to add interest to their Biblical operas (the secondary love
stories, for instance), Saint-Saens could do nothing else than
employ liberally the splendid factor of choral music which the
oratorio form brought to his hand.

We are introduced to that factor without delay. Even before the
first scene is opened to our eyes we hear the voice of the
multitude in prayer. The Israelites, oppressed by their conquerors
and sore stricken at the reflection that their God has deserted
them, lament, accuse, protest, and pray. Before they have been
heard, the poignancy of their woe has been published by the
orchestra, which at once takes its place beside the chorus as a
peculiarly eloquent expositor of the emotions and passions which
propel the actors in the drama. That mission and that eloquence it
maintains from the beginning to the final catastrophe, the
instrumental band doing its share toward characterizing the
opposing forces, emphasizing the solemn dignity of the Hebrew
religion and contrasting it with the sensuous and sensual frivolity
of the worshippers of Dagon. The choral prayer has for its
instrumental substructure an obstinate syncopated figure,

[figure: an musical score excerpt]

which rises with the agonized cries of the people and sinks with
their utterances of despair. The device of introducing voices
before the disclosure of visible action in an opera is not new, and
in this case is both uncalled for and ineffective. Gounod made a
somewhat similar effort in his "Romeo et Juliette," where a
costumed group of singers presents a prologue, vaguely visible
through a gauze curtain. Meyerbeer tried the expedient in "Le