ENGLISH MUSIC AND ENGLISH MUSICIANS.

Musical taste, as we observed in a former article, has undergone fewer

mutations in England, than in most other countries where the art has

been cultivated and esteemed. In order, therefore, to acquire an

accurate knowledge of the state of musical taste and science which now

prevails among us, it will be necessary to take a brief retrospect; and

as much of the music still popular was composed during the earliest

period of the art in England, we shall rapidly trace its history from

the times of those early masters, whose names are still held in

remembrance and repute, down to the present century.

When England threw off the Papal yoke, music was little known beyond the

services of the church. Though the secular music of this period was

barbarous in the extreme, yet masses were universally sung, and music

had long formed a necessary element in the due performance of the

services of the Romish church. During the reign of Henry VIII. few

alterations were made in public worship; and the service continued to be

sung and carried on in the Latin language, as before. From Strype's

account of the funeral of this monarch, it appears that all the old

ceremonies were observed, and that the rupture with Rome had caused no

alteration in the obsequies performed on such occasions. In the reign of

his successor, the church service was entirely changed, and the

Protestant liturgy was first published for general use. Four years after

this event, on the accession of Mary, the "old worship" was again

restored. But when, at length, the reformed religion was firmly

established by Elizabeth, and the ritual permanently changed, the music

of the old masses, suited to the genius and structure of the Romish

service, was no longer available for the simpler forms of worship by

which it was replaced. During the holiest and most solemn portions of

the ancient worship, the organ had for centuries been heard in the

cathedrals, while the choruses of praise and adoration resounded through

the aisles. Men's opinions may undergo a change, but the feelings and

ideas created by early association, and fostered by habit, are far more

lasting and enduring. The poet must have lamented the loss of the music,

which, in the stern ascetic spirit of Puritanism prevailing at a later

period of our history, he assisted to banish from our churches, as he

sang--

"But let my due feet never fail

To walk the studious cloisters pale,

And love the high embowed roof,

With antique pillars, massy proof,

And storied windows richly dight,

Casting a dim religious light,

There let the pealing organ blow

To the full-voiced choir below,

In service high, and anthem clear,

As may with sweetness, through mine ear,

Dissolve me into extasies,

And bring all heav'n before mine eyes."

At the period of which we speak, the want of music in the services of

the church seems to have been severely felt, though perhaps the simpler

forms of the new ritual were comparatively but little adapted for

musical display. Great exertions were made throughout the kingdom by the

deans and chapters to restore the efficiency of the choirs; and

Elizabeth, in the exercise of what then appeared an undoubted

prerogative of the crown, issued her warrant for the impressment of

singing men and boys for the castle of Windsor. The churches and

cathedrals still, indeed, retained their organs; "the choirs and places

where they sing" were still in being; all the _matériel_ was at hand;

but, with the exception of the production of John Marbeck, called "The

Book of Common Prayer Noted," which was printed in 1550, there was as

yet no music for the new services in the English language. Two years

after the accession of Elizabeth, and one year after the bill for the

uniformity of common prayer had passed the legislature, a choral work,

"very necessarie for the church of Christ to be frequented and used,"

was published, among the authors of which the name of Tallis appeared.

The musical necessities of the newly established church appear to have

stimulated or developed talents which, under other circumstances, might

perhaps have been less prominently brought forward: at all events, the

demand for this music would seem a principal reason why the early

English masters should have devoted themselves so exclusively to sacred

composition. Tallis and his pupil Byrd, both men of original genius,

produced many compositions for the newly introduced ritual, which, by

their intrinsic merit and comparative superiority, aided also by a

constant demand for new music of the same character, gave a permanent

direction to the exercise of musical talent; and the services of Tallis

and Byrd became the classic objects of emulation and imitation, and

sacred music became, in a peculiar manner, the national music of

England. The compositions of these "fathers of our genuine and national

sacred music," are still preserved, the latter of whom, Byrd, died in

1623, at the age of probably near eighty years.

The year 1588 forms an epoch in our musical history. An Italian

merchant, who, by his mercantile connection with the Mediterranean, had

opportunities of obtaining the newest and best compositions of his

native country, had, for some years, been in the frequent habit of

procuring the best singers of the day, to perform them, privately, at

his house in London. This gentleman had at length the spirit and

enterprise to publish a volume of Italian madrigals, entituled, "Musica

Transalpina, Madrigales translated of four, five, and six parts, chosen

out of divers excellent authors; with the first and second parts of La

Virginella, made by Maister Byrd, upon two stanzas of Ariosto, and

brought to speak English with the rest." These pieces seem to have given

birth to that passion for madrigals which was afterwards so prevalent,

and thus became the models of contemporary musicians. The next composer

of any note was Orlando Gibbons. He died at an early age, soon after the

accession of Charles I., to whom he had been appointed organist. This

master composed several madrigals, but, like his predecessors, he

devoted himself principally to sacred composition. The secular

productions of Tallis, Byrd, and Gibbons, together with those of

contemporary composers of inferior note, are, for the most part, now

forgotten; but the sacred music of these three masters still forms a

part of every collection of church music. Canons and fugues were the

favourite modes of that early period; vain substitutes for melody,

rhythm, and correct accentuation, in which particulars music was then

greatly deficient. The merits of the compositions of the Elizabethan

age, vaunted by the lovers of antiquity as the golden age of English

music, are thus summed up by Dr Burney: "It is, therefore, upon the

church music, madrigals, and songs in parts, of our countrymen during

the reign of Elizabeth, that we must rest their reputation; and these,

in point of harmony and contrivance, the chief excellencies of such

compositions, appear in nothing inferior to those of the best

contemporary compositions of the Continent. Taste, rhythm, accent, and

grace, must not be sought for in this kind of music; indeed, we might as

well censure the ancient Greeks for not writing in English, as the

composers of the sixteenth century for their deficiency in these

particulars, which having then no existence, even in idea, could not be

wanted or expected; and it is necessarily the business of artists to

cultivate or refine what is in the greatest esteem among the best judges

of their own nation and times. And these, at this period, unanimously

thought every species of musical composition below criticism except

canons and fugues. Indeed, what is generally understood by taste in

music, must ever be an abomination in the church; for, as it consists of

new refinements or arrangements of notes, it would be construed into

innovation, however meritorious, unless sanctioned by age. Thus the

favourite points and passages in the madrigals of the sixteenth century,

were in the seventeenth received as orthodox in the church; and those of

the opera songs and cantatas of the seventeenth century, are used by the

gravest and most pious ecclesiastical composers of the eighteenth." Of

the skill of the performers, for whom this music, still listened to and

admired, was written, he also observes, "that the art of singing,

further than was necessary to keep a performer in tune, and time, must

have been unknown;" and that "if £500 had been offered to any individual

to perform a solo, fewer candidates would have entered the lists than if

the like premium had been offered for flying from Salisbury steeple over

Old Sarum without a balloon." For ourselves, we do not hesitate to

acknowledge that, in our opinion, the services of these patriarchs of

the English school surpass the great majority of similar productions by

our later masters. They may, indeed, suffer when compared with the

masses of the great continental masters; but they nevertheless possess a

certain degree of simple majesty, well suited to the primitive character

of the ritual of that church which disdains the use of ornament, and on

_principle_ declines to avail herself of any appeal to the senses as an

auxiliary to devotion. We have been the more particular in our notice of

these early masters, because, long without any rivals, their church

music even now stamps the public taste, and is still held in the highest

esteem by many among whom their names alone suffice to hold the judgment

captive.

It is needless to advert to Humphrey and other composers, some of whose

productions are still in vogue; enough has been said to show with what

reason the _absolute_ correctness of English taste in sacred music, in

which we suppose ourselves so peculiarly to excel, may be called in

question.

