LETTER I.

IN order to give your Lordſhip a diſtinct idea, not only of the va⯑rious kinds of verſe made uſe of by the Italians in their Opera, but of the principles alſo by which the application of that variety is directed, I find it ne⯑ceſſary to take into conſideration the union of poetry and muſic, which is [2] peculiar to this ſpecies of drama. The nature of this union ſeems to have been well underſtood by their beſt dramatic writers, and they have ſeldom loſt ſight of it in their works; whilſt thoſe of our poets, who have written Cantatas or other compoſitions for muſic, appear either to have been not at all acquainted with it, or, if they were, to have totally diſregarded it. The Italians have, with great propri⯑ety, conſidered, that the ſpeeches in the drama, whether in dialogue or ſolilo⯑quy, muſt be either ſuch as are ex⯑preſſive of paſſion and ſentiment, or ſuch as are not ſo. On this real di⯑ſtinction, and not, as with us, on the mere caprice of the compoſer, is found⯑ed [3] their firſt great diviſion of vocal muſic into recitative and air. It is e⯑vident, on the ſlighteſt conſideration, that, in the progreſs of the drama, many paſſages muſt neceſſarily occur, ſuch as ſimple narration of facts, di⯑rections given, plain anſwers made to plain queſtions, ſometimes abſtract truths or moral reflections;—none of which, as they contain nothing of paſſion or ſentiment, can ever become the ſubject of muſical expreſſion. Sim⯑ply to have ſpoken theſe paſſages, how⯑ever, and then abruptly to have ſet up a ſinging, when any pathetic part preſented itſelf, would have produced exactly that barbarous jumble of proſe and poetry, of muſic and diſſonance, [4] which characterizes the Engliſh comic opera. To avoid this, and, at the ſame time, not idly to beſtow the charms of fancy and feeling, where embelliſh⯑ment and expreſſion would be im⯑proper, the Italians have invented that ſpecies of ſinging termed by them ſim⯑ple recitative. Its name almoſt ſuffici⯑ently explains its nature: It is a ſuc⯑ceſſion of notes ſo arranged as to coin⯑cide with the laws of harmony, tho' never accompanied but by a ſingle inſtrument, whoſe office is merely to ſupport the voice, and to direct it in its modulations. Though, for the ſake of this accompanyment, recitative is, like other muſic, divided into bars, yet are not theſe bars, as in other [5] muſic, neceſſarily of equal lengths; the notes of which they are compoſed being ſubjected to no preciſe muſical meaſure, but regulated, in this re⯑ſpect, almoſt wholly by the natural proſody of the language. Thus, this kind of recitative anſwers completely its end: It detains the audience very little longer than the ſpoken recital would do; and, being muſic itſelf, the tranſition from it to the higher and more intereſting parts is perfectly na⯑tural, and agreeable to the ear^*.

[6]The verſe appropriated to recitative is of a mixed kind, conſiſting of the [7] heroic line of eleven ſyllables, and of a line of ſeven ſyllables, with now and [8] then a rhyme. In the intermingling, however, theſe lines with each other, [9] as well as with reſpect to the intro⯑duction of the rhymes, the poet is entirely left to the guidance of his own ear and ſentiment. This kind of mixed verſe, from the variety of the cadences which it affords, ſeems well calculated to give to the recitative as marked a reſemblance to common ſpeech as is conſiſtent with the dignity and beauty of numbers; whilſt the ſpa⯑ring and judicious introduction of rhyme, either to finiſh more highly ſome beautiful paſſage, or more ſtrongly to point ſome remarkable aſſertion or [10] reflection, ſerves to preſerve through⯑out the piece a proper degree of u⯑nity of effect, by preventing that irk⯑ſome and unnatural diſſimilarity be⯑tween the recitative and the airs, which would, in ſome degree, be the conſe⯑quence of the want of this kind of medium. Upon the whole, it appears admirably well ſuited to the leſs im⯑portant parts of a production ſo refined and artificial as the Opera, whoſe ob⯑ject, like that of the arts of painting and ſculpture amongſt the ancients, is not ſo much the exact imitation of nature, as the union in as high a de⯑gree as poſſible of what is beautiful with what is natural.

LETTER II.

IN the former ſheets I have endea⯑voured to explain to your Lord⯑ſhip the nature of ſimple recitative, and to deſcribe the kind of verſe appro⯑priated to it. I proceed now to treat of the higher parts of vocal muſic, thoſe, namely, which are adapted to the more intereſting and pathetic paſ⯑ſages of the drama. With reſpect to [10] [...] [11] [...] [12] theſe, diſtinctions have been likewiſe made by the Italians, which ſeem perfectly well founded. They muſt, in the firſt place, have obſerved, that all thoſe paſſages in which the mind of the ſpeaker is agitated by a rapid ſucceſſion of various emotions, are, from their nature, incompatible with any particular ſtrain, or length of me⯑lody; for that which conſtitutes ſuch particular ſtrain is the relation of ſeve⯑ral parts to one whole. Now, it is this whole which the Italians diſtinguiſh by the name of motivo, which may be tranſlated ſtrain, or ſubject of the air, and which they conceive to be incon⯑ſiſtent with the brevity and deſultory ſenſe of thoſe ejaculations, which are [13] the effect of a high degree of agitation. Air they think even inadmiſſible in thoſe paſſages, in which, though the emotions be not various, yet the ſentences are broken and incoherent. To give an inſtance: The following ſpeech, tho' terror be uniformly expreſſed by the whole of it, ſeems not at all a ſubject fit to be comprehended under, or ex⯑preſſed by one regular ſtrain:

But, whilſt the Italians conceived ſuch paſſages to be incompatible with that regularity of meaſure, and that u⯑nity of ſtrain which is eſſential to air, they felt, however, that they were of all others the moſt proper ſubject for muſical expreſſion: And, accordingly, both the poet and muſician ſeem, by mutual conſent, to have beſtowed on ſuch paſſages their chief ſtudy; and the muſician, in particular, never fails to exert on them his higheſt and moſt [15] brilliant powers. It is to them they adapt that ſpecies of recitative termed recitativo inſtrumentato, or recitativo o⯑bligato,—accompanied recitative. In this kind of recitative the ſinger is, in a more ſpecial manner, left to the dictates of his own feelings and judg⯑ment with reſpect to the meaſure: He muſt not indeed reverſe the natural proſody of the language, by making ſhort what ſhould be long, or vice ver⯑ſa; but he may not only proportion⯑ally lengthen the duration of each ſyl⯑lable, but he may give to particular ſyllables what length he pleaſes, and precipitate conſiderably the pronuncia⯑tion of others, juſt as he thinks the ex⯑preſſion requires. The march of the [16] notes is very different in this from that of the common or ſimple recitative; delicacy, pathos, force, dignity, accor⯑ding to the different expreſſions of the words, are its characteriſtics. It is in this ſpecies of ſong that the fineſt effects of the chromatic, and, as far as our ſyſtem of muſical intervals is ſuſcepti⯑ble of it, even of the enharmonic ſcale, are peculiarly felt; and it is here alſo that the powers of modulation are moſt happily, becauſe moſt properly, em⯑ployed, by changes of tone analogous to the variety of the matter, in a won⯑derful manner enforcing and character⯑izing the tranſitions which are made from one ſubject or emotion to ano⯑ther. Here, too, the whole orcheſtra [17] lends its aid; nor are the inſtruments limited to the ſimple duty of ſupport⯑ing and directing the voice. In this high ſpecies of recitative it is the pe⯑culiar province of the inſtrumental parts, during thoſe pauſes which natu⯑rally take place between the burſts of paſſion which a mind ſtrongly agitated breaks into, to produce ſuch ſounds as ſerve to awake in the audience ſenſa⯑tions and emotions ſimilar to thoſe which are ſuppoſed to agitate the ſpeak⯑er. Here, again, another fine diſtinction is made by the Italians, between the de⯑ſcriptive and the pathetic powers of mu⯑ſic. Theſe laſt are proper to the voice, the former to the orcheſtra alone. Thus, the ſymphonies which accompany this [18] kind of recitative, beſides the general analogy they muſt have to the imme⯑diate ſentiments, and even to the cha⯑racter, of the ſpeaker, are often parti⯑cularly deſcriptive of the place in which he is, or of ſome other concomitant circumſtance which may ſerve to heigh⯑ten the effect of the ſpeech itſelf. Sup⯑poſe, for example, the ſcene to be a priſon; the ſymphonies, whilſt they accord with the general tenor of the words, will paint, if I may be allowed the expreſſion, the horrors of the dun⯑geon itſelf:—And I can aſſure your Lordſhip that I have heard ſymphonies of this kind ſtrongly expreſſive of ſuch horrors. Again, ſuppoſe the ſcene by moon light and the general tone of [19] the paſſion plaintive, the ſweetneſs, the ſerenity, and, (though to thoſe, who have never experienced the effects of muſic in this degree, it may ſeem pa⯑radoxical to ſay ſo), even the ſolitude, nay, the ſilence of the ſcene, would make part of the ideas ſuggeſted by the ſymphonies. Should a ſtorm be introduced, the ſkilful compoſer would contrive to make the rain beat, and the tempeſt howl moſt fearfully, by means of the orcheſtra: Nay, in a ſcene ſuch as that of the dying Beau⯑fort, which I have quoted above^* to your Lordſhip, the muſician, follow⯑ing cloſe the wild ravings of the ſpeak⯑er, would, during the pauſes of the [20] ſpeech, call forth from the inſtruments ſuch ſounds as would thrill with terror the audience, by realizing, in a man⯑ner, to their ſenſe and feeling, the hor⯑rible apprehenſions of his diſtracted mind. But the combined powers of melody and harmony are never more effectually felt than when, in this kind of recitative, they are employed to mark ſome very ſtriking tranſition. In a ſcene of madneſs, for example, where the imagination of the ſpeaker is ſup⯑poſed to ſtart from a gloomy deſart to flowery meads, the orcheſtra would, by an immediate change of meaſure, of melody, of harmony, perhaps of ſounds too, mark the tranſition—would proceed to ſpread out the ſmiling land⯑ſkip, to adorn it with gayeſt flowers, [21] to awake the zephyr, and, in ſhort, give to the audience, by means of a wonderful analogy of ſounds, the moſt lively repreſentation of the new image which is ſuppoſed to have taken poſſeſ⯑ſion of the madman's mind.—Theſe are effects of what I have ventured to call the Deſcriptive, or Imitative, powers of muſic. With reſpect to the tranſi⯑tions of paſſion, ſuch as from tender⯑neſs to jealouſy, from joy to anger, &c. theſe belong to the Pathetic pow⯑ers of muſic, and are the peculiar pro⯑vince of the vocal part. Often, in the middle of a very agitated Recitative, on the occurrence of ſome tender idea, on which the mind is ſuppoſed to dwell with a kind of melancholy pleaſure, [22] the muſic loſes, by degrees, the irre⯑gular character of Recitative, and re⯑ſolves gradually into the even meaſure and continued melody of Air,—then, on a ſudden, at the call of ſome idea of an oppoſite nature, breaks off again into its former irregularity. This change from Recitative to Air, and thence to Recitative again, never fails, when pro⯑perly introduced, to have a very ſtrik⯑ing and beautiful effect. Whilſt it is the buſineſs of the orcheſtra thus cloſely to accompany the ſentiments and ſitua⯑tion of the ſinger, the actor, in his turn, as there is no note without a meaning, muſt be continually attentive to the orcheſtra: During thoſe inter⯑vals, in which the inſtruments may be [23] ſaid to ſpeak, his action muſt be in ſtrick concert with the muſic; every thing muſt tend to the ſame point; ſo that the poet, the muſician, the actor, muſt all ſeem to be informed by one ſoul.—If your Lordſhip, to the na⯑tural voice of paſſion, and the proper and graceful expreſſion of action, ima⯑gines, thus united, the intrinſic charm of ſound itſelf, and the wonderful pow⯑ers of melody and harmony, I hope you will join with me in opinion, that the effect produced by ſuch union is much richer, much more beautiful, much more powerful and affecting, than any that can be produced by ſim⯑ple declamation. Though, in paſſages of this deſcription, the language ought [24] certainly to riſe with the ſubject, yet the verſe which is here made uſe of, is of the ſame kind with that employed in the common Recitative, as being that which has the greateſt variety, and ſuf⯑fers the feweſt reſtrictions, and, as ſuch, the beſt adapted to the irregular nature of ſuch paſſages.—Having thus en⯑deavoured to explain to your Lordſhip the nature of recitative, ſimple and ac⯑companied, of thoſe diſtinctions on which they are reſpectively founded, and of the ſpecies of verſe in which they are written, I proceed to treat of Air, and of the different kinds of verſi⯑fication which are employed in it. As to the principles which direct the choice in adapting particular meaſures to par⯑ticular [25] airs, I ſhall have nothing to ſay, they being exactly the ſame with thoſe by which the lyric poet adapts the verſe to the various ſubject of an ode;—the heroic to the grave and ſublime;—that which ſtill partakes of dignity, though rather ſmooth than grand, to the tender and pathetic;—that which is more violent and unequal, to the highly impaſſioned parts;—and that which is of the airy dancing kind, to the lighter and more lively paſſages of the piece: Diſtinctions, which, it may be obſerved, are evidently conſequences of the original union of poetry and muſic.

I am well aware, that great part of what I have here ſaid of the power of [26] the Italian muſic would, to many, per⯑haps to moſt people, appear the lan⯑guage rather of enthuſiaſm than of any thing elſe: Perhaps it partly is ſo; for my own feelings, on the authority alone of which I ſpeak, may, in ſome degree, proceed from enthuſiaſm. Whether this be the caſe, or whether the effects I mention be completely real, but take place in conſequence of certain ſenſibi⯑lities, ſo partially diſtributed among mankind, that, perhaps, even the leſſer number are ſuſceptible of theſe effects, I do not preſume to determine. If this laſt be the caſe, (and there is no abſurdity in ſuppoſing it to be ſo), it is evident, however, that thoſe who pro⯑feſs ſo great a degree of ſenſibility to [27] the powers of muſic, will be very apt to appear affected and enthuſiaſtic to the reſt of mankind, who are, ſurely, in ſome degree, juſtified for calling in queſtion the exiſtence of pleaſures to which, poſſeſſing the ſame organs, all in ſeeming equal perfection, they find themſelves perfect ſtrangers: Whilſt, on the other hand, thoſe who acknow⯑ledge the power of muſic, will think they have a complete right to aſſert the reality of that of which they have ſo feeling a conviction. For my own part, I am firmly perſuaded, that what I have ventured to advance to your Lordſhip touching the effects of muſic, is not at all exaggerated with reſpect to the feelings of thouſands beſides my⯑ſelf: [28] Nay, it is my opinion, that, were muſical entertainments arrived to that degree of perfection to which they might be brought, they could not fail of producing effects much more pow⯑erful than any I ever had an opportu⯑nity of experiencing.

LETTER III.

RECITATIVE and Air may be con⯑ſidered as genera in muſic, and the different kinds of each as ſpecies.

