ch more gorgeous and resplendent than the
last, until the stage, set to represent a fantastical hall with a
bewildering vista of carved columns, golden lions, and rich draperies,
is filled with such a kaleidoscopic mass of colors and groupings as
only an Oriental mind could conceive. Finally all the preceding strokes
are eclipsed by the coming of the Queen. But no time is lost; the
spectacle does not make the action halt for a moment. Sheba makes her
gifts and uncovers her face, and at once we are confronted by the
tragical element, and the action rushes on toward its legitimate and
mournful end.

In this ingenious blending of play and spectacle one rare opportunity
after another is presented to the composer. Sulamith's epithalamium,
Assad's narrative, the choral greeting to the Queen, the fateful
recognition--all these things are made for music of the inspiring,
swelling, passionate kind. In the second act, the Queen's monologue,
her duet with Assad, and, most striking of all, the unaccompanied bit
of singing with which Astaroth lures Assad into the presence of the
Queen, who is hiding in the shadow of broad-leaved palms behind a
running fountain--a melodic phrase saturated with the mystical color of
the East--these are gifts of the rarest kind to the composer, which he
has enriched to give them in turn to the public. That relief from their
stress of passion is necessary is not forgotten, but is provided in the
ballet music and the solemn ceremonial in the temple, which takes place
amid surroundings that call into active operation one's childhood
fancies touching the sacred fane on Mount Moriah and the pompous
liturgical functions of which it was the theatre.

Goldmark's music is highly spiced. He was an eclectic, and his first
aim seems to have been to give the drama a tonal investiture which
should be in keeping with its character, external as well as internal.
At times his music rushes along like a lava stream of passion, every
measure pulsating with eager, excited, and exciting life. He revels in
instrumental color. The language of his orchestra is as glowing as the
poetry attributed to the royal poet whom his operatic story celebrates.
Many composers before him made use of Oriental cadences, rhythms, and
idioms, but to none do they seem to have come so like native language
as to Goldmark. It is romantic music, against which the strongest
objection that can be urged is that it is so unvaryingly stimulated
that it