en finely, but it was not until the fourth concert that
I realised, on hearing the third Symphony, everything of which Brahms
was capable. It may be that a more profound acquaintance with his music
would lead me to add other things to this thing as the finest music
which he ever wrote; but the third Symphony certainly revealed to me,
not altogether a new, but a complete Brahms. It had all his intellect
and something more; thought had taken fire, and become a kind of
passion.

MOZART IN THE MIRABELL-GARTEN

They are giving a cycle of Mozart operas at Munich, at the Hof-Theater,
to follow the Wagner operas at the Prinz-Regenten-Theatre; and I stayed,
on my way to Salzburg, to hear "Die Zauberfloete." It was perfectly
given, with a small, choice orchestra under Herr Zumpe, and with every
part except the tenor's admirably sung and acted. Herr Julius Zarest,
from Hanover, was particularly good as Papageno; the Eva of "Die
Meistersinger" made an equally good Pamina. And it was staged under Herr
von Possart's direction, as suitably and as successfully, in its
different way, as the Wagner opera had been. The sombre Egyptian scenes
of this odd story, with its menagerie and its pantomime transformation,
were turned into a thrilling spectacle, and by means of nothing but a
little canvas and paint and limelight. It could have cost very little,
compared with an English Shakespeare revival, let us say; but how
infinitely more spectacular, in the good sense, it was! Every effect was
significant, perfectly in its place, doing just what it had to do, and
without thrusting itself forward for separate admiration. German art of
to-day is all decorative, and it is at its best when it is applied to
the scenery of the stage. Its fault, in serious painting, is that it is
too theatrical, it is too anxious to be full of too many qualities
besides the qualities of good painting. It is too emphatic, it is meant
for artificial light. If Franz Stuck would paint for the stage, instead
of using his vigorous brush to paint nature without distinction and
nightmares without imagination on easel-canvases, he would do, perhaps
rather better, just what these scene-painters do, with so much skill and
taste. They have the sense of effective decoration; and German art, at
present, is almost wholly limited to that sense.

I listened, with the full consent of my eyes, to the lovely music, which
played round the story like light transfiguring a masquera