influence over him. Ironically, though, when he came to write Roméo et Juliette, more than a decade later, the libretto, authored by the poet and journalist, Emile Deschamps (1791-1871), included not a single line from Shakespeare’s play. Furthermore, at Berlioz’s instigation, I presume, the closing scene of the libretto followed the adaptation of Romeo and Juliet by the British actor, David Garrick in which the young lovers are briefly but tragically reunited at the Capulet family tomb. (I believe it was the Garrick adaptation of the play which Berlioz saw in 1827.) In one other important respect, Berlioz departed from Shakespeare in that he used the orchestra alone to move the story along, without any sung words, for significant stretches of the symphony.

Berlioz was never one to let practical considerations stand in the way of his creativity. In Roméo et Juliette three soloists are required but each one of them appears but once and in addition, the chorus, which is at times pared back to a small semi chorus, is far from constantly employed. These factors, allied to the length of the work, perhaps go some way to explaining why live performances of the symphony don’t happen as often as the inspired nature of the music ought to justify: I’ve never had the chance to hear the work live during some six decades of concert-going. I very much regret that, because the work contains some of the most original music in all of Berlioz’s output; at least, though, the beautiful and inspired Scène d’amour is quite often played as a standalone orchestral item in concerts.

I did not intend to make detailed comparisons with any other recordings, simply because this Bertini performance was a one-off live event which, at the time it was given, was never intended for commercial release. That said, the mix-up over the baritone soloist drew me back to Sir Colin Davis’s 1968 Philips version, made under studio conditions. When Ralph Moore made Roméo et Juliette the subject of one of his customarily thorough and perceptive surveys of recordings, he observed that the very opening, in which Berlioz depicted the feud between the Capulet and Montague families, was taken very swiftly indeed by Davis; he said that it was “exciting, yes,…but really frantic”. I know what he means, but I have to say that I think Davis nails it in terms of strife and hostility. Bertini is a little steadier and I don’t find his opening quite as exciting. I do think, though, that the Stuttgart trombone section is very imposing when, later in this episode, they depict the Prince quelling the warring factions.

An early instance of Berlioz’s innovations in this score is the use of a semi chorus to deliver the first piece of narrative. I suspect it may be the Südfunk Chor that provides the semi-chorus: they do well. In fact, all the chorus work throughout the performance is good. ‘Strophes’ gives us an opportunity to hear that fine British mezzo, Alfreda Hodgson (1940-1992). Here, she treats us to very expressive singing. Her French is good and she communicates the words and music extremely well. Next up on the soloists’ roster is Philip Langridge (1939-2010). He has the shortest contribution but, my word, it’s a challenging one. I really admire the light, crisp and animated singing he offers in ‘Mab! La messagère’. The music goes like the wind but Langridge achieves commendable clarity, as do the supporting choir and orchestra. Though the other soloist doesn’t appear until much later in the symphony, it is logical to consider now the contribution of Stephen Roberts (1949-2022). The role of Père Laurence is crucial at the end of the work; the singer has to express great sorrow at the fate of the young lovers, reproach the feuding families and then inspire them to reconciliation. Roberts is probably best in the reproachful aspect of the role. Overall, though, I found his singing rather unvaried and though he sings with clarity the sound of his voice is, to my ears, uningratiating. By contrast, John Shirley-Quirk, who sings on the 1968 Davis set, is not only much more expressive but also offers considerably more tonal variety. I entirely agree with the view of his contribution that Ralph Moore reached in his survey.

As I’ve indicated, Berlioz places a huge responsibility on the orchestra. The members of Radio-Sinfonieorchester Stuttgart des SWR play well for Bertini. I like, for instance, the pleasing elfin lightness that they bring to the scherzo movement, ‘La Reine Mab’. They also contribute very well to the success of the ‘Convoi funèbre de Juliette’. David Cairns has aptly described this part of the symphony as “a movement of haunting melancholy”. The first part of the movement has the choir singing for much of the time on a monotone; this section reminds me of a similar device that Berlioz deployed in the ‘Offertoire’ movement of the Requiem; in both cases, the text is quietly declaimed in a way that doesn’t draw great attention to itself while the “accompanying” orchestra actually has most of the musical interest. In the case of this symphony, when later in the section the chorus part expands into contrapuntal lines to mourn Juliette the effect is magnified on account of the great restraint of their preceding music. Bertini, his singers and players do this movement very well indeed. They make a good job of the Scène d’amour but here I made my final comparison with the 1968 Davis recording and found that there is more of a sense of magic than Bertini and his orchestra conjure. That’s true at the start of the scene, and later when that lovely extended melody is unfolded by flute and cor anglais, I find myself even more attracted to the way Davis and the LSO deliver the music than I do when listening to the Bertini performance. I should say. though, that in the later passages where the music becomes more ardent, Bertini and his colleagues don’t disappoint. I should also record that earlier in the score Bertini and his colleagues play ‘Roméo seul’ with sensitivity. Overall, throughout the symphony the orchestral playing is very good and committed.

So, there’s a good deal to admire in Bertini’s performance. I enjoyed it and I’m very glad I’ve heard it. He has a good feel for the music and conducts with empathy. I might not recommend it as a ‘library choice’; there are other versions that have a greater claim on the attention of listeners. However, it is well worth hearing as an alternative version to recordings made under studio conditions. The recorded sound is perfectly satisfactory, especially when one considers that the recording is over 40 years old. I found the sound on the 1968 Davis recording offered more fullness and atmosphere, even if it is fourteen years older; but it’s important to remember that the Davis was recorded under studio conditions in Wembley Town Hall whereas, as I said earlier in this review, the Bertini recording was not made with the luxury of studio conditions.

I’m glad that we have this further reminder of a very musical and, I dare say, underrated conductor.

 John Quinn

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