amongst the happiest in the entire piece. The martial but sombre melody of the march is completely characteristic. The second act calls into more vivid action the preternatural agency which the composer delights to illustrate. This music therefore rises. It opens with a chorus (Glory to the Caliph) which commences in B minor, and changes afterwards very effectively into C major. It is also remarkable for its rhythmical iteration of two quavers and a crotchet, which conveys the accent almost throughout. It reminds us of a part of Preciosa, but is nevertheless very much of the same character as the preceding chorus, to which it bears an analogy, from being sung by the slaves of the Caliph. "A lonely Arab maid," a song for Fatima, consists of an andante in E minor and a movement in the major, but contains nothing of especial note. "Over the dark blue waters" is amongst the most attractive pieces in the opera. The opening (Allegro con grazia) consists of two responsive solos in duet, first for the base and tenor, and secondly for the sopranos. Its style accords with the marginal direction, for it is at once free and graceful, with an originality in the structure of the passages, that interests the ear while it engages the attention. When the four parts come in, it rises to the more animated movement which is taken as the principal subject of the overture, and which here in its first and natural position is very exhilarating. In the rolling base passage towards the end (page 83, staff 1), Weber gives a strong proof of his regard to instrumental effects-for it strikes us that many composers would have transferred so much of it as the voice could execute to the vocal part. We now arrive at a portion of the opera where it may be literally said appear those "fiery shapes," which have formed the delight and the fame of the composer. The scene is the invocation of Puck to the spirits, whom he summons to raise a storm and sink the vessel in which the lovers are embarked. It begins with a recitative, more powerful than the general tenor of Weber's writing in this species. Then follows an allegro pesante to the following poetical lines: Whether ye be in the cavern dark, Or in skies beyond the one Or in the womb of some groaning hill, Come hither, come hither, come hither to me; Of your faithful friend, the fairy king. The musical effect is drawn from the modulation, which is unusually frequent. But when the spirits answer the call, the stage, nay earth and air seem to be peopled with ideal shapes. The mountain which forms the entire flat (we believe is the theatrical phrase) at the back is divided into countless cells, from which issue all the pigmy inhabitants, while the stage itself is filled with the airy creation of the spirits of other elements. The movement is a rapid presto, but the vocal parts are syllabic. There are one or two striking proofs of the character of deep thought, which is so peculiar to Weber. To the demand We are here! we are here! Say, what must be done? Must we cleave the moou's sphere? Must we darken the sun? Must we empty the ocean upon its own shore? Speak! speak! we have pow'r to do this and more! Puck replies Nay, nay, your task will be, at most, Which simple fairy may not do, The spirits answer— Nought but that? Ho, ho, ho, ho! Lighter labour none we know. Winds and waves obey the spell! Hark! 'tis done! Farewell! farewell! The passage that we would cite is the first line, "Nought but that." Upon these words Weber has put all the orchestra and the singers into unison, obviously to display the simplicity and easiness of the allotted task-and again in the words, "Winds and waves obey the spell," the voices are in unison, and in slow protracted notes, each occupying a bar, to declare the solemnity of the purpose, while the trembling of the instruments convey the first effect as it were of the agency upon the surrounding objects. This is certainly very masterly and very expressive. The storm then rises, and the orchestra is made the vehicle of the elementary confusion. Like the sea-bird in the tempest, the composer seems to delight in the flash of the lightning, the roar of the thunder, and the heavings of ocean, while he rides in the whirlwind and directs the storm. The adjuration of Sir Huon is a short and feeling strain, but not in the happiest manner of the author, and is followed by "Ocean thou mighty monster," a grand scena for Reiza. Considered merely as a descriptive piece, this song is powerful, and perhaps it ought not to be regarded in any other light. The scena represents the gradual calm of the troubled waters, the breaking of the sun through the gloom, and the arrival of a boat to the succour of the distressed Reiza. All these natural circumstances, with the sensations they create in her bosom, form the subject of the scena, and the composer has strictly adhered to the intention of adapting it to the sole purpose of dramatic effect. The recitative is the part which calls for the greatest exertion of vocal talent. It is powerfully conceived. The allegro then presents to the ear (as the scenery to the eye) the distant rolling of the yet angry billows, and the gradual re-appearance of light. In this movement an instance of false accent occurs. In the line, "Through the gloom their white foam flashing," the emphasis falls on THE and THEIR. At the end of the allegro there is a recitative to describe the busting forth of the sun, and the very fine andante maestoso which succeeds, seems to catch at the instant a portion of the warmth and light of the glaring orb, and to increase in dignity as the object it depicts increases in splendour. It is however curious that Weber should have described the setting sun by a rising passage. The only way in which this treatment can be accounted for is upon the supposition that the composer purposes to convey the flood of glory bursting through the skies, till, as is the natural fact in tropical climates, "With disk like battle target, red, Dyes the wide ware with bloody light, Mr. Planchè may probably have unconsciously had this image of Scott in his mind when he wrote his lines, and the concluding musical phrase seems to give the elucidation we have hazarded. An animated movement, at the appearance of the boat, contrasts with the andante, but the last part of this song is decidedly too instrumental; the melody which concludes it is not vocal, and it lies too high, and requires too much effort in order to overcome the force of the accompaniments. The immense effect sought in this scene requires a far more powerful agent than the voice, but every possible assistance from the orchestra is given, and it is in descriptive music that Weber's forte lies. The mermaid's song, "O'tis pleasant," is a beautiful and smooth piece of melody, and to poetic dream recalls the memory of the Siren of old "Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, That the rude sea grew civil at her song.' "Master, say," a duet between Oberon and Puck, follows, and and is one of the prettiest things in the opera. The opening to the finale of this act, "Who would stay in her coral cave," describes most effectively the "mustering of spirits." The chorus itself is beautifully imagined, and the effect is left to the voices, which cannot do justice to its delicacy and grace-however sweet, they can hardly be sweet enough. The scene itself is enchanting. It is moonlight on the sea shore, which is covered by fairies, whilst the sea itself bears its nymphs, most beautifully grouped, and sailing over its calm surface in their "emerald cars." The first piece in the third act, "O Araby, dear Araby," is a song for Fatima, consisting of two movements, an andante and allegro-the first plaintive as the memory of joys that are past, the second, lively, like the hope that survives even in slavery— for such are the feelings and the situation it is intended to pourtray. We have good reason to believe that this air was a favourite with its author, who was the last man in the world to over-value his own productions; but he esteemed this to have some claim to originality, even at this time of day. If it have such a claim, it lies in the position of the accent in the melody upon the burden, "Al, al, al," whenever these words occur, as well as in the melody itself. As sung by Madame Vestris, this trifle (for such it must be esteemed when compared with the more lofty and ambitious parts of the opera) is always amongst the most pleasing to the audience. It is loved like a child who engages by its playfulness. We can scarcely decide whether the duet which succeeds was or was not intended to be comic by the poet and the composer-the words certainly indicate such a design, and the music of the first strain given to Sherasmin is allied to the comic species; but when we find in the response of Fatima the major converted into the minor, and a plaintive character substituted both in the melody and accompaniment, a curious difference (we will not call it an anomaly) is presented. Both however agree in determining to be "merry" as "true," and the duet accordingly closes lightly. This portion is however a little too much drawn out. "And must I then dissemble" is a trio of great originality, which by the pure force of its simplicity and beauty turns a situation of no importance into one of comparatively deep interest. It is sung by Sir Huon, Fatima, and Sherasmin, on discovering that Reiza is in the power of the Emir of Tunis, to these words: And must I then dissemble; Viewless spirit of power and light, Thou who mak'st virtue and love thy care, |