What I have already had the honour of ſubmitting to your Lordſhip's peru⯑ſal, on the ſubject of Recitative, may ſerve partly to explain the nature of Air. All thoſe paſſages where the [30] tranſition from one emotion to another is ſudden and violent, and which, therefore, can neither, on account of their brevity, make each a whole of it⯑ſelf, nor, by reaſon of their variety, be made parts of the ſame whole, are ex⯑preſſed in Recitative. Thoſe, on the other hand, in which one ſentiment pervades a whole ſentence compoſed of different parts, become proper ſub⯑jects for Air; and, indeed, every com⯑plete muſical ſtrain may, with great juſtneſs, be termed a ſentence or pe⯑riod in melody.—Before proceeding to ſpeak of the different kinds of Airs, it may not be improper to ſay ſome⯑thing of the Symphony by which they are in general preceded. This Sym⯑phony [31] is the enunciation, by the or⯑cheſtra, of the ſtrain or ſubject, what the Italians call the motivo of the Air; and when not improperly introduced, (which it always is when the ſenſe ad⯑mits not of any pauſe), ſerves ſeveral uſeful purpoſes;—it gives time to the ſinger to breathe, already, perhaps, fa⯑tigued by a long recitative;—it often fills up, with propriety, a natural pauſe, and always finely prepares the audi⯑ence for what is to come after, by e⯑nabling them, having thus once heard the ſtrain, to liſten with more intelli⯑gence, and, of conſequence, with more intereſt and pleaſure to the ſong. Be⯑ſides, the general uſe of the Symphony, renders the omiſſion of it, on particular [32] occaſions, beautiful and ſtriking.—Thus, for example, at the end of a Recitative, or at the beginning of a ſcene, when the audience are expecting, as uſual, the preparatory Symphony to the Air, they are ſuddenly ſurpriſed by the violent burſt of ſome impetuous paſſion, which admitted of no poſſible pauſe. The propriety of having, in ſuch a circumſtance, omitted the Sym⯑phony, comes forcibly on the mind, as, vice verſa, the effect of the omiſ⯑ſion here confirms the propriety of u⯑ſing it where the ſenſe allows it to be introduced. Sometimes, again, the Symphony is omitted in a very differ⯑ent manner, tho' with equal propriety: When, for inſtance, in an accompa⯑nied [33] recitative, after a ſucceſſion of very different emotions, ſome ſentiment is ſuppoſed to take poſſeſſion of the mind, related to that which is to be the ſubject of the Air, and to which it is afterwards led by a gradation of kindred emotions:—The progreſs, in this caſe, from Recitative to Air, is ſo gentle, that the audience frequently find themſelves melting into tears at the affecting and continued melody of the Air, before they are aware that the Recitative is ended. This imper⯑ceptible tranſition is effected ſometime by ſubjecting the recitative itſelf to muſical meaſure, and making the notes of it, by degrees, take a reſemblance to thoſe of the Air. At other times, [34] it is brought about by introducing, in the inſtrumental parts, during the pauſes of the Recitative, paſſages of the ſtrain which is to make the ſubject of the Air: Sometimes by both theſe means. The effect of this gradual tranſition is always very fine, and, as your Lordſhip will obſerve, is, in part, derived from that habitual diſtinction which the audience are accuſtomed to make between Recitative and Air.—As to the Airs themſelves, your Lordſhip will conceive that they are as various as their ſubjects. Theſe are every poſ⯑ſible ſentiment, affection, or paſſion, the expreſſion of which is extended through one ſentence of a certain length: ſuch ſentences as theſe,—I [35] love—I fear his wrath—I mourn her loſs—though all proper ſubjects for muſical expreſſion, being evidently too ſhort to afford matter for a ſtrain or melody, which, however ſimple, muſt ſtill be compoſed of parts, the relations of which to one another, and to one whole, conſtitute, indeed, the eſſence of ſuch ſtrain.—The Air, though it muſt contain at leaſt one complete ſen⯑tence, is not, however, limited to one alone: It is often compoſed of two, ſometimes of more parts; but theſe, whether related by analogy or by con⯑traſt to the principal one, muſt each ſtrictly belong to the ſame whole. The Airs are divided, by the Italians, into certain claſſes; theſe claſſes are [36] originally founded on real diſtinctions, drawn from the nature of the various affections of the mind; but muſicians, who, like other artiſts, are ſeldom phi⯑loſophers, have diſtinguiſhed them by names relative to the practice of their own profeſſion.—The principal are the following:

Aria Cantabile,—by pre-eminence ſo called, as if it alone were Song: And, indeed, it is the only kind of ſong which gives the ſinger an oppor⯑tunity of diſplaying at once, and in the higheſt degree, all his powers, of whatever deſcription they be. The proper ſubjects for this Air are ſenti⯑ments of tenderneſs.

[37] Aria di portamento,—a denomination expreſſive of the carriage, (as they thus call it), of the voice. This kind of Air is chiefly compoſed of long notes, ſuch as the ſinger can dwell on, and have, thereby, an opportunity of more effec⯑tually diſplaying the beauties, and call⯑ing forth the powers of his voice; for the beauty of ſound itſelf, and of voice in particular, as being the fineſt of all ſounds, is held, by the Italians, to be one of the chief ſources of the pleaſure we derive from muſic. The ſubjects proper for this Air are ſentiments of dignity.

Aria di mezzo caratttre.—Your Lord⯑ſhip can be at no loſs to underſtand [38] this term; though I know no words in our language by which I could pro⯑perly tranſlate it. It is a ſpecies of Air, which, though expreſſive neither of the dignity of this laſt, nor of the pa⯑thos of the former, is, however, ſeri⯑ous and pleaſing.

Aria parlante,—ſpeaking Air, is that which, from the nature of its ſubject, admits neither of long notes in the compoſition, nor of many ornaments in the execution. The rapidity of the motion of this Air is proportioned to the violence of the paſſion which is ex⯑preſſed by it. This ſpecies of Air goes ſometimes by the name of aria di nota e parola, and likewiſe of aria agitata; [39] but theſe are rather ſub-diviſions of the ſpecies, and relate to the different de⯑grees of violence of the paſſion ex⯑preſſed.

Aria di bravura, aria di agilita,—is that which is compoſed chiefly, indeed, too often, merely to indulge the ſinger in the diſplay of certain powers in the execution, particularly extraordinary agility or compaſs of voice. Though this kind of air may be ſometimes in⯑troduced with ſome effect, and with⯑out any great violation of propriety, yet, in general, the means are here conſounded with the end.

[40] Rondo—is a term of French origin, unknown, I believe, till of late to the Italian muſicians. It relates merely to a certain peculiarity in the conſtruction of the ſong, in which the compoſer, after having properly eſtabliſhed the ſubject, carries it through a variety of tones, every now and then returning to the principal ſtrain or part, and al⯑ways concluding with it.

Cavatina—is an expreſſion which likewiſe relates to the form alone, meaning an Air of one part, without repetition.

Theſe, to the beſt of my remem⯑brance, [...] the claſſes into which the Italians [...] divided Air.

[41]I ſhall now ſay ſomething of each claſs; and, in doing ſo, I hope to give your Lordſhip ſome idea of the great extent as well as preciſion of the Ita⯑lian muſic, and to ſhow, that, though the names of theſe claſſes be evidently taken from circumſtances of practice, yet theſe circumſtances, if properly at⯑tended to, will be found to be ſtrictly connected with, and, indeed, to ori⯑ginate from diſtinctions of a higher kind, which muſt have been previouſ⯑ly made with reſpect to the nature of the paſſions, and their effect on utter⯑ance and expreſſion. Whether the I⯑talian compoſers, in obſerving theſe diſtinctions, have been guided by ſome ſyſtem, or have been merely influenced [42] by feeling, I cannot take upon me to ſay. I am rather, however, inclined to think that the latter is the caſe; in the firſt place, becauſe I never heard of any ſuch ſyſtem exiſting among them, and, becauſe I have been per⯑ſonally acquainted with ſeveral of their fineſt compoſers now living, that had no idea of it; and, again, becauſe I think, that, to the want of ſuch a ſyſ⯑tem can be alone attributed the groſs deviations (which, even in the works of their greateſt maſters, are ſometimes to be met with), from its moſt obvious and moſt eſſential principles.

