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mainly founded on the airs which succeed it in the opera. The piece opens with a chorus and bolero, after which Madame Marie Cabel sings "Dansez, dansez, filles de Castille," the same air as the chorus. Then comes an air for the muleteer, very well sung by Sujol, which is followed by a duet, "De la peur," between him and Madame Cabel. A trio of drinkers follows, which is immediately succeeded by a duet, "Vive le vin d'Espagne." "Si j'étais la reine d'Espagne" falls to the share of the disguised queen, and a chorus concludes Act I. The second act opens with a chorus, which is followed by an air for Don Pedro, "Quand on conspire," then another chorus and a march, after which comes an air, so charmingly rendered by Madame Cabel, that the audience were enchanted with her execution :

"Au convent,

Bien souvent,

On soupire, &c.,".

These couplets, sung with extraordinary velocity, were unani-
mously encored. Another bolero and an air, "Je ne suis pay-
sanne;" a trio of the conspirators, "Vous êtes en notre pouvoir,"
and "Écoutez, la cloche lointaine," bring the second act to a
conclusion. The third act is short. "
Enfin, me voilà donc
maîtresse," sung by Mad. Cabel, and a duet for her and the
muleteer, "O trouble extrême," lead to the finale sung by
Mad. Cabel on the motives of the duet in the first act, and
“Si j'étais la reine d'Espagne." These are the principal airs in
this new work of M. Adolph Adam of the Institute:

"Better one good work of Auber

Than a thousand of Adam,"

will be the exclamation of every one hearing it. It never appeals to any high and ennobling sentiment; it is utterly wanting in that pearly roundness, that graceful trifling, that exquisite melody which pervade every lyric production of the oldest living French composer, the immortal Auber. It is not original, it is not melodious, it is not scientific. Cui bono then? why should it have been written? why does it draw? why is the house filled? The answer is short: it was written for Madame Cabel, it is sung by Madame Cabel, it is acted by that charming woman and finished comédienne; and, as she hardly leaves the stage from the rising of the curtain to its final fall, it is quite certain that all Paris will rush to see, hear, and greet this Queen of the Boulevard. What more charming than that expressive face, that graceful figure, that well-turned ankle, shewn to such advantage in the peasant dress? And then as queen! the dignity of the monarch striving with the love of the woman, until Cupid conquers, as he always must. Again, the final struggle, when she thinks her heart has played her false, and that instead of wedding her equal she has given her hand to a simple peasant. All this is performed with such an absence of affectation, such a charm of manner, such a freedom from mannerism, such exquisite touches of nature, as to prove that Marie Cabel is entitled to take rank among the very first of those eminent artists who have adorned the French lyric stage. As to her singing, I shall not attempt to describe it. Such tours de force, such prodigies of agility, such good taste, such clearness and neatness of execution, must be heard, but defy description. Madame Cabel sings eight or ten times during the opera, is always encored more than twice, and her voice is as fresh at the conclusion as at the commencement. "Le Muletier de Tolède, c'est Madame Cabel" (excuse the Irishism), although she is well backed by M. Sujol as the muleteer, M. Cabel as Don Pedro, and MM. Ribes, Legrand, Mad. Vadé, and Mdlle. Garnier. The orchestra is good, and well conducted by M,

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Deloffre. The choruses are well drilled, the scenery pretty,
the mise-en-scène superb. There is also a good corps de ballet,
who dance nicely. In short, nothing is wanting for the opera
save originality in the libretto, and melody in the music-two
very trifling omissions!
Jan. 2, 1855.

