teers as pilot; and the act terminates with a dramatic situation which would have rejoiced the heart of Sheridan's Mr. Puff. Vasco has lost his Ines and the opportunity of immortalising his name. Ines, to free Vasco, has plighted herself to a man she hates. Selika's heart is broken by the terrible ingratitude of the man for whom she has betrayed her people and her gods. Don Pedro revels in the thought that, at one stroke, he robs Vasco of his mistress and of fame; and Nelusko rejoices that the gods have revenged him on Vasco, and that, as pilot to the pioneer ship, so many of the hated pale-faces will be delivered to his keeping.

The third is the famous ship act. The vessel-which is certainly too large, for it does not permit a sight of the sea, and but little of the sky -has three decks or platforms. The lowest-the stage itself-exhibits the cabins of the ladies and of the admiral, Don Pedro. The second platform is the deck proper, where the red shirts of the sailors, and the cuirasses of the soldiers contrast advantageously: and the third tier is the poop, on which the patriotic and treacherous pilot, Nelusko, keeps his watch. Larger sails and the rigging fill up the space between the stage and the proscenium. For all this gorgeous decoration, Meyerbeer has written a sea-anthem-the voices of the women in their cabins, of the grave admiral pondering over his charts, of the two loving, brokenhearted women; of the sailors on the deck, imploring the protection of heaven, -mingling together in a grand mass of sound; while the slave pilot hurries them on to swift and certain death, as he invokes the aid of Adamastor, the Giant of the Storm, -have an effect which can never be forgotten. It is a revelation of art which sinks into the memory, but cannot be described. Colours-blue, red, green-are arbitrary distinctions which every one understands; but it is impossible to convey, by mere words, the rush and sweep of the harmony of a hundred voices and a hundred instruments, obedient to the direction of

one master mind. The clouds grow darker; a storm threatens. Nelusko bids them turn the head of the vessel to the north; and the huge machine is seen to alter its course. A boat hails them; and Vasco de Gama-who, at the price of all his worldly possessions, has freighted a ship to explore for himself-comes on board, and implores Don Pedro to turn from the north, as he is now near the reef whereon the bark of Bernard Diaz was wrecked. Pedro believes that Vasco seeks the presence of Ines, and that his warning is but a pretext. Vasco asserts his innocence of intention, and swears that, in imploring Pedro to alter his course, he is but obeying the dictates of patriotism and humanity. A quarrel ensues; and Vasco draws his sword upon the admiral, who summons the seamen to his aid. Ines and Selika recognize Vasco, whom Pedro orders to be tied to the mast. During this, the wind has risen and the storm has increased. The Africaine and Ines implore Pedro to pardon Vasco. A terrible noise is heard; and Nelusko runs the vessel on the fatal reef. As one side of the ship heels over, the rocks rise in view. Nelusko summons his comrades; and a crowd of Indians precipitate themselves upon the devoted Portuguese. The savages cry 'Death, and no quarter!' when they perceive Selika, their queen, who by a gesture stays the intended mas

sacre.

All these situations, effects, and tableaux would be well enough in a melodrama; but they are too circuslike for grand opera. The piling-up of agony should always be avoided; and it is a pity that the act does not end with the striking of the ship upon the rock-after which, Indians brandishing spears, red fire, and recognition of royalty, are mere anti-climaxes.

The fourth and fifth acts take place upon the island over which Selika is queen, which is presumed to be Madagascar, or somewhere there; for Monsieur Scribe has so confused his readers with Africaines, Vishnu, Brahma, and Central America, that it is most convenient to throw overboard geographical ac

curacy and accept the no-man's land and the habits and customs of everywhere, so often seen at the theatre. The verdure is rich and tropical, and the architecture of the palaces and temples of Aztec weirdness and magnificence. By the laws of Brahma all strangers touching the sacred soil of the island are condemned to death; and it is unpleasant to think of the fate of the survivors among the crew and passengers of Don Pedro's argosy. Vasco alone survives, and in a ravishing melody describes the effect upon his senses of the realization of his hopes. Here is the spicy air, the prodigal earth, the dazzling riches of nature he has dreamt of, and we are reminded of Ferdinand in the Tempest.' The Brahmin

soldiers surround him, and he is a third time saved from death by Selika. The high priest of BrahmaVasco is always unfortunate with priests-declares his doom; but on this occasion, as on every other, the love, the readiness, and natural talent for mendacity of woman, saves the ingrate. What,' asks Selika, 'if this cavalier be no stranger, but a brother? He is my husband. On a distant shore he saved my life and honour by espousing me.' Nelusko would unmask the de ception; but Selika swears that if Vasco dies she, too, will rest with him in the grave. The marriage rite is solemnized, and as the grandeur of catholicism was expressed by the music of the first act, so the barbaric splendour of Brahminism is realized in the scenes on the island. The duo in this act between Selika and Vasco, with its harp accompaniment, is as tender and intense as it is melodious. The ballet commences. There is a grand Indian march, a religious march, the lotus flower, a choreographic idyll, and a pas de jongleurs. Dazzled by the beauty and the power of the queen of the island, Vasco again feels a renewal of his love. He will live for her, and for her only, in the flowery land over which she reigns. His country and his hopes are forgotten. The priestesses place on Selika's head a crown of flowers, and form, with their thin gauzy veils, a trans

parent rampart round her. Vasco, delirious with love, sings to his royal bride:

