Gluck and Wagner have sought to wed poetry and music in perfect equality; but the result is not satisfactory, for the reason that the movement of the feelings, through the agency of music, is far more expanded in duration than the motive supplied by the words. A dramatic text cannot content itself with a repetition of the same thought, but must proceed from one thought to another, in order to sustain the progress of the action. Now if the music follows the poem strictly, syllable after syllable, word after word, without the privilege of dwelling here and there upon the sense of a passage, it cannot fulfil its highest object, which is to express the emotional principle to the utmost; and the orchestra cannot provide for this want by the rhythmical flow and coloring of the instrumental accompaniment.

The so-called "infinite melody" is a falsity. As exemplified by Wagner in his latest operas, it is nothing more or less than a kind of accompanied recitative or arioso style.

If this is destined to take the place of the air, real melody must disappear. The æsthetic significance of the air, or song, is to give musical expression to a state of intense feeling called into action by some thought, sentiment, or deed; on this account it is unjustifiable to banish it from the opera. The air is indispensable as the highest means of representing a culmination in the series of emotions which are developed through the action and conflict of the play. It is the moment when the actor pours out his whole soul in the utterance of his feelings, in consequence of preceding events in the action. On similar grounds the chorus and concerted movements, when several personages appear together on the scene, are fully authorized, even though they may arrest the progress of the action for the time.

I have previously stated that melody, in order to give the sense of form and proportion to the ear and move the feelings powerfully, must conform to the laws of symmetry and design, by a certain imitative progression of the phrases. The mind, or æsthetic faculty, requires a definite musical motive or theme, which must be expanded, imitated, and varied, for the purpose of intensifying the particular mood of feeling which the motive has awakened. But the "infinite melody" frequently disregards all these essentials; and though the passions may be aroused by the mere physical or sensuous play of sounds, by the accents and rhythm of the vocal part, heightened by the rich and manifold effects of orchestration, and in combination with the dramatic scene, yet the deeper moods of feeling, such as awe, solemnity, and sorrow, which the purest and noblest music alone can sway, are not touched by Wagner. What a contrast to Mozart and Beethoven, who in this respect have fulfilled the highest ideal of the art!

The dramatic music of Mozart is endowed with the greatest energy and precision of expression. In his opera airs this master has delineated character with wonderful clearness. His musical personages are living creations; "they think, feel, and act in tones," and appear as true to life as those of Shakespeare. "Every character remains true to his musical individuality in all the changes of circumstances and passion." These sharp outlines of character are determined by the musical style, by the peculiar turn of the phrases, by the tempo, rhythm, range of voice, melodic inflections, accompaniment, and other signs which combine to individualize the music, just as character itself is the sum of certain peculiar marks.

We search in vain for similar attributes in Wagner's dramatic music, though it is a mannerism with him to repeat the same phrase or passage with the same instruments whenever a personage reappears on the stage; as, for instance, in the opera of" Tannhäuser" the high chromatic violin tremolo and rhythmical figure of the wind instruments are repeated whenever Venus appears on the scene. Other characters of his operas, as, for example, Tannhäuser, The Pilgrims, Lohengrin, King Henry, Elsa, and others, are likewise announced individually by a particular motive, or rhythmical figure, which is supposed to characterize the person. This substitute for real delineation of character may be used sparingly, but when carried to an extreme it must be termed pedantic and tiresome.

There is a vast difference between slavish imitation and the adherence to certain melodic and harmonic features that establish by modified repetition the unity of form, as essential in music as in the other fine arts. This device is not original with Wagner; it may be traced back to Von Weber and other predecessors of Wagner in the opera; but they did not exaggerate its importance.