THE musical event of the week, and, indeed, the only novelty, consists in the début of Madame Angles-Fortuni, at the GrandOpéra, in Lucia di Lammermoor. Madame Angles-Fortuni is of Spanish extraction, having been born at Badajoz, and educated at the Conservatoire of Madrid. Before she had completed her studies she was appointed professor of singing, and was in great favour as a performer at concerts. Feeling, however, that she had a vocation for the lyrical stage, she went to Italy, and studied hard for three years, refusing all offers from masters and managers, and preserving entire freedom to do what she chose. Encouraged by Rubini, she first appeared on the stage at the Opera in Milan, in the year 1852, since which she has sung at and La Scala, at Milan. She last sang at the Opera at Lisbon. most of the large operas in Italy, including La Fenice at Venice, She is now engaged at the Grand-Opéra, in Paris, for a term of two years, at a salary of 50,000 francs per annum, and will fill a void which has been open all the season. Young, pretty, with a dark olive complexion, large black eyes, magnificent hair, and a beautifully small foot, Madame Angles-Fortuni adds the beauty of expression to that of mere feature. As an artist she is accomplished and agreeable. Her voice is thin, clear, and flexible, with no extraordinary volume, but with very considerable compass. She sings with good taste, and with a knowledge of her art, and is exactly suited to such parts as the Queen of Navarre, in the Huguenots; the Princess, in Robert le Diable; or Bertha, in Le Prophète. In short, she is an accomplished chanteuse légère; and I trust the Opéra will be enabled, by her aid, to dispense with the further services of Mdlle. Delly, "pupil of Duprez," and Mdlle. Pouilly, "prima donna of Strasbourgh." Madame Angles-Fortuni was very well received, and much and deservedly applauded. But what shall I say of the mode in which the opera was put on the stage? The lady had entreated that Gardoni might be her Edgardo, but M. Crosnier was ill and absent, and his locum tenens insisted on giving her M. Poulthier. Poor lady! it was sad to see her linked to such a lover, surrounded by such dismal choristers in such faded dresses, and placed among such frosty decorations. Pah! the very air was sickly with the stale odours produced by such rags from an old clothes-shop.

Madame Stoltz has not found it convenient to pay the sum in which she would have been mulcted for giving up her engagement; and the management, conceiving that her Fides in the Prophète would prove a hit, it is more than probable that an arrangement, which is now in progress, will speedily be completed.

At the Opéra-Comique, L'Etoile du Nord, Le Pré aux Clercs, and Galathée, with Madame Ugalde, still hold their ground. The success of L'Etoile du Nord is really unprecedented, and the following figures, as given by M. Fiorentino in the feuilleton of the Constitutionnel, are curious:-L'Etoile du Nord has now been performed eighty-six times, and these eighty-six representations have produced a sum of 445,429 francs 25 centimes, or an average of 5,179 francs 42 cents for each performance. Of this sum 40,473 francs go to the poor, and the authors' per centage amounts to 64,493 francs. This latter sum is divided between Mons. Scribe and Meyerbeer in equal proportions, and, adding that to the sum originally received from the management of the

Opéra, and for the right of publication, and also that produced by representations in this country, it will be seen that it is no bad thing to write and compose a successful opera in Paris. The management gave 20,640 francs for the new instruments they bought from Sax.

Talking of that celebrated and unrivalled manufacturer of everything pertaining to musical sound, I must recount the short and glorious campaign he has fought, and the memorable coup d'état he made on the morning of Friday last. He had long been aware that his patents were infringed by most of his fellowmanufacturers in Paris, but the culprits were so numerous that it was difficult to attack them all at once, and fighting them in detail would have been expensive and tardy. He, therefore, after much consideration, determined to remain quiescent until nearly the end of the year, and when they had a large stock on hand for the jour de l'an, to strike a blow final and decisive, at one and all. He was resolved to carry Nero's wish into execution, and at one stroke to decapitate all the musical instrument makers of Paris. Meanwhile he kept perfectly silent; none but himself would be his counsellor; and on Thursday last he applied to the Chief Commissary of Police, and requested that he would, next morning, at six o'clock, conduct to his bureau in the Place St. Georges, sixteen commissaries, sixteen huissiers, and thirty-two adjoints. The Commissary promised silence, and gave his orders to commissaries, huissiers, and adjoints, to rendezvous at the Bureau de Police at five next morning, but for what purpose he did not inform them. He conveyed them in cabs to Sax's house, the plan of campaign was prepared, and by seven o'clock a commissary of police, a huissier, and two adjoints, were in each of sixteen of the largest manufacturers' work-shops and counting-houses. They seized the instruments, made in infraction of Sax's patents, to the extent of 450,000 francs; one man having 65,000 francs' worth in his shops. The whole of these will be forfeited to Saxe, as soon as he procures the judgment of the tribunal to which he has appealed. Meanwhile, they are moving heaven and earth to make terms with him, and have already proffered a large sum to redeem their instruments and purchase peace. I heartily rejoice at the success of a most ingenious and worthy man, and one who has effected more improvements in musical instruments than all these rascally manufacturers put together.