We proceed to sketch the history of the other branches of the art in

England, and commence at once with Henry Purcell, the greatest of our

native masters, previously to whom music is said to have been manifestly

on the decline during the seventeenth century. It has been often

remarked of Purcell, that he had "devancé son siêcle." Many of his

faults, defects, or crudities, may undoubtedly be attributed to the age

which he adorned. The tide of public approbation has of late set

strongly in his favour; and could the fulsome panegyrics, of which he

has been the object, be implicitly received, Purcell would be considered

as nothing less than a prodigy of genius. Several attempts at dramatic

music had been made before Purcell's time. Matthew Lock had already set

the songs of _Macbeth_ and the _Tempest,_ and had also given to the

world "The English Opera, or the vocal music in Psyche," in close

imitation of Lulli, the long famed composer of Louis XIV. Purcell

followed in the new track, taking for his models the productions of the

first Italian composers. The fact, that Purcell was under obligations to

the Italians, may startle many of his modern admirers; but with a

candour worthy of himself, in the dedication of his _Dioclesian_ to

Charles Duke of Somerset, he says, that "music is yet but in its nonage,

a forward child. 'Tis now learning Italian, which is its best master."

And in the preface to his Sonatas, he tells us that he "faithfully

endeavoured at a just imitation of the most famed Italian masters." An

able critic has also remarked, that he thinks he can perceive the

obligations which Purcell had to Carissimi in his recitative, and to

Lulli both in recitative and melody; and also that it appears that he

was fond of Stradella's _manner_, though he seems never to have pillaged

his passages. Many of our readers are doubtless aware, that Purcell's

opera of _King Arthur_ has been lately revived at Drury-Lane, where it

has had a considerable _run_. The public prints have been loud in its

praise; and this work has been styled "the perfect model of the lyric

drama of England." The intervention of spoken dialogue, by many in their

innocence hitherto supposed to be a defect in the construction of a

musical drama, is strangely metamorphosed into a beauty in _King

Arthur_. In short, from some of these _critiques_, _King Arthur_ would

appear to be the only perfect drama or opera which the world has ever

seen. To show the real value of these criticisms, we may mention the

fact, that in an elaborate article of a journal now before us, in which

many of the pieces of this opera are enumerated and highly commended,

the writer has curiously enough passed by in silence two airs, of which

Dr Burney observes that they contain not a single passage which the best

composers of his time, if it presented itself to their imagination,

would reject; and on one of which he also remarks, that it is "one of

the few airs that time has not the power to injure; it is of all ages

and all countries." There is doubtless much in Purcell, which, though

quaint and antiquated, the musician may nevertheless admire; but

excellence of this kind is necessarily lost upon a general audience.

Melody in his day was rude and unpolished; for there were no singers to

execute, even if the composer had the ability to conceive. Thus

Percell's melody, though often original and expressive, is nevertheless

more often rude and ungraceful. In the words of a recent writer on this

subject, "We are often surprised to find elegance and coarseness,

symmetry and clumsiness, mixed in a way that would be unaccountable, did

we not consider that, in all the arts, the taste is a faculty which is

slowly formed, even in the most highly gifted minds." We suspect that

the pageant saved _King Arthur_; the scenic illusions by which

contending armies were brought upon an extended plain, together with the

numerous transformations, continually commanded that applause which the

music alone failed to elicit. With many, however, the mere _spectacle_

was not all-sufficient; but Opinion was written down, and independently

of the _prestige_ attached to the name of Purcell, the press would have

effectually put down all exhibition of disapprobation. The theatre might

be seen to become gradually deserted, and party after party, stunned by

the noise and blinded by the glare, might be observed to glide

noiselessly away as the performance proceeded, while an air of fatigued

endurance, and disappointment, was plainly visible on the countenances

of those that remained behind. This opera has been frequently revived;

how much of the success which it has met with may be attributed to what

Rousseau, when speaking of the operas of that period, terms "a false air

of magnificence, fairyism, and enchantment, which, like flowers in a

field before the harvest, betokens an _apparent_ richness," may be

matter of speculation; but it is recorded that even on its _first_

introduction on the stage, it caused a heavy loss to the patentees, in

consequence of which their affairs were thrown into Chancery, where they

remained some twenty years. Even Purcell's fame is confined to our own

shores, and we are not aware that his music was ever known upon the

Continent.

Arne, who established his reputation as a lyric composer by the music of

_Comus_ in 1738, is the next composer whom we think it necessary to

mention. To this master belongs the singular glory of having composed an

English opera--a term by which, as will be seen hereafter, we mean a

musical drama in which the whole of the plot is carried on without the

intervention of spoken dialogue. _Artaxerxes_, the only work of the kind

which we possess, was first produced in the year 1762. Though the music

is of a form now obsolete, this opera has seldom been long a stranger to

our stage, having been from time to time revived for the debut of new

and ambitious singers. One of these revivals has recently taken place;

the piece, however, was performed for a few nights only, and perhaps

popularity may be, at length, deserting _Artaxerxes_. This "standard

work of the English school" appears to be of more than doubtful

parentage. Arne is stated to have crowded the airs, those of Mandane in

particular, with all the Italian divisions and difficulties of the day,

and to have incorporated with his own property all the best passages of

the Italian and English composers of his time. With the exception of

_Comus_ and _Artaxerxes_, none of his pieces or operas met with great

success; and he seems to be principally remembered by those compositions

which were the least original. "Rule Britannia," by the combined effect

of the sentiment of the words and the spirit and vivacity of the music,

now become a national song, does not possess the merit of originality.

Long before it was _nationalized_--if one may use such a word--by

Englishmen, it was observed that in an Italian song, which may be seen

at page 25 of Walsh's collection, the idea--nay, almost all the

passages--of this melody might be found. In the well-known song, "Where

the bee sucks, there lurk I," passages occur taken almost note for note

from a _cantabile_ by Lampugnani. According to Dr Burney, Arne may also

claim the glory of having, by his compositions and instructions, formed

an era in the musical history of his country. The former relates that

music, which had previously stood still for near half a century, was

greatly improved by Arne in his endeavours "to refine our melody and

singing from the Italian;" and that English "taste and judgment, both in

composition and performance, even at the playhouses, differed as much

from those of twenty or thirty years ago, as the manners of a civilized

people from those of savages." Dr Busby, on the other hand, remarks,

that "it is a curious fact that the very father of a style, more natural

and unaffected, more truly English, than that of any other master,

should have been the first to deviate into foreign finery and finesse,

and desert the native simplicity of his country." But it is by the

compositions in which this degeneracy may be most particularly remarked,

that Arne's name as a musician has been preserved. This fact has

undoubtedly a double aspect. We may therefore, indeed, be permitted to

ask,

"Who shall decide when _doctors_ disagree?"

Either the public taste has erred, or the bastard Italian was superior

to the genuine English. Either way there is something wrong, and it

matters little whether we elevate the composer at the expense of the

public, or whether we commend the national taste while we depreciate and

decry the excellence of the music or the merit of the musician.

To Arne succeed several masters, many of whose compositions are still

popular. Arnold, Boyce, Battishall, Shield, Horsley, Webbe, and Calcott,

are the leading names of a numerous class who are chiefly remembered for

their anthems and glees, amongst which may be found the

_chefs-d'oeuvres_ of a school of which we shall more particularly speak

hereafter. The dramatic compositions of these masters are, for the most

part, consigned to oblivion; nor has any permanent impression been made

upon the public, by a native opera, for many years. While our national

school has been thus barren, the Italian opera has been long cultivated

and esteemed. The first opera, performed wholly in Italian, was given at

the Haymarket theatre in 1710. Handel began to write for this theatre in

1712, and continued to produce operas for many years. The Italian opera

appears to have been in the most flourishing state about the years 1735

and 1736. London then possessed two lyric theatres, each managed by

foreign composers, carrying on a bitter rivalry, and each backed by all

the vocal and instrumental talent that could be found in Europe.

Porpora, by Rousseau styled the immortal, at the Haymarket, and Handel

at Covent-Garden--the former boasting the celebrated Farinelli and

Cuzzoni among his performers, the latter supported by Caustini and

Gizziello. The public, however, appears to have been surfeited by such

prodigality; for Dr Burney observes, "at this time"--about 1737--"the

rage for operas seems to have been very much diminished in our country;

the fact was, that public curiosity being satisfied as to new

compositions and singers, the English returned to their homely food, the

_Begger's Opera_ and ballad farces on the same plan, with eagerness and

comfort." In 1741, Handel, after producing thirty-nine Italian lyric

dramas, and after struggling against adversity, with a reduced

establishment in a smaller theatre, was compelled by ruin to retire for

ever from the direction of the Italian stage. The opera then passed into

other hands, and was continued, with various success and few

intermissions, down to the present time. It has been the means of

introducing to our countrymen the works of an almost innumerable host of

foreign composers. Bach, the first composer who observed the laws of

contrast as a principle, Pergolisi, Gluck, Piccini, Paesiello, Cimarosa,

Mozart, Rossini, and Bellini, are the principal names, among a long list

of masters, of whom we might otherwise have remained in utter ignorance.

