dislike of Boileau, the Aristarchus of his age.  “Put me in a place where I shall not be able to hear the words,” said the latter to the box-keeper; “I like Lulli’s music very much, but have a sovereign contempt for Quinault’s words.”  Lulli obliged the poet to write “Armide” five times over, and the felicity of his treatment is proved by the fact that Gluck afterward set the same poem to the music which is still occasionally sung in Germany.

Lulli in the course of his musical career became so great a favorite with the King that the originally obscure kitchen-boy was ennobled.  He was made one of the King’s secretaries in spite of the loud murmurs of this pampered fraternity against receiving into their body a player and a buffoon.  The musician’s wit and affability, however, finally dissipated these prejudices, especially as he was wealthy and of irreproachable character.

The King having had a severe illness in 1686, Lulli composed a “Te Deum” in honor of his recovery.  When this was given, the musician, in beating time with great ardor, struck his toe with his baton.  This brought on a mortification, and there was great grief when it was announced that he could not recover.  The Princes de Vendome lodged four thousand pistoles in the hands of a banker, to be paid to any physician who would cure him.  Shortly before his death his confessor severely reproached him for the licentiousness of his operas, and refused to give him absolution unless he consented to burn the score of “Achille et Polyxene,” which was ready for the stage.  The manuscript was put into the flames, and the priest made the musician’s peace with God.  One of the young princes visited him a few days after, when he seemed a little better.

“What, Baptiste,” the former said, “have you burned your opera?  You were a fool for giving such credit to a gloomy confessor and burning good music.”

“Hush, hush!” whispered Lulli with a satirical smile on his lip.  “I cheated the good father.  I only burned a copy.”

He died singing the words, “Il faut mourir, pecheur, il faut mourir” to one of his own opera airs.

Lulli was not only a composer, but created his own orchestra, trained his artists in acting and singing, and was machinist as well as ballet-master and music-director.  He was intimate with Corneille, Moliere, La Fontaine, and Boileau; and these great men were proud to contribute the texts to which he set his music.  He introduced female dancers into the ballet, disguised men having hitherto served in this capacity, and in many essential ways was the father of early French opera, though its foundation had been laid by Cardinal Mazarin.  He had to fight against opposition and cabals, but his energy, tact, and persistence made him the victor, and won the friendship of the leading men of his time.  Such of his music as still exists is of a pleasing and melodious character, full of vivacity and lire, and at times indicates a more deep and serious power than that of merely creating catching and tuneful airs.  He was the inventor of the operatic overture, and introduced several new instruments into the orchestra.  Apart from his splendid administrative faculty, he is entitled to rank as an original and gifted, if not a great, composer.