"John is thus shown in his threefold capacity, as the herald of the Kingdom of Heaven, as the uncompromising champion of righteousness, and as the witness of truth even unto death. Nothing could be more simple or more definite than this, and the discreetness it evinces is shown also by the manner in which the characters are treated. John, of course, is the central figure. He stands out clothed with all the noble attributes accredited to him in the Bible,—'stern and inflexible in his teaching, yet bowing before him whose message he had to promulgate.' A halo of grandeur surrounds the ascetic of the desert as he hurls anathemas upon the corruptors of Israel; or as, in the true spirit of the ancient prophets of his race, he rebukes Herod under the roof of that monarch's palace. No greater hero could a musician wish for as a source of inspiration, or as a means of exciting interest. Next to John stands the weak and voluptuous King,—a contrast as marked in character as in outward circumstance. The impulsive temperament of Herod is well brought out. One instant he resents John's boldness, and significantly exclaims, 'If I command to kill, they kill;' the next he trembles before his rebuker, and promises to amend his life. The rashness of the fatal vow to Salome, and the bitter but unavailing repentance to which it led, are also put well forward, while in matters of detail extreme care is taken to make the contrast of Prophet and King as great as circumstances permit. The part of Salome, who is the only other dramatic person, contains no more amplification of the Bible narrative than was exacted by the necessities of musical treatment. In structure, the libretto is partly dramatic, partly narrational, the dramatic form being employed in all the chief scenes; and as little use is made of 'Greek chorus,' the story marches without the halting rendered necessary by efforts to 'improve' its incidents as they arise."

The overture, which is very dramatic in character, is followed by a powerful fugued chorus ("Behold! I will send My Messenger"), a part of which is set to organ accompaniment. The Narrator (contralto) recites the coming of the Prophet, in the orchestral prelude to which is a phrase borrowed from an old church melody which Mendelssohn also used in his Reformation Symphony, and which serves throughout the work as the motive for the Prophet, in the genuine Wagner style. Saint John is introduced in a rugged and massive baritone solo ("Repent ye, the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand"), accompanied by very descriptive instrumentation. A dramatic scene ensues, composed of inquiries as to the Prophet's mission by the People, a short chorus by the latter ("What shall we do then?") which is very melodic in style, and the resumption of the dialogue form, set to a very skilful accompaniment. This scene is followed by a characteristic aria for the Prophet, "I indeed baptize you with Water." The story is once more taken up by the Narrator, who describes the baptism of Christ. The words, "This is My Beloved Son," are given to a female choir, with exquisite accompaniment by the violins and harps. A song for the Narrator ("In the Beginning was the Word") follows, and leads to the chorus, which closes the first part, the words taken from the first verse of Psalm civ., and the melody borrowed from the familiar old tune "Hanover," which the composer has worked up with great skill and effect.

The second part opens in Herod's palace with the rebuke of the Monarch by the Prophet. In this scene, as well as in others, the composer draws a strong contrast in the music assigned to the two, the one being strong and stern, the other sensuous, in style. In the duet, where Herod confesses the error of his ways, the voices unite in a genuine religious strain. The Narrator is once more introduced, and describes the feast given by the Monarch to the Galilee estates, followed by a jubilant chorus of Nobles ("O King, live forever!"), set to a brilliant accompaniment, calling for the most ample orchestral resources. The next number is a chorus for male voices ("Lo! the Daughter of Herodias cometh in, she danceth!"), set to a dance rhythm with tambourines, the themes being bits of Oriental melodies skilfully treated. We then have the banquet-scene, the admiration of the Nobles for Salome's beauty, Herod's oath, and Salome's joy expressed in a showy song ("I rejoice in my youth"). Then follows the dramatic scene of Salome's request,—a concerted number of great force in its treatment. Herod sings a mournful aria ("Alas! my Daughter, thou hast brought us very low"). The Narrator explains how the King was compelled to keep his word, and is followed by the Nobles in a stirring chorus ("Lo! the Wrath of the King is as a Messenger of Death"). The scene now changes to the dungeon, where the Prophet sings his farewell song ("A Man can receive nothing"), accompanied by orchestra and organ. The final tragedy is told by the Narrator, and the work closes with two reflective numbers,—the beautiful unaccompanied quartet, "Blessed are they which are persecuted," and the chorus, "What went ye out into the Wilderness for to see?" The above-mentioned critic, who was present at its first performance, says of the work:—

"It is a strange thing that John the Baptist has not often attracted the notice of musical composers in search of a subject. No more remarkable personage, with one great exception, figures in Bible history than he whom the Master described as 'more than a prophet.' His striking appearance, stern asceticism, wrathful denunciation of 'wickedness in high places,' and tragic fate,—not to speak of his relation to One whose shoes he professed himself unworthy to loose,—throw his form into bold relief, and mark him as of heroic proportions. Yet, save that he holds a subordinate place in a very limited number of works, among which is Sir Julius Benedict's 'St. Peter,' the great forerunner has been passed over till now. At length, however, in that 'fulness of time' which ever brings forth the best results, the Man and his Life have found a musical illustrator. There is now an oratorio of 'John the Baptist,'—a work worthy its theme, and to which the stamp of enthusiastic approval has been affixed by the unanimous verdict of an audience competent to judge."



MACKENZIE.

Alexander C. Mackenzie, one of the very few successful Scotch composers, was born at Edinburgh in 1847. His father was a musician; and recognizing his son's talent, sent him to Germany at the age of ten. He began his studies with Ulrich Eduard Stein at Schwartzburg-Sonderhausen, and four years later entered the ducal orchestra as violinist. He remained there until 1862, when he went to England to study the violin with M. Sainton. In the same year he was elected king's scholar of the Royal Academy of Music. Three years later he returned to Edinburgh and established himself as a piano-teacher. The main work of his life, however, has been composition, and to this he has devoted himself with assiduity and remarkable success. Grove catalogues among his works: "Cervantes, an overture for orchestra;" a scherzo for ditto; overture to a comedy; a string quintet and many other pieces in MS.; pianoforte quartet in B, op. 11; Trois Morceaux pour Piano, op. 15; two songs, op. 12; besides songs, part-songs, anthems, and pieces for the piano. This catalogue, however, does not include his two most important works,—a Scotch Rhapsody, introduced into this country by the Theodore Thomas orchestra, a composition of great merit, and the oratorio, "The Rose of Sharon," which has been received with extraordinary favor wherever it has been performed.



The Rose of Sharon.

"The Rose of Sharon," a dramatic oratorio founded on the Song of Solomon, the words selected from the Scriptures and arranged by Joseph Bennett, was first brought out at the Norwich Festival, England, Oct. 16, 1884, under the direction of the composer, and was subsequently performed in London by the Sacred Harmonic Society. Its first performance in Scotland took place at Glasgow, Dec. 8, 1885, under the auspices of the Glasgow Choral Union, Madame Albani, Miss Hilda Wilson, Mr. Edward Lloyd, and Mr. Watkins Mills being the principal vocalists. One notice of this performance says: "The enthusiastic reception of the work on this occasion was beyond all description; the composer was recalled after each part with cheers that must have made his heart leap with delight." At the first performance at Norwich he was showered with flowers by the chorus, while the whole audience rose and greeted him with prolonged cheering. In speaking of the text, its compiler says:—

"In adopting for the purposes of this oratorio a reading of the 'Song of Songs' upon which Ewald and Renan substantially agree, the compiler of the libretto favored no controversial opinion. He simply saw in the ingenious commentaries of the learned Hebraists suggestions for a story of unconquerable love, capable of expression in the language of the Bible.

"For the arrangement of incident the compiler is alone responsible. In some respects it departs widely from the original poem,—which opens, for example, in Jerusalem,—and gives only in narrative the events that occupy part one of the oratorio.

"In taking a story from a canonical book of Holy Scripture, the compiler could not ignore its spiritual significance. He has, therefore, introduced a prologue suggesting the parabolic character of the drama, and an epilogue which points its moral."

The characters are the Rose of Sharon, designated throughout the work as the Sulamite (soprano); a Woman (contralto); the Beloved (tenor); and Solomon (baritone); the chorus representing Officers of the Court, Princes, Nobles, Villagers, Elders, and Soldiers. The story, briefly told, is one of the power of love. The Beloved and Solomon are both in love with the Sulamite, and the king tears her from the former to be the favorite among the women of the harem. Amid all the splendors of the palace and the luxuries heaped upon her by her passionate admirer she remains true to the Beloved, is ultimately restored to him, and returns to the vineyards of Sulam. The work is divided as follows: Prologue; Part I. Separation; II. Temptation; III. Victory; IV. Reunion; V. Epilogue. The motto of the oratorio is "Love is strong as death, and unconquerable as the grave." This motto has its musical theme as well as each of the three principal characters, and they are invariably used with great skill and effect. The Woman acts the part of Narrator, and after a brief orchestral prelude she is heard declaring the meaning and spiritual significance of the story in the prologue:

"We will open our mouth in a parable; We will utter dark sayings of old, Which we have heard and known, Which our fathers have told us; We will not hide them from our children, That the generation to come may know them, Who shall declare them to their children.

This is a great mystery; but we speak concerning Christ and his Church."