Performers of every kind, singers of the highest excellence, have come

among us; the powers and performances of Farinelli, Caffarelli,

Pachierotti, Gabrielli, Mara, and others, are handed down by tradition,

while all remember the great artists of still later times. These have

been our preceptors in the art of song, and to them, and them alone, are

we indebted for our knowledge of the singer's, powers; and but for their

guidance and instruction, our native home-taught professors would have

been centuries instead of years behind. It may, however, be some

consolation to reflect, that we have not been alone in our pupilage; for

Italy, herself the pupil of ancient Greece, has in her turn become the

preceptress of the modern world in music, as well as the other branches

of the fine arts, in all of which her supremacy has been universally

acknowledged. Besides the native musicians whose names we have

enumerated, many _ephemeræ_ of the genus have fluttered their short

hour, and been forgotten. On turning over the popular music of the early

years of the present century, or the music which may, perhaps, have

formed the delight and amusement of the last generation, the musician

will marvel that such productions should have been ever tolerated.

Native skill has undoubtedly advanced since this period; and however

worthless much of our present music may be considered, it is

nevertheless superior to most of the like productions of our immediate

predecessors. We have some living composers whose works are not without

some merit; but they can scarcely be placed even in the second class.

Their compositions, when compared with the works of the great

continental masters, are tame, spiritless, and insipid; we find in them

no flashes of real genius, no harmonies that thrill the nerves, no

melodies that ravish the sense, as they steal upon the ear. Effort is

discernible throughout this music, the best of which is formed

confessedly upon Italian models; and nowhere is the universal law, of

the inferiority of all imitation, more apparent.

These observations apply with especial force to the _dramatic_ music, or

compositions of the English school. The term opera, is incorrectly used

in England. The proper meaning of the word is, a musical drama,

consisting of recitative airs and concerted pieces; without the

intervention of spoken dialogue, it should consist of music, and music

alone, from the beginning to the end. With us it has been popularly

applied to what has been well characterized as "a jargon of alternate

speech and song," outraging probability in a far higher degree than the

opera properly so called, and singularly destructive of that illusion or

deception in which the pleasure derived from dramatic representations

principally consists. Music is in itself no mean vehicle of expression;

but, when connected with speech or language, it gives a vast additional

force and power to the expression of the particular passion or feeling

which the words themselves contain. It appears, as one listens to an

opera, as if the music were but a portion, or a necessary component part

of the language of the beings who move before us on the scene. We learn

to deem it part of their very nature and constitution; and it appears,

that, through any other than the combined medium of speech and song, the

passions, we see exhibited in such intensity, could not be adequately

expressed. The breaking up of this illusion by the intervention of mere

dialogue, is absolutely painful; there is a sudden sinking from the

ideal to the real, which shocks the sense, and at once destroys the

fabric of the imagination. Rousseau says of the lyric drama, that "the

melodies must be separated by speech, but speech must be modified by

music; the ideas should vary, but the _language_ should remain the same.

This language once adopted, if changed in the course of a piece, would

be like speaking half in French and half in German. There is too great a

dissimilarity between conversation and music, to pass at once from one

to the other; it shocks both the ear and probability. Two characters in

dialogue ought either to speak or sing; they cannot do alternately one

and the other. Now, recitative is the means of union between melody and

speech by whose aid, that which is merely dialogue becomes recital or

narrative in the drama, and may be rendered without disturbing the

course of melody." Recitative is peculiarly adapted to the expression of

strong and violent emotion. The language of the passions is short,

vivid, broken, and impetuous; the most abrupt transitions and

modulations which are observed in nature, may be noted down in

recitative. Writing recitative is but committing to paper the accent and

intonation, in short, the _reading_ of the language to be delivered by

the performer; and the composer may almost be considered as a master of

elocution, writing down that reading of a passage which he thinks may

best express the passion or the sentiment of the words. The effect of

this reading or intonation is often aided and increased by the sound of

instruments, sometimes, expressing the harmonies of the passages or

transitions noted for the voice, at other times, perhaps, performing a

graceful independent melody or harmony, in which case it is said to be

"accompanied:" It may be easily conceived, how powerful an instrument of

dramatic effect, this species of composition may become in the hands of

a skillful composer. We have already given two examples of its power,

one, of recitative in its simplest form, the other, of accompanied

recitative.[1] It would seem scarcely credible that so powerful an agent

of the lyric drama should be utterly neglected, among a people who

undoubtedly _claim_ to be considered a musical nation, and whose

composers certainly esteem themselves among those to whom musical fame

might be justly awarded. But such is nevertheless the fact, and we are

not aware of any modern composer of the English school who has fully

availed himself of its powers and capabilities. It has been said of

_Artaxerxes_, that the attempt then made to apply recitative to the

English language is unsuccessful; but it may be asked, whether the long

continued popularity of this work may not, in _some_ degree at least, be

owing to the absence of the incongruous mixture of speech and song.

However this may be, it is at least a singular coincidence, that the

single opera of our language, in which dialogue does not break and

interrupt the unity and consistent action of the drama, should be the

only musical work which has been distinguished by such constant and

enduring marks of popular favour and approbation. Another species of

dramatic music, the _cantabile_ of the Italians, is equally neglected

among us. The _cantabile_ includes much of the most exquisite music of

the Italian masters, and we know of nothing more touchingly beautiful,

throughout the whole range of musical composition, than many of the

_andante cantabili_ of this school. This, also, has been rarely

attempted by the English masters, and their puny efforts will bear no

comparison with the rich, graceful, flowing measure of the true Italian.

[Footnote 1: No. cccxxvii, p. 137.]

All music is, in a greater or less degree, essentially dramatic. Its

beauty often depends, entirely, upon the fidelity and truth with which

nature is followed. Even instrumental music aims at dramatic effect, and

fanciful incidents, and catastrophes are often suggested by the melodies

and harmonies of a symphony, or concerto. These creations of the

imagination are in themselves a source of interest and delight, wholly

different, in their nature, from the pleasure conferred by mere sounds.

How beautiful are the scenes, about to follow, depicted in the overtures

to _Der Freyschutz_ and _Oberon_; what wild _diableries_ are not

suggested by those wonderful compositions! There are sounds of awful

mystery, proceeding, as it were, now, from the dread rites of dark

malignant beings of another world, now, from the mad frolics of

mischievous and reckless imps; in the midst of which a stream of

beauteous, gentle melody--like a minister of grace--breaks forth; now,

gliding smoothly along, now, rushing on impetuously, or, broken and

interrupted in its course, as though the powers of good and evil were

striving for the mastery; and at length, as if the former were

victorious in the strife, that melody again bursts forth, loud and

expanded in the bold exulting tones of triumph, with which the imaginary

scene is closed.

Similar observations might be made of many other pieces of instrumental

music; but these effects depend upon the imagination of the hearer,

there being no words to convey definite ideas to the mind. In vocal

music, where the words express no passion or emotion, the voice becomes

little more than a mere instrument of the composer or the performer.

Now, the national music of our country is for the most part adapted to

words of this description, and the anthem, the madrigal, and glee, are

thus necessarily deficient in dramatic power and expression. The glee

has been described as "_quelque chose bien triste_," and few but the

fanatics of the school who have listened to a succession of glees, will,

we think, deny the accuracy of the description. The oratorio is often

highly dramatic; but we have few, if any, oratorios of merit, of native

production. Our operas we have already designated as plays, with songs

scattered about at random. Thus, music of the highest class is rarely

attempted in this country; and the neglect of the one great requisite of

musical excellence, _may_ have prevented our composers from assuming

that rank, to which they might otherwise have shown themselves entitled.

