Who does not remember Hanselt's piece，"Si l'
oiseau j'étais，" which is like a twittering of birds?This was somewhat simailar;there were jubilant，playing chil- dren，happy child voices mingling;the cuckoo cuckooed with them;the thrush sang.It was the play and jubilation of the innocent child mind—the mind of Aladdin.Then a thunderstorm rolled in;Noureddin displayed his power;a flash of deadly lightning split the mountain.Gentle，beck- oning tones followed;a sound came from the enchanted grotto，where the lamp shone in the petrified cavern，while the wings of mighty spirits brooded over it.Now，in the tones of a French horn，sounded a psalm，which was as gentle and soft as if it were coming from the mouth of a child;a single horn was heard，and then another;moreand more were blended in the same tones and rose in full-ness and power，as if they were the trumpets of the judg-ment day.The lamp was in Aladdin's hand，and thenthere swelled forth a sea of melody and grandeur such asonly the ruler of spirits and the masters of music can cre-ate.
The curtain rolled up in a storm of applause thatsounded like a fanfare under the conductor's baton.Agrown-up，bandsome boy was playing;he was so big andyet so innocent;it was Aladdin，who leaped about amongthe other boys.Grandmother would at once have said，"That is Peer as he played and jumped about between thestove and the chest of drawers at home in the garret.Heis not a year older in his soul!"
With what faith and sincerity he sang the playerNoureddin bade him offer before he stepped down into therocky cavern to obtain the lamp!Was it the pure，reli-gious melody or the innocence with which he sang that en-chanted all the listeners?The applause would not cease.
It would have been a profane thing to have repeatedthe song.It was demanded，but it was not given.Thecurtain fell;the first act was over.
Every critic was speechless;people were overcomewith gladness and，in their appreciation，were certain ofenjoying the rest of the evening.
A few chords sounded from the orchestra，and thecurtain rose.The strains of music，as in Gluck's Armidaand Mozart's Magic Flute，arrested the attention of ev-eryone as the scene was disclosed，the scene in which Al-addin stood in the wonderful garden.Soft，subdued musicsounded from flowers and stones，from springs and deepcaverns，different melodies blending in one great harmo-ny.An air of spirits was heard in the chorus;it was nowfar off，now near，swelling in might and then dying away.Arising from this harmony，and supported by it，was thesong monologue of Aladdin—what one indeed calls a greataria，but so entirely in keeping with character and situa-tion that it was a necessary dramatic part of the whole.The resonant，sympathetic voice，the intense music of theheart，subdued all listeners and seized them with a rap-ture that could not rise higher when he reached for thelamp of fortune that was embraced by the song of the spir-its.
Bouquets tained down from all sides;a carpet ofliving flowers was spread out before his feet.
What a moment of life for the young artist—thehighest，the greatest!A mightier one could never againbe granted him，he felt.A wreath of laurel touched hisbreast and fell down in front of him.
He had seen whose hand it had come.He saw the young girl in the box nearest the stage，the youngbaroness，rising like a spirit of beauty，loudly rejoicingover his triumph.
A fire rushed through him;his heart swelled as nev-er before;he bowed，took the wreath，pressed it againsthis heart，and at the same moment fell backward.Faint-ed?Dead?What was it?The curtain fell.
"Dead!"resounded through the house.Dead in themoment of triumph，like Sophocles at the Olympiangames，like Thorvaldsen in the theater during Beethoven's symphony.An artery in his heart had burst，and as by a flash of lightning his days here were ended，ended without pain，ended in an earthly triumph，in thefulfillment of his mission on earth.Lucky Peer!Morefortunate than millions!