The oratorio opens in the vineyard of Sulam as the Vine-dressers come forth to their labor. The orchestral part begins with the melody of the Vineyard Song ("We will take the Foxes"), and serves to introduce their chorus, a joyous pastoral ("Come, let us go forth into the Field"). As they disappear, the voice of the Beloved is heard singing a tender and passionate appeal beneath the Sulamite's lattice ("Rise up, rise up, my Love") as he urges her to join him, "For lo! the winter is past; the rain is over and gone." Her reply follows from within her chamber, full of love and adoration, and closing with the Vineyard Song ("We will take the Foxes, the little Foxes that ravage the Vines"). She descends from her chamber and joins the Beloved, and their voices unite in a delightful duet ("Come, Beloved, into the Garden of Nuts"). Once more the chorus of the Vine-dressers is heard, and at its close, after an intermezzo descriptive of the joys of a spring morning, the scene changes to Lebanon. A short alto solo announces the coming of Solomon, and the pastoral music is followed by a brilliant and stately processional march, accompanied by chorus ("God save the King!"). Solomon beholds the Sulamite, and pours forth his admiration in a rapturous song ("Thou art lovely, O my Friend, as Thirza"). The Princes and Nobles also testify to their admiration of her beauty. A very dramatic scene ensues, in which the Beloved and the Sulamite seek to escape "out of the caves of the lion and from the haunt of the leopard." She is brought back by an elder, and again Solomon pleads his cause in a passionate declamation ("Unto my charger in Pharaoh's stud I would compare thee, O my friend"). She replies, "My Beloved is to me a nosegay of myrrh," and clings to her lover, who once more seeks to escape with her; whereupon she is seized and placed in one of the king's chariots, and the cavalcade moves off to the brilliant strains of the cortege music, accompanied by the chorus.

The second part, "Temptation," introduces us to Solomon's palace, where the Sulamite is alone, pining for her lover. The scene opens with the psalm, "The Lord is my Shepherd," set to a simple, charming melody, full of the spirit of devotion, but entirely disconnected with the general texture of the work. As the touching strain comes to an end, the Women of the court enter, insidiously plead the cause of Solomon, tempt her with his luxuries, and seek to shame her love for the Beloved. "Kings' daughters shall be among thine honorable women; thy clothing shall be of wrought gold; thou shalt be brought unto the king in raiment of needlework, with gladness and rejoicing shalt thou be brought and enter into the king's palace," sings one of the Women; but the Sulamite remains loyal, and only answers: "My Beloved pastures his flocks among the lilies. My Beloved is mine, and I am his." The temptation is interrupted by the procession of the ark passing in the street below to the glad acclaim of the people ("Make a joyful Noise unto the Lord, all ye Lands"), and a brilliant march. Successively the Maidens of Jerusalem with timbrels, the Elders, the Shepherds and Vine-dressers, the Soldiers, the Priests bearing the sacred vessels pass by, singing tributes of praise to the Lord; and as the Levites appear bearing the ark, and Solomon comes in sight with all his retinue, the entire chorus triumphantly repeat "God save the King!" The brilliant procession passes from view. The Women once more appeal to the Sulamite; but she still loyally declares: "My Beloved pastures his flocks among the lilies; lo! Solomon in all his glory is not arrayed like one of these."

The third part, "Victory," opens with an orchestral prelude picturing the sleep of the Sulamite, with her women watching about her. The voice of the Beloved is heard without the chamber, "Open to me, my Sister, my Bride." It reaches her in a dream, and in fancy she replies to him, clothes herself, and searches for him in the streets; but when she accosts the watchmen, they are so rude that her fright awakes her. She is still a prisoner in the palace, and the Women about her announce the coming of Solomon. He pleads his cause in a passionate song ("Ere the Day cool and the Shadows flee away"); and she replies with another protestation of her constancy in the solo, "Lo! a Vineyard hath Solomon at Baal-hamon." The situation, which is very dramatic in its treatment, is heightened by a duet and by the mocking chorus of Women; but above them all still sings the brave Sulamite, "My Beloved is mine, and I am his."

The fourth part brings us back again to the vineyards of Sulam. It opens with a melancholy chorus of the Vine-dressers ("O Lord, be gracious unto us"), lamenting her absence. It is followed by a bass solo ("Thus saith the Lord") and a chorale in full broad harmony. At last the victorious Sulamite is seen coming up from the valley leaning on the arm of the Beloved. All join in a powerful and exultant chorus of gratitude and joy ("Sing, O Heavens, and be joyful, O Earth"). A rapturous duet ensues between the Sulamite and the Beloved, and then all join in the spirited finale:—

"For the flame of Love is as fire, Even the fire of God. Many waters cannot quench it, Neither can floods drown it. Yea, Love is strong as death, And unconquerable as the grave."



MENDELSSOHN.

Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy, the son of a Berlin banker, was born at Hamburg, Feb. 3, 1809, and, unlike almost all other composers, was reared in the lap of luxury. Every advantage which wealth could procure he enjoyed, with the result that he became highly educated in the other arts as well as in music. His teachers in music were Zelter and Ludwig Berger, and he made such progress that in his ninth year he appeared in public as a pianist in Berlin, and afterwards in Paris. The first of his compositions to attract general notice were the overture to Shakspeare's "Midsummer Night's Dream" and the little opera "The Marriage of Camacho," which were brought out in Berlin in 1827. After several concert tours, in which he met with great success, he resided for some time in Duesseldorf. In 1835 he went to Leipsic as director of the famous Gewandhaus concerts,—which are still given in that city. Two years later he married Cecile Jeanrenaud, the beautiful daughter of a minister of the Reformed Church in Frankfort, and shortly afterwards went to Berlin as general director of church music. In 1843 he returned to his former post in Leipsic, and also took a position in the newly established Conservatory, where he spent the remainder of his days in company with his family, to whom he was closely attached. He has left a large and rich collection of musical works, which are favorites the world over. His three great oratorios are the "Hymn of Praise," catalogued as a symphony-cantata, "St. Paul," and "Elijah." The last is specially interesting, as it marked a new departure from the conventional forms of oratorio, and gave the widest scope to the dramatic elements,—to such a degree, in fact, that it might with propriety be styled a sacred opera. Besides these oratorios, his exquisite music to the "Midsummer Night's Dream," which is familiar the world over, and his stately dramatic music to "Antigone," he has left five symphonies, of which the "Scotch," the "Italian," and the "Reformation" are best known; four exquisite overtures, "Ruy Blas," "Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage," "Hebrides," and "Melusina;" the very dramatic cantata, "The Walpurgis Night;" a long list of beautiful songs for one or more voices; the incidental music to Racine's "Athalia;" a very large collection of sacred music, such as psalms, hymns, anthems, and cantatas; several beautiful trios and other specimens of chamber-music; and the lovely "Songs without Words," which are to be found upon almost every piano, the beauty and freshness of which time has not impaired. Mendelssohn never wrote a grand opera, owing to his fastidiousness as to a libretto; though he finally obtained one from Geibel, on the subject of the "Loreley," which suited him. He had begun to write it, and had finished the finale to the first act, when death interrupted his work, Nov. 4, 1847. Mendelssohn was a man of remarkable beauty, and his character corresponded to his charm of person. He had a liberal education, was a man of broad culture, a clever artist, and a very skilful writer, as is shown by his volumes of letters from Italy and Switzerland. Possessed of these graces of mind and person, and having all the advantages that wealth could bestow, he lacked those incentives which in other composers have brought out the deepest, highest, and most majestic forms of musical expression. His music is a reflex of his life; grace, elegance, culture, and finish are its characteristics.



St. Paul.

"St. Paul," the first of Mendelssohn's oratorios, was begun in Duesseldorf and finished in Leipsic in the winter of 1835, the composer being then in his twenty-sixth year. He first applied to Marx to write the text; but the invitation was declined, on the ground that the chorales were unsuited to the period of the narrative. Mendelssohn then consulted with his friends Fuerst and Schubring, and the libretto as it now stands represents their joint compilation. Its three principal themes are the martyrdom of Saint Stephen, the conversion of Saint Paul, and the apostle's subsequent career. One of the clearest statements of the general character of the work is that given by Lampadius; he says:—

"The main thought which runs through the whole work is too high and broad to be linked by the tie of a personal interest to any single man. It is the glorification of Christianity, with its humility, its joy in living and dying for the Lord, in contrast with the blind self-righteousness of Judaism and the mere sensuous morality of the heathen schools. It is the contrast, or rather the struggle, of the last two with the former, and the victory of the light and love of the Gospel,—the light eternal, the love divine. This thought is made incarnate in the persons of Stephen, Paul, and Barnabas, and it is concentrated at that point which is really the central point of interest to the oratorio,—the conversion of Saint Paul."

The work was written upon a commission given by the Cecilien Verein of Frankfort in 1831; but it was not produced until May 22, 1836, on the occasion of the Lower Rhine Festival at Duesseldorf. The principal parts were sung by Madame Fischer-Achten, Mademoiselle Grabau, Herren Schmetzer and Wersing, the latter artist taking the part of Paul. The second performance was given at Liverpool, Oct. 3, 1836; and between the two performances Mendelssohn revised the work and cut out fourteen numbers.

