Chapter XVIII: Part I: of this work consists of ‘Practical Rules,’ &c., which are (2)

_Tancredi_ was the second opera got up for Madame ~Pasta~, and in this she afforded even more pleasure to real connoisseurs than in the part of _Anna Bolena_, for the music is not only goad, but to be reckoned among ~Rossini’s~ best. Her _entrata_ was splendid; the recitative ‘Oh! Patria!’ and aria, ‘Tu che accendi,’ with its popular second movement, were perfect. Madame ~Cinti’s~ _Amenaide_ was, as regards singing, not less excellent; and her very different voice, so far from being a disadvantage on the present occasion, operated favourably, by giving a greater individuality to each character. ~Rubini’s~ _Argirio_ was a continued series of roulades, except when, by sudden bursts of his voice, he made those near him start, and by pianos alternating with these, he became inaudible to all but such as he had alarmed by his sforzatos. We have never entertained but one opinion of this singer, who has been so vaunted in the French journals, and find that an able contemporary agrees with us. The _Spectator_ says of this performer, that--

‘Of true feeling he has not a particle. _Per esempio_--when he visits his daughter in prison and in chains, and she asks--

‘Tu quì, o padre! a che vieni?’

his reply was delivered with as much indifference and flippancy as if the question had related to the weather, or the last new bonnet; and yet the words are these--

‘---- ad abbracciarti;
A seguirti alla tomba. In sen di padre
Si tenta in vano suffocar natura.’

The truth is, that with singers like Rubini, the art of dramatic singing is a mere effort of the _muscles_; with Pasta, one of the _mind_.’

~Zuchelli~ had but little to do, but did that well. Many changes were made in the opera; original pieces were left out, strange and not appropriate ones put in, just as the caprice of the singers dictated; and the choruses were wretched. _Il Pirata_, another old opera, is getting up, and this is certainly Bellini’s best work; indeed the only one of his known to this theatre that has the smallest merit.

Drury-Lane Theatre.

What properly is called the _English_ stage is at its last gasp. Covent Garden is closed except to foreign performers: its company has been obliged to seek refuge in a theatre which most of our provincial towns would scoff at. Mr. Arnold has prudently withdrawn from the Adelphi, and his performers are doing what they can for themselves; that is, just keeping that small house open three times a week. Mr. Morris feels the necessity of closing his doors when the two _national_ theatres, the _legitimate_, the patent theatres, are opened by foreigners, and nothing but German, or Italian, or French productions heard therein. A Sunday paper of the 5th ult. well observes, speaking of the banishment of the English drama from Covent Garden theatre,--‘This feared event has, at length come to pass. What Laporte means to do with Covent Garden we have not heard; but he is in treaty with Paganini, and we suppose that he will resort to some other foreign performances. It is a singular fact, and it can hardly fail to produce its effect, that ~OUR NATIONAL DRAMA~ was finally expelled from one of our great theatres, while “a native of France was its lessee.” What would have been said by the French, if an English actor had been director of the _Théâtre Francais_, and had adopted measures by which the plays of Corneille, Racine, and Moliere were driven to the Port St. Martin?’ And with what show of reason do certain writers in our journals exclaim against the salaries of English _stars_, as they are called, when they know, but are silent, that Madame Devrient receives nearly three times as much per night, and Madame Malibran more than seven times, what our first and best performers could ever obtain? Farren, Braham, and Liston, it is said, have, or had, twenty pounds a night: Madame Devrient has at least _fifty_; and Madame Malibran _one hundred and fifty_, though she does draw enough to pay her own salary!

* * * * *

On the 1st of May, the Italian opera of ~Bellini~, _La Sonnambula_, with English words adapted to it, was produced at this theatre, for the debut of Mad. ~Malibran~. The drama is well known to our readers; the music is of the most flimsy kind, and worthless in every sense of the word, whether as relates to art, or to the theatre. Our English operatic composers have not much distinguished themselves of late, and the undoubted superiority of the German and French schools has generated a taste among all classes in London for foreign music; but this is no reason why anything so feeble as the work now under notice should be patiently listened to, nay applauded. However, we will not waste our reader’s time by further notice of so inferior a production. The acting of Mad. ~Malibran~ as the somnambulist, is of a very mixed kind; sometimes she surprises by traits of extraordinary genius, and occasionally she exhibits extravagancies that prove a want of any real knowledge of the first principles of the histrionic art. As a singer, she certainly is much more perfect. Nature has bestowed on her a voice rarely equalled, and education has made her an excellent musician. Her natural taste we believe to be good, but, following the fashion of the day, it has become vitiated, and her ornaments are so redundant as often to be ridiculous. These however, are so nicely executed, that they seduce even the best critics, and lead them to applaud what in their sober senses they could not but disapprove.

Mad. ~Malibran~ has since appeared in the English opera _The Devil’s Bridge_, as _Count Belino_, and if her roulades, her admirably performed freaks, are absurd in Italian arias, how much more so in English songs! She entirely failed in this attempt, and though the opera was performed a second time, the public, prejudiced though they now are in favour of foreigners, whatever their pretensions, could not be brought to witness another such performance.

