short chorus in the second act, and
the duel scene in the third act. For some occult reason, "Romeo et
Juliette," though recognized as a work of exceptional beauty and merit,
and still occasionally performed, has no permanent hold on the operatic
public of to-day.

The evils that fell on France from the German war and the horrors of the
Commune drove Gounod to reside in London, unlike Auber, who resolutely
refused to forsake the city of his love, in spite of the suffering and
privation which he foresaw, and which were the indirect cause of the
veteran composer's death. Gounod remained several years in England, and
lived a retired life, seemingly as if he shrank from public notice
and disdained public applause. His principal appearances were at the
Philharmonic, the Crystal Palace, and at Mrs. Weldon's concerts, where
he directed the performances of his own compositions. The circumstances
of his London residence seem to have cast a cloud over Gounod's life
and to have strangely unsettled his mind. Patriotic grief probably had
something to do with this at the outset. But even more than this as
a source of permanent irritation may be reckoned the spell cast over
Gounod's mind by a beautiful adventuress, who was ambitious to attain
social and musical recognition through the _eclat_ of the great
composer's friendship. Though newspaper report may be credited with
swelling and distorting the naked facts, enough appears to be known to
make it sure that the evil genius of Gounod's London life was a woman,
who traded recklessly with her own reputation and the French composer's
fame.

However untoward the surroundings of Gounod, his genius did not lie
altogether dormant during this period of friction and fretfulness,
conditions so repressive to the best imaginative work. He composed
several masses and other church music; a "Stabat Mater" with orchestra;
the oratorio of "Tobie"; "Gallia," a lamentation for France; incidental
music for Legouve's tragedy of "Les Deux Reines," and for Jules
Barbier's "Jeanne d'Arc"; a large number of songs and romances, both
sacred and secular, such as "Nazareth," and "There is a Green Hill";
and orchestral works, a "Salterello in A," and the "Funeral March of a
Marionette."

At last he broke loose from the bonds of Delilah, and, remembering that
he had been elected to fill the place of Clapisson in the Institute,
he returned to Paris in 1876 to resume the position which his genius
so richly dese