After a long and expressive overture for orchestra and organ, the first part opens with a strong and exultant chorus ("Lord! Thou alone art God"). It is massively constructed, and in its middle part runs into a restless, agitated theme ("The Heathen furiously rage"). It closes, however, in the same energetic and jubilant manner which characterizes its opening, and leads directly to a chorale ("To God on High"), set to a famous old German hymn-book tune, "Allein Gott in der Hoeh' sei Ehr," which is serenely beautiful in its clearly flowing harmony. The martyrdom of Stephen follows. The basses in vigorous recitative accuse him of blasphemy, and the people break out in an angry chorus ("Now this Man ceaseth not to utter blasphemous Words"). At its close Stephen sings a brief but beautiful solo ("Men, Brethren, and Fathers!"); and as the calm protest dies away, again the full chorus gives vent to a tumultuous shout of indignation ("Take him away"). A note of warning is heard in the fervent soprano solo, "Jerusalem, thou that killest the Prophets;" but it is of no avail. Again the chorus hurls its imprecations more furiously than before ("Stone him to death"). The tragedy occurs. A few bars of recitative for tenor, full of pathos, tell the sad story, and then follows another beautiful chorale of submission ("To Thee, O Lord, I yield my Spirit"). Saul's participation in the tragedy is barely touched upon. The lament for Stephen is followed by the chorus, "Happy and blest are they," which is beautifully melodious in character. Saul now appears, "breathing out threatenings and slaughter" against the apostles. His first aria ("Consume them all") is a bass solo which is fiery in its energy. It is followed by the lovely arioso for alto, "But the Lord is mindful of His own,"—fitting companion to the equally beautiful "O rest in the Lord" from "Elijah," and much resembling it in general style. Then occurs the conversion. The voice from heaven ("Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou Me?") is represented, as was often done in the passion-music, by the soprano choir, which gives it peculiar significance and makes it stand out in striking contrast with the rest of the work. A forcible orchestral interlude, worked up in a strong crescendo, leads to the vigorous chorus, "Rise up! arise!" in which the powerful orchestral climax adds great strength to the vocal part. It is a vigorously constructed chorus, and is followed by a chorale ("Sleepers, wake! a Voice is calling"), which still further heightens the effect by its trumpet notes between the lines. At the close of the imposing harmony the music grows deeper and more serious in character as Saul breathes out his prayer, "O God, have Mercy upon me;" and again, after the message of forgiveness and mercy delivered by Ananias, more joyful and exultant in the bass solo with chorus ("I praise Thee, O Lord, my God"), Saul receives his sight, and straightway begins his ministrations. A grand reflective chorus ("O great is the Depth of the Riches of Wisdom"), strong and jubilant in character, and rising to a powerful climax, closes the first part.

The second part opens with the five-part chorus, "The Nations are now the Lord's,"—a clear fugue, very stately and dignified in its style, leading, after a tenor and bass duet ("Now all are Ambassadors in the Name of Christ"), to the beautifully melodious chorus, "How lovely are the Messengers that preach us the Gospel of Peace," and the equally beautiful soprano arioso, "I will sing of Thy great Mercies." After the chorus, "Thus saith the Lord," and a second tumultuous chorus expressive of rage and scorn ("Is this He who in Jerusalem"), another chorale occurs ("O Thou, the true and only Light"), in which the Church prays for direction. The tenor recitative announcing the departure of Paul and Barnabas to the Gentiles, followed by the tenor and bass duet, "For so hath the Lord Himself commanded," bring us to the scene of the sacrifice at Lystra, in which the two choruses, "The Gods themselves as Mortals," and "O be gracious, ye Immortals," are full of genuine Greek sensuousness and in striking contrast with the seriousness and majestic character of the harmony in the Christian chorus ("But our God abideth in Heaven") which follows. Once more the Jews interfere, in the raging, wrathful chorus, "This is Jehovah's Temple." In a pathetic tenor aria ("Be thou faithful unto Death") Paul takes a sorrowful leave of his brethren, and in response comes an equally tender chorus, "Far be it from thy Path." Two stately choruses ("See what Love hath the Father," and "Now only unto Him") close the work.



Hymn of Praise.

The "Lobgesang" ("Hymn of Praise") was written at Leipsic in 1840, the occasion which gave birth to it being the fourth centennial celebration of the art of printing. The musical features of the festival were intrusted to Mendelssohn, the ceremonies occupying two days, June 24 and 25 of the above year. On the evening of the 23d there was a performance of Lortzing's opera, "Hans Sachs," written for the occasion. On the morning of the 24th there was a service in the church, followed by the unveiling of the statue of Guttenberg in the public square, and an open-air performance of the composer's "Festgesang" for two choirs, with trombone accompaniment, David conducting one choir, and Mendelssohn the other. In the afternoon of the 25th the "Hymn of Praise" was given for the first time in St. Thomas's Church, preceded by Weber's "Jubilee Overture" and Handel's "Dettingen Te Deum." Lampadius, who was present at the performance, says:—

"The work called out the greatest enthusiasm, which could hardly be repressed within bounds even by the fact that the audience were seated within the walls of a church. After the first duet a subdued whisper of applause ran through the edifice and betrayed the suppressed delight of the listeners. On one of the evenings following, a torchlight procession was made in honor of the great composer. Mendelssohn, who then lived in Lurgenstein's Garden, appeared at the window, his face lighted up with joy. 'Gentlemen,' he said in his neat, quiet way, with a sensible trembling of the voice, 'you know that it is not my manner to make many words; but I heartily thank you.' A loud 'Hoch!' three times shouted, was our reply."

Its next performance was at Birmingham, Sept. 23, 1840, Mendelssohn himself conducting. After this performance it was considerably changed, and the whole scene of the watchman was added. The idea occurred to him after a sleepless night, during which, as he informed a friend, the words, "Will the night soon pass?" incessantly came into his mind.

The title given to the "Hymn of Praise," "a symphony-cantata," was first suggested by his friend Carl Klingemann, of London, as will be seen by the following interesting extract from a letter written by Mendelssohn to him, Nov. 18, 1840:—

"My 'Hymn of Praise' is to be performed the end of this month for the benefit of old invalided musicians. I am determined, however, that it shall not be produced in the imperfect form in which, owing to my illness, it was given in Birmingham; so that makes me work hard. Four new pieces are to be added, and I have also much improved the three sets of symphonies, which are now in the hands of the copyist. As an introduction to the chorus, 'The Night is passed,' I have found far finer words in the Bible, and admirably adapted to the music. By the by, you have much to answer for in the admirable title you hit on so cleverly; for not only have I sent forth the piece into the world as a symphony-cantata, but I have serious thoughts of resuming the first 'Walpurgis Night' (which has been so long lying by me) under the same cognomen, and finishing and getting rid of it at last. It is singular enough that at the very first suggestion of this idea I should have written to Berlin that I was resolved to compose a symphony with a chorus. Subsequently I had not courage to begin, because the three movements were too long for an introduction; and yet I never could divest myself of the impression that something was wanting in the shape of an introduction. Now the symphony is to be inserted according to my original intention, and the piece brought out at once."

The text to the "Hymn of Praise" is not in narrative form, nor has it any particular dramatic significance. It is what its name indicates,—a tribute of praise. Lampadius says the composer undertook to show "the triumph at the creation of light over darkness. With his pious and believing heart he could easily enter into that theme, and show with matchless power and skill the closing-in of those ancient foes, and the victory of light when darkness cowered and ignobly shrank away." The expression of delight over this victory is very well brought out, not only in the music, but also in the arrangement of the Scriptural texts, which begin with exhortations of praise, and appeals to those who have been in distress and affliction to trust the Lord. The tenor, who may be regarded as the Narrator, calls upon the Watchman, "What of the night?" The response comes that the night has passed. In exultation over the victory, once more the text ascribes praise to the Lord. "All that has life and breath" sings to His name.

The symphony is in three parts, beginning with a maestoso movement, in which the trombones at once give out the choral motive, "All that has life and breath sing to the Lord,"—a favorite theme of Mendelssohn. This movement, which is strong and energetic in character, is followed by an allegretto based upon a beautiful melody, and to this in turn succeeds an adagio religioso rich in harmony. The symphony clearly reflects the spirit of the cantata, which follows. The opening chorus ("All that has Life and Breath") is based upon the choral motive, and enunciates the real hymn of praise. It moves along in a stately manner, and finally leads without break into a semi-chorus, "Praise thou the Lord, O my Spirit," a soprano solo with accompaniment of female voices. The tenor in a long dramatic recitative ("Sing ye Praise, all ye redeemed of the Lord") urges the faithful to join in praise and extol His goodness, and the chorus responds, first, the tenors, and then all the parts, in a beautiful number, "All ye that cried unto the Lord." The next number is an exquisite duet for soprano and alto with chorus ("I waited for the Lord"). It is thoroughly devotional in style, and in its general color and effect reminds one of the arias, "O Rest in the Lord" from "Elijah," and "The Lord is mindful of His own" from "St. Paul." This duet is followed by a sorrowful, almost wailing tenor solo, "The Sorrows of Death had closed all around me," ending with the piercing, anxious cry in recitative, "Watchman! will the Night soon pass?" set to a restless, agitated accompaniment and thrice repeated. Like a flash from a cloud comes the quick response of the chorus, "The Night is departing," which forms the climax of the work. The chorus is beautifully constructed, and very impressive in its effect. At first the full chorus proclaims the night's departure; it then takes the fugal form on the words, "Therefore let us cast off the works of darkness," which is most effectively worked out.

In the finale the male voices are massed on the declaration, "The Night is departing," and the female voices on the response, "The Day is approaching;" and after alternating repetitions all close in broad, flowing harmony. This chorus leads directly to the chorale, "Let all Men praise the Lord," sung first without accompaniment, and then in unison with orchestra. Another beautiful duet, "My Song shall alway be Thy Mercy," this time for soprano and tenor, follows, and prepares the way for the final fugued chorus, "Ye Nations, offer to the Lord," a massive number, stately in its proportions and impressive in its effect, and closing with a fortissimo delivery of the splendid choral motive, "All that has Life and Breath."

Notwithstanding that the choral part is brief as compared with the "St. Paul" and "Elijah," there are many critics who are inclined to pronounce the "Hymn of Praise" Mendelssohn's greatest work. In its combination of the symphony and the voice parts, the one growing out of the other and both so intimately connected, it stands almost alone. Some critics have condemned Mendelssohn for imitating Beethoven's Choral Symphony, though in that colossal work the chorus is not only subordinate to the symphony, but is even trifling in length as compared with it, and very inferior in style. While in Mendelssohn's work the symphony is subordinated to the choral part, and serves only as an introduction to it, they are yet conventionally connected; but in Beethoven's work the chorus was the product of necessity, as the idea could not have been developed without it. The instruments had gone as far as possible; the voices must speak.



