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engaged as a deputy) has not been without result. On the contrary it has already had a most salutary effect. On Saturday last the "Principal," who was naturally ireful that the terms he paid his deputy should have been commented upon in the columns of a public journal, somewhat indignantly intimated to Mr. Simmons that his services would no longer be required, thereby inflicting a crushing blow on the ambitious views so modestly expressed by Simmons, in the letter which appeared in the last number of the Musical World. On Monday, however, the "Principal" had changed his mind. Better counsel had been breathed into his ear. Possibly he deemed it prudent to temporise. So, accosting Mr. Simmons in his blandest manner (sotto voce), and reminding him of the "kind friend he (the 'Principal') had ever been to him," etc., informed him that he might continue to perform at the concerts until the end of the present series, magnanimously adding that he should receive twelve out of the sixteen guineas, instead of four, as in former seasons! I am not aware of the effect produced by this upon poor Simmons, but he doubtless felt elated; and I am sure your readers will appreciate this act of liberality on the part of the "Principal." Permit me to offer one or two observations upon a change of policy so wholesome in itself, so deeply interesting to the profession (more particularly to the "Forty"), and which is, I think, entirely owing to the publicity afforded through the medium of the Musical World. The "Principal" alluded to is, at least so I am told, the recognised "Atlas" of the Philharmonic Society, the whole weight of whose business he carries on his unaided shoulders-gratis. It cannot, therefore, for a moment be supposed that he stood in fear of any steps likely to be adopted by the "Forty " at their next general meeting, or that he had been induced to believe that his proceedings with Mr. Simmons could be shewn to be against the interest of himself or the society. I am consequently led to conclude that the comedy has not yet fully developed itself. Probably at the next concert, Mr. Simmons will be astounded by the information that he is to be paid the balance of twelve guineas for the season 1854, and that the "starch will be taken out of him" at the final concert, by the announcement that he is to receive the like amount for the first season of his engagement. I am curious, and perhaps a little given to speculation; but I venture to guess it will either be as I have surmised, or something else equally advantageous to the modest and unassuming Simmons, whose newly declared Latinity ("nolens volens") has put eight guineas in his pocket.

Apologising for the length of this, and ascribing to you all merit for the good that has been effected through the well-timed observations that have appeared, I am, AN ASSOCIATE May 31st. (Only once black-balled).

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THE LONDON ORCHESTRA. To the Editor of the Musical World. SIE,-Being struck by the fantastically funny hypothesis contained in your leading article of last Saturday, as to whether "The London was thrown into a state of collapse, through its unwisely Orchestra venturing to admit into the programme of its first concert a pianoforte trio by a composer whose name begins and ends with the same letters as that of the curiously dogmatical correspondent of your New York contemporary; and finding that the Wapping Commercial Gazette— which I believe derives its valuable inspirations from the same impartial

source-had fallen into a similar error, I have, out of mere curiosity, taken the trouble to collect the dates of the concerts at which the London Orchestra was engaged for its first season after its inaugurative concert on January 19th at the Hanover-square Rooms.

They are the following:-At Birmingham, the Festival Choral Society's concert, February 3rd; at Dublin, the Great Exhibition, March 13th, 14th, 15th, and 16th, morning and evening; at the Lyceum Theatre, in Passion Week, April 10th, 11th, 12th, 13th, and 15th; at Mr. Aguilar's Concert, May 11th; Mr. Kiallmark's Concert, May 29th; Signor Regondi's Concert, June 22nd.

This surely proves that the ever-sparkling and effervescing imagination of the Drei Sterner has played him false, and made him appear, in its infinite flights, a little forgetful, and, perhaps, somewhat inconsistent, or he would hardly, after having recorded the demise of the London Orchestra, venture to suggest the fact of its never having existed, in the following seven cruel words :-"Some people believe that it was still-born."

