are for any more than he did for his
school, but whom he resembled closely. They were alike in their
facility, their amazing fertility, genius, gracefulness, and success.
Both composed music which was agreeable to their contemporaries. Both
were accused of pandering to their audiences. The answer to this is that
both their audiences and the artists had the same tastes and so were in
perfect accord.

To-day the revolutionists are the only ones held in esteem by the
critics. Well, it may be a fine thing to despise the mob, to struggle
against the current, and to compel the mob by force of genius and energy
to follow one despite their resistance. Yet one may be a great artist
without doing that.

There was nothing revolutionary about Sebastian Bach with his two
hundred and fifty cantatas, which were performed as fast as they were
written and which were constantly in demand for important occasions.
Handel managed the theater where his operas were produced and his
oratorios were sung, and they would have indubitably failed, if he had
gone against the accustomed taste of his audiences. Haydn wrote to
supply the music for Prince Esterhazy's chapel; Mozart was forced to
write constantly, and Rossini worked for an intolerant public which
would not have allowed one of his operas to be played, if the overture
did not contain the great _crescendo_ for which he has been so
reproached. These were none of them revolutionists, yet they were great
musicians.

Another criticism is made against Massenet. He was superficial, they
say, and lacked depth. Depth, as we know, is very much the fashion.

It is true that Massenet was not profound, but that is of little
consequence. Just as there are many mansions in our Father's house, so
there are many in Apollo's. Art is vast. The artist has a perfect right
to descend to the nethermost depths and to enter into the inner secrets
of the soul, but this right is not a duty.

The artists of Ancient Greece, with all their marvellous works, were not
profound. Their marble goddesses were beautiful, and beauty was
sufficient.

Our old-time sculptors--Clodion and Coysevox--were not profound; nor
were Fragonard, La Tour, nor Marivaux, yet they brought honor to the
French school.

All have their value and all are necessary. The rose with its fresh
color and its perfume, is, in its way, as precious as the sturdy oak.
Art has a place for artists of all kinds, and no one should flatter
himself that h