Elijah.

"Elijah," the most admired of all Mendelssohn's compositions, was finished in 1846. The plan of the work was first considered in 1837, and was discussed with his friend Klingemann in London. During the next year he had frequent consultations with another friend, Schubring, as to the preparation of the book, and many of the passages were selected and scenes sketched out; but it was not until 1840 that he really began to put it into shape. We learn by a letter that in 1842 he was still at work upon the book itself. Two years later he received an invitation to conduct the Birmingham Festival of 1846; and it was evidently at that time he decided to prepare the work for that occasion. We learn by another letter that on the 23d of May, 1846, the entire first part and six or eight numbers of the second part were sent to London to a Mr. Bartholomew, who was engaged translating the text into English. That Mendelssohn himself was pleased with his work is evident from his own words, written to a friend after he had finished the first part: "I am jumping about my room for joy. If it only turns out half as good as I fancy, how pleased I shall be!" By the latter part of July the entire oratorio was in the hands of Mr. Bartholomew, and on August 18 Mendelssohn himself arrived in London and immediately began the rehearsals. The work was first performed on the 26th at Birmingham, coming between Haydn's "Creation" on the 25th, and Handel's "Messiah" on the 27th, the latter oratorio being followed by Beethoven's Mass in D. A correspondent who was present writes:—

"How shall I describe what to-day has been in the Music Hall? After such an intense enjoyment it is a hard task to express one's feelings in cold words. It was a great day for the festival, a great day for the performers, a great day for Mendelssohn, a great day for art. Four da-capos in the first part, four in the second, making eight encores, and at the close the calling out of the composer,—are significant facts when one considers that it was the rigid injunction of the Committee that the public should not testify its approval by applause. But the enthusiasm would be checked by no rules; when the heart is full, regulations must stand aside. It was a noble scene, the hall filled with men, the galleries gay with ladies, like so many tulip-beds, added to the princely music and their thundering bravas."

Mendelssohn himself on the day after the performance writes to his brother in Berlin:—

"No work of mine ever went so admirably the first time of execution, or was received with such enthusiasm by both the musicians and the audience, as this oratorio. It was quite evident at the first rehearsal in London that they liked it, and liked to sing and play it; but I own I was far from anticipating that it would acquire such fresh vigor and impetus at the performance. Had you only been there! During the whole two hours and a half that it lasted, the large hall, with its two thousand people, and the large orchestra were all so fully intent on the one object in question that not the slightest sound was to be heard among the whole audience, so that I could sway at pleasure the enormous orchestra and choir, and also the organ accompaniments. How often I thought of you during the time! more especially, however, when 'the sound of abundance of rain' came, and when they sang and played the final chorus with furore, and when, after the close of the first part, we were obliged to repeat the whole movement. Not less than four choruses and four airs were encored, and not one single mistake occurred in the first part; there were some afterwards in the second part, but even these were but trifling. A young English tenor[6] sang the last air with such wonderful sweetness that I was obliged to collect all my energies, not to be affected, and to continue beating time steadily."

Notwithstanding his delight with the performance, he was not satisfied with the oratorio as a whole. He made numerous changes and re-wrote portions of the work,—indeed there was scarcely a movement that was not retouched. It is interesting to note in this connection that the beautiful trio, "Lift thine Eyes," was originally a duet, and very different in character. The first performance of the work in London took place April 16, 1847, when it was given by the Sacred Harmonic Society. Her Majesty and Prince Albert were in attendance; and after the performance the Prince sent to Mendelssohn the score which he had used in following the music, with the following tribute written in it:—

To the noble artist who, surrounded by the Baal-worship of corrupted art, has been able by his genius and science to preserve faithfully, like another Elijah, the worship of true art, and once more to accustom our ear, lost in the whirl of an empty play of sounds, to the pure notes of expressive composition and legitimate harmony; to the great master who makes us conscious of the unity of his conception through the whole maze of his creation, from the soft whispering to the mighty raging of the elements.

Written in token of grateful remembrance by

Albert.

Buckingham Palace, April 24, 1847.

The text was mainly compiled from the First Book of Kings, and was translated, as has been said, by Mr. Bartholomew. Hiller says that the idea of the oratorio was first suggested by the verse in the nineteenth chapter, "Behold, the Lord passed by," and that Mendelssohn, while reading it, remarked to him, "Would not that be splendid for an oratorio?" The prominent scenes treated are the drought prophecy, the raising of the widow's son, the rival sacrifices, the appearance of the rain in answer to Elijah's appeal, Jezebel's persecution of Elijah, the sojourn in the desert, his return, his disappearance in the fiery chariot, and the finale, which reflects upon the meaning of the sacred narrative. The scenes themselves indicate the dramatic character of the oratorio. In this respect, indeed, Mendelssohn may almost be said to have created a new school of oratorio construction. "Elijah" could be placed upon the stage with scenery, costume, and properties as a sacred opera, and make a powerful impression,—almost as much so, indeed, as Rossini's "Moses." Mendelssohn's own testimony on this point is interesting. In a letter written Nov. 2, 1838, to Pastor Julius Schubring, who was assisting him in the preparation of the book, he says:—

"I figured to myself Elijah as a grand, mighty prophet, such as we might again require in our own day,—energetic and zealous, but also stern, wrathful, and gloomy; a striking contrast to the court myrmidons and popular rabble,—in fact, in opposition to the whole world, and yet borne on angel's wings.... I am anxious to do justice to the dramatic element, and, as you say, no epic narrative must be introduced.... I would fain see the dramatic element more prominent, as well as more exuberant and defined,—appeal and rejoinder, question and answer, sudden interruptions, etc."

Again, on the 6th of December, he writes:—

"In such a character as that of Elijah, like every one in the Old Testament (except, perhaps, Moses), it appears to me that the dramatic should predominate, the personages should be introduced as acting and speaking with fervor,—not, however, for Heaven's sake, to become mere musical pictures, but inhabitants of a positive, practical world such as we see in every chapter of the Old Testament; and the contemplative and pathetic element, which you desire, must be entirely conveyed to our apprehension by the words and the mood of the acting personages."

The introduction to the oratorio is prefaced by a brief but very impressive recitative,—Elijah's prophecy of the drought; leading directly to the overture, a sombre, despairing prelude, picturing the distress which is to follow as the curse settles down upon the streams and valleys. At last the suffering is voiced in the opening chorus ("Help, Lord"), which, after three passionate appeals, moves along in plaintive beauty, developing phrase after phrase of touching appeal, and leading to a second chorus, with duet for two sopranos ("Lord, bow Thine Ear to our Prayer"), the choral part of which is an old Jewish chant, sung alternately by the male and female voices in unison. It is followed by Obadiah's lovely tenor aria, "If with all your Hearts," full of tenderness and consolation. Again the People break out into a chorus of lamentation ("Yet doth the Lord see it not"), which at the close develops into a chorale of graceful and serene beauty ("For He the Lord our God"). Then follows the voice of an Angel summoning Elijah to the brook of Cherith, leading to the beautiful double quartet, "For He shall give His Angels Charge over thee," the melody of which is simple, but full of animation, and worked up with a skilful effect. Again the Angel summons Elijah to go to the Widow's house at Zarephath. The dramatic scene of the raising of her son ensues, comprising a passionate song by the mother ("What have I to do with thee?") and the noble declaration of the prophet, "Give me thy Son," and closing with the reflective chorus, "Blessed are the Men who fear Him."

In the next scene we have the appearance of Elijah before Ahab, and the challenge of the Priests of Baal to the sacrifice on Mount Carmel, set forth in vigorous recitative, accompanied by short choral outbursts. At the words of Elijah, "Invoke your forest gods and mountain deities," the Priests of Baal break out into the stirring double-chorus, "Baal, we cry to thee," which is fairly sensual and heathenish in its rugged, abrupt melodies, as compared with the Christian music. At its close Elijah bids them "call him louder, for he is a god; he talketh, or he is pursuing." Again they break out into a chorus of barbaric energy ("Hear our Cry, O Baal"), in the intervals of which Elijah taunts them again and again with the appeal, "Call him louder." The Priests renew their shouts, each time with increasing force, "pausing in vain for the reply, and closing with a rapid, almost angry expostulation ("Hear and answer"). Then follows the calm, dignified prayer of the prophet ("Lord God of Abraham"), succeeded by a simple, but beautiful chorale ("Cast thy Burden upon the Lord"). It is the moment of quiet before the storm which is to come. He calls for the fire to descend upon the altar, and a chorus of passionate energy replies, "The Fire descends from Heaven," accompanied by imitative music, and closing with a brief movement in broad harmony. In fierce recitative Elijah dooms the Priests of Baal to destruction, and after a short choral reply sings the bass aria, "Is not His Word like a Fire?"—a song of extraordinary difficulty, and requiring a voice of exceptional accuracy and power for its proper performance. A lovely arioso for alto ("Woe unto them") follows Elijah's vigorous declamation. These two arias are connecting links between the fire chorus and the rain scene which ensues. Obadiah summons Elijah to help the People, and Elijah replies in an exquisite little andante passage, repeated by the chorus ("Open the Heavens and send us Relief"). Then follows a dialogue-passage between the prophet, the People, and the Youth, whom he bids "look toward the sea,"—the most striking features of which are the responses of the Youth and the orchestral climax as the heavens grow black and "the storm rushes louder and louder." As the deluge of rain descends, the thankful People break out into a passionate shout of delight ("Thanks be to God"), heard above the tempest in the orchestra. At first it is a brief expression of gratitude. The voices come to a pause, and Elijah repeats the tribute of praise. Then all join in a surging tumult of harmony, as fresh and delightful as was the pouring rain to the thirsty land, voices and instruments vying with each other in joyful acclamations, until the end is reached and the first part closes.

