Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

heretofore LAHIRE, CARRE, and MUSSCHEN BROEK, wished to explain the nature of sound.

1. Every sonorous body may make vibrations very different among themselves, of which each has a certain ratio of quickness with the others, which depends on the size of the vibrating parts.

When the sonorous body divides itself into any number of vibrating parts, these parts of which the excussions (which are called ventres de vibrations) separated by immoveable limits, (which are called knots of vibrations) make their movements always alternately in an opposite direction; so that one is above the ordinary position while the other is below it.

The isochronism of the vibrations of all the parts, produced by their relative equilibrium, being an indispensable condition of sound, the decision of the sonorous body must be always as regular as circumstances permit. The size of a part situated at one free end, is almost the half of a part which is found between the immoveable limits.

In order to produce a certain sound, we may hold or touch one or more of the knots of vibration, and rub and strike a vibrating part in the same direction in which the vibrations are made.

Many, or all the manners of vibrations may co-exist in the same sonorous body; the vibratory motions may also co-exist with other kinds of motions.

2. The direction of a vibratory motion may be transversional, or longitudinal, or rotatory.

Transversional vibrations consist in the contractions and dilatations of the sonorous body or its parts in the direction of the axis, or according to the length. The bodies susceptible of such movements are (1st.) the air contained in wind instruments, (2d.) strings or straight rods of a sufficient length.

The laws of these two kinds of vibrations are very different.

The rotatory vibrations, of which rods and lamina are capable, consist in the turnings which are made alternately in an opposite direction. In cylindrical rods, or prismatic, the sound of these vibrations is always more grave, by a fifth, than the longitudinal sound of the same body divided in the same manner.

The intensity of sound depends on the greater or less excussions, on the size of the sonorous body, and on the quickness of the vibrations. [TO BE CONTINUED.]

ON THE CONSTRUCTION OF OPERAS.

NOTHING

OTHING is so difficult as to arrive at truth in matters of taste. Our attention towards the subject of the opera must always be kept alive, but it has been lately excited more strongly than usual by the state of our own Musical Drama, by the temporary derangement of the affairs of the King's Theatre, and by the letter of a Correspondent concerning the English Opera, which is already before our readers. We have turned over many books to ascertain the sentiments of the critics of different nations and of contemporaries upon the topic in question, and amongst our researches we met with the following remarks in a late French publication on the fine arts. With a view therefore to exhibit the feelings and the reasoning of our lively and speculative neighbours, we have translated the article. which follows.

OPERA.

In the spectacle thus designated by the Italians, there is so great a mixture of grandeur and meanness, of beauty and absurdity, that it is difficult to speak of it suitably. In the best operas one sees and hears such anomalies that they only appear intended to excite the astonishment of children, or of that part of the people who resemble them. In the midst of these insults to good taste, there are scenes to be found which penetrate the heart, fill the soul with the sweetest voluptuousness, excite the tenderest pity, or inspire fear and terror. A scene of the deepest interest is often followed by one in which the same persons appear no better than jugglers, who, with ridiculous pomp, but with great skill, seek to inspire the populace with terror and astonishment. Offended by these frequent follies, it costs some trouble to make the opera a subject of meditation; but on the other side, if one recals the pleasures derived from it, it is impossible to help wishing that men of taste would unite their efforts to confer upon this imposing spectacle the perfection of which it is capable. The opera may in fact be made the greatest and most important of all dramatic exhibitions, because it unites within itself all the charms of the fine

[blocks in formation]

arts; but this same performance demonstrates the levity of the moderns, who have employed it to degrade those arts, frequently to render them ridiculous and to expose them to contempt. Poetry, music, dancing, painting principally, with decoration and architecture, are combined in the representation of an opera. To avoid confusion, we shall successively consider what each of these arts contributes.

The dramatic action which is the principal object, is due to poetry. -It was formerly the custom in Italy, the cradle of the opera, to take the subjects from mythology. The mythology of the ancients, the empire of the fairies and sorcerers, as well as the fabulous history of the knights, offered persons and subjects. In our days, the poets who write operas have not in fact entirely abandoned the use of mythological subjects, but they also treat of history, the usual founda. tion of tragedy. It may be imagined that tragedy and opera are engaged nearly upon the same subjects. They both represent an action of short duration, great and remarkable for the passions which operate in different ways and terminate by some remarkable catastrophe. But the poets who write simply for the opera appear to have adopted it as a law, entirely to abandon the natural road. Their maxim is forcibly to strike the spectator by varied scenes and by great pomp. Combats, triumphs, ship-wrecks, tempests, spectres, wild beasts, &c. these are the attractions they offer to the spectator.