There is, however, another class of composers whom we must not omit to

notice: we mean the song-writers of the day, the authors of those

ballads and vocal compositions, with knights and ladies fair, houris,

sentimental peasants, or highborn beauties, as the case may be,

lithographed upon the title-page. This class is entitled to notice, not

because of the merit or ability they possess, but because these masters

(!) really produce the popular music of the day, and because at present

we literally possess no other new music. The first object of the

publisher of a song is, or used to be, to have it sung in public by some

popular performer. This is not done without fee and reward; but the

value of the subject of the publisher's speculation, is greatly

increased by the publicity gained by the introduction of the song at the

theatre or the concert-room. When this event takes place, _claqeurs_ are

active, the friends of the singer support them, the playbills announce

"a hit," and a sly newspaper puff aids the delusion; copies of the

ornamented title-page are distributed among the various music-sellers,

to be exhibited in their windows, and the song is popular, and "sells."

Modest merit is unknown among us now. Thus songs and ballads without

number, which would otherwise remain in well-merited obscurity on the

shelves of the publisher, are forced into notice and repute. The trade,

no doubt, benefits by this system, the commercial end of these

speculations may indeed be answered, but the public taste is lowered by

each and every of these transactions.

We may here notice the extravagant price of music of every description

in England. For a piece of four or five pages, the sum of 2s. is

commonly demanded. Even where there has been an outlay in the purchase

of the copyright, this sum can scarcely be considered reasonable; but

when the same price is asked for music which has become common property,

it is out of all reason. The expense of engraving four or five pages of

music, the cost of the plates, together with the expense of paper and

printing a hundred copies of a song of this description, does not amount

to £5; therefore the sale of fifty copies will reimburse the publisher;

while, if the whole hundred are disposed of, he is an actual gainer of

cent per cent upon his original outlay, while the profit upon every copy

subsequently struck off is necessarily enormous. On the Continent, music

may be purchased for about one-third the sum which it would cost in

England. In Paris, Pacini's "partitions," an excellent edition of the

popular Italian operas, are sold for twelve francs each. The whole set

may be purchased at the rate of eleven francs the opera. While in

London, the identical copies purchasable abroad by those not in the

trade for about 8s. 6d. of our money, are sold at two guineas each. The

profits of "the trade" on musical instruments, are also enormous. On the

pianofortes of most of the London makers, a profit of _at least_ thirty

or thirty-five per cent is realized by the retailer; and on a grand

piano, for which the customer pays 130 guineas, "the trade" pockets on

the very lowest calculation upwards of £40.

English performers next claim our notice and attention. In this new

field of observation we find little to commend; defective training is

the great cause of our inferiority in the practical performance of

music, in all its branches. This is especially manifest in the

home-taught singers of the English school. The voice is never perfectly

formed nor developed, and brought out in the correct and scientific

manner possessed by the accomplished artists of other countries. Some of

the most popular of our singers sing with the mouth nearly closed, with

others the voice is forced and strained, proceeding not from the chest,

but from the throat, the muscles of which are necessarily contracted in

the effort. We have, no doubt, many difficulties to overcome in the

structure of our language, in which the accent is thrown on the

consonants rather than on the vowels. Unlike the Italian, which is

thrown out, _ore rotundo_, directly from the chest, the English language

is spoken from the throat, and, in general, also with the mouth nearly

closed. The Italian singer finds no difficulty in bringing out his

voice; but the Englishman has first to conquer the habit of his life,

and to overcome the obstacles his native tongue opposes to his

acquirement of this new but necessary, mode of using the voice. The

difficulty, of laying this only foundation of real sterling excellence

in the vocal art, is very great, and much care and study is

indispensable. Those who have occasion to use the voice loudly in the

open air, insensibly acquire the power of thus eliciting the voice. The

chest tones in which many of the "Cries of London" are often heard in

the streets of the metropolis, are a familiar example of nature's

teaching; another instance of which may probably still be found among

the "_bargees_," of Cambridge, whose voices, in our younger days, we

well remember to have often heard and admired, as they guided or urged

forward their sluggish horses along the banks of the still more sluggish

Cam, in tones proceeding _imo profundo_ of the chest, and magnificent

enough to have made the fortune of many a singer. These men, indeed,

seemed to pride themselves upon their vocal powers; and many of them

could execute a rapid shake, with accuracy and precision. The voice is

nature's instrument, but, like the instruments fashioned by the hand of

man, it will not yield its best tones to the unskilful. There are many

instrumental performers whose chief excellence lies in their tone, and

who could call forth tones, from even an ordinary instrument, far

superior to those which an inferior performer would be able to produce

from the best Straduarius or Amati. To the singer, tone is even of

greater value than to the instrumental performers; for the method of

instruction which improves the qualities of the vocal organ, also

imparts a power and certainty of expression and execution, which cannot

be otherwise acquired. The finest singers are ever found to be those,

who have best studied and developed the powers of the instrument which

nature had bestowed upon them. This is the first grand requisite for the

singer; without it, respectable mediocrity may occasionally be attained,

but real excellence never can be gained. We know of no English-taught

singer who possesses it. So little are the voice and its capabilities

understood in this country, that instances might be mentioned where

basses were mistaken for barytones, barytones for tenors, and contraltos

for sopranos. However incredible this may appear, it is, nevertheless,

strictly and literally true. The consequence of such strange blunders is

what might be naturally expected; the voice, forced out of its natural

compass, prematurely gives way, and at a period of life when the vocal

organ, if properly trained and developed, should have arrived at

maturity and perfection, the singer's powers are gone, and, in the prime

of life, he is compelled to abandon his profession, and subsides into

the mere singing-master, to _mis_instruct the rising generation, and to

mar the prospects of others who succeed him, as his own hopes were

blighted by the errors of his own instructors. To what other cause can

be attributed the constant and mysterious disappearance of new singers?

How many young vocalists appear from time to time; lauded at first to

the skies, for a few seasons listened to and admired, but whose

reputation gradually decays, and who at length disappear from the stage

and are forgotten. There are some who endure for years; but they fulfil

no promise of their early youth. Under these circumstances, we could ill

afford to lose an artist who seemed destined to achieve a lasting

reputation. Our musical stage has but now sustained a heavy loss in one

of the brightest ornaments it ever possessed; the charms of a happy home

have withdrawn her from public life--but the genius of Miss Adelaide

Kemble will not be soon forgotten. Another bright ornament of our stage,

however, still remains. Possessing less physical energy and tragic power

than her contemporary, Mrs Alfred Shaw is, nevertheless, the most pure,

polished, and cultivated English singer we ever heard on the boards of

our national theatre. The finish and refinement of her style, and the

clear distinctness of her enunciation, make her the worthy model for the

imitation of all who are desirous to excel. Were our future _debutanti_

trained on the system which has thus developed the powers and

capabilities of these eminent artists, less frequently would be observed

the musical disappearances of which we have been speaking.

The English tenor is a nondescript animal; singing from some unknown

region, his voice possesses no natural character, but its tones are

forced, strained, and artificial. Our tenors and counter-tenors--a sort

of musical hermaphrodite, almost peculiar to this country, and scarcely

recognized by classical composers--delight in what is called the "pure,"

or, "the good old English" style. This style, coldly correct, tame,

dull, flat, and passionless, requires but little in the singer. The bass

of this school is a saltatory creature; he is, for the most part, either

striding through thirds, or jumping over fifths and octaves, much as he

did a hundred years ago. During this period, the art of singing has made

immense advances elsewhere; the execution of Farinelli, in 1734, thought

so wonderful, would not suffice for even a third-rate singer now; and

the powers of B. Ferri, described by Rousseau, are scarcely more than

would be expected of every singer of the Queen's Theatre. Rossini's

music, replete with difficulties of execution, has compelled even the

unwieldy bass to overcome his reluctance to rapid motion, and he is now

obliged to condescend to runs, arpeggios, and other similar feats of

agility. In an opera buffa at a Neapolitan theatre, called _Il Fondo_,

we once heard Tamburini execute the well-known song "Ma non fia sempre

odiata" in his falsetto, with a taste and expression scarcely surpassed

by Rubini's performance of the air. On another occasion, at the same

theatre, the prima donna was taken suddenly ill in the midst of a

terzetto, in which Tamburini had the bass, and, while supporting her on

the stage, this accomplished musician actually took the soprano in his

falsetto, and performed the part of the indisposed lady in a manner

which drew down universal applause. The English school, "still tardy,"

and "limping after" the Italian, is yet far behind. It has, undoubtedly,

made some advances, but it is still the child, _following_ indeed, but,

"Haud passibus æquis."