LETTER IV.

THE aria cantabile is emphatically ſo called, as being the higheſt ſpecies of Song. It is that indeed which affords the ſinger an opportuni⯑ty of diſplaying, in the execution of it, all his powers and ſkill;—if he has voice, if he has feeling, if he has taſte, if he has fancy, if he has ſcience—here he has ample ſcope for the exer⯑tion [44] of them all. The ſubject proper for this air is the expreſſion of tender⯑neſs. Though this be an expreſſion which always tends to ſadneſs, yet the ſadneſs is of that pleaſing kind which the mind loves to indulge: Thus, the memory of pleaſures that are paſt, the complaints of a lover abſent from his faithful miſtreſs, and ſuch like, are proper themes for this air. Hence it ariſes, that the aria cantabile, whilſt it is ſuſceptible of great pathos, admits, without prejudice to the expreſſion, of being highly ornamented; for this plain reaſon, that, though the ſenti⯑ments it expreſſes are affecting, they are, at the ſame time, ſuch as the mind dwells on with pleaſure; and it is like⯑wiſe [45] for this reaſon that the ſubject of the cantabile muſt never border on deep diſtreſs, nor approach to violent agita⯑tion, both of which are evidently in⯑conſiſtent with ornament. The motion of this air, though not ſo ſolemn as that which belongs to ſtill graver ſubjects, is very ſlow, and its conſtituent notes, of conſequence, proportionally long; I ſay conſtituent notes, in order to diſtin⯑guiſh thoſe which the ſinger introduces as ornamental from thoſe which con⯑ſtitute the melody itſelf. Theſe laſt are, in general, very few, extremely ſimple in their march, and ſo arranged as to allow great latitude to the ſkill of the ſinger. The inſtrumental parts are, in this kind of ſong, reſtricted to [46] almoſt nothing; for, though the accom⯑panyment is of uſe to the ſinger be⯑cauſe it ſupports the voice, yet ought it to be kept ſo ſubordinate to the vocal part, as never, during the ſong, to be⯑come the object of attention. The ſinger who attempts the cantabile ſhould be endowed, in the firſt place, with a fine voice, of the ſweet and plaintive kind, that the long notes, of which this ſong is compoſed, may, of them⯑ſelves, delight the ear: He ought to have great ſenſibility, that he may nicely feel and expreſs in an affecting manner the ſentiment: He ſhould poſ⯑ſeſs, beſides, great taſte and fancy, highly to ornament the melody, and, thereby, give to it that elegance which [47] is eſſential to this kind of ſong: An accurate judgment is likewiſe neceſſary, to keep his fancy within due bounds; and he ought to be a perfect maſter of the ſcience of counter-point, that he may know preciſely what liberties he may take with reſpect to the harmony of the other parts. As the productions of ſcience are, at leaſt in part, juſtly eſteemed by the degree of utility which attends them, ſo thoſe of art may be by the degree of pleaſure they afford. Now, it is the ſuperior degree of plea⯑ſure (which proceeds from the joint exertion of ſo many powers of nature and art in the aria cantabile) that gives to it the pre-eminence over every other kind of ſong; for your Lordſhip will [48] obſerve, that, in liſtening to an air of this deſcription, though the mind is all awake to feeling, yet are the e⯑motions it experiences of that gentle kind which unfit it neither for the con⯑templation of beauty, nor for the ad⯑miration of art; on the contrary, they ſerve to diſpoſe it more effectually for both. Thus, many of the nobleſt fa⯑culties of the mind are gratified at once; we judge, we admire, we feel, at the ſame inſtant of time; and, I may even ſay, we are, at the ſame in⯑ſtant, ſenſibly feaſted; for there is no doubt but there is a charm, not only in the harmony of ſounds, but even in the beauty of ſound itſelf, which acts phyſically on the machine, and may [49] be conſidered as actually producing a ſenſual gratification. The following are examples of the cantabile from Me⯑taſtaſio: In the firſt, a lover, complain⯑ing to his friend of the cruelty of his miſtreſs, concludes the recitative by ſaying,

In this ſecond, a young warrior, a⯑bout to take leave of his weeping miſ⯑treſs, thus addreſſes her:

I have only now to add, on the ſub⯑ject of this air, that I ſhould be ſorry, from what I have ſaid of the ornament eſſential to it, to have given riſe to an opinion in your Lordſhip, which the general practice of ſingers is, I own, [52] but too apt to confirm, namely, that the cantabile is little elſe than a ſtring of flouriſhes, originating almoſt entire⯑ly in the caprice of the performer. This is very far from being the caſe: Though the melancholy expreſſed by the cantabile be of that ſoothing kind which the mind loves to indulge, and is, therefore, not incompatible with ſome exertions of the fancy, yet are theſe exertions clearly limited, both with reſpect to number and quality, by the ſenſe of the words; ſome ad⯑mit of more, ſome of leſs ornament. The expreſſion of tenderneſs, as has been already obſerved, is that which peculiarly characteriſes this air; and juſt in proportion as this expreſſion is [53] allied to ſentiments of hope or plea⯑ſure, or tends rather towards ſadneſs and deſpondency, it admits more or leſs of being ornamented.—As to the exact quantum, no preciſe rules can be given:—This, it is evident, muſt always depend on the nice judgment of the performer; and it is certain, that, the greater his feeling, and the more cor⯑rect his taſte, the more ſparing he will be in the application of embelliſhments.—Thoſe, he makes uſe of, will reſemble in kind and number, not thoſe orna⯑ments which, without diſtinction, o⯑verload the whole ſurface of a Gothic building, but thoſe with which the Greeks adorned their architecture, which in times of the pureſt taſte, [54] were never ſo many as to diſguiſe, in any degree, the appearance of ſimpli⯑city, nor ſo prominent as to diſturb the ſymmetry of the great component parts of the edifice. Having mention⯑ed architecture, a very ſtriking analo⯑gy preſents itſelf to me between the Corinthian order and the aria cantabile.

As in this order it appears evi⯑dently to have been the intention of the inventor to unite, as far as they are conſiſtent with each other, beauty and utility; ſo it ſeems the object of the cantabile to unite, in the ſame man⯑ner, beauty and expreſſion. Thus, e⯑legance and refinement are equally the character of both,—in both have the [55] ſame kind of limitation;—in the for⯑mer, any thing, however beautiful in itſelf, that militated againſt utility, would have been inadmiſſible;—in the latter, any ornament, however graceful in itſelf, that ran counter-to, or, in the leaſt, diminiſhed the expreſſion, would be unpardonable;—for utility is the firſt principle of architecture, and ex⯑preſſion is the great end of muſic. This analogy might be carried a great deal farther, but, I am afraid, I have already exhauſted your Lordſhip's pa⯑tience.

LETTER V.

