and then repeated with the united strength of the full Orchestra, while the dæmoniac gallop rushes on, through it all. The fetter-dance of the gibbetted malefactors is represented by a transient change to Triple Time, the rhythm of the gallop remaining undisturbed. At times, when these unholy sounds are hushed, the terrified, yet still unsubdued Lenore murmurs soft reminiscences of the love-passages in the earlier Movements; and, sometimes, she and her grisly Bridegroom discourse in little passages of well-constructed Canon. At last, when dawn begins to break, the gallop ceases; the Fiery Steed melts into vapour; and an awful moment of silence ensues. The lonely Churchyard is reached. Again, we have another and a far more solemn Funeral Hymn, this time sung for Lenore herself. The soft etherial motion of the accompanying Violins gives it a celestial meaning, impossible to be mistaken. And, as in the closing lines of the Poem itself, we are told that the sinner is forgiven.
The same power is proclaimed in Raff's Third Symphony, 'Im Walde' (op. 153). The First Movement depicts the Woods in their noontide beauty. The Second, their appearance in the Twilight. The Third, a Dance of Dryads. The Finale, the deepening shades of Night. These shades, however, are haunted by a horror as gruesome as that in 'Lenore.' The stillness of the Forest is represented by a quiet Fugal Subject, treated with exceeding ingenuity and skill, and suggestive of repose, unbroken by the rustling of a leaf. Suddenly, the weird notes of a hellish tumult are faintly heard in the distance. The Wild Huntsman, with his spectral Host, is approaching. He draws nearer and nearer, until the whole air is filled with the yells of his unearthly followers. We hear them above our heads, behind, around, and everywhere, until the hideous throng has passed, and its howls have died away in the distance. The silence of night descends once more upon, the Forest, but again, in strict accordance with the Legend, the Fiendish Rout returns, draws nearer, as before, and vanishes in the opposite direction: after which, the Symphony concludes with a burst of Sunrise. And here, whether consciously or unconsciously we cannot tell, but with equal merit in either case, Raff has established a great Romantic truth. The Wild Huntsman first became identified with modern Art, in 'Der Freischütz.' At the casting of the Fifth Bullet, He is represented, on the Stage, with the best effect permitted by circumstances, and, in the Orchestra, with such consummate power of Instrumental imagery, that we need not look towards the Stage, in order to realise his presence. Now, Raff's Music bears no external resemblance whatever to Weber's; yet, it brings us face to face with the same Wild Huntsman. We recognise him at a glance; and that, in the absence of the slightest taint of plagiarism. Had Titian, and Giorgione, been commissioned to paint the portrait of the same Doge, they would each have enabled us to recognise the individual, though their pictures would have been altogether different. So it is in this case. And we cannot but think, that, though Weber's conceptions stand unrivalled, Raff also has shown himself a consummate Master.
Brahms and Raff may be accepted as the greatest living representatives of the Imaginative and Romantic Schools, respectively. But they do not stand alone. Another young Composer has been called away, too soon, alas! for Art; though not before he had attained a solid reputation. Goetz first attracted public attention by the production of a clever Comic Opera, 'The Taming of the Shrew,' performed at Mannheim in 1874, under the title of 'Der Widerspanstigen Zahmung,' a work planned neither upon the old lines nor the new. It differs from the traditional form of Comic Opera in being written for full Orchestra, throughout, without either Recitative secco, or spoken dialogue; in passing continuously from Scene to Scene, with no break whatever, until the fall of the Curtain at the end of an Act; in dispensing, for the most part, with symmetrical Movements of the older forms; and, in substituting for them long passages of Accompanied Recitative. On the other hand, it departs from the principles laid down by the latest leaders of fashion, in that it relieves the monotony of its declamatory passages by frequent long strains of tuneful Measured Music, consisting, not of mere snatches of Melody, but of continuous and well-constructed phrases, so consistently put together, as to invest the whole chain of Movements with a character not unlike that of an unnaturally developed Finale. Moreover, it is something to be able to say that the vocal passages are always really vocal, and framed with real care for the Voice. That we miss, even in the most broadly comic Scenes the racy abandon of the Italian Opera Buffa—the refined sense of humour which would have made such a subject, in the hands of Cimarosa, or Rossini, simply irresistible—is to be attributed rather to the effect of national than individual temperament. In fact, there are reasons for believing, that, had the Composer's life been prolonged, he would have distinguished himself more highly in Serious than in Comic Opera. His greater Instrumental Works are pervaded by a tone of earnest thought which promise much for the future. His Symphony in F (op. 9), is full of feeling, clear in design, and abounding in passages of rich and varied Instrumentation. In some respects, his Pianoforte Concerto in B♭ (op. 18), is still finer; and, though less homogeneous in structure, even more full of interest, in its treatment, both of the Solo Instrument and the Orchestra. Still we cannot believe that any of these works, or even the unfinished Opera 'Francesca di Rimini,' indicate, either the full extent of the young Composer's ideal, or the point he was capable of reaching; though they prove how much we have lost by his early death.
Anton Rubinstein, first known to the world as a Pianist of altogether exceptional power, and afterwards as a writer of Pianoforte Music of more than ordinary interest, now claims our