With us, the pupil commonly begins where he should end; songs are placed

before him almost as soon as he has mastered the elements of music. At a

time, when his whole study and endeavour should be to form and cultivate

the voice, and by long, patient, and persevering exercise, to develop

and command its powers, and to acquire flexibility and certainty of

execution, his efforts are expended in learning--as it is called--songs.

This process may be carried on _ad infinitum_; but none of the objects

of the pupil's study can be ever _sung_, in the real acceptation of the

term, on this method of instruction. The well-known anecdote of the

early youth of one of the greatest singers the world has ever known,

who, after the drudgery of a daily practice of exercises alone for seven

years, was bidden by his master to go his way, the first singer in

Europe, is an example of the advantages of the opposite system. The

compass of an ordinary tenor is about two octaves, from C below the

line, to C in alt. Within this compass, the tenor makes use of two

voices; the chest or natural voice--which ranges over the whole of the

lower octave and the lower half of the higher octave--and the head-voice

or falsetto, which is commonly used throughout the whole of the

remainder of the upper octave, the higher notes of which can be reached

only in the falsetto. In passing from one 'voice' to the other,

especially while descending the scale, a break or crack may be observed

in the untutored and uncultivated voice. When this defect has been

overcome, and the student has acquired the power of passing from one

'voice' to the other without this break, the voice is said to be joined.

The soprano also has to contend with a similar difficulty. It often

requires many months of constant and unremitting practice to overcome

this natural defect of the vocal organ, and in some voices it is never

entirely conquered. An acute ear might often detect the faulty joining

of the voice, in both the Grisis, when executing a distant descending

interval. This obstacle meets the student at the very threshold of his

career; but we have met with many English taught amateurs, who were

altogether ignorant even of what was meant by joining the voice. In

fact, the art of singing, or of acquiring a mastery and control over the

voice, of remedying its defects, and developing its latent powers, is

comparatively unknown in England; our professors are for the most part

entirely ignorant of the capabilities of the human voice, as an

_instrument_, in the hands of the performer. Many of these observations

apply to our instrumental performers. With few exceptions, defective

training has, in this branch of the musical art, long prevented us from

producing performers of equal celebrity with those who have visited us

from the Continent. From them we have become acquainted with effects,

which we should have deemed the instruments on which they played wholly

incapable of producing. Our young professors now often follow these men

to their own country, there to learn of them that proficiency which they

would seek in vain to acquire at home.

In the midst of all this ignorance, with our one opera, our anthems,

madrigals, glees, and ballads, we nevertheless esteem ourselves a

musical people, and every one is ready to exclaim with Bottom, "I have a

reasonable good ear in musick!" Music certainly is the fashion now, and

no one would dare to avow that he had no music in his soul. It may be

thought, that none but a people passionately devoted to music, could

produce a succession of patriots ready to sacrifice health and wealth,

rather than their countrymen should fail to possess an Italian opera.

Some one is ever found equal to the emergency; there is seldom any lack

of competitors for the "forlorn hope" of the management of the Italian

opera, and, undismayed by the ruin of his predecessors, the highest

bidder rushes boldly on to the direction of the Queen's theatre. Forty

thousand pounds of debt has been known to have been incurred in a single

season; and it has been calculated that a sum little short of a million

sterling, besides the produce of the subscriptions and admissions, has

been sacrificed to the desire of an Italian opera. Every autumn is rich

in musical festivals, as they are called, by which, though the temples

of God are desecrated, and the church, in common with the theatre and

the concert-room, becomes the scene of gaiety, frivolity, and amusement;

and though the speculation is a charitable one, by which it is _hoped_

that the funds of the benevolent institutions of the town or county may

be increased, a considerable loss is nevertheless often incurred, which

falls upon the committee, or upon the borough or county members,

according to the equity of the case. These gentlemen also furnish

another proof that there are at least some among us who will incur any

risk, and make any sacrifice, rather than forego the indulgence of their

musical tastes and inclinations. Are there not also choral and madrigal

societies, glee-clubs, and concerts innumerable, in every part of the

country? It is surely a mistake to suppose, "_Que les Anglois ont peu

d'aptitude pour la musique_;" we agree that the remainder of the

sentence, "_Ceux-ci le savent et ne s'en soucient guère_," is altogether

inapplicable now, however true it might have been when the lively

Jean-Jacques framed the sentence. Our ambition has been roused, or our

vanity has been piqued, and we are now pretty much in the same condition

with the French, when it was said of them, that they "would renounce a

thousand just rights, and pass condemnation on all other things, rather

than allow that they are not the first musicians of the world." This is

one of the signs of the times, and we hail it as a symptom of better

things.

In the metropolis, music has advanced with far greater rapidity than in

the provinces. This appears the natural and inevitable result of causes

to which we have already alluded. Ten or fifteen years ago, the

street-music of London consisted of such tunes as Tom and Jerry--an

especial favourite--the Copenhagen Waltz, and other _melodies_ of the

same class. Now we have instruments imitating a full orchestra, which

execute elaborate overtures in addition to the best airs of the first

masters of Europe. The better the music the greater the attraction, even

in the streets of London; and the people may be seen daily to crowd

around these instruments, and to listen with attention to Italian and

German melodies. We have, of late, repeatedly heard the juvenile

unwashed, whistling airs learned from these instruments, which, however

humble, thus appear to influence the taste of the poorer classes. During

several weeks of the present year, operas in an English dress were

simultaneously performed at three of our theatres. The very gods in the

galleries now look benignly down upon the Italian strangers, which--to

use a theatrical phrase--draw better houses than any other performances

would command.

In the country, the advancement is less manifest. A provincial musical

party is generally a fearful thing. In the society of the metropolis,

none but the really skilful musician is ever heard; in the country,

these are rare beings; or, if the scientific performer is sometimes

found, like the diamond in the mine, he shines in vain, there are none

to appreciate his excellence. It is truly painful to see a number of

fair young creatures, one after another, brought up to the instrument;

there to exhibit, not taste or skill, but ignorance and inability. It is

even still more painful to be condemned to listen to the performance of

the best specimens, selected from the stock of school-taught pieces,

beyond which many of the fair performers know little or nothing. We beg

pardon of our fair young countrywomen; the fault lies not with them. The

indiscriminate teaching of music cannot make all musicians. Many have no

warm taste for music, and many more, who, under other circumstances,

might have pursued the art as an amusement and recreation, are disgusted

from their earliest youth by its being made a task, the difficulty of

which is immeasurably increased by imperfect instruments. The general

taste of the provincial world has advanced but little, for many years.

There is a certain class of music, which has been respectfully listened

to for upwards of a century; which, having been admired before, is

therefore proper to be admired again. Few would dare to criticize, or

avow a distaste for, music which has so long been popular. Handel and

some others still meet with universal deference, and their very names

alone suffice to silence any one who, more hardy than the rest, should

be disposed to find fault. This music, however, is heard with cold

indifference; it calls forth no feeling, and excites no enthusiasm. It

is, indeed, seldom adequately performed. Many of Handel's songs are

truly dramatic; but the purists of "the good old school," sternly

adhering to their--self-styled classic--insipidity, never condescend to

a meretricious display of dramatic power. The Italian and German schools

are not understood by the "million." We have on many occasions observed

a large audience, who, after having listened with an air of puzzled

stupidity to the performance of the most beautiful _cavatine_ by the

first singers of the day, would the next moment, one and all, be thrown

into apparent ecstasy by a wretched ballad, wound up by the everlasting

ponderous English shake. This mode of conclusion, to which true taste is

an utter stranger, is still considered indispensable; though, in the

Italian school, it has been exploded upwards of a century. Such is the

music which calls forth the latent enthusiasm of an English assembly,

and a very respectable degree of excitement is often thus produced.

There are many, who believe this music to be of the highest class of

excellence, and who affect to despise the music of every other school.