The second part opens with a brilliant soprano solo ("Hear ye, Israel"), beginning with a note of warning, and then with trumpet obligato developing into another melody of an impetuous and animated description ("I, I am He that comforteth"). The solo leads to the magnificent chorus, "Be not afraid," in which, after a short pause, the entire force of voices, orchestra, and organ join in the sublime strain, sweeping on in broad, full harmony. There is a pause of the voices for two bars, then they move on in a strong fugue ("Though Thousands languish and fall"). At its close they are all merged again in the grand announcement, "Be not afraid," delivered with impetuosity, and ending with the same subject in powerful chorale form. The scene which follows is intensely dramatic. The prophet rebukes Ahab and condemns the Baal worship. Jezebel fiercely accuses Elijah of conspiring against Israel, and the People in sharp, impetuous phrases declare, "He shall perish," leading to the chorus, "Woe to him!" After a few bars for the instruments, Obadiah, in an exquisite recitative, counsels him to fly to the wilderness. In the next scene we behold Elijah alone, and in a feeble but infinitely tender plaint he resigns himself. It is hard to conceive anything grander and yet more pathetic than this aria, "It is enough," in which the prophet prays for death. A few bars of tenor recitative tell us that, wearied out, he has fallen asleep ("See, now he sleepeth beneath a juniper-tree in the wilderness, and there the angels of the Lord encamp round about all them that fear Him"). It introduces the trio of the Angels, "Lift thine Eyes to the Mountains," sung without accompaniment,—one of the purest, loveliest, and most delightful of all vocal trios. An exquisite chorus ("He watching over Israel") follows, in which the second theme, introduced by the tenors ("Shouldst thou, walking in Grief"), is full of tender beauty; the trio and chorus are the perfection of dream-music. At its close the Angel awakes Elijah, and once more we hear his pathetic complaint, "O Lord, I have labored in vain; oh, that I now might die!" In response comes an aria of celestial beauty, sung by the Angel ("Oh, rest in the Lord"), breathing the very spirit of heavenly peace and consolation,—an aria of almost matchless purity, beauty, and grace. Firmly and with a certain sort of majestic severity follows the chorus, "He that shall endure to the end." The next scene is one of the most impressive and dramatic in the oratorio. Elijah no longer prays for death; he longs for the divine presence. He hears the voice of the Angel: "Arise now, get thee without, stand on the mount before the Lord; for there His glory will appear and shine on thee. Thy face must be veiled, for He draweth near." With great and sudden strength the chorus announces: "Behold! God the Lord passed by." With equal suddenness it drops to a pianissimo, gradually worked up in a crescendo movement, and we hear the winds "rending the mountains around;" but once more in pianissimo it tells us "the Lord was not in the tempest." The earthquake and the fire pass by, each treated in a similar manner; but the Lord was not in those elements. Then, in gentle tones of ineffable sweetness, it declares, "After the fire there came a still, small voice, ... and in that still, small voice onward came the Lord;" and onward sings the chorus in low, sweet, ravishing tones to the end: "The Seraphim above Him cried one to the other, Holy, holy, holy, is God the Lord!"—a double chorus of majestic proportions. Once more Elijah goes on his way, no longer dejected, but clothed with "the strength of the Lord." His aria, "For the Mountains shall depart," prepares us for the final climax. In strong accents the chorus announce, "Then did Elijah the prophet break forth like a fire;" his words were like "burning torches;" he overthrew kings; he stood on Sinai and heard the vengeance of the future on Horeb. Then comes a significant pause. The basses begin, "And when the Lord would take him away;" another brief pause, and the full chorus pictures in vivid color the coming of the fiery chariot and the whirlwind by which he was caught up into heaven. The picturesqueness and dramatic intensity of this splendid chorus can hardly be described in words. One more tenor aria ("Then, then shall the Righteous shine") and a brief soprano solo introduce the chorus, "Behold My servant." A beautiful quartet ("Oh! come, every one that thirsteth") follows, and the massive fugue, "And then shall your Light break forth as the Light of the Morning," closes this great masterpiece.

[6] Mr. Lockey was the tenor on this occasion; the part of Elijah was sung by Standigl.



Christus.

"Christus," which Mendelssohn intended as the third in the series with "Elijah" and "St. Paul," was left unfinished. The words were written by the Chevalier Bunsen and given to the composer in 1844, before he began "Elijah." With his customary fastidiousness, he altered and rearranged the text, and it was not until 1847, after "Elijah" was finished, that he touched the music. At this time he was in delicate health, and had not recovered from the shock of his sister's death. He sought consolation for his troubles and relief for his ailments among the mountains of Switzerland. Part of his time was devoted to mountain-rambling, and the remainder to work upon "Christus" and the opera "Loreley," neither of which he lived to finish.

It is interesting to note in this connection that before Mendelssohn settled upon "Christus," the subject of Saint Peter occupied his attention, although he still had the former in view for later consideration. In a letter to his friend Schubring, written at Bingen-on-the-Rhine, July 14, 1837, he says:—

"I wish to ask your advice in a matter which is of importance to me, and I feel it will therefore not be indifferent to you either, having received so many proofs to the contrary from you. It concerns the selection of a subject of an oratorio which I intend to begin next winter. I am most anxious to have your counsels, as the best suggestions and contributions for the text of my 'St. Paul' came from you. Many very apparent reasons are in favor of choosing St. Peter as the subject,—I mean its being intended for the Duesseldorf Musical Festival at Whitsuntide, and the prominent position the feast of Whit Sunday would occupy in this subject. In addition to these grounds, I may add my wish (in connection with a greater plan for a later oratorio) to bring the two chief apostles and pillars of the Christian Church side by side in oratorios,—in short, that I should have a 'St. Peter' as well as a 'St. Paul.'"

Another extract from the same letter will show the keenness with which he analyzed his themes. He writes:—

"I need not tell you that there are sufficient internal grounds to make me prize the subject; and far above all else stands the outpouring of the Holy Ghost, which must form the central point or chief object. The question, therefore, is whether the place that Peter assumes in the Bible, divested of the dignity which he enjoys in the Catholic or Protestant Churches as a martyr, or the first Pope, etc.,—whether what is said of him in the Bible is alone and in itself sufficiently important to form the basis of a symbolical oratorio. For, according to my feeling, the subject must not be treated historically, however indispensable this was in the case of 'St. Paul.' In historic handling, Christ must appear in the earlier part of St. Peter's career; and where he appears, St. Peter could not lay claim to the chief interest. I think, therefore, it must be symbolical; though all the historical points might probably be introduced,—the betrayal and repentance, the keys of Heaven given him by Christ, his preaching at Pentecost,—not in an historical, but prophetic light, if I may so express myself, in close connection."

The project was never carried out; but the deep earnestness with which Mendelssohn considered it shows how thoughtfully he must have devoted himself to the scheme which took its place. Neither his letters nor his biographers throw much light upon the history of "Christus." Lampadius says: "The oratorio was laid out upon a grand scale. It was to be in three parts,—the career on earth, the descent into hell, the ascent to heaven." This plan must have been subsequently changed, for the fragments of the oratorio are included in two parts, though they entirely pertain to the earthly career. There are in all eight complete numbers,—three from the first part, and five from the second. The first part opens with a soprano recitative ("When Jesus our Lord was born in Bethlehem"), leading to a strong trio for tenor and two basses ("Say, where is he born?"), the question of the Wise Men from the East. The chorus replies, "Then shall a Star from Jacob come forth," closing with the old German chorale, "Wie schoen leuchtet der Morgenstern" ("How brightly shines the Morning Star!"), in plain, flowing harmony.

The fragments of the second part are in the form of the passion-music, and include five tenor recitatives, narrating the dialogue between Pilate, the Elders and the People, and his final order, "Take ye him and crucify him, for I cannot find a fault in him," and several short, angry choruses of the Jews, accusing Jesus and calling for his death, leading to a beautiful chorus for mixed voices ("Daughters of Zion, weep"), and closing with an effective chorale for male voices in the genuine Bach style:—

"He leaves his heavenly portals, Endures the grief of mortals, To raise our fallen race. O love beyond expressing! He gains for us a blessing, He saves us by redeeming grace.

"When thou, O sun, art shrouded, By night or tempest clouded, Thy rays no longer dart; Though earth be dark and dreary, If, Jesus, thou art near me, 'Tis cloudless day within my heart."



MOZART.

