Les Nuits d’été

Villanelle

Le Spectre de la rose

Sur les lagunes (Lamento)

Absence

Au Cimetière (Clair de lune)

L’Ile inconnue

Exactly why and exactly when Berlioz wrote the songs collected in Nuits d’Eté is not known for certain. What is certain is that Théophile Gautier’s La Comédie de la mort, which contains the texts of all of them, was first published in 1838. The composer, who was a good friend of the poet, might well have seen some of them in manuscript at an earlier date but it seems likely that he started with Villanelle in 1840 and, drawing on the same rich vein of lyricism as he had recently discovered in Roméo et Juliette, completed the other five settings within the year. When they were published in 1841 they were issued together (as six songs for mezzo-soprano or tenor) for no more significant reason than that they are all based on texts by the same much admired poet.

The Nuits d’été are not, after all, a cycle, a series of songs unified as a dramatic and musical sequence. The key of the first (in the original version) is A major, that of the last is F major, and there is no logical progression between those keys in the songs that come between them. The songs are not linked even, as has been claimed, as “variations on a theme of longing.” Villanelle, for example, is a teasingly sophisticated imitation of folk song with just as much fun in it for Gautier as for Berlioz. It is in a deceptively simple strophic form, with much the same vocal line for each stanza but with considerable harmonic art (like the step-by-step rise in tonality) hidden within it.

Le Spectre de la rose is not unhappy either: it is sad for the rose, certainly, but not for the clever poet who, in the last stanza, delivers such a pretty tribute to his mistress. Berlioz sets it almost as an operatic scena but never overdramatises it, least of all in the piano original. Without the imposing eight bars of introduction specially written for the orchestral version, the setting proceeds in a song-like manner up to the beginning of the second stanza. At that point the tempo quickens, the accompaniment becomes more animated and more expressive, and the voice rises to an ecstatic climax on the dominant. The third stanza also begins with the same melody as the first but ends in inspired simplicity – the voice accompanied only by a parallel line in the pianist’s right hand – for the happy epitaph.

Sur les lagunes is, on the other hand, a study in romantic longing. It is a free setting with a different vocal line for each stanza. But there is a short refrain to link them and the texture is permeated by a three-note sigh, a rising and falling minor second introduced on the piano over a rocking left hand in the first bar. The most poignant moment is the last, where that desolate motif enters the vocal line and dies away with it over harmonies that leave the song bereft even of a definitive ending. Absence explores much the same state of mind, as expressed in the sorrowful opening line Reviens, reviens, ma bien aimée – a haunting invocation which is heard twice more as the first stanza is recalled after each of the other two.

Au Cimetière (Berlioz evidently didn’t like Gautier’s Lamento title) is another elegy and an interesting illustration of Berlioz’s wisdom in resisting the temptation to match the richness of the poet’s language. It is a particularly restrained setting with plain rhythms in the accompaniment and a modest vocal line. Descriptive writing in the piano part is kept to the minimum essentials – the song of the dove and the changes of harmony it provokes, its minor-second echoes from the grave, the suddenly melodious memory rising up the keyboard, the spectrally scored syncopations in the right hand.

In what is perhaps the most moving of all of the songs, L’Île inconnue (Gautier’s title is Barcarolle) Berlioz almost but not quite restores the happy mood of the first song. The opening stanza, which returns in full and in part, is certainly carefree. But, after the devastatingly innocent request of the young beauty, its conviction melts away.

Villanelle

Le Spectre de la rose

Sur les lagunes (Lamento)

Absence

Au Cimetière (Clair de lune)

L’Ile inconnue

Exactly why and exactly when Berlioz wrote the songs collected in Nuits d’Eté is not known for certain. What is certain is that Théophile Gautier’s La Comédie de la mort, which contains the texts of all of them, was first published in 1838. The composer, who was a good friend of the poet, might well have seen some of them in manuscript at an earlier date but it seems likely that he made the setting at different times round about 1840, drawing on the same vein of lyricism as he had recently discovered in Roméo et Juliette. They were published together in 1841 (as six songs for mezzo-soprano or tenor and piano) for no more significant reason than that they are all based on texts by the same much admired poet.

The Nuits d’été are not, after all, a cycle, a series of songs unified as a dramatic and musical sequence. There is no logical progression between the keys of the six songs songs which, moreover, make such diverse demands on the singer that - except in very exceptional cases - no one mezzo or tenor could do equal justice to all of them. Berlioz seemed to recognise as much in 1856 when, having completed an orchestral arrangement at the request of a Swiss publisher, he dedicated each song to a different singer.

The songs are not linked even, as has been claimed, as “variations on a theme of longing.” Villanelle, for example, is a teasingly sophisticated imitation of folk song with just as much fun in it for Gautier as for Berlioz. It is in a deceptively simple strophic form, with much the same vocal line for each stanza but with considerable harmonic art (like the stet-by-step rise in tonality) hidden within it.

Le Spectre de la rose is not unhappy either: it is sad for the rose, certainly, but not for the clever poet who, in the last stanza, delivers such a pretty tribute to his mistress. Berlioz sets it almost as an operatic scena but never overdramatises it. There are eight bars of introduction (specially written for the orchestral version) and the setting proceeds in a song-like manner up to the beginning of the second stanza. At that point the tempo quickens, the accompaniment becomes more animated and more expressive, and the voice rises to an ecstatic climax on the dominant. The third stanza also begins with the same melody as the first but ends in inspired monody - the voice in unison with clarinet - for the happy epitaph.

Sur les lagunes is, on the other hand, a study in romantic longing. It is a free setting with a different vocal line for each stanza. But there is a short refrain to link them and an unhappy sigh - a rising and falling minor second introduced by horn and violins in the first bar - echoes throughout. The most poignant moment is the last where, after toying with several variants of it, the voice distantly but definitively echoes the desolate chromatic motif from the beginning of the song.

Absence, which Berlioz orchestrated thirteen years earlier than the others for Maria Reco (who became his second wife), is in the same vein. The form of the poem unquestionably determines the form of the song, the first stanza returning after each of the other two, preceded always by the invocation, Reviens, reviens, ma bien aimée, which made such a lasting impression on Richard Wagner.

Au Cimetière is another elegy and the most vivid illustration of Berlioz’s wisdom in never attempting to match the richness of Gautier’s language. Like the others, it is a restrained setting but with particularly simple rhythms in the accompaniment and a particularly modest vocal part. Descriptive writing in the orchestral part is kept to the minimum essentials - the song of the dove with its extraordinary change of harmony in the woodwind, its minor-second echoes from the grave, the suddenly melodious memory, the spectral string harmonics.

In what is perhaps the most moving of all of them, L’Ile inconnue, Berlioz almost but not quite restores the happy mood of the first song. The opening stanza, which returns in full and in part, is certainly carefree. But, after the devastatingly innocent request of the young beauty, its conviction melts away.