and among them not a few musical people, who
hesitate to give opera a place beside what is usually called
'abstract' music. Music's highest dignity is, no doubt, reached when
it is self-sufficient, when its powers are exerted upon its own
creations, entirely without dependence upon predetermined emotions
calling for illustration, and when the interest of the composition as
well as the material is conveyed exclusively in terms of music. But
the function of music in expressing those sides of human emotion which
lie too deep for verbal utterance, a function of which the gradual
recognition led on to the invention of opera, is one that cannot be
slighted or ignored; in it lies a power of appeal to feeling that no
words can reach, and a very wonderful definiteness in conveying exact
shades of emotional sensation. Not that it can of itself suggest the
direction in which the emotions are to be worked upon; but this
direction once given from outside, whether by a 'programme' read by
the listener or by the action and accessories of the stage, the force
of feeling can be conveyed with overwhelming power, and the whole
gamut of emotion, from the subtlest hint or foreshadowing to the fury
of inevitable passion, is at the command of him who knows how to wield
the means by which expression is carried to the hearer's mind. And in
this fact--for a fact it is--lies the completest justification of
opera as an art-form. The old-fashioned criticism of opera as such,
based on the indisputable fact that, however excited people may be,
they do not in real life express themselves in song, but in
unmodulated speech, is not now very often heard. With the revival in
England of the dramatic instinct, the conventions of stage declamation
are readily accepted, and if it be conceded that the characters in a
drama may be allowed to speak blank verse, it is hardly more than a
step further to permit the action to be carried on by means of vocal
utterance in music. Until latterly, however, English people, though
taking pleasure in the opera, went to it rather to hear particular
singers than to enjoy the work as a whole, or with any consideration
for its dramatic significance. We should not expect a stern and
uncompromising nature like Carlyle's to regard the opera as anything
more than a trivial amusement, and that such was his attitude towards
it appears from his letters; but it is curious to see that a man of
such strongly pronounced dramatic tastes as