and may do more harm than a whole army of ignorant people.  For in a country like ours, where musical education is poor, timidity is great in the presence of a strong, but only half-understood, tradition; and anyone who has the boldness to break away from it is condemned without judgment.  I doubt if Berlioz would have obtained any consideration at all from lovers of classical music in France if he had not found allies in that country of classical music, Germany—­“the oracle of Delphi,” “Germania alma parens,"[2] as he called her.  Some of the young German school found inspiration in Berlioz.  The dramatic symphony that he created flourished in its German form under Liszt; the most eminent German composer of to-day, Richard Strauss, came under his influence; and Felix Weingartner, who with Charles Malherbe edited Berlioz’s complete works, was bold enough to write, “In spite of Wagner and Liszt, we should not be where we are if Berlioz had not lived.”  This unexpected support, coming from a country of traditions, has thrown the partisans of Classic tradition into confusion, and rallied Berlioz’s friends.

[Footnote 2:  Memoires, II, 149.]

But here is a new danger.  Though it is natural that Germany, more musical than France, should recognise the grandeur and originality of Berlioz’s music before France, it is doubtful whether the German nature could ever fully understand a soul so French in its essence.  It is, perhaps, what is exterior in Berlioz, his positive originality, that the Germans appreciate.  They prefer the Requiem to Romeo.  A Richard Strauss would be attracted by an almost insignificant work like the Ouverture du roi Lear; a Weingartner would single out for notice works like the Symphonic fantastique and Harold, and exaggerate their importance.  But they do not feel what is intimate in him.  Wagner said over the tomb of Weber, “England does you justice, France admires you, but only Germany loves you; you are of her own being, a glorious day of her life, a warm drop of her blood, a part of her heart....”  One might adapt his words to Berlioz; it is as difficult for a German really to love Berlioz as it is for a Frenchman to love Wagner or Weber.  One must, therefore, be careful about accepting unreservedly the judgment of Germany on Berlioz; for in that would lie the danger of a new misunderstanding.  You see how both the followers and opponents of Berlioz hinder us from getting at the truth.  Let us dismiss them.

Have we now come to the end of our difficulties?  Not yet; for Berlioz is the most illusive of men, and no one has helped more than he to mislead people in their estimate of him.  We know how much he has written about music and about his own life, and what wit and understanding he shows in his shrewd criticisms and charming Memoires.[3]