as a composer and a tyrant. Several persons of distinction had
determined to found an Academy of Musick in the Haymarket, in order
to insure a constant supply of Operas from the pen of the unrivalled
Saxon, which they intended should be performed under his direction.
The subscription for this purpose amounted to 50,000_l._; and they
procured the King's name for 1000_l._ to grace the head of the list.
Thus authorised and enabled, Handel went to Dresden for performers
of celebrity, and engaged Senesino and Duristanti, with whom he
returned to England, when they acted his Opera of Radamisto to a
most crowded audience, which honoured him with the loudest plaudits.
From that day the powerful partizans of Buononcini, and those of
Handel, became irreconcileable enemies; though their enmity was so
far controuled as to permit an agreement between them, that the rival
masters should alternately compose the acts of Mutius Scævola, and thus
afford a criterion by which their superiority was to be determined.
Handel conquered; and, his reputation firmly established, he reigned
sole monarch of the Academy for nine years. At the close of that
period Senesino accused Handel of oppression, and Handel treated
Senesino as a rebel against his authority; the publick immediately
divided on this important question; and, to complete their vexation,
Faustina and Cuzzoni quarrelled. Harmony ceased in every point of
view, and the Academy was dissolved; but Handel maintained his
post at the Haymarket, where he soon discovered that with Senesino
he had dismissed the majority of his audiences. In this dilemma he
entered into an agreement with the celebrated Heidegger to perform
Operas on their own account; they accordingly engaged several new
performers; but the Nobility, exasperated at the Saxon's tyrannical
conduct, entered into a subscription, with which they opened the
Theatre in Lincoln's-inn-fields, countermatching his Italians with
the incomparable Farinelli. The contest was continued three years in
conjunction with Heidegger; and Handel persisted one year after his
partner retired: he then left the Haymarket to his rivals.
Chagrined and disappointed, he endeavoured to establish himself at
Lincoln's-inn-fields, and afterwards became a partner with Mr. Rich at
Covent-garden Theatre, where he found, to his great mortification, that
his musick, however sublime, was not a match for Farinelli's voice;
yet he persisted till he had almost ruined his fortune, and actually
deranged his faculties, besides causing a paralytic stroke, which
deprived him of the use of his right arm: he was however recovered from
the latter calamities by using the baths of Aix-la-chapelle about the
year 1736.
Fortunately for Handel the publick were pleased with the performance
of his Alexander's Feast at Covent-garden Theatre soon after his
return; and, to add to his good fortune, he was solicited to compose
two Italian Operas for Lord Middlesex, who had been compelled to take
the direction of this difficult concern upon himself, to preserve it
from total ruin. His success on this occasion operated powerfully with
the multitude; and a benefit produced him 1500_l._ in the year 1738.
An opportunity thus offered to effect a complete reconciliation with
his former employers; but that asperity of temper and impatience of
controul which always marked his character induced him to reject every
proposal connected with subscriptions. After several unsuccessful
attempts to establish the Opera at Covent-garden Theatre, he turned
his attention to the composition of Oratorios, which he intended
should have been _acted_ and sung; but the popular opinion, that such
representations from Scripture would be a profanation of religion,
deterred him from the design; and he caused them to be sung only as
they are at present.
Similar to most human inventions, the Oratorio was of little service
to the _Author_: posterity, according to custom, has had the honour of
rewarding Handel's _memory_; and if an Angel composed new ones, they
would certainly not succeed, till he had fled from the earth half a
century, and till Handel has had _his_ day.
The Irish nation received our great musician and his oratorios with
complacency; and as he gave the produce of the first performance of his
Messiah in Dublin to the City prison, he soon secured their patronage.
After considerably improving his circumstances, he returned to England,
where his oratorios recovered from their previous depression, and
received that approbation which a dread of having lost them probably
excited. Handel gave the profits of an annual performance of the
Messiah to the Foundling Hospital; and attended their oratorios
regularly long after he had lost his sight by a _gutta serena_, and
till within eight days of his death.
