in the still small voice, and finally the heavens open, and the seraphim cry one to another, "Holy, holy, holy is God the Lord." This is the culminating point of the whole oratorio, and its supernatural grandeur has perhaps never been equalled by any previous music that has entered into the heart of man. The prophet is comforted, and henceforth "goes on his way in the strength of the Lord." Thus the key-note of Elijah may be regarded as the contrast between earth and heaven. On the one hand, we have the blindness and degradation of the people, and on the other, the pure songs of angels; while between them stands the prophet, agonised with the effort to save those who will not be saved, and to whose dulled perceptions the Supreme Power can only appear as the Avenger, whose "wrath will pursue us till He destroy us" (an impression which Elijah fully shares with his audience). The painfulness of this theme would be too great, were it not relieved by the divine visions, which console the lonely seer, and reveal to him the Infinite Love which lies at the heart of the Infinite Holiness. Perhaps no vocal music ever breathed a more purely spiritual mood than the song, "Hear ye, Israel;" especially the second part, "I am He that comforteth; be not afraid, for I, thy God, will strengthen thee." The supernatural tenderness and life that radiate from this composition seem to open a new world to the listener. This, and the before-mentioned "Holy, holy," are among those rare productions in which the noblest earthly genius is but an instrument of a divine message,-the mere reed through which the breath of Heaven is poured. But Mendelssohn could not utter such revelations of the heavenly love and glory without longing that "all flesh should see it together," and so he concludes Elijah with three pieces, containing a prophecy of Christianity, the words being taken from Isaiah. From this analysis of the two oratorios it will be seen that we attribute to Mendelssohn, not only great dramatic power, but a deep spiritual insight, which enabled him to apprehend the special characteristics of the prophetic and the apostolic periods with rare felicity. Regarding the conquest of earth by heaven as a higher theme than their contrast, we cannot but regret that St. Paul should be less popular than Elijah. Still more do we regret the loss of that oratorio which Mendelssohn left unfinished, his Christ, which would probably, as he intended, have been his master-piece. We cannot but think that one strong The plan of this oratorio was widely different from that of Handel's Messiah, as may be seen from the fragments that have been published since Mendelssohn's death. The work was to "comprise the three great periods in our Saviour's life: first, his birth; secondly, his sorrows and death; and thirdly, his impulse to its composition may have been the increased sense which his recently completed Elijah must have pressed upon him of the need of a visible revelation of God's fatherly love. that should be accessible to all humanity. St. Paul presupposes that such a revelation has been made, and hence comes the abounding "strength and joyfulness" of that most Christian oratorio. But in Elijah, written ten years later, the supernatural element is certainly more vivid, and the darkness of the sinful earth more tragic. Hence the deeper need of "the Word made flesh," that can truly interpret heaven to earth, and lift mortality to God. It is impossible to estimate any modern oratorio completely without turning to compare it with those great productions which first inaugurated the musical epic. Few indeed are the composers who can stand a comparison with the giant Handel, who founded the Oratorio, and established it as an institution in this country. In massive grandeur, Handel remains wholly unsurpassed; and the felicitous realisations of the various aspects of Hebrew character, national and individual, which he has given us in his oratorios, especially in Israel in Egypt and Judas Maccabæus, are among the highest productions of sacred music. There is, however, one important point in which Mendelssohn surpassed him, viz. in the delicacy of his artistic and spiritual discrimination. There is an instinct which creative genius, and that alone, communicates, and Handel's was of the very highest. But there is a subordinate instinct, which is artistic and intellectual, rather than originative, which fills up the interstices of inspiration, and completes the earthly form of art, and in this faculty Handel was often very deficient. The Messiah and Israel, his two great master-pieces, are pure creations, sustained throughout by the force of genius at its white heat. But his lesser oratorios are formed of very unequal materials. Many pieces are tediously spun out with repetitions and "padding," and many of the words are trashy and inelegant. His native genuineness shows itself in the curious fact that his music invariably rises and falls in merit with the merit of the poetry; he could not be inspired by poor words. But he composed for them nevertheless. Now all this is very characteristic of a truly great but half-educated man, in an age that was at resurrection." All that has come before us consists of fragments of the first and second parts. They consist of narrative recitatives, with a few dramatic solos and choruses. The trio of the Magi, a chorus of Hebrews, "We have a sacred law," and the touching chorus, "Daughters of Zion, weep for yourselves and your children," are not unworthy of Mendelssohn; but, generally speaking, the fragments are very inferior in vigour to his finished works, and probably convey but a faint outline of the conception which hovered before him, and which, had he lived, we can scarcely doubt that he would have adequately realised. once hypercritical and unspeculative. Had Handel been superior to his contemporaries not only in moral nobleness and spiritual genius, but in refinement and culture also, the gulf would have been too great even for his power to span. We can therefore scarcely regret the imperfect development of the non-musical sides of his great mind. But with Mendelssohn the case was entirely different. Born into an atmosphere of art, philosophy, and refinement, his every faculty was vividly alive from childhood. Not only did his development as a man keep pace with his progress as an artist, but it was for the full expression of his mental and spiritual life that his art was precious to him. Like Handel, his highest inspirations were derived from the Hebrew and Christian revelations; but while in all Handel's oratorios, except the Messiah, the connecting thread of interest is mainly historical, the themes of Mendelssohn's oratorios are purely spiritual. Of the