ontent to have a repetition (with a
difference) of the feat of the old-world conductor who, in the absence
of the hero, played the part upon the harpsichord with universal
applause. The stock patterns out of which the songs are made soon grow
old-fashioned, and are superseded by fresh ones: hence Verdi's songs
are the earliest portions of his operas to wither. There are two
powerful scenes in "Aida"--the second of the second act, and the
final in the last act. The last is certainly terribly repulsive at the
first blush; but the weird chant of the priestesses in the
brightly-lit temple, where the workmen are closing the entrance to the
vault underneath in which we see Radames left to die, contrasts finely
with the sweet music that accompanies the declaration of Aida that she
has hidden there to die with him; and, while guessing at the splendour
of the music Wagner might have given us here, one may still admit
Verdi to have succeeded well in a smaller way than Wagner's. But on
the whole "Aida" is to be heard once and have done with, for save
these scenes there is little else in it to engage one. Aida is alive,
but Amneris is a hopeless piece of machinery--something between the
stage conception of a princess and the Lady with the Camellias, any
difference in modesty being certainly not in favour of Amneris. The
music very rarely rises above commonness--that commonness which is
proclaimed in every bar of Verdi's instrumentation, and in his
shameless Salvation Army rhythms; and it is sometimes (as in the
Priest's solo with chorus in the last scene of the second act)
odiously vulgar. "Aida" is more dramatic than "Traviata," has more of
Verdi's brusque energy, less of his sentimentality; but it has none of
the youthful freshness of his latest work. The young Verdi has already
aged--how long will the old Verdi remain young?

"THE FLYING DUTCHMAN"

Wagner took "The Flying Dutchman", "Tannhaeuser," and "Lohengrin," in
three long running steps; from "Lohengrin" he made a flying leap into
the air, and, after spending some five or six years up there, he
landed safely on "The Nibelung's Ring." The leap was a prodigious one,
and you may search history in vain for its like; and still more
astounding was it if you reckon from the point where the run was
commenced. "The Flying Dutchman" was avowedly that point. "Die Feen"
is boyish folly, and "Rienzi" an attempt to out-Meyer Meyerbeer. But
in the "Dutchman" Wagner sought seriou