THE great composer known under the name of Meyerbeer, and who occupied one of the most important places in the history of musical art in the nineteenth century, was in reality christened Jacob Liebmann Beer, his Christian name being afterward Italianized into Giacomo. He was born at Berlin, according to some authorities on Sept. 5th, according to others on Sept. 23, 1791. His father, who was a Hebrew, and one of the richest bankers of Prussia, had three other sons, William, Michael and Henry, all of whom were distinguished men, although their notoriety has been eclipsed by the glory of him who is known to the world as Meyerbeer. William Beer, indeed, who succeeded his father as banker, was at the same time a remarkable astronomer. He became the collaborator of Maedler for his scientific works, and published a chart of the moon which won for him an important prize from the Berlin Academy of Sciences; he died March 27, 1850. Michael Beer, who was born in 1800 and died when only thirty-three, acquired considerable renown as a dramatic poet by his various works, Clytemnestra, les FiancÉs d'Aragon, le Paria, and especially StruensÉe, his masterpiece, which afterwards received a new lustre in being set to music by his brother the composer. To return to the latter, while he was still quite a child, one of his uncles, named Meyer, who had always had a great affection for him, died, leaving him his whole fortune on condition that he should add to his name that of Meyer, whence resulted the name Meyerbeer, under which the composer has always been known.

From his earliest years, Meyerbeer showed an exceptional bent for music. His father, far from opposing this tendency, rather encouraged him in it, and gave him an excellent piano teacher, Ignace Lauska, who had been a pupil of Clementi. The child made such rapid progress that he was able to appear at a public concert in Berlin, October 14, 1800, at which he made a great success. He appeared again in 1803 and 1804 with the same success, and it was then that the AbbÉ Vogler, whose disciple he became later on, hearing him improvise with a rare facility, predicted that he would one day be a great musician. Two or three years later, Meyerbeer had occasion to play before Clementi, who was staying for some time in Berlin, on his way back from Saint Petersburg, and the master was so charmed with the lad's talent that he consented to give him lessons during his sojourn in that city.

At this period, and without having given any attention to theoretic study, Meyerbeer already occupied himself with composition. Guided alone by his instinct and his natural taste, he wrote numerous songs and piano pieces, so that his father resolved to give him a master in composition, and fixed his choice on Bernard Anselme Weber, then leader of the orchestra at the Berlin Opera. But this artist, very distinguished in his way, and who could give excellent advice on dramatic style, instrumentation, etc., was not himself sufficiently versed in the science of counterpoint and fugue to be able to guide a pupil in this difficult study. Moreover, he showed himself too easily satisfied with Meyerbeer's efforts. One day when the latter brought him a fugue, he could not conceal his admiration, and, regarding it as a masterpiece, thought he would send it to the celebrated AbbÉ Vogler, who had been his own teacher, hoping thereby to prove to him that he, Weber, was able to form good pupils. For several weeks they anxiously awaited the AbbÉ's response, which arrived at length in the form of a bulky package. On opening it, they found that the contents were divided into three parts. The first constituted a sort of practical treatise on the fugue, written by Vogler's own hand, and in which all the rules for this kind of composition were set forth in a precise and succinct manner. The second part, which was called The Scholar's Fugue, reproduced that of Meyerbeer, analyzed step by step throughout its development, with remarks which proved super-abundantly that it was far from being good. The third part, entitled The Master's Fugue, was that which Vogler had constructed on Meyerbeer's theme, analyzed in all its details and in its ensemble, with an explanation of the reasons which justified its general form and all the incidents.

Meyerbeer was greatly impressed by the theories set forth by Vogler. He immediately put himself to work again and wrote a new fugue of eight parts, according to this master's principles, which he sent directly to Vogler at Darmstadt, his place of residence. The latter replied at once, expressing his satisfaction, and the confidence which this new work gave him in his future as an artist, and inviting him to come to Darmstadt; "I will receive you like a son," said he, "and you shall slake your thirst at the very sources of musical knowledge." Meyerbeer, delighted at this kind invitation, easily obtained from his father the necessary permission, and was soon on his way to Darmstadt.