But, sir, I am told the members of the London Orchestra are not so unmindful, nor ungrateful, for what they owe to the learned "Plauderein," and steadfastly believe the contrary to your otherwise fantastically-funny hypothesis; for they are entirely of opinion, that it was solely to his timely unhomoeopathic dose (although administered on the similia similibus curantur principle) in the shape of an abortive attempt at a classical pianoforte trio, that the stillborn society owed its recovery and enjoyment of life, and only waits the advent of another such sickly-born institution to propose to it the only truly reliable specific, namely-another classical rhapsody from the same prolific goose-quill. I trust, sir, you will find a corner in your estimable journal for my lengthy communication, which has been penned, I do assure you, purely out of regard for truthful investigation; and, moreover, because I think the announcement of the dissolution of the society contained in your contemporaries of New York and Wapping, maliciously calcu lated to damage its interests by probably depriving it of lucrative engagements for either of these places. And, with apologies for troubling you, I am, sir, one who to the *would gladly prove a May 30th, 1855. TOTAL ECLIPSE. P.S. I am a member of the London Orchestra, and enclose my card.

WHOSE IS THE BALLET OF EVA?

To the Editor of the Musical World. SIR-If, in answer to your repeated question, "Whose is the ballet of Eva?" I was to follow the example of Mr. A. Harris, and to answer by questions of personalities and of morality, "j'aurais beau jeu,” as we say in France; but leaving to him all the responsibility of his gentleabuse, I will satisfy myself with quoting his own words. I will not manly conduct, and acknowledging that he is more clever than I am in even try to translate, so as to leave to his words all their value:"A M. Pelez de Cordova.

"Je n'ai jamais refusé de reconnaître que vous étiez mon collaborateur dans le ballet d'Eva, et que l'idée de la morte était entièrement de vous; mais je ne suis pas tout-à-fait de votre avis, que le ballet original tel que je vous l'ai soumit était (comme vous le dites) une œuvre impossible, dont vous avez pu faire quelque chose.

"M. Gye aussi sait très-bien que vous m'avez beaucoup aidé dans le ballet, parcequ'il a vu tous vos brouillons. M. Desplaces le sait! Monsieur Panizza le sait!! Mad. Cerito le sait!!! etc., etc., le sait!!!! "A. HARRIS."

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Now, Mr. Editor, I think I have no more to add to these proofs, and that every one will be able to answer your question, "Whose is the ballet of Eva?" Let Mr. A. Harris say what he will now, but I declare that I will not trouble the public any more about this quarrel. Only let him be aware that I expect he will be polite, or else I should be obliged to ask him the only reparation the laws of this country allow to a man insulted in such a libel as his last letter. In inserting this last letter of mine in the columns of your paper, you will do justice to your obedient servant, L, A, PELEZ DE CORDOVA.

RICHARD WAGNER AND THE PHILHARMONIC.

(From the Athenæum.)

HERR WAGNER makes no way with his public as a conductor. The Sinfonia of Mozart went worse than we ever heard it go. The violins were rarely together; the wind instruments were hardly able to hold out in the middle movement, with such caricatured slowness was that andante con moto taken,—and the finale was degraded into a confused romp by a speed as excessive. That Chopin's Concerto, a work which is as delicate as it is difficult, pleased as it did, was owing to the exquisite playing of M. Hallé, who carried it through-supporting, not receiving support from, the orchestra. A finer display of execution and taste has rarely been heard. Neither did Herr Wagner condescend to assist Malle. Ney in her bravura; which, if well accompanied, might have produced a great effect, in spite of its rococo forms, thanks to her lovely voice and brilliant execution. It is fair to give currency to the plea which, we are told, is put forth-to the import that Herr Wagner protested, when making his engagements, against taking charge of the vocal and of solo music, on the score of admitted incapacity. But how ill does such want of power assort with the consummate musical knowledge assumed by the pretension of conducting certain favourite works by heart! There can be nothing in either concerto or bravura to tax the quickness or resource of a conductor in comparison with the difficulties, violences, and incoherences of "the music of the future." Due pains had been bestowed by Herr Wagner on his own overture--but the pains had been bestowed in vain, for never did new work making such a noise, and concerning which so much noise has been made, fall more dead on the ears of a callous and contemptuous public.

