forth the body of Iris and begin to strip it of its
adornments. She moves and they fly in superstitious fear. She recovers
consciousness, and voices from invisible singers, tell her of the
selfish inspirations of Osaka, Kyoto, and her blind father; Osaka's
desire baffled by fate--such is life! Kyoto's slavery to pleasure and a
hangman's reward;--such is life! The blind man's dependence on his
child for creature comforts;--such is life! Iris bemoans her fate as
death comes gently to her. The sky grows rosy and the light brings
momentary life. She stretches out her arms to the sun and acclaims the
growing orb. As once upon Ida--

Glad earth perceives and from her bosom pours
Unbidden herbs and voluntary flow'rs!

A field of blossoms spreads around her, into which she sinks, while the
sun, again many-voiced and articulate, chants his glory as in the
beginning.

The story is perhaps prettier in the telling than in the performance.
What there is in its symbolism and its poetical suggestion that is
ingratiating is more effective in the fancy than in the experience.
There are fewer clogs, fewer stagnant pools, fewer eddies which whirl
to no purpose. In the modern school, with its distemper music put on in
splotches, there must be more merit and action. Psychological
delineation in music which stimulates action, or makes one forget the
want of outward movement, demands a different order of genius than that
which Signor Mascagni possesses. Mere talent for artful device will not
suffice. There are many effective bits of expressive writing in the
score of "Iris," but most of them are fugitive and aim at coloring a
word, a phrase, or at best a temporary situation. There is little flow
of natural, fervent melody. What the composer accomplished with tune,
characteristic but fluent, eloquent yet sustained, in "Cavalleria
rusticana," he tries to achieve in "Iris" with violent, disjointed,
shifting of keys and splashes of instrumental color. In this he is
seldom successful, for he is not a master of orchestral writing--that
technical facility which nearly all the young musicians have in the
same degree that all pianists have finger technic. His orchestral
stream is muddy; his effects generally crass and empty of euphony. He
throws the din of outlandish instruments of percussion, a battery of
gongs, big and little, drums, and cymbals into his score without
achieving local color. Once only does he utilize it so as to catch the