verture from his brain to the paper, he had written the
noblest Italian opera ever conceived; and the world knew it not, yet
gradually came to know. But the full fame of "Don Giovanni" was
comparatively brief, and at this time there seems to be a hazy notion
that its splendours have waned before the blaze of Wagner, just as the
symphonies are supposed to have faded in the brilliant light of
Beethoven. At lectures on musical history it is reverently spoken of;
but it is seldom sung, and the public declines to go to hear it; and,
though few persons are so foolish as to admit their sad case, I
suspect that more than a few agree with the sage critic who told us
not long since that Mozart was a little _passe_ now. Is it indeed so?
Well, Mozart lived in the last days of the old world, and the old
world and the thoughts and sentiments of the old world are certainly a
little _passes_ now. But if you examine "Don Giovanni" you must admit
that the Fifth and Ninth symphonies, "Fidelio," "Lohengrin," the
"Ring," "Tristan," and "Parsifal" have done nothing to eclipse its
glories, that while fresh masterpieces have come forth, "Don Giovanni"
remains a masterpiece amongst masterpieces, that in a sense it is a
masterpiece towards which all other masterpieces stand in the relation
of commentaries to text. And though this, perhaps, is only to call it
a link in a chain, yet it is curious to note how very closely other
composers have followed Mozart, and how greatly they are indebted to
him. Page upon page of the early Beethoven is written in the
phraseology of the later Mozart; in nearly every bar of "Faust," not
to mention "Romeo and Juliette," avowedly the fruit of a long study of
"Don Giovanni," a faint echo of Mozart's voice comes to us with the
voice of Gounod; Anna's cries, "Quel sangue, quella piaga, quel
volto," with the creeping chromatic chords of the wood-wind, have the
very accent of Isolda's '"Tis I, belov'd," and the solemn phrase that
follows, in Tristan's death-scene. Apart from its influence on later
composers, there is surely no more passionate, powerful, and moving
drama in the world than "Don Giovanni." Despite the triviality of Da
Ponte's book, the impetus of the music carries along the action at a
tremendous speed; the moments of relief occur just when relief is
necessary, and never retard the motion; the climaxes are piled up with
incredible strength and mastery, and have an emotional effect as
powerful as anything i