Though we have already spoken of this long-winded prelude in general terms, we must be permitted a few more minute remarks on a composition for which such high honours have been claimed. Our impression is, that the overture to Tannhauser is one of the most curious pieces of patchwork ever passed off by self-delusion for a complete and significant creation. The first sixteen bars of the andante maestoso announce the solitary strain of real melody existing in the whole opera. This is the Pilgrim's chant, and is the half of a good tune in triple tempo,-which, however, seems to us no more ecclesiastic in style than the notturno in Mendelssohn's Midsummer Night's Dream. The second part of the air is made up of those yawning chromatic progressions which seem Herr Wagner's only bridge from point to point. After it has been given once, comes the whole over again simply repeated with embroideries. In the allegro a rude imitation of Mendelssohn's faery music may be detected, both at the opening of the movement and in the phrases from bars 8 to 12. To these succeeds a scramble, not leading into, so much as broken off by, the second subject. This is a hackneyed eight-bar phrase, the commonplace of which is not disguised by an accidental sharp and the omission of an interval. As the allegro proceeds, one or other of the above "notions" is repeated with small attempt at working out:and the ear is thoroughly weary ere the point is reached where a busy figure for the violins, identical with one used in Cherubini's overture to Lodoiska, dresses up the theme of the Pilgrim andante, which for the third time is presented in its integrity, with slight modifications of rhythm, none of harmony, and no coda by way of final climax or close. When it is stripped and sifted, Herr Wagner's creation may be likened, not to any real figure with its bone and muscle, but to a compound of one shapely feature with several tasteless fragments, smeared over with cement, but so flimsily that the paucity of good material is proved by the most superficial examination. Of Herr Wagner's instrumentation as ill-balanced, ineffective, thin, and noisy, we have elsewhere recorded our judgment. Yet, this overture is almost the sole coherent instrumental work from his hand which he could produce in substantiation of his claim to be considered the composer of the future. In London, we repeat, he fails to make any converts; either as a conductor or composer.

Ere we take leave of the subject, we should state that the loss to the Philharmonic treasury this season is, already, understood to be very heavy. Some argument of the kind was imperatively required. There must be a root-and-branch reform of the whole society, with its laws and its institutes. It will not do to have directors who, because they are directors, engage themselves as players in their own orchestra. The evasions and indirect influences-the right of incompetence to shuffle away obvious responsibilities, or to assume despotic power when some measure of folly or injustice is to be carried-the wholesale favouritism and wholesale antipathies with which the proceedings of the directors are chargeable, must come to an end, and speedily:-or the Philharmonic Society will cease to exist.

OPERA AND DRAMA.

PART L

OPERA AND THE CONSTITUTION OF MUSIC.

BY RICHARD WAGNER.

(Continued from page 324.)

CHAPTER I.

EVERYTHING lives and exists through the inward necessity of its being-through the exigencies of its nature. It was an inherent quality of the nature of music to develope itself to a capability of the most varied and decided expression, which it would never have reached—although the necessity for doing so was a part of itself-had it not been forced into such a position, as regards poetry, as to be under the necessity of endeavouring to satisfy demands upon its utmost powers, even when these demands could not but tend to what was an impossibility for it. An entity can only be expressed in its form: music owes its forms to the dance and song. To the mere word-poet, desirous of availing himself of music for the purpose of heightening the means of expression at his command for the drima, music appeared only in the restricted form of dance and song, in which it was impossible for it to display to him the fullness of expression of which it was really capable. Had music always remained in the same relative position with regard to the word-poet, which the latter now assumes towards it in opera, it would only have been employed by him in its most restricted capability, and never have attained the power of becoming such a complete organ of expression as it is at the present day. It must, therefore, have been reserved for music to suppose itself capable of possibilities, which, in reality, were destined to remain impossibilities for it; it necessarily fell into the error of wishing, as a pure organ of expression in itself, clearly to fix what was to be expressed; it necessarily engaged in the arrogant undertaking of wishing to make arrangements and express intentions in cases where it should really assume a position subordinate to an intention not to be understood from its own constitution, and in which subordinate position it cannot have more than a simply auxiliary share in the realization of the said intention.

Now the constitution of music has developed itself in two directions in the branch of art fixed by it, and known as opera: in a serious direction-through all those composers who felt the weight of the responsibility which fell to music, when it assumed tion, through all those musicians, who, impelled by the instinct for itself alone the aim of the drama-and in a frivolous direcof the impossibility of solving an unnatural problem, turned their backs upon it, and, thinking only of enjoying the advantages that opera had gained from uncommonly extended publicity, gave themselves up to an unmixed system of musical experimentalising. It is necessary for us, in the first place, to contemplate more nearly the former, or serious, side of the question.