THE ſecond claſs of Airs to be con⯑ſidered, is the aria di portamento,—a term expreſſive of a certain way of managing the voice. It means, that the voice muſt be ſtrongly ſupported, and artfully managed, through the long notes, of which this air is com⯑poſed, the motion of which is graver than that of any other ſpecies. In the [58] cantabile the notes are alſo long; but their march is, in general, gradual and gliding: Here, on the contrary, the intervals ought to be bold, ſtriking, and unexpected. In the former, the gentle dying away,—here, the grand ſwell of the voice ought to be princi⯑pally attended to. In ſhort, pathos and elegance are the characteriſtics of the cantabile,—grandeur and ſublimity of the portamento. The great object, which muſicians ſeem to have had in view in this kind of air, is to give full ſcope to the voice to diſplay, in the higheſt degree, its powers and beau⯑ties;—as the Italians very emphatically expreſs it, ‘"far pompa della voce."’ In the general definition of this air, I [59] took notice to your Lordſhip of the high value which the Italians put on the beauty of voice itſelf; and, indeed, the effect of a powerful, and, at the ſame time, harmonious voice, in the execution of an air of this kind, is ſuch, as, I believe, muſt be felt before it can be conceived.

Every ſentiment, which proceeds from greatneſs of mind, or that ſpeaks the admiration of what is itſelf ſublime, is a proper ground-work for this air. The ſentiment expreſſed by it may be accompanied with ſenſibility, but muſt be calm, and undiſturbed by paſſion. This being the caſe, your Lordſhip will ſee, that the ſubject of the porta⯑mento [60] is of a nature too ſerious and important to admit of that degree of ornament which is eſſential to the can⯑tabile. Like the Doric order in archi⯑tecture, though it rejects not ornament altogether, yet it muſt owe its effect chiefly to its ſimplicity and grandeur. If your Lordſhip will allow me, in a⯑nother way, to illuſtrate the ſpecific difference of theſe two claſſes, I might ſay that, were Venus to ſing, her mode of ſong would be the cantabile; the portamento would be that of the Queen of gods and men.

Your Lordſhip will be ſenſible, that, though the line between theſe two claſſes be diſtinctly drawn, yet they [61] may, more or leſs, partake, ſometimes, of the nature of each other. Some ſentiments, for example, of a female lover, all gentleneſs and ſenſibility, may yet be accompanied with a degree of nobleneſs, which, if properly felt by the compoſer, may induce him to give a grandeur to the muſic that will make it partake, more than uſual, of the ſtile of the portamento: As, on the other hand, circumſtances may be i⯑magined in which the moſt heroic ſen⯑timents, from the mixture of ſome tender affection, may, without loſing their dignity, be expreſſed by ſtrains ſomewhat more approaching to the cantabile than the general character of the air allows: But theſe, indeed, are [62] nice ſhades of diſtinction, which eſcape the controul of fixed rules, and can be appretiated only by correſpondent feel⯑ings. The peculiar qualities neceſſary for the proper performance of this air are, firſt of all, a powerful and beauti⯑ful voice; for, without this, no ſkill, no taſte, no feeling even, can ever ren⯑der long notes ſupportable, much leſs make them a ſource of delight. Se⯑condly, a clear and unequivocal pro⯑nunciation, by virtue of which, not⯑withſtanding the length of the notes, the articulations, with which they be⯑gan, may be ſo ſtrongly impreſſed on the memory, as to render the ſenſe eaſily followed and underſtood. Laſtly, A graceful manner of acting, without [63] which, in that kind of ‘"action ſou⯑tenue,"’ which the great length of the notes requires, the deportment of the actor muſt indeed be aukward in the extreme.

I proceed now to give your Lordſhip ſome examples of theſe airs, beginning with one of the moſt ſerious kind, and, by its nature, the fartheſt removed from the cantabile:—It is likewiſe taken from Metaſtaſio:—In the Ora⯑torio of the paſſion of Chriſt:

The following example is from the opera of Attilius Regulus, by the ſame author. It is put in the mouth of the Roman Conſul, on hearing Regulus inſiſt on being ſent back to Carthage.

Here is a third from the ſame opera:—The daughter of Regulus ſeeing her father ſo much occupied by the great [66] public object he had in view, that he appears dead to that paternal fondneſs which ſhe had before experienced from him, ſays,—

To which he anſwers, cloſing the re⯑citative,

LETTER VI.

THE aria di mezzo carattere comes next to be conſidered. The ſub⯑jects proper for this kind of air are many, and very different, its particu⯑lar character being neither the pathetic, the grand, nor the paſſionate, but the pleaſing. There may be an almoſt in⯑finite variety of ſentiments, very pretty [70] and very intereſting, which are not, however, of ſufficient importance to be made the ſubject either of the can⯑tabile or the portamento:—The aria di mezzo carattere comprehends all ſuch.—From the great variety which this air, of conſequence, embraces, as well as from the leſs emphatic nature of the ſentiments to which it belongs, its ge⯑neral expreſſion is not ſo determined as that of the former cloſſes; yet, with reſpect to each individual air, the ex⯑preſſion is far from being vague or dubious, and though ſome greater la⯑titude be here granted to the fancy of the compoſer, nothing is given to his caprice, the ſenſe itſelf of the words clearly aſcertaining, in point both of [71] degree and quality, the expreſſion. The degree ought to be in exact pro⯑portion to the placidity or warmth of the ſentiment, and its particular caſt ought to be regulated by the nature of that paſſion to which the ſentiment is naturally allied; for ſentiments are but gentler degrees of paſſion. Thus, this claſs of airs, whilſt it retains its own particular character, may, by turns, have ſome affinity with almoſt all the other claſſes; but, whilſt its latitude is great in reſpect of variety, its limita⯑tions, with regard to degree, are ob⯑vious;—it may be ſoothing, but not ſad;—it may be pleaſing, but not ele⯑vated;—it may be lively, but not gay. The motion of this air is, by the Ita⯑lians, [72] termed andante, which is the exact medium of muſical time between its extremes of ſlow and quick. As the vocal part is never ſuppoſed here to be ſo beautiful and intereſting as in the higher claſſes, the orcheſtra, tho' it ought never to cover the voice, is not, however, kept in ſuch ſubordina⯑tion to it;—it is not only allowed to play louder, but may be more fre⯑quently introduced by itſelf, and may, on the whole, contribute more to the general effect of the air.

This kind of ſong is admirably well calculated to give repoſe and relief to the mind, from the great degree of at⯑tention and (with reſpect to myſelf, at [73] leaſt, I might ſay) agitation excited by the higher and more pathetic parts of the piece:—They poſſeſs the true character which belongs to the ſubordinate parts of a beautiful whole, as affording a repoſe, not the effect of a total want of intereſt, but of an intereſt which they call forth of a different and more placid kind, which the mind can attend to with more eaſe, and can enjoy without being exhauſted. I could wiſh it were in my power to give here three or four examples of this air, the more clearly to evince to your Lordſhip that this air, whilſt it retains perfectly its own peculiar character, may ſometimes approach, in its expreſſion, the canta⯑bile, ſometimes the portamento, and [74] ſometimes the parlante,—but having but one volume of Metaſtaſio by me, I cannot make that ſelection of exam⯑ples which I could wiſh. The follow⯑ing is from the ſacred compoſition of the death of Abel; and, as your Lord⯑ſhip will obſerve, partakes of the na⯑ture of the cantabile.—Abel ſpeaks:

LETTER VII.