The ground taken by Wagner, that the genuine source of the "ideal drama" must be the myth, will not stand the test of criticism. "The true nature of the drama," says Otto Jahn, in his able criticism of the operas of "Tannhäuser" and "Lohengrin," "demands actions that spring from moral motives, and which our modern knowledge and belief recognize as such, although the poet may have free scope allowed him as regards the events. No matter how vividly the artist may reproduce the picture of other times, though it were so vivid that we might believe ourselves transported to them, if the action and sentiments of the play do not agree with our ideas of truth and reality we feel the contradiction, and the dramatic illusion is dispelled. A conflict can never be tragic, no matter how sad and thrilling its consequences may be, if its premises are incomprehensible or absurd to our minds. It is evident that it is an exceedingly difficult task to state the motive of Lohengrin's denial of the knowledge of his name to the maiden whom he marries; for the mystery of the Graal is no longer believed; nay, it is not even well known, and it appears so foreign to our conceptions, even to the mysticism of the present day, that it is no longer available as a poetical subject, or, at the most, it can be used merely as a decorative, external subject which the poet must first endow with soul, in a measure, to render effective." Wagner has sought to invest this myth with modern significance; but he has not succeeded in overcoming the obstacle that stood in the way at the outset; and the character of Lohengrin is not made clear to our comprehension by the symbolical attributes he possesses in the mind of Wagner. The subject of "Tannhäuser," as presented by Wagner, is still less satisfactory to the cultivated mind. "A gifted poet," continues Jahn, "proud in the feeling of his strength even to insolence, and in consequence of this very poetical gift, gives himself up to sensual pleasure, and becomes so enslaved by its demoniacal fascinations that his struggles are all in vain. He makes an effort, it is true, to free himself; he musters up his moral strength and religious faith; the blessed assurance of the pure love of Elizabeth raises his courage, but all to no purpose. At every decisive moment the uneasy demon holds him firmly in his grasp, and finally he dies without the certainty of atonement. Here certainly were the elements of a poetical, a truly tragical representation; but Wagner has dwelt on the characteristics of the lower, sensual element, while the opposite power of morality has certainly been treated hesitatingly; consequently Tannhäuser never seems like a living individuality; the struggle of opposite elements on which the tragic interest rests cannot be developed, and the true solution of the whole—his expiation—cannot take place."

"When Tannhäuser had torn himself from the arms of Venus and had recognized in Elizabeth the nature of true and pure love, yet inwardly was governed by the fascinations of Venus, at that moment the struggle of his moral and sensual nature was decided. It is true that such a struggle might be renewed and overcome with new strength by every man; still this will not hold good for the dramatic poet, whose business it is to concentrate the struggle into one decisive moment. According to the antique conception, Tannhäuser would have perished physically through his moral defeat; according to the mediæal idea, whoever tarried on the Venusberg was doomed to burn eternally in hell; the modern author, to whom these judgments are too harsh, according to the present view of the subject, should give the moral strength of the man free scope to struggle and overcome the evil which threatens him."

"After Tannhäuser's pilgrimage to Rome and failure to gain the Pope's absolution, his repentance comes to a sudden end; he knows no other refuge than to return to Venus, to whom he properly belongs. But after all this, that pure love for Elizabeth should inspire him again, through her prayers, suffering, and death, has as little poetical truth as the supplementary narration of the wonder (of the pilgrim's staff shooting forth green leaves) which was bound up with the conditions of his forgiveness by the Pope."

Wagner's crowning work—the series of four operas under the general name of the Ring of the Nibelungen—is open to similar objections; for the subject, as he has treated it, must remain, as a whole, foreign to modern taste and understanding. The Nibelungen Song cannot be too highly prized, when considered from a literary or philological stand-point, and the Germans are justly proud of their great epic; but it is a difficult if not an impossible matter to convert its principal incidents into a permanent dramatic form for the modern stage; and this is especially the case as Wagner has conceived the subject. He has thrown over it the glamour of sensuality, the true expression, it may be, of his own subjective nature, yet not of the mythological characters in general. He has interwoven with the natural, human element of the German myth the more Northern or Scandinavian features, the preternatural world of gods, Nibelungen, Valkyrias, giants, dwarfs, and water-sprites, with their wild manners and freakish actions, in such a way that the human element is rendered unnatural, if not almost unrecognizable, and we long for a return to the society of every-day men. These ancient Northern myths seem far less in harmony with, modern civilization than even the gods and demigods of Greek mythology, or the heroes of the Iliad. And who wishes to revive these personages on the modern stage? Neither will the allegorical or symbolical significance with which Wagner has sought to invest these characters suffice to convince us of the real need of such a drama. How can we accept his or any other theory as to the origin and meaning of these myths, when there reigns so complete a difference of opinion concerning them in the minds of modern scholars? It is otherwise with the supernatural element in Shakespeare's plays. The basis of his most imaginative comedies, as, for instance, "The Tempest," and "Midsummer Night's Dream," is laid in real life. The world of fairies and spirits is subordinated to the struggle and play of human passions. The rich imagination of the poet has clothed the real and natural with the air of the wonderful, without mystifying the beholder. The action and sentiments of the characters of his plays can be comprehended, because they do not appear in contradiction to the moral and social ideas of the present age. "These singing beings, are they to be men?" says Marx of Wagner's earlier operas. " These melodies, enveloped in the clang and roar of the instruments, which often drown the word or make it unintelligible, are these to be their language? The bodily appearance of the singers, in the action of the drama, is of itself sufficient to make their singing speech a myth and an unreal sport of fantasy. What no one ever believed, what no one would have ever dared to persuade us of, or attempted to demonstrate, all that is fabulous, every impossible adventure, every storm of unjustifiable or exaggerated feelings, every description of licentiousness and voluptuous intoxication of the senses, is here unhesitatingly put forward as a representation of reality."

