E-Mail This Article to a Friend Montague music Berlioz’s Roméo et Juliette at the BSO BY DAVID WEININGER

Shakespeare’s effect on Berlioz was intense and immediate. The Bard became emblematic of French Romanticism in the 19th century, and his works left their imprint all over Berlioz’s œuvre: Béatrice et Benedict, The Tempest, King Lear, Hamlet. After seeing Harriet Smithson — who would become his personal and artistic passion — play Juliet in 1827, the composer is reported to have cried out: "I shall marry this woman and I shall base my greatest symphony on this play!" Whether he actually said it, both prophecies came true — sort of. He married Smithson, and though the Symphonie fantastique might now lay a claim to be Berlioz’s best symphony, Roméo et Juliette is not far behind.

A symphony it was, as Berlioz insisted. Lest there be any misunderstanding, he told the audience for the premiere exactly what the piece was and was not. "It is neither a concert opera nor a cantata," he wrote in the preface to the libretto. "It is a choral symphony."

And an odd one at that. Berlioz’s reason for composing Roméo as he did was his conviction that the "feelings and passions" of the play needed to be expressed in instrumental music. Eschewing the more obvious strategy of setting the play’s love scene as a duet, he argued that a purely musical setting renders the scene "richer, more varied, less restricted, and . . . incomparably more powerful." He did include vocal and choral parts, though mainly to set up the instrumental sections. He had Beethoven in his sights here — not only the Beethoven of the other "choral symphony" but the creator of the Pastorale, where it is also feelings and passions rather than strictly visual scenes that are depicted.

The result is a Shakespeare adaptation that evokes more than it depicts. Composed in seven movements, the piece opens with a prologue in which the play’s backdrop is set out by orchestra, soloists, and chorus. The last movement is similar to an operatic finale: the two families, after quarreling in the cemetery, swear an oath of reconciliation, one that takes the music from the B minor of the opening to a ecstatic B-major conclusion. In between come five largely instrumental movements that bear the weight of the drama: the Capulet ball, the balcony scene, the Queen Mab scherzo, Juliet’s funeral procession (not in the play), and the tomb scene. The scherzo is the sole movement in which Berlioz remained within a recognized symphonic form. This makes it all the more amazing that he completed the work in 1839, a mere 15 years after Beethoven’s Ninth. And though there are some energetic moments in the ball scene and the finale, Roméo et Juliette also has some of his most subtle music.

Performing Berlioz always means getting the specific instrumental and choral balances just right. He’s especially inventive in his evocation of dramatic material; think of the vivid fugato opening depicting the families’ swordplay and the trombone recitatives that represent the Prince’s intervention. The love scene uses numerous delicate changes of harmony and instrumentation to suggest the moonlit setting and the passionate exchanges between the lovers.

The BSO has a long history with Roméo. Some still remember Charles Munch’s legendary performances during his Boston tenure. Seiji Ozawa’s were, if somewhat less exalted, at least highly regarded. For those of us who weren’t around to hear either, it would be nice to have access to their recordings; both are out of the current catalogue.

So how will James Levine fit into the tradition when he leads performances next week? We’d have a good idea if we could hear his Berlin Philharmonic recording from the 1990s, but (you guessed it) that’s unavailable as well. But if we’ve learned one thing about our new music director, it’s that he has an exceptional ability to clarify complicated musical textures. His seating plan, with the first and second violins deployed antiphonally (that’s the arrangement Berlioz and just about every other pre-20th-century composer wrote for), is part of the secret. Oh, and he’s chosen some decent soloists, to say the least: the celebrated mezzo Lorraine Hunt Lieberson, tenor Matthew Polenzani, and baritone Julien Robbins. The Tanglewood Festival Chorus will be there as well. Performances are at 8 p.m. Thursday through Saturday, December 2 through 4, Symphony Hall is at 301 Massachusetts Avenue in Boston, and tickets are $27 to $105; call (617) 266-1200.