One may thus easily imagine how often the poet is obliged to force his subject to sacrifice the essential points of tragic action, and the developement of great characters and strong passions to a secondary object, but one more striking to the eyes. The plan therefore of almost every opera consists of forced events, contrary to nature and even fantastical. They are absurdities to which fashion condemns even the best poets. Unfortunately these are not the only faults. The singers also have their pretensions. In every opera the best voices must be heard several times, but middle rate and even bad singers who are engaged for the theatre, and whom it is necessary to pay, must also be heard once or oftener in airs of a certain extent. The first male and female singer must also be heard together, consequently the poet is obliged to introduce duets, trios, quartetts, &c. Further, the first singers can only display their peculiar talent in a particular character, one in a tender adagio, another in a lively allegro, &c. The poet is therefore forced to write his airs so that each may shine in their particular style. It is hardly possible to form an idea

of these numberless inconveniences. To one or two of the principal female singers must be allotted the first characters, whatever be the nature of the action. In default of any other expedient, the poet has often recourse to a love intrigue, however contrary it may be to the general air of the plot. Thus Metastasio, one of the best operatic authors, in order to give two female singers an opportunity to be heard, in despite of the nature of the action and every thing that was reasonable, in the death of Calo at Utica, was obliged to represent two women, Cornelia, the widow of Pompey, and Marcia, the daughter of Cato, as in love with Cæsar and beloved by a Prince of Numidia. It needs not much reflection to perceive the folly of mingling the intrigues of lovers with so grave a subject.

Operas present another absurdity. To give each singer an opportunity to appear, they are often made to sing on occasions where no reasonable man ever thought of so doing. Thus Pylades, in the Iphigenia, in Taurida, by Guillard, sings an air while he has not a moment to succour his friend. The subject of the song is not fre quently better chosen; it often consists of cold reflections, general maxims, or unnatural allegories; of such a kind is the reflection in the fifth scene of the second act of The Adrian, of Metastasio, "that an old experienced warrior does not strike blindly, but retains his courage till the moment when he is in an advantageous position;" likewise in the third act of the same piece, the following cold allegory, “The vine, after having been cut, shoots better, and the oderiferous gum only flows from wounded trees." Such in Quinault's Theseus is the trite and valuable reflection of the hero, "The softest chains cost sighs; it is necessary to undergo pain in order to arrive at pleasure." Another glaring absurdity, of which almost every opera furnishes examples is, that persons either from the imminent dangers by which they are threatened, or by some other imperious cause, ought to use the greatest activity in their enterprises, remain coldly upon the stage during the ritornel, and then sing airs in which the words are repeated even to satiety, as if the danger no longer existed. This style, inseparable from the structure of the opera, is to be found in the best poems. Thus in the superb chorus in Armida, by QUINAULT and GLUCK, the warriors and the magician repeat a hundred times, "let us pursue to death the enemy who offends us," instead of rushing to the pursuit. These extravagancies are owing sometimes to the poct and sometimes to the musician.

There are also many others which are due to the composer of the music. This art is, and can only be, according to its nature, the expression of the passions, or that of a calm or agitated mind. But composers, singers, and musicians, are not contented by this sole application of the art. In this point they resemble those rope. dancers and jugglers, who, in order to excite the astonishment of the populace, make use of their hands to walk upon, and their feet to wield the sword, or for the other functions reserved to the hands. It is the same with the musicians of the opera-there are but few dramas in which the composer has not encroached upon the domain of the painter. Sometimes he represents thunder, flashes of lightning, tempests, the impetuosity of the winds, the course and the fall of a rivulet, the clash of arms, the flight of a bird, or other natural objects, which have no relation to the sentiments of the heart. This depraved taste is doubtless the cause why the poets have introduced into their similes, navigators, lions, tigers, and other objects, which strike forcibly on the imagination.

To this rage for description may be added the desire of shining by difficulties with which many composers, singers, and musicians, are tormented. The singer wishes the public to admire the facility with which he sustains his voice, his extraordinary compass, or his flexibility and volubility, or other like qualities. The instrumental performer is also anxious to manifest his skill in brilliant and difficult passages. They therefore expect the composer to furnish the occasion. Thence proceed those roulades, cadenzas, and passages, whose only merit is the difficulty vanquished, and which often, in the most impassioned airs, absolutely destroy every species of sentiment. From thence arise those strings of ornament, by which an expressive melody is so enveloped, that it is recognised with difficulty.

The music of many operas is devoted to stupid themes which have no sentiment, because it is necessary to have an air in each scene, nevertheless as a dramatic work does not entirely consist of the demonstrations of sentiment, the poet is sometimes obliged to present in the lyric style, orders, projects, observations, remonstrances, &c. and the composer is under the necessity of setting music to them; thus oppressing the auditors with insupportable ennui.

The costume and decorations frequently present great incongruities. In every opera it is thought almost indispensable to introduce scenes which are to produce a surprising effect without consi

« ZurückWeiter »