There are also many, who assert that all other music is artificial and

meretricious--who contend that the Italian and German schools are

usurping an undue ascendency over the genuine, but modest, merit of our

native music. That Bishop, Calcott, Webbe, Arne, and the rest, had

reached the perfection of their art, would seem a bold assertion; and

their most enthusiastic admirers would probably hesitate to state it as

their conviction, that the compositions of their favourites contain the

elements of universal popularity. Such, however, is the logical

deduction from these premises, and the necessary conclusion from

opinions, which those who hold them will not easily evade. If the music

of our country does indeed possess the excellence, so fondly asserted by

its numerous admirers, we might naturally expect, amid the general

demand in Europe for musical entertainments, that its beauties should

not be entirely neglected and unknown. But while the Italian opera has

found its way over nearly the whole of Europe, and is absolutely

naturalized in England, France, and Spain, our musical productions are

unknown beyond the limits of their native shores. This, being a negative

proposition, is not capable of direct proof. Michael Kelly gives an

amusing account of the performance of the celebrated hunting song at

Vienna, in which the discordant cries of "Tally-ho, Tally-ho," are said

to have driven the Emperor in indignation from the theatre, a great part

of the audience also following the royal example. "The ladies hid their

faces with the hands, and mothers were heard cautioning daughters never

to repeat the dreadful expression of Tally-ho." We have, ourselves,

heard a no less air than "Drops of Brandy," performed by a military

band, stationed on the balcony of the palace of the King of Naples, on

the evening of the royal birthday. The crowds enjoying the cool air on

the Stª Lucia, exclaimed "Inglese, Inglese!" English, English! as this

odd reminiscence of our countrymen was first heard. We are not aware of

any other instances in which English music has been introduced upon the

Continent. More such instances may undoubtedly exist; but the broad

fact, that our music makes no way among other nations, cannot be

disputed. The judgment of the civilized world can scarcely be in error;

and it is difficult for the most ardent admirer of his country's music,

to account for the fact on any hypothesis which is not founded on the

real inferiority of the English school.

This inferiority can be no matter of surprise, when we consider the

energy with which the tuneful art is cultivated, and the importance with

which it is invested, by the Italians. In the freedom happily enjoyed by

Englishmen, all pursuits are open to individual enterprise and ambition;

and every path to fame or opulence is thronged with busy eager

aspirants, all running the race of eminence and distinction, with that

strong purpose of the will which leaves but little opportunity for the

indulgence of tastes, which, though they often exist among the

individuals of these classes, are for this reason seldom cultivated. In

Italy, insurmountable barriers are erected across these paths, which, in

England, all are invited to pursue. The jealousy of despotic governments

is ever on the watch to stifle and put down the genius that would busy

itself on the serious affairs of men. Instances might be mentioned in

which this monstrous system has been carried into effect. The smothered

energies of these restless spirits must somewhere find a vent, and

Arteaga has eloquently described one of the effects thus produced upon

the Italians. "The love of pleasure," he remarks, "the only recompense

for the loss of their ancient liberty which the Italians possess, and

which in every nation decreases in proportion as political virtue

diminishes, has caused an excessive frequency of theatrical pageants and

amusements. In every small town, in every village, a theatre may be

found. Subsistence may fail the indigent, the rivers may want bridges,

drainage may be necessary to fertilize the plains, hospitals may be

needful for the sick and infirm, there may even be no provision to meet

a public calamity, but a species of Coliseum is nowhere wanting for the

idle and unemployed." Operas are the national entertainments at these

numerous theatres. The _impresario_, or manager, is generally one of the

most wealthy and considerable personages of the little town which he

inhabits. He forms a company, and he engages a composer to write an

opera for the opening of the season, which generally consists of twenty

or thirty nights, during which period seldom more than two operas are

performed. The first night of one of these seasons is most amusingly

described by the biographer of Rossini. "The theatre overflows, the

people flock from ten leagues' distance; the curious form an encampment

round the theatre in their calashes; all the inns are filled to excess,

where insolence reigns at its height. All occupations have ceased; at

the moment of the performance the town has the aspect of a desert. All

the passions, all the solicitudes, all the life, of a whole population,

is concentrated at the theatre. The overture commences; so intense is

the attention, that the buzzing of a fly could be heard. On its

conclusion, the most tremendous uproar ensues. It is either applauded to

the clouds, or hissed, or rather howled at, without mercy. In an Italian

theatre, they shout, they scream, they stamp, they belabour the backs of

their seats with their canes, with all the violence of persons

possessed. It is thus that they force on others the judgment which they

have formed, and strive to prove it a sound one; for, strange to say,

there is no intolerance equal to that of the eminently sensitive. At the

close of each air the same terrific uproar ensues; the bellowings of an

angry sea could give but a faint idea of its fury. Such, at the same

time, is the taste of an Italian audience, that they at once distinguish

whether the merit of an air belongs to the singer, or composer."

Contrast the scene here described with the appearance presented on

similar occasion by the Queen's Theatre in the Haymarket. There, few are

bold enough either to applaud or disapprove. Many simple, perhaps, but

beautiful and refined, characteristics of the composer or performer, may

pass unnoticed; but some common-place embellishment, which is considered

safe, will command the expression of approbation which the trait of real

genius had failed to elicit. After a few representations, the fear of

applauding _unwisely_ is diminished, but still, as was once said of the

French under similar circumstances, "they affirm with the lips, but with

the eye they interrogate;" and it is not till a sort of prescription has

been established in favour of certain airs and passages, that the

Englishman banishes doubt and distrust, and claps his hands, and shouts

_bravo_--accenting the word strongly on the first syllable--with an air

of confidence and decision. We would, nevertheless, entertain the hope,

that our national reserve, or the _mauvaise honte_, which our countrymen

contrive to exhibit on every possible occasion, is one cause of this

apparent dulness; at all events, it would seem highly probable that a

people among whom music is a necessity, should, in the unbiassed

judgment of contemporary nations, be our superiors in the art.

In the north of England, musical taste is much more widely diffused than

in the south. The Committee of the Privy Council on Education, report

favourably also of the musical attainments of the people of Norfolk. Mr

Hogarth, in his excellent and able work, observes, that "in the densely

peopled manufacturing districts of Yorkshire, Lancashire, and

Derbyshire, music is cultivated among the working classes to an extent

unparalleled in any other part of the kingdom. Every town has its choral

society, supported by the amateurs of the place and its neighbourhood,

where the sacred works of Handel and the more modern masters are

performed, with precision and effect, by a vocal and instrumental

orchestra, consisting of mechanics and work people; and every village

church has its occasional oratorio, where a well-chosen and

well-performed selection of sacred music is listened to by a decent and

attentive audience, of the same class as the performers, mingled with

their employers and their families. Hence, the practice of this music is

an ordinary domestic and social recreation among the working classes of

these districts, and its influence is of the most salutary kind." We can

ourselves bear witness to the truth of many of these remarks. In some of

the more rural portions of the manufacturing districts of Lancashire, we

have often listened to the voices of little bands of happy children,

who, while returning home after the labours of the day were over, were

singing psalms and hymns to tunes learned at the national or Sunday

schools. A highly interesting example of the superior musical capacity

of the inhabitants of this county, came under our observation a few

years ago, at a large and populous village situated on the borders of

one of the extensive fields of industry of which we speak. On the

anniversary of the opening of the school, the children frequenting

it--in number nearly 300--had been long accustomed to march in

procession up to the mansion of the neighbouring squire, the founder and

endower of the school. Ranged upon the lawn in the presence of their

aged benefactor and his family--children, grandchildren, and

great-grandchildren, were among them--led by no instrument, and guided

only by the voices of their teachers, they performed an anthem, in

parts, with an accuracy and precision which was truly wonderful. As

their young voices rose in simple beauty to the skies, tears coursed

down the old man's cheek, and though already bowed by the weight of

nearly ninety years, he bent still lower, to hide the emotion which

overcame him. Six months after this occurrence, those children were

drawn up to pay their last tribute of respect to their benefactor, as

his remains passed to their final resting-place. In the churches of the

north, the school-children may be seen singing with evident delight, not

the mere passive instruments of the masters or teachers, but joining

heart and soul with the congregation. The Lancashire chorus singers have

long enjoyed an extended reputation; at the last festival at Westminster

Abbey, they proved the principal strength of the choral band. In other

parts of the kingdom, far less aptitude for music is shown among the

working classes. The singing in the churches is, for the most part, of

the lowest order. In many parishes considerable pains have, of late,

been taken in order to improve the psalmody, but no corresponding effect

has been produced. In the agricultural districts of the south of

England, no songs are heard lightening the daily toil of the labourer,

and the very plough-boys can hardly raise a whistle. It is impossible to

account for this; but the fact will be acknowledged by all who have had

the opportunity of observation.

