The chief characters, such as deities or heroes, are uniformly larger than the rest-and in the battle scenes, the dead and wounded are delineated of but half the size of those who are fighting similar proportions too are observed, wherever persons of less rank are placed beside heroes. Gods, when represented as being in the clouds, are either larger or smaller than the other figures, just as the space, in which they are introduced, would permit. In general, no more is seen of them than the bust which projects above an horizontal cloud. In the sacrifice of Achilles, the head of Jupiter is shown within a circle.Little commendation can in general be bestowed upon the grouping-the figures are at one time too much scattered; at another, too much crowded together and confused; for, in this respect, the artist appears to have resigned himself entirely to his own caprices. Of perspective, there is hardly a single trace; the remoter figures being sometimes larger than those which are in the foreground. In the style and folds of the drapery, on the contrary, we may easily recognize the taste and practice of the Roman artists; it being treated with freedom and lightness, and not unfrequently displaying a knowledge of, and feeling for beauty: it might therefore almost be imagined that the artist copied it from some models of an older and better period. Much however depends upon the manner in which the draperies are shadowed in the originals; for it is not improbable that the arrangement of the folds appears to far greater advantage when beheld in mere outline, than it does in the originals: and this circumstance is an additional reason for our concluding that the painter had purer models before his eyes, although it appears that he did not comprehend them. In the back grounds, no more is inserted than is absolutely necessary: and even that is but slightly marked out. Where nothing is introduced to point out the scene, there is only the plane upon which the figure stand, which is indicated by a shadowed line: but no appearance of either fore or hack ground. The Editor concludes his introduction by expressing a wish that some splendid work may be executed, comprising all the Homeric productions, and containing whatever may tend to illustrate these immortal works. For this purpose, the text should be taken from the best and oldest manuscripts, and accompanied by all the various readings, and all the Greek scholia. In addition to which, there ought to be a Greek paraphrase, and every treatise in that language, relating to the subject of Homer: these should also be succeeded by the best modern disquisitions, biographies of the ancient bard, and a complete index to the whole work. By way too of giving integrity and completeness to this immense cycle of erudition, all the works of sculpture and painting ought to be delineated, which have been taken from the Homeric compositions. Such a stupendous and comprehensive undertaking will not, it is probable, ever be completely executed, on the scale and to the extent here proposed; yet it may be gratifying to the admirers of the ancient bard, and to Dilettanti in general, to know that an entire series of Tischbein's Illustrations of Homer are now engraving, and will be accompanied with explanatory and descriptive letter press. This work, which is to be published by Cotta of Tubiringen, will doubtless form a very interesting and productive mine to those who admire classical and antiquarian research-for the previous labours of M. Tischbein, an artist who has distinguished himself by the zeal with which he has explored the most_recondite stores of mythology and of art, entitle us to indulge in such expectations. A NEW OPERA, BY ROSSINI; ENTITLED, MAOMETTO SECONDO. A NEW Opera from the prolific pen of Rossini, was lately brought out at the Grand Neapolitan theatre of San Carlo, and met with the singular fate, which has at first attended the greater part of this eminently successful author's works-viz. that of being very coldly received. This circumstance excites much surprise among the composer's friends: it certainly seems strange that the same Opera, which, on its first representation, was received with disapprobation or neglect, should after a few nights so rise in estimation as to draw down thunders of ap- plause, and be retailed in arias, duos, trios, &c. by all the dilettanti singers, fiddlers, and other musical workmen throughout the whole city! The fact is quoted by one, as an instance of the bad taste of the Neapolitans; by another, as the effect of envious opposition; while a third, rejecting both those opinions, shrewdly ascribes it to a declining taste for operatic entertainment; and each continues to vent his spleen, according to his humour, until the ultimate success of his favourite appeases his discontent. But has any one detected the true cause of this unpleasant circumstance? Perhaps not.