Chapter XII: Part II (2)

The Vicomte de Villeblanche, one of the ancient noblesse of France, was a distinguished amateur. His mother, a great proficient in music, instructed him very early on the piano-forte, and he having sought refuge in this kingdom during the most troublesome period of the French revolution, took lessons of J. B. Cramer. When Buonaparte proclaimed an amnesty, the Vicomte returned to his native country, entered into the army, accompanied Napoleon in his expedition to Russia, and is supposed to have perished in the retreat, he never having been heard of since that disastrous event. Of his skill in music the movement in the present Number bears full testimony; it is the only composition by him that we ever met with or heard of; it appeared many years ago, (in a musical magazine which had no circulation,) and may be said to be an unknown production. That it is in the manner of Beethoven will be apparent to all, and that it is a very elegant imitation of a master then little known out of Germany, must also be admitted: we are glad to have been enabled to rescue a composition of so much merit either from oblivion, or from being hereafter claimed by some one having no title to it.

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The March is arranged from a Notturno by Spohr.

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The Saraband and Gigue of Corelli are familiarly known to the frequenters of the Ancient Concerts, and to all--we fear they are few in number--who are well read in classical music. We have adapted them from the original score, and endeavoured to render the violin passages not only practicable, but easy for keyed-instruments. The Sarabanda was a slow Spanish dance. The Giga speaks for itself. For an account of the composer, we refer the reader to one of our early volumes.

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The Canzonet, ‘Forget me not,’ has always been ascribed to Mozart, though not noticed by him in his memoranda, and not included in any edition of his works. It certainly bears his impress, and, whether justly or not attributed to that great master, is undoubtedly worthy of his genius. We have cut out from the symphony some bars which we strongly suspect to have been an interpolation. The author of the English words seems to be quite unknown, and it will be no injury to him to let him remain incognito. As far, however, as the prevailing sentiment is concerned, the poetry admirably suits the music.

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The name of Prati is perfectly new to this country. He was Maître de Chapelle to the Elector Palatine, and born in 1736. He visited Paris, St. Petersburg, Florence, &c., in all which cities he produced operas. In the latter city he brought out his _Ifigenia_, which met with prodigious success; and at Munich, in 1785, his _Armida abandonnata_ first was heard, which procured him his valuable appointment under the Elector. He died at Ferrara in 1788. The gay and beautiful aria by him, which we now publish, is from Reichardt’s _Musikalisches Kunstmagazin_, for 1791.

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A taste for the Madrigal happily seems to be reviving. It is a kind of composition which possesses some of the best qualities of the fugue, but rejects all its formality and restraint. John Bennet published his _Madrigals for four voices_ in 1599, and contributed much to a curious theoretical work by Ravenscroft, printed in 1614, and now lying before us, in the preface to which he is thus mentioned;--a ‘partner in this work is Maister John Bennet, a gentleman admirable for all kinds of composures, either in art, or ayre, simple or mixt, of what nature soever.’ Nothing beyond this is known of him, or it certainly would have been discovered by Hawkins, an indefatigable antiquary, and a zealous promoter of ancient music. The present madrigal is from Warren’s _Monthly_ Collection, a work now exceedingly scarce. We have changed the alto and tenor clefs into the treble and base, and added an accompaniment, for the first time, it is our belief.

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The very pretty Canzonet of Morley is from a set printed in 1599. One of these appeared in the _Harmonicon_ containing his memoir; to which the reader is referred for further information concerning this celebrated theorist and composer.

[Sidenote: May, 1833.]

MEMOIR OF METASTASIO.

The name of the great dramatic poet, whose memoir we are about to sketch is so connected with the history of music, that it cannot be thought out of place in the biographical department of our work. We might almost plead his having been a musician as well as poet, were it necessary; but no excuse can be required for mixing with the lives of professors that of a genius to whose productions--which have called forth the talents of the greatest composers--the art itself is so much indebted.

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~Pietro Trapassi~ was born at Rome on the 6th of January, 1698. His family, though at the time of his birth reduced to the straits of indigence, had for many years enjoyed, as opulent citizens, the freedom of the town of Assisi, the immunities of which were confined to thirty of the inhabitants only. But the times became altered, and Felice, the father of our bard, unable to procure a subsistence in his native place, enlisted into the ranks of the regiment of Corsi, and shortly afterwards married Francesca Galasti of Bologna. At the fulfilment of his service as a soldier, Felice found himself possessed of a small pittance which he had gained, while in garrison, by devoting his leisure hours to the laborious task of an amanuensis. With this he entered into partnership with a shopkeeper at Rome, in the petty trade called in Italy _L’Arte bianca_, or pastrycook. Succeeding tolerably in this undertaking, he was now enabled to place his two eldest sons, Leopoldo and the subject of this memoir, at a small grammar school, where the latter soon displayed that talent and enthusiasm for poetry, which so eminently distinguished his after life. ‘Before he was yet ten years old,’ says his biographer Dr. Burney, ‘he had the power of making verses extempore on any subject, and it was no unusual sight to see his father’s porch surrounded in the evening, after school hours, by admiring groups listening to the poesy of a child. During one of these tuneful fits, when Pietro was in his happiest mood, the celebrated lawyer and critic, Gravina, happened to pass by his father’s door, and was no less struck with the youth of the poet, than with the softness, yet brilliancy of his verse, the smoothness of his measure, and the sprightliness of his wit, which he employed, _all’ improvvista_, upon the people and objects that surrounded him. Drawing near, Gravina expressed his admiration, and offered him some money; the firm but polite refusal of his donation increased his admiration for the little bard, and he instantly formed the resolution of adopting him as his son. Pleased with this idea, he instantly solicited the consent of his parents; and as there was nothing humiliating, nothing unkind, in his proposal, Felice gladly complied. The next morning Pietro was consigned to the care and patronage of Gravina, who changed his name to Metastasio, as Μεταστασις (_mutatio_) seemed at once to include his family appellation and his situation as an adopted child.