Il Trovatore holds its ground firmly at the Italian Opéra. Its success is undeniable. I am glad to say that it draws money for Colonel Ragani, who sadly needed it. On Sunday week the trilogy of Berlioz, L'Enfance du Christ, and a new composition of which both words and music are by Berlioz, called Le Dix Décembre, are to be performed at the Italian Opéra. Considering the well-deserved success of the first work-considering the title and object of the second-and considering that the Emperor, Empress, and Court are expected, there will probably be an enormous house. Mad. Bosio has been in the provinces for a week or two, and has sung with considerable success at Amiens and other places. Signor Bettini is at Turin, where he has had a great reception as Raoul in the Huguenots. Ja

The Théâtre-Lyrique fills with Le Muletier, so charmingly created by Madame Cabel; and Der Freischütz is in full rehearsal, to be performed on her off-nights. Mesdames DeligneLauters, and Meillet, fill the principal female parts, and it will probably be well done. The Revue at the Palais Royal, called Les Binettes Contemporaines, is clever and successful. Messrs. Levassor, Grassot, Hyacinthe, Gil-Perez, Mesdames Cico, Duverger, Almie Duval, Bramine, Dupuis, etc., form a combination of fun, drollery, beauty, legs, and diamonds, such as is

not often to be met with. Les Parisiens (originally called Les Parisiens de la Décadence, but the last three words struck out by order), written by M. Barrière, author of Les Filles de Marbre, has obtained a great success at the vaudeville. It is written in the spirit and with much of the biting wit of Beaumarchais, and lashes the follies and vices of the age with a most unsparing hand. Felix and Delannoy, among the men; Clarisse Miroy (known in London as Clarisse, especially engaged), Luther, and St. Marc among the ladies, best perform their parts. The Gaîté is having an enormous run with Les Cinq Cents Diables,, from the pens of MM. Dennery and Amther. Alphonsine is really charming, and there are about five hundred changes of scene, and tricks of every description and of immense ingenuity. Mad. Giradin's charming "vaudeville sans couplets," Le Chapeau d'un Horloger, and the neat rhyming play of L'Ecole des Agneaux, well performed by Berton, Dupuis, Laurentine, etc., fill the Gymnase night after night. The Variétés has nothing new, and is dull and stupid. In the year 1854, 18 new operas, 17 comedies, 2 ballets, 24 dramas, a tragedy in one act, and vaudevilles without number, were produced in Paris. Of these the Opéra gave 2, the ThéâtreFrançais 11, the Opéra-Comique 5, Italian-Opéra 2, Odéon 10, Théâtre-Lyrique 11, Vaudeville 19, Gymnase 13, Variétés 50, Palais-Royal 28, Porte St.-Martin 6, Gaîté 7, Ambigu-Comique 13, Cirque 3, Folies Dramatiques 17, Délassemens-Comiques 25, Beaumarchais 10, Luxembourg 20, Choiseuil 3.—Total 255.

ROSINA STOLTZ.

The following sketch, taken from the France Musicale, is from the of M. Giacomelli :pen

All we know concerning the early years of Mad. Stoltz is, that she was placed by the kindness of the Duchess de Berry in a convent of Benedictine Nuns, in the Rue du Regard. The kindness of the Duchess is said to have arisen from the fact that the date of the child's birth corresponded with that of the Duke de Berry's death. We cannot say how much truth there is in this tradition, which is current in the artistic world. One thing, however, is certain: the patroness and her protégée have met with a very different destiny. Success, happiness, and glory have been the companions of the one; while great reverses, captivity and banishment, have tested the courage and resignation of the other. A throne seemed to be waiting for the Duchess de Berry, but it was Rosina Stoltz who really obtained one, and raised herself to it by the royalty of talent.

As the child evinced an inclination for music, she was taken, every day, by order of her royal patroness, to Choron's school, which has endowed the musical art with many eminent vocalists. This school who was destined to share the triumphs of Mad. Stoltz. All Choron's produced Monpou, Adam, Dietsch, Jansenne, and, especially, Duprez, pupils may not have become great artists, but they have, at least, all proved excellent musicians.

At the early age of sixteen, Rosina Stoltz, impelled by irresistible inclination, first appeared on the stage in a petite comedy in verse, and a vaudeville. Her acting was not merely an effect of memory! it was even then, as those who were present acknowledged, an acquired art, the result of active reasoning. We have also been informed that the charming manner in which the young actress phrased and sang the couplets in the various vaudevilles in which she played, was particularly noticed.

A short time subsequently, Rosina Stoltz made her début at the Theatre Royal, Brussels, as Alice, in Robert le Diable, appearing suc Deux Reines, Paquita, in La Marquise, and Petit-Jacques, in La Pie cessively as Gertrude, in Le Maître de Chapelle, Marguerite, in Les Voleuse. The year following, she boldly took the part of Rachel, in

the Jewess.