His present Majesty is passionately fond of Handel's musick; and that
the publick are not less so, may be inferred by the eternal repetition
of his Oratorios during the season of Lent; by which means, I shall
be excused in observing, modern musical genius is depressed, and
the pockets of conductors more readily filled. Hence the tiresome
selections upon festivals and at concerts, where, if the audience is
surprised by _a new_ movement, they exclaim, "Ah! this is _not like_
Handel's strains:"--True, but may they not be equally delightful?
The first _description_ of an Opera which I have met with is in the
eleventh number of the Theatre, for November 18, 1758. As the writer
appears to have entered into the subject with more than usual spirit,
its insertion may possibly prove acceptable to the reader; but he will
immediately discover that even our Theatres for pantomime now rival the
antient Opera.
"King's Theatre. On Saturday the 18th instant was performed a new Opera
called _Attalo_, with new decorations and dances. I have already thrown
out a few loose hints with regard to the abovementioned performance;
and as in this place I propose speaking of it a little more at large,
I shall begin with observing, that an Opera has in one particular a
manifest advantage over almost every theatrical entertainment, by
admitting of that kind of shew and decoration, which if not absolutely
rejected by the other daughters of the Drama, is at least, generally
speaking, forced upon them: that is to say, though we sometimes see
triumphs and processions in a few of our tragedies and comedies, yet
the best judges have always looked on them as childish and ridiculous:
whereas, the only design of an Opera being to delight, that gay finery
which looks so unbecoming and out of character upon her two elder
sisters, is a necessary part of her dress; and as nobody understands
the method of placing those ornaments better than Mr. Vaneschi, so in
the present case I think he has taken all the care imaginable to set
off _Attalo_ to the best advantage.
"But a dry and circumstantial description of these matters would not
only fall very short of what is meant to give an idea of, but also
be tedious to the readers: for this reason therefore I shall hardly
attempt to do any thing more in the present essay than to assure them
that the finest scenes, the finest pantomime hitherto invented, even
by that father of pantomimes himself, the manager of Covent-garden
playhouse, are considerably inferior to those in the Opera of _Attalo_;
but particularly, in the first act, where Semiramis enters in a
triumphal car, supported by Medean and Bactrian slaves, and surrounded
by a number of Assyrian soldiers who carry the spoils and trophies
of an enemy which she is supposed lately to have conquered, we are
presented with the scene of a square; not a dead piece of painted
canvass, but one in which the prospective is executed in so masterly a
manner, that one would almost swear it was something more than a mere
_deceptio visûs_; to which, by the way, a pedestrian statue, which is
elevated in the centre of the buildings, does not a little contribute.
"Scenes of this kind are seldom if ever to be seen in a common Theatre,
where the other charges are so large and numerous, as well as the price
so confined, that the profits of such a pompous apparatus would by no
means answer the expence: the place in our English plays also is too
often varied to allow of it; besides, the business of these stages is,
properly speaking, to provide the understanding with substantial food,
not to treat it with conserves and sweatmeats; and from this reason it
proceeds that dances, which at the playhouses are only made use of as
a garnish, are at the Opera (which may not unaptly be compared to a
dessert or a collation) one of the principal parts of the entertainment.
"I should be extremely glad were it in my power to oblige the readers
even with a faint idea of these: they all know, I believe, that Signior
Galini is universally allowed to be one of the finest dancers in
Europe; but at the King's Theatre, where he at present performs, he not
only gives us the strongest proofs of his executive powers, but also
of his skill in designing, by having composed three of the prettiest
ballets I ever saw; and for plot, movement, humour, and, if I may make
use of the expression, gesticulated wit, they are equal, I believe, to
any, even of those which Lewis the Fourteenth himself was so fond of.
