learning Italian, which is its best master, and studying a little of the French air, to give it somewhat more of gaiety and fashion."-It may be worth the whole of those musical critics, whom we observe constantly setting up what they are pleased to call genuine English music in opposition to Italian, as two things radically different from and inconsistent with each other, to take note, that the great founder of the English school never ceased to proclaim himself a pupil of the Italian Masters. In another place he thus declares his allegiance to the Italian music: "For the author, he has faithfully endeavoured a just imitation of the most far-famed Italian masters, principally to bring the seriousness and gravity of that kind of music into vogue and reputation among our countrymen, whose humour 'tis time now should begin to loathe the levity and balladry of our neighbours. The attempt he confesses to be bold and daring; there being pens and artists of more eminent abilities, much better qualified for the employment than his or himself, which he hopes these weak endeavours will, in due time, provoke and inflame to a more accurate undertaking. He is not ashamed to own his unskilfulness of the Italian language, but that is the unhappiness of his education, which cannot justly be counted his fault; however he thinks he may warrantably affirm, that he is not mistaken in the power of the Italian notes or the elegancy of their compositions."-How beautiful is the simplicity of this language, and how full of the humility which always accompanies the highest genius! This play of Dioclesian contains the famous warlike song of "Britons strike home;" now ranked among the national strains of England. Purcell's next dramatic composition appears to have been King Arthur, which appeared in 1691, and is one of his happiest productions. It was revived a few years ago, under the title of Arthur and Emmeline, with great success. Among his other works of this class, the principal are, The Fairy Queen, altered from Shakspeare's Midsummer Night's Dream; Timon of Athens; Bonduca; The Libertine; and Don Quixote. These pieces (except the Tempest and King Arthur) are now forgotten; but many beautiful things in them were preserved in the Orpheus Britannicus, the famous selection from his vocal music published by his widow. This is now a very scarce book; but a number of the finest efforts of his genius are to be found in a modern publication-Corfe's "Beauties of Purcell." The Tempest continued to be what is called a stock piecę till lately; but the rapid changes which have taken place in the character of the musical drama seem now to have banished it from the stage. It is much to be regretted that it is so; for there is nothing in modern music more charming than the light and graceful "Come unto these yellow sands," or more effective on the stage than the wild and solemn chorus of spirits, "Full fathom five." Were this play brought out at Covent Garden, with the splendour usual in that theatre, and under the skilful direction of Sir George Smart, it would certainly be successful. Among Purcell's great qualities, there is one in which, among English musicians, he stands entirely alone; the power of adapting his musical phrases to the peculiar accents and inflexions of the English language. He is the only composer who has ever written what deserved to be called English recitative; and, in his airs, he surpasses all who have succeeded him in the true and emphatic enunciation of the words. "Handel," says Burney, “who flourished in a less barbarous age for his art, has been acknowledged Purcell's superior in many particulars; but in none more than the art and grandeur of his chorusses, the harmony and texture of his organ fugues, as well as his great style of playing that instrument; the majesty of his grand concertos; the ingenuity of his accompaniments to his songs and chorusses; and even in the general melody of the airs themselves: yet in the accent, passion, and expression of English words, the vocal music of Purcell is sometimes, to my feelings, as superior to Handel's as an original poem to a translation." For this most essential quality of dramatic music our English composers have not in general been remarkable; and at the present day it may almost be said to be lost. Not to speak of the tribe of inferior writers, even Bishop himself, who has so long been in possession of the stage, hardly ever sets a song without committing faults, either of prosody, accent, or punctuation, that could be detected by a schoolboy. This does not, however, proceed from ignorance; for Mr. Bishop is not an ignorant man. But it arises from the small merit of the words on which our modern composers are generally employed, and the consequent habit of indifference, which they acquire, to the meaning of words. Soon after the death of Purcell, the Italian opera came into vogue in England. Attempts were