If the work of Berlioz is divided according to the usual criteria, besides the four symphonies and seven overtures, there are principally vocal compositions: the three operas, Benvenuto Cellini, Beatrice et Benedict and Les Troyens; church music, the famous Requiem, the Te Deum and the recently rediscovered Mass, Passing over in silence the three cantatas written for the Prix de Rome, attention must be drawn to his virtual invention of French song, with the two cycles of Melodies irlandaises (Irish Songs) and Nuits d' ete (Summer Nights). Berlioz also distinguished himself in the field of oratorio with L'Enfance du Christ.

The chorus of shepherds in the second part of L' Enfance du Christ was the origin of the work. Composed casually, on the corner of a table during a party, it was attributed to Pierre Ducre, director of music at the Sainte Chapelle in 1679. Warmly welcomed at its first performance (a cruel success for the composer), the chorus was augmented by the addition of two other pieces, to make up the Fuite en Egypte (The Flight into Egypt). In 1854 Berlioz added the Songe d' Herode (Herod's Dream) and the Arrivee a Sais (The Arrival at Sais), giving the work its definitive form.

References to older composers are numerous, but, paradoxically, few are to French composers. The Shepherds' Chorus itself owes more to Bach than to Lully or Charpentier. The use of the ancient modes ought to bring about the melancholy and relatively simple sound of old popular ballads at the beginning of the second and third parts. Berlioz also envisaged an archaic orchestra for the Flight into Egypt, with no brass, no percussion and no bassoons. The final unaccompanied chorus (Andante mistico) conjures up the liturgical sonorities of the Renaissance.

In the rest of the work the influence of Gluck seems preponderant. The end of the fourth scene of the first tableau, where Herod joins the chorus of soothsayets in an impassioned call for the massacre of the innocents is a perfect example of this: Gluck would not have disowned the dramatic homophony of the chorus nor the use of small rhythmic cells, unifying the orchestral texture, Berlioz repeats the process in the following scene, in particular at the words of Mary: Mon cher enfant, donne cette herbe tendre (My dear child, give this tender grass), with the agitated little motif of the violins, In fact the general contour of the vocal parts owes much to Gluck, whether in this duet or in the various accompanied recitatives.

Nevertheless, beyond this inspiration from the past, the work remains profoundly original and typical of Berlioz, with orchestration of a subtle flavour remote from his usual use of massive effects. The opening wind chords, the harmonium in dialogue with the violins in the sixth scene, where the distant off-stage chorus of angels offers an other-worldly sound, the dance for two flutes and harp, a chamber-music interlude, and many other details could only have come from his pen.

In fact, Berlioz reacted like the best of his contemporaries when drawing inspiration from the music of the past, not looking for any historical truth but borrowing the language and procedures of his predecessors to add them to his own personal aesthetic. What Berlioz does is comparable to Liszt's use of Gregorian modes: recourse to the past, like the use of literary sources, feeds an inspiration that is always made new. This is what justifies, for Berlioz, an interest in composers of the past: I love the old composers because they are not like the modern, because they are new.

Writer: Keith Anderson