-Rossini, like many other men of genius, passes his time between lapses of idleness and struggles of exertion: his work is unthought of, or neglected, until he is spurred on by circumstances; then he rouses himself, and labours, as a daily task, on that which he should never touch but in the glowing hour of inspiration. We called upon him on the Friday eveningthat is to say, on the first of this month, and found him still engaged on his work, with twenty unfilled scores before him, surrounded by Donnas and Signors, chattering pretty nothings, harassed by interruption, and worn out with fatigue. The copyists had still to make out their duplicates; and what time would then remain for the instruments to practise their difficult and complicated parts-for the singers to study their long recitatives and ela Naples, Dec. 12, 1820. borate songs-for choruses-for rehearsal ?-What, in short, could be expected, but that the Opera would be presented to the public in an unfinished, imperfect condition? To a public, too, be it remembered, which has long bestowed its main attention upon this subject, and has become one of the most nice, and critical, and expert, to which a composer's illluck could consign him: a public, moreover, which knows so well the powers of Rossini, that it will be contented with nothing from him short of first-rate excellence. To this it may be added, that the composer must sometimes give way to his artists and his material. One singer has, perhaps, astonishing compass,-another, amazing flexibility; singers love to be accommodated, and have been sometimes known to prefer the difficult and the surprising, to the chaste, the grand, or the beautiful. It must be granted, also, that it would be of no use to employ a hundred and fifty performers, if they were not sometimes suffered, "little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart," to sing together; and further, for we must speak the truth, we do very strongly suspect they have been lately employing themselves here in cleaning out the trumpets and putting new parchment on the drums!-Thus, with the assistance of hints from one, and directions from another, a work is produced, incumbered with monstrous excrescences, and adventitious defects: the caustic of public opinion, however, is applied-the excrescences disappear, the redundant shrinks, and the meagre gains importance;--polish, and general effect, succeed to roughness, and bursts of expression;-the master breaks out from his auxiliaries;-our ears drink in his sublime, or tender, or airy strains,-and they haunt our memory as long as their beauty is new; or rather, in proportion to the vigour of our own musical imagination. But let us draw a little closer to our friend Maometto. Of the poetry we shall say nothing; of the plot, only enough to render intelligible our remarks on the music. The Sultan, Mahomet the Second, attacks the city of Negropont, commanded by the Venetian General, Erisso. The besieged are reduced to great straits; but the public distress does not overcome the passion of the gallant Calbo, for Anna, the daughter of his chief. The father, Erisso, approves of Calbo for his son-in-law; but the lady's affections have been engaged by a mysterious lover, of whom we are told nothing but that his name is Uberto, and that she had seen him at Venice. Treachery introduces the Turkish soldiery into the city. A few of the besieged retreat to a rock, where they defend themselves; but Erisso and Calbo are taken prisoners, after the father has given to his daughter a dagger, which he recommends her to use, rather than submit to dishonour. The Sultan offers their lives to these Venetian warriors, on condition of their betraying into his power the few soldiers who still maintain resistance: of course, they contemn the proposal, and are about to be led off to torture, when Anna enters, and Mahomet turns out to be Ubert, who has played the renegade to good purpose! He offers marriage to his old sweetheart,-but she upbraids him with his apostacy from his God. Much bustle and fighting take place; Anna performs a noble part, but is ultimately reduced to the necessity of stabbing herself at the foot of her mother's tomb. Such is the story. The dresses were splendid; the scenery indifferent; and the acting contemptible. Let us now examine the music. The overture commences with a few mournful notes, followed by a fine, delicate pianissimo movement; but very soon the louder instruments break in; volumes of sound roll to and fro, and it concludes in a magnificent swell, as the curtain rises. Erisso appears seated on a throne, surrounded by his captains, and glittering with theatrical finery! A grand chorus commences the performance, and a very novel and elegant effect is produced by some little notes, which are distinctly heard to drop from the octave flutes to the clarionets, bassoons, and doublebasses. A long recitative follows, and the chorus replies; but the recitative is rather dull, and the chorus VOL. III. could not overpower the drums. We wished the Orchestra would let