Johann Chrysostomus Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, one of the most remarkable musical geniuses the world has produced, and the only one of his contemporaries whose operas still hold the stage with unimpaired freshness, was born at Salzburg, Jan. 27, 1756. He was the son of Leopold Mozart, the Salzburgian Vice-Capellmeister, who gave him and his sister Nannerl their earliest instructions in music, and with such good results that the children travelled and gave concerts with great success. Before he was seven years of age, he had composed several pieces for piano and violin, his earliest having been written at the age of five! At twelve he became court capellmeister in Salzburg. After his musical travels he went to Vienna, and there began his real period of classic activity, which commenced with "Idomeneus," reached its culmination in "Don Giovanni," and closed with the "Requiem,"—the "swan-song" of his wonderful life. In his brief life Mozart composed more than fifty great works, besides hundreds of minor ones in every possible form of musical writing. His greatest compositions may be classed in the following order: "Idomeneus" (1780); "Entfuehrung aus dem Serail" (1781); "Figaro's Hochzeit" ("The Marriage of Figaro"), (1785); "Don Giovanni" (1787); "Cosi fan tutti," "Zauberfloete" ("The Magic Flute"), and "Titus" (1790); and the "Requiem" (1791, the year of his death). The catalogue of Mozart's works is an immense one, for his period of productivity was unusually long. From the age of five to his death, there was not a year that was not crowded with his music. Besides his numerous operas, of which only the more famous are given above, he wrote a large number of symphonies (of which the "Jupiter" is now the best known), sonatas, concertos for all kinds of instruments, even to musical-glasses, trios, quartets, quintets, and sextets for all possible combinations of instruments, marches, fugues, masses, hymns, arias of extraordinary brilliancy,—many of them written for his sister-in-law, Aloysia Weber, to whom at one time he was engaged,—liturgies, cantatas, songs, and ballads, and indeed every form of music that is now known. His style was studied by Beethoven, and so closely imitated that the music of his first period, if published without autograph, would readily be attributed to Mozart. His style was so spontaneous and so characteristic that it has been well said there is but one Mozart. The distinguishing trait of his music is its rich melodic beauty and its almost ravishing sweetness. His melody pours along in a bright, unbroken stream that sometimes even overflows its banks, so abundant is it. It is peculiarly the music of youth and spring-time, exquisite in form, graceful in technique, and delightful in expression. It was the source where all his immediate successors went for their inspiration, though it lacked the maturity, majesty, and emotional depths which were reached by such a Titan as Beethoven. Old as it is, and antiquated in form, especially as compared with the work of the new schools, its perennial freshness, grace, and beauty have made it immortal.



The Requiem.

Mozart's "Requiem" was written in Vienna in 1791 and was left in an unfinished state by the composer, who made suggestions and gave instructions as to its completion even upon his death-bed; it was literally his swan-song. No work by any composer has given rise to more romantic stories or more bitter discussion. It was long the popular belief that the "Requiem" was commissioned by a dark, mysterious stranger, whose appearance impressed Mozart with the conviction that he was a messenger of death; more than this, that he himself had been poisoned, and that he was writing his own death-song, upon the order of some supernatural power. There was some foundation for the belief, as the commission was given in a very mysterious manner, and Mozart's health at that time was so delicate that he had had several premonitions of death. In his gloomy spirits he even said to his wife that he was writing his own requiem. The actual circumstances attending the commission, though they do not bear out the romantic versions of the story-tellers, are yet of extraordinary interest.

The author of the commission was one Count von Walsegg, living in the village of Stuppach, whose wife had died early in 1791. He was an amateur musician of vast ambitions and small accomplishments, and had conceived the idea of purchasing a requiem anonymously from Mozart and passing it off as his own work. In pursuance of his scheme he despatched his steward, named Leutgeb, a tall, solemn, mysterious looking person, with an anonymous letter to Mozart, who at that time was in absolute poverty, asking for the music and requesting him to name his own price,—stipulating, however, that he should make no effort to discover the identity of his patron. The unsuspicious Mozart accepted the proposition, after consulting with his wife. He was about to begin work upon it at once, when he received a commission to write the opera of "Clemenza de Tito," in honor of the Emperor Leopold's coronation. This occupied him several weeks, and when it was completed he decided upon a visit to Baden. At the moment he was about to get into the carriage, the mysterious stranger again appeared and inquired about the progress of the "Requiem." Mozart excused himself, and replied that as soon as he returned he would begin the work; and the stranger went away satisfied.

Mozart came back to Vienna in September; and after the completion of the "Magic Flute," and its first performance, Nov. 30, 1791, he devoted himself assiduously to the "Requiem," though it served only to increase his gloom. One day he remarked to his wife: "I well know that I am writing this requiem for myself. My own feelings tell me that I shall not last long. No doubt some one has given me poison; I cannot get rid of the thought." It is now known that this suspicion was only the result of his morbid thoughts; but when it was publicly uttered, most unjust accusations were made against his rival, Salieri, embittering the old composer's life until its close. As the work progressed, his gloom increased. "The day before his death," Nohl says, "he desired the score to be brought to him in bed, and he sang his part, taking the alto voice. Benedict Shack took the soprano, his brother-in-law, Hofer, the tenor, and Gerl the bass. They had got through the various parts to the first bars of the 'Lacrymosa,' when Mozart suddenly burst into tears and laid aside the score." His sister-in-law has left an account of his last moments. She writes:

"As I approached his bed, he called to me: 'It is well you are here; you must stay to-night and see me die.' I tried as far as I was able to banish this impression; but he replied: 'The taste of death is already on my tongue, I taste death; and who will be near to support my Constance if you go away?' Suessmayer [his favorite pupil] was standing by the bedside, and on the counterpane lay the 'Requiem,' concerning which Mozart was still speaking and giving directions. He now called his wife and made her promise to keep his death secret for a time from every one but Albrechtsberger, that he might thus have an advantage over other candidates for the vacant office of capellmeister to St. Stephen's. His desire in this respect was gratified, for Albrechtsberger received the appointment. As he looked over the pages of the 'Requiem' for the last time, he said, with tears in his eyes: 'Did I not tell you I was writing this for myself?'"

Mozart's widow, after his death, fearing that she might have to refund the money advanced for the work, induced Suessmayer, who was thoroughly familiar with Mozart's ideas, to complete it. He did so, and the copy was delivered to Count von Walsegg, who did not hesitate to publish it as his own. Suessmayer, however, had kept a copy, and after completion published it; and in a letter to the publishers set up a claim to the instrumentation of the "Requiem," "Kyrie," "Dies Irae," and "Domine," and to the whole of the "Sanctus," "Benedictus," and "Agnus Dei." The publication of Suessmayer's letter provoked a controversy which has raged from that day to this. The ablest critics and musicians in Europe have taken part in it. Nearly all of them have defended Mozart's authorship; but after half a century's discussion it still remains in doubt how far Suessmayer participated in the completion of the work as it now stands. The bulk of the evidence, however, favors the theory that Suessmayer only played the part of a skilful copyist, in writing out the figurings which Mozart had indicated, carrying out ideas which had been suggested to him, and writing parts from the sketches which the composer had made. One of the most pertinent suggestions made in the course of this controversy is that of Rockstro, who says:—

"Some passages, though they may perhaps strengthen Suessmayer's claim to have filled in certain parts of the instrumentation, stand on a very different ground to those which concern the composition of whole movements. The 'Lacrymosa' is quite certainly one of the most beautiful movements in the whole 'Requiem'—and Mozart is credited with having only finished the first eight bars of it! Yet it is impossible to study this movement carefully without arriving at Professor Macfarren's conclusion that 'the whole was the work of one mind, which mind was Mozart's.' Suessmayer may have written it out, perhaps; but it must have been from the recollection of what Mozart had played or sung to him, for we know that this very movement occupied the dying composer's attention almost to the last moment of his life. In like manner Mozart may have left no Urschriften (sketches) of the 'Sanctus,' 'Benedictus,' and 'Agnus Dei,'—though the fact that they have never been discovered does not prove that they never existed,—and yet he may have played and sung these movements often enough to have given Suessmayer a very clear idea of what he intended to write. We must either believe that he did this, or that Suessmayer was as great a genius as he; for not one of Mozart's acknowledged masses will bear comparison with the 'Requiem,' either as a work of art or the expression of a devout religious feeling. In this respect it stands almost alone among instrumental masses, which nearly always sacrifice religious feeling to technical display."

After an introduction, which gives out the subject of the opening movement,—a slow, mournful, solemn theme,—the first number begins with the impressive strain, "Requiem aeternam dona eis," which gradually brightens in the phrase, "Et Lux perpetua," and reaches a splendid burst of exultation in the "Te decet hymnus," of which Oublichieff, the Russian critic, says: "One seems to hear the voice of an archangel, and Saint Cecilia herself with her organ sounding a fugued accompaniment which the most laborious efforts of mortals never could have power to reach." After a repetition of the "Requiem aeternam," the number closes with the "Kyrie eleison," a slow and complicated fugue, which is sublime in its effect, though very sombre in color, as befits the subject.

The next number is the "Dies Irae," written for chorus in simple counterpoint, and very dramatic in its character, the orchestral part being constantly vigorous, impetuous, and agitated, and reaching intense energy on the verse, "Quantus tremor est futurus," the whole presenting a vivid picture in tones of the terrors of the last judgment. In the "Tuba mirum" the spirit of the music changes from the church form to the secular. It is written for solo voices, ending in a quartet. The bass begins with the "Tuba mirum," set to a portentous trombone accompaniment; then follow the tenor ("Mors stupebit"), the alto ("Judex ergo"), and the soprano ("Quid sum miser"). This number is particularly remarkable for the manner in which the music is shaded down from the almost supernatural character of the opening bass solo to the beauty and sweetness of the soprano solo. From this extraordinary group we pass to the sublime chorus, "Rex tremendae majestatis," once more in the church style, which closes with the prayer, "Salva me," in canonical form. With rare skill is this last appeal of humanity woven out of the thunder-crashes of sound in the judgment-music.

The "Dies Irae" is followed by the "Recordare," written, like the "Tuba mirum," as a quartet for solo voices. The vocal parts are in canon form and are combined with marvellous skill, relieved here and there with solos in purely melodic style, as in the "Quaerens me," while the orchestral part is an independent fugue, with several subjects worked up with every form of instrumental embellishment, the fugue itself sometimes relieved by plain accompaniment. The whole is an astonishing piece of contrapuntal skill, apparently inexhaustible in its scientific combinations, and yet never for an instant losing its deep religious significance. Once more the orchestral part is full of agitation and even savage energy in the "Confutatis maledictis," as it accompanies a powerful double chorus, closing at last in a majestic prayer ("Oro supplex et acclinis"), in which all the voices join in magnificent harmony.

