ant sinner, sent a shudder of horror or a thrill of joy throughout the universe. That was just the distinctive quality of his estimate and vision of things. For the Jews, as for all men, there was but one way to be equal to the crisis of their destiny, the crisis which did in fact confront them with at least a relative finality. That was that they should be ready to face the Eternal and absolutely final Judgment, which is incommensurable with any mere fact, although it is the soul and moving principle in every decisive fact.

There was one thing needful for Israel that they should stand in that last judgment. And there was just one thing needful in order that they should stand in it-the one thing they most lacked-love. All else in them, all else in the whole universe would shrivel like a scroll before the fire of it. Jesus' task as he understood it was to awaken in them a sense as living as his own of the reality and imminence of this supreme trial, the inner nerve and substance of all possible trials, and to communicate to them the power he had laid hold of for himself which could victoriously uphold them there. If they were prepared for that they were prepared for all. If they were not they were prepared for nothing. We can scarcely be surprised then that for Jesus two things that are distinguishable for us should have been indistinguishably fused together. It is true enough to say that there was in this blending an element of illusion, a residuum in Jesus of that extinct Jewish world of thought, in which he had his roots. But surely it is much more true to say, as it is much more worth while to insist upon, that this confusion of the particular and universal, the symbol and the idea meant a revelation of the universal and Eternal that was in that particular situation with which he had to do; a grasp for himself incomparably powerful and an unfolding to others incomparably effective of the one permanent reality on which and on their hold upon it depend the fate and worth of every nation and of every man and all their works. It was the mission of Jesus to save Israel. That was the task for which he was equipped. He spoke to them in their own language and shared their thoughts which in very many ways are not our thoughts; was bone of their bone, flesh of their flesh, tongue of their tongue, heart of their heart. He met them at the crossroads and pointed to the final parting of the ways. They did

not heed him. They would not let him save them. But because in that small post which he found assigned to him, at that infinitesimal point where he was called to stand and fall, he saw the Infinite and brought the Infinite to bear, laid hold of the Almighty hand stretched out to support him and never let it go, therefore the living God of history whom he knew and whom we know through him has appointed him to be the Lord and Judge not only of his own people but of all men. To both Jews and Greeks, the Christ, the power of God and the Wisdom of God.

McGill University, Montreal.

JOHN MACNAUGHTON.

THE DEVELOPMENT OF GRAND OPERA.*

N opera is a play designed for the stage with scenery, costumes and action used as accessories as in all stage plays, but with the additional use of music to intensify the meaning of the lines uttered by the characters, and to add an emotional element that might otherwise be lacking.

It is impossible to trace back to the earliest times the addition of music to a stage play, but we know that among the Greeks it was in the service of the drama from very early days. In regard to the music of the ancient Greeks and its use as adapted to the drama little is known, but it is clear that there were two quite different styles, the Apolline and the Dionysiac. The music used in the worship of Apollo was restrained and dignified, while the music of Dionysus was passionate and licentious. In modern times the dramatic and dignified style of music, of which Wagner is the great exponent, is our inheritance from the music of Apollo, while the music of Dionysus has developed into the lyric and ornate style of which Rossini may be taken as a typical example, and to trace the history of Grand Opera is to trace the struggle for supremacy between the dramatic and the lyric style on the operatic stage.

While this sharp distinction is drawn between the dramatic and the lyric style, it is not for a moment contended that there is no lyric and passionate music in Wagner or that Rossini gives no evidence of the dramatic and dignified style. The distinction will be duly qualified when we come to consider the works of these composers.

In the Middle Ages music was introduced at certain stated intervals in the course of the drama, but it was music written

Only the principal stages will be considered. Many notable composers, such as Purcell and Bizet, have been omitted from lack of space. Purcell's opera Dido and Æneas shows such dramatic intensity as to warrant the belief that this composer, had he lived to develop his powers, would have anticipated much that Wagner has accomplished. Bizet's Carmen is equal to any work of Verdi, but it is more profitable for the purpose of this sketch to study in some detail the operas of Verdi, because in them the development of modern opera is more clearly observable.

in the Church style of the period, and though admirably suited to the Church it was manifestly unfit for dramatic purposes. It could voice the aspirations of a body of worshippers swayed by a common belief, but it could not express individual feeling. It was in short the embodiment in music of the mediævalism which had so long controlled Church and State.

The Renaissance is marked in music by the invention of the recitative toward the middle of the sixteenth century. About this time the cantata was evolved. The cantata of this date had little in common with the modern composition of the same name. It was a recitation on musical intervals for a single voice accompanied by one instrument, and anything like a formal melody was studiously avoided. By means of recitative, however, it is possible to express individual feeling, for in its progressions and cadences the characteristic but intensified effect of an oratorical delivery of the text is made possible. But the effect produced on the hearer by continuous recitative is unbearably monotonous. Yet dull as these recitatives were, they bore the germ of emancipation from the scholastic laws which had heretofore prevented music from expressing individual emotion. They made the birth of opera possible and in the world of music they typify the spirit of the Renaissance.

The first step in the composition of opera was taken by Jacopo Peri in 1595, when he set this cantata music to a drama, the Dafne of the poet Rinuccini. In 1600 Euridice, by the same author, was produced and has the distinction of being the first opera to receive public performance. Of Dafne nothing is known as the score has been lost, but Euridice is a dreary waste of recitatives relieved by a few runs and turns. The choruses, however, which are introduced freely, serve to vary the monotony. The one thing to notice at this stage is that Peri, instead of coupling the dialogue to music that might have been designed for the Church, was the first to allow the singing voice to depict the ideas expressed by inflections such as would be made by the speaking voice under similar circumstances. Within a decade a whole school of composers followed the model of Euridice, the chief among them being Caccini. One particular characteristic of this Florentine school, as it was called, was a sedulous avoidance of anything like extended melody or definite form. Music was held to be not an end in itself, but subordi

nate to the distinct impassioned declamation of the poet's verses. Any independent development of musical thought was considered a weakness on the ground that it tended to distract the attention of the hearer from the drama and to interfere with its logical continuity. This was to be expected from the character of the little coterie interested in the new Art form, the "Palazzo Bardi", the majority of whom were wealthy amateurs of Florence, zealously devoted to the classics, and aflame with the desire for the actual revival of the Greek tragedy.

The task of taking the opera from the experimental stage and placing it on the artistic foundation which it now occupies was accomplished by Claudio Monteverde (1568-1642). He broke entirely away from the music of his day in his freedom of treating dissonances, the distinguishing feature of modern harmony. His ardent, restless temperament, seeking novel modes of expression, often led to wild and extravagant combinations which even to-day appear harsh and forced. At that time they must have seemed wilful attempts at outraging the ear. These innovations, however, are the corner stone of modern harmony. Of this as well as of the opera Monteverde is the real founder. What are defects in his Church music are excellencies in his operas, for the discords which disturb the serenity of a religious atmosphere are often admirably fitted to express individual feeling and to produce dramatic effects.

Monteverde's greatest service to the opera lay in enlarging the sphere of the orchestra. He increased the number of players and released the orchestra from the subordinate position of being a mere support for the voice by employing it to heighten the dramatic situation. He endowed the recitative with far greater freedom and depth of expression, but the parts for the voice are still declamatory rather than melodious. Definite melody in his works is generally confined to the instruments, in which he curiously anticipates the practice of latter day dramatic composers.

In 1637, with the opening of the first public opera house in Venice, opera, which had till then been restricted to royalty and the nobility, became popularized. With its introduction to the general public its original character was changed. So long as it was confined to the cultivated, the classical ideals of its founders met with intelligent appreciation, but, when con