It is time to once more speak of love and Frenchmen! You may or may not recall the brief layout of Berlioz’s sordid pursuit of Harriet Smithson that I went through a few weeks ago. (If not, check it out here), but that was merely how Berlioz wooed Ms. Smithson. How they found themselves married was an entirely separate equally melodramatic affair that we’ll get to another day. Today we’ll look at how his first engagement went: you may recall that Berlioz was engaged while he was chasing after/obsessing over Smithson. Already a healthy start.

While in Paris writing Symphonie Fantastique and love letter after love letter to Smithson, Berlioz somehow had the time to woo and become engaged to a woman named Camille Moke who is pictured at the very top. Well, he didn’t exactly do the wooing: Moke seemed to take Berlioz’s infatuation with Smithson as a challenge and aggressively pursued Hector. It was his first “real” relationship with a lady. They were engaged within six months of first meeting; Moke seemed to know how to get results, and Berlioz doesn’t know how to do anything halfway or without drama. The only person who was upset by the union was Moke’s mother, whom Berlioz and Moke nicknamed “The Hippo”. It would be a lovely story if it stopped there but it would also be a terrifically boring story. Berlioz had to go and be successful: he won the Prix de Rome, a prize he had always aspired to win, which requires its owner to live in Italy for a number of years. Hector tried to game the system and stay in France to be with Moke (and probably close to Smithson), but there was no way he could have both the prize and his life in Paris. So he made his choice: he was off to Rome. Considering his history, he probably didn’t tell Moke.

Berlioz got to Rome and hated it, so he decided to bandy about the country of Italy. As is often the case, time passed; three months flew by before Hector realized he had received no correspondence from Moke. Impulsively, he decided to head home to Paris to see what had become of his fiance, but on the train to France he received what is described as “an unsympathetic letter from Camille’s mother”: it outlined how Moke had immediately wished to break things off with Berlioz because she wanted to marry her real love, a piano-maker named Ignace Pleyel. There were also probably a bunch of personal jabs in there.

This all came as an immense shock to Berlioz: I mean it’s not as if he spent all of his time obsessing over another woman he’s that bad of a guy. You may have some idea of how Berlioz reacted to this infidelity, considering he wrote an entire symphony whose thesis was “If I love you and you betray me I will probably murder you”. Thus Berlioz’s path was obvious: a triple murder-suicide. He would kill Moke and Pleyel for obvious reasons, himself because he’s a melodramatic romantic, and Moke’s mother. Was it because he just hated in-laws? Or did he just think she deserved it? We may never know. He procured two pistols, each with two shots. Wait, but what if there were a misfire? How embarrassing would that be? Wait, but what if both pistols jammed? Berlioz thought of this as well: he brought along some poison he could force feed them and himself to ensure all went according to plan. He would catch them all together at tea time.

Now, if you’re planning a triple murder suicide, this may sound like plan enough. Keep it simple. Not so for Berlioz: he needed a disguise. He bought a custom-altered maid’s dress, to allow for all his weaponry/not reveal that he’s a dude, plus a heavy hat and veil. Hector says he needed the disguise to gain entrance to their home, but I think he just wanted to guarantee the melodramatic moment where he pulls off his veil to reveal his identity and everyone gasps. In fact, I know that’s what he wanted. He said so himself. I give you Berlioz’s plan in his own words:

I go to my “friend’s” house at nine in the evening, just when the family has assembled for tea. I say I am the Countess Moke’s personal maid with an urgent message. I am shown into the drawing room, where I deliver a letter. While it is being read I draw my double-barrel pistols, blow out the brains of number one and number two, seize number three by the hair, reveal myself and, disregarding her screams, pay my respects to her in similar fashion, after which, before this cantata for voices and orchestra has time to attract any attention, I present my temple with the unanswerable argument of the remaining barrel; or should the gun by any chance misfire, I have recourse to my cordials. What a fine scene it would have made. It is really a pity it had to be dropped.

A couple things here. That’s from his MEMOIR: he somehow thought this level of detail and imagery would not strongly indicate how he had obsessed over his scheme. He states that he still thinks it was a good idea! The other takeaway here is that the scheme need be abandoned. Did Hector have a sudden change of heart, that he needn’t slay someone he once loved even if betrayed? Did he have second thoughts about taking his own life? Did he have an about-face and hope for only happiness for Moke, that she was not worth all of this insanity? Or did he remember Smithson and how he was free to pursue her with all of his attention now?

None of those things. Berlioz began his trek from Rome to Paris, complete with pistols, poison, and disguise. It is not any internal voice that told him to stop: it was the voice of those in charge of enforcing the stipulations on the Prix de Rome. No one else knew why Hector was suddenly abandoning Rome in a dress, but he was told in no uncertain terms that if he crossed the border into France he would forfeit the Prix de Rome, as well as all the acclaim and cash that come with it. Berlioz must have had a nice long time to think on this while sitting on the train: his reason returned before he crossed the border and lost his prize. He hung up his dress and veil, threw his guns and poison in the nearest trash, donned his traditional composing garb, and made his way back to Italy where one can presume he went into an opium coma for days.

No matter the medium, it’s said that you should write what you know: as soon as Hector was in Rome composing again, he penned the overture to King Lear, the story of a trusting man victimized by an evil woman. So it wasn’t all bad, I guess. In a few weeks we’ll get back to Hector’s obsession with Smithson and what exactly happened after he returned to Paris. His aim: to make Smithson fall in love with him. No murderous plots on this one. But manipulation? You bet.

Want to read about things that aren’t Hector Berlioz?

Well, if you’re impressed with the goals Hector set for himself, I recommend reading about how goal setting can help you become a hot air balloonist.

Or my take on obsession and how it can make you do things not like what Hector does.

Or how word choice can effect how you are perceived. I feel as though Hector would have benefited from this knowledge.