Beethoven’s _Fidelio_ has been produced here, Mad. ~Schrœder Devrient~ and M. ~Haitzinger~ in the characters they sustained so well last year at the King’s Theatre. The number of subscription and benefit concerts which we feel it a duty to attend, have prevented our yet being present at the performance of this opera at Drury Lane.

THE MUSIC OF THE PRESENT NUMBER.

Who the composer is of the trio, ‘Like a bright cherub,’ has long been a matter of dispute, and the point most likely will never now be settled by any decisive proof. The question, however, lies in a narrow compass, for it is agreed that to either Handel or John Christopher Smith[57] the work belongs. Prevailing opinion ascribes it to the former, and we believe correctly, judging from internal evidence as well as traditional testimony. _Gideon_, the oratorio of which it forms a part, was a pasticcio, a selection of music by various authors, adapted to a dramatic poem by Smith, but when and where performed the most diligent inquiry has not enabled us to ascertain; in fact, no record whatever of it seems to be in existence; it was never published, and we cannot learn that a copy of it remains. The trio now inserted is the only part of it that ever came under our view, and was printed some fifty years ego by Birchall, about the time when sung at the Ancient Concerts. The sweet melody of this, and its effective simplicity when the three parts come together, ought to recommend it to private musical parties.

* * * * *

The aria by Mozart is No. 20 of his thirty _Gesaenge_, or detached airs not appertaining to any of his operas, published by Breitkopf and Härtel, at Leipzig.

* * * * *

The two movements by Avison are from his fourth Concerto, Book IV.--a beautiful and clever composition, still performed at the Ancient Concerts, and always with applause. To these we may apply an observation which appears in Avison’s Preface to his Concertos,--‘If music be composed agreeably to principles founded in nature, the true judge of harmony always approves it, whatever name, style, or national character it bears.’

* * * * *

The _aria_, as he calls it, of Beethoven, is one of the most exquisite _morceaux_ of this great master. There is a calm dignity in it which excites a wish that it had been set to words--to poetry worthy of it. The two variations, selected from many, are not less striking proofs of the richness of his fancy.

* * * * *

The song by Labarre is from a recent number of _La Revue Musicale_. The originality of this recommended it to us, and will, we have no doubt, be apparent to all; though some may at first think it rather too elaborate for a _chanson_. It will, however, be more admired the more it is known.

[Sidenote: July, 1833.]

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES OF JOHN TRAVERS, WILLIAM HAYES, ~Mus.~ D., THOMAS SAUNDERS DUPUIS, ~Mus.~ D., ~and~ EDMUND AYRTON, ~Mus.~ D.

John Travers received his musical education in St. George’s Chapel, Windsor, and having gained the good will of Dr. Godolphin, Dean of St. Paul’s and Provost of Eton College, was by him put apprentice to Dr. Greene. About the year 1725 he succeeded Kelway as organist of St. Paul’s, Covent Garden, and subsequently became organist of Fulham. On the decease of Jonathan Martin, in 1737, Travers was appointed organist of the Chapels Royal, when he relinquished his situation at Fulham. He died in 1758, and his successor in the King’s Chapel was Dr. Boyce.

‘Travers,’ says Sir John Hawkins, who knew him well, ‘was a sound musician; he commenced an early acquaintance with Dr. Pepusch, and received some assistance from him in the course of his studies, which by sedulous application he was very careful to improve. In the Chapel books are sundry anthems of his composition; but as composer he is best known to the world by eighteen Canzonets, being verses and songs taken from the posthumous works of Prior, which he set for two and three voices, in a style as elegant as it is original. Besides these he published the whole book of Psalms for one, two, three, four, and five voices, with a thorough-bass for the harpsichord[58].’

Dr. Burney, speaking of Travers, says, ‘His compositions, however pure the harmony, can only be ranked with pieces of mechanism, which labour alone may produce, without the assistance of genius[59]’. But this criticism is no less inconsiderate than severe. To his compositions for the church it may apply, but his canzonets--many of them at least--have stood the test of time, and, popular as they were when first brought forth, are still as much as ever admired for their genius, their originality, as well as their beauty and contrivance, by all impartial judges of English music; among whom Dr. Burney certainly cannot properly be reckoned, so strong were his prejudices in favour of the Italian school; though latterly the German composers, Haydn especially, had some share of his esteem.

In Arnold’s _Collection of Cathedral Music_, are a Morning Service, a Te Deum, and one Anthem, by Travers, which do not exhibit any creative powers: his best sacred composition is the anthem, ‘Ascribe unto the Lord,’ and this is still occasionally performed in the King’s Chapel.

