We may be asked for the opinion of the composer of “Faust,” “Roméo et Juliette” and “Mireille,” concerning the composer of “Samson et Dalila,” “Henry VIII.” and “Ascanio.” I am in a position to answer the question. Gounod has spoken of Saint-Saëns in connection with his last opera as follows: “That in the lyric drama, music should coalesce with the drama and blend in one harmonious whole is an excellent theory, but only on condition that in this indissoluble union, music shall still be true and beautiful music; otherwise the union is no more than a cruel bondage for one of the arts so joined, and that art is Music. Throughout the works of Saint-Saëns we are in communion with an artist who never for an instant forgets or sacrifices his art; everywhere and always is the great musician present, and everywhere, too, the drama appears before him as a _law_, not as a _yoke_. Passions, characters, situations, are felt by him with the same certainty of discernment, whether in song, declamation, recitative, or in the dramatic part which must be played by his orchestra; and all this in an idiom and a form which are musically irreproachable, insomuch that he has created true and lasting ‘morceaux de musique’ even where the librettist did not provide the frame-work expected of him.” Were we not limited as to space, it would be a pleasing task to present here a technical and æsthetic analysis of the operas of the French master concerning whom we write thus briefly; but this would carry us too far. Suffice it, from what we have already written, for the reader to form a satisfactory judgment on the instrumental and vocal works of Saint-Saëns. In the “Timbre d’Argent,” which has something in common with the fable of “Faust,” we are in the midst of a musical and choreographic fantasy. This score is very attractive and well emphasizes a very pretty performance. “La Princesse Jaune” transports us into the East, where reality seems as a dream. It is a drawing-room comedy, the scene of which is laid in a Japanese village, where Dutch tulips grow as rank as does the grass in the fields; where the sky is blue, where everything is full of color and appears smiling, joyous and lovable. In “Etienne Marcel,” the illustrious Prévôt des Marchands, we have historical drama, in the civil war waged for the triumph of communal liberties. The rioters force a violent entrance into the Palais de la Cité, and the voices of scoffers are heard alternating with the cries of raving fanatics. It is terrible, and quite characteristic of the Parisian mind in the troublous times when the streets became one great battle-field. Love, of course, finds its place in “Etienne Marcel,” a love gentle and searching. Some of the contrasts are most happy, the choruses are superb, the volume of sound is sublime.