FROM what has been ſaid of the foregoing claſſes, it is evident, that none of them are at all calculated to expreſs any emotion which ap⯑proaches to agitation. Their peculiar charaſteriſtics, dignity, tenderneſs, e⯑legance, are ſuitable to the more tem⯑perate and finer feelings; their ſubject, in ſhort, is ſentiment rather than paſ⯑ſion. [78] This laſt, however, affords yet a very wide field for muſical expreſ⯑ſion; and, perhaps, it is not going too far to ſay, that the more violent the paſſion, the more apt the expreſſion of it is to receive additional energy from the power of muſic. The kind of airs which go under the general denomi⯑nation of aria parlante is that whoſe peculiar province is to expreſs violent emotions of all kinds. As, on the one hand, the neceſſary connection between the ſubject of the portamento, the canta⯑bile, and the aria di mezzo carattere, with the reſpective length of notes, and, of conſequence, ſlowneſs of mea⯑ſure, which has been mentioned as characteriſtic of each of theſe claſſes, [79] is evident; ſo, on the other hand, the incompatibility of emotions, in any de⯑gree violent, with ſlow and deliberate utterance, is equally evident. The cir⯑cumſtance, from which this claſs takes its denomination, being the acceleration of ſpeech, common to all emotions whatever of the impetuous kind, it comprehends, of conſequence, a vaſt variety with reſpect both to quality and degree:—It may be ſaid to take up expreſſion juſt where the aria di mezzo carattere leaves it. Some airs of this laſt claſs, of the livelieſt caſt, may ap⯑proach indeed ſo near to ſome of the par⯑lante of the leaſt agitated kind, that it might, perhaps, be difficult to ſay to which claſs they belonged; but, as ſoon [80] as the expreſſion begins to be in any de⯑gree impetuous, the diſtinction is evi⯑dent, as the degree of paſſion to be ex⯑preſſed increaſes the air, aſſumes the name of aria agitata, aria di ſtrepito, aria infuriata. Expreſſions of fear, of joy, of grief, of rage, when at all im⯑petuous, to their higheſt and moſt fran⯑tic degress, are all comprehended un⯑der the various ſubdiviſions of the claſs.—Their rhythm has its peculiar province, the effect of this kind of airs depending, perhaps, chiefly on its pow⯑ers. The inſtrumental parts are here likewiſe of great efficacy, particularly in the expreſſion of the more violent paſſions, giving, by the addition of a great body of ſound, and by the di⯑ſtinctneſs [81] and rapidity of their execu⯑tion, a force and energy to the whole, which could never be the effect of a voice alone, however flexible, however powerful; and if it be allowed, that the beating of a drum has, in conſequence of certain principles of ſound and rhythm, a conſiderable effect on the mind, and that ten drums have a proportionably greater effect than one, it muſt, I ap⯑prehend, be alſo allowed, that ſounds more beautiful, and as diſtinct, nay, infinitely more capable, from their du⯑ration, to mark the rhythm by diſtin⯑guiſhing pauſe from length of note, muſt have a ſimilar effect on the mind,—finer, however, and more powerful, in proportion to their ſuperior beauty, [82] accuracy, and other advantages. The inſtruments here, far from being re⯑ſtricted to the mere ſupport of the voice, are called in to co-operate with it in producing one and the ſame ef⯑fect, but with greater power than that which could be produced by the voice alone.

I am well aware, it may be objected here, that the greater the force of the inſtruments the more they will be apt to overpower the voice, and, of conſe⯑quence, to deſtroy the principal ſource of expreſſion, namely, the ſenſe of con⯑nection between the words and the notes; and, perhaps, it may not be very eaſy to convince thoſe, who are [83] not converſant with muſic, how it is poſſible this ſhould not be the caſe. All thoſe, however, who have been ac⯑cuſtomed to hear good muſic well per⯑formed, will be ſatisfied, on recollec⯑tion, that, in this kind of airs, they have often heard a very numerous or⯑cheſtra exert all its powers, without in the leaſt covering the voice, or diſgui⯑ſing the ſenſe: And the reaſon is ſim⯑ply this, that what is called the ‘"for⯑tiſſimo,"’ or extreme force of the or⯑cheſtra, is not continued uniformly throughout the accompanyment, which would, indeed, have the effect of com⯑pletely drowning the voice,—but that this extreme exertion is inſtantaneouſ⯑ly called forth, either in thoſe particu⯑lar [84] notes which are peculiarly ſignifi⯑cant of the rhythm, ſuch as the firſt of the bar, &c. or on ſome note or notes where the ſenſe itſelf requires it; after which the piano or huſh of the orcheſ⯑tra immediately takes place, bearing the voice, excepting in ſuch inſtanta⯑neous lightnings of ſound, if I may be allowed the expreſſion, eminently ſupe⯑rior throughout, nor ever playing for any length of time with the ſame con⯑tinued, or with increaſing force, ex⯑cepting in the caſe of ſome climax in the expreſſion, where the words have either been already heard, or in which, at leaſt, their ſenſe, even were they not diſtinctly heard, cannot, from the ge⯑neral tenor of the air, be miſtaken.

[85]This extraordinary ſwell from all the parts of the orcheſtra is, in gene⯑ral, practiſed with great ſucceſs at the concluſion of ſuch airs, in which, ſup⯑poſing the words even not to be un⯑derſtood, (any further than they can be gueſſed at from the context, and by the action of the ſpeaker), the effect they are intended to have on the audi⯑ence is more happily obtained than it could be by the clear articulation of them, unaccompanied by that torrent of paſſion, if I may ſo ſpeak, which may be produced by this united exer⯑tion of all the inſtrumental parts.—For it muſt be likewiſe obſerved that paſ⯑ſion, when very violent, is expreſſed not ſo much by the words of the ſpeak⯑er [86] as by other ſigns,—the tones of the voice, the acton of the face, and the geſture; inſomuch, that I am confident I have heard many airs of this kind, in which, had the actor, without ſpeaking a note, looked and acted his part with propriety, nobody would have been at a loſs to judge either of the kind or of the degree of paſſion by which he ſeem⯑ed actuated. Rouſſeau, ſomewhere in his works, makes a very ingenious ob⯑ſervation, the truth of which the Italian compoſers ſeem evidently to have ſelt,—That, as violent paſſion has a ten⯑dency to choak the voice, ſo, in the expreſſion of it by muſical ſounds, a roulade, which is a regular ſucceſſion of notes up or down, or both, rapidly [87] pronounced on one vowel, has often a more powerful effect than diſtinct ar⯑ticulation:—Such paſſages are ſome⯑times introduced in airs of this kind; and, though I cannot help giving my aſſent to Rouſſeau's obſervation, yet I muſt, at the ſame time, confeſs, that they are too apt to be abuſed, and that, if continued for any length of time, they have always appeared to me un⯑natural. Upon the whole, I hope, however, it muſt be evident, even to thoſe who are not converſant with mu⯑ſic, that, in the expreſſion of the more violent paſſions, the inſtrumental parts my have a greater latitude than in o⯑ther kinds of airs, in which the emo⯑tions being more moderate, the expreſ⯑ſion [88] of them depends proportionally more on the force of the words, and leſs on the tone and action with which they are accompanied. But, whatever may be the effect of airs of this kind, when properly led by the circumſtances of the piece and explained by the cha⯑racter of the ſpeaker, your Lordſhip muſt ſee with what impropriety they are introduced, as is frequently the caſe, in our concerts, where, without the audience being appriſed either of the intereſt of the piece, or the nature of the characters, they are ſung by a fel⯑low ſtanding bolt upright, with one hand in his ſide, and the other in his breeches-pocket, and where, into the bargain, the unmerciful ſcrapers of our [89] orcheſtra, taking the advantage of the fortiſſimo, which they find now and then written above the notes of their parts, ſeem to vie with one anothers, who ſhall moſt effectually overpower, throughout, both the voice of the ſing⯑er, and the melody of the ſong. It is this kind of ignorant ſelection, and murderous execution, which give ſen⯑ſible people a diſtaſte to Italian muſic in general; nor can they ſurely be blamed for thinking it abſurd, that a man ſhould ſay what cannot, in the nature of things, be heard, and that all that violent fracas and noiſe of in⯑ſtruments is a moſt ridiculous accom⯑panyment to the affected immobility and unmeaning ſimper of the ſinger. [90] But to return to the ſubject;—your Lordſhip will perceive, that between thoſe moſt violent expreſſions, and thoſe that are leaſt ſo, which this claſs comprehends, there muſt be an almoſt infinite variety, in reſpect both of kind and degree. I ſhall, therefore, content myſelf with giving your Lordſhip ex⯑amples of the principal diviſions only, and ſhall begin by that kind which I mentioned before as taking up expreſ⯑ſion, where the aria di mezzo carattere leaves it, and as being of this nature, that it might even be ſometimes diffi⯑cult to decide which of theſe claſſes it belonged to.

