al elements of his art as would in a state of
complete freedom awaken that given emotion; he may choose such sensuous
elements as would inspire melancholy, or joy, or serenity; he may reject
any contrary element or any incongruous effect, and he may thus produce
what we shall call a pathetic piece, or a cheerful piece, or a solemn
piece.

But this pathetic, cheerful, or solemn character depends not upon the
intellectual forms imagined by the composer, but upon the sensuous
elements afforded by nature; and the artistic activity of the composer
consists in the conception of those forms, not in the selection of those
physical elements. When, therefore, a composer is said to express the
words which he is setting, he does so by means not of the creation
of artistic forms, but by the selection of sensuous materials; the
suggestion of an emotion analogous to that conveyed by the words is due
not to the piece itself, but to its physical constituents; wherefore the
artistic value of the composition in no way depends upon its adaptation
to the words with which it is linked. There is no more common mistake,
nor one which more degrades artistic criticism, than the supposition
that the merit of "He was despised and rejected of men," or of "Fin
ch'an del vino," depends upon their respective suitableness to the
words: the most inferior musician would perceive that such and such
physical elements were required to suggest a mental condition in harmony
with either of these verbal expressions of feeling; the most inferior
musician could have given us a piece as melancholy as "He was despised,"
or as cheerful as "Fin ch'an del vino," but--and here lies the unique
test of artistic worth--only Handel could have given us so beautiful a
melancholy piece as the one, and only Mozart so beautiful a cheerful
piece as the other. As it is with the praise, so likewise is it with the
blame: a composer who sets a cheerful piece to dismal words, or a dismal
piece to cheerful words, may be reprehensible for not reflecting that
the mind thus receives together two contrary impressions, and he may be
condemned for want of logic and good sense; but not a word can be said
against his artistic merit, any more than we could say a word against
the artistic merit of the great iron-worker of the Renaissance, who
closed the holy place where lies the Virgin's sacred girdle with a
screen of passion flowers, in whose petals hide goats and ducks, on
whose tendrils are