If the texts of Wagner's operas are open to grave criticism as dramatic subjects, they deserve severe censure with respect to their rhetoric and versification. Even Wagner's most determined admirers cannot maintain that he possesses a good literary style; for he has dispensed with this. It would be absurd to compare the words of his operas with the dramatic poetry of Goethe, Schiller, or any illustrious name of German literature. According to Wagner's intention, neither the words nor the music can be separated from the scene and action. In the portrayal of character Wagner fails to display any great originality or power. His personages generally lack those individual traits that distinguish one dramatic character from another. As a dramatic poet, therefore, Wagner cannot be classed with the great masters of the art; nor as a musician will he ever occupy an equal rank with Bach, Handel, or Beethoven. What, then, is the secret of Wagner's present popularity and ascendency?

Wagner is a consummate master of all the externals of the stage. He has made the splendid show and brilliant pomp of the theatrical spectacle an indispensable adjunct to his operas. One grand effect succeeds another in logical and natural sequence; yet nothing, apparently, is introduced for the sake of mere effect. In this respect Wagner is much the superior of Spontini, Meyerbeer, and his other predecessors of the modern French stage, who introduce magnificence and splendor into the play without any real cause, merely to dazzle and astonish the beholder. But the action and substance of the play are obscured and injured instead of enhanced by such a jumble of accessories. In Wagner's operas the rich variety and contrast of the scenes make a vivid impression upon the spectator, because nothing appears to be superfluous, or to be introduced without the object of benefiting the play. The principal scenes of any one of his operas will illustrate this theatrical talent. Let us cite merely the written descriptions of the opening scenes in "Tannhäuser":

"The stage represents the interior of the hill of Venus,—a wide cave, bending at the back towards the right side, where it appears to be indefinitely prolonged. In the farthest visible background a bluish lake is seen, in which naiads are bathing; on its undulating banks sirens are reclining. In the extreme foreground Venus is extended on a couch; before her, in a half-kneeling attitude, is Tannhäuser, his head sunk on her knees. The whole cave is illuminated by a rosy light. The centre of the stage is occupied by a group of dancing nymphs." This scene suddenly vanishes when Tannhäuser, in his long and desperate struggle to free himself from the fascinations of Venus, calls upon the name of the Virgin Mary, and suddenly finds himself in a beautiful, sunlit vale. "At the back is seen the Wartburg against the blue sky; through an opening in the valley the Hörselberg is seen; half-way up the ascent a path leads down into the valley from the direction of the Wartburg, where the path turns aside. In the foreground is a shrine of the Virgin on a small eminence. From the heights the sound of sheep-bells is heard; on a rocky eminence a young shepherd is reclining, playing on his pipe. The penitential chant of the Pilgrims who come from the direction of the Wartburg towards the hill path is heard. The Pilgrims pass by and disappear; their chant and the sound of the shepherd's pipe on the heights grow fainter and fainter, then die away, while Tannhäuser, on his knees, is sunk in fervent prayer. The bells are heard far away, while the sound of hunting-bugles has come nearer and nearer from the heights, and soon the landgrave and his minstrels, in hunting array, are seen to descend from a forest path."

These well-contrasted scenes are succeeded by others equally striking; and we have abundant proof in this, as in all Wagner's operas, of his masterly skill in the management of the stage, and of his fertile imagination as a decorative artist. Many of these scene-pictures are truly poetical; and it is worth while for those who are unacquainted with his talent in this branch to read the scenic descriptions given in the editions of his works.

