were really nonsense when this
very concert was given to show that foreign art could not be
ignored--would not be worth while raking up if it did not further serve
to show how regrettable is the indifference of French artists who take
part in these festivals. And this mistake would never have occurred if
they had taken care to acquaint themselves with the programme beforehand
and put their veto upon it.

I have mentioned this little incident partly because my views were
shared by many Alsatians in the audience, who expressed their annoyance
to me afterwards. But, putting it aside, our French artists ought not to
have consented to let our music be represented by a mutilated score of
_Les Beatitudes_ and by Charpentier's _Impressions d'Italie_, for the
latter, though a brilliantly clever work, is not of the first rank, and
was too easily crushed by one of Wagner's most stupendous compositions.
If people wish to institute a joust between French and German art, let
it be a fair one, I repeat; let Wagner be matched with Berlioz, and
Strauss with Debussy, and Mahler with Dukas or Magnard.

* * * * *

Such were the conditions of the combat; and they were, whether
intentionally or not, unfavourable to France. And yet to the eyes of an
impartial observer the result was full of hope and encouragement for us.

I have never bothered myself in art with questions of nationality. I
have not even concealed my preference for German music; and I consider,
even to-day, that Richard Strauss is the foremost musical composer in
Europe. Having said this, I am freer to speak of the strange impression
that I had at the Strasburg festival--an impression of the change that
is coming over music, and the way that French art is silently setting
about taking the place of German art.

"_Waelschen Dunst und waelschen Tand_...." How that reproachful speech
seems to be misplaced when one is listening to the honest thought
expressed in Cesar Franck's music. In _Les Beatitudes_, nothing, or next
to nothing, was done for art's sake. It is the soul speaking to the
soul. As Beethoven wrote, at the end of his mass in D, "_Vom Herzen ...
zu Herzen_!" ("It comes from the heart to go to the heart"). I know no
one but Franck in the last century, unless it is Beethoven, who has
possessed in so high a degree the virtue of being himself and speaking
only the truth without thought of his public. Never before has
religious faith bee