her his
"Euryanthe" or his "Preciosa" would have been more popular with the
general English public than the finer and more carefully elaborated
music of "Oberon." The story of the piece (always a main consideration
in matters of art, with average English men and women) wanted interest,
certainly, as compared with that of its predecessor; the chivalric loves
and adventures of Huon of Bordeaux and the caliph's daughter were
indifferent to the audience, compared with the simple but deep interest
of the fortunes of the young German forester and his village bride; and
the gay and brilliant fairy element of the "Oberon" was no sort of
equivalent for the startling _diablerie_ of Zamiel, and the incantation
scene. The music, undoubtedly of a higher order than that of "Der
Freyschuetz," was incomparably more difficult and less popular. The whole
of the part of Reiza was trying in the extreme, even to the powers of
the great singer for whom it was written, and quite sure not to be a
favorite with prime donne from its excessive strain upon the voice,
particularly in what is the weaker part of almost all soprano registers;
and Reiza's first great aria, the first song of the fairy king, and
Huon's last song in the third act, are all compositions of which the
finest possible execution must always be without proportionate effect on
any audience, from the extreme difficulty of rendering them and their
comparative want of melody. By amateurs, out of Germany, the performance
of any part of the music was not likely ever to be successfully
attempted; and I do not think that a single piece in the opera found
favor with the street organists, though the beautiful opening chorus was
made into a church hymn by discarding the exquisite aerial fairy
symphonies and accompaniments; and the involuntary dance of the caliph's
court and servants at the last blast of the magical horn was for a short
time a favorite waltz in Germany.

Poor Weber's health, which had been wretched before he came to England,
and was most unfavorably affected by the climate, sank entirely under
the mortification of the comparatively small success of his great work.
He had labored and fretted extremely with the rehearsals, and very soon
after its production he became dangerously ill, and died--not, as people
said, of a broken heart, but of disease of the lungs, already far
advanced when he came to London, and doubtless accelerated by these
influences. He died in Sir George Sm