The school of the AbbÉ Vogler was celebrated at that time throughout Germany, and this master, who had studied in Italy with Vallotti and Martini, was considered one of the first theoreticians of his time. One thing is certain, and that is, that he turned out excellent pupils, of whom some won great renown, and others became more or less famous. Among these were Knecht and Ritter, who themselves became remarkable theoreticians; the composers who were formed by the lessons and counsels of Vogler were Winter, GÄnsbacher and the two immortal artists Carl Maria von Weber and Meyerbeer. It was at Vogler's house that these last two met for the first time, and formed a friendship which was broken only by the death of Weber. In after years Weber deplored the Italian tendencies of Meyerbeer, who, in the first days of his career, threw his whole being into the imitation of Rossini's style, but in spite of this divergence of artistic views the affection which these two friends felt for one another was never altered nor disturbed for a single instant.

Indeed, all the pupils who lived at the AbbÉ Vogler's house entertained pleasant and affectionate relations toward each other, and a touching respect and profound tenderness for their excellent master. One proof of this, among many others, is the fact that after Weber's death a cantata was found among his papers, bearing the following inscription: "Cantata written by Weber for Vogler's birthday, and set to music by Meyerbeer and GÄnsbacher." In fact, Weber, who was a very ready verse-maker, had written the words of this cantata, while Meyerbeer had composed the music of the choruses and a trio, and GÄnsbacher had been charged with that of the soli. It is probable also that the cantata was sung by the pupils of the school.

This house of Vogler's was patriarchal; the life there was very austere, very much occupied, and the time of the pupils was exclusively devoted to severe study and practice of the art. In the morning, after the regular exercises, the master gave his class an oral lesson in counterpoint. Then, giving them for treatment any musical subject, sacred or profane, a psalm, motet, kyrie, ode, dramatic scene, he demanded of them a severe composition. In the evening, all being assembled in the presence of the master, the compositions were performed, after which each work was analyzed theoretically, commented on, criticised, estimated, not only by the professor, but again by all the pupils, so that each of them, after having been judged, became in his turn the judge of his own attempts and those of his rivals. It cannot be denied that this was an excellent system of education, and one calculated to foster in the minds of the pupils reflection and the sentiment of criticism. On a Sunday the whole household went to the cathedral, which contained two organs; Vogler played one of them, while each of his pupils, in turn, took his place at the other, after the fashion of a kind of academic tourney, in which each endeavored to develop in a happy and artistic manner the subject improvised and set forth by the master.

It was during his residence at the AbbÉ Vogler's house that Meyerbeer wrote, for the purpose of forming his hand, a great number of pieces of sacred music, which he always refused to make known to the public. It was at this period also that he composed an oratorio, Gott und die Natur, which was his first piece publicly performed. He had been two years at Darmstadt, when Vogler, wishing to give his pupils a rest, and to fortify their minds by the contemplation of the beauties of nature, closed his school and undertook with them an excursion through Germany. It was just before his departure on this expedition that Meyerbeer had obtained a performance of his oratorio, which resulted in the grand duke of Hesse conferring on him the title of composer to the court. This oratorio was brought out at Berlin a short time after, May 8, 1811, in a concert given by Weber at the Royal Theatre, where the solos were sung by Eunike, Grell and Frl. Schmalz.

