about the famous contests of the poet-singers, and also the chaste and melancholy face of Elisabeth, whom he voluntarily confounds with the sainted princess whose virtuous life shed a lustre over the the castle. But what Richard Wagner has above all wished to bring out in this marvellous work is the eternal struggle between the flesh and the spirit, the brute and the angel, which, being in man, dispute his soul. And this he has rendered with incomparable clearness and grandeur. The discussions formerly raised by the representation of Tanhäuser have made this debated work better known than many others illustrious from success. It is useless, therefore, to speak of it further. Lohengrin, which has never been represented in Paris, and which can scarcely be appreciated from partial executions of the most inferior order, is, strange to say, almost popular. Whoever has heard the orchestral prelude typifying the vision of King Titurel, when the angels bring to him the Holy Grail, can never forget this admirable passage, and the extraordinary impression which it produces. At first an almost imperceptible vibration takes possession of the highest notes of the flutes and violins. The air becomes agitated, the light approaches and grows larger, soon with an irradiation of trumpets the luminous vision shines resplendent in all its glory. The incomparable cup, cut from a stone, it is said, which fell from Lucifer's crown when he was precipitated from heaven, and which is now filled with the blood of the Saviour, is confided to the pure hands of a holy knight. Then the angels again take their flight, the glimmering becomes obliterated, and the atmospheric vibrations, which can no longer be heard, little by little diminish and die away. The curtain rises upon a site near the environs of Anvers, on the borders of Scheldt. We find ourselves in the tenth century. Henry the Fowler, King of Germany, has come to Brabant to convoke the noble lords according to the feudal custom. Frederick of Telramund, the most valiant of all the lords of Brabant, has just accused, before all the people, Elsa, Duchess of Brabant, of the murder of her young brother, who has disappeared, leaving no trace. The young girl possesses no method of proving her innocence; her cause then is to be submitted to the judgment of God. But when the herald has resounded the trumpet toward the four quarters of the world, no knight has entered the lists in her defence. Elsa, however, has confidence in a singular vision: a charming warrior has appeared to her in a dream; he will fight for her. However, the herald's second summons remains without response. It is then that, with an impulse of sublime faith, she throws herself upon her knees, and beseeches Heaven to send her the defender who has visited her in a vision.