e a peculiar
appeal in their time, and are incompatible with true and permanent
greatness. One is tempted to say, the more sudden and vehement the
success, the less it will endure. But it would not be true. Such an
axiom would condemn an opera like "Don Giovanni," an oratorio like the
"Creation," a symphony like Beethoven's Seventh. There is a wonderful
difference, an immeasurable gulf between the good and the bad in art;
yet the apparent line is of the subtlest. Most street songs may be poor;
but some are undoubtedly beautiful in a very high sense. It is a problem
of mystic fascination, this question of the value of contemporary art.
It makes its appeal to the subjective view of each listener. No rule
applies. Every one will perceive in proportion to his capacity, no one
beyond it. So, a profound work may easily fail of response, as many
works in the various arts have done in the past, because the average
calibre of the audience is too shallow, while it may deeply stir an
intelligent few. Not the least strange part of it all is the fact that
there can, of necessity, be no decision in the lifetime of the poet.
Whether it is possible for obscure Miltons never to find their meed of
acclaim, is a question that we should all prefer to answer in the
negative. There is a certain shudder in thinking of such a chance; it
seems a little akin to the danger of being buried alive.

The question of Bruckner's place can hardly be said to be settled,
although he has left nine symphonies. He certainly shows a freedom, ease
and mastery in the symphonic manner, a limpid flow of melody and a sure
control in the interweaving of his themes, so that, in the final
verdict, the stress may come mainly on the value of the subjects, in
themselves. He is fond of dual themes, where the point lies in neither
of two motives, but in the interplay of both; we see it somewhat
extended in Richard Strauss, who uses it, however, in a very different
spirit. The one evident and perhaps fatal lack is of intrinsic beauty of
the melodic ideas, and further, an absence of the strain of pathos that
sings from the heart of a true symphony. While we are mainly impressed
by the workmanship, there is no denying a special charm of constant
tuneful flow. At times this complexity is almost marvellous in the clear
simplicity of the concerted whole,--in one view, the main trait or trick
of symphonic writing. It is easy to pick out the leading themes as they
appear in offic