This was the starting point of Meyerbeer's active career. We shall soon see him make his appearance as composer and virtuoso at the same time (for Meyerbeer was an exceptional pianist), then promptly abandon his success as a performer in order to give himself up without reserve to composition, with the theatre for his objective point. He was eager for glory and aimed at a great reputation, feeling himself equal to any effort for reaching his end; it is this which explains the hesitations and evasions of his youth. Desirous of meeting success, withal patient, persevering and gifted with an energy which nothing could baffle, he sought it in all possible ways, but, whatever his critics may say, without ever sacrificing his convictions, and while always preserving for his art, as well as for the public, the most complete, the most absolute respect. His first works performed in Germany, written in a somewhat scholastic form, perhaps a little pedantic, did not succeed according to his desire, because Germany at that time, like Italy herself, was under the spell of Rossini's music. He accordingly betook himself to Italy, and there wrote several operas in which he forced himself to adopt the style and methods of that master. It was this that brought down upon him the reproaches of Weber, irritated to see him, a German, deny the national genius, and submit, like so many others, to the influence of the author of the Barber of Seville. But in spite of the criticisms of his friend, Meyerbeer, who had seen his works received with favor in Italy, continued his career in that country, where he trained his hand and prepared the evolution which was to free his genius and direct him to France, there to write his incomparable masterpieces. For Meyerbeer, like Gluck before him, gave to France alone the full measure of his worth; like Gluck, it is to France that he owes his greatest triumphs and the best part of his glory; like Gluck, he lived to see his Italian operas laid aside and well-nigh forgotten, whereas his French operas made the tour of civilized lands, and are still played on all the stages of the world.

It was after his trip with Vogler and his fellow-students that Meyerbeer decidedly entered his career, though not without some fumbling. In 1813 we find him at Munich, where he gave an unsuccessful performance of Jephtha's Daughter, an opera in three acts, which had much the flavor and style of an oratorio. Disheartened by the result, he left very soon for Vienna, resolved to make known there his exceptional talent as pianist. In this capacity he achieved triumph after triumph in the capital of Austria; his execution was solid and brilliant, and at the same time full of poetry and charm. He played at these concerts a great number of his own compositions, which have never been published. At the same time he came twice before the Vienna public as dramatic composer, first with a mono-drama for soprano, clarinet obligato and chorus (the clarinetist figured as a personage of the drama) entitled The Loves of Tevelind, then with a comic opera in two acts, entitled Abimelek, or The two Caliphs, performed at the court theatre. This latter, written in the somewhat heavy style of Jephtha's Daughter, found no favor with a public which, at that period, was under the complete influence of Italian music. Meyerbeer was very much affected by this failure, and took his troubles to Salieri, who was then imperial capellmeister at Vienna. Salieri, who had taken a great fancy to him, and who had confidence in his future, consoled him as best he could, lavished encouragement upon him, and counselled him to make a trip into Italy. "There," said he, "you will learn to ripen your talent, to train your hand, and particularly to make a better disposition of the voices in your compositions and to write for them in a more rational and less fatiguing manner."

At that time Rossini was the king of musical Italy, and the enthusiasm produced by his works was beginning to take from the renown of such richly inspired artists as Cimarosa, Guglielmo, Sarti, Paisiello, his immediate predecessors. Everybody knows the influence which was exerted all over musical Europe for half a century, by the exuberant and sensual, though charming and seductive, genius of the author of the Barber and Cenerentola. All the artists, not only of Italy, but of France as well and some even of Germany, came under this influence to a greater or less extent. Meyerbeer escaped it no more than the rest; one might even say that he had no desire to escape it. He went straight from Vienna to Venice, where he arrived just at the height of Tancredi's immense success in that city; this opera, by the way, was one of the most personal, most vivacious and most savory works from Rossini's pen. He could not resist the charm of this chivalresque and enchanting music, and he was so captivated by the Èclat of the Rossinian forms that he began to assimilate them as rapidly as possible.

It is probable, however, that he reflected longer than people have hitherto given him credit for, on the transformation which he allowed to operate in his talent, for it was not until he had spent several years in Italy, that is to say in 1818, that he appeared to the public of that country for the first time. With his calm and meditative mind, with his studious and persevering nature, we may suppose that he employed his time in working silently, in solitude, to modify his style, to acquire the assurance which he lacked, to give elegance and facility to the forms of his melody, without compromising thereby the sentiment of a rich and abundant harmony, the beauties of an original and vigorous instrumentation. It was not, then, until after this complete remodelling of his early education, this training of his faculties, that he decided to brave the stage anew, and to solicit the approbation of a public to whom he was quite unknown. If this Italian career of Meyerbeer, of which I am about to give a brief review, offers only a secondary interest from the standpoint of the value of his works, it offers a very great one as a transitional stage, covering as it does the period of the development of his genius, and the evolution by which he was preparing himself for the great masterpieces with which he was to endow the French lyric stage, those masterpieces which were to seal his glory and render his fame universal.