Wagner has displayed equal skill and originality in the treatment of the action of the play. He is true to the dramatic object in all points of detail. In a word, the action, scenic display, words, and music are combined, so as to produce a remarkable unity of effect, though not without the sacrifice of the real independence of each of the several arts thus combined. Although his later music is not formed on a vocal style, and is difficult to sing, and lacks real beauty in the absence of melody, yet it is declamatory in a powerful degree; it is true to the metrical accents of the verse, and expresses vividly the meaning of the words. In this respect he stands out prominently as a progressive master, and will exercise a decided influence on the dramatic music of the future. The orchestra in Wagner's operas not only plays an important rôle in heightening the dramatic expression of the vocal part, but is also employed in a decorative sense to paint the scene in tones. Wagner has exhibited a wonderful technical command of the orchestra. He has planned new and remarkable effects of instrumentation. Some of his pieces, like the Overture to "Tannhäuser," or the Vorspiel to "Lohengrin," are universally popular. Many of the themes and melodies of his earlier operas are noble, characteristic, and pleasing, though, with some notable exceptions, compared with similar compositions of the greatest masters, they appear to disadvantage and seem somewhat coarse and formal. If we compare his music composed in the free thematic form with similar works by recent masters like Mendelssohn or Schumann, we are struck by the want of refined beauty in the music of Wagner. This is not compensated for by a real grandeur of style.

Any roughness that may appear here and there in the music of Beethoven does not seem out of keeping with his intention; the grand outlines of form correspond perfectly with his manly character and elevated ideas. Wagner's powerful and brilliant instrumentation,—noisy and brazen at times,—and his rich effects of instrumental coloring do not impress us as the spontaneous and sincere utterance of a profound musical nature.

He wears garments that do not fit him, for they are borrowed. True grandeur of style cannot be attained by force or energy alone, nor can the mere sensuous effects of instrumental combination, or the imaginative play of sounds, as illustrated by orchestral pieces of Wagner like the "Introduction to Rheingold" or the "Ride of the Valkyrias," take the place of the emotional element in music. This master may arouse our passions, gratify our musical sense, and act upon our imagination, but he rarely reaches the source of our deeper and purer emotions. His music, like that of Liszt and other masters of the present epoch, is realistic. The orchestral description of the "Ride of the Valkyrias," or Maidens of Odin, through the air, or the representation of the "Battle of the Huns," by Liszt, in which the composer follows Kaulbach's celebrated fresco on that subject, are examples of this sensational, realistic tendency of the times, which is not confined to music, but distinguishes some other forms of modern art.

The spiritual or religious element—I do not refer to the ecclesiastical style—is almost wholly wanting in the music of Wagner and his school, and on this account they have no real affinity with Beethoven, whom they are so fond of associating with the dawn of the new era. This great poet has vindicated the true spirituality of music. His sad life, the trial of faith and love, through which he passed so triumphantly, kindled an undying flame of truth and beauty in his music. A deep religious feeling and moral tone pervade his compositions. The solemn mood takes possession of us when we listen to the grand openings of the Fifth, Seventh, and Ninth Symphonies; and at moments the feeling of awe and grandeur reaches a sublime height, to be changed to sadness or calm happiness in the adagio, and to vivacity, humor, or jocoseness in the scherzo; and this alternation of mood may reach a climax of triumphant joy in the finale. In a word, all the profound and varied emotions of the artist, whether sad or joyful, humorous or gloomy, playful or grotesque, elevated or subdued, act directly and powerfully upon the eager listener, who feels conscious that he is in the presence of a great spirit.

In the present dearth of musical genius in Germany Wagner has produced, in spite of his defective theory, a theatrical and musical combination which stands out prominently before the present generation. Whether the contemplated production of his representative work, the "Ring of the Nibelungen," will augment or diminish his future influence cannot be predicted. It may be said on the negative side of this question that his first "ideal work," "Tristan and Isold," from which airs and concerted melodies were banished, has not survived its production at Munich in 1865.