"In the first dance, the scene of which, by the way, may more properly
be called an emulation than a copy of nature, being that of a forest
half cut down, where the trees are represented in the liveliest
manner, and the prospect of clouds and blue mountains extended to an
amazing distance; Forti and Bononi, in the characters of a woodman
and his wife, carry the grotesque to a most entertaining degree of
extravagance. Bononi is allowed to excel in this way every one who has
gone before her; for Galini, as his genius is very different, so it is
greatly preferable to this. His dancing indeed may be considered as a
kind of dumb musick, since there is hardly a note which he does not
express by some significant gesture. Carlini, his partner, is pretty
much in the same mode, and when they appear after the second act in a
very extensive plain, interspersed with villages, there cannot perhaps
be imagined two more agreeable figures. But the third and last ballet,
in which the four principal dancers come out together, surpasses all
the rest. The prospect is that of a rock, which being open in two or
three different places, discovers a wide river, and, in appearance,
at least half a mile long, the transparency of the water is so well
imitated, that we see the shadows of several flags and bullrushes,
which grow upon it; nor is a distant village, which appears at one
side, a small addition to the beauty of the view: down this rock come
the figure dancers, who are met at the door of a cottage by Signior
Galini and his friends; it is a kind of rural feast, and the music is
so antic and lively, that that alone would be sufficient, I should
think, to put an audience into a good humour.
"I had forgot to mention a scene in this Opera which is remarkably
beautiful; I am told it was painted by the celebrated Salvandoni, and
is the representation of a magnificent hall, adorned with arms and
trophies. There was a full house; and the spectators expressed their
approbation by unanimous applause."
The Oratorio of Judas Maccabæus was performed on the 18th of January
1760 at the Music-room in Dean-street, Soho, which was the first night
of subscription. The pit seats were 10_s._ 6_d._ and the gallery 5_s._;
the performers Signora Passerini, Miss Frederick, Mr. Hudson, and Mr.
Champness; and the chorus contained the best singers of the Chapel
Royal and St. Paul's. The music-room is now Christie's Auction-room for
furniture, and seems in a state of ruin.
WHITE CONDUIT HOUSE[224:A].
_And to_ White Conduit _House
We will go, will go, will go_.
Grub-street Register.
"Wish'd Sunday's come--mirth brightens ev'ry face,
And paints the rose upon the house-maid's cheek,
Harriot, or Moll, more ruddy. Now the heart
Of prentice resident in ample street,
Or alley kennel-wash'd, Cheapside, Cornhill,
Or Cranborne, thee for calcuments renown'd,
With joy distends. His meal meridian o'er,
With switch in hand, he to the White Conduit House
Hies merry-hearted. Human beings here
In couples multitudinous assemble,
Forming the drollest groupe that ever trod
Fair Islingtonian plains. Male after male,
Dog after dog succeeding--husbands--wives--
Fathers and mothers--brothers--sisters--friends
And pretty little boys and girls. Around,
Across, along, the garden's shrubby maze,
They walk, they sit, they stand. What crowds press on
Eager to mount the stairs, eager to catch
First vacant bench or chair in long-room plac'd!
Here prig with prig holds conference polite,
And indiscriminate the gaudy beau
And sloven mix. Here he, who all the week
Took bearded mortals by the nose, or sat
Weaving dead hairs, and whistling wretched strain--
And eke the sturdy youth, whose trade it is
Stout oxen to contund,--with gold-bound hat
And silken stocking strut. The red-arm'd belle
Here shews her tasty gown, proud to be thought
The butterfly of fashion: and forsooth
Her haughty mistress deigns for once to tread
The same unhallow'd floor--'Tis hurry all
And rattling cups and saucers. Waiter here,
And waiter there, and waiter here and there,
At once is call'd--Joe--Joe--Joe--Joe--Joe--
Joe on the right--and Joe upon the left,
For ev'ry vocal pipe re-echoes Joe.
Alas, poor Joe! Like Francis in the Play
He stands confounded, anxious how to please
The many-headed throng. But should I paint
The language, humours, custom of the place,
Together with all curt'sies, lowly bow,
And compliments extern, 'twould swell my page
Beyond its limits due. Suffice it then
For my prophetic Muse to say, 'So long
As Fashion rides upon the wing of Time,
While tea and cream and butter'd rolls can please,
While rival beaux and jealous belles exist,
So long, White-conduit house, shall be thy fame.'
