ese operas,
though beautiful, are inferior to his other works.

III.

Meyerbeer, a man of handsome private fortune, like Mendelssohn, made
large sums by his operas, and was probably the wealthiest of the great
composers. He lived a life of luxurious ease, and yet labored with
intense zeal a certain number of hours each day. A friend one day begged
him to take more rest, and he answered smilingly, "If I should
leave work, I should rob myself of my greatest pleasure; for I am
so accustomed to work that it has become a necessity." Probably few
composers have been more splendidly rewarded by contemporary fame and
wealth, or been more idolized by their admirers. No less may it be said
that few have been the object of more severe criticism. His youth was
spent amid the severest classic influences of German music, and the
spirit of romanticism and nationality, which blossomed into such
beautiful and characteristic works as those composed by his friend
and fellow pupil Weber, also found in his heart an eloquent echo. But
Meyerbeer resolutely disenthralled himself from what he appeared to have
regarded as trammels, and followed out an ambition to be a cosmopolitan
composer. In pursuit of this purpose he divested himself of that fine
flavor of individuality and devotion to art for its own sake which marks
the highest labors of genius. He can not be exempted from the criticism
that he regarded success and the immediate plaudits of the public as
the only satisfactory rewards of his art. He had but little of the lofty
content which shines out through the vexed and clouded lives of
such souls as Beethoven and Gluck in music, of Bacon and Milton in
literature, who looked forward to immortality of fame as the best
vindication of their work. A marked characteristic of the man was
a secret dissatisfaction with all that he accomplished, making him
restless and unhappy, and extremely sensitive to criticism. With this
was united a tendency at times to oscillate to the other extreme of
vaingloriousness. An example of this was a reply to Rossini one night at
the opera when they were listening to "Robert le Diable." The "Swan
of Pesaro" was a warm admirer of Meyerbeer, though the latter was a
formidable rival, and his works had largely replaced those of the other
in popular repute. Sitting together in the same box, Rossini, in his
delight at one portion of the opera, cried out in his impulsive Italian
way, "If you can write anything to sur