It was at Padua, July 10, 1818, that he gave his first Italian opera, Romilda e Costanza, the principal rÔle of which was written for Pisaroni, one of the most illustrious cantatrices of that period. From the very first performance the opera was a great success, and he immediately wrote another work, Semiramide riconosciuta, on an ancient poem of MÉtastasio, which he brought out at the Royal Theatre at Turin in 1819. The following year he gave to the San Benedetto Theatre of Venice, his third opera, Emma di Resburgo, which met with enthusiastic success at a moment when, on this very stage, Rossini had just triumphed with his Edouardo e Christina. This work fully established his reputation in Italy, all the great cities esteemed it an honor to present him to their public, and everywhere he obtained the most complete success. This was not all. The Germans themselves, who made a point of disparaging Italian music, made two translations of this opera; one of them, Emma von Leicester, was played at Vienna, Dresden, Munich and Frankfort; the other, Emma von Roxburg, was performed at Berlin and Stuttgart. It may be well to recall here that the subject of this work was borrowed from the French opera HÉlÉna, by MÉhul.

This colossal success opened to Meyerbeer the doors of the largest theatres of Italy. The first of them all, the Scala of Milan, immediately ordered a great work of him. It was Margherita d'AngiÙ, which was performed at this theatre Nov. 14, 1820, where it was sung by Tacchinardi, Levasseur and Rosa Mariani. Here, again, the success was complete, and Margherita d'AngiÙ, almost immediately translated and performed in Germany, was afterwards translated into French for representation at the OdÉon. On March 12, 1822, Meyerbeer gave to the Scala theatre the opera l'Esule di Granata, the first rÔles of which were confided to the tenor Winter, to Lablache, to Mmes. Pisaroni, Adelaide Tosi and Carolina Bassi. But the last triumphs of the composer had excited envy; jealousy awoke on every side, and a cabal was organized for the purpose of crushing this new work. The first act indeed fell flat, thanks to this cabal, and the second seemed doomed to the same fate, when a beautiful duo, admirably sung by Lablache and Pisaroni came just in time to save all, and change into a triumph the fall which had appeared inevitable.

After this new success, Meyerbeer's health failed him. He had gone to Rome, where he was to bring out an opera in two acts entitled Almanzor. He had begun to write the score, when the state of his health obliged him to stop work and seek absolute rest. As soon as he was able he went to Germany, where he passed the whole of the year 1823, now at Berlin, now at some watering place. In the course of this year he wrote a German opera, The Brandeburg Gate, which was intended for the KÖnigstadt theatre, but which, it is not known why, was never performed. He then returned to Italy, where awaited him the last and greatest triumphs in that country.

It is here that this second phase of Meyerbeer's remarkably active and productive career will come to a close. We may be sure that he had already felt a desire to work for the French stage, whither the very nature of his powerful and profoundly dramatic genius seemed to call him. We are now to see him direct his efforts towards this end, preparing himself for the change by his last Italian work, written in a more elevated, loftier strain than the preceding ones, and which seemed to indicate on his part a fixed determination to create another distinct manner. In order to attain this third and last manner, ingrafted, as it were, on the two preceding ones, it was necessary for him to adopt a method analogous to the one which he had used on arriving in Italy. Just as he had to abandon, on touching foot to Italian soil, everything in his style which might appear too scholastic, heavy and formal, so, in going to France, he was obliged to lay aside the affected elegance, frivolous grace and superficial language of the Italian forms. He endeavored to retain and combine the best elements in the various schools,—to unite the melodic sentiment of Italy to the harmonic richness of Germany, and to join to these the picturesque coloring, the passionate ardor, and above all the sense of dramatic truth which are the characteristic qualities of the French musical school. It was then, after he had transformed his style by this fusion of three different but not antagonistic elements, the union of which must form a harmonious and well balanced whole, after he had become master both of his thought and of the idea which should clothe it, it was then that he found himself in full possession of himself and of his genius and that he became the great man whose name was universally known and whose works everywhere challenged admiration.

