of this. It opens with a crash of the whole orchestra, determined and
inexorable. Then follows a low deep wailing of the flutes and horns, full
of tenderness, of aspiration, of subdued hope; and another crash of the
whole, like a lightning flash, instantaneous and scathing the world,
sweeps across the plaintiveness of the wind instruments and as instantly
is gone. The sad inquiry continues, the determined Thunder of Fate drowns
it constantly, and it is lost. Then it becomes more imperious and active,
and the call upon the Invisible and the Unanswerable sounds on every side,
rises to the top of the flutes, sinks to the lowest bases, appears now
among the violins, now vanishes to the rest, until it has disciplined the
whole, and the whole orchestra together thunders out the call. Then comes
the adagio, where, as always, the mystery seems to be developing itself,
where the earnest-seeking solemnly consecrates itself to success; and the
minuet and finale conclude--the soaring, mocking, hellish laughter of
fiends and demons of the air, at baffled curiosity and blighted hope. Is
not that what these symphonies express? The pith of the matter is never
reached. The very movement of the adagio, while it expresses a deep,
solemn hope, seems to mourn with unutterable sorrow that the hope must be
only consecrated and profound, never realized. The climax of the music and
the sentiment seems to be always in the adagio.

What remained for such a man as he, separate from all others and alone
with his life, but to question the Fate that impelled him, now in this
tone and now in that? What remained for such unsatisfied, joyless strength
but the stern, wild laughter of fiends that the question could not be
answered--and the deep wail of Fate, which also is sung in his music, that
such strength should have the ruggedness of endurance but not the
gracefulness of Faith? How I wished you had been there!

Castellan's voice is full and rich; it was very sweet, and she sang with