His most musical operas, "The Flying Dutchman," "Tannhäuser," "Lohengrin," and the "Mastersingers of Nuremberg," are popular in all the principal cities of Germany and the Netherlands, and do not fail to draw full houses. But were Wagner's theory correct and its application convincing, the older operas would appear to such a disadvantage in being performed alternately with his operas, during the past fifteen years, that they would gradually have suffered neglect and withdrawal from the stage. Such, however, is not the case. "Fidelio," "Don Juan," "Der Freischütz," and contemporaneous operas, like the "Huguenots," "L'Africaine," and "Faust," are the popular rivals of Wagner's, and never fail to draw the public. The truth is simply this: the general operatic public is not distinguished anywhere, not even in Germany, for a cultivated and discriminating taste. The audience wishes, above everything, to be amused, and this is afforded by the spectacular as much as by the musical element of Wagner's and Meyerbeer's brilliant operas.

There is no branch of music so subject to the caprices of fashion as the opera; this is proved by the fate of hundreds of once popular and now forgotten works.

Time alone will decide the question of Wagner's place in musical history, and how much truth and merit belong to his works. Meanwhile the unprejudiced critic must acknowledge that Wagner is a man of wonderful energy and talent,—at the same time one whose head and heart are not entirely right. His erroneous theory has marred all his recent music. He has tried to institute a reform or revolution through the intellect rather than by the spontaneous and gradual growth of concrete musical thoughts, the offspring of real musical genius.

Palestrina, Bach, Mozart, and Beethoven were true reformers, or progressive spirits, because they worked out their mission slowly and almost instinctively, without cutting themselves off from tradition and historical sequence. They built on the massive foundations already laid, and did not tear down the walls, when nearly erected, to begin over again on the ruins. The future opera, or musical drama, must necessarily fulfil its highest destiny through the musician who recognizes the moral and spiritual significance of the art, and its inestimable worth as pure music, independent in its means and object.

It is a fatal sign of degeneracy when an art has departed so far away from true simplicity of expression as is the case with the music of this new epoch. If we compare the vocal scores of Wagner and Liszt with the scores of Handel and Mozart, we perceive how far the masters of the new school have wandered away from a good vocal method, from clearness of musical form, from the symmetry of melodic design, and simplicity and directness of expression. It is the mark of greatness with an artist to accomplish important results by simple means. This is easier of accomplishment with the other fine arts than with music, for music labors under one disadvantage; it has no external guide in nature to keep it within bounds. "The architect," says Ambros, "has to obey the laws of statics, or his building will fall to pieces. The painter must remain faithful to the forms and colors of natural objects and the law of perspective. The poet must observe the rules of grammar and syntax as they are regulated by the nature of the language he has not to trouble himself about its historical development. But before the grammar and syntax of music could become clear and regulated many centuries must have elapsed"; and no sooner do they seem well established than bold innovators seek to overthrow them. The technics of music with Wagner, Liszt, and their adherents have become so extremely complicated, both in composition, instrumentation, and performance, that the limits must soon be reached. These differ from the technics of Bach and Beethoven—the two greatest masters of form—in this respect; they fail to convey to the musical understanding the clearness and beauty of design through the organic development of motives, without which the sense of proportion, as addressed to the ear, cannot be gratified, and the deep moods of feeling awakened in the soul of the hearer. The play of form in Bach's music is always prominent; yet his fugues, toccatas, and fantasias abound with rich characteristics of style and expression that reach the heart as well as the head. Every note has its clear and logical meaning; in his most intricate polyphony not a tone is lost in obscurity or half-expressed utterance. In the compositions of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, the form and spiritual contents of music are equally balanced, appearing as a perfect unity; this, therefore, has been termed the classical period of music. Schubert, Mendelssohn, Schumann, and others adhered to the historical forms, and at the same time stamped their works with the seal of their own peculiar individuality, without contradicting the past.

Wagner, Liszt, and Berlioz have abandoned the historical forms for the sake of the poetic ideas, as they claim. Form is placed in the background, poetic fancies or feelings in the foreground.