made to translate some of the most favourite pieces of that country, and to adapt them to music in the Italian form; that is, having the dialogue entirely in recitative, with a mixture of airs. The success of these essays induced Addison, notwithstanding his ignorance of music and want of taste for it, to write an opera in the Italian style. He accordingly, in 1707, produced his pretty poem of Rosamond; and showed his want of intelligence in music by having it set by Clayton, a wretched composer, whose name has acquired a kind of immortality by being united with Addison's. To the credit of the English taste, however, the piece was completely unsuccessful, having supported only three representations; and the great mind of Addison was ever after full of splenetic dislike for Italian music. Rosamond was long afterwards reset by Arne, and laid the foundation of his fame. Several of the airs were beautiful, and remained long in favour. The next step in our progress was the production of English operas, translated from the Italian, and adapted to the original Italian music. At this time, great Italian singers began to find their way to England: and when these stars mingled with the English singers in the performance of an opera, they recited and sung their parts in their own language, the other parts being performed in English; a combination which, however ludicrous it now appears, seems to have given no offence to the critics and dilettanti of that day. At last, the growing love for Italian music caused the introduction of a complete Italian company; and we have ever since had a regular Italian theatre. It was in the capacity of composer for this theatre that Handel first came to England; and, for a long series of years, he continued to supply our Italian stage with an immense number of beautiful works, which the changes of taste and fashion have now buried in oblivion. "Full many a gem of purest ray, serene," however, is hid in the dark unfathom'd caves of Handel's voluminous scores; and rich would still be the reward of the musician who should have the spirit to explore them, and bring their treasures again to light. The music of the English stage seems to have been totally neglected for a considerable time after the establishment of the Italian Opera. From Purcell to Arne there is a dreary void. In that long interval, the only piece worthy of notice, that appeared, was The Beggar's Opera, the music of which is a mere collection of national tunes. They were selected by the celebrated Pepusch, who set accompaniments to them. The Beggar's Opera is said to have been written by Gay in order to ridicule the Italian Opera; but this seems unlikely, as it has not the most distant resemblance to an Italian Opera. It is precisely on the plan of the French vaudevilles, which are little light comedies, generally satirical, and interspersed with common popular tunes, the words of which form part of the dialogue. These were very popular in France before the time of Gay Le Sage had written many of them; and there can be little doubt that it was from them that Gay took the design of The Beggar's Opera. About ten years afterwards, a most admirable and successful burlesque of the Italian Opera was produced by Carey; whose Dragon of Wantley, with music by Lampe, full of mock-heroic recitative and the fashionable Italian flourishes of the day, ran without interruption for two seasons, and kept the stage for a long time afterwards. Lampe was a German, and a man of great talent: he was Arne's competitor for public favour, and for a long time shared it with him. Arne first became known to the public by the music to Addison's Rosamond in 1733; but it was not till the appearance of Comus, in 1738, that his reputation was established. Till that time Lampe contended with him on equal terms: but the appearance of Comus was an era in English music. Arne's melodies were so light, graceful, and original, and at the same time so natural and easy of apprehension, that they became the delight of the whole kingdom. Comus has been performed long within our recollection, and we have been charmed with its effect. It would not, we believe, now succeed as a whole; but no changes of fashion can ever destroy the beauties of such airs as "Sweet Echo, sweetest Nymph," or "Now Phoebus sinketh in the West." It is remarkable that, though Arne continued, after this great success, to write a great deal, yet his productions were generally unfortunate. During the interval between his Comus and his Artaxerxes, a period of twenty-four years, he only produced two or three pieces that had a moderate success, and a great many that totally failed. These failures arose from a cause very often fatal to good musicians; the pieces which he set were generally trash, and he was himself often guilty of being their author. Hence a great deal of good music is irrecoverably lost; for that it was good is sufficiently