Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine — Volume 53, No. 327, January, 1843

This being so, music is at the mercy of many circumstances, the influence of which is felt, in some degree, even in those arts whose principles have long been fixed and ascertained, and whose rules are not merely conventional. The love of novelty, which the weariness caused by a constant repetition of the same musical phrase or idea renders more exigeant in this than in other arts, the want or impossibility of having any classic examples which might fix the taste or guide the studies of the novice, are doubtless among the causes of these frequent changes. The style of the leading singer of the day often forms and rules the passing taste, and even characterizes the works of contemporary composers. Music is often composed purposely for the singer; his intonation, his peculiarities, his very mannerisms, are borne in mind. Not merely sounds, but his sounds, are the vehicles of the composer's thoughts, the medium through which alone the composer's ideas can be adequately expressed. In the next generation, when performer and composer are dead and gone, all that is left of this their mutual work, once the object of universal admiration becomes comparatively unintelligible. The melody, the harmony, indeed, remain, but they are a body without a soul; the fire and genius of him who lighted up the whole, who realized and brought home to the hearer the whole creation of the composer's imagination, are no more. The manner of the performance, therefore, being, as it were, part and parcel of the very music, and a necessary ingredient of the excellence of the composition, to judge of the merit of the whole from the qualities of the portion which is left, would be to judge of the beauty of the Grecian Helen by the aspect or appearance of her lifeless remains. On looking at the greater portion of the music by the execution of which Catalani raised herself to the highest pinnacle of fame, we are compelled to the conclusion, that in the singer lay the charm. The effects said to have been produced by Handel's operas are now inconceivable and unintelligible, so "mechanical and dull" do these works appear, "beyond mere simplicity and traits of melody." Handel, in one species of composition, wrote down to the singers of his time. Whoever examines the bass songs of that period, will perceive that they were composed for inflexible and unwieldy voices, possessing a large and heavy volume of tone, but incapable of executing any but simple passages, constructed according to an ascertained routine of intervals. Lord Mount-Edgcumbe truly conjectured, that Mozart was led to make the bass so prominent a part in the Don Giovanni and Le Nozze di Figaro, by writing for a particular singer. The part of Figaro was, in fact, composed for Benucci. The sparkling brilliancy of Rossini would perhaps never have been so fully developed, had not the skill and flexibility of voice possessed by the singer David, for whom he wrote, enabled him to indulge it to the uttermost. The characters thus imparted to the music of the day are necessarily perishable and evanescent, to be again superseded by later artists, whose excellences or peculiarities will again lead to like results. Thus change succeeds change; the judgment of the public is led by the composer and the performer, who, mutually deferring to each other, often mould at will the taste of their countrymen. We, of course, speak only of those whose talent, science, and ability, have constituted them the masters of their art.

In England we have but few of those giants; they appear among us only at long intervals; for which reason, perhaps, musical taste has undergone fewer mutations in England than in most other countries. Handel has now reigned supreme among us for near a century, and his bass songs still influence the style of this branch of our native music. Though bass singing has advanced elsewhere, it has stood comparatively still with us; the same rude intervals, the same ponderous passages, through which the voice moves heavily, as if a mountain heaved, are still retained in the few bass songs of our school; in fact, without them, many think a bass song cannot exist. This mannerism received a blow from Weber, whom, as in the case of Handel, we have grown to consider national property. His early death, however, prevented his acquiring that permanent influence on the musical mind, which he might have acquired had he lived, and continued to be successful.

From the glance we have taken of the rate at which poetry, literature, and the fine arts, respectively advance as civilization holds her onward course; from the wide diffusion and cultivation of musical taste and musical science, ere barbarism and ignorance resumed their sway over mankind; we cannot entertain a doubt that, ultimately, we also as a people may emulate the glory other nations have acquired in each of those pursuits. We are, perhaps, less excitable and less easily moved than they; but the English character contains within it the elements of greatness in every thing to which its energies are directed. Circumstances may erelong rouse long-dormant tastes. Riches bring with them new wants, they create new passions, new desires. Much wealth was amassed by the preceding generation; their sons, now affluent and educated, already form a vast addition to that class which we have designated as the peculiar patron of the arts, and which, as commercial prosperity continues to advance, will, in each succeeding generation, receive another incalculable accession to its numbers.