* * * * *

~William Hayes~, Doctor in Music, was born at Gloucester, in 1707, and giving early proofs of a musical disposition, was admitted a chorister of the cathedral, under Mr. Hine, the organist, where as a boy he early distinguished himself as a solo singer, and soon arrived at a high degree of excellence as an organ-player. On quitting Gloucester, he was appointed organist of Shrewsbury, and shortly afterwards succeeded to the same situation in the Cathedral of Worcester. But after the lapse of a few years, a vacancy occurring in the office of organist and master of the choristers at Magdalen College, Oxford, he obtained that appointment, which having been the ultimate object of his ambition, he retained till his death. In 1735 he proceeded to a Bachelor’s degree in music, and some years after, on the death of Mr. Goodson, was elected Professor of Music to the University. On the opening of the Radcliffe Library, in 1749, he was honoured with a doctor’s degree, to which he was presented by Dr. Bradley, Savilian Professor of Astronomy, who, in an elegant Latin speech, represented him not only as a man eminent in his faculty, but as possessed of other estimable qualities, among which sweetness of temper was mentioned as not the least remarkable.

In 1753 Dr. Hayes published his ‘Remarks on Mr. Avison’s Essay on Musical Expression,’ which were drawn from him in consequence of what he considered a covert attack on Handel by the author of that well-known, and in many respects able, critical work; but he here manifested more knowledge of his subject than control of temper; and his observations,--though many of them are very just, while some are rather hypercritical,--lose much of their force from the asperity of language in which they were uttered, a fault only to be accounted for, in one of so mild a disposition, from his enthusiastic admiration of the illustrious composer whom he vindicated.

On the establishment of the Catch-Club, Dr. Hayes, in 1773, obtained three out of the six prizes given that year, one of his successful compositions being that exquisitely beautiful but brief piece of simple counterpoint, the Glee, ‘Melting airs soft joys inspire.’ This, and the lovely Round, ‘Wind, gentle evergreen,’ are enough to transmit his name to posterity, had he produced nothing else; but his _Cathedral Music in Score_, comprising a full service and upwards of twenty anthems, published after his decease by his son, Dr. Philip Hayes, will continue to be highly valued so long as this species of composition shall continue in use. His Canon, ‘Let’s drink, and let’s sing together,’ is mentioned by Dr. Burney (in Rees’ Cyclopædia) as ‘the most pleasant of those laboured compositions which go under the name of Canon.’

Dr. Hayes, after suffering three years from the effects of a paralytic stroke, died in 1777, and was succeeded in all his appointments at Oxford by his above-mentioned son[60].

* * * * *

~Thomas Saunders Dupuis~, Doctor in Music, was in 1733 born in this country, though his parents were natives of France. His father held some situation at court under George II., and this probably was the reason why his son was placed in the Chapel Royal. The first rudiments of his education were received from Mr. Gates. He afterwards became a pupil of Travers, at that time organist of the King’s Chapel, and for whom, in the early part of his life, he officiated as deputy.

‘On the death of Dr. Boyce, in 1779, Mr. Dupuis was appointed organist and composer to the Chapel Royal; and it is probable that the Bishop of London (Lowth) never exercised his taste and judgment more properly than by nominating so worthy a man to so respectable a situation.’ _Bingley’s Musical Biography_, ii. 215.

In 1784 he was named as one of the assistant-directors of the Commemoration of Handel; and in 1790 was admitted to the degree of Doctor in Music by the University of Oxford. He died in consequence of taking an excessive dose of opium, at his house in Park Lane, on the 17th of June, 1796. His successors were Mr. Knyvett, senior, as organist of the Royal Chapels, and Mr. Attwood as composer to his Majesty.

Dr. Dupuis published several compositions, among which his _Organ Pieces_ and two _Sets of Chants_ are the most valuable; but his reputation is more permanently based on his services and anthems, written for the use of the King’s Chapel, a selection of which was printed after his death, in two handsome volumes, by his pupil and friend, John Spencer, Esq., son-in-law and nephew to the late Duke of Marlborough. These consist of four Services, and fourteen Anthems in score; and in Page’s _Harmonia Sacra_ are two other of his Anthems, ‘The Lord, even the most mighty God,’ and ‘I cried unto the Lord,’ which were published during the life of the author.

Great knowledge and taste are more conspicuous in Dr. Dupuis’ compositions than any very great brilliancy of genius; but they are by no means deficient in invention, though this was curbed by his devotedness to the school of music in which he had been educated, and of which he was to the last a most uncompromising defender. His Services, particularly those in ~E~ flat and ~C~, are as beautiful in melody, as they are skilful, considered as specimens of writing in parts. Of his anthems, ‘The souls of the righteous,’ ‘Bow down thine ear,’ and ‘Be thou my judge,’ will long continue as records of his ability as a harmonist; and ‘The Lord is my shepherd,’ ‘Lord, what love have I unto thy law,’ together with ‘Teach me, O Lord,’ can never cease to please the admirers of graceful, flowing air. As a performer on the organ, he was excelled by no Englishman of his time; his extemporaneous fugues were the admiration of all lovers of this kind of music, and drew multitudes to hear him at the conclusion of the service at the Royal Chapel.

Dr. Dupuis was a most worthy and amiable man, successful in worldly matters, but unfortunate in his family. He followed his eldest son (a clergyman) to the grave, and bequeathed a handsome fortune to an only remaining one, who thoughtlessly dissipated the whole of it in his power, and died at an early age.

