The symphonic fabric of Pelleas et Melisande differs just as widely from Wagner’s dramas.  With Wagner it is a living thing that springs from one great root, a system of interlaced phrases whose powerful growth puts out branches in every direction, like an oak.  Or, to take another simile, it is like a painting, which though it has not been executed at a single sitting, yet gives us that impression; and, in spite of the retouching and altering to which it has been subjected, still has the effect of a compact whole, of an indestructible amalgam, from which nothing can be detached.  Debussy’s system, on the contrary, is, so to speak, a sort of classic impressionism—­an impressionism that is refined, harmonious, and calm; that moves along in musical pictures, each of which corresponds to a subtle and fleeting moment of the soul’s life; and the painting is done by clever little strokes put in with a soft and delicate touch.  This art is more allied to that of Moussorgski (though without any of his roughness) than that of Wagner, in spite of one or two reminiscences of Parsifal, which are only extraneous traits in the work.  In Pelleas et Melisande one finds no persistent leitmotifs running through the work, or themes which pretend to translate into music the life of characters and types; but, instead, we have phrases that express changing feelings, that change with the feelings.  More than that, Debussy’s harmony is not, as it was with Wagner and all the German school, a fettered harmony, tightly bound to the despotic laws of counterpoint; it is, as Laloy[202] has said, a harmony that is first of all harmonious, and has its origin and end in itself.

[Footnote 202:  No other critic has, I think, discerned so shrewdly Debussy’s art and genius.  Some of his analyses are models of clever intuition.  The thought of the critic seems to be one with that of the musician.]

As Debussy’s art only attempts to give the impression of the moment, without troubling itself with what may come after, it is free from care, and takes its fill in the enjoyment of the moment.  In the garden of harmonies it selects the most beautiful flowers; for sincerity of expression takes a second place with it, and its first idea is to please.  In this again it interprets the aesthetic sensualism of the French race, which seeks pleasure in art, and does not willingly admit ugliness, even when it seems to be justified by the needs of the drama and of truth.  Mozart shared the same thought:  “Music,” he said, “even in the most terrible situations, ought never to offend the ear; it should charm it even there; and, in short, always remain music.”