In speculating upon the future prospects of music and musical taste and

science in England, the two rival systems of teaching which have been

recently introduced, must necessarily become the subjects of remark and

observation. The names of the teachers of these systems are no doubt

well known to all our readers. Mainzer, who is himself the author, as

well as the teacher, of one system, and Hullah, the teacher of the

system of Wilhelm. Wilhelm's method has been stamped by authority, and

the Committee of the Council on Education, after "carefully examining"

manuals of vocal music collected in Switzerland, Holland, the German

States, Russia, Austria, and France, in order to ascertain the

characteristic differences and general tendency of the respective

methods adopted in these countries, at length decided in favour of

Wilhelm. The accounts received of the success of this system in Paris,

induced the Council to secure the assistance of Mr Hullah, who was known

to have given much attention to the subject, and to have been already

engaged in making trials of the method. The system of Wilhelm has,

therefore, acquired the ascendency, and Mr Hullah has been invested with

the character or office of national instructor, in which capacity he is

said to realize upwards of L.5000 per annum--almost as many pounds,

according to Mr Barnett, as Wilhelm, the inventor of the system,

received francs. The prominent station and the large income realized by

a junior in the profession, has naturally roused the jealousy and

excited the envy of his elder brethren, many of whom, perhaps, found

"their occupation" almost "gone." The vast amount of the bitterness thus

engendered, may be conceived, when the reader is informed, that, in

London alone, it has been computed that music affords a livelihood to

more than 5000 persons. In the midst of such a host of bitter rivals,

the imperfections and defects of this all-engrossing system are sure of

exposure. Many grave and serious charges have been advanced against the

mode in which a superficial and deceptive success has been made to

appear real, sound, and healthy. These charges have been reiterated in a

pamphlet, recently published by one who is, perhaps, the first of our

native living masters--Mr Barnett. Those great exhibitions at Exeter

Hall, in the presence of the magnates of the land, at which none but the

pupils of Mr Hullah were stated to be allowed to attend, have been

declared to be "packed" meetings. There is an _equivoque_ in the terms

pupil and classes; with the public they would naturally be taken to mean

those persons, and those only, who had _commenced_ their musical career

in the classes taught by Mr Hullah: but according to the official

interpretation of the terms, they appear to mean, all who now are or

ever have been receiving instruction in Wilhelm's method. Now, it must

be remembered, that Mr Hullah has instructed in Wilhelm's method many

who had, for years, gained their bread by teaching music; who, having

been induced to abandon their old system, and to adopt the new method

from the superior remuneration it affords, were probably all able to

take as efficient a part in the performance, when they commenced the

nine lessons which entitle them to the certificate of competency, as

when their course of instruction was concluded. Hundreds of such pupils

may, for aught we know, have been judiciously disposed among the

remainder of the 1700 who performed on the grand occasions to which we

allude. But to enable us to judge of the efficiency of a system of

instruction, we must not only witness the performance of the pupil, but

we must also know the point from which he started. Now, these

demonstrations having been got up expressly for the purpose of

exhibiting the skill and progress of Mr Hullah's classes, all,

therefore, that was necessary in order to form a judgment upon the

question thus submitted to the public, though not directly asserted, was

nevertheless necessarily implied. At all events, the public were simple

enough so to understand the matter. But when the mistake was at length

discovered, instead of at once correcting the error, if such indeed it

was, recourse was had to a disingenuous quibble on words, which would,

therefore, seem to have been purposely rendered obscure. It will thus be

seen how fallacious a test these performances afford, either of the real

merits of the system, or of the actual progress or efficiency of those

who have received instruction from no other source. But, besides this

charge, the truth of which is thus virtually admitted, it has also

publicly been charged against the conductors of the Exeter Hall

performances, that many able musicians, who never were the pupils of any

teacher of the Wilhelm method, were surreptitiously introduced among the

classes at these great choral meetings. This is a grave accusation; it

has been made not anonymously nor in the dark, but backed and supported

by the open disclosure of the name and address of the several parties by

whom it has been publicly brought forward. Of the truth or falsehood of

this serious imputation we know nothing more than that it is raised by

facts, which have been stated, but which, so far as we can learn, have

never received any denial or explanation. On one of these occasions we

were present. We can bear testimony to the effect produced by much of

the music then performed. Mr Hullah certainly appeared to possess great

power over the numerous assembly, and the facility with which he hushed

them almost down to silence, or made them raise their voices till there

seemed no limits to their united power, was almost magical. But beyond

this, in the words of an able weekly journalist, "no means of forming

any opinions were before us--the whole affair might be a cheat and a

delusion--we had no test by which to try it. We have hitherto,"

continues the writer, "spoken of these exhibitions at Exeter Hall as

realities, as being what they were affirmed to be. This is no longer

possible. If Mr Hullah has any real confidence in his 'system,' he will

eagerly seek a real scrutiny into its merits; hitherto there has been

none." Our own personal observation does not enable us to be very

enthusiastic in the praise of the Wilhelm system. A few weeks only have

elapsed, since we attended a meeting of a class, whose progress we had

watched, from time to time, from its earliest infancy. This class had

gone through the course of sixty lessons, but continued still to receive

instruction. Their power of singing at sight was tested in our

presence--a piece of music they had never seen before was placed in

their hands. The first attempt to execute this at sight was lame, and

halted terribly; the second was somewhat better, but as we moved about,

from one pupil to another, to ascertain, as far as possible, the

individual accuracy of the class, we heard many voices, in a subdued

tone, making a number of admirable guesses at their part, but the owners

of which could not, by the utmost courtesy, be considered to be singing

at sight. The basses missed many a "distance," the tenors were

interrupted by the master, and worked, in the defective passages,

separately from the rest of the class for a while, _by ear_!! A third

attempt was made with somewhat better success, and the piece was

accomplished in a rambling uncertain manner. During the whole of this

trial, the trebles were led by the master's apprentice, a sharp clever

boy, who retained a voice of peculiar beauty and power to the unusually

late age of sixteen, and who had commenced his musical studies six or

eight years before. We considered this experiment a failure; it may be

said the fault lay in the teacher, not in the method; true, the master

was not Mr Hullah, but he was one of the "certificated," and the

partisans of Mr Hullah, in the language of the lawyers, are _estopped_

from asserting his incompetency. We have known pupils, not deficient in

general ability, who, having attended the greater part of "the course,"

