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 musical passion. Beethoven will speak to your heart and brain like a god, and Mozart will captivate you with his joyous melody and sweetness, but not a note of Wagner, the modern Colossus. It is well that this exclusive home of music should be kept up upon its aristocratic traditions—the best orchestra of the world and the least accessible; but the evil effect of exclusiveness is at once visible in a glance around at the audience. Daudet has written that the French do not in their hearts really like classical music. I think it is true. They delight too much in conversation to delight in music as the duller, the denser, and more sentimental Germans do. But to have a seat at the Conservatoire denotes wealth, the prestige of fashion; and so they go to each concert more to see and be seen than to hear. In doing so they are conscious of being part of the chic world. In the loges around you, men and women talk of every mortal thing except the music heard; and the chief anxiety of both sexes, if I may judge by the testimony of my ears on repeated occasions, is to know what baron, count, marquis, marchioness, or duchess is present, with smart remarks upon their dress. The Conservatoire is a traditional school of music and of the drama; prizes are awarded upon the test of examination, and reputations started here which may end in celebrity.