The musical foundation of opera was, as we know, nothing more than the air, while the latter, again, was the national song introduced by the singer to the aristocratic world, with the words left out and supplied by the production of the poetical artist engaged for the purpose. The development of the national melody into the operatic air was, next, the work of the but in the exhibition of his artistic skill; he determined the vocal artist, no longer interested in the rendering of the melody, resting points necessary for himself; the change from the more lively to the more moderate expressions of song, and the passages where, free from all rhythmical and melodic constraint, he could, to his heart's content, display his skill alone. The composer merely arranged the materials for the virtuosity of the singer, and the poet, again, did the same for the composer.

The natural relations between the factors of the drama were not yet fundamentally suspended; they were only distorted, inasmuch as the performer, the most necessary condition for the possibility of the drama, was only the representative of an espe

cial degree of skill in a certain respect (absolute vocal skill), but not of all the general capabilities of the artistic individual. It was, also, only this distortion, in the character of the performer, which called forth the actual distortion in the relations of the above factors, namely, in placing the musician absolutely before the poet. Had the singer been a real, complete, and perfect dramatic performer, the composer must have fallen into his proper position with regard to the poet, inasmuch as it was the latter who, decidedly, and as a standard by which everything else was determined, would have enounced the dramatic intention, and arranged its realization. The poet standing next the singer, however, was the composer-the composer, who simply assisted the singer in attaining his end, which, freed from all dramatic and even all poetical connection, was, really and truly, nothing more than to display his specific skill in the vocal art to the best advantage.

We must firmly impress upon our minds these original relations of the artistic factors of the opera to each other, that we may, in what follows, perceive how these distorted relations became more and more confused from all the efforts to set them right.

From the luxurious craving of noble lords after variety in their amusements, the ballet was added to the dramatic cantata. The dances and the dance-melodies, as arbitrarily taken from the national dance-tunes as the operatic air was from the national song, allied itself, with the coy inability of coalition inherent to everything unnatural, to the influence of the singer; while, by this heaping-up of elements totally destitute of anything like inward connection, there naturally arose for the poet the task of binding together in a combination, brought about anyhow, the display of all the artistic capabilities spread out before him. A connecting dramatic medium, which became more and more evidently necessity, now joined, with the help of the poet, that which in itself really required no such connecting medium, so that the aim of the drama-impelled by outward necessity-was simply given, but by no means taken up. Vocal and dance melodies stood, in the coldest and most complete solitude, near each other, for the display of the singer's or dancer's skill, while it was only in what should, at a pinch, connect them, in the musically recited dialogue, that the poet exercised his subordinate influence, and that the drama was at all apparent.

Nor did recitative arise in opera, as a new invention, from a real impulse towards the drama; long before this speaking style of song had been introduced into opera, the Christian Church had employed it for the recitation of Biblical passages. The cadence which, in these recitations, soon became, in obedience to the precepts of the ritual, stationary, and common-place; only apparently, not really, any longer speaking, and rather indifferently melodic than expressively conversational, was next transferred, but also modelled and varied by musical caprice, to opera, so that, with the air, dance-melody, and recitative, the whole apparatus of the musical drama-absolutely, as regards its constitution, unchanged down to the most recent opera-was definitely fixed. The substance, too, of the dramatic plots serving as a foundation for this apparatus, soon became stereotyped; mostly taken from the totally misunderstood Greek mythology and hero-world, they formed a theatrical scaffolding, deficient in all capability of exciting warmth and sympathy, but which, on the other hand, possessed the faculty of presenting itself for the use of every composer, to be treated according to his peculiar views, and thus we find that the majority of these texts have been set to music again and again by the most dissimilar musicians.

Gluck's revolution, which became so celebrated, and which has been wafted to the ears of many ignorant persons as a complete distortion of the views commonly taken until then of the constitution of opera, really consisted in the mere fact of the composer's revolting against the caprice of the singer. The composer, who, after the singer, had especially attracted the attention of the public, since it was he who always provided the singer with fresh materials for the display of his skill, felt himself injured by the singer's influence in exactly the same proportion that he was desirous of fashioning the said materials after his own creative phantasy, so that his work, and perhaps only his work should, at last, strike the hearer. Two roads