other oratorios which have been written since the time of Handel, two alone have retained any strong hold on the public mind-Haydn's Creation and Spohr's Last Judgment. Both are as different from Mendelssohn as possible. The Creation represents Eden before the fall, when no touch of sorrow or sin had marred the virgin freshness of the early world. The sweetness and grace of the principal melodies, and the simple grandeur of the chorus, "The heavens are telling the glory of God," will always render the Creation popular. But this cloudless, effortless life does not bring out "the seven chords of the lyre." As a work of sacred art, Haydn's oratorio is far inferior to his masses, and to his admirable Passione. Spohr's oratorios, again, express the very converse of the Creation. His Last Judgment, Crucifixion, and Fall of Babylon, are all remarkable for a peculiar vein of supernaturalism which is very beautiful, and which differs entirely from that of Mendelssohn and Handel, in being imaginative rather than ethical. They are like Martin's pictures; a halflurid apocalyptic colouring pervades them all, and naturally finds its most appropriate sphere in the Last Judgment, in which the words are almost entirely taken from the Revelations. For the expression of this peculiar spiritual mood nothing can surpass Spohr's tender chromatic melodies and gorgeous New Jerusalem harmonies. But his Last Judgment bears the same relation to Mendelssohn's St. Paul, or Handel's Messiah, that the rainbow bears to the sunlight. The distinguishing merit of Mendelssohn is, that while he belongs to the regular line of musical composers, such as Palestrina, Purcell, Handel, Bach, Haydn, and Mozart, who, like the regular line of great poets, keep up the healthy utterance of the normal passions, affections, and aspirations of mankind,—he incorporates in his works the special experience of his own period, and brings to the illustration of past times all the widest culture and deepest insight of the nineteenth century. We see in him what art may do for the highest life of man when it is wielded by one whose special gift is but the medium of uttering the richest and fullest experiences of a pure soul. We remember with honour and reverence the names of Dante, Milton, Handel, Beethoven, who amid exile, blindness, and deafness, remained faithful still, singing songs in the night, trusting in God though He should slay them. To Mendelssohn was given the rarer trial of life-long good fortune and abounding affection from all men. It is a joy to know that that lot also can be met without stain by a true man, and that pain and pleasure are alike powerless for evil where the service of art is pursued as before God. "They do not ask, who pined unseen, Whose one bond is that all have been ART. II.-M. RÉNAN'S TRANSLATION OF JOB. Le Livre de Job, traduit de l'Hébreu par Ernest Rénan, Membre de l'Institut. Etude sur l'Age et le Caractère du Poème. Deuxième édition. Paris, 1860. Etudes d'Histoire Religieuse, par M. Ernest Rénan, Membre de l'Institut (Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres). Cinquième édition, revue et corrigée. Paris, 1862. THE temporary silence imposed upon M. Rénan, after his late inaugural lecture to a course of Hebrew instruction in the Collège de France, may have drawn the attention of English readers to his works. M. Rénan, though the most penetrating and profound of French critics on Hebrew literature, is little known in England. Even in the small circle which welcomes every fresh contribution to a more accurate study of the Hebrew Scriptures, he is not likely to find much appreciation. It is easy to see the reason. English students of Scripture for the most part approach the study with feelings and opinions already formed. They are attracted to the study by these feelings, rather than from curiosity or desire of greater knowledge. No one would undervalue the outward influences which have gone to form his religious belief, influences endeared to him by every early association and life-long habit. Yet it must be owned that the pursuit of knowledge is sometimes retarded by them. On the one hand, there is a keen interest in the meaning of Scripture, and on the other, an uneasy fear that inquiry may clash with dearly valued and inherited opinions. It is a long lesson, and one rarely learnt, to distinguish between our conceptions of the truth and the truth itself. When those conceptions have taken hold of our affections as well as of our understanding, and thus have become part of ourselves, the severance is still harder. Yet, without doubt, the mistrust of inquiry, as well as the spirit of intolerance, lies in the confusion of the two. Again, inquiry is suspected from the very fact of the supreme importance of the subject-matter of it. Englishmen feel strongly the need of faith for their own life and the life of their countrymen; they are nervous of whatever tends to weaken or disturb it. They are slow to believe that old landmarks are really removed; they are still more reluctant to abandon them when they are not sure whether there are others, or what others there are, to take their place. Hence motives of caution, of fear, of expediency, as well as some of the best and most rooted feelings of our nature, look with jealousy, even at times with unconcealed dislike, upon every new inquiry into the meaning of Scripture which is independent of, and does not start from, recognised opinions. Were we now about to discuss the question, we would show that this dislike is inconsistent with our national faith, or rather with our avowed adherence to the spirit of the reformation of the sixteenth century; and much more, that it is dishonouring to the truth to fear that it will perish from among men because sought for more inquiringly. Our object now is only to indicate the causes why the studies of foreign students and writers are so little regarded; why biblical knowledge is in so backward a state among those whose profession it is to advance it. For these causes will oppose themselves to the recognition of the merit of M. Rénan's studies,-we think unjustly, and disadvantageously to the cause of truth. We are sorry to have to confess that much of M. Rénan's writings must pain those who, with ourselves, believe that the Bible contains the revelation of God to man. Not that our author is willingly irreverent in tone; it is rather by what is not said than by what is said,—it is by the absence of any thing approaching to belief in a divine Word, that the reader of his works is startled. The pain we speak of is like that which we should feel at the searching analysis of our most trusted friend's character and life, made by one who seemed incapable of appreciating those 7 |