is the universal language."

So, here on the crumbling crust of a volcano, where the volatile French
court danced and fiddled and sang, unreckoning of what was soon to
come, our composer and his admirers patted each other on the back with
infinite complacency.

But after this high tide of prosperity there was to come a reverse. A
powerful faction, that for a time had been crushed by Gluck's triumph,
after a while raised their heads and organized an attack. There were
second-rate composers whose scores had been laid on the shelf in the
rage for the new favorite; musicians who were shocked and enraged at the
difficulties of his instrumentation; wits who, having praised Gluck for
a while, thought they could now find a readier field for their quills
in satire; and a large section of the public who changed for no earthly
reason but that they got tired of doing one thing.

Therefore, the Italian Piccini was imported to be pitted against the
reigning deity. The French court was broken up into hostile ranks. Marie
Antoinette was Gluck's patron, but Madame Du Barry, the king's mistress,
declared for Piccini. Abbé Arnaud fought for Gluck; but the witty
Marmontel was the advocate of his rival. The keen-witted Du Rollet
was Gluckist; but La Harpe, the eloquent, was Piccinist. So this
battle-royal in art commenced and raged with virulence. The green-room
was made unmusical with contentions carried out in polite Billingsgate.
Gluck tore up his unfinished score in rage when he learned that his
rival was to compose an opera on the same libretto. La Harpe said: "The
famous Gluck may puff his own compositions, but he can't prevent them
from boring us to death." Thus the wags of Paris laughed and wrangled
over the musical rivals. Berton, the new director, fancied he could