And now having changed his name, Gravina applied himself to the more difficult task of altering, or at least improving, the bias of Metastasio’s mind. For this purpose he destined him to the study of the law as a profession, wishing rather that he should become an orator than a poet. This at first may appear strange; but Gravina well knew that, although the meed of praise may be the poet’s, wealth and affluence are still strangers to his door, and that, in Rome, riches are only to be acquired by the followers of the church and law.

Although Metastasio’s time was principally employed in the dry study of edicts and decrees, he was encouraged by his patron in the perusal of the best models of the ancient poets; and, at the early age of fourteen, we find him producing his tragedy of _Giustino_,--really an astonishing work for so mere a boy. After the appearance of this drama, written completely in the Grecian style, Gravina appears not only to have allowed, but even to have encouraged, his pupil’s adoration of the Muse; and when Metastasio was eighteen years old, we find Gravina accompanying him to Naples, for the express purpose of singing with the most celebrated improvvisatori of the day. No sooner had he appeared than he became a universal favourite. Nothing was heard of but the graces and dignity of his elocution, the inspiration of his expressive countenance, and the delightful harmony of his verse, which his hearers carried away in their memory like the dying cadence of a thrilling melody. Still with his poetical pursuits did he continue to study the law; and, to secure an opening into the only other road to preferment, entered into one of the minor orders of priesthood.

Two years after his arrival at Naples he had the misfortune to lose his patron, who died in 1718, in the fifty-fourth year of his age, leaving behind him a character more celebrated for his great classical learning, than for his poetry, upon which however he most prided himself; but the protection which he afforded to Metastasio does more honour to his memory than all the productions of his own pen. It has been a generally received opinion, that, however deeply his loss was deplored by our poet, the death of Gravina was a great benefit to his future fame, for it is supposed that, had he lived, his advice would have cramped his pupil’s ideas, disposed to all the pathos and beauty of passion and nature, with the rules and imitations of the Greek drama. Certain it is, however, that Metastasio mourned over his patron as a son; nor was his gratitude at all diminished, when by Gravina’s will, signed in 1718, he found himself sole master of all his property, consisting of 15,000 crowns, a superb library, and a small estate in the kingdom of Naples. The generosity of our poet’s disposition, however, soon ran through this possession; and two years after Gravina’s death, all that remained to him was an inconsiderable landed estate. Finding it, therefore, necessary to court some other genius than the Muse, he placed himself under the care of Paglietti, a man described as made up wholly of law, a bitter enemy to poetry, one who hated the sound of rhyme, and the very sight of a poet, and who was mercilessly intolerant of the slightest deviation from worldly prudence. For one year Metastasio applied himself with so much diligence to the labours imposed upon him by Paglietti, that he appears to have disappointed his suspicions, and even to have gained his confidence; but at the end of that time, we find him again sacrificing to the Muse his contract with the law. First appeared an _Epithalamium_, written at the request of the Countess of Althau, who likewise prevailed upon him to write the drama _Endymion_.

Under the patronage of the Viceroy of Naples, appeared _Gli Orti Esperidi_, (the _Gardens of the Hesperides_.) The drama was written during the hours devoted by Paglietti to the poet’s rest, and under the express promise that it should be kept a profound secret from the inexorable lawyer. His next drama was _Angelica_, of which the plot is taken from Ariosto. The _Gardens of the Hesperides_, which was played at Naples, was universally admired, and by none more than by the Signora M. Benti Bulgarini, better known by her prima-donna name of the Romanini. She was the first singer of her day, and played the part of Venus in that opera; and so delighted was she with its beauty, that she rested not until she had obtained an introduction to the author. On seeing him, the Romanini expressed at once her admiration and esteem, and warmly pressed him to renounce at once the dry study of the law, take up his abode under her husband’s roof, and devote his whole time, his whole energies, to the delights of friendship and the inspiration of the Muse. Adoring as he did, devoted as he was to poesy, who could at once resist the enthusiastic bent of his own mind, the seducing praise of flattering beauty?--certainly not Metastasio. Short was the struggle in his mind between Paglietti and the Romanini: willingly he accepted the offer, and from this time the courts of law were forgotten by him in the plaudits of the theatre.

His _Didone Abandonnata_ was written at the request of the Romanini, to whom the poet is perhaps indebted for some of the finest dramatic incidents and effect. The celebrity which this opera obtained caused it to be set to music by the best composers for all the theatres of Italy, and consequently brought the author a large pecuniary reward, besides the extension of a name already widely spread. During his residence at Rome, whither he repaired with the Romanini in 1727, he finished several operas, the _Semiramide_, _Artaserse_, _Egio_, _Alessandro nel Indie_, and the _Catone in Utica_, all of which were received with high praise; but barren praise appears to have been all his reward--small indeed were his pecuniary gains.

