There is no need of close examination of “The Pearl Fishers,” and “The Fair Maid of Perth.” We know the later works of Bizet, and therefore we find hints of genius in the early operas. With the exception of the duet of Nadir and Zurga and of a few pages saturated with local color, there is little in “The Pearl Fishers” to herald the arrival of a master of the stage. There are delightful examples of instrumentation in “The Fair Maid of Perth”: the opera as a whole is conventional, and the solo passages and the ensemble are often reminiscent: there is continual homage to famous men: Gounod, Halévy, Verdi, Thomas, _et al._ Bizet had not yet found the use of his own voice. Nor would “Djamileh,” the satisfaction of the longing of Camille du Locle for ideal musical revery, the sounding of the revolt against the school of Scribe, carry the name of Bizet to after years. Its perfume is subtle and penetrating; its colors delight trained eyes. It is a _tour de force_. It has the affected frankness of a pastel in prose. The hearer must be mastered by the spirit of the Orient to thoroughly enjoy. The three comedians should be seen as in an opium dream. The fame of Bizet must rest eventually on two works: “L’Arlésienne” and “Carmen.” I believe “L’Arlésienne” is the more artistic, the greater work. In “Carmen” is the greater promise of what Bizet might have done. The music of “L’Arlésienne,” is inseparably associated with success or failure of the play itself and the abilities of play-actors. If the concert-suite is played, it pleases; but apart from the representation of the dramatic scenes, the music loses its true significance. The saxophone solo in the Prelude, with its marvellous accompaniment, gratifies the ear in the concert-room; but its haunting and melancholy beauty is intensified tenfold when it is associated with the apparition of “The Innocent.” It is impossible to over-rate the beauty, the passion, the dramatic fitness of the music that accompanies the various scenes in the simple and terrible drama of Daudet. The dialogue between _Mère Renaud_ and _Balthazar_ when they meet after fifty years is touching; but the _adagietto_, that softly tells of humble heroism, love preserved without shame, the kiss given at last and without passion, longings and regrets endured in silence, rises to a height of pathos that is beyond the reach of words or pantomime. In connection with the scene and the dialogue the _adagietto_ is irresistible in its effect; in the concert room, it is simply a beautiful piece for muted strings. This play of Daudet is so simple, so devoid of trickery that its popular and universal success is extremely doubtful. The average spectator would fain see the unworthy _Woman of Arles_ for whom _Fréderi_ burns in agony; the shepherd _Balthazer_ seems to him a good, tiresome old man with a beard; _The Innocent_, unless the part is played with rare finesse, becomes almost ludicrous.