Berlioz's idea or problem of art was to make poetry the basis of instrumental music. He was not satisfied that music should suggest or characterize in a general way a poetic thought, but sought to make it take the place of words, or paint the meaning of the words, even in points of detail. This led Paganini to observe to Berlioz, on hearing his music for the first time, "Vous commencez par où les autres ont fini." Thus in his Symphonie Fantastique he represents a young musician (Berlioz himself) suffering with the torments of his supposed unrequited love; and in one phase of the struggle he determines to put an end to his unhappiness by poisoning himself with opium. But the narcotic is too weak to have the desired effect, and he sinks into a sleep haunted by the most frightful visions. He dreams that he has murdered the object of his love; that lie is sentenced to death, and is obliged to witness his own execution. All this, including the march to the scaffold and his decapitation, is supposed to be represented unmistakably by the orchestra. So likewise he paints in music a number of scenes from "Romeo and Juliet," "Faust," and other poems. In such dramatic tone-pictures Berlioz has aimed to make music subordinate to pure mental conceptions by means of a programme of the poetic contents. Liszt, in his Symphonic Poems, has also tried to express poetical thoughts by music alone. He differs from Berlioz, however, in not requiring a written programme or poem for the purpose of explaining his musical ideas. The poetic intention is embodied in the music. He has selected such subjects as Tasso, Hamlet, Faust, Prometheus, The Divine Comedy, and the Battle of the Huns; but although many fine touches of imagination come to light through the brilliant instrumentation and original rhythmical effects of these compositions, as of Berlioz's, still they have not found universal acceptance and success.

Wagner has not recognized pure instrumental music beyond Beethoven, whose Choral Symphony set the art at liberty. Unlike Liszt and Berlioz, he has not sought to place music and poetry side by side, but rather to blend them completely. Instrumental music should have no independence of the drama. Neither Liszt nor Berlioz has attained a tithe of Wagner's success, for Wagner has the advantage of the eye as well as the ear. In order rightly to estimate the historical position of these masters, let us take, in conclusion, a momentary survey of the principal epochs in the development of modern music. Through the genius of the Netherland masters of the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries, music, for the first time in history, became an independent art; for the introduction and development of counterpoint, or music in several simultaneous voices or parts, emancipated music from strict bondage to poetry and the sacred text. The ancient unison Gregorian song was soon hidden in the maze of florid counterpoint, woven around it by able masters like Josquin, Gombert, and Orlando Lasso. The true ideal of this first great epoch of musical art was reached by Palestrina, whose compositions note the reaction in church music from extravagances in technical skill and the abuse and neglect of the sacred words to more reasonable limits. Palestrina's elevated style, chaste counterpoint, and careful treatment of the words rendered him a true reformer, or conservator, of music. He averted the threatened abolishment of counterpoint from the Church, as contemplated by the Papal government, and thus prevented what would have been a retrogression in musical art.

About the beginning of the seventeenth century another movement was directed against mediæval counterpoint. It was not the Church that threatened it this time, but scholars, enthusiasts, and dilettanti. They denounced counterpoint in unsparing terms, and painted in glowing colors the splendors of Greek tragedy and music. They believed that counterpoint could not be compared with ancient music, either with respect to the simple beauty of the melody or the comprehensive clearness and rhetorical expression of the words. Their attempt was unsuccessful as far as the abandonment of counterpoint and the restoration, or the faithful imitation, of ancient dramatic music are concerned, but the founders of the musical drama or opera were instrumental in unfolding a new element in music, namely, the monodic recitative and air, and the orchestral accompaniment, which soon led to the establishment of secular music as a separate branch of the art. Original masters, like Monteverde, Carissimi, Scarlatti, now arose to reap the harvest which the Florentine dilettanti had prepared for them. This first epoch in modern secular music furnishes a striking example of the unsuccessful attempt of men of mere reflection and theory to establish an arbitrary equality between music and poetry at the expense of both. Scarlatti and his successors of the Neapolitan school took advantage of the materials thus placed at their disposal, and, instead of trying to carry out the original idea of the opera, developed the air, until the reign of beautiful and sensuous melody became absolute. The words and the play were now wholly disregarded, and everything was sacrificed to the melodious sway of the singer. It was a farce to call the opera a musical drama. During the eighteenth century the Italian opera commanded the world; but under the frivolous influence of the castrati of the stage, whose trills and roulades held the public in subjection, the opera was degraded from the position held by Scarlatti and the best of his school. Then a champion stood forth to oppose these abuses. Gluck devoted his life to a reform of the musical drama. He would not give up his ideal for the sensuous charm of melody, or the executive display of the singer, but sought to place the recitative in the foreground, to render his music declamatory, and, above all, to express vividly the sense and meaning of the words.