were open to the ambitious composer, for the attainment of his end; either to develope the purely sensual substance of the air, with the assistance of all the musical means at his command, as well as of all those to be afterwards found, to the highest and most voluptuous fullness; or-and this is the more earnest way, which we have now to pursue-to restrict all caprice in the execution of the air, by an endeavour on the part of the composer to impart to the tune to be executed an expression suitable to the accompanying verbal text. If such texts were, in conformity with their nature, to have the value of the feeling conversation of acting personages, feeling singers and composers must long previously have thought of stamping their virtuosity with the necessary degree of warmth, and Gluck was assuredly not the first composer who wrote passionate airs, nor were his singers the first to sing such airs with expression. But that which makes him the starting point for what is, decidedly, a most complete change in the previous position of the artistic factors of opera to each other, is: that he enounced with consciousness, and on principle, the appropriate necessity of having both in air and recitative an expression in keeping with the accompanying text. From this period, the preponderating influence in the arrangement of the opera passes, most certainly, to the composer: the singer becomes the organ of the composer's intention, and this intention is, with full consciousness, enounced, in order that the dramatic substance of the accompanying text may be satisfied by being truly expressed. The only thing, in fact, attacked, was the unbecoming and heartless desire of the singer to please; but, in all other respects, everything relating to the completely unnatural organisation of opera remained exactly as before. Air, recitative, and dance-music, each completely separate, stand as causelessly by each other in Gluck's operas, as was previously the case, and is so, almost always, even at the present day.

In the position of the poet towards the composer, not the slightest change was made; the position of the latter towards him had in fact become rather more dictatorial than before, since, after enouncing the consciousness of his more elevated task-with regard to the vocalist-he carried out, with more maturely weighed zeal, the arrangements in the construction of the opera. The poet never thought of mixing himself up at all in such arrangements; he could not conceive music, to which opera owed its origin, otherwise than in those narrow, and perfectly defined forms-completely binding down even the musician himself to which he was accustomed. It would have struck him as incredible, from any demands of the dramatic necessity upon them, to work on these forms in such a degree, that they should, with regard to their constitution, have ceased to act as limits to dramatic truth, since he only conceived the constitution of music in the above forms-unassailable even by the musician himself. He was obliged, therefore, if he once lent himself to the production of an opera-text, to be more painfully attentive to these forms than even the musician, and, at most, leave it to the latter to carry out enlargements and developments in a field of action where he was at home, and to which he, the poet, would only pretend to be auxiliary, but where he could not presume to exact anything. Thus it was by the poet himself, who looked with a kind of holy dread upon the composer, that the dictatorship in opera was rather completely given up to, than disputed with, the musician, when the poet perceived what earnest zeal the latter devoted to his task.

But it was Gluck's successors who first thought of taking advantage of this position of theirs for enlarging the forms they found ready to their hand. These successors among whom we must comprise the composers of Italian aud French origin, who, shortly before the conclusion of the last, and at the commencement of the present, century, wrote for the operatic theatres of Paris-imparted to their songs, with a more and more complete degree of warmth and truth of immediate expression, a more extended formal foundation. The old established divisions of the air, still retained in their essential characteristics, were fixed upon more varied motives, and even transitions and connecting passages drawn into the domain of expression; the recitative joined involuntarily, and more closely, the air, and even entered as a necessary expression into its composition.

The air, however, gained an important degree of expansion from the fact that more than one person-according to the dramatic exigencies-took part in its execution, and that thus the essentially monological characteristic of the old opera was advantageously lost. It is true that pieces such as duets and trios had been long previously known; but the fact of two or three persons singing together in an air had not fundamentally produced the least change in the character of the air, which, in the melodic plan and maintenance of the thematic tone once adopted-which tone did not exactly refer to individual expression, but to a general specifically musical disposition-remained quite the same, nothing being really changed in it, whether performed as a monologue or as a duet, except what was perfectly material, namely: the fact of the musical phrases being sung alternately by different voices, or by all together, by a simple harmonic contrivance, such as two or three voices, etc. To indicate this specifically musical element, so far that it might become capable of vivaciously alternating individual expression, was the task and work of the above mentioned composers, as is evident in their treatment of the so-called dramatico-musical ensemble. The essential element of this ensemble always remained in truth simply the air, recitative, and dance music; only, whenever, in the air or recitative, a vocal expression, corresponding to the text-foundation, was once acknowledged as a fitting exigence, the truth of this expression logically and of necessity had to be extended to whatever dramatic connection was contained in the text-foundation. From the honest effort to satisfy this necessary consequence, arose the extension of the older musical forms in opera, as we find them in the serious operas of Cherubini, Méhul, and Spontini. We may say that, in these works, is fulfilled what Gluck wanted, or may have wanted-yes, in them is attained, once for all, whatever natural, that is to say, in the best sense of the expression, consistent qualities could be developed on the primitive foundation of opera.