The great work of transition with which Meyerbeer was to crown his brilliant career in Italy and prepare his future triumphs on the French stage, was called il Crociato Egitto. This opera, conceived in a broad and severe style, plainly showed the new preoccupations of his mind and gave a glimpse of his approaching evolution. The distinct individuality of the composer showed itself in this remarkable score, in which it was easy to see his inclination for energetic and vigorous expression of the grand dramatic situations. Il Crociato, brought out at the Fenice theatre, Venice, Dec. 26, 1824, had for its principal interpreters Mme. MÉrie-Lalande, Lablache and Velluti. Its success was immense, and it soon made the tour of all Italy. This success was so great as to move Paris, and the duke of Rochefoucauld, then superintendent of the royal theatres, immediately arranged to have il Crociato played at the ThÈÂtre Italien. He wrote to the composer, inviting him to come and supervise the staging of his opera and direct the rehearsals. The rÔles were given to Danzelli, Levasseur, Mmes. Pasta, Monbelli, Schiasetti and Giovanola. This was the first of Meyerbeer's works performed at Paris, and its success was as great as in Italy.

Henceforth Meyerbeer was to belong entirely to France. After having seen his Crociato played at the Italien, he had the satisfaction of seeing his Margherita d'AngiÙ translated into French and performed successfully at the OdÉon. It was to this last fact that he owed the speedy gratification of his desire to work for the musical stages of France, although, owing to an unexpected series of events, he was obliged to await for several years the representation of his first work, and this work, written with the OpÉra Comique in view, had to be completely transformed and adapted for the OpÉra. This is the way it happened.

The subject of the Italian opera of Margherita d'AngiÙ had been taken from a French drama, MarguÉrite d'Anjou, played in 1810 at the GaitÉ theatre, and the author of which was Guilbert de PiÈxÈrcourt. The two very naturally made each other's acquaintance, PiÈxÈrcourt's authorization being necessary for the representation on a French stage of a foreign opera whose subject belonged to him. An intimacy sprung up between them, and Meyerbeer profited by it to ask PiÈxÈrcourt for a poem to set to music for the OpÉra Comique. The latter willingly consented, confided to him Robert le Diable, by Scribe, and the composer immediately set to work. The rÔles of Robert le Diable were to be distributed as follows: Ponchard (Robert), Huet (Bertram), Mme. Boulanger (Alice) and Mme. Rigaud (Isabella). Obliged in the meantime to make a trip to Berlin, Meyerbeer took the poem with him, in order to continue the work during his absence. But while he was in Germany a little revolution took place at the OpÉra Comique which resulted in Guilbert de PiÈxÈrcourt being dispossessed of his office of director. What happened then? All the particulars are not known, but Robert was withdrawn from the OpÉra Comique, Scribe enlarged and transformed his poem, Meyerbeer rewrote his score, and the work was carried to the OpÉra. It is easy to understand that all this occasioned a long delay. But this was not all. The revolution of 1830 occurred, which brought everything to a standstill, and which, after the change of dynasty at the head of the country, brought about a change in the management of the OpÉra, where Lubbert was replaced by the famous Dr. VÉron. The latter hesitated a good deal about mounting so important a work by a composer as yet little known in France, although he had achieved great success elsewhere. He finally decided in its favor, however, the rÔles were distributed to Nourrir, Levasseur, Mmes. Dorus-Gras and Cinti-Damoreau, and Robert le Diable was finally performed Nov. 22, 1831.