[92]If the words of this air were put in the mouth of a gay young girl, thus carefully ſignifying her inſenſibility to [...]ove and her desire of liberty, it might with propriety be ſo compoſed as to rank with the Airs di mezzo carattere, and would be well expreſſed by that pleaſing, though unimpaſſioned, can⯑tileno, which is characteristic of that claſs. But if, on the other hand, we ſuppoſe them ſpoken with a degree of earneſtneſs to an importunate lover, in order to get rid of him, it muſt, in that caſe, certainly be ſo compoſed as to belong to the firſt diviſion of the aria parlante.

[93]In the following example no ſuch uncertainty can take place, the degree of paſſion, or of intereſt, at leaſt, ex⯑preſſed by it, referring it plainly to this laſt claſs: Achilles ſpeaks it, about to leave Deidamia:

In order to be as explicit as poſſible, I ſhall give your Lordſhip two other examples from the ſame piece, which, with regard to the expreſſion, ſeem nearly equal in degree, though widely different in kind.—Deidamia, reproach⯑ing Achilles for want of affection, ſays:

The other is put in the mouth of Achilles, on his ſuſpicion of being de⯑prived of his raiſtreſs by a rival:

Though the general acceleration of ſpeech common to each of theſe Airs, and which, therefore, brings them un⯑der the ſame claſs, be, perhaps, nearly equal in both, yet the ſkilful compoſer will nicely diſcriminate, not only be⯑tween the warlike audacity of Achilles, [97] and the feminine ſoftneſs of Dudanio, but alſo between the expreſſion of diſ⯑appointed affection in the former, and of jealous reſentment in the latter.

I beg leave to offer the two follow⯑ing examples alſo, as approaching, in degree, to the foregoing, though very different in kind; the firſt par⯑taking ſomewhat of the tenderneſs which is characteristic of the cantabile; the ſecond of the dignity which belongs to the portamento.

In the following Air, Xerxes, on being reconciled to Themiſtocles, thus addreſſes him:

In the following examples, the vio⯑lence of the expreſſion being increaſed, the muſic aſſumes the denomination of aria agitata.

I cannot paſs by this example, how⯑ever, without obſerving to your Lord⯑ſhip, [101] that the ſecond part of the Air, is by no means proper for muſical ex⯑preſſion: It ceaſes to be the language of paſſion; and is, beſides, a reflection which no perſon, in ſuch a ſtate as the firſt part indicates, would naturally make. In ſetting the Opera to Muſic, a judicious compoſer would ſtrike it out altogether. The next example, though evidently different, with re⯑gard to the kind of expreſſion, belongs to the ſame ſub-diviſion of this claſs.

The examples I am next to give your Lordſhip, are of that kind which takes the name of aria di ſmanie; for which I do not recollect any phraſe in Engliſh exactly equivalent: It is an appellation given to the expreſſion of ſuch emotions as take away, in ſome [103] degree, the right uſe of reaſon, and begin to border on inſanity.

The laſt diviſion of this claſs of airs is that which is adapted to the expreſ⯑ſion of paſſion, of whatever kind, when become frantic; and is properly termed aria infuriata.

I hope I have been able, by the foregoing examples, to give your Lord⯑ſhip ſome idea of the nature, extent, and variety of this claſs of airs, as well as of the reaſon why ſo great a variety is comprehended under the ſame ge⯑neral denomination; a circumſtance which, without due attention to its cauſe, would appear abſurd and con⯑tradictory. Before I conclude, it is proper to take notice to your Lordſhip, that the words of an air may be ſo written, as to afford ſubject for two, or even three, of the claſſes hitherto [110] mentioned, not in a mixed manner, but ſeverally, of which my memory furniſhes me with the following exam⯑ple:

This air, your Lordſhip ſees, is di⯑vided into three different parts; the firſt of which, expreſſing dignity of ſentiment, belongs to the portamento; the ſecond, expreſſing tenderneſs, to the cantabile; and the third, expreſſing rage, to the laſt diviſion of the aria parlante.

LETTER VIII.

FROM what I have ſaid of the aria di portamento, the cantabile, the mezzo carattere, and the different ſub-diviſions of the aria parlante, I hope I have, in ſome degree, made it plain to your Lordſhip, that there is no affection of the human breaſt, from the ſlighteſt and moſt gentle ſtirring of ſen⯑timent, to the moſt frantic degrees of [114] paſſion, which ſome one of theſe claſſes is not aptly ſuited to expreſs. If this be true, other claſſes muſt be either bad or ſuperfluous: This, in fact, is the caſe of the aria di agilità, or aria di bravura, as it is ſometimes called; in treating of which, it will be almoſt ſufficient to repeat to your Lordſhip the deſcription I gave of it in the general enumeration of the different claſſes: It is an air compoſed chiefly, indeed too often merely, to indulge the ſinger in the diſplay of certain powers in the execution, particularly extraor⯑dinary agility or compaſs of voice. In ſuch a compoſition, the means are evidently confounded with the end of the art; dexterity, (if I may be allow⯑ed [115] the expreſſion), and artifice, inſtead of ſerving as the inſtruments, being made the object of the work: Such are the airs which, with us, we ſo fre⯑quently obſerve ſung to ears erect, and gaping mouths, whilſt the heart, in ho⯑neſt apathy, is carrying on its mere animal function: And of this kind, in⯑deed, are all the attempts, in the dif⯑ferent arts, to ſubſtitute what is diffi⯑cult or novel for what is beautiful and natural. Where there has ever been a genuine taſte for any of the arts, this aptneſs to admire what is new and difficult is one of the firſt ſymptoms of the decline of that taſte; ſuch is at preſent the caſe in Italy with reſpect to all the arts; but the admiration be⯑ſtowed [116] in Britain on difficulty and no⯑velty, in preference to beauty and ſim⯑plicity, is the effect, not of the decline, but of the total want of taſte, and pro⯑ceeds from the ſame principles with the admiration of tumbling and rope⯑dancing, which the multitude may gaze on with aſtoniſhment long before they are ſuſceptible of the charms of grace⯑ful and elegant pantomime, theſe feats of agility having exactly the ſame re⯑lation to fine dancing that the above mentioned airs have to expreſſive mu⯑ſic: They are, therefore, I conceive, incompatible with the nature of a ſeri⯑ous drama; but in the burletta, or comic opera, in which much greater liberties may be taken, I think I have, [117] ſometimes, heard them introduced with ſucceſs. In a comedy, a pretty frolic⯑ſome coquette may be ſuppoſed to cut an elegant caper, at once to ſhow her legs and to diſplay her ſkill in dancing; nay, ſuch a ſtroke might be characte⯑riſtic, and therefore proper: So a gay faſhionable lady might, with a kind of graceful levity, expreſs, by an air of this kind, ſome of her pretty capricious humours, equally unintelligible with the muſic itſelf, the merit of both con⯑ſiſting merely in the prettineſs of the manner; for this kind of muſic, tho' incapable of any expreſſion excepting that, perhaps, of gaiety in general, may yet have all the beauty which can be given to it by a fine voice running, [118] with eaſe and velocity, though an ar⯑rangment of notes, not in itſelf un⯑pleaſing, juſt as the humour of the lady, though perhaps rather unmean⯑ing, may be accompanied with many graces of countenance, figure, voice, and motion.