The youngest of the above three masters, Spontini, was so per- | fectly convinced of having really reached the utmost limits of operatic style; he had so firm a belief in the impossibility of his productions ever being, in any way, surpassed, that, in all his subsequent artistic efforts, which he published after the works of his great Parisian epoch, he never made even the slightest attempt, in form or meaning, to go beyond the stand he had taken in those works. He obstinately refused to recognise the subsequent, so-called romantic, development of opera as anything but an evident decay of opera; so that, on those, to whom he afterwards communicated his ideas concerning this subject, he necessarily produced the impression of a person prejudiced, to madness, in favour of himself and his own works, while he really only enounced a conviction, which could very easily be founded upon a perfectly sound view of the constitution of opera. On surveying the deportment of modern opera, Spontini could, with justice ask: "Have you materially developed, in any manner, the musical component parts of opera in any greater degree than what you find in my works? Or have you been able to effect anything intelligible or sound, by really going beyond this form? Is not all that is unpalateable in your productions simply a consequence of stepping out of this form, and have you not been enabled to produce all that is palateable simply within this form? Where, now, does this form exist more grandly, broadly, and comprehensively than in my three great Parisian operas? Who, however, will tell me that he has filled out this form with more glowing, passionate, and energetic substance than I have?"

But how did this poet stand with regard to Spontini and his contemporaries? With the whole growth of the musical form of opera, with all the development of the capabilities of expres sion contained in it, the position of the poet was not in the least changed. He always remained the preparer of foundations for the perfectly independent experiments of the composer. If the latter, through successes obtained, felt his power for freer movement within his form increase, he only set the poet the task of serving him with less fear and anxiety in the supply of subjects; he said to him, as it were, "See what I am able to accomplish! Do not trammel yourself; trust in my activity to resolve your most hazarded dramatic combinations, body and bones, into music." Thus was the poet merely carried along by the musician; he must have felt ashamed to bring wooden hobby-horses to his master, when the latter was able to bestride a real steed, for he knew that the rider understood how to handle the reins bravely-the musical reins, which were destined to guide the steed hither and thither in the well-levelled operatic riding school, and without which neither musician nor poet dared to bestride it, for fear it might spring high above the inclosing fence, and run off to its wild, magnificent naturehome.

The poet thus certainly attained, by the side of the composer, increasing importance, but only exactly in the proportion that the musician ascended before him, while he merely followed; the strictly musical possibilities alone, which the composer pointed out to him, were all that the poet thought of, to serve as his standard for arrangement and form, and even for the choice of a subject; he remained, therefore, with all the reputation which he, also, was beginning to gain, only the mere skilful person, able to serve the "dramatic" composer so suitably and well. Immediately the composer himself took no other view of the relative position of the poet, than that which he derived from the nature of opera, he could only regard himself as the responsible factor of the opera, and thus, with right and justice, retain the position assumed by Spontini, as being the most suitable, since he could procure himself the satisfaction of producing in that position, all that was possible for a musician, if he wished the opera, as musical drama, to preserve its claim as a valid form

of art.

That, however, there were things possible in drama, which could not be touched in the form of art of which we have been treating-if it were not to be entirely ruined-is at present very apparent to us, although it must have completely escaped the notice of the composer and poet of that period. Of all dramatic possibilities, only those could strike them which were to be realized in their perfectly decided, and, from their constitution, altogether limited operatic form. The broad expansion of, and long resting on, one motive, necessary for the musician, that he might express himself clearly in his own form; the purely musical additions which he required, for the purpose, as it were, of setting his bell a-swinging, that it might sound, and sound, too, so as expressively to satisfy a decided character, at all times imposed upon the poet the task of busying himself with a particularly decided species of dramatic ideas, which afforded sufficient space for the extended, ambiguous commodiousness indispensable to the musician for his experimentalising. The purely rhetorical, phraselike, stereotyped element in his expression was for the poet a duty, for from this element alone could the musician obtain sufficient space for the expansion necessary for his purpose, but, in truth, wholly undramatic. Had the poet made his heroes speak in a short, decided, succinct manner, full of meaning, he would only have drawn down upon himself the reproach of the impracticability of his poem for the purposes of the composer. Feeling compelled to place a number of commonplace, meaningless phrases in the mouth of his heroes, he could not, consequently, with the best desire in the world, distinguish persons so speaking by true character, nor set the seal of perfect dramatic truth upon the context of their