Upon his first arrival at Rome, Metastasio, willing to repay the obligations under which he lay to the Bulgarini, took a house for the reception of the two families of the Bulgarini and Trapassi, and prevailed upon the Romanini to place herself, as more conversant with domestic affairs, at the head of his establishment. Upon these terms they lived till, in 1729, receiving an invitation from the court of Vienna, he repaired to Germany as coadjutor to Apostolo Zeno, the imperial laureate. This offer was the more gratifying as it came upon the recommendation of Zeno himself, who had enjoyed his post unrivalled for eleven years, and before the time of Metastasio, had written the best lyrical drama his country’s language could boast. No small praise, therefore, is due to his generosity in thus forwarding the views of a poet, whose works, he must have foreseen, would speedily eclipse his own. Nor was the yearly stipend of 3000 florins at all to be despised by Metastasio. At Rome he had almost suffered under the pressure of poverty, and often was obliged to have recourse to the munificence and generosity of his friend. To her, when he left Italy, he entrusted the entire charge of his affairs, together with a small sum left to her guidance for the temporary support of his father.

Of his reception at the court of Charles VI., we have a most gratifying account written by the poet himself to a friend at Rome, and the Emperor appears to have been much pleased on finding that Metastasio was of a grave moral character, and in that possessing principles congenial to his own. For the next three years, in his correspondence with the Romanini, we possess almost an autobiography of the bard, as his letters to her were frequent, and contained the account of his occupations, of his pleasures, and his pains. In 1734, he had the misfortune to lose this inestimable counsellor and friend. The Romanini in that year died at Rome, to the last manifesting the truth of her attachment, by bequeathing to him, after the death of her husband, the whole of her wealth, amounting to about 25,000 crowns. Metastasio, however, always abiding by the strictest rules of honour and probity, declined _in toto_ this generous gift, which he transferred altogether to her husband, and this sacrifice, for great sacrifice it was, must be considered highly honourable to the poet’s heart. As to the exact nature of the connexion subsisting between him and Romanini, it must for ever remain a conjecture, and a mere conjecture--whether it was Platonic, or of a tenderer kind, who can pretend to determine? Metastasio, it is true, lived under the same roof with her, both at Rome and Naples, but so did her husband; and the very kind and familiar manner in which the poet writes to the husband, expressing his friendship for the wife, to the wife of his kindliness to the husband, and the sincerity with which he expressed to him his condolence and affliction for her death, would, in any other country but Italy, be thought sufficiently indicative of conjugal happiness. But there, Dr. Burney observes, the female singers generally find it convenient to have a nominal husband, who will fight their battles, and contend with the impresario or manager. And we shall not perhaps be judging too uncharitably of the Romanini, should we incline to the belief that her affection for Metastasio had more in it of the love of woman, than of Platonic attachment. But whether the poet’s friendship for Bulgarini were true or not, his grief for the death of his wife was deep, unfeigned, and lasting. In a letter to him expressing his condolence, he writes: ‘Oppressed by the afflicting news of the death of poor Marianna, I know not how to begin this letter. The tidings are so intolerable to me on so many accounts, that I can devise no means to diminish the acuteness of my sufferings, and therefore I trust you will not accuse me of want of feeling, if I am unable to suggest to you any consolation for your loss, as I have hitherto been totally unequal to finding any for myself.’ Again, to a friend at Rome: ‘I am now placed in the world as in a populous desert, and in that kind of desolation in which a man, if he were transported in his sleep to China or Tartary, would find himself on waking, among people of whose language, inclinations, and manners, he was quite ignorant.’ To his brother, too, he writes: ‘Poor Marianna never will return, and the rest of my life must be wretched, insipid, and sorrowful.’

At what age the Romanini died is unknown, but having attained to the eminence of first singer at Genoa in the year 1712, she was probably much older than Metastasio. The manner of his life at Vienna was but little varied by other events than the production and success of his works. In 1735, he wrote the operas _L’Olimpiade_ and _Demofoonte_, the oratorio of _Giuseppe riconosciuto_, and the canzonet _La Liberta_. In 1734, besides his usual occupations, he was obliged to produce, in the greatest haste, an entertainment for music, to be performed by the archduchesses, and at the same time to assist, direct, and instruct them. ‘They have acted and sung like angels,’ writes the poet, ‘and it was truly sacrilege that the whole world was not permitted to admire them.’ As a return for his trouble, Metastasio was presented with a valuable snuff-box, valued at 40_l._, and of the most exquisite workmanship. This dramatic entertainment was called ‘_Le Grazie vendicate_.’ In the same year, too, he produced, on the Emperor’s birthday, the _Clemenza di Tito_. Both operas were set by Caldara, the state composer. In 1735, he wrote, by command of the Empress Elizabeth, an operetta, with three characters only, to be played by the two archduchesses, and a lady of the court; it was called _Le Cinesi_, and intended as an introduction to a Chinese ballet. In the same year he produced _Il Palladio conservato_, and _Il Sogno di Scipione_, pieces written for the celebration of the Empress’s name-day. They are a kind of birth-day odes; but the fulsomeness of praise is delicately disguised in a dramatic form. In 1736 his _Temistocle_ appeared, set by Caldara; but while this was being performed, he was required to write the opera of _Achille in Sciro_, in the short space of eighteen days, to grace the nuptials of the Archduchess Teresa with the Duke of Lorrain. The drama of _Ciro riconosciuto_ was the production also of this year. In 1737-38-39, nothing new of any note emanated from his pen. In 1740, however, his muse was more propitious; for, besides the opera _Zenobia_, and the oratorio _Isacco_, he wrote _Il Natale di Giove_, and the opera _Attilio Regolo_ for the natal day of Charles VI.; but, as that prince shortly after died, it was laid aside till 1750, when it was set by Hasse for the court at Dresden.