Now, the union of all this with the muſic, produces often, without any vi⯑olation of propriety, a very happy ef⯑fect on the ſtage; but your Lordſhip will obſerve with what abſurd impro⯑priety theſe airs often make a part of our concerts, where all this elegant flirtation of face and figure is forbid⯑den, and where theſe fanciful and ex⯑uberant ſallies are gravely pronounced [119] by a lady ſtanding at the harpſicord with downcaſt, or, at beſt, unmeaning eyes, and without the ſmalleſt apparent tendency to motion.

LETTER IX.

Have now endeavoured to give your Lordſhip as diſtinct an idea as I could of the ſimple and accompa⯑nied Recitative, and of all thoſe claſſes of Airs which have names in Italian, and which I mentioned in the firſt ge⯑neral enumeration I made of them. There is, however, another ſpecies of Airs, which I have not claſſed with [122] them, becauſe it has no particular de⯑nomination, though it appears to me well deſerving of that diſtinction: But this is eaſily accounted for, when it is conſidered, as I took occaſion to ob⯑ſerve in the beginning, that the names of theſe claſſes are all taken from cir⯑cumſtances of the practical part of the art. The Airs alluded to here are thoſe whoſe ſubject is a ſimile, and which I ſhall venture to call Airs of Imitation: Theſe, though eſſentially different from all thoſe before mentioned, yet, from ſome circumſtance of ſimilarity in the practical part, have been referred to one or other of the above claſſes.

[123]Though, upon the whole, ſimiles of any length be perhaps ſeldom admiſſi⯑ble in dramatic poetry, being in gene⯑ral repugnant to the genuine expreſ⯑ſion of paſſion, yet ſometimes they may be introduced without impropriety, more particularly in the muſical drama, which, like all the other arts, juſtly claims ſome licenſe in practice, with reſpect to that beauty which is its chief object, or that ſpecies of pleaſure which it is peculiarly calculated to inſpire.

I hope, upon the whole, your Lord⯑ſhip will agree with me that it is evi⯑dent [131] that there are ſufficient grounds to go upon to juſtify the attempt of i⯑mitative muſic as diſtinct from paſſion⯑ate; and that the introduction of airs of this laſt kind muſt, in conſequence of the variety they give, tend to beau⯑tify the whole, and render it more complete. I muſt confeſs, however, that I have often ſeen them uſed too frequently in the ſame piece; and that the effect of them can never be com⯑pletely fine when they are not dictated by, and accompanied throughout, with ſome ſentiment or paſſion of the ſpeak⯑er.—The following is an example in point.

In the foregoing example, the image of the oak itſelf on the high cliffs, the raging of the winds, and the dignity of the ſentiment in the ſpeaker, all conſpire to produce the ſame effect of grandeur. But I have ſeen airs, in which the ſubject of the paſſionate part was different from that of the imitative, ſo contrived, as to keep each moſt di⯑ſtinctly ſeparate from the other, whilſt, [134] at the ſame time, the union of both made one beautiful whole. Handel, in his Oratorio of Acis and Galatea, has produced a maſter-ſtroke of this kind.—Galatea, addreſſing herſelf to the birds that are ſuppoſed to be ſing⯑ing around her, ſays,

In this example, there is no compa⯑riſon made; the imitative part is only ſuggeſted by the ſenſe, and the com⯑poſer has taken the hint in adapting the muſic to it, and has indeed done [135] it with the utmoſt propriety as well as ingenuity. It is plain, in this air, that, if the imitation of any thing is to be at all attempted, it muſt be that of the warbling quire: And it is as plain, that the paſſionate expreſſion of the ſpeaker has not even the moſt di⯑ſtant relation to the ſinging of birds;—to have ſet the voice a ſinging, in imitation of the birds, or, whilſt the voice ſang the paſſionate part, to have made the birds ſing either in uniſon, or in direct harmony, with the voice, would have been each equally abſurd. It would ſeem, indeed, at firſt ſight, almoſt impoſſible to reconcile two things ſo different; yet this great ge⯑nius, by confining each part to its pro⯑per [136] province, has ſo artfully managed the compoſition, that, whilſt the vocal part moſt feelingly ſpeaks the paſſion, a little flagellet from the orcheſtra car⯑ries on, throughout, the delightful warbling of the quire, and though per⯑fectly different in ſound, melody, and rythm, from the notes ſung by the voice, inſtead of diſtracting the atten⯑tion from it, or confounding the ex⯑preſſion, ſerves to add new beauty and grace to the effect; juſt as your Lord⯑ſhip may conceive a naked figure ſo veiled with ſome light and tranſparent veſtment floating to the wind, as at once completely to reveal the figure, and, by its undulating folds, add new charms both to the motion and the [137] form. Nothing can put in a ſtronger light the diſcrimination which I before made to your Lordſhip, of the paſſion⯑ate and imitative powers of muſic, than the above mentioned air, or more clearly evince the propriety of aſſign⯑ing the firſt to the voice alone, and of confining the inſtruments to the other only. This principle, indeed, long be⯑fore it was perhaps ever thought of, either by philoſophers or compoſers, muſt have been generally felt; and even the powers of the great Handel could not compenſate its violation in compoſition; for, in the very ſame opera, a little after, when Galatea is made to convert Acis into a ſtream, and, after the ſymphony has made a [138] fine imitation of the winding of the ſtream through the vale, he makes Galatea repeat it with her voice; and, though the muſic of the air be, in o⯑ther reſpects, beautiful in the extreme, yet I do not believe it was ever per⯑formed without appearing tedious, e⯑ven to thoſe who never dreamed of this principle; and, to thoſe who were acquainted with it, at once tedious and abſurd.

In the firſt example I gave your Lordſhip of theſe airs of imitation, the compariſon is itſelf the ſubject, and the nature of the ſentiment coinciding per⯑fectly with it, only ſerves to increaſe, perhaps, the general pathos, without [139] forming, in any degree, a ſeparate ſubject.—The ſecond contains plainly a double ſubject, contrived with won⯑derful art to go on together, to ſet off each other, and to form one beautiful whole. There is ſtill a third kind of theſe airs, that holds a middle place between thoſe two, in which, there be⯑ing no expreſs compariſon, the imita⯑tive part, as in the laſt, is only ſug⯑geſted by the words, but being, as in the firſt, of the ſame quality, as it were, with the ſentiment, does not make the immediate ſubject of the muſic, but is kept ſubordinate to the expreſſion of the paſſion or ſentiment. The following air is of this ſpecies:

As the compariſons which make the ſubject of theſe airs, or, as the objects of which they only ſuggeſt the imita⯑tion, may be ſublime, elegant, gay, boiſterous, &c. ſo they may ſeverally have a relation to ſome one or other of the claſſes before mentioned, the portamento, the cantabile, the mezzo ca⯑rattere, and the different diviſions of the aria parlante,—and, of conſe⯑quence, [141] may be referred to them; the diviſion which I have made of muſic into paſſionate and imitative being ra⯑ther of a philoſophical kind, whilſt that by which the Italians have formed the different claſſes of their airs origi⯑nates, as I have ſaid, in circumſtances of practice only. So juſt is their diviſion, that, to give a diſtinct idea of any of theſe airs, we muſt ſay it is an air of imitation of the portamento ſtile, or of the cantabile, &c.