, I should like to hear Fidelio again, often as I have heard it.
I do not find so much 'Melody' in it as you do: understanding by Melody
that which asserts itself independently of Harmony, as Mozart's Airs do.
I miss it especially in Leonora's Hope song. But, what with the story
itself, and the Passion and Power of the Music it is set to, the Opera is
one of those that one can hear repeated as often as any.

If any one ever would take a good suggestion from me, you might suggest
to Mr. Sullivan, or some competent Musician, to adapt that Epilogue part
of Tennyson's King Arthur, beginning--

And so to bed; where yet in sleep I seem'd
To sail with Arthur, etc.

down to

And War shall be no more--

to adapt this, I say, to the Music of that grand last Scene in Fidelio:
Sullivan & Co. supplying the introductory Recitative; beginning dreamily,
and increasing, crescendo, up to where the Poet begins to 'feel the truth
and Stir of Day'; till Beethoven's pompous March should begin, and the
Chorus, with 'Arthur is come, etc.'; the chief Voices raising the words
aloft (as they do in Fidelio), and the Chorus thundering in upon them. It
is very grand in Fidelio: and I am persuaded might have a grand effect in
this Poem. But no one will do it, of course; especially in these Days
when War is so far from being no more!

I want to hear Cherubini's Medea, which I dare say I should find masterly
and dull. I quite agree with you about the Italians: Mozart the only
exception; who is all in all.

WOODBRIDGE, _Dec._ 5/70.

MY DEAR POLLOCK,

. . . Had not Sunday followed Saturday I was a little tempted to run up
to hear Cherubini's Medea, which I saw advertised for the Night. But I
believe I should feel strange at a Play now: and probably should not have
sat the Opera half out. So you have a good Play, {120} and that well
acted, at last, on English Boards! At the old Haymarket, I think: the
pleasantest of all the Theatres (for size and Decoration) that I
remember; yes, and for the Listons and Vestrises that I remember there in
the days of their Glory. Vestris, in what was called a 'Pamela Hat' with
a red feather; and, again, singing 'Cherry Ripe,' one of the Dozen
immortal English Tunes. That was in 'Paul Pry.' Poor Plays they were,
to be sure: but the Players were good and handsome, and--oneself was
young--1822-3! There was Macready's Virginius at old Covent Garden, an
event never to be forgotten.

One Date lea