The "Lacrymosa" is the most elegant and poetically conceived movement in the "Requiem." It begins in a delicate, graceful, and even sensuous manner, which gradually broadens and strengthens, and at last develops into a crescendo of immense power, reaching its climax on the words "Judicandus homo reus." Then it changes to a plaintive prayer ("Huic ergo parce Deus"), and closes in a cloud of gloom in the "Dona eis requiem." The next number ("Domine Jesu Christe") is in pure church form, beginning with a motet by chorus in solid harmony, which runs into a fugue on the words "Ne absorbeat eas Tartarus," followed by a quartet of voices regularly fugued, leading to another great fugue on the passage, "Quam olim Abrahae," which closes the number in a burst of sacred inspiration. The "Domine" is followed by the "Hostias," a lovely choral melody which leads to the "Sanctus," a sublime piece of harmony closing with a fugued "Hosanna." The "Benedictus," which follows it, is a solo quartet plaintive and solemn in character, but full of sweet and rich melodies magnificently accompanied.

The "Agnus Dei" closes the work, a composition of profound beauty, with an accompaniment of mournful majesty, developing into a solemn, almost funereal strain on the words "Dona eis requiem," and closing with the fugue of the opening "Kyrie" on the words "Lux aeterna." "Written under the inspiration of death" might well be inscribed on this great monument of musical skill, this matchless requiem of awful majesty and divine beauty. In its own unity, its perfection of form and design, its astonishing skill, from the opening fugue of the "Kyrie" to its repetition in the finale, may be found the proof that Mozart and no other wrote the entire score, and that every thought and idea in it are the inspired work of the dying master.



PAINE.

John K. Paine, one of the very few really eminent American composers, was born at Portland, Me., Jan. 9, 1839. He studied the piano, organ, and composition with Kotzschmar in that city, and made his first public appearance as an organist, June 25, 1857. During the following year he went to Germany and studied the organ, composition, and instrumentation with Haupt and other masters in Berlin. He returned to this country in 1861 and gave several concerts, in which he played many of the organ works of the best writers for the first time in the United States. Shortly after his return he was appointed instructor of music in Harvard University, and in 1876 was honored with the elevation to a professorship and given a regular chair. He is best known as a composer, and several of his works have been paid the rare compliment of performance in Germany, among them his Mass in D and all his symphonies. The former was given at the Berlin Singakademie in 1867, under his own direction. Among his principal compositions are the oratorio "St. Peter;" the Mass in D; the Centennial Hymn, set to Whittier's poem and sung at the opening of the Philadelphia Centennial Exhibition; the overture to "As You Like It;" "The Tempest," in the style of a symphonic poem; the symphony in C minor and "Spring" symphony; besides numerous sonatas, fantasies, preludes, songs, and arrangements for organ and piano. His larger orchestral works have been made familiar to American audiences by Mr. Theodore Thomas's band, and have invariably met with success. His style of composition is large, broad, and dignified, based upon the best classic models, and evinces a high degree of musical scholarship.



St. Peter.

"St. Peter," Mr. Paine's only oratorio,—and from the highest standpoint it may be said the only oratorio yet produced in this country,—was written in 1872-73, and first performed at Portland, Me., in June of the latter year, under the composer's own direction. The solos were sung by Mrs. Wetherbee, Miss Adelaide Phillipps, Mr. George L. Osgood, and Mr. Rudolphsen. It was again produced with great success at the third Triennial Festival of the Boston Handel and Haydn Society, May 9, 1874, with Mrs. J. Houston West, Mr. Nelson Varley, Miss Phillipps, and Mr. Rudolphsen in the principal parts.

The establishment of Christianity, illustrated by the four principal scenes in the life of St. Peter, forms the subject of the oratorio. It is divided into two parts, and these are subdivided as follows: Part I. The Divine Call; The Denial and Repentance. Part II. The Ascension; Pentecost. The overture, a short adagio movement expressive of the unsettled spiritual condition of the world prior to the advent of Christianity, leads directly to the opening chorus, "The Time is fulfilled," which develops not only this subject, but also a second, "Repent, and believe the glad Tidings of God," in a masterly manner. The chorus, written in a very noble style, is followed by the tenor recitative, which describes the divine call of our Lord to Simon and Andrew as "He walked by the Sea of Galilee." It prepares the way for a soprano aria ("The Spirit of the Lord is upon me") which announces the glad tidings they are commissioned to deliver. Twelve male voices, representing the Disciples, accept the call in the chorus, "We go before the Face of the Lord," which is beautifully accompanied by and interwoven with the full chorus, closing with the smoothly flowing chorale, "How lovely shines the Morning Star." Then ensues the first dramatic scene. To the question of the Saviour, "Who do men say that I am," the twelve male voices first reply, followed by Peter in a few bars of very effective recitative, "Thou art the Christ." A tenor arioso, declaring the foundation of the Church "upon this rock," is followed by a noble and exquisitely chaste bass aria for Peter ("My Heart is glad and my Spirit rejoiceth"), the scene ending with the powerful chorus, "The Church is built upon the Foundation of the Apostles and Prophets." The next scene, "The Denial and Repentance," opens with the warning to Peter that he will deny his Lord, and his remonstrance, "Though I should die with thee," which is repeated by the Apostles. These brief passages are followed by a very pathetic aria for tenor ("Let not your Heart be troubled") and a beautifully worked-up quartet and chorus ("Sanctify us through Thy Truth"). A contralto solo announces the coming of "Judas with a great multitude," leading Jesus away to the High Priest, and is followed by the very expressive chorus, "We hid our Faces from him." The scene of the denial is very dramatic, the alternating accusations of the servants and the denials of Peter being treated with great skill; it closes with a very effective contralto recitative, illustrating the sad words: "And while he yet spake, the cock crew. And the Lord turned, and looked on Peter; and he remembered the word of the Lord, and he went out and wept bitterly." An orchestral interlude follows, in the nature of a lament, a minor adagio full of deep feeling. It is followed by an aria for Peter ("O God, my God, forsake me not"), which is cast in the same strain of lamentation as the orchestral number which precedes and really introduces it. At its close a chorus of Angels, sopranos, and altos, with harp accompaniment ("Remember, remember from whence thou art fallen"), is heard warning Peter, augmented on the introduction of the second subject ("And he that overcometh shall receive a Crown of Life") by the full chorus. This chorus is followed by a beautiful aria for alto ("The Lord is faithful and righteous to forgive our Sins"); and then a massive chorus, which is fairly majestic ("Awake, thou that sleepest"), closes the first part.

The second part opens with a chorus ("The Son of Man was delivered into the Hands of sinful Men"), which tells the story of the crucifixion, not only with great power, but also with intense pathos, ending with the chorale, "Jesus my Redeemer lives," which invests the sad narrative with tender and consolatory feeling. The ascension scene is accompanied by graceful and expressive recitatives for tenor and bass, followed by a tenor arioso ("Go ye and teach") and a short soprano recitative ("And he lifted up his Hands"), leading to the full melodious chorus, "If ye then be risen." The next number is an impressive soprano solo ("O Man of God"), in which Peter is admonished "to put on the whole armor of God and fight the good fight." A beautifully written quartet ("Feed the Flock of God") closes the scene of the ascension. The last scene opens with a tenor solo describing the miracle of Pentecost, set to an extremely vigorous and descriptive accompaniment. It is followed by the chorus, "The Voice of the Lord," which is one of the most effective in the whole work, though not constructed in the massive style of those which close the two parts. A contralto recitative links this chorus to its successor, "Behold! are not all these who speak Galileans?" After a brief soprano recitative, Peter has another vigorous solo ("Ye Men of Judaea"), which is as dramatic in its style and almost as descriptive in its accompaniment as the opening tenor solo of this scene. A reflective aria for alto ("As for Man") follows it, and bass and tenor recitatives lead up to the eagerly questioning chorus of the people, "Men and Brethren." The answer comes from Peter and the Apostles, "For the Promise is to you." An intricate chorus ("This is the Witness of God"), closing with a chorale ("Praise to the Father"), leads to the finale, which comprises the chorus, "Beloved, let us love one another," written for bass solo, tenors, and basses (the Disciples), and full chorus; an effective duet for soprano and tenor ("Sing unto God"); and the final majestic chorus ("Great and marvellous are thy Works").



ROSSINI.

