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
Egypte—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 uuproducible,
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 tliat 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