* * * * *

~Edmund Ayrton~, Doctor in Music,--who closes the list of Masters of the children of the Chapels Royal, to the end of the eighteenth century[61],--‘was born in 1734, at Ripon, of which borough his father was an active and upright magistrate, whose three immediate ancestors held, successively, the livings of Nidd and Stainley, within the liberty of that town. He was intended for the church, and received his education at the free grammar-school of his native place, where, during five years, he was a contemporary of Beilby Porteus, afterwards bishop of London. But his father, finding it prudent to indulge his son’s natural inclination for music, placed him under the instruction of Dr. Nares, then organist of the cathedral of York. At an early age he was elected organist, auditor, and _rector chori_ of the collegiate church of Southwell, in Nottinghamshire, where he married a lady of good family. He quitted that place in 1764, upon being appointed gentleman of the Chapel Royal; shortly after which he was installed a vicar-choral of St. Paul’s Cathedral, and subsequently became one of the lay-clerks of Westminster Abbey.

‘In 1780 he was promoted, by Bishop Lowth, to the office of master of the children of his Majesty’s Chapels, on the resignation of his friend Dr. Nares. In 1784 the University of Cambridge conferred on him the degree of Doctor in Music; and some time after he was admitted _ad eundem_ by the University of Oxford. His exercise was a grand anthem, for a full orchestra, which merited and gained so much praise, that it was ordered to be performed, with a complete band, in St. Paul’s Cathedral, on the 29th of July, 1784, the day of the General Thanksgiving for the peace. This was afterwards published in score. In the same year he was chosen one of the assistant-directors of the Commemoration of Handel, in Westminster Abbey, which situation he filled at all the succeeding performances in that venerable building, and took a very active part in their management. In 1805 he relinquished the mastership of the children of the Chapel, and was succeeded by John Stafford Smith, Esq., having been allowed for many years previous to perform the duties of his other appointments by deputy. He died in 1808, and his remains were deposited in the cloisters of Westminster Abbey, near those of his wife and several of his children.

‘Dr. Ayrton was an excellent musician, of which his compositions for the church bear indubitable evidence[62]. The performance of these has been chiefly confined to the Royal Chapel, but the publication of them, which has long been expected, would usefully augment the musical resources of our various choirs, and add greatly to the reputation of their author.’ (_Dictionary of Musicians._)

HARMONICS OF THE VIOLIN.

In the _Westminster Review_ for last January, is an article, under the above title, which, judging from its clearness and simplicity, we are inclined to believe must have proceeded from the very able pen of the critic who recently reviewed in that work the scientific and clever treatise on the Enharmonic Guitar[63].

The author, wishing to render the doctrine of harmonics comprehensible to persons of all capacities, has imitated, in a very felicitous manner, the style of a writer who, whatever opinion may be entertained of him in other respects, allowedly has the art of making himself understood by every one, however difficult or intricate the matter on which he treats; and in a letter written as if from Mr. Cobbett to his son, has given an intelligibility to the subject which it never before received, insomuch that we are tempted to exceed the limits of a quotation, and, for the benefit of such of our readers as do not see the _Westminster Review_, borrow more largely from the pages of that very able periodical than is usual, hoping that the liberal spirit of its proprietors will not accuse us of piracy, and summon us into the awful presence of the Keeper of the King’s Conscience.

‘The whole theory or principle of finding and producing the
harmonic notes is in reality very simple, and such as might be
communicated to any intelligent child in two or three short
lessons. If the author of the _Political Register_ had been born
and bred a professional musician, (as among the possible freaks
of fortune why should he not?) he would have set the hope of his
family before him, and said,

‘My dear little Son,

‘You are to get your bread by playing on the violin. It will
therefore be exceedingly useful to you to know all that can be
known about the harmonic notes; by which means you may not only get
your bread, but be able to secure its being well buttered also. A
violin-player is _worth_ a great deal more when he knows all about
the harmonic notes; and in fact, since the appearance of Paganini,
the chances are, that a player who does not know it will be worth
nothing at all.

‘Do you know what an _aliquot part_ is? I am sure you do not.
If you have a cake or an apple, and divide it equally among
your companions, whether they be _two_, _three_, _four_, or any
other number, then the thing is said to be divided into aliquot
parts,--“_aliquot_” being a word in the old Latin language meaning
“some certain number or other,” and implying here that the thing is
divided into equal parts of “some certain number or other.” But if
you were to divide it among the same so that their shares should
not be all alike,--or if you were to give each an equal piece, but
there should be a piece left after all which was not equal to one
of the pieces you had given away, but was greater or less,--then
the thing would be divided into parts, but not into aliquot parts.
Now then, my dear little son, you know what is meant by dividing a
string into aliquot parts.