Between the years 1740 and 1745, we find but two complete dramas written by Metastasio, _Antigono_ and _Ipermestra_, the former of these written expressly for the court of Dresden. They were both set to music by Hasse, who ranked high in the favour of the poet as a composer and as a man of genius. His correspondence with the celebrated Farinelli began in 1747. Many of the poet’s letters, breathing affection and confidence, were written to the great singer at Madrid, where, for two successive reigns, he enjoyed the greatest favour. The blessings of peace, after a seven years’ war, produced the opera _Il Re Pastore_; this was followed by _L’Eroe Cinese_. In 1756, at the request of Farinelli, he wrote for the court of Spain an opera, _Nitteti_, which, under the direction of Farinelli, was played with the utmost splendour. The three last operas written by Metastasio were, _Il Trionfo di Clelia_, in 1762; _Romolo ed Ersilia_, in 1765; and _Il Ruggiero_, 1771: the first was performed at Vienna, on the delivery of Isabella, first wife of the Emperor Joseph II.; the second at Inspruck, on the marriage of the grand Duke of Tuscany with Maria, infanta of Spain; and the last at Milan, on the nuptials of the Archduke Ferdinand, with the Princess of Modena; and this finished the dramatic labours of the bard. His other poetical works, which are very numerous, are all replete with elegance, and every beauty of numbers which the language of Italy so sweetly supplies. Of his prose writings, the extracts from Aristotle’s Poetics, and the Ars Poetica of Horace, are the principal. In all his writings the principles of religion and morality are all so chastely preserved, that the extreme of delicacy, the utmost vein of prudery cannot find a sentiment to offend or alarm; and his private life corresponded well with his writings, as he was always found prompt to discourage all tendency to license, to show himself the avowed enemy of disrespect to the ordinances of morality and religion. This being his universal character, the respect in which he was held at Vienna was extreme, while strangers of all ranks were eager to seek his company, attracted by the fame of his genius. Such were the firmness and constancy of his friendships that death could alone dissolve them. The Princess di Belmonte Pignatelli, the Countess d’Althau, who patronized him in his early youth, Count Canali, Baron Hagen, and Count Perlas, who spent all their evenings with him at Vienna during their lives, Farinelli, his correspondent for fifty years, Algarotti, and his brother Leopoldo--all these affections were sincere, and for ever planted in his heart.

On the 1st April, 1782, in the eighty-fourth year of his age, Metastasio was seized with a fever, which, for some time, made him delirious; soon after he recovered his senses, and received the apostolic benediction, which was sent him by the pope, Pius VI. On the 12th, his disease terminated fatally--Metastasio was no more. Though his years had reached eighty-four, his faculties to the time of his death were perfectly entire, and Dr. Burney found him, at the age of seventy-two, looking like a man of fifty, and the handsomest person of his age he had ever seen. On his features were painted genius, goodness, and propriety. He was cautious and modest in his intercourse, and so polite, that he never was known to contradict in his life any body in conversation. Lamented, deplored with the tears of sincerity by all who knew him, Metastasio was interred at Vienna on the 14th April. The last sad offices were performed with splendour by his grateful heir, Joseph Martinez, in despite of the wish of the departed, who had forbidden any pomp.

Metastasio, by all his biographers, is described as eminently the poet of love, and, in general, happy in pourtraying noble and amiable sentiments. It is astonishing with how much ease he moves in lyric poetry, and with what artless language he unites the brightest ornaments of a poet’s fancy. In all his works he stands high; in his operas, unrivalled.

HINTS TO LEADERS AND CONDUCTORS.

_To the_ ~Editor~ _of the_ ~Harmonicon~.

~Sir~,

In your critical remarks on the third vocal concert, in the last No. of the _Harmonicon_ under the head Vocal Society, after pointing out the necessity of selecting a proper position for the conductor, or person who is to give the time, the following short, but expressive sentence occurs: ‘The maestro should be seen by every performer, but not heard. We can with propriety extend this observation to the instrumental part of the orchestra, beseeching both leader and conductor to abstain from such merciless _stamping of feet_, as occurred during the performance of most of the full pieces.’ This, Sir, is excellent, and had you written a volume on the subject you could not, in my opinion, have said more to the purpose, or have made yourself more clearly understood. In fact you have, in few words, given the most judicious and salutary advice, not only to the parties immediately concerned, but to all others (and they are very numerous) to whom it may contingently apply.

Perhaps you will smile at my enthusiasm, when I tell you that most heartily do I wish the foregoing short, but expressive sentence, might be printed in a large type, framed and glazed, and hung up in the sitting-room and bed-chamber (unless one room should unhappily answer both purposes) of every leader and conductor in town and country. I am an Englishman, Mr. Editor, and am proud to witness the splendid talent which many of my countrymen, as vocal and instrumental performers, possess; but, as conductors, (with one or two exceptions,) they do not at present appear to me to have acquired that happy method of conveying their own ideas, or instructions to a large orchestra, which I have more than once seen so skillfully displayed by Moscheles, Hummel, the Chevalier Neukomm, and Mendelssohn. Let any one of these gentlemen be installed maestro, and you will find the band invariably go well, unless, indeed, it be thwarted and checked by the caprice of an overbearing, arbitrary leader: there is no ‘stamping of feet’ with them; but all is conducted in silence. Having studied the score, such a conductor as any one of these relies on himself, and acts with firmness. There is no ambiguity, every motion of the baton is decisive, every glance of the eye expressive, and he makes himself clearly understood by each individual performer. This appears to me, Sir, to be the proper business of the maestro, and of him only. So adieu for the present, Messieurs the Conductors.

