h actress Smithson, whom he had
worshipped from afar, before he had gone to Rome, thinking that he only
worshipped Shakespeare through the prophetess. The remembrance of her
had inspired him to write his "Lelio" in Italy. When he was again in
Paris, he gave a concert, played the kettle-drums for his own symphony,
and through a friend managed to secure the attendance of Miss Smithson.
She recognised in him the stranger who had dogged her steps in the
years before. The poet Heine was at the concert, and his description of
the scene is as follows:

"It was thus I saw him for the first time, and thus he will always
remain in my memory. It was at the Conservatoire de Musique when a big
symphony of his was given, a bizarre nocturne, only here and there
relieved by the gleam of a woman's dress, sentimentally white,
fluttering to and fro--or by a flash of irony, sulphur yellow. My
neighbour in my box pointed out to me the composer, who was sitting at
the extremity of the hall in the corner of the orchestra playing the
kettle-drums.

"'Do you see that stout English woman in the proscenium? That is Miss
Smithson; for nearly three years Berlioz has been madly in love with
her, and it is this passion that we have to thank for the wild symphony
we are listening to to-day.'

"Every time that her look met his, he struck his kettle-drum like a
maniac."

Then he married the plump enchantress and knew a brief happiness. But
he gradually woke to the fact that the dowry she brought him was mainly
ill-luck, bad temper, and a monument of debts which she acquired by a
new series of Shakespeare performances under her own management. By
this time Paris had forgotten the barbarian Shakespeare and ridiculed
the former queen of the stage. Then Madame Berlioz fell from a carriage
and broke her leg. This took her permanently from the stage, where she
was no longer a success. A few managerial ventures brought her a
handsome bankruptcy. Berlioz gave benefit concerts and wrote fiendishly
for the papers to pay her debts, and always provided for her. But there
was no more happiness for the two, though there was a child. I have
said that Miss Smithson brought Berlioz a dowry of bad luck and bad
temper. The worldly goods with which Berlioz had her endowed, were no
better. He had begun the marriage with "300 francs borrowed from a
friend and a new quarrel with my parents." He also contributed a temper
which is one of the most brilliant in history.

A