Gioachino Antonio Rossini, the father of the modern Italian school of opera, was born Feb. 29, 1792, at Pesaro, in the Romagna. His father was an accomplished musician, and his mother a professional singer, so that he was brought up in a musical atmosphere. Even as a boy he sang with his mother in the theatre. He first studied with Mattei, and later with Martini. His first opera, "Demetrio e Polibio," was brought out at Rome in 1812, and before he had concluded his life-work, more than forty of his operas had been given in almost every part of Europe,—a crowning result of labor and contemporaneous fame not often enjoyed by composers. His "Tancredi," which was produced for the first time at Venice in 1813, was the opera which made him famous, and its remarkable success spread his reputation far and wide. In 1815 appeared "L' Italiana in Algeri" and "Aureliano in Palmira;" in 1816, "Elisabetta," "Otello," and his splendid work "The Barber of Seville," which, though his masterpiece, is said to have been written in fourteen days; in 1817, "La Cenerentola," "La Gazza Ladra," and "Armida;" and in 1819, "Ricciardo e Zoraide," "La Donna del Lago," and many others. From 1815 to 1822 Rossini was under the "management" of the impresario Barbaja in Naples, who had much difficulty in keeping him to the work of composition, his facility in writing often leading him to defer work until it was the very eve of performance. In 1823, under the auspices of Barbaja, and with the assistance of the prima donna, Colbran, whom Rossini married about this time, his opera "Zelmira" and others of his works were given with such brilliant success as to raise his aspirations for a wider and more promising field of labor. In the year 1823 he went to Paris and London, finally settling in the former city, where he not only began a new grand opera, but also gave himself to the study and development of orchestral music and the encouragement of artists. His home was the Mecca of singers, and, like Liszt's at Weimar, the centre of art influences. The new work was "William Tell," which was first brought out in Paris in 1829. It was his last important effort. It met with only temporary success, though it enjoys to-day a reputation almost equal to that of the "Barber." His most celebrated work in sacred music is the "Stabat Mater," which, though written in operatic style and very brilliant in coloring, has retained its place in popular favor, and is to-day as eagerly sought for by artists and the public as it was in his own day. Among his other sacred works is "Moses in Egypt,"—originally written as an oratorio for the San Carlo in Naples, and brought out there in 1818, though subsequently recast and provided with a revised libretto for the Paris Grand Opera in 1827. The "Prayer" from this work has a world-wide popularity. During the latter years of his life Rossini gave up composition entirely,—in part because of the eventual failure of his "William Tell,"—and enjoyed the fruits of his labors at his beautiful villa in Passy. He died Nov. 14, 1868. His sacred works, besides those already mentioned, are a few Italian oratorios, now unknown, three choruses, "Faith, Hope, and Charity," the "Petite Messe Solenelle," a "Tantum Ergo," a "Quoniam," and an "O Salutaris."



Stabat Mater.

The great Stabat Maters in the musical world are those of Palestrina, Pergolesi, Haydn, Steffani, Clari, Astorga, Winter, Neukomm, Rossini, and the one recently written by the Bohemian composer, Dvorak. Of all these no one has been so popular as that of Rossini, nor made the world so familiar with the text of the Virgin's Lamentation. After the failure of "William Tell," Rossini abandoned opera-writing, though he had a contract with the Grand Opera at Paris for four more works, and contemplated taking up the subject of Faust. "William Tell" was his last work for the stage; but before his absolute retirement he was to produce a work destined to add to his fame. In 1832 his friend Aguado induced him to compose a "Stabat Mater" for the Spanish minister, Don Valera, which was not intended to be made public. Before its completion he fell ill, and Tadolini wrote the last four numbers. The work was dedicated to Valera, with the understanding that it should always be retained by him. Nine years afterwards Valera died, and Rossini learned that his heirs had sold the work to a Paris publisher for two thousand francs. He at once claimed the copyright and brought an action, in which he was successful. He then composed four new numbers in place of those written by Tadolini, and sold the work complete to the publisher, Troupenas, for six thousand francs. The latter sold the right of performance for a limited time to the Escudiers for eight thousand francs, and they in turn sold it to the Theatre Italien for twenty thousand. Its first complete performance was at the Salle Ventadour, Jan. 7, 1842, Grisi, Albertazzi, Mario, and Tamburini taking the principal parts.

A brief but brilliant orchestral prelude leads to the opening chorus, "Stabat Mater dolorosa," arranged for solos and chorus, and very dramatic in style, especially in its broad, melodious contrasts. It is followed by the tenor solo, "Cujus Animam," which is familiar to every concert-goer,—a clear-cut melody free of embellishment, but very brilliant and even jubilant in character, considering the nature of the text. The next number ("Quis est Homo"), for two sopranos, is equally familiar. It is based upon a lovely melody, first given out by the first soprano, and then by the second, after which the two voices carry the theme through measure after measure of mere vocal embroidery, closing with an extremely brilliant cadenza in genuine operatic style. The fourth number is the bass aria "Pro peccatis," the two themes in which are very earnest and even serious in character, and come nearer to the church style than any other parts of the work. It is followed by a beautifully constructed number ("Eia Mater"), a bass recitative with chorus, which is very strong in its effect. The sixth number is a lovely quartet ("Sancta Mater"), full of variety in its treatment, and closing with full, broad harmony. After a short solo for soprano ("Fac ut Portem"), the climax is reached in the "Inflammatus,"—a brilliant soprano obligato with powerful choral accompaniment. The solo number requires a voice of exceptional range, power, and flexibility; with this condition satisfied, the effect is intensely dramatic, and particularly fascinating by the manner in which the solo is set off against the choral background. A beautiful unaccompanied quartet in broad, plain harmony, "Quando Corpus," leads to the showy fugued "Amen" which closes the work.

Unquestionably the "Stabat Mater" is one of the most popular of all the minor sacred compositions; and the secret lies on the surface: it is to be found in the delightful and fascinating melodies, which are strewn so thickly through it, as well as in the graceful bravura, which was so characteristic of Rossini, and which when delivered by accomplished artists is very captivating to a popular audience. As to its sacred form, it is as far from the accepted style of church music as Berlioz's or Verdi's requiems. Indeed, Rossini himself remarked to Hiller that he wrote it in the "mezzo serio" style. In connection with this matter one or two criticisms will be of interest. Rossini's biographer, Sutherland Edwards, says: "The 'Stabat Mater' was composed, as Raphael's Virgins were painted, for the Roman Catholic Church, which at once accepted it, without ever suspecting that Rossini's music was not religious." The remark, however, would be more pertinent were it not for the fact that the Church itself has not always been a good critic of its own music, or a good judge of what its music should be, as Liszt discovered when he went to Rome full of his purposes of reform in the musical service. Heine, in a letter to the "Allgemeine Zeitung" in 1842, replying to certain German criticisms, went so far as to say,—

"The true character of Christian art does not reside in thinness and paleness of the body, but in a certain effervescence of the soul, which neither the musician nor the painter can appropriate to himself either by baptism or study; and in this respect I find in the 'Stabat' of Rossini a more truly Christian character than in the 'Paulus' ['St. Paul'] of Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy,—an oratorio which the adversaries of Rossini point to as a model of Christian style."

It will hardly be claimed, however, even by Heine's friends, that this sweeping statement is either just to Mendelssohn or true of Rossini. Perhaps they will also concede that Heine was not a very good judge of Christianity in any of its aspects, musical or otherwise. The veteran Moscheles in one of his letters criticizes the work very pertinently. He says,—

"It is, as you may imagine, a model of 'singableness' (if I may say so); but it is not sufficiently church music to my taste. His solitary fugue is clumsy. The criticisms on the work are very various. Some agree with me; but the majority delight in the captivating Italian phrases, which I admire too, but which I cannot think are in the right place."

He might have added, "Because they are the phrases of 'Semiramide,' 'Tancredi,' and the 'Barber.'" There is scarcely a number of the "Stabat Mater" which might not be detached from it and reset in one of Rossini's operas without doing violence to whatever of the real religious style it may be supposed, or was intended, to have. The "Stabat Mater" music would be captivatingly beautiful in any setting.



RUBINSTEIN.

Anton Gregor Rubinstein was born, Nov. 30, 1829, at the village of Wechwotynetz, in Russia. His parents, who were in moderate circumstances, moved to Moscow during his infancy, and in that city he received his first musical instruction. His mother gave him lessons at the age of four, with the result that by the time he was six she was unable to teach him anything more. He then studied the piano with Alexander Villoing, a pupil of John Field. His first composition appeared in his twelfth year, and soon his songs and two and four hand piano-pieces began to attract the attention of musicians. In 1840 Villoing took him to Paris and placed him in the Conservatory, where he attracted the attention of Liszt, Chopin, and Thalberg. He remained in that city eighteen months, devoting himself to unremitting study, and then made some professional tours, in which he met with extraordinary success, particularly in England. From that country he went to Holland and Sweden, everywhere meeting with an enthusiastic reception. In 1844 his parents removed to Berlin, and he was placed under Dehn, the famous contrapuntist, to study composition, his brother Nicholas being a companion in his work. The father dying in 1846, the mother and Nicholas returned to Russia, leaving Anton alone. During the next two years he taught music in Pressburg and Vienna, and in the latter part of 1848 went back to Russia. About this time he received an honorary musical appointment from the Grand-Duchess Helene. For eight years he studied and wrote in St. Petersburg, and at the end of that time had accumulated a mass of manuscripts destined to make his name famous all over Europe, while his reputation as a skilful pianist was already world-wide. He visited England again in 1857, and the next year returned home and settled in St. Petersburg, about which time he was made Imperial Concert Director, with a life-pension. At this period in his career he devoted himself to the cause of music in Russia. His first great work was the foundation of the Conservatory in the above city in 1862, of which he remained principal until 1867. He also founded the Russian Musical Society in 1861, and in 1869 was decorated by the Czar. In 1870 he directed the Philharmonic and Choral Societies of Vienna, and shortly afterwards made another tour, during which, in 1872, he came to this country with the eminent violinist Wieniawsky, as will be well remembered. His visit here was marked by a succession of ovations. No other pianist ever achieved such a wonderful success, not only among musicians, but among the people of all classes. Musicians were astounded at his remarkable knowledge, while musical and unmusical people alike were carried off their feet by the whirlwind-style of his playing. It was full of grace, nobility, breadth, and dignity; but it combined with these qualities a fire, an intensity, and a passion which sometimes invested the piano with orchestral effects, and again transformed it into an instrument that wept, laughed, sang, and danced. His power was irresistible and electric. As a composer he ranks very high. His greatest works are the Ocean Symphony, Dramatic Symphony, and a character sketch for grand orchestra called "Ivan the Terrible;" his operas, "Children of the Heath," "Feramors," "Nero," "The Maccabees," "Dimitri Donskoi," and the "Demon;" the oratorios "Paradise Lost" and "Tower of Babel;" and a long and splendid catalogue of chamber, salon, and concert music, besides some beautiful songs which are great favorites in the concert-room.