‘Tell me now, how you would begin to show me the different places
in which a string can be divided into _aliquot parts_. You would
first show me the middle point, which divides it into _two_ equal
parts. Then you would divide the string, with your eye or with a
pair of compasses, into _three_ equal parts, and show me the two
points of division between them. Next you would divide it in the
same way into _four_ equal parts, and show me the three points
of division. And so on, for _five_, _six_, _seven_, _eight_,
and as many more as you liked to continue. These, then, you
would say,--both those I have made and those I might make if I
liked--are the points that divide the string into aliquot parts.
And if you pleased, you might mark them by writing under each point
of division the figure which shows how many equal parts the string
is divided into,--as for instance a 2 under the point where the
string is divided into two, a 3 under each of the points which
divide it into three, and so on. And indeed it will be better
that you should do this; for then you cannot help observing, that
sometimes more figures than one will fall on the same place--as for
instance when the string is divided into four, one of the marks
4 will fall on the same place as the division into 2; when it is
divided into six, one of the marks 6 will fall on the same place
that was previously marked 2, and two more on places that were
marked 3; and so on. All of which will be wanted another time.

‘Now if you touch the string gently with the finger at the distance
of any aliquot part from the bridge, (mind I said _from the
bridge_, not at _any_ of the divisions into aliquot parts, but at
the distance of one of them _from the bridge_,) and at the same
time pull the string or draw the bow across between this point and
the bridge, you will see a curious thing. The string will divide
itself into all the aliquot parts of which the point touched by the
finger makes one,--into two, or into three, or into four, as the
case may be,--and every one of them will move by itself, as if it
was a little string held fast at the two ends; the sound produced
being the same that would be made by pressing the string down to
the neck at the point touched, in the common way. If the divisions
are few, as two or three, this may be seen distinctly enough by the
eye: but where this is not the case, it may be shown to be the fact
by laying a little bit of paper on the string while it is sounded;
and if this is laid on any of the points of division into aliquot
parts, whether on the one nearest the bridge or any of its fellows,
it will lie still and not be thrown off, but if it is laid anywhere
else, it will be thrown off directly, which shows that the points
of division are at rest, and the others are not.

‘If you want to know how or why this curious thing takes place,
I will tell you as nearly as I can; but remember I do not pledge
myself that this is the reason, but only that I think it very
likely to be the reason, and this principally because I know no
other way in which it can be brought about. And this way is, that
when one portion of the string is moving in one direction, as for
instance from me towards you, the next portion of the string is
moving at the same time in the contrary direction, or from you
to me; and so with the other portions, whatever their number may
be. In this manner it seems possible that the points of division
should be kept at rest, and in any other manner it seems to be
not possible; and therefore, since the fact is before us that the
points of division remain at rest, I conclude that it is in this
way it takes place. This is what the _feelosofers_ would call a
syllogism. And because this sort of balance can only be kept up by
the portions of the string moving backwards and forwards (which
the same sort of people call _vibrating_) in equal times or with
equal quickness, and this again cannot take place unless the moving
portions of the string are of equal length,--it follows that this
sort of motion in parts or portions of the string can only take
place when those parts or portions are of equal length, which seems
to be the reason why the experiment will only answer when the point
touched is one that divides the string into _aliquot parts_.

‘But this is not all; for there is a more curious thing still.
And that is, that if you touch the string at _any other_ of the
points of division into aliquot parts, (by which I mean any other
than the point of division nearest to the bridge,) the string will
divide itself in the self-same way,--always with the exception (now
mind the exception) of the cases in which the point touched falls
in with a point in some simpler mode of division that has gone
before. For instance, you remember observing, that when the string
was divided into four equal parts, one of the points marked 4
fell on the same place as the division into 2. Touching the string
therefore in this place must make the same sound it did before;
which is a different sound from that which it makes when touched
at the other two points of division into 4. And in like manner in
other cases. But when this agreement with some simpler mode of
division does not interfere, all the points of division on being
touched produce the same sound. For example, if the division be
into five equal parts, inasmuch as none of these will coincide with
any of the simpler modes of division, there must be four points in
the string, any one of which being touched will produce the same
harmonic sound.

‘But if you want to know how and why this still more curious thing
takes place, I can only tell you in a roundabout sort of way as
before. If you divide the string, for example, into five equal
parts, and touch any of the four points of division you choose,
you check and finally prevent the continuance of any motion at
the point touched, though at the same time it would appear that
the touching (which, to make the experiment answer, must be very
light) is not enough to hinder the _shaking_, or, as the learned
people call it, the _vibration_, given at one end, from being
communicated past the point of touch. If, instead of touching the
string lightly, you were to lay hold of it with a pair of pincers,
then the experiment would fail altogether; the reason of which may
be concluded to be, because the motion is presented from being
at all communicated beyond the point laid hold of. In fact the
art,--for there is an art in everything, from scraping the grains
off a cob of Indian corn to sounding a musical string, whatever
the difference in importance and dignity of the two things may
be,--appears to consist in touching the string in such a manner,
and with such a degree of pressure, as shall allow the motion given
by pulling or bowing to be communicated past the finger, and yet
shall check and finally prevent the continuance of all motion, or,
as it was called before, _vibration_, that is not consistent with
the point which is touched remaining at rest. Now if you consider
carefully, you will see that the only way in which motion can go on
and this point remain at rest, is by the string’s dividing itself
into the five equal portions, the movements of which shall balance
each other as before described. It does not indeed follow, that
because the motion could go on no other way, it must necessarily go
on in this; but we have the evidence of the fact that it _does_ go
on in this; and the knowledge of the reasons why it could not go on
in any other is at all events very useful to make us remember what
the effect is that is produced, and how.