It is not undesignedly that we have named some of the first works in which Mad. Stoltz appeared as a singer and actress. The commence. ment of the artist's career was, to speak plainly, a painful one-her theatrical life a struggle, and her talent but laboriously developed, while contending against adverse influences of various kinds. The

progress of her extraordinary talent followed a course parallel to the progress of the time. It began by a sort of eclecticism, by doubt and analysis. Raising herself afterwards, by degrees, to the highest regions of art, she has eventually ended by combining and blending in the same happy union the most opposite expressions and shades, which, to all appearance, are most contradictory. This furnishes us with the answer to the riddle, and the real explanation of Mad. Stoltz's talent. We have no hesitation in pronouncing this talent, this distinctive characteristic, to be-drama.

What, in fact, is drama, unless a creation founded upon the living reproduction of a real action; which, too, paints the world under all its various aspects, and represents it as it appears to us? It is beyond a doubt that the integrity of this kind of representation requires from the artist who takes a part in it marvellous suppleness, and comic as well as tragic genius. Drama must mix up all tones, without confusing any, and transform the changing and ever-varying actions of history and real life into one harmonious and luminous whole. Meditation, passion, reverie, illusion, devotion, heroism, error, repentance, remorse -in a word, everything that agitates the life of man, occupies in it its natural position, and assumes the highest degree of significance.

This universality of the dramatic art, by which the young artist was able to profit at the very outset-thanks to the great flexibility and compass of her voice, which enabled her to sing with equal facility both contralto and soprano parts-is, in our opinion, one of the principal causes of the development of her grand and original talent. Even towards the close of the first two years she spent at Brussels, Rosina Stoltz began to be distinguished by the enlightened approbation of the critics, simultaneously with the applause of the public. The creation of the part of Rachel did her great honour. It was about this time that Nourrit went to play a few parts at Brussels. The great artist divined, without difficulty, in the young singer the germs of the most vigorous dramatic power, which, although still obscure, contained a splendid future, and from which that future was destined ere long to spring into life. Madame Stoltz's position in Paris was decided from that moment, and Nourrit undertook to obtain it for her. At last she appeared upon the stage where Madlle. Falcon still reigned supreme, and, in spite of this formidable propinquity, at once displayed her talent in its true colours. She made her début in La Juive.

It is very far from our intention to write a biographical study, instead of a critical article, and we shall, therefore, content ourselves with this epitome, and, in what we have further to say, keep to those principal facts which stand out in the career of Madame Stoltzauthentic, positive, and leading facts, explaining the character of the artist as well as that of her creations.

It is no easy task to classify talent like that of Madame Stoltz. It is not sufficient to assign to any artist a certain style and school: it is also necessary to point out the bonds which connect him or her with the style and school to which he or she belongs. According to certain critics, more enamoured of the manifestations of dramatic beauty than desirous of studying its elements, Madame Stoltz's talent belongs to tragedy. This is, also, the opinion of a great many with whom tradition is a religion; art, a snail in its shell; and progress, a word devoid of sense. We must follow the latter closely on their own ground, and ask how it is that every artist of superior talent very soon leaps over the puerile barriers of Aristotle, and gives his talent new life and liberty? As for the persons of the first class, we shall easily be enabled to rescue them from the error in which they appear to be plunged. The want of precise ideas as to the nature and object of modern lyrical conceptions has, of course, greatly helped to warp their judgment.

We admit one branch of the dramatic art, severe, imposing and grand, both in idea and development; but why wish still to apply to this branch the worn-out title of tragedy? Why call the actors who devote themselves to it, tragedians? this branch of art, by the way, is no longer found isolated. The Real, which our hands touch and our hearts appreciate, and the Picturesque which our eyes behold, have also their privileges in modern dramatic works. The drama, at present, excludes nothing; the system of the lyric drama admits antique subjects quite as well as modern subjects; the real does not exclude the ideal; and the former, after descending from the heights where it has so long been balancing itself, feels the necessity of repairing its strength by terrestrial means. Our fathers accomplished great works, but they did not close the circle of perfection after them. Will the old men who drape themselves in their expression of "classic," explain what they mean by it? Do they mean to say that they will accept only the ancients and their models as guides? If that is their meaning, we are sorry for it, because, when their theories are applied they become strangely confused. To confine ourselves to the musical art and its interpreters of the present day, what can be less classical than those works in which, however, these

gentlemen applaud the pretended lyric tragédiennes of our own times ? For instance, is the Huguenots to be compared with the lyrical tragedies of the past age? Do the stoical circumlocutions, the systematically achromatic pictures of the ancient style, at all resemble the precise, warm, and vigorous lines of the modern style? Has the Favorite, for instance, any points of similitude with Gluck's Armida, or Sacchini's Edipus in Colonnus? In sober truth, we suspect the classicist of a want of candour; it would tend much more to simplify the question, if they would express themselves categorically; they ought, supposing they wished to be consistent, not to applaud Mad. Stoltz, but, on the contrary, to criticise her severely.