And now, for a word or two with the leaders. That ‘stamping of feet,’ Mr. Editor, which you complain of, is, most assuredly, an abominable nuisance, which, strange as it may appear to those of your readers who have not witnessed it, even the Philharmonic Concert, with the best band, perhaps, in Europe, is not entirely free from. I am amazed how any man possessed of common sense, and who is capable of enjoying good music, can so far forget himself, as to be guilty of a practice so glaringly absurd, and there have been times when I have expected the whole band would simultaneously lay down their instruments, and remonstrate against the use of so barbarous a custom. Some years ago, I heard the following anecdote: A very respectable member of the Philharmonic Band obtained permission to take with him to the rehearsal, a blind youth, who had a great passion for music, and, being self-taught, played on the violin. This lad had never in his life heard any music of a high class, such, for instance, as an overture, or symphony; nor, indeed, had he ever before heard a full band. Judge then of the delight he experienced upon hearing a symphony performed by the Philharmonic orchestra! yet, in the midst of his raptures, he complained of a noise which at intervals disturbed his attention and greatly annoyed him, and very innocently exclaimed, ‘what a pity it is that mill should be so near the concert-room!’ Alas! poor boy, the noise which so much offended him, was produced by the leader’s foot-clack.

I will venture to ask, did the elder Cramer, Salomon, or Viotti--men of as great talent, I apprehend, as any in the present day--did they, or either of them, annoy both the audience and the band by beating the time, as it were, with a wooden shoe? If I may form an opinion by what I have seen and heard of Mr. Weichsel, (who may be considered as belonging to the same school,) I should answer--No.

Then, Sir, there is another habit which of late years seems to have become fashionable with at least some of our leaders, but which, in my opinion, is as useless and offensive as the ‘stamping of feet.’ The custom I allude to is, for the leader to leave off playing at certain intervals, and then, assuming what I presume he thinks a very elegant attitude, and commanding position, flourishing his bow backwards and forwards most heroically. So that, while this species of charlatanism is going on, there are, in fact, two conductors, and no leader! I presume this is done either to catch the attention of the ladies, or to impress on the minds of the unthinking part of the audience, an idea of his importance and zeal. I have more than once shut my eyes to avoid looking at this--what shall I call it?--coquetting with the audience--and have exclaimed in the words of Shakspeare--‘that’s villainous, and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it.’ I have always entertained the notion that the leader, or principal violin, should _play his part_, and that he, like every other performer, should take the time from the conductor[49]. This, I understand, was the method pursued by M. Chelard, the maestro at the German opera last season at the King’s Theatre. He proved himself an excellent conductor; and I have been told by one of the best musical critics in this country that, with confessedly an inferior band, (for he had not the assistance of Nicholson, Willman, Platt, Lindley, or Dragonetti,) the orchestral accompaniments were much more effective, and in every respect superior to the Italian Opera.

I am happy to close these remarks, by stating that the same judicious and rational plan appeared to be adopted at the second Philharmonic concert this season; the consequence was, that two very difficult symphonies of Spohr and Beethoven were most admirably performed.

I am, Mr. Editor,
Your most obedient servant,
Z.

MAELZEL’S NEW METRONOME.

Report made to the Academy of the Fine Arts, 20th October, 1832, by
its Musical Committee on the Third Metronome of Maelzel.

~Messieurs~,

You have heard read the two first reports made to you by your musical committee on the Metronome of Maelzel, the first dated 14th October, 1815, and the second 23d May, 1818. Your committee are of opinion, that in the two former reports the utility of this ingenious instrument, and the perfection of its mechanism, have been so fully demonstrated, that it will be needless to fatigue your attention by further dissertation on those points. What your committee now beg to call your attention to is, a still further improvement which the author has added to his instrument.

From the time of Sauveur to the present, all the time-keepers and metronomes have been limited to marking the time to be occupied by each bar of a composition, and all have performed this in a uniform manner; but, as in our musical system, the bars are divided into accented and unaccented parts, and none of the instruments hitherto invented indicated this division, they were, if the comparison may be permitted, like foot-measures divided into spaces by a number of equidistant parallel lines, but on which the marks indicating inches, half-inches, &c. had been totally omitted. The indications of the accented and unaccented parts of a bar can only be felt in relation to the bar itself, of which they form subdivisions, therefore they cannot be classed as accented or unaccented until the beating of the bar itself has been heard.

Mr. Maelzel has long since adopted the idea of adding to his metronomes this indication of beaten time in every kind of measure, whether 2, 3, 4, or 6-8, and whatever might be the rapidity or slowness of the time; but while he was occupied at a distance from France in bringing his project to perfection, M. Bienaimé, a watchmaker at Amiens, submitted to the examination of the Conservatory of Music an instrument of a very complicated construction, intended to attain the same object. Unfortunately, notwithstanding all the talent the inventor had bestowed on his new metronome, he had not any mechanical principle for its foundation, so that it is liable to be continually out of order. The balance-wheel, which he has adopted as a regulator, is set in motion by a straight spring, which is equivalent to the spiral spring of a watch; and according to the greater or less tension of this spring, the vibrations of the balance-wheel are slower or more rapid. This spring is, therefore, the most important part of the instrument; and to secure its regularity of action, it ought not to be subject to any alterations; but this is not the case,--for the spring, which, in performing its functions, describes large arcs, will lose its flexibility, and no longer give the same number of vibrations for the same divisions on the dial. Besides, the dial-plate can only be divided according to the force of the spring, and if that gives or breaks, a new spring will require a new division of the dial-plate; the one cannot be renewed without the other.

