Listening to the Mass, we find
ourselves feeling as though some _vates_ of a Mediterranean folk were
come in rapt and lofty mood to offer sacrifice, to pacify the living, to
celebrate with fitting rites the unnumbered multitudes of the heroic
dead. There are some compositions that seem to find the common ground
of all men throughout the ages. And to the company of such works of art,
the grand Mass for the Dead of Hector Berlioz belongs.
Still, the commission to write the "Requiem" was but a momentary
welcoming extended to Berlioz. The age in which he lived was unprepared
for his art. It found itself better prepared for Wagner. For Wagner's
was nearer the older music, summed it up, in fact. So Berlioz had to
remain uncomprehended and unhoused. And when there finally came a time
for the music of Wagner to retreat, and another to take its place,
Berlioz was still half-buried under the misunderstanding of his time.
And yet, with the Kassandra of Eulenberg, Berlioz could have said at the
moment when it seemed as though eternal night were about to obscure him
forever:
"Einst treibt der Fruehling uns in neuer Bluethe
Empor ans Licht; Leben, wir scheiden nicht,
Denn ewig bleibet, was in uns ergluehte
Und draengt sich ewig wieder auf zum Licht!"
For the likeness so many of the new men bear him has provided us with a
wonderful instance of the eternal recurrence of things.
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