apparent from the beautiful specimens of it that are still to be fallen in with in old collections. Artaxerxes appeared in 1762; and it may be considered as the only serious English opera. It is an insipid translation of the opera of Metastasio, divested of the rich and beautiful flow of language which constitutes the great charm of the original. In the composition of this opera, Arne changed his style, and changed it (we must venture to say, notwithstanding the popularity of the work) considerably for the worse. His recitative is monotonous and inexpressive. He did not, like Purcell, found it upon a thorough knowledge and consideration of the peculiar genius of the English language, but contented himself with stringing together the most common musical phrases in the Italian recitative of the day-phrases to which it was impossible to unite English words without destroying their accent, and depriving them of emphasis and meaning. Besides, his musical knowledge did not give him a sufficient command of modulation for this difficult species of composition, the effects of which are chiefly produced by masterly and unexpected harmonical transitions. In his airs, Arne was much more successful. But the immense favour which Artaxerxes enjoyed at first, was very much owing to his complying with the prevailing rage for the divisions and difficulties of Italian music. Having a prima donna (Miss Brent) and two excellent Italian singers (Tenducci and Peretti) to write for, he crowded their airs with all the bravura passages then in vogue; and such things as "Fly, soft ideas," and "The Soldier tired," were listened to with clamorous wonder. The last great Mandane was Mrs. Billington. We well remember the way in which she sported with the difficulties of "The Soldier tired," and introduced many more, and the triumphant expression with which she used to conclude amid the shouts of the audience. Such feats as those were, however, have lost their attraction, because they have been succeeded by newer wonders. Artaxerxes is still occasionally brought out, generally as the coup d'essai of a young singer; but even this happens more and more rarely and as it did not happen in the case of Miss Inverarity (whose great powers of voice and execution peculiarly fitted her for appearing in Mandane), we may presume that Artaxerxes has run its course. The charm of Artaxerxes lies in those airs which are the most simple and unpretending in their character; such as "In infancy our hopes and fears," and "If o'er the cruel tyrant." In these beautiful melodies we recognise the composer of Comus; and, though they must necessarily be banished from the stage, we trust they will find a permanent restingplace in our drawing-rooms and on our piano-fortes. Notwithstanding the success of Artaxerxes, hardly any other attempt of a similar kind has been made. Artaxerxes, unless when enlivened by the brilliancy of a great singer, has always been found dull and tedious; and this has been ascribed, not to the demerits of this individual drama, but to those of the whole class to which it belongs. It has been said that an English drama, written in recitative, cannot be interesting or affecting. How far this opinion is correct we cannot now enquire, though we consider its soundness as being at least very questionable. It seems, however, hitherto to have prevented our dramatists and composers from attempting any thing more in the style of Artaxerxes. Our next musical pieces were of a totally different kind, being comedies in three, or two acts, frequently of very considerable merit, and intermixed with songs. Of these, Love in a Village is one of the most agreeable. It appeared immediately after Artaxerxes, and may be called a work of Arne's; for though a good deal of the music is borrowed from the Italian masters of the time, yet Arne composed such of it as was original, and probably selected and arranged the whole. It was followed by The Maid of the Mill, composed by Dr. Arnold, and still occasionally performed. For many years the stage was supplied with a number of very delightful pieces of this class, the chief composers of which were, Arnold, Dibdin, Linley, Shield, and Storace. We cannot write these names-so closely associated with the days when, to us, music, like all things else, was young,-without sighing to think that they are all travelling so fast towards the land of oblivion. We love them and their music as well as ever; but a younger generation neither knows nor cares much about them; and a different race has “pushed them from their stools." We are none of the laudatores temporis acti at the expence of the time present; but we do not think it necessary, for the enjoyment of Weber and Spohr, to lose all relish for the sweet and natural strains of Arnold, Linley, and Shield. No art, we think, suffers so much as music from that exclusive spirit, which, the moment it adopts one style, repudiates