out in striking relief.  The mingled pride and passion of the imperious princess are drawn with wonderful art.  Even while her passion brings her to the feet of her conqueror, her haughty spirit rebels against her fate.  Such weaknesses as the opera contains are principally attributable to the libretto, which is ill-constructed, and cold and formal in diction.  Rinaldo is rather a colourless person, and the other characters are for the most part merely lay-figures, though the grim figure of Hate is drawn with extraordinary power.  But upon Armida the composer concentrated the full lens of his genius, and for her he wrote music which satisfies every requirement of dramatic truth, without losing touch of the lyrical beauty and persuasive passion which breathes life into soulless clay.

In ‘Iphigenie en Tauride,’ the last of his great works, which was produced in 1778, Gluck reached his highest point.  Here he seems for the first time thoroughly to fuse and combine the two elements which are for ever at war in his earlier operas, musical beauty and dramatic truth.  Throughout the score of ‘Iphigenie en Tauride’ the declamation is as vivid and true as in ‘Alceste,’ while the intrinsic loveliness of the music yields not a jot to the passion-charged strains of ‘Armide.’  The overture paints the gradual awakening of a tempest, and when the storm is at its height the curtain rises upon the temple of Diana at Tauris, where Iphigenia, snatched by the goddess from the knife of the executioner at Aulis, has been placed as high priestess.  The priestesses in chorus beseech the gods to be propitious, and when the fury of the storm is allayed, Iphigenia recounts her dream of Agamemnon’s death, and laments the woes of her house.  She calls upon Diana to put an end to her life, which already has lasted too long.  Thoas, the king of the country, now enters, alarmed by the outcries of the priestesses.  He is a prey to superstitious fears, and willingly listens to the advice of his followers, that the gods can only be appeased by human blood.  A message is now brought that two young strangers have been cast upon the rock-bound coast, and Thoas at once decides that they shall be the victims.  Orestes and Pylades are now brought in.  They refuse to make themselves known, and are bidden to prepare for death, while the act closes with the savage delight of the Scythians.

The second act is in the prison.  Orestes bewails his destiny, and refuses the consolation which Pylades offers in a noble and famous song.  Pylades is torn from his friend’s arms by the officers of the guard, and Orestes, left to himself, after a paroxysm of madness sinks to sleep upon the prison floor.  His eyes are closed, but his brain is a prey to frightful visions.  The Furies surround him with horrible cries and menaces, singing a chorus of indescribable weirdness.  Lastly, the shade of the murdered Clytemnestra passes before him, and he awakes with a shriek to find his cell empty save for the mournful