Not so with his greater confrère Halévy, whose first grand successes, “La Juive” and “L’Eclair,” were his only masterpieces. Thomas has not reached the height to which Halévy soared in either of these operas. “Mignon” and “Hamlet” are, however, works of no common order. The former has won a place in the repertory of every opera house in Europe. There is much of genuine poetic feeling in the music, and the score, as a whole, is distinguished by grace, melodiousness, delicacy of taste, and that effect of spontaneity that is understood as inspiration. Fine discrimination has been shown in giving each character its appropriate musical expression, and the skill with which the people of the story are contrasted cannot be too warmly praised. The “Connais-tu le pays,” the “swallow” duet, the prayer of Mignon, the romance of Wilhelm, the polonaise of Felina, have become justly celebrated. The orchestration is exquisite in its delicate finish and its ingeniously varied but always artistic color. That it has achieved a permanent place on the opera stage is beyond question. “Hamlet” is more ambitious, and though not without a certain nobility of style, is little else than a more elaborate “Mignon.” In it the composer says nothing that he has not already said in the last-named work, the only change being a somewhat more earnest method of expression. In this opera it was claimed that Thomas “has indicated to young composers the line at which the new school should stop, under penalty of exceeding the bounds of lyric art”; but Thomas, though undoubtedly a musician of talent, knowledge and experience, has never shown such originality as to entitle him to be considered a reformer, and as yet there has not been, even in his own country, any propaganda to spread a knowledge of him through the world. “Hamlet” may be considered the extreme point that French grand opera had reached in the direction of the Wagnerian music-drama up to the time that it appeared. The Gounod influence is still clearly apparent in it, but the Wagner influence also makes itself felt in the effort to break away from conventional models and to substitute expressive declamation for more rhythmical melody. The mad song of Ophelia is, perhaps, the most effective number in the opera. “Françoise de Rimini” went a step further than did “Hamlet” toward a predetermined departure from the old school of operatic music to the new. The composer authorized the statement that the prologue to the work would be a profession of musical faith, which he had long contemplated and in which he would mark definitely how closely symphonic music can be allied with the lyric drama; after which the curtain was to rise on music essentially “theatrical,” or, if a better word should be demanded, “human.” The prologue is certainly as strong and masterly, but it has in it nothing of a symphonic quality, and, as a profession of faith, proved to be of no permanent value save as an evidence of the highest point which the