It would be difficult to reply to these questions of Spontini in a manner that would confuse him, but, in every case, still more difficult to prove to him that he was mad, if he held us to be so. Out of Spontini's mouth speaks the honest voice of conviction of the absolute musician, who gives us to understand: "If the musician will, by himself, as arranger of the opera, bring about the drama, he cannot, without in addition exposing his utter incapacity, go one step further than I have gone." In this, how-actions. His drama became more and more a pretext for the drama; ever, there is involuntarily expressed the demand for something further: "If you desire more, you must apply, not to the musician, but to the poet."

he never dared draw all the conclusions he might have drawn from the real aim of the drama. Strictly speaking, he only translated, therefore, the drama into operatic language, so that,

really, in most instances, all that he did was to work up, for opera, dramas which had long been known and performed until people were completely tired of them, on the stage of spoken plays, as was especially the case in Paris, with the tragedies of the Théâtre-Français. The aim of the drama, which, as a natural consequence, was inwardly hollow and null, thus passed, notoriously, into the intentions of the composer, from whom the public expected what the poet had previously given. It fell, therefore, necessarily, to his, the composer's, lot, to remedy this inward hollowness and nullity of the whole work, as soon as he perceived them; he saw himself, therefore, charged with the unnatural task-from his own point of view, from the point of view of one who has to assist in realising, only by the means of expression at his command, the fully displayed dramatic aim of himself conceiving and calling the aim into life. Thus, strictly speaking, the musician had to endeavour really to compose the drama, and to make his music not only the expression, but also the very substance, which substance, according to the nature of the thing, was to be nothing less than the drama itself.

From this point commences, most plainly, the wonderful confusion of ideas, occasioned by the predicate "dramatic," concerning the constitution of music. Music, which, as an art of expression, can, in its greatest fullness, only be true in that expression, is, under these circumstances and in conformity to its nature, simply referable to what it should express; in opera this is most decidedly the sensations of those speaking and performing, and any music doing this with convincing effect is exactly all it can ever be. Any music, however, intended to be more than this-any music not referring to an object to be expressed, but intended also to fulfil it, that is to say to be the object itself, is fundamentally no longer music at all, but a phantastic abstract monstruosity, which can in truth only be realised as a caricature. In spite of every wrongheaded effort, music, if at all effectivehas really remained nothing more than expression; from such efforts to make it the substance itself-and that, too, the substance of the drama-has sprung what we have to acknowledge as the logical decay of opera, and, therefore, the notorious proof of the complete unnaturalness of this form of art.

Although the foundation and actual substance of Spontini's operas were hollow and null, and the musical form displayed upon them circumscribed and pedantic, still they were in their restrictedness a frank and, in themselves, clear confession of what was possible in this form, without pushing its inherent unnaturalness to madness. Modern opera, on the other hand, is the public proof of this madness having commenced. In order more nearly to examine its constitution, let us now turn our attention to the other direction taken by the development of opera, a direction we have characterised as frivolous, and through the mingling of which with the serious direction, of which we have just been treating, has been produced that indescribably confused oaf which we hear designated, and that, too, not unfrequently, even by apparently sensible people, as Modern Dramatic Opera."

(To be continued.)

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DRAMATIC.

STRAND.-A new version of the Adelphian farce of Betty Martin, called Sally Smart, has been produced for the purpose of introducing Miss Somers in Mrs. Keeley's part. The attempt is an ambitious one, and altho' we must not compare Miss Somers' performance with that of her more experienced rival, it was quite worthy the rising popularity of the youthful provincialist, who is unquestionably destined to occupy a prominent station on the London stage, in the parts in which she excels.

