And he calls him
_Monsieur_ Delsarte, as if he were some unknown musical instrument maker
or dealer! Had the author of "William Tell" or "Aida" vexed him, he
would have spoken of them as M. Rossini, M. Verdi!
And yet he knew all about the man whom he seemed anxious to extinguish,
for it was he who, in a musical criticism, wrote, among other praises:
"It is impossible to imagine superior execution;" and elsewhere: "He
renders the thoughts of the great masters with such brilliancy and
strength, that their masterpieces are made accessible to the most
stubborn intellect and the most hardened sensibilities are roused by his
tones."
What had happened to make the author of the "Pilgrims' March" so
oblivious of his own admiration? I have heard that the two musicians
quarreled as to the interpretation of a passage by Gluck, and that a
correspondence much resembling a literary warfare, followed. Could this
justify defection? Perhaps a desire to stifle this glory, thereby to
lend more lustre to some _meteor_ or _star_, had some share in this
supposed motive.
At any rate, the affair is not to the honor of Berlioz. We should never
deny, whatever may happen, the just judgment which we have uttered.
Direct or indirect, the rivalries of artists are to be regretted for
the sake of art itself, which lives on noble sentiments and high
thoughts. Although we may laugh at the inconsequence of a critic who
extinguishes with one hand that which the other hand brought to light,
we cannot repress a deep feeling of sadness when we see upon what
reputation too often depends, and when we ask ourselves how much we are
to believe of the opinions of certain chroniclers.
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