for the graceful duet-notturno, which closes the first act), and Les Troyens, the immoderate length of which rendered the performance of only half the work a necessity. Berlioz probably hoped, as Herr Wagner has since done, that the different portions of the same dramatic tale should be performed on consecutive evenings. Another resemblance by the way exists between him and Herr Wagner; in the two last-named works, the libretti, containing some very graceful verses, were from the musician's own hand. To furnish the text for himself, became habitually the practice of Berlioz. Then there is his small oratorio, La Fuite en Égypte—as odd a specimen of combination by haphazard as is registered in the annals of the art. With the after-confessed purpose of satire and mystification, M. Berlioz had written a short scene bearing the above title, with an overture, signing the same with a pseudonyme, Pierre Ducre. Strange to say, this music, produced to mock at everything "calm and classical," was found so exceptionally comprehensible and melodious, that its writer was counselled to extend the work, by showing, as preface, the motive of the flight in the persecutions of Herod, and, as close, the relief of the fugitives on arriving at the land of rest and promise. Berlioz grasped at the suggestion eagerly; and shortly, to words of his own, produced a first and a third part. This additional matter, bearing not the remotest resemblance to the tunable and elegant music which suggested its production, is a marvel of ugliness and eccentricity. As a whole, the oratorio is therefore unproducible, and has nowhere succeeded.
One of the most interesting, most characteristic, and most unequal of the works of M. Berlioz is his Faust cantata. How that imperishable legend has tempted some of our best musicians, and what the varieties of its treatment have been, were sketched in this journal some time ago. To avoid recapitulation, it shall only be now said, that the best portions of the cantata, are the scene in the fields which opens the work, the "Flea" song of Mephistopheles and the chorus of Sylphs over the sleeping Faust. The Easter church music is arid without the slightest unction, the soldiers' and students' chorus, forced and uncouth to the last degree, the weird night ride of the Tempter and the Lover hideous and hardly to be executed, so rapid is the music, so harsh are the modulations. The closing apotheosis is mawkish; neither sweet nor elevated. Such chances of acceptance as might have been expected for a work, the tone of which is so pervadingly and prevailingly grim, have probably been swept away—once for all—by the great and universal success of M. Gounod's Faust, an opera which has stood the brunt of national abuse and home jealousy, and has passed everywhere throughout Europe.
Thus much of M. Berlioz as a creative musician. As a writer of substantive works, on subjects connected with his art, his value is limited. Of these the most important in appearance is his Treatise on Instrumentation. With all his feeling for sonority, this work makes it obvious, that that which is extreme and odd had the largest share of his sympathies. Many of the examples are drawn from the most overstrained portions of his least happy works: such, for instance, as his Tempest cantata, in which the unmeaning chant of Miranda is smothered beneath the weight of an enormous orchestra, which, besides his favourite harps, includes a pair of grand pianos. His idea of the normal organ was derived from the huge, shrieking, encumbered yet essentially feeble machines by Cliquot and Dallery, which made such a huge show and an intolerable noise in the churches of Notre Dame, Sainte Eustache, and Saint Sulpice. It is needless to illustrate further. In respect to the singer's art, his judgment was no less peremptory and unsound, being based on the idea of trampling under foot every idea of free will, spontaneous inspiration, and grace, and reducing the interpreting artist to the condition of a bond slave—no matter what might be the peculiarities or limits of his organisation—no matter what his tendencies in "reading," as the dramatists have it, might be. Some of his arabesques and travelling sketches are smart enough, though many of them are obviously instinct with a personality which must largely destroy an impartial reader's faith in their truthfulness.
As regards his more serious criticisms it cannot be too strongly insisted on, that as a critical musican, who pretended to be in advance of his time, Berlioz was ignorant, insolent, and, it must be added, insincere. Perpetually appealing, as he did, to the highest standards, with an asperity which only the most extended knowledge could justify, he fell into one bad fashion of the time, which has been to deify Bach at Handel's expense: and yet the writer heard from Mendelssohn himself, that Berlioz, while at Leipzig, after receiving and retaining for many days certain manuscripts of the great Cantor existing in the Thomas Schule, and to examine which he had expressed the greatest curiosity, returned the packet at last with the seals unbroken! "Yet," said Mendelssohn, quietly, "he gave his opinion about them, just the same." Of Handel's music he knew absolutely next to nothing. He laughed Haydn to scorn, as a pedantic old baby in music; ignoring the wondrous combinations of fancy and science of that father of instrumental composition. Mozart fared with him yet worse. He could not be persuaded to hear Elijah to the end. Of course, the Italians, one and all, being melodists, had to bear the brunt of his bitterest injustice: one alone excepted, whom he exalted to the skies. This was Spontini, in whose praise he could never use language too glowing, Spontini being one of the driest of melodists. Of Cherubini he spoke with great reserve and caution. Neither of these, however, can be justly rated as composers of the pure Italian school, as Cimarosa and Paisiello had been. He mowed down Rossini's choruses Faith, Hope, and Charity, thus—"His Hope has cheated ours—his Faith does not move mountains—as to his Charity, it will not ruin him." Most curious in its inconsistency was the severe judgment