during which they paid great attention to their studies, were unable to

read more than a few bars of the simplest music, beyond which they were

lost and confused. Without naming the notes _Do, Re,_ &c., they were

utterly unable to proceed at all, and it appeared to us that, by seeing

those syllables written on paper, they would have gathered a more

correct idea of the music, than by attempting to read from music written

in the ordinary manner. This is the result of the invariable use of

those syllables in exercising the voice. In the best continental

schools, they have long been obsolete for such a purpose. Still, the

Hullah-Wilhelm mania will, no doubt, produce considerable effect, even

though the system should fall short of the expectations of its friends

and promoters. We have now commenced our first national effort in this

direction; either, the prejudices which so long delayed this effort have

been overcome, or, the "National Society" is now too strong to bow,

entirely, to the opinions or prejudices of one of its earliest and most

influential patrons--one who long resisted the introduction of musical

instruction into the schools of the society; and who, some twenty years

ago, is said, on one occasion, actually to have thrown out of the

windows of the central school some cards and boards on which the

elements of music were printed, and which had been introduced by some of

the committee. But for the influence of this nobleman the effort had,

perhaps, been made many years ago. The "_premier pas_" has, however, at

length been taken. The public mind is roused; all, from the highest to

the lowest, frequent the classes of Mr Hullah. Royalty itself deigns to

listen. "THE DUKE" himself takes delight in the peaceful notes of Exeter

Hall, and the Premier has found leisure, from the business and service

of the State, to scrutinize the performance of "the classes." It must

surely be a pleasant thing to sing to princes, warriors, and

statesmen--all that the country holds most in honour, love, and

reverence. The impulse thus given is felt throughout the land. Classes

are formed in every town, almost in every village; the labourer, the

mechanic, young men and maidens, old men and children, may be seen,

after their daily toil is done, busy with the _do, re, mi, fa_, &c., of

the class-book. Although the system may not prove all that might be

desired, yet much is taught and learned, and the desire of acquiring

more is created. The general standard of music, and musical taste, must

necessarily be raised far above its previous resting-place. It must,

however, be ever borne in mind, that the system professes only to teach

sight-singing, or, in other words, the power of reading music. This

power is wholly distinct from that of singing, as we have above defined

the art; those who having attended, and profited to the utmost by the

course, will be grievously disappointed if they expect at its close to

find themselves accomplished singers. The management of the voice is

still required, and many vicious habits, contracted during the practice

at the class, will have to be forgotten. This, however, cannot be felt

by the million, to whom any musical instruction will be a gift of

unspeakable value, in a social and moral point of view. The Committee of

the Council well observe, that "amusements which wean the people from

vicious indulgences are in themselves a great advantage; they contribute

indirectly to the increase of domestic comfort, and promote the

contentment of the artisan. The songs of any people may be regarded as

important means of forming an industrious, brave, loyal, and religious

working-class." Mr Barnett calls this, "nothing but egregious cant, got

up by the teachers of the Wilhelm plan, both in France and here." In

this we cannot agree with Mr Barnett, and we scarcely understand why he

should be betrayed into so much heat upon the occasion. For ourselves,

we rejoice to see any system at work for the purpose of instructing the

working classes in the elements of music; and it seems to us a monstrous

proposition, and nothing short of an insult to our countrymen, on the

part of the prominent opposer of the Wilhelm system, to assert that the

knowledge or cultivation of an art, which throughout all history has

advanced hand in hand with civilization and refinement, should, among

the labouring classes of England, be productive only of idleness,

drunkenness, or debauchery.

The instruction of the lower classes in vocal music, however beneficial

and important as an element in civilization, or however advantageous as

a means by which the general taste of the people may be elevated and

refined, will not be found all-sufficient, in itself, to raise our

musical reputation as a nation. Native music is at a low ebb at present;

and, while musical entertainments are in such general request as almost

to have excluded the "legitimate" drama from the stage, no attempt to

introduce any English opera has been recently made. Into such oblivion

or disrepute have English composers fallen, that some of the most

eminent have actually left London. One well-known veteran now lives in

honourable retirement in the Modern Athens. Another, once popular and

admired, "disgusted with London and the profession," and "having given

up all thoughts of again appearing before the London public as an

operatic composer," is said to have migrated in the capacity of

singing-master to a fashionable watering-place; while a third, once

equally well known, has left the kingdom altogether, and has settled

himself in Paris. The public ear has learned to appreciate music of a

high class; and, judging from the past, the manager perhaps dare not

incur the risk of bringing out a new native opera. It is certainly much

to be regretted that the existing demand should not be supplied from

native sources, and thus serve the purpose of national advancement in

the art; but English music does not _take_. Does the fault rest with the

public or with the musician? It is easy, and no doubt _convenient_,

contemptuously to apply the epithet, "_hacknied_," to the operas

recently adapted to the English stage; but how is it that the old

"hacknied" music of the Italians should be preferred to the novelties of

our native school? Here again the public taste has advanced too fast,

and, owing to the inferiority of our home productions, the foreigner has

gained possession of the market.[2] Where is the remedy for this

unfortunate state of things? Some master-mind, some musical Napoleon,

_may_ rise up and take the world by storm; but such an event is

particularly unlikely now. The hour generally makes the man, and the

necessities of the moment often call forth talents and energies, the

existence of which was wholly unsuspected by their possessors. For aught

we know, many a hero may be now among the ranks, and many a gallant

officer now before the mast, undistinguished from lack of opportunity,

unknown because circumstances have not developed his dormant powers. How

then can the hour be hastened, and the opportunity of developing our

musical powers be afforded? The answer is, by the establishment of a

National Opera. It has been observed that every nation that has risen to

musical greatness, possesses a musical opera. Even the French, who,

according to Mr Hullah, "have the least possible claim to a high musical

organization," have, nevertheless, long possessed a national opera,

boasting the best orchestra in Europe, and producing masters whose works

have been successfully transplanted, and singers who have met with

universal admiration. At the present moment, Paris has two national

musical theatres, the _Académie Royale_, and the _Opera Comique_: and

the establishment of a third is said to be in contemplation. The

possibility of forming such an establishment at the present time in

England, may be reasonably called in question. The attempt made some ten

years ago, though commended by the minister of the day, was signally

abortive; and the subsequent endeavour of a popular musician to open a

theatre for the performance of English operas, was equally futile and

unsuccessful. One thing of primary importance--the patronage of the

higher classes--was wanting to both these efforts. Were the stamp of

fashion once impressed upon such an undertaking, success would be

certain, did the _fiat_ of the great world once go forth, the thing

would be accomplished. The marvellous impulse recently given to musical

instruction throughout the kingdom, shows the vast power, for good,

possessed by the higher classes of aristocratic England. We have often

lamented the apathy of the fashionable world on this subject, and we can

entertain no hope of aristocratic support and encouragement for the

English opera. There may, however, be some hope, though faint and

distant, for our musicians. In consequence of a national musical

education, a national opera may become a national want; and we can

scarcely conceive it possible, that the wide diffusion of musical taste

and knowledge should fail ultimately, to produce a large and

never-failing demand for dramatic music. Then would our musicians have a

wide, fair field for the development of their resources, success, the

highest and most brilliant, would be within their reach, and would

depend entirely on themselves. If, under such circumstances, the

reputation of our country did not quickly rise, bright and resplendent

in the musical horizon, our hopes of universal excellence would indeed

be crushed for ever.

[Footnote 2: No. cccxxvii. p. 130.]

It might be long before we rivalled either of the great continental

schools, each of which would doubtless long retain its ancient

worshippers. Of these two schools, of a character and style so

different, _we_ confess a preference for the smooth, voluptuous,

peaceful flow of the Italian, rather than the stern, but sublimer,

beauty of the German. The one, like the soft and glowing landscape of

its native land, refreshes the spirit, warms the heart, and kindles the

affections; the latter, like the wild and often savage grandeur of the

scenery of Switzerland, chills, while it awes and subdues the soul.

There is a smiling kindliness about the former, which fascinates and

attracts; the latter often pains and distracts, by an intense and varied

action which admits of no repose. It is as the tranquil elegance of the

Venus of the Tribune, or the calm dignity of the Apollo of the Vatican,

contrasted with the nervous energy of the works of Buonarroti, or the

sublime but fearful agony of the Laocoon.

The more enthusiastic admirers of the productions of the Germans, that

race of musical Michael Angelos, often despise the lamer attributes of

the music of the "sweet south." Such spirits delight in the storm and

the whirlwind; peace and repose have probably no charms for them.

"Music was ordain'd,

Was it not, to refresh the mind of man,

After his studies, or his actual pain?"

Many fly to music to soothe and compose the mind, others seek it as a

means of new and fresh excitement. Neither are now able, in the music of

their country, to find _all_ they seek. We are not, however, without

hope for the future. Never till now has music formed an element in

national education; and the movement now extending throughout the land,

must of necessity be the means of elevating and refining the musical

taste of our countrymen. Improvements, like those already manifest in

the sister arts of painting and sculpture, may be now about to show

themselves in music. Even our _sons_ may wonder at the taste which could

tolerate the music which their fathers had applauded and admired; and

England, long pre-eminent in the useful arts and sciences, and the

serious and more weighty affairs of life, may at length become equally

distinguished in the fine arts, and all those lighter and more elegant

pursuits, which, throughout the history of mankind, have ever formed the

peculiar characteristics of a high degree of civilization and

refinement.

* * * * *