t I want to
defend the music or to protest against the criticisms it has inspired,
for that is not done. But I may, perhaps, be permitted to speak of the
piece itself and to tell how the music was adapted to it.

According to the critics it would seem that the whole of _Henri VIII_ is
superficial and without depth, _en facade_; that the souls of the
characters are not revealed, and that the King, at first all sugary
sweetness, suddenly becomes a monster without any preparation for, or
explanation of, the change.

In this connection let us consider _Boris Godounof_, for there is a
historical drama suited to its music. I saw _Boris Godounof_ with
considerable interest. I heard pleasant and impressive passages, and
others less so. In one scene I saw an insignificant friar who suddenly
becomes the Emperor in the next scene. One entire act is made up of
processions, the ringing of bells, popular songs, and dazzling costumes.
In another scene a nurse tells pretty stories to the children in her
charge. Then there is a love duet, which is neither introduced nor has
any relationship to the development of the work; an incomprehensible
evening entertainment, and, finally, funeral scenes in which Chaliapine
was admirable. It was not my fault if I did not discover in all that the
inner life, the psychology, the introductions, and the explanations
which they complain they do not find in _Henri VIII_.

"To Henry VIII," it is stated at the beginning of the work, "nothing is
sacred, neither friendship, love nor his word--ill are playthings of
his mad whims. He knows neither law nor justice." And when, a little
later, smiling, the King hands the holy water to the ambassador he is
receiving, the orchestra reveals the working of his mind by repeating
the music of the preceding scene. From beginning to end the work is
written in this way. But dissertations on such details have not been
given the public; the themes of felony, cruelty, and duplicity, and of
this and that, have not, as is the fashion of the day, been underlined,
so that the critics are excusable for not seeing them.

Not a scene, not a word, they say, shows the soul of Henry VIII. I would
like to ask if it is not revealed in the great scene between Henry and
Catharine, where he plays with her as a cat with a mouse, where he veils
his desire to be rid of her under his religious scruples, and where he
heaps on her constantly vile and cruel insinuations, or even in the last
s