No; the talent of Mad. Stoltz is not classical, and she herself, in spite of her progress, and in spite of the advice she received from the master of masters, is not a classical vocalist-a fact on which we, for our part, congratulate her sincerely. Her singing touches, moves, and transports you by forms quite new; her acting is quick, lively, and exciting, and plunges into the most secret recesses of the passion she is expressing; it goes home to the truth, it is the most complete dramatic transfiguration of our manners, customs, and sentiments, and is most intimately connected with them. To be brief, Mad. Stoltz.excels in that power of expression which springs entirely from her own soul, and proceeds in a direct line to the soul of the spectator. When this is the case, what difference do a few irregularities or even excesses make? Does not genius sometimes deviate from the right road? Can its path and step be measured out for it? Such an idea is simply ridiculous. We might as well tell the stream that spreads its broad waves over the level country around, that it does wrong to pass its usual limits and indulge in such an excess.

We are here compelled to touch upon a question which has always struck us as puerile; we allude to the question of "schools." The classification either of works or artists appears to us a superfluous task, when works or artists are of superior merit. However, in the case of Madame Stoltz this task becomes almost a duty. Madame Stoltz is nothing less than the founder of a school; she has created a particular form, and given her name to certain dramatic characteristics. Her work is there to prove, by its monumental solidity, the rare vigour of the artist who created it, and her various creations form a complete whole, a type, a genius, and, to use the theatrical term, an emploi. We say at present the Stoltz, to designate the kind of parts she has created, as we still say, at the Opéra-Comique, the Dugazons, the Trials, and the Martins.

We have already given a partial sketch of the distinctive attributes of this school, the existence of which we suppose we must acknowledge. We will merely add, that it possesses no fixed and pre-determined rules, simply because it possesses all the rules ever known, and because it is connected by the closest bonds to the two great schools of Italy and France. Madame Stoltz, seconded, it is true, by the musical movement of the age, has found means to assimilate and blend the two. One of the works in which Madame Stoltz appeared to the greatest advantage from this unitarian point of view is undoubtedly La Favorite. In the lyric art it is seldom that an artist can completely realise the doctrines she has created, and, above all, succeed in uniting them with one another, and summing them all up in a single work, without lessening or changing them, or without departing from the principles from which she originally set out.

Over-fastidious critics will still find fault with the creation, at the same time so tender and so vigorous, of Léonore, so mild, so weak, so pathetic; who allows herself to be drifted towards the flowery banks of love with such indolent abandon; who, like a true Castilian as she is, at first asks from the affections only their secret joys and passing bliss, but who can, at the last hour, assert her right to its sublime heroism. Léonore was not, perhaps, a type in the minds of the authors, and hence arises the great difficulty in tracing out the part, the action of which is not developed until the last act. Besides this, the part of Léonore was not written originally for Mad. Stoltz, and it was neces sary to remodel the melodies, revise the concerted pieces, and, in fact, provide a new musical ground on which the artist's talent might manoeuvre with freedom. The artist, however, triumphed over all these obstacles. It is in this part that Mad. Stoltz has infused the greatest amount of that sorrowful passion, which is smothered by the icy hand of the world; it is upon this confused and undecided groundwork that Mad. Stoltz has sketched so clear, vigorous, and beautiful an outline. The sketch is the result of a highly intelligent organization, energetic judgment, and simple and profound sentiment; we recognise in it the artist who knows her own strength, who sees with her own eyes, and can render clearly the tones she perceives, as well as the artist who can model, dispose, light up a thought, and endow it with life. La Favorite thus conceived assumes a definite signification; it is the fall of a woman, and her redemption-a veil whose two extremes are white and

pure, one of them being raised by the hand of Innocence, and the other by that of Forgiveness.

Moreover, the artist has done wonders with the music of the score. To look at the notes themselves, it is surprising what spirit she throws into them. From this mixed composition, in which the tones of Italian melody, and the tints of French dramatic music are confounded and huddled up together, she has extracted the richest effects, and placed them in the strongest light. Such is the miracle performed by the genius of Mad. Stoltz in La Favorite; such the power she owes to the varied character of her resources. We could cite many other instances, were it not time for us to stop and sum up. All the creations of Mad. Stoltz are sisters; about them all there exists a perfect likeness, at least a family air, which causes us to acknowledge them the heroines of the piece. But it does not follow that, because the generating power is the same, its productions are identical. We repeat, however, that agreement, ensemble, and unity, are the characteristics of the artist. If the school of Mad. Stoltz possesses in our eyes a particular value, it is from putting forward in a strong light the unity of spirit characterising the modern lyrical element.

