combinations we can produce the very oppositethat of a gliding and gentle sensation. If the various sounds of words be compared to forms, we may say they are of all possible shapes, and great taste may be shown in uniting them with musical expression. Our early composers often repeated the same word five or six times together, to gain an effect, which could not be obtained by any other means. The witches' music in Macbeth, composed by Matthew Lock, carries with it an air of singularity from this circumstance alone. He will, he will, he will, he will, he He will, he will, he will, he will, he will, he will, he b Sits in a foggy cloud and waits for me. My Volume and force of voice are essentially necessary in a public singer. The same powers which delight us in private life would fail to give satisfaction and pleasure in a theatre. Like the scenes upon the stage, the finest touches must be bold and strong to be felt at a distance. Catalani's power was so great as to be offensively loud to those who were placed near her. None should venture upon the stage but those who have acquired, or upon whom nature has bestowed, a plenitude of voice.* This power of voice confers upon the singer the valuable property of a clear articulation, which enables him to pronounce the words distinctly without injuring the tone. Hitherto we have considered the voice simply as an in * Reynolds, describing some private theatricals given at the Duke of Marlborough's, where the accomplished families of Spencer and Russell performed, could not hear one line in twenty, though the theatre was not larger than would contain two hundred persons. Shortly afterwards a dance was executed so elegantly as to attract the attention and applause of the whole audience. Indeed, the ease and grace when the party assumed their natural characters, made us doubt whether they were the same persons, who, a few minutes before, appeared so deficient in stage declamation. T strument possessing the additional power of engrafting words upon its musical tones. We now proceed to speak of a higher faculty, that of breathing into these sounds a tone of passionate feeling. The singer, who contemplates the sounds merely as they are marked out by the notes, who has not that internal sensation of what the author would express, may execute his task with musical exactness; but, without this emotion, he will fail to affect his hearers, for it is an old observation, to produce a passion in others, we must first feel it ourselves. In the chapter upon Language, we have alluded to the instinctive tones more than once. The tones of love and hatred are natural inflections of the voice, intelligible in every language, and understood by the lowest of our species: it requires not the aid of words to express them. There is a lightness of voice for the extacy of joy, as well as a depressed and weighty tone for that of grief. The composer takes care to interweave these expressions, by which he heightens the force of his melody; and if the singer is sensible of them, he will skilfully blend them in whatever he performs. These passionate tones, which so powerfully lay hold of our affections, are for the most part formed in the chest, and are of that order termed the voce de petto. This is the case with those that express the sensations of sorrow, pity, love, and regret; while those of joy, rage, and exultation, &c., are to be referred to the higher voice, the voce de testa, for we do not quarrel in the same tones that we love.* The application of these instinctive tones may be compared to those colors in a picture by which the painter gives a warmth to his subject, and which may be termed the coloring of the musical art; nor can we have these expressions at command, unless we give ourselves up to that state of feeling which will enable us to express them. CHAPTER VIII. AIR. THE chief excellence of that measured strain of music called air, resides in the beauty of its melody, the symmetry of which lays hold of our affections in a peculiar way. When addressed to the gentler passions, its tender expressions are more intelligible than words, of which few are necessary to assist its meaning; and the less it is encumbered with them, the more powerful is its charm. Melody demands the expression of its own thoughts, before it attempts to express the ideas of the poet; 'a means 'exclusively its own, and which acts upon us in a The horse rejoices in the applauding tones of the rider's voice, and trembles when he changes them to those of anger. What blandishments do we see in the dog, when his master soothes him in kiud notes; what fear, and even shame, when he changes them to those of chiding!-Sheridan. |