‘The next thing is to be able to tell what all the sounds thus
produced are. Now you remember that when you were a very little
boy, I showed you, that if you stop a string by pressing it
down hard in the middle you produce its _Octave_; where the two
sounds (of the original string and its half) are such sounds as
are produced by a man and a child when they sing the same tune
together, but in very different pitches of voice;--that if, instead
of shortening the string in this manner by the half, you shorten it
by a third part, you produce the sound which musicians have called
the _Fifth_; if you shorten it by a fourth part, you produce the
_Fourth_; if by the fifth part, the _Major Third_; if by the sixth
part, the _Minor Third_; with a great deal more which it is not
necessary to mention now;--and I told you, too, that the intervals
from one of these sounds to another were not the same, or such
as to allow of beginning on any you please and making the others
serve in the places they happen to fall in, which is attempted to
be done by what is called _Temperament_, a thing that you as a
violin player should hold in as much scorn, as an invitation to
cut off your two legs for the sake of trying how pleasant it is
to hop on wooden ones. If then you want to know what sound any of
the harmonics really is, you have only to do this;--double the
distance from the bridge to the nearest of the points of division
into aliquot parts, over and over, till you get to some length that
when pressed down in the common way makes a note which you know, as
the _Octave_, the _Fifth_, &c.; and then the harmonic will be this
note, only raised by as many octaves as there have been doublings.
For example, if you touch the thickest or G string of the violin so
as to bring out the harmonic at one-fifth of its length from the
bridge, and want to know what note this is,--doubling this length
once makes two-fifths of the whole string, and doubling it again
makes four-fifths, and four-fifths pressed down in the common way
make the _Major Third_ or B; therefore the harmonic produced is
B two octaves higher than the B on the thickest string, or the
same sound as the first B on the thinnest or E string. And in like
manner in other cases.

‘The examination of all the different possible harmonic notes might
evidently be carried a long way; and it would be very useful to do
it if you were intended for a trumpeter, for all the notes on the
trumpet or French horn are harmonic notes. But for playing on the
violin, as much as is given above appears to be sufficient. It will
enable you to trace all the principal harmonic sounds, and in fact
all that on the violin are of any practical use; for though there
is no absolute end of the number of harmonic notes, inasmuch as you
may divide the string into a hundred parts if you please, and then
into a hundred-and-one,--yet after the division into five or into
six, the sounds on the violin become so feeble as to be of no use
except as matters of experiment and curiosity. And it will have
this further good effect, that it will make you cease to marvel and
to wonder at finding the harmonic sounds on the same string grow
sometimes deeper and sometimes shriller, as you move your finger
from the bridge towards the head,--as if there was some mystery in
it that anybody could not learn in half an hour when they set about
it properly.

‘Suppose now you could stop some tune (as for instance “God save
the King”) on one string of the violin, as for example the fourth,
with your first or second finger, and at the same time always
touch the stopped string gently with the little finger of the same
hand at one quarter of the way to the bridge so as to bring out
the harmonic note;--is it not plain that you would play the tune,
only in the Double Octave, or two octaves higher than if played by
the simple stopping on the fourth string? There is no doubt that
this is very hard, especially for a little boy; it is almost as
bad as playing on two violins at once. But still the thing can be
done. And if, instead of touching with the little finger at the
_quarter_ of the way to the bridge, you should touch at the third,
the fifth, or the sixth of the way, you would bring out notes that
were not Double Octaves to the sound that would be made by simply
pressing down the first finger, but other sounds, which you have it
in your power to calculate; all of which might by possibility be
very useful, but the other was mentioned as being the simplest. If
you asked me what is the use of playing anything in Double Octaves
in this manner, or in any other of the harmonic notes,--I should
answer, First, because these harmonic notes have a very fine and
pure sound,--they do not squall like the sounds made by pressing
the strings to the finger-board very near the bridge;--Secondly,
because it is much easier to make the sounds in tune in this
manner, than by trying to make them by stopping near the
bridge,--for where the string is so short, the smallest error in
the stopping becomes sensible in proportion;--Thirdly, because (as
it is not necessary to be always playing in harmonics) they may be
mixed up with the common notes of the violin, and save an immensity
of trouble in jumping from one end of the instrument to the other
to find the high notes. Look, for instance, at an old-fashioned
fiddler playing on the second string, and wanting (suppose) A _in
alto_; and see what a leap he will make to find it on the first
string, and what a horrible screech he will bring out after all,
when he might produce the note in the most perfect tune and tone
by only touching the second open string that he is on already,
harmonically at a fourth of the way from the head to the bridge, or
at the same place that he would stop D on the second string.’

MELODY AND HARMONY[64].

