Anyone who attempts to set Quia Amore Langueo to music must have more than his share of courage and integrity. For in this anonymous Middle-English religious lyric there are so many overtones of meaning and of sheer poetic sound that no minstrel's lute, be it never so sensitively touched, can give utterance to them all. The theme presents no difficulty; it is a familiar one. There is the rejection of Christ by Man's soul, Christ's complaint to Man, and the persistent pleading of Christ to be received by Man, “because I languish for love.” As we might expect from the period, the story is told in vivid imagery; the Song of Songs sheds its bright, tinted light upon it. Heavy with allegory, charged with eroticism, the poem is a highly-coloured transmutation of the God-to-Man relationship into lover' language and feeling.

During the past six months, it has been my privilege to observe and conduct many rehearsals and public concerts of the leading wind-bands of Continental Europe and England, and to study at first hand the instrumentation, repertory and standards of the musical organizations of these countries, which include Italy, France, Germany, Belgium, Holland, Switzerland, and England. In addition to these interesting and unusual experiences, much valuable data and information was obtained by means of personal visits and conferences with hundreds of conductors, composers, artist performers, directors of state conservatoires and colleges of music, teachers, students, music publishers, and instrument manufacturers. Such worthy and varied sources and contacts naturally provided an abundance of information and materials for the evaluation and analysis of the organizations and colleges visited.

The Boston Symphony Orchestra under Charles Münch and Pierre Monteux, now celebrating its seventy-fifth anniversary, included what can only be called a triumphant visit to the Soviet Union during their recent European tour. They went at the invitation of the Ministry of Culture, and the orchestra and its management had therefore the standing of official guests. From the first rather overwhelming welcome on the tarmac at Leningrad it was clear that no effort would be spared to make the visit a success. The hotels were provided by the Government and we had our own restaurants, where four enormous meals were served each day. Never less than five interpreters were available both for official business and for the well-arranged sightseeing tours of which everyone took full advantage, and throughout we were conscious of a feeling of immense goodwill, official and unofficial, on all sides.

One hears so much these days of automation, strikes, labour disputes, etc., that it was refreshing to realize during a journey I made with a colleague to Italy that there is still craftsmanship in the world. Having spent nearly all my working life with violins, I was visiting a country for the first time that had a magical name for me—Italy. I started without any prejudices regarding the country or the people, having neither worked with them nor met them. All I knew was that old Italian instruments were of high monetary value and of beautiful workmanship. I used to wonder if this art had died out like so many crafts in different countries over the years, or whether the people concerned had left Italy and gone elsewhere where they would be appreciated and encouraged.

One of the most interesting of the events of this year's Holland Festival was a performance, by the Slovenian National Opera (Ljubljana), of Prokofieff's The Love of the Three Oranges, whose première took place at the Chicago Auditorium on 30th December, 1921. The opera was then sung in French, though the original text—Prokofieff's own adaptation of a comedy by Carlo Gozzi—was in Russian. This festival production, one of exceptional colour and vigour from both the dramatic and musical points of view, was done in the original language.

For the glimpse into the workshop of composer and librettist which is the subject of this article, the writer is indebted to his work on the publication of the correspondence between Richard Strauss and Josef Gregor comprising 350 documents.