as the founder of the romantic school in music, it must not be imagined
that the new school sprang into being at the production of 'Der
Freischuetz.' For many years the subtle influence of the romantic school
in literature--the circle which gathered round Tieck, Fichte, and the
Schlegels--had been felt in music. We have seen how the voluptuous
delights of Armida's garden affected even the stately muse of Gluck; and
in the generation which succeeded him, though opera still followed
classic lines of form, in subject and treatment it was tinged with the
prismatic colours of romance. Mehul's curious experiments in
orchestration, and the solemn splendour of Mozart's Egyptian mysteries,
alike show the influence of the romantic spirit as surely as the
weirdest piece of _diablerie_ ever devised by Weber or his followers.
Yet though intimations of the approaching change had for long been
perceptible to the discerning eye, it was not until the days of Weber
that the classical forms and methods which had ruled the world of opera
since the days of Gluck gave way before the newer and more vivid passion
of romance. Even then it must not be forgotten that the romantic school
differed from the classic more in view of life and treatment of subject
than in actual subject itself. The word romance conjures up weird
visions of the supernatural or glowing pictures of chivalry; but
although it is true that Weber and his followers loved best to treat of
such themes as these, they had by no means been excluded from the
repertory of their classical predecessors. The supernatural terrors of
'Der Freischuetz' must not make us forget the terrific finale to 'Don
Giovanni,' nor can the most glowing picture from 'Euryanthe' erase
memories of Rinaldo and the Crusaders in 'Armide.' The romantic
movement, however, as interpreted by Weber, aimed definitely at certain
things, which had not previously come within the scope of music, though
for many years they had been the common property of art and literature.
The romantic movement was primarily a revolt against the tyranny of man
and his emotions. It claimed a wider stage and an ampler air. Nature was
not henceforth to be merely the background against which man played his
part. The beauty of landscape, the glory of the setting sun, the
splendour of the sea, the mystery of the forest--all these the romantic
movement taught men to regard not merely as the accessories of a scene
in which man was the predominant