Now, this school is certainly the only one which suits the temper of our own times: it is directly connected with the progress we have made, and the progress we have yet to make. Out of the most opposite elements, out of scattered systems and floating theories, its tendency is to raise itself to the idea of one single motive, everywhere present in the world of art.

Mad. Stoltz will have done her share by laying one of the first stones of the new edifice. The present age knows this, and posterity will not forget it.

HENRY LITOLFF.

(From the Revue et Gazette Musicale.)

FIFTEEN or sixteen years ago a young man, about nineteen years of age, arrived at Brussels, and expressed to me his desire to play at the concerts of the Conservatoire. I granted his request. He offered himself then only as a pianist. Though a pupil of Moscheles, he had but few of the characteristics of his school, and was not remarkable for the correctness of his mechanism; but he had fire, energy, and inspiration, which gave his playing a decided character of originality. He produced a very fair impression on his audience. This young man's name was Henry Litolff.

Well received at Brussels, he remained there, I think, about two years. During this time his intelligence became developed, and his musical ideas enlarged. He conceived the idea of a SymphonyConcerto, in which the orchestra was not merely to play the part of accompanyist, but was equally divided with the pianoforte. Litolff then knew harmony only by instinct, and had no experience in instrumentation; nevertheless, what he did not know theoretically he knew instinctively. His work was full of original ideas and new effects. He begged me to let him hear it himself first: perhaps he did not exactly know what he had written for the public; but he had boldness -a qualification indispensable to talent. He found me-what I have always been, what I will ever be to young artists-encouraging, and quite disposed to satisfy his wish. At the first rehearsal, I saw there was something for the future; the success of the performance proved that I was not deceived.

A short time after, Litolff left Brussels to travel. Where he went, and what he did, during the first years, I am ignorant of, for I lost sight of him. I saw, however, by the musical journals that he was twice in Holland. In 1843 he was at Frankfort, the following year at Leipzig, in 1845 at Dresden and Berlin, where he gave seven or eight concerts, and in 1848 at Vienna. The same journals had mentioned his bringing out at Brunswick two operas, named La Fiancée de Kynast and Catherine Howard; but they mentioned nothing of the talent which I had noted, and spoke only of the artist. Several years had elapsed, when I received, in the midst of the political agitations that were passing round me, an overture composed by Litolff for the German drama of the Girondins. The author had dedicated it to me as a souvenir, and at the same time wrote me a few lines, in which our old acquaintance was mentioned in grateful terms. I examined the score with interest, and found great originality, immense progress in the art of writing, and an instrumentation rich in effects. Nevertheless, I dared not have this work performed, owing to the revolutionary airs that were inserted and developed in it. The time did not appear to me favourable. Latterly, I acknowledge, I forgot all about it, so that the overture to the Girondins was unknown in Brussels until very lately.

Arriving here last November, after fourteen years' absence, Henry Litolff performed at the Conservatoire, on the 26th, his fourth symphony-concerto, which, with the immense orchestra of that institution, made a great impression on an audience of two thousand persons. Since then, he gave a concert himself, where he played his third symphony-concerto, as well as his fourth. The concert terminated with the overture to the Girondins. All these works were received with unanimous and enthusiastic applause. A second concert has been announced, and the new programme contains some new compositions, among which is the overture composed by Litolff to Griepenkerl's tragedy of Robespierre. Already the announcement of the concert has caused a sensation in the musical world of Brussels, where Litolff has found himself thoroughly appreciated.

It is not for Belgium alone that I write these lines, it is for France and Germany; for the latter above all, because Germany is at this moment at a dangerous crisis in a musical point of view. While her painters, her sculptors, and her architects are elevating themselves by the greatest conceptions, and are not less remarkable for beauty of form than for greatness of thought, her musicians of genius have disappeared by degrees, and the uncertain taste of the nation is exposed to vacillations from different motives equally hurtful. Among the Germans of our time—it is with music as with philosophy-it seems that there is for music, as for absolute truth, a great problem to be solved by the despairing crowd; while the fanatics of opposite systems declare themselves to be alone the possessors of the required solution. For one party of these sectarians, the past is but the preparation for the future, the beautiful of former times has value but in its own period. In their works is the perfection sought only to be found. It is true that the public does not agree with them; but this is nothing, for they simply say to the public, "The mass is by nature unintelligent; you are so, and therefore you are not capable of understanding. It is not therefore for you that we write our works, but for the future!" Poor future! You will be exceedingly amusing if you hug yourself with the idea of all that is destined for you. But you will not be more stupid than the present generation, and you will not recall to your remem brance the great efforts that were made for you.