'Vers toi, mon idole,

Oui, mon cœur s'envole, Et pour toi j'immole,

Ma gloire à venir l'

At this moment the voice of Ines is heard singing the song Vasco used to sing beneath her balcony:'Adieu, rive du Tage,

O regrets superflus.

Amis de mon jeune âge,

Vous me ne me verrez plus !

The spectre of the love of his youth in the old world rises to reproach him.

In a grand duo, Ines, who has been saved from the wreck and is in the power of Selika, tells the injured queen that she has met Vasco on the shore. Selika meditates vengeance-Ines awaits the blow! But the heart of the Africaine has been touched by the spectacle of her youth and innocence, and Selika magnanimously sacrifices her own happiness for that of her lover. She commands her slaves to put her faithless husband and Ines on board Vasco's vessel, which still rides safely by the shore. At the same time she resolves to seek death beneath the shade of the poisonous upas tree. The scene changes, and the fatal upas is seen upon a promontory that looks upon the ocean. Amid all the remarkable music of this remarkable opera, the symphony for stringed instruments only, with which this last scene opens, is the effect which strikes and fixes itself most permanently in the mind of the fortunate auditor. It is a strain of such ravishing sweetness, with a sweep and rush of melody at its termination that literally floods the senses. On the night that I was present, it was redemanded rapturously; for the strange delicious thrill with which it dominates the nerves, contrasted with the critical pleasure received from ordinarily good music, there is the exact though indescribable distance that separates genius from talent, and inspiration from judgment. Selika dies beneath the tree; magnificently sensuous music describes the deli

rious extasy produced by its fatal exhalations. The gorgeous paradise promised to the faithful by the religion of Brahma reveals itself to her eyes, and an aërial chorus of invisible spirits contrasts with the pagan heaven opened to the mind of the dying queen. Nelusko finds

her at the moment she sees the vessel containing Vasco and his bride receding from the shore, and resolves to die with her. A last quotation from the libretto will best give an idea of the touching and tender termination of the opera.

NELU-KO. Déjà, sa main est froide et glacée
O terreur !
C'est la mort!

SELIKA (dying).

Non! C'est le bonheur ! Chaur Aérien.

Pour elle s'ouvre le séjour

Où règne un éternel amour.

Monsieur Belval, as Dor Pedro, Monsieur Castelmary, as Don Diego, Mademoiselle Marie Battu, as Ines, were all that could be wished musically and dramatically. Mademoiselle Marie Saxe and Monsieur Naudin, as the heroine and hero, though they sang charmingly in the fourth and fifth act, hardly rose to the passion of the scene. They did not fail, they succeeded only with the music, not with the characters entrusted to them. Monsieur Faure's performance of Nelusko was in every sense a perfect specimen of the lyric art. Of the mounting of the piece, the scenery, the costumes, the grouping, the mise en scène, the ballet, it would be impossible to speak in terms of too high praise. Both orchestra and chorus were perfection. The writer of these pages is content to wait until the pro

duction of the opera in London, when he feels confident that his fervent admiration of a work of genius will be endorsed by all those for whose opinions he entertains respect. His humble praise can no more add to the reputation of Meyerbeer than can the small carpings of those odd folks who find that the Africaine 'is no such great things after all,' and who admire drawingroom ballads of the 'O'er the blue sea gently dancing,' and 'I love her, I love her, my dark-eyed gazelle' class, detract from it. Perhaps some of these critics are themselves composers, and

'vastly prefer their own puppy bow wows, To the loftiest war-note the lion can pour.'

On

The libretto is not without faults, among them may be mentioned the unsatisfactory termination of the opera. The hero is not seen in the last act; poctical justice is unsatisfied; Vasco de Gama is a lowhearted, selfish fellow, and yet he remains successful and unscathed while his moral superiors suffer. And however truthful to life, this is none the less unpleasant in the region of dramatic romance. the other hand, the self-love of Vasco de Gama forms the contrast to the disinterested devotion of the African and Africaine. Possibly, from scenic and practical difficulties, this masterpiece of a master-mind may be less often played than 'Robert le Diable,' the Prophète,' or the 'Huguenots;' it is not the less a lasting work-a monument erected by a great genius to his own vast power. Who but Meyerbeer could have written such an opera? who but Scribe so excellent a libretto?