Mr. Maelzel, by adopting as the foundation of his contrivance the unchangeable laws of the pendulum, has constructed a machine at once simple, free from all incertitude, and not subject to any derangement in its action. This last metronome has moreover the advantage of a much greater extent in its power of marking both slow and quick time. In the old instruments the slowest movement that could be marked was 50, and the fastest 160; the present extends as far as 40 for slow movements, and 208 for quick, that is to say, 10 vibrations slower and 48 quicker than the precedent ones. The improvements made by Mr. Maelzel in his metronome, instead of increasing, have tended to diminish its cost; and we are of opinion that the degree of facility with which new and useful ideas in the cultivation of the arts and sciences can be circulated, ought to be taken into consideration; for, to render this circulation easy, it is necessary that the savant, or artist, who thinks it his duty to employ any of these new methods, should be able to acquire that power at a moderate expense. We are of opinion, therefore, without intending in any way to injure M. Bienaimé, that the metronome of M. Maelzel deserves the preference on many accounts; priority of idea, simplicity of construction, regularity of movement, solidity, elegance of form, and diminution of price, even with the addition of the mechanism for marking the time as beaten. Everything, in fact, appears to authorize our proposing that the academy should accord its approbation to the report we have now the honour to make; for, in our opinion, M. Maelzel, by this ingenious instrument, of which he has entrusted the construction to M. Wagner, one of the ablest mechanics in the capital, has rendered to the musical art a service which may be compared to that heretofore rendered to navigation by the invention of the mariner’s compass.

Signed, ~Cherubini.~
~Lesuer.~
~Paer.~
~Berton~, _Recorder_.
~Debret~, _President_.
~Berton~, _Vice-President_.
~Quatremere de Quincy~, _Secretary_.

AN AMATEUR’S MUSICAL PARTY AT THE FREEMASONS’ TAVERN.

The name of an accomplished Devonshire baronet (Sir John Rogers) has frequently appeared in the _Harmonicon_, during the last two or three years; those, therefore, of its readers who have not the pleasure of his personal acquaintance, are, nevertheless, fully aware of his musical acquirements. But only his more immediate friends and associates, who have heard most if not all of his anthems, madrigals, and glees, can justly appreciate his merit as a composer.

On Saturday the 6th of April, a musical party dined with this distinguished amateur at the Freemasons’ Tavern. Upwards of forty of his private and professional friends were invited, among whom were Lord Saltoun, Mr. Capel, Sir Andrew Bernard, Mr. Rogers, Mr. Gwilt, Mr. Ayrton, Mr. Vaughan, Mr. C. Freeling, Mr. Milne, Mr. W. Linley, Col. Rogers, Mr. Sanford, the Rev. F. Hamilton, Mr. Horsley, Mr. Terrail, Mr. Oliphant, Mr. T. Welsh, Mr. J. B. Sale, Mr. Bellamy, Mr. Leete, Mr. Hawes, Mr. King, Mr. Goss, Mr. J. Jolly, Mr. Pye, Mr. Novello, Mr. Turle, Mr. Horncastle, Mr. Hobbs, Mr. A. Novello, Mr. C. Evans, Mr. M’Murdie, Mr. Nicks, Mr. Bates, Mr. Elliott, Mr. Brownsmith, Mr. Streete, Mr. Walmisley, Mr. Gedye, Mr. Spencer, Mr. Moxley, &c. An excellent dinner was put on the table at half-past five, the worthy host, of course, presiding. When the cloth was withdrawn, a Grace, ‘For these and all his mercies,’ composed by the president, (a canon three in one,) was sung by all the company, and not only pronounced, but felt by every one present, to be an exceedingly clever, effective production, remarkable not merely for technical skill, but also for the elegant simplicity, the vocality of the subject; and melody, so necessary an ingredient in all good compositions, is but rarely to be found in that species denominated canon.

After grace, the last Gresham prize-anthem, for five voices and chorus, composed by Mr. Kellow John Pye of Exeter, was performed, and received with richly-deserved plaudits, which must have proved highly gratifying and encouraging to the author, who was present and gave the time of the several movements. The other pieces sung during the evening, thirteen in number, came--many of them quite fresh--from the pen of the talented baronet.

Our limits do not allow us to enter critically into the merits of each composition; to pass them all in silence would be unjust; and yet it is difficult to say which is best where all show such superiority of genius, knowledge, and taste, and we mention the four following merely as specimens or samples of the whole. 1. A canon, six in two, ‘Lighten our darkness,’ a very masterly production, such as none but a good theorist, possessed of a rich imagination, could have written. 2. ‘When I listen to thy voice,’ an admirable glee for five voices. We had heard this before, at the Hanover Square Rooms, and hope frequently to meet with it. 3. ‘Hears not, my Phillis,’ and 4. ‘Oh! how I long my careless limbs to lay,’ two madrigals, each for six voices, of which we will remark--parodying what Dr. Johnson says of Homer and his translator Pope--if the author of ‘Sweet honey-sucking bees’ were to class his successors, he would assign a very high place to the writer of these madrigals, without requiring any other evidence of genius.

