suddenly
from the furious fortissimo to an almost inaudible pianissimo on the
words "Salve me." The next verse ("Quaerens me") is an unaccompanied
six-part chorus in imitative style, of very close harmony. The "Dies Irae"
ends with the "Lachrymosa," the longest and most interesting number in
the work. It is thoroughly melodic, and is peculiarly strengthened by a
pathetic and sentimental accompaniment, which, taken in connection with
the choral part against which it is set, presents an almost inexhaustible
variety of rhythms and an originality of technical effects which are
astonishing. Its general character is broad and solemn, and it closes
with a return to the "Dies Irae," with full chorus and all the orchestras.
This finishes the "Dies Irae" section of the work.

The next number is the "Offertorium," in which the voices are limited to
a simple phrase of two notes, A alternating with B flat, which is never
varied throughout the somewhat long movement. It never becomes
monotonous, however, so rich and varied is the instrumentation. The
"Hostias et Preces,"--sustained by the tenors and basses, a very solemn
and majestic movement,--displays another of Berlioz's eccentricities, the
accompaniment at the close of the first phrase being furnished by three
flutes and eight tenor trombones, which one enemy of the composer says
represents the distance from the sublime to the ridiculous. The
"Sanctus," a tenor solo with responses by the sopranos and altos, is full
of poetical, almost sensuous beauty, and is the most popular number in
the work. It closes with a fugue on the words "Hosanna in Excelsis." The
final number is the "Agnus Dei," a chorus for male voices, in which the
composer once more employs the peculiar combination of flutes and tenor
trombones. In this number he also returns to the music of the opening
number, "Requiem aeternam," and closes it with an "Amen" softly dying
away. Thus ends the Requiem,--a work which will always be the subject of
critical dispute, owing to its numerous innovations on existing musical
forms and the daring manner in which the composer has treated it.

The following sketch of the first performance of the Requiem, taken from
Berlioz's Autobiography, will be found interesting in this connection. It
is necessary to preface it with the statement that the director of the
Beaux-Arts had insisted that Habeneck should conduct the work. As Berlioz
had quarrelled with the old conductor, and had not