every other. We doubt much whether the Freischütz, or Azor and Zemira, have ever produced more heartfelt delight to a whole audience than the Mountaineers, where to the romantic and Don Quixote-like story, and Kemble's admirable acting, were added the delicious "Faint and wearily,"-" Cease, pretty Agnes, cease,”—and “When the hollow drum has beat to bed," of Arnold. Dramatically speaking, at all events, there was no comparison; and, whatever may be the improvement in the music of our present operas, it is, we suspect, more than neutralized by their degradation as dramas. We have mentioned the name of Storace as one of those which revive the pleasing memory of other days; though he belongs to the more modern class. He introduced a considerable change in the form of our dramatic music, by the employment of concerted pieces. Hitherto we had not gone beyond a duet, a trio, or perhaps a chorus by way of finale; but, by this time, the Italian composers had diminished the use of recitative, by using, in scenes of action where several performers were engaged, quartets, quintets, &c. during which the performers "made their exits and their entrances," and joined in the business of the piece. This was found to be an important discovery. It has produced such richness and variety of musical effect, that it can no longer be dispensed with. In skilful hands too, such as those of Cimarosa, Mozart, and Rossini, it is found to be very dramatic. Storace adopted this plan; and the concerted pieces in his Siege of Belgrade, Pirates, No Song no Supper, and Iron Chest, are still models of excellence in this kind of composition. The time during which Storace's operas, with Braham singing in them, were the reigning favourites, was one of the most brilliant periods of the English Opera. Storace, unfortunately for music, died young, in 1796. For ten or a dozen years afterwards the stage was supplied with a succession of feeble pieces, all of which are now deservedly forgotten, chiefly by Mazzinghi and Reeve. Braham also produced a number of pieces, which nothing but the great effect of his own singing, and the low state into which dramatic music had fallen, could have made popular. At last Bishop appeared, and began a career in which he has been more successful than any other English composer for the stage. Bishop's first opera, The Circassian Bride, appeared in 1809; and between that time and 1824 he composed about sixty operas and other musical pieces. By far too many; for, by hastily writing such quantities of music, to order, for the Covent Garden management, he was prevented from cultivating his powers, extending his knowledge, and maturing his judgment: consequently, he has failed to fulfil the promise of his early years, and his oldest productions are his best. Still, however, Bishop, though not what he might have been, will always maintain a distinguished place among the musicians of England. Since 1824, when the Freischütz appeared, Bishop has almost ceased to compose. He has found it impossible to contend with the foreign composers whose music now occupies the English stage. Now that we are familiar with such works as the Oberon of Weber, and the Zemira and Azor of Spohr, we have obtained a standard of excellence to which our native artists must labour to rise, before they can expect the favour even of their own countrymen. Such is the present state of dramatic music in England; and it is such a state as would lead us to prognosticate the speedy rise of some great artist among us. The taste for dramatic music is more general than ever it was; and the demand for it, therefore, is immense. We prefer foreign music at present, very naturally, because it is far superior to our own. But were a native composer to produce an opera of great genius and power, it would undoubtedly be received with enthusiasm. England has never been deficient in musical talent; and, where the demand is so great, it is hardly to be supposed that we ourselves can long remain unable to furnish the supply. We believe that England contains young musicians, now, in obscurity and silence, arming themselves for the contest, and burning to enter the lists; and that, ere long, some one will appear, able to vindicate the honour of his country. THE CAPTIVE POLE. A SABRE! a sabre! O set this right hand free, But loose my bonds, ye slave-born tools of Russian tyranny: Though chains may grind these limbs till death, I have my spirit still; Bonds cannot bind, nor tortures daunt, a stern unconquer'd will. I fear you not-I ask you not for favour or for life; I only would be free again to wage a deadlier strife With minions base as your liege lord—that felon on a throne, A sabre! a sabre! O set this right hand free! Again its edge shall try the front of Russian tyranny ; The death-drum rolls! I scorn your rage-free, free, is my last breath! Slaves of barbarian power, lead on, although it be to death! Ω. |