By a reference to the list of visiters it will be seen how many of our principal vocalists were present; and to these were added four of the young choristers of Westminster Abbey: it is, therefore, unnecessary to state, except in justice to them, that the several pieces were executed in the most perfect manner. The performers exerted themselves _con amore_, and the pleasure they so evidently felt was doubly enjoyed by those who listened to the united excellence of composition and performance.

N.

* * * * *

Our conjecture is that the foregoing comes from the pen of a musician, and we are rejoiced to find a professional man able and willing to proclaim the merit of an amateur composer. It is too much the practice in the present day for musicians _par métier_ to undervalue, to sneer at the compositions of such as do not directly or indirectly gain a livelihood by their productions, it not being considered--or perhaps the fact is endeavoured to be concealed--that those who to a sufficiency of musical science and experience add the fruits of education and cultivation, are much more likely to excel than such as have no knowledge beyond their own art; or, rather, who know their own art but imperfectly; for to understand any art or science well, it is absolutely necessary to have acquired a considerable share of subsidiary knowledge, not only for the sake of bringing that knowledge to bear upon the main object, but also because the mind is invigorated in proportion to the quantity of information it has received. The compositions of the worthy baronet, to whose hospitality as well as talents we are, it is our belief, indebted for the above pleasant communication, show how far an intellect strengthened by real learning, and refined by many accomplishments, soars above minds not so improved. Of the madrigal, ‘Oh! how I long my weary limbs to lay,’ we have no reluctance in saying, that any living professional composer, who would attempt to compete with it, must have more confidence in his own ability than we have in his chance of successful rivalry.

MR. Z. T. PURDAY’S REPLY TO MRS. MILLARD’S LETTER.

_To the_ ~Editor~ _of the_ ~Harmonicon~.

Sir, _45, High Holborn, April 12th. 1833_.

I was somewhat surprised on glancing over the pages of the last number of the _Harmonicon_ at finding a letter signed ‘Virtue Millard,’ commencing thus:--‘As I wish to avoid all communications with Mr. Z. T. Purday, Music publisher, &c. &c.’ followed by a charge of my having sent her an impertinent message! Now, although I have the honour of being personally acquainted with most of the professors of any eminence, both in the metropolis and throughout the kingdom, I have never enjoyed or sought the felicity of being introduced to that lady; nor am I aware of ever having authorised any person to convey to her a message of any kind, much less of an ‘impertinent’ character; the ‘offence’ to which she alludes, as well as the ‘accompanying impertinence,’ must, therefore, have been the work of some idle gossip. It is true I have an imperfect recollection of some person having called on me soon after my publication of Mr. T. Haynes Bayly’s ‘Songs for the Grave and Gay,’ stating, he had left the volume with Mrs. Millard for her perusal, which she returned, remarking that there was nothing in it worthy her notice, and that the work would never _take_ with the musical public. Preferring, however, your judgment, (see ‘Harmonicon’ for April, 1831,) which I am happy to say has been borne out by a result perfectly satisfactory to me, and diametrically opposed to that lady’s gratuitous opinion, I think it very probable I might not, in return, have complimented either her musical taste or _critical acumen_.

A word respecting the ‘French air’ and I have done:--I beg to say that I never knew Mr. Cross had arranged it until he brought the M.S. to me and requested to have it engraved _on his own account_, neither have I seen the plates, or a single copy of the work since the proofs were sent to that gentleman.

Whether Mrs. Millard had ever seen or heard Rode’s melody, with the well known association of Catalani’s name, or, in examining the ‘Songs for the Grave and Gay,’ had subsequently discovered in ‘Upbraid me not,’ (which is adapted to the ‘French air’ in question,) a great similarity to her own ballad, and hence the pretext for the unwarrantable use of my name, I now leave to her own feelings and the judgment of your readers; regretting that I have been obliged to trespass so much upon the pages of your valuable journal.

I am, Sir,
Your most obedient Servant,
~Zenas T. Purday~.

MEMOIRS OF DR. BURNEY, BY HIS DAUGHTER MAD. D’ARBLAY.

[Continued from page 75.]

Of the publication of Volume II. of Dr. Burney’s great work we have the following account:--

“So many years had elapsed since the appearance of the first
volume, and the murmurs of the subscribers were so general for
the publication of the second, that the earnestness of the
doctor to fulfil his engagement became such as to sicken him of
almost every occupation that turned him from its pursuit. Yet
uninterrupted attention grew more than ever difficult; for as his
leisure, through the double claims of his profession and his work,
diminished, his celebrity increased; and the calls upon it, as
usual, from the wayward taste of public fashion for what is hard to
obtain, were perpetual, were even clamorous; and he had constantly
a long list of petitioning parents, awaiting a vacant hour, upon
any terms that he could name, and at any part of the day.

“He had always some early pupil who accepted his attendance at
eight o’clock in the morning; and a strong instance has been given
of its being seized upon even at seven[50]; and, during the height
of the season for fashionable London residence, his tour from house
to house was scarcely ever finished sooner than eleven o’clock at
night.

“But so urgent grew now the spirit of his diligence for the
progress of his work, that he not only declined all invitations to
the hospitable boards of his friends, he even resisted the social
hour of repast at his own table; and took his solitary meal in his
coach, while passing from scholar to scholar; for which purpose he
had sandwiches prepared in a flat tin box; and wine and water ready
mixed, in a wickered pint bottle, put constantly into the pockets
of his carriage.

