Thus, admirable as is Mozart's genius in
itself, the influence which it exercised on the
school of German opera writers, who gathered
round and succeeded him, was not to the
promotion of individuality. Though he may be said to
have displaced the slighter Italian writers, his
followers planted nothing in the place of their
works half as worthy, because half as genuine.
It was not till fifteen years after his death that
the mightiest genius who ever appeared in the
world of orchestral music made that sign, which,
misunderstood and neglected as it was at the
time, nevertheless clearly marked the point at
which German opera parted company from the
Italian musical drama. This was Beethoven—
in his solitary dramatic effort—"Fidelio."

The strange, sad story of this remarkable
man's life has never been—never will be—
completely told. None were about him in his early
days who seem to have comprehended the
mixture of ruggedness and tenderness in his
nature; still less to have fathomed the existence
in his genius of a bolder originality than ever
musician before or since his time manifested.
Those early days had not passed when the wall
which was to separate him from the rest of his
kind began to rise—at first merely as a mist;
but becoming more and more solid, till, at last,
it was round about and above him, like an
inexorable prison. A more fearful trial is hardly to
be imagined than the consciousness of steadily-
increasing deafness to a musician. The
tendency to morose suspicion which peculiarly
belongs to that infirmity was increased by every
circumstance of his position. On the one side,
patronised by persons of quality, and courted
by women to whom his extravagances only
made him more precious (Orson being notoriously
as fascinating as Adonis); on the other,
preyed on by a despicable, dishonest set of relations,
Beethoven seems to have stood in singular
need of that calm, solid, self-sacrificing friendship
which might have smoothed his asperities, and
set his daily life in order. In music, however,
there was no chance of one so peculiar and so
vehement finding a counsellor. For, in defiance
of all those silly rhapsodists, who have mapped
out his life and writings into "periods," by way
of showing their own ingenuity, it may be
asserted that, in the very first instrumental
works published by Beethoven—his first solo
and concerted sonatas—an originality declares
itself, at once separating him from the school
of artists so largely influenced (and not to their
good) by Mozart's fascinating beauty.
Perhaps, with the spirit of invention so strong
and so genuine as his, there must be combined
something of antagonism; with consciousness
of so much power, a spice of prejudice and
exaction. It is certain that with Beethoven began that
injustice to the voice, its uses, and accomplishments,
which is one of the distinctive peculiarities
German, as distinguished from Italian, opera.
While the characteristics of every instrument
were carefully studied and brought out to a
high relief unknown before—the orchestra being
by him invested with an amount of descriptive
and impressive power, till then undreamed of—
it was decreed that since vocal accomplishments
had been misused by the writers of the Italian
school, by way of securing truth to scenic
representation, they were thenceforward things to be
disparaged as something meretricious, having no
value. One convention virtually replaced
another, under pretext of ridding musical drama
from convention, and one branch of executive
art, was displaced and allowed to fall into decay.
That Beethoven's writing for the single voice was
often harsh, impure, and uninteresting (supposing
the singer's part separated from the accompaniment),
will hardly be denied by any impartial
student. The meagerness and common-place of
his vocal melodies—as compared with the
phrases in his instrumental works—which set the
ear on the alert, is alike remarkable and
gratuitous, or rather the consequence, of a system
based on bigotry and prejudice. It is observable,
that when he did try for vocal charm, as
in his "Adelaida"—as in the tune on which the
last movement of his Choral Symphony was based
—it was only (as his sketch-books make clear) by
reiterated and painful efforts that he arrived at
the melody. There is not a song by him, and he
wrote many, that has become a household word.

Yet, all this allowed for, it is impossible to
over-estimate Beethoven's vigour and genius
in dealing with the stage. There is nothing
more suggestive, more pungently characteristic,
than certain of his theatrical inspirations, as,
for instance, the delicious Dervish chorus in
his "Ruins of Athens," the Hungarian chorus
and dance in "King Stephen" (the airy beauty
of which has never been exceeded), and what is
less known in England—far less than it deserves
—the incidental music to "Egmont." In point
of character, there are only two numbers in
" Fidelio" which equal these—the Prisoner's chorus,
and the gravedigging duet in the prison vault.

A study, note by note, of that wonderful opera,
would not be lost labour;—beginning with
the excellent simplicity of the story, which sets
aside all established rule, and yet produces an
effect matchless in its power to move. Now-a-days,
the playwright who only allowed his principal
male character to appear when the drama
was half over, and then in merely one scene of
action, would be put to the door ignominiously
by the musician. Yet this is the case in
"Fidelio." Then the opera is unique in another
point—the stagnation, or rather almost utter
cessation of motion during the two scenes of
elaborate combination with which both of the acts
close. So fatal has this been found in Mozart's
case, that a similar scene, rich in musical beauty,
which closes "Don Giovanni," has, by common
consent, been omitted, as forming an
anticlimax. Further, it may be said, regarding
"Fidelio," that it is the orchestra and the
situation which make the effect in the three
principal songs—those of the faithful Leonora,
the villanous Pizarro, and of Florestan in his
dungeon—not the melody or the singer. The
heroine, in truth, is so hemmed round and
chained in by an instrumental accompaniment