Art is not science: it is not destined to be understood but to be felt, because it is not the true, but the beautiful. The art which cannot be understood is absurd, because its destiny is to be popular.* I know well those of whom I speak do not fail to say to every one, that Beethoven was not understood till after his death; and they have so often repeated this fable that they have ended by believing it. But it is an untruth, for the illustrious artist, little conciliating in character, was occupied all his life in avoiding the numerous testimonies of admiration which poured upon him from all sides. He was an object of veneration to the whole of the city of Vienna, and even the porters, sinking beneath the weight of their burdens, stood aside with respect to let him pass when they met him in the streets. Want of faith alone is the reproach to the Parisians for not having understood the symphonies of Beethoven till he slept in his tomb. The first time that the symphony in C minor, the Eroica, the one in A, and the Pastorale were played at the Société des Concerts, nothing was heard but expressions of admiration; they made a perfect furore. Never before had these. works been heard in Paris.

I have said it a hundred times, and I say it again, that music is not the product of the faculty of conception, but that of the imagination in the synthesis of idea and sentiment. If, then, the members of this party who aspire to become a school have produced nothing that is popular, it is that their imagination has been wanting.

It is that which distinguishes Litolff from them; of him, it may be said that he is a poet-that he feels; that he has ideas, inspiration, and charm. By these he appears to me to have all the German talent for instrumental music. I know well that he has great faults: he does not know how to end. He repeats too often not only the same ideas, but the same forms of ideas. The tendency to colouring is foremost in his thoughts. Lastly, his genius-for we can use this word in speaking of him-like every other genius, shows the influence of his own times, which tends to exaggeration; but all this is set aside by his originality-by the abundance of his resources-by the charm of peculiar phrases-and by the excellence of his effects in instrumentation, which are less the result of experience than of intuition.

I say then with confidence, there is a great musician in Germany, and his name is Henry Litolff. (Who is an Englishman.-ED.) FÉTIS.

*With deference to M. Fétis, this seems to be a contradiction.ED. M. W.

INDIVIDUALITY IN MUSIC.

It is only by means of individuality that Truth and Beauty ever succeed in attaining that material embodiment which we look upon as the uninterrupted revelation of the Divine in art. Even in science, the higher class of truths, the agnition of which is not effected by sensual perception, but is based upon ideas, gain the convincing power they exercise over us, only by their reappearance in the mental individualities that receive and reproduce them. There are certain great and general truths, which are, and always have been, the property of every civilized people on the face of the globe, and whose germs exist even among nations in a primitive state. It was, probably, the seeming simplicity of such truths that gave rise to the assertion, which it justifies in a certain sense, that no new discovery is to be made in the realm of ideas or the domain of elevated spiritual perception. Yet how new do these ideas appear in every great mind in which they are reflected, and which impresses its own peculiar stamp upon them; how often do we see them, in this mental reflection and transformation, throwing out a new principle of life, which breaks through the surrounding shadow of the Earthly, and forming new relations with respect to the primitive Spirit from which all light proceeds, and who rules every thing that has being!

In art, however, it is not mental conception alone, but more especially the gift of form, which obtains a high position only by the impress of individuality (peculiarity and style).

tion.

We thus have spiritual life presented to us as a well-defined picture, in which deathlike generality, objective stubbornness, and coldness of ideas appear overpowered, and the sense of being is displayed in a new view of the world. Originality, peculiarity, personal seclusiveness, and individual life, are, therefore, the primary conditions of this spiritual activity, especially in art. It is only in this manner that the mind becomes endowed with life; that the entirety of thought and feeling, before abstracted, attains living and significant unity, and that the abstract idea is appreciated, as a material form, a picture, an actual representaWhenever we find a genial individuality at work in art, a new world of thought is immediately open to us; the everactive spirit of truth raises us quickly from out our first feeling of astonishment; with rapture do we perceive the elevated ideas, to which we anxiously cling, illuminated by a new light, and glittering with additional brilliancy; we see the inexhaustible principle of life with all the treasures of the various appearances it can assume, pass before us in new pictures and forms; many a depth, hitherto unobserved, is revealed to us by astonishing relations and combinations, and joyfully do we celebrate the triumph of beauty and light. Even when the genial workman delights in plunging into the abysses of nature, and, deeply shaken by the discords of the moral world, finds a pleasure in displaying the latter to us in moving pictures and lamentations-out of the beauty of the pictures, and the very harmony of the lamentations, arises that feeling of reconciliation, which never is, or can be, wanting to any true work of art.