“If, at this period, Dr. Burney had been as intent and as skilful
in the arrangement and the augmentation of his income, as he was
industrious to procure, and assiduous to merit, its increase, he
might have retired from business, its toils and its cares, while
yet in the meridian of life; with a comfortable competence for
its decline, and adequate portions for his daughters. With regard
to his sons, it was always his intention to bestow upon them good
educations, and to bring them up to honourable professions; and
then to leave them to form, as he had done himself, a dynasty of
their own. But, unfortunately for all parties, he had as little
turn as time for that species of speculation which leads to
financial prosperity; and he lived chiefly upon the principal of
the sums which he amassed; and which he merely, as soon as they
were received, locked up in his bureau for facility of usage; or
stored largely at his banker’s as an asylum of safety: while the
cash which he laid out in any sort of interest was so little, as to
make his current revenue almost incredibly below what might have
been expected from the remuneration of his labours; or what seemed
due to his situation in the world.

“But, with all his honourable toil, his philosophic privations,
and his heroic self-denials, _The Second Volume of the History of
Music_, from a continually enlarging view of its capability of
improvement, did not see the light till the year 1782.

“Then, however, it was received with the same favour and the same
honours that had graced the entrance into public notice of its
predecessor. The literary world seemed filled with its praise;
the booksellers demanded ample impressions; and her Majesty Queen
Charlotte, with even augmented graciousness, accepted its homage at
court.

* * * * *

“Relieved, by this publication, from a weight upon his spirits and
his delicacy, which, for more than six years had burthened and
disturbed them, he prudently resolved against working any longer
under the self-reproachful annoyance of a promised punctuality
which his position in life disabled him from observing, by
fettering himself with any further tie of time to his subscribers
for the remaining volumes.”

He renounced, therefore, the excess of studious labour with which, hitherto,

his toil
O’er books consum’d the midnight oil;

and restored himself, in a certain degree, to his family, his friends, and a general and genial enjoyment of his existence. And hailed was the design, by all who knew him, with an energetic welcome.

“And yet, in breathing thus a little from so unremitting an ardour; and allowing himself to bask awhile in that healing sunshine of applause which administers more relief to the brain-shattered and mind-exhausted patient, than all the _materia medica_ of the Apothecaries’ Hall; so small still, and so fugitive were his intervals of relaxation, that the diminished exertion, which to him was gentle rest, would, to almost any other, have still seemed overstrained occupation, and a life of drudgery.

“With no small pleasure, now, he resumed his wonted place at the opera, at concerts, and in circles of musical excellence; which then were at their height of superiority, because presided over by the royal and accomplished legislator of taste, fashion, and elegance, the Prince of Wales[51]; who frequently deigned to call upon Dr. Burney for his opinion upon subjects of harmony: and even condescended to summon him to his royal vicinity, both at the opera and at concerts, that they might ‘compare notes,’ in his own gracious expression, upon what was performing.”

In the following year the Doctor, through the influence of Mr. Burke, obtained the situation of organist to Chelsea College, to which chambers are attached, and of which the salary was raised upon this occasion from 20_l._ to 50_l._ per annum. The appointment was announced in the following handsome letter by Mr. Burke himself:--

“_To Dr. Burney._

“I had yesterday the pleasure of voting you, my dear Sir, a salary
of fifty pounds a year, as organist to Chelsea Hospital. But as
every increase of salary made at our Board is subject to the
approbation of the Lords of the Treasury, what effect the change
now made may have I know not;--but I do not think any Treasury will
rescind it.

“This was _pour faire la bonne bouche_ at parting with office; and
I am only sorry that it did not fall in my way to show you a more
substantial mark of my high respect for you and Miss Burney.

“I have the honour to be, &c.

“_Horse Guards_, Dec. 9, 1783.

“~Edm. Burke.~

“I really could not do this business at a more early period, else
it would have been done infallibly.”

It is known that Doctor Burney wrote an account of the Commemoration of Handel: on this subject his memorialist is more diffuse than on most others which relate alone to music. The following remarks on his presenting the copyright to the Musical Fund are very just, and the following details respecting the interest his Majesty took in the progress and matter of the work, not only new, but highly interesting.

“Not small in the scales of justice must be reckoned this gift of
the biographical and professional talents of Dr. Burney to the
musical fund. A man who held his elevation in his class of life
wholly from himself; a father of eight children, who all looked
up to him as their prop; a professor who, at fifty-eight years
of age, laboured at his calling with the indefatigable diligence
of youth; and who had no time, even for his promised history,
but what he spared from his repasts or his repose; to make any
offering, gratuitously, of a work which, though it might have no
chance of sale when its éclat of novelty was passed, must yet,
while that short éclat shone forth, have a sale of high emolument,
manifested, perhaps, as generous a spirit of charity, and as ardent
a love of the lyre, as could well, by a person in so private a line
of life, be exhibited.

“Dr. Burney was, of course, so entirely at home on a subject such
as this, that he could only have to wait the arrival of his foreign
materials to go to work; and only begin working to be in sight of
his book’s completion: but the business of the plates could not be
executed quite so rapidly; on the contrary, though the composition
was finished in a few weeks, it was not till the following year
that the engravings were ready for publication.

“This was a laxity of progress that by no means kept pace with the
eagerness of the directors, or the expectations of the public; and
the former frequently made known their disappointment through the
channel of the Earl of Sandwich; who, at the same time, entered
into correspondence with the Doctor, relative to future anniversary
concerts upon a similar plan, though upon a considerably lessened
scale to that which had been adopted for the Commemoration[52].

“The inconveniences, however, of this new labour, though by no
means trifling, because absorbing all the literary time of the
Doctor, to the great loss and procrastination of his musical
history, had compensations, that would have mitigated much superior
evil.