However, Meyerbeer was still to grow, and les Huguenots, performed at the OpÉra, Feb. 21, 1836, was to be the crowning point of his glory. It should be said that he was admirably served by his collaborator Scribe. The latter, after having given him the fantastic poem of Robert, wrote for him the the passionate, pathetic and dramatic poem of the Huguenots, which revived at the same time a splendid page of history, in which he introduced, in the happiest manner, a picturesque element which permitted the artist to vary his palette and give to each episode a color of its own. The most diverse and powerful situations abound in this superb poem, and it is just to declare that Meyerbeer has interpreted them with an incomparable genius.

After the Huguenots three years passed during which France received no new work from Meyerbeer. Meanwhile people had much to say about the ProphÈte; but Meyerbeer, exceptionally anxious about the good execution of his works, not finding in the personnel of the OpÉra at that time the artists of whom he had dreamed for this work, waited patiently. Moreover, the office of capellmeister of the king of Prussia, to which he had been appointed, called him often to Berlin during this period. It was in this capacity that he composed a grand Italian cantata, la Festa nella corte di Ferrara, which was performed at court in 1843, and a German opera in three acts, A Camp in Silesia, composed for the inauguration of the new royal theatre of Berlin (Dec. 7, 1844) and which was rather coldly received. It was at this time also that he published, with French words, a great number of admirable songs, of which a collection in four volumes has recently been formed in Paris. It was during this period that he composed the beautiful music for his brother's drama, StruensÉe, and his first March (Fackeltanz), performed for the marriage of the princess Wilhelmina of Prussia with the king of Bavaria.

Finally, on April 16, 1849, the ProphÈte, so long expected, made its appearance at the Paris OpÉra, interpreted by Roger (Jean de Leyde), Levasseur (Jacharie), Mme. Viardot (FidÈs) and Mme. Castellan (Bertha).

Le Pardon de PlÖermel was the last of Meyerbeer's works brought out before his death, which occurred at Paris, May 2, 1864. For nearly twenty years l'Africaine had been under consideration, but the master waited for this work as he had done for le ProphÈte, until the personnel of the OpÉra could offer him such artists as he deemed necessary for its proper execution. Meanwhile, he had drawn up instructions relative to this Africaine, which he wished to have carried out after his death. Among other things he requested that the rÔle of SÉlika be confided to Mme. Marie Lasse, and that of Vasco to M. Naudin, whose voice he had admired at the ThÉÂtre Italien. The direction of the OpÉra took pains to conform to this posthumous desire and l'Africaine appeared at this theatre, under the conditions specified by the composer, April 28, 1865. While fully taking into account the great value of certain episodes of this work, it will surely be no violation to Meyerbeer's memory to say that l'Africaine has added nothing to his glory. Even without l'Africaine he would still have remained one of the most magnificent geniuses that has illumined the art of the nineteenth century.

The transformation of the genre of the French grand opera had begun with Auber's La Muette de Portici, performed in 1828. La Muette was the first work conceived in the new forms and in the vast proportions of the school which was to succeed the school of Gluck and his followers. The scenic development, the pursuit of new and piquant harmonies, the importance given to the orchestra; all this, joined to a more varied and less uniform melodic expression, had produced a deep impression on the public, and dethroned with a single blow the ancient opera which had reigned for more than half a century. Rossini had come later with his William Tell, in which the splendor of the style, the richness of inspiration and the fullness of dramatic expression, all carried to their highest degree, had marked an advance over the remarkable work of the French composer, without, however, surpassing the latter's elegance and originality. With Robert le Diable, Meyerbeer, in his turn, struck a note entirely personal, and in this work the passionate vigor of accent, the power of orchestral combinations, the particular character and relief given to each of the personages, indicated a musician of a new and profoundly original genius; a genius more complex than that of his predecessors, seeking for effects in the detail as well as in the ensemble, but arriving like them, and by different means, at an intensity of expression which was difficult to surpass.

