At a time like the present, when all the relations of Europe are disturbed, when all minds are excited, and all interests—whether of a political, religious, social, or industrial nature—are left unsatisfied and anxiously waiting to be appeased: at such a time, the lover and disciple of art cannot refrain from asking questions, like those which are now so common—“What is our present position? What have we got, and what do we wish to obtain? What is needful for us, and whither are we going, or towards what are we drawn by the force of necessity?” In our art, too, as all will be ready to acknowledge, much has been achieved and great things gained. Not only has its number of votaries infinitely increased, but it has also assumed, in two directions, a character too important to be overlooked, and sufficiently complex to require a thorough examination.

One of these directions is that towards the past. The creations of our forefathers are now no longer known only to the learned, nor lie dormant in rare and inaccessible libraries; they have again come to life, like those grains of wheat which, after four thousand years' concealment in the hands of Egyptian mummies, were sown in our soil and brought forth fruit. The works of Bach, Eckard, Schütz, the Gabrielis, Palestrina, and Lattre, have again become accessible to every lover of music, and have been frequently performed and analysed.