Then, by a marvel of mechanism, there appeared to the sound of ultramodern music, Renaud sleeping on a bed of state, with Armide standing at the foot and stretching forth her hand with a gesture of authority, declaiming in a solemn tone, "Rinaldo, I love you!" and the curtain fell to the applause of the audience.
* * * * * We owe much to Germany in music, for it has produced many great musicians.

It can set off against our trinity of Corneille, Racine, and Moliere, the no less glorious Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven.

But Germany seems to have lost all respect for the meaning of its own music and for its own glories.

Instead of watching over the purity of the text of its masterpieces, it alters them at its pleasure and makes them all but unrecognizable.

We abuse nuances but they were rare in earlier days.