us hear a little more of the song, Quando ogni speme è tolsa; Ciccimarra was almost lost among his instrumental assistants. Cornelli, warrior, delighted us with her gracetoo youthful and too pretty for a ful figure and her grand voice (which few can excel in compass or power) in a bold martial song, Guerrier che parli ? It contains flights, which are ra ther too long, and leaps intervals, which are rather too wide; but the air is very beautiful, the singer very expert, and the accompaniment excellent. The prelude to the second scene is very mournful and tender, and prepared us for a sweet aria, which was sung by the Prima Donna, Madame Colbran; a low and solemn murmur of instruments accompanied it, from which the clarionet alone escaped in melancholy arpeggios. A recitative in dialogue follows, of which we remember nothing; but we shall not soon forget the trio, Ohimè! qual fulmine nelli, and Nozzari, in turn, take up It is really superb. Colbran, Corthe subject, which is rather elaborate, and is converted into a fine fugue toward the close. A dialogue follows, which is happily broken off by an awful burst of cannon. In the next scene, a prayer addressed by Anna to heaven, for help, and echoed by a crowd of kneeling women, drew our attention by its simplicity, energy, and devotional character. The whole of this scene is beautiful; but, when shall we stop, if we attempt to point out every thing that is so in this Opera! At the words O cara, Prendi il pugnal, such a divine effect was produced by the accompaniment's being " germane to the matter," and by the due subordination of the instruments to the voice, that it made us deeply regret that Rossini should ever sacrifice sense to sound, and seek, by unmeaning violence, to "catch the ears of the groundlings." There is an air here, which savours strongly of the Prima Donna; but let it pass: the choru which concludes the scene, must please every one. A symphony, the subject of which is included in five or six notes, varied, expanded, sliding from instrument to instrument,-in short, so pretty and so Turkish, that nothing, true to costume, could be better,-introduced the turbaned Ottomites. We stop one moment to make a digression. A theatre is nothing without magnificence; but silks and muslins, ribbons, tinsel, and glass jewels, are not enough. In England, elephants occasionally tread the stage; at the Real Teatro di San Carlo, horses. The managers are liberal, but they are also discreet; they give us horses, but only give us three-a hundred men and three horses! Maometto and two of his officers advance on horseback; the brutes grow restive in the midst of glory; and the riders alight, with unparalleled alacrity, on the right side or the left, as it happens-get off, or fall off, in the most unpremeditated manner possible. We were infinitely amused by this faithful and gratuitous portrait of nature.-But to return to the music; the black bearded Renegade poured out a bass song, which would have been airy as, bass could be, if it had not been trusted to such lungs of brass. Galli, though a good singer, and very little inferior to Nozzari, has a voice, whose pianissimo is like a trumpet stop: he should only be employed when force, breadth, and volume are required. He is heard to great advantage in the lower part of a trio, in the fifth scene. Here, when Erisso refuses his offers of freedom to be purchased by treachery, Nozzari came out in all his power: his voice seemed to swell with rage, and tremble with feeling; but when that little, audacious, feminine, masculine witch, Cornelli, braved the tyrant to his teeth, and defied him with Alla rocca andrem! we were put in terror, lest Mahomet should knock her on the head for her impudence; and our hearts fluttered with fear when he burst out, Sconsigliato à che non taci. The whole is excellent, unto the end of the scene. Some fine parts, we believe, followed; but our attention was distracted by the goings-on in the orchestra; fiddles in convulsions on one side; bells playing bob major on another;-here we listened to the plaintive kettle-drums, and there we were awed by the wrathful trumpets. In the commencement of the second act, we had again to admire the Oriental character of the music; the exceeding propriety with which it is adapted to the scene. The skeleton of the symphony, and of the chorus that follows, is an exquisite little movement; it is sustained, diversified, embellished, but never overpowered, by its accessories. A crowd of slaves sing the folly of too rigid virtue; the pleasures of youth and love; playing at the same time upon several little bells, the silver notes of which,-falling in among the finest lapses of harmony, and sprinkled over the subject where it would be otherwise too naked,finish the charm, and diffuse over the whole an airy and seducing gaiety, that cannot be described. It was enchantment; or, at least, it was illusion carried to its farthest bourne. Time presses, and we hasten