W. WOTY."
One of the entertainments of 1760 was the performance on goblets
containing water at different heights, which, rubbed on the rims by a
wet finger, produces very sweet sounds, and when rapidly combined will
make complete musick. Mr. Puckeridge was celebrated for performances of
this description, which were much admired for some time, but are now
nearly out of fashion.
One of the characteristicks of our various Theatres is the benefits,
or, more properly speaking, the plays which are acted at the close of
each season for the individual profit of the several performers. When
an actor takes a benefit, he pays all the expences of the evening, and
incurs the risk of great charges and small profits. Under the dread
of losing, he exerts every nerve to fill the Theatre, and frequently
lays heavy contributions on tradesmen, who, through some existing
circumstances, think themselves bound to take tickets, and dispose
of them as they can to their friends: and he solicits the wealthy
without risking the imputation of mendicacy, because they know the
actor has from 10_l._ to 20_l. per_ week salary. The benefit-night at
length arrives, and the doors are besieged at an early hour by crowds
determined not to lose the entertainment they have unwillingly paid
for; in due time they rush forward, clamour prevails, and the quiet
casual spectator is entirely deprived of hearing the play[227:A].
Mrs. Clive, the justly celebrated comic actress, has enabled me to
illustrate this subject by the following spirited letter, addressed
to "the Author of the Daily Gazetteer," concerning her benefit,
and printed in April 1761. If the reader should wish still further
illustrations, I beg leave to refer him to the various _apologies_
for theatrical lives which have been published by Cibber, Bellamy,
Wilkinson, &c. &c.
"SIR, As I never read your paper, I did not hear of the
malicious letter you had published against my benefit, till
the very day, when it was too late to endeavour to prevent
the mischief it might do me, as it was most artfully put in
your paper the day before, as well as the day of my play. It
is dated from George's Coffee-house; but your correspondent
must excuse me for not believing it came from thence, as
I have always heard that Coffee-house was frequented by
gentlemen, not one of whom, I am confident, would have done
me an undeserved mischief. I could not possibly suppose Mr.
Shuter was capable of asking any body to write such a letter
for him, as I never did him, or any performer, the least
injury; on the contrary, I have had the greatest pleasure
when it has been in my power to serve them in their benefits,
from the highest class of actors down to the very lowest.
But though he was not concerned in the writing of it (as
he has declared he was not), it is too palpable to admit
of the least doubt, that it must be wrote by some of his
acquaintance, in order to serve his benefit by destroying
mine.--That indeed was not quite in their power, as I had
the honour to have a most noble and splendid appearance of
persons of the first distinction that night at my play; who
have been constant in their goodness and favour to me, and
who were not to be influenced by a wretched Letter-writer.
The loss I most certainly sustained by it I should have
submitted to in silence, as it is with the utmost diffidence
and reluctance I appear before the public in this light:
but there is a most malicious and wicked insinuation in his
letter, which I think myself under an absolute necessity to
reply to.
"The Letter-writer, with great ease, desires the Publick not
to go to my benefit, notwithstanding I had taken infinite
pains to endeavour to entertain them the whole season
through; his reason for that extraordinary request is, that
I was to have a French farce, wrote by a poor wretched
author, translated into English, and called _The Island of
Slaves_:--and then, with great art and malice, he jumbles
together some popular words, as, _French Farce_, _English
Liberty_, _Island of Slaves_! 'What can Englishmen have to
do in the _Island of Slaves_?' Poor wretched insinuation! Is
it possible for any body to suppose, if there had been one
syllable in the piece that had the least tendency to sneer
at, or affront, the liberties of this country, that the
managers would have suffered it to have been acted; or that
the Lord Chamberlain would have given his sanction; or that I
could have been such a fool as to dare to affront the publick
with such a performance on my own benefit-night? I hope I may
be indulged (though a woman) to say I have always despised
the French Politicks; but I never yet heard that we were at
war with their Wit.