The object and end of all music is the expression and excitement of passion, of which its notes are the signs. The practice of music doubtless shows best how powerful are these signs over the production of corresponding passions; but its theory also, in the hands of some writers, has even indicated the precise and simple expressions which respectively belong to some of the passions.

Now we know that two passions cannot coexist in the mind, except at the expense of their respective continuity, depth, and intensity. It follows, of course, that their corresponding signs cannot coexist in the ear without breaking and enfeebling their expression.

But melody consists of a succession of simple sounds, and harmony of coexistant and related or concordant sounds. It is obvious, therefore, that melody is alone adapted to the expression of passion--that is, to musical expression.

A moment’s reflection, indeed, will show that, in language, it would not be more absurd to endeavour to express or excite passion by means of the related terms, emotion, sentiment, &c., or to express and excite any one passion, as that of love, by means of the related terms, friendship, affection, &c., than it would, in music, be to endeavour to excite any passion, in all its purity, simplicity, continuity, depth, and intensity, by means of impure, compound, broken, and feeble notes.

Which, accordingly, are the nations that have excelled in melody?--The Italians, the Scots, the Irish, in whom the passions are intense and powerful; while the Sclavonic and Gothic tribes, in whom the passions are feeble, have practised that play upon related notes which indicates the weakness or absence of passion, and which constitutes harmony. There can, I think, be no more striking illustration than this at once of the intimate nature and of the relative value of melody and harmony.

To the superior value of melody, however, similar homage is paid, whether reluctantly or not, in the highest productions of scientific music. Whenever, in the opera, sentiment, affection, or passion has to be expressed, the simple melody of the airs is indispensable. If anything were wanting to corroborate the preceding train of reasoning, this surely is sufficient.

Let us now, however, from principles which regard the intimate nature of melody and harmony, as well as their precise relation to the great end of all music, descend to the mere practical observance of the relative effects of melody and harmony.

Here one thing will, at the first, strike those who are in the habit of paying any attention to the operation of their own minds, and of endeavouring to analyse it. It is this, that, while there is no end to the variety which the simplest melodies produce, there is but one sentiment excited by harmony.

However varied the melody may be, whatever the succession of emotion and passion which it calls up, it will be found that, with each of these, and always at its expense, the harmony, _quoad_ harmony, associates another, and that always one and the same, feeling. This, if observed, will be found to be a feeling of surprise, and certainly of pleasure, at the display of knowledge in the instant association of related notes; surprise and pleasure at the art and skill, not at the feeling and taste, of the composer[65].

The compositions of Handel, Bach, and others, are admirable in their kinds and perfectly descriptive; but they touch not the most exquisite feelings; they sink not into the heart; they rouse not the passions. They excite, as already said, surprise and pleasure at the art and skill, not at the feeling and taste, of the composer. Let them be compared in this respect with Sarti, Cimarosa, &c., and all doubt on this point will cease.

It is evident, then, that the admiration, however delightful, produced by the instant and unexpected association of related notes, must, precisely in proportion to its degree, weaken and diminish the effect of the melody--must, in fact, destroy its purity, simplicity, continuity, depth, and intensity.

It is, perhaps, scarcely a less fatal objection to the indiscriminate practice of harmony, that even the restricted pleasure which it conveys is, from want of education in this peculiar art, incapable of being at all enjoyed by the vast majority of hearers.

The best practical illustration, indeed, of the relative value of melody and harmony arises from observing their effects on the mind and the expression of the features. The English people, being chiefly of Gothic origin, have a fair capability of apprehending coexisting related sounds, and their conduct while hearing them will furnish this illustration.

Let any one, then, observe the effect of these sounds in the finest harmonies produced at our Opera-house. An affected look of knowingness, an insincere grin, passes from one face to another, and occasionally, when some one who really understands the matter gives a bold and loud rap with his stick,--believing that there must now certainly be something very fine, they very innocently break into a long paroxysm of applause, and they repeat this as often as the courageous fellow with the stick chooses to give them the signal, each secretly thinking how devilish stupid he must be not really to enjoy what everybody else is so highly delighted with.

See, however, the same faces when a simple melody breaks out from the chaos of the harmony: waiting for no prompter, pleasure instantly beams on every face, and truth and nature have a triumph in that deep and universal sympathy which art and affectation are utterly incapable of achieving.

The practice of harmony has, indeed, been borrowed by us from the boors of Russia, Bohemia, and Swabia, whose broad and flat configuration of head seems to be as much connected with this _practice_ as their coldness and apathy are utterly opposed to musical _feeling_, which has no existence independent of passion.

So natural and universal is melody, that even many quadrupeds are powerfully affected by it, while not one seems to be influenced by harmony.

Such then is the kind of music which, originally borrowed from these boors, the influence of a few amateurs has rendered fashionable among the half-civilized people of Europe,--for we must call those half-civilized who have no perception of the fundamental necessity and transcendent beauty of simplicity in all the fine arts, those sole tests of the highest civilization.