The philosophical observer may even now discover the evidences of these new wants of increasing opulence; and should providence, in its mercy, deign still to bless the world with peace, the Augustan age of England may be nearer than we think. However, it is most certain that this age, as yet, has not arrived. An accurate knowledge of our defects will soonest lead to their cure. By a searching, rigorous, and impartial self-examination can these deficiencies only become known. It may be necessary to apply the cautery; but the hand that wounds would also heal; and if, in the course of the preceding observations, or in any subsequent remarks, as we enquire into the present state of musical taste and science in England, we may be deemed severe, let it be borne in mind, that ours is a "tender fierceness," and that self-knowledge, the first grand step to all improvement, is alone our object and our aim.

1

Malte Brun, xi. 179. Alison, x. 256.

2

Hansard, vol. lxi. col. 423.

3

Hansard, vol. lxi. col. 429, 430, 431.

4

Hansard, vol, lxi. col. 439.

5

Year ending 5th January 1840, L.2,390,764!—1841, L.1,342,604!—1842, L.1,495,540!—(Finance Accounts, 1842, p. 2.)

6

Parliamentary History, vol. xxxiv. p. 271.

7

The Siècle. (See No. cccxxi. p. 112.)

8

An atrocious gang of thieves, who adopted the unnecessary brutality of burning the unfortunate victims they intended to rob.

9

Water-melon.

10

The miseries of Tasso arose not only from the imagination and the heart. In the metropolis of the Christian world, with many admirers and many patrons, cardinals and princes of all sizes, he was left destitute, and almost famished. These are his own words.—"Appena in questo stato ho comprato due meloni: e benche io sia stato quasi sempre inferno, molte volte mi sono contentato del' manzo e la ministra di latte o di zucca, quando ho potuto averne, mi e stata in vece di delizie." In another part he says that he was unable to pay the carriage of a parcel, (1590:) no wonder; if he had not wherewithal to buy enough of zucca for a meal. Even had he been in health and appetite, he might have satisfied his hunger with it for about five farthings, and have left half for supper. And now a word on his insanity. Having been so imprudent not only as to make it too evident in his poetry that he was the lover of Leonora, but also to signify (not very obscurely) that his love was returned, he much perplexed the Duke of Ferrara, who, with great discretion, suggested to him the necessity of feigning madness. The lady's honour required it from a brother; and a true lover, to convince the world, would embrace the project with alacrity. But there was no reason why the seclusion should be in a dungeon, or why exercise and air should be interdicted. This cruelty, and perhaps his uncertainty of Leonora's compassion, may well be imagined to have produced at last the malady he had feigned. But did Leonora love Tasso as a man would be loved? If we wish to do her honour, let us hope it: for what greater glory can there be than to have estimated at the full value so exalted a genius, so affectionate and so generous a heart!

11

The author wrote the verses first in English, but he found it easy to write them better in Italian. They stood in the text as below:—

Swallow! swallow! though so jetty

Are your pinions, you are pretty:

And what matter were it though

You were blacker than a crow?

Of the many birds that fly

(And how many pass me by!)

You're the first I ever prest,

Of the many, to my breast:

Therefore it is very right

You should be my own delight.

12

The tale that follows is founded upon an incident that occurred some little time before the American War, to Colonel Campbell of Glenlyon, whose grandfather, the Laird of Glenlyon, was the officer in King William's service who commanded at the slaughter of the Macdonalds of Glencoe. The anecdote is told in Colonel David Stewart's valuable history of the Highland Regiments. Edin 1822.

13

Such was his exclamation, as repeated in the History before referred to. Colonel Campbell always imputed the unfortunate occurrence that clouded the evening of his life to the share his ancestor had in the disastrous affair of Glencoe.

14

We may refer to this hereafter, and to show that we at least are not guilty of exaggeration, we subjoin the passage in the original Italian, from which it will be seen that our translation is as literal as possible.

"L'anno quatuor-decimo del secolo presente, nel dramma che si rappresentava in Ancona, v'era, su'l principio dell' atto terzo, una riga di recitativo, non accompagnato da altri stromenti che dal basso; per cui, tanto in noi professori quanto negli ascoltanti, si destava una tale e tanta commozione di animo, che tutti si guardavano in faccia l'un l'altro, per la evidente mutazione di colore che si faceva in ciascheduno di noi. L'effetto non era di pianto (mi ricordo benissimo che le parole erano di sdegno) ma di un certo rigore e freddo nel sangue, che di fatto turbava l'animo. Tredici volte si recito il dramma, e sempre segui l'effetto stesso universalmente: di che era segno palpabile il sommo previo silenzio, con cui l'uditorio tutto si apparechiava a goderne l'effetto."