But it is not by genial or creative minds alone that art works upon life; there can be but few such, and when any art has reached its most flourishing period, in any particular epoch of a nation's civilization, if it has exhausted the treasures of form, or the power of expression of its peculiar organ on entering its epigeum, we cheerfully greet the mock suns that rise in our horizon, just as, during the sway of the great masters, we willingly acknowledge their most distinguished pupils, and welcome lesser talents, who are able to excite us mentally, and are endowed with the power of artistic form; for the arts and sciences are the arteries of man's intellectual life, and no educated nation can exist without the constant motion of those vital channels; the secure possession, and constantly recurring enjoyment of the genial lords of art is not sufficient for us: intellectual life does not stand still a single instant; it is an uninterrupted course of develop ment, and whatever new treasures it seizes and works up, from day to day, out of the inexhaustible stores of nature,

are spiritually reflected and illuminated in the mirror of art, and, availing ourselves of this fact, we endeavour to accommo date the spirit of the times to the riches of eternal thought and feeling in our breasts.

Here, then, does individuality again appear in full force, for it is by individuality alone that a work of art obtains life and credit, and if the individuality impressed on it is not a pleasing one, the work must be all the more interesting, and, of itself, more capable of exciting us mentally, if it can fix our attention; and all the more full of soul and inspiration, if it can move us. Any dry work of the understanding, although based on the most profound study of art, and treating of the most interesting moments and problems of intellectual life, if art is merely employed as the handmaiden of the mental intention, without being inspired by enthusiastic individuality, can never succeed in attracting and permanently engrossing the attention of a large audience, and, just in the same manner, the warmest sentiment, gushing into the noblest and most correct artistic forms, will be incapable of extorting from us lasting life, and pleasurable devotion, if it be not lighted up by a spark of soul. For my own part, I am less contented with the dry works of thought, with the laboured samples of theories, and with the pretensions and inflated productions of modern purpose-art, and their glaring outward effects, even when they are not poor in spiritual excitement, and expessive combinations of tone, than with the works of those noble spirits who, like Spohr, aware of the limits of their talent, do not attempt to scale the heavens, but, forming themselves after some sublime model, endeavour, above all things, to render themselves completely masters of the secret of the beautiful in art, and introduce us to a world of warm feelings with grateful harmony and soft melodious tones. Even in material music, the individuality of the artist is the deciding cause of the effect produced by him. If he executes works of his own composition, we must allow that he conceives them correctly, and our judgment of his works is identical with the decision to which we come, with regard to the correctness of his conception of them. If the work is empty, void and deficient in character, the most perfect technical execution, and the most truthful and careful rendering of his intentions will not invest it with the slightest importance. On the other hand, however, it very frequently happens that an instrumentalist, who, as a composer, can command only commonplaces, and melodious phrases and arabesques, wherewith to express his feelings, succeeds in producing the most extraordinary efforts by what is termed his "play." That which in such cases so magnetically works upon us, is the complete self-sacrifice made by a warm and inspired soul to the composition into which it unreservedly pours itself. The greater the peculiarity, depth, warmth, passion, enthusiasm, melancholy, humour, childish innocence, and sparkling fun, with which such a soul is represented to us by the performer's execution, the more will it attract, overpower and captivate us. The same holds good, when the instrumentalist plays the work of another, supposing that, without any pretensions to a higher signification and more elevated artistic beauty, it has been written by the composer merely for the sake of finding a vent for his feelings in tune, and affording the virtuoso an opportunity of shewing off his powers of execution in a piquant, bold, or elegant

manner.

In this case the performer will not be able to produce any very great effect, unless, besides truly conceiving the sentiment expressed in the work, he does not himself feel, and, so to speak, reproduce it from his own soul. Even a certain peculiarity of conception, marked by true and warm sentiment alone, if it does not encroach too much upon the fundamental idea of the composition, and works in combination with the power of individuality, will spoil nothing, while anxious acquiescence in each discernible intention of the composer, will prove totally ineffective, when the soul of the performer himself is not actually engaged.

Whenever classical compositions are to be played, the task of the executant is doubly important, and requires much greater care. The performer must penetrate deeply into the spirit of

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