It goes without saying that the score of Robert le Diable contained suggestions of the forms adopted by the author in the course of his Italian career. This is especially noticeable in the first act and the beginning of the second, and it would not have been an easy matter to avoid it. But the general style of the work has an incontestable grandeur, the declamation, noble and powerful, assumes the character of the French lyric declamation, the contrasts of situations are striking and managed with a remarkable intelligence, and the color of the music, its fantastic character, so well in accord with the subject, are of such an intensity as to produce on the hearer an ineffaceable impression. It is in the third act especially, divided into two distinct parts, that the genius of the composer is given full scope, and attains its most complete magnificence. The comic scene between Bertram and Raimbaut, that in which voices from below call to Bertram, the dramatic scene between Bertram and Alice, are all of a great beauty, and the tableau following, that of the evocation of nuns in the depth of their cloister, with the episode of the seduction of Robert, is of a wonderful poetry and grace, and contrasts in a striking manner with that which precedes. In the fourth act it is the human passion which speaks its most pathetic language from the grand duet of Robert and Isabelle to the moment when the powerful finale comes to prove to us that Gluck's genius and his transports are not unknown to the genius of Meyerbeer. As to the fifth act, it is of an admirable dramatic feeling.

The novelty of the forms and the hitherto unusual development of the score of Robert at first surprised the public, which was cautious about passing judgment. But surprise soon gave way to admiration, admiration grew to enthusiasm, and triumph, a triumph perhaps without precedent on the French stage, welcomed a work so abounding in beauties of a very high order. It is well known how rapidly the whole world ratified the judgment of the Parisian public.

Meyerbeer has been criticised for his Italian souvenirs in his opera les Huguenots, particularly that pretty air of Marguerite's in the second act, charming in itself and from a strict musical point of view, but which is evidently an aside, a concession made to virtuosity, and which breaks the ensemble and the unity of an otherwise strong, noble and severe work. This fault aside, however, what a masterpiece is this score of the Huguenots, in which the interest steadily increases, and which, from the first scene to the last, never ceases to rise higher and higher! Admiration knows not how to choose nor where to pause, so constant and varied are the demands made upon it, whether by the marvellous tableaux, like that of the arrival of Raoul at Marguerite's house, the picturesque curfew scene in the third act, the duel scene which follows, the powerful episode of the benediction of the poignards in the fourth, followed by the splendid duet of Raoul and Valentine, finally the scene of the massacre of the Huguenots in the fifth,—or by the delineation of the characters, traced with a surprising vigor and sureness of hand, such as those of Marcel, of Saint-Bris and of Nevers, which make an ineffaceable impression on the memory. And what color, what style, what grandeur from the beginning to the end of this work! Whether it be the dramatic element which dominates, as in the duel scene or that of the conjuration, whether it be the pathetic and passionate element, as in the duo of the lovers, whether it be the popular and picturesque element, as in the entire third act, the superiority of the artist is always the same, always equally complete, with no sign of weakness nor faltering. In this opera he recalls with vividness and truth a world which has disappeared, and his music is marvellously in accord with the period which he undertakes to depict, the personages which he presents to us, and even the costumes of those personages. As to the inspiration, always warm, noble and vigorous, it is of an inexpressible richness and power.

The austere subject of the opera of le ProphÈte, in which the element of passion played only a very secondary rÔle, caused it to be received at first with a certain reserve on the part of the public. But Meyerbeer had never been better inspired, and the nobleness, the grandeur and the severity of the style of this composition raises it to a level which he did not exceed. The beautiful introduction to the first act, the scene of the three anabaptists, the marvellous ballet of skaters, the arioso of FidÈs in prison, a truly sublime and pathetic page, finally the grand tableau of the cathedral, are so many superb and living proofs of Meyerbeer's powerful and versatile genius. The public grew to admire the beauties of this bold and dignified work; as to the artists, there are many who unhesitatingly place the ProphÈte above all that he has written for the stage; for myself, I divide my highest admiration between le ProphÈte and les Huguenots.