DRURY LANE.-If crowded houses be a proof of success, the Royal Opera at Drury Lane must be pronounced triumphant. The cheap prices, no less than the performance, have proved attractive, and Mr. E. T. Smith has found the suppression of free tickets and orders to answer. Nevertheless, the prices are too low, and the theatre would fill just as well if they were higherto say nothing of preserving its respectability. On Friday Norma was given with two new singers from the Continent. Madame Arga is a very pleasing actress, and has a fine mezzo-soprano voice, which she manages skilfully. She is prepossessing in appearance, and displays intelligence in all she attempts. Her success was decided. We have no doubt she will prove an acquisition to the theatre, and a useful set-off to Madame Gassier. Signor Armandi is a tenore robusto, as Pollio should be. The part of Pollio, however, is not a favourable one for a first appearance. We must not, therefore, judge Signor Armandi until we have seen him in something else. Mr. Hamilton Braham was the Oroveso. Mad. Gassier continues to delight in the Sonnambula, the Barbiere, and Don Pasquale. In the last-named opera, on Tuesday, Sig. Fortini made his first appearance as the amorous old bachelor, and sustained the part with much effect. Although occasionally extravagant, Sig. Fortini possesses humour.

In the ballet, in addition to Mdlle. Palmyra, who improves on acquaintance, a Mdlle. Paolo has made her début with success. She dances neatly and gracefully, has a pretty face, and possesses a good figure. M. Friant, another dancer, also made his first bow.

SURREY.-On Tuesday-week the dramatic season closed with the Lady of Lyons, and the Love Chase, for the benefit of Miss Fitzpatrick, whose appearance as Pauline Deschapelles took the audience a little by surprise. The early scenes were given with grace and naivete, and, though the scenes in the third and fourth acts wanted energy, the whole displayed a power of expression, at least in its more subdued form, for which we had hardly given the fair actress credit.-On Monday last the operatic season commenced, under the direction of Miss Romer, with a lyrical version of the drama of Faust and Marguerite, called Mephistopheles, the libretto by Mr. Henri Drayton, and the music by Herr Lutz, musical director of the theatre. Herr Lutz produced an operetta here two years ago, with moderate success. His present work is not likely to obtain a more lasting hold on the public. That it contains the elements of popularity is not to be denied; but that it contains no more, is equally certain. The writer is evidently a votary of modern Italianism; his models, however, are not the best of their kind. There is a pretty and spirited opening chorus, and a quintet in the finale to the first act, which display some good part-writing. The second act contains a quartet of the same kind; this was encored, have, apparently, merit; but it is impossible to speak with confidence until the singers have been better drilled. It is only fair to Herr Lutz to add that he had but scanty justice from the performers, either on the stage or in the orchestra. Mr. Drayton and Mr. Perren were the only artists who seemed at ease in their parts. Mrs. Drayton (late Miss Lowe) sang timidly, as if she had not sufficiently studied the music allotted to her. The house was crammed from floor to roof.

AMATEUR PANTOMIME.-The following letter has been addressed to our contemporary, the Leader, by Mr. Albert Smith: -"THE AMATEUR PANTOMIME.-(To the Editor of the Leader.)—as were also a tenor and bass song. The choruses in the last act SIR,-Be kind enough to allow me, through your columns, to give up an honour which I am not fairly entitled to-the authorship of the opening of the Olympic Amateur Pantomime. The original burlesque scene of Guy Fawkes was written by Mr. Edmund Draper, for The Man in the Moon-a little periodical which I edited in 1848, conjointly with my poor friend, Mr. Angus Reach. I have done little more, with my collaborateur Mr. Hale, than remodel it, according to our exigencies, and put in the songs and 'business,' and such local or personal allusions as were considered adapted to the audience. Yours obediently, ALBERT SMITH. The Fielding Club, April 11, 1855."

NEWS FOR SIMS REEVES.-Our contemporary, L'Europe Artiste, in his last number, writes:-" M. Simes Rèves supports at Drury Lane the whole burden of the répertoire." Possibly Mr. Smith would not object to this being true.

DON GIOVANNI.-Herr Pauer, the well-known pianist and composer, having been commissioned to dispose of the original score of this masterpiece, in Mozart's own handwriting, offered it to the British Museum for two hundred guineas (the minimum price). His offer was declined instantaneously. They would have purchased a mummy for the same amount, no doubt,

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