why hast thou forsaken me?' He says that it is not so much any musical or technical ability that places them so far above other similar compositions of our time, as the fact that Mendelssohn has 'just put the Psalm itself before him; not Bach, or Handel, or Palestrina, or any other style or composer, but the words of the Psalmist; and the result is not anything that can be classed as new or old, but the Psalm itself in thoroughly fine musical effect; the music not pretending to be scientific, or anything on its own account, but just throwing life and feeling into the dry words.' Any one who knows these psalms will recognise the truth of this description. It is almost more true in reference to the 114th Psalm, 'When Israel out of Egypt came.' The Jewish blood of Mendelssohn must surely for once have beat fiercely over this picture of the great triumph of his forefathers, and it is only the plain truth to say that in directness and force his music is a perfect match for the splendid words of the unknown Psalmist. It is true of his oratorios also, but they have other great qualities as well. St. Paul with all its great beauties is an early work, the book of which, or rather perhaps the nature of the subject, does not wholly lend itself to forcible treatment, and it is an open question whether it can fully vie with either the Lobgesang or Athalie, or still more Elijah. These splendid compositions have that air of distinction which stamps a great work in every art, and which a great master alone can confer. As instances of this, take the scene of the Watchman and the concluding Chorus in the Lobgesang—'Ye nations'; or in Elijah the two double Quartets; the Arioso, 'Woe unto them,' which might be the wail of a pitying archangel; the Choruses, 'Thanks be to God,' 'Be not afraid,' 'He watching over,' 'The Lord passed by'; the great piece of declamation for soprano which opens the second part; the unaccompanied trio 'Lift thine eyes,' the tenor air 'Then shall the righteous.' These are not only fine as music, but are animated by that lofty and truly dramatic character which makes one forget the vehicle, and live only in the noble sentiment of the scene as it passes.
'Lauda Sion,' though owing to circumstances less known, has the same great qualities, and is a worthy setting of the truly inspired hymn in which St. Thomas Aquinas was enabled to rise so high above the metaphysical subtleties of his day. This piece of Roman Catholic music—Mendelssohn's only important one—shows what he might have done had he written a Mass, as he [1]once threatened to do. It would have been 'written with a constant recollection of its sacred purpose'; and remembering how solemn a thing religion was to him, and how much he was affected by fine words, we may well regret that he did not accomplish the suggestion.
Antigone and Œdipus, owing to the remoteness of the dramas, both in subject and treatment, necessarily address themselves to a limited audience, though to that audience they will always be profoundly interesting, not only for the lofty character of the music, but for the able and thoroughly natural manner in which Mendelssohn carried out a task full of difficulties and of temptations to absurdity, by simply 'creating music for the choruses in the good and scientific style of the present day, to express and animate their [2]meaning.'
The Midsummer Night's Dream music is a perfect illustration of Shakspeare's romantic play, and will be loved as long as beauty, sentiment, humour, and exquisite workmanship are honoured in the world.
How far Mendelssohn would have succeeded with an opera, had he met with a libretto entirely to his mind—which that of Loreley was not—it is difficult to say. Fastidious he certainly was, though hardly more so than Beethoven (see vol. i. p. 196b), and probably for much the same reasons. Times had changed since the lively intrigues and thinly-veiled immoralities of Da Ponte were sufficient to animate the pen of the divine Mozart; and the secret of the fastidiousness of Beethoven and Mendelssohn was that they wanted librettists of their own lofty level in genius and morality, a want in which they were many generations too early. Opera will not take its proper place in the world till subjects shall be found of modern times, with which every one can sympathise, treated by the poet, before they come into the hands of the composer, in a thoroughly pure, lofty, and inspiriting manner.
Camacho is too juvenile a composition, on too poor a libretto, to enable any inference to be drawn from it as to Mendelssohn's competence for the stage. But, judging from the dramatic power present in his other works, from the stage-instinct displayed in the M.N.D. music, and still more from the very successful treatment of the Finale to the first Act of Loreley—the only part of the book which he is said really to have cared—for we may anticipate that his opera, when he had found the book he liked, would have been a very fine work. At any rate we may be certain that of all its critics he would have been the most severe, and that he would not have suffered it to be put on the stage till he was quite satisfied with his treatment.
We must now close this long and yet imperfect attempt to set Mendelssohn forth as he was. Few instances can be found in history of a man so amply gifted with every good quality of mind and heart; so carefully brought up amongst good influences; endowed with every circumstance that would make him happy; and so thoroughly fulfilling his mission. Never perhaps could any man be found in whose life there were so few things to conceal and to regret.
Is there any drawback to this? or, in other words, does his music suffer at all from what he calls his 'habitual cheerfulness'? It seems as if there was a drawback, and that arising more or less directly from those very points which we have named as his best characteristics—his happy healthy heart, his single mind, his
