Of all the characteristics of Franck’s fine moral nature, the most remarkable was his religious faith.  It must have astonished the artists of his time, who were even more destitute of such a thing than they are now.  It made itself felt in some of his followers, especially in those who were near the master’s heart, as M. d’Indy was.  The religious thought of the latter reflects in some degree the thought of his master; though the shape of that thought may have undergone unconscious alteration.  I do not know if Franck altogether fits the conception people have of him to-day.  I do not want to introduce personal memories of him here.  I knew him well enough to love him, and to catch a glimpse of the beauty and sincerity of his soul; but I did not know him well enough to discover the secrets of his mind.  Those who had the happiness of being his intimate friends seem always to represent him as a mystic who shut himself away from the spirit of his time.  I hope at some future date one of his friends will publish some of the conversations that he had with him, of which I have heard.  But this man who had so strong a faith was also very independent.  In his religion he had no doubts:  it was the mainspring of his life; though faith with him was much more a matter of feeling than a matter of doctrine.  But all was feeling with Franck, and reason made little appeal to him.  His religious faith did not disturb his mind, for he did not measure men and their works by its rules; and he would have been incapable of putting together a history of art according to the Bible.  This great Catholic had at times a very pagan soul; and he could enjoy without a qualm the musical dilettantism of Renan and the sonorous nihilism of Leconte de Lisle.  There were no limits to his vast sympathies.  He did not attempt to criticise the thing he loved—­understanding was already in his heart.  Perhaps he was right; and perhaps there was more trouble in the depths of his heart than the valiant serenity of its surface would lead us to believe.

His faith too....  I know how dangerous it is to interpret a musician’s feelings by his music; but how can we do otherwise when we are told by Franck’s followers that the expression of the soul is the only end and aim of music?  Do we find his faith, as expressed through his music always full of peace and calm?[156] I ask those who love that music because they find some of their own sadness reflected there.  Who has not felt the secret tragedies that some of his musical passages enfold—­those short, characteristically abrupt phrases which seem to rise in supplication to God, and often fall back in sadness and in tears?  It is not all light in that soul; but the light that is there does not affect us less because it shines from afar,

    “Dans un ecartement de nuages, qui laisse
    Voir au-dessus des mers la celeste allegresse...."[157]

[Footnote 156:  I speak of the passages where he expresses himself freely, and is not interpreting a dramatic situation necessary to his subject, as in that fine symphonic part of the Redemption, where he describes the triumph of Christ.  But even there we find traces of sadness and suffering.]