In Greece, where alone those arts reached the highest perfection, the purest simplicity characterized every one of their productions; and there, accordingly, harmony--as in general a complex and idle decoration, in no way promoting expression, the end of music, but, on the contrary, defeating its purpose, was, we are told, absolutely proscribed.

Even if this fact had not been recorded, the slightest knowledge of the genius of Grecian art would prove that it must have been so; and we might as safely have predicted that they no more loaded their melodies with Gothic or Sclavonic harmonies than their temples with Gothic traceries[66].

The analogy is perfectly strict; for these gingerbread traceries are not more unproductive of great or good effect than harmonies are; nor are the barn-like temples which they cover more ugly in their general form than the meagre airs which harmonies are intended to decorate.

But this is not all. Not only are the airs which harmonies are intended to decorate generally meagre and worthless, it would appear that no other airs than those are fit for conjunction with harmonies. It is certainly true that, whenever the apathetic Germans have attempted to harmonize the impassioned airs and exquisite melodies of Scotland and Ireland, they have ruined them, and disgusted every person of pure and natural taste.

The purpose, then, to which harmony is applicable is not to the expression of pure, simple, continuous, deep, and intense passion--the very highest purpose of musical expression,--but to the expression either of the slightly modified and less definite feelings, or of the more variable, and even jarring sentiments of several persons, purposes far inferior to the former.

It is evident that, where several persons express musically somewhat similar sentiments on the same subject, they may naturally sing in harmony; and where these sentiments occur at intervals of time slightly extended, they may even be supposed to chant in that regulated succession which constitutes fugue. Hence harmony is peculiarly suited to many voices, where deep pathos and passion are impossible; and it is an abuse to apply it to the higher species of music.

It is evident, too, that, in descriptive or epic music, harmony may form the background of the picture--the accompaniment of the narration,--in the front of which some kind of melody appears; and of this the most admirable examples are to be found in the works of Beethoven, the most profound and philosophical of composers. But whoever mistakes this for the highest species of music is not in a condition to understand the present paper.

It is in fact, the absence of pathos and passion among the Gothic races of modern Europe, that has led to the substitution of harmony for melody. At the same time, their excellence in mechanical invention has enabled them greatly to improve instruments, which, however suited to the former, are incapable of the feeling and the meaning, the expression and the delicacy, which essentially belong to the latter. And again, the deficiency of instruments in these most important qualities has led to those strong basses and accompaniments which fill up the vacuity. Music, consequently, has sometimes degenerated into a series of tricks which do not rank above rope-dancing or the ballet.

One word may now properly be added on instrumental accompaniments. They are the natural resource of performers who are destitute either of feeling or of voice. They may be comparatively beautiful when associated with these, but they are absolutely offensive when they interfere with the expression of deep feeling by a beautiful voice.

The best instrumental accompaniment is consequently that which least interferes with the voice--not the continuous sounds of wind or bowed instruments (for their music is rather the poor unfeeling substitute for, than the accompaniment of, fine vocal music), but the light touch of the string of the harp, the guitar, or the lyre, which, while it verifies the accuracy, least interferes with the feeling of vocal expression.

Hence the great masters of art, the Greeks, employed so simple an instrument as the guitar (their κιθαρα being obviously its original), or the lyre, which appears to have been simpler and better still. I rejoice, therefore, to see the former becoming as fashionable in England as it has long been on the Continent.

~Donald Walker.~

A GERMAN CRITIQUE.

(From the _Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung_.)

[A specimen of criticism from the most esteemed and widely-circulated musical journal of Germany, will not be uninteresting to our readers. The beauty of M. Mendelssohn’s overture has excited in M. Fink’s mind a lively recollection of Shakspeare’s most fanciful drama, and almost turned the brain of the critic. He has wrought himself into a belief that music is equal to language in the power of describing. His reverie is amusing; but the intimate acquaintance he manifests with the works of our great dramatic poet, is a circumstance more gratifying to us than all the sallies of his imagination.]

* * * * *

Overture to Shakspeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream, composed by Felix
Mendelssohn Bartholdy, arranged as a Duet for the Piano-Forte, by
the composer. (Property of the publishers.) Leipzig. Published by
Breitkopf and Härtel. Pr. 1 Thaler.

The same Composition arranged for the Piano-Forte (for one
performer) by F. Mockwitz.

Reviewed by G. W. Fink, (the Editor.)

It was announced last year in one of the numbers of this publication that the orchestral parts of this excellent work had appeared at the above publisher’s; and we then expressed our regret that they should have been published without the score, for want of which the overture could not be reviewed. Up to the present time we have not relaxed in our endeavours to meet with the score, but we have been unsuccessful. This would have been a matter of still deeper regret to us if we had not had the good fortune to hear the overture, the arrangements of which are lying before us, played by our orchestra, which, at the first performance, got through the difficult composition in such a delightful manner, that a tolerably distinct impression of it remained upon our mind, which, upon looking over and playing the two clever arrangements, is powerfully called back to our memory. From the impression produced by the instrumental performance, and from these two published arrangements, we cannot but give the palm to this production of the persevering young composer, as evincing a greater degree of ability and genius than any other of his works with which we are acquainted.