li._

_Mr. Falconer._ Do you place Donizetti above Mozart?

_Miss Ilex._ Oh, surely not. But for supplying expressive music to
a singer like Rubini, I think Donizetti has no equal; at any rate no
superior. For music that does not require, and does not even suit, such
a singer, but which requires only to be correctly interpreted to be
universally recognised as the absolute perfection of melody, harmony,
and expression, I think Mozart has none. Beethoven perhaps: he composed
only one opera, Fidelio; but what an opera that is! What an effect in
the sudden change of the key, when Leonora throws herself between her
husband and Pizarro: and again, in the change of the key with the change
of the scene, when we pass from the prison to the hall of the palace!
What pathos in the songs of affection, what grandeur in the songs of
triumph, what wonderful combinations in the accompaniments, where a
perpetual stream of counter-melody creeps along in the bass, yet in
perfect harmony with the melody above!

_Mr. Falconer._ What say you to Haydn?

_Miss Ilex._ Haydn has not written operas, and my principal experience
is derived from the Italian theatre. But his music is essentially
dramatic. It is a full stream of perfect harmony in subjection to
exquisite melody; and in simple ballad-strains, that go direct to the
heart, he is almost supreme and alone. Think of that air with which
every one is familiar, 'My mother bids me bind my hair': the graceful
flow of the first part, the touching effect of the semitones in the
second: with true intonation and true expression, the less such an air
is accompanied the better.

_Mr. Falconer._ There is a beauty and an appeal to the heart in ballads
which will never lose its effect except on those with whom the pretence
of fashion overpowers the feeling of Nature.{1}

1 Braham said something like this to a Parliamentary
Committee on Theatres, in 1832.

_Miss Ilex._ It is strange, however, what influence that pretence has,
in overpowering all natural feelings, not in music alone.

'Is it not curious,' thought the doctor, 'that there is only one old
woman in the room, and that my young friend should have selected her for
the object of his especial attention?'

But a few simple notes struck on the ear of his young friend, who rose
from the sofa and approached the singer. The doctor took his place to
cut off his retreat.

Miss Gryll, who, though a proficient in all music, was particul