Berlioz does not
belong to our musical solar system; he does not belong to the planets,
neither to the large nor to the small. He was a comet, shining far,
somewhat eerie to look at, soon again disappearing; but his appearance
will remain unforgotten." The Requiem ("Messe des Morts") exemplifies
Hiller's words. It is colossal, phenomenal, and altogether unique. It is
not sacred, for it never came from the heart. It is not solemn, though it
is a drama of death. It is a combination of the picturesque, fantastic,
and sublime, in a tone-poem dedicated to the dead.

In 1836 Berlioz was requested by M. de Gasparin, Minister of the
Interior, to write a requiem commemorating the victims of the July
Revolution; but the work was not given to the public until 1837, when it
was sung at the Invalides in memory of General Damremont and the soldiers
killed at the siege of Constantina. It was subsequently asserted by
Berlioz that Cherubini had conspired with others in the Conservatory to
prevent its performance and to secure that of his own, by virtue of the
precedence which his position gave him. The charge, however, must have
been a mere fancy on his part, as he had already written a letter to
Cherubini, saying:--

"I am deeply touched by the noble abnegation which leads you to refuse
your admirable Requiem for the ceremony of the Invalides. Be convinced
of my heartiest gratitude."

The work embraced ten numbers: I. Requiem and Kyrie ("Requiem aeternam
dona eis"); II., III., IV., V., and VI., including different motives
taken from the hymn, "Dies Irae;" VII. "Offertorium;" VIII. "Hostias et
Preces;" IX. "Sanctus;" X. "Agnus Dei." It will be observed that the
composer has not followed the formal sequences of the Mass, and that he
has not only omitted some of the parts, but has also frequently taken
license with those which he uses. This may be accounted for in two ways.
First, he was not of a religious nature. Hiller, in the work already
quoted, says of him:

"Of his Catholic education every trace had disappeared. Doubts of all
sorts had possession of him, and the contempt of what he called
'prejudice' bordered on the monstrous. Berlioz believed neither in a
God nor in Bach."

Second, it is evident from the construction of the work throughout that
it was his purpose simply to give free rein to his fancy and to express,
even at the risk of being theatrical, the emotions of sublimity, terror,
and awe called up by th