on; passing, without remark, some arias and duos in the second act—a good part of which was left out on the second representation. Music, however charming, satiates at length, by its want of variety. Recitatives, solos, chorusses, are repeated until the ear is glutted, the attention exhausted, and we long to see the curtain drop. No art of the composer can obviate this defect; for it is in the nature of man to nauseate a pleasure too long continued. We shall be excused, therefore, for mentioning at random a solo by Galli; a duet between him and Colbran; a fine prelude to the third scene, and a coro di donne in the fifth Nume cui 1 sol è trono ! all of which deserve approbation. We have reserved our last remark for the jewel of the piece: in the vaults of a church, and before the tomb of her mother, the father (Erisso,) breathes suspicions of his absent child; the lover (Calbo,) defends her, and when his zeal and fondness burst out uncontrollably, in the words, Non temer: d'un basso affetto Non fu mai quel cor capace. every ear is taken captive, and the whole theatre sinks into silence:-not even a "hist-ist!"-so common and so disagreeable in Italian audiences is once heard. The song flows on undisturbed, serious, energetic, and grand: with just enough art to satisfy our love of difficulty; and with a pathos-an emphatic fulness-that would warm the coldest heart, and wring approbation out of Midas himself. We did not hear an impertinent whisper while it lasted; and at its close, the whole house burst into one grand peal of applause. dull, and meditative: his whole appearance is far from common,-yet does not quite declare the composer of Othello. A craniologist, without knowing him, spent some time one day in examining his head, and, at last, declared there was nothing particular in the organic construction, but, perhaps, he might have some inclination for music! He is frank and affable in his manners, easy of access to strangers, fond of hearing and relating anecdotes, and best Such is the tribute paid to Rossini: will grant him as much talent in pleased with those associates who a tribute dearer to the man of ge- other subjects as in music. nius than any pecuniary emolument health is not good: he says, himself, which he may derive from his art; that in his youth he indulged too and outweighing his labour, his anxi- freely in pleasures, from which he ety, and the vexations prepared for should have refrained; and he comhim by a thousand critics. success can be but rarely attained. a livelihood, although his circumSuch plains of being obliged to work for The composer sets out upon his task; stances are generally understood to he feels an importunate diffidence; be easy. The facility with which he invents, combines, separates, re- he composes, is astonishing. In a casts, and fails of excellence through r excessive care. But as he advances, one, listening to another, he scribbles room half full of people, talking to his work grows up around him; he on with twice the rapidity of an orbecomes heated with his subject, his dinary copyist, and very seldom reideas multiply, and he feels the god. turns to consider or correct. He freIn such moments he is freed from quently changes his sheet as though his shackles; he breaks out like the his ideas crossed one another; after eagle from the cloud, and feels the full writing ten or fifteen bars, a new strength of his wings. In such mo- vein of fancy opens before him, and ments have Mozart, Cimarosa, Rossini, he seizes fresh paper to secure the composed those pieces, which esta- happy moment. What is done fast blish their fame; which will spread will sometimes be done ill: it is not wherever luxury can purchase plea- surprising that Rossini has sometimes sures, and last as long as the sense failed; but it is surprising that, beof music in man.* have written so much, and so beaufore he was thirty years old, he should tifully. To this great master, the tory faults are ascribed: his operas, most opposite, the most contradicit is said, are too buffa-too seria; too long not long enough. Such nonsense deserves no reply; but there is one objection, in which many concur, and which we take this opportunity to notice. Musicians are unfortunate in their art; for the musical faculty, and the love of music, have been so largely dispensed, that countless numbers of artists and professors have sprung up, been fostered, and rewarded: but this circumstance is fatal to their fame: every individual must be at length absorbed in the multitude; and those works, which we fondly call immortal, will inevitably vanish amid a throng of contemporaries and successors. The music which, in Milton's time, could "create a soul under the ribs of death;" and that which seemed to Shakspeare "like the sweet south breathing upon a bank of violets," is now forgotten. In a hundred years, probably, the uninitiated will refer to a history of music, for the names of Handel or Beethoven, as we do now for Aretino or Scarlatti. |