The success of l'Etoile du Nord, performed at the OpÉra-Comique, Feb. 16, 1854, was much more spontaneous and considerable than that of the ProphÈte at the OpÉra. Yet, after the lapse of forty years, the latter is still played on all the stages of the world, whereas l'Etoile du Nord is well-nigh forgotten. Assuredly there are some beautiful pages in this score, in which Meyerbeer embodied several pieces from his German opera, A Camp in Silesia, and especially should be mentioned the songs and the ballad of Catherine in the first act, the quintet in the second, the superb song of Pierre in the third, as well as the comic duet and trio; but the work is essentially lacking in unity, it is too heavy as a whole, and the orchestration is too noisy and brilliant for the demi-character of the opera. Meyerbeer was much better inspired in le Pardon de PlÖermel (Dinorah), given also at the OpÉra-Comique, April 4, 1839. This work contains some exquisite pages, among which I will mention particularly the overture with invisible chorus, HoËl's air in the first act, the drinking chorus and the trio in the second, and the touching and melancholy song of HoËl in the third. Unfortunately the insignificance and emptiness of the libretto have always been a drawback to this beautiful score.

What are the salient traits of Meyerbeer's genius, and what influence has this genius exerted upon his contemporaries? Such is the double question which presents itself to us in the presence of the works of this great man. First of all should be remarked his power of inspiration and power of conception. He was the first to give to France the example of these five-act operas of colossal dimensions, the performance of which requires fully five hours, and the richness, the power of his inspiration is such that so far from weakening during the course of these five long acts, it is often higher, more sublime at the end than at the beginning. Witness the fifth acts of all his great works; Robert, les Huguenots, le ProphÈte, l'Africaine; every one of them is a masterpiece! As to the power of conception, that mysterious faculty of unifying the different parts of a work so large and complex as each of his operas, and forming of them a harmonic, homogeneous whole, it is trully marvellous, and indicates a peculiarly organized and quite exceptional musical brain. Everything, indeed, is to be found in his works; dramatic sentiment is carried to its highest power, the musical style is full of splendor, the general form is superb, the harmony is solid and substantial, and the union of the voices with the instruments admits of no criticism. If there were any fault to be found with him it would be in the excess of sonority, sometimes overwhelming, which he gives to the orchestra. But on the other hand, how much he has improved the orchestra, giving it increased interest and life, as well as variety of color, of timbre and of effect! What an important part it takes in certain situations, and how carefully, conscientiously and cleverly it is managed!

Conscience, indeed, was one of Meyerbeer's master qualities. Others, so richly gifted, might perhaps have been content to follow the course of their inspiration, without taking the trouble to enrich it, to fortify it with the aid of all the means which art puts at the disposal of the composer. He neglected nothing, no detail, no effect, no method that enabled him to augment his resources, to complete his thought, in a word, to attain perfection, or what he believed to be perfection. Nothing dismayed him, he spared no pains to realize his ideal, to obtain the result at which he aimed, and he never felt that he had done a thing so well that it could not be improved. Thus his works have the solidity of marble and the strength of iron. And if a blemish be sometimes discovered in them, it is like the spots on the sun, which do not interfere with its dazzling light.

In regard to the influence exerted by Meyerbeer upon his contemporaries, although genuine and unmistakable, it cannot be said to be so complete or so general as that exerted by Rossini. And this is due to the nature of his genius, which was very complex, and in which cerebral reflection and the combination of means held as important a place as inspiration properly speaking. It was easy to imitate, without obtaining the same results, the methods and the forms employed by Rossini (I refer to the Italian Rossini, and not the Rossini of William Tell); very much less easy was it to imitate the forms and the methods of Meyerbeer, these being not only more complicated, more varied, but essentially dependent on the subject, on the situations, on the episodes. This is why Meyerbeer's influence has been mainly felt in the conception and general form of a work, and has been much less sensible in technical detail and musical method.

In closing, I would say that Meyerbeer is one of the noblest, most glorious artists who have ever shed lustre not only upon the French stage, but on musical art as applied to the theatre. A great musician, but especially a great dramatic musician, he has power, nobility, bold and heroic inspiration, and above all the gift of emotion, of that poignant and vigorous emotion which stirs the spectator, wrings his heart, lays hold upon his very vitals, and forces the tears from his eyes.