"It is imputed to _me_, by the author of the letter, as a
crime, that I should have a piece taken from the French
for my benefit; when at the same time I believe one part
in three of the Comedies and little pieces, that are now
acting at both the Theatres, are acknowledged to be taken
from the French; besides those that both antient and modern
authors have sneaked into the Theatres without confessing
from whence they came. I shall take the liberty to mention
two that are known translations: _The Confederacy_, by Sir
John Vanbrugh, one of our best Comedies, revived about two
years ago, and acted to crowded houses with great applause;
_The Guardian_, another French piece, brought on about
the same time, and received with the highest approbation:
both these performances acted at a time when we were at war
with France, as we are now. 'Ay,' but says the good-natured
Letter-writer, '_The Island of Slaves_ (tremendous title!)'
I think I have made his malice appear pretty plain; I shall
not have the least difficulty in making his ignorance full as
conspicuous. It does not seem, by the style of his letter,
that he is very intimately acquainted with his own language,
but it is evident he knows nothing of the French; for if
he had been capable of reading Mons. Marivaux's _Isle des
Esclaves_, he could not have been quite so clumsy a critick,
as to say he is a poor paltry author, when he is acknowledged
by all people of taste and judgment to be one of the very
best writers the French have. Then, as to his malicious
insinuation, _The Island of Slaves_ is so very far from being
a satire upon English liberty, that there is the highest
compliment paid to it: the people of that island having
quitted their native country (Athens) because 'they would not
be Slaves,' and established themselves in an island, where,
when their passions have subsided, and they begin to forget
the injuries they received in their own country, they make
the most noble, humane, sensible laws. I cannot pretend to
give an account of the whole piece in this letter; but I may
with great truth say, there was not any thing in it that
was exceptionable; great spirit and humour in two of the
characters, and fine sentiments throughout the whole; some
part, perhaps, too grave for what is generally expected in
pieces after a play. I shall beg leave to insert a few lines
(not a translation) which concluded the piece: after Philo
(one of the Islanders) has convinced the Athenians, who are
then in his power, of their follies, he promises to provide
them ships to send them into their own country; Cleanthe (one
of the characters) says:
'We are all equally obliged to you, most amiable
Philo, for your goodness to us; and if we should be
so fortunate to arrive safe at Athens, I hope we
shall have influence enough to prevail with them,
when we recount our adventures, to imitate the
incomparable laws of this ever happy Island.'
"I have done with your Correspondent: now, Mr. Gazetteer, I
must say two or three words to you. I desire you would let
me know who was the author of that letter; or it is possible
I may convince you, I am so truly an English woman, and so
little inclined to be a _slave_, as not to suffer any one to
do me an injury with impunity.
"I am informed, you have more than once drawn yourself into
scrapes, by the delicacy of your paper. If you comply with
this request, in giving up your author, I shall think you
intend to reform your manners; and in that case you will
stand a chance of being read by your humble servant,
C. CLIVE.
"_Henrietta-street, Covent-garden,
April 3, 1761._
"P.S. If I can have leave from the person who did me the
honour to translate _The Island of Slaves_ for me, I shall
print it; when every one that pleases may see how extremely
ill I have been treated."
Benefits more congenial to the benevolent mind are, much to the credit
of the proprietors of our places of public amusement, frequently given
to Charitable Institutions: a short bill dated in May 1761 will explain
those as they were and are now announced:
"Ranelagh-house, Tuesday the 9th of June, will be an Assembly for
the benefit of the Middlesex Hospital. The doors will be open, and
the concert begin, at the usual time. At ten o'clock a magnificent
fire-work will be played off on the canal in the garden; and to
conclude with a ball.
"N. B. There will be no collection made for the Charity. Tickets half a
guinea each, &c."
I have in another place recommended the reader to visit Smithfield at
eleven o'clock at night, in order to obtain a perfect knowledge of the
_amusements_ substituted for a Fair. The facetious George Alexander
Steevens wrote the following ludicrous but strictly just description
of it about 1762: