TO THE EDITOR.

I

SIR,

Do not know whether you or your readers will consider the music of nature, "the passion of the groves," as Thomson calls it, a subject worth wasting thought or paper upon, but I have been struck during my rural walks by circumstances which appear

to me curious.

In the first place the singing of birds is no where so delightful, if it be delightful at all, as in the woods and fields. A lark rising in the air and carolling, is to me one of the most delightful of all musicians. In a cage in a house, on the contrary, his voice is intolerably shrill and discordant. Whether this be wholly the effect of his power, or partly of association, I will not absolutely determine, but it is certainly a fact that very few of the sounds he gives are to be noted by any scale in use. A part of the notes in the song of the thrush are nearly represented by D. B. E. D. but if the first be taken at the pitch all the rest will be, though but slightly, out of tune. The cuckoo generally sings a something between a major and minor third, and he flattens towards the end of the season. Most other kinds twitter, or give sounds inappreciable, in their relation to each other. The nightingale comes the nearest to a scale, and his most beautiful, most pathetic note, is a fine messa di voce, or swelling and diminishing. His juck is only the rapid repetition of the same note.

But what strikes me as most remarkable is that when we hear the whole grove made vocal with the notes of various birds, when the blackbird, the lark, the thrush, the robin, the chaffinch, and many other little birds, all at different pitches, and all uttering inappreciable sounds, the effect is physically agreeable. How is this to be reconciled, not only to our sensations, but to our settled musical notions? I declare I have felt as much from the singing of many larks, some rising and some falling (at which times their song is very different), of thrushes sitting upon the topmost boughs of the larches, and of innumerable little songsters-their wild notes have "cast as many soft and noble hints into the

soul" as the band of the Philharmonic society; though when I have abstracted myself from the emotion, so far from being able to reduce their notes to any thing like harmony or melody, I was forced to admit the sounds to be most of them inappreciable, and according to the laws of musical science, discordant.

I think there is an analogy between the singing of birds and the inflexions of speech. In the latter however we do unquestionably, up to a certain degree, recognize the operation of melody, according to the diatonic and chromatic scales. Wherever an inflexion or cadence is intended to consist of intervals that belong to the scale, the ear is instantly offended if they be not strictly in tune, although intervals that are not to be measured are ordinarily borne. But individuals are gifted especially in this particular. I have heard Mrs. Siddons very often, and I cannot call to mind ever hearing her speak without preserving a beautiful, and to my ear, perfect inflexion: Mr. Kean, on the contrary, was so studiously inappreciable in his inflexions, that he lacerated my ear to a degree all but intolerable. I have watched Mr. Young carefully, and I never heard him offend but in one single cadence (frequently applied however), and that obviously caught from Kean. It is also very remarkable, that this very piece of unmelodious melody has been caught by more of his imitators than any other part of his diction. It consists of a transition from B flat, a good deal too flat, to F sharp, a little too sharp, as under: "I care not if for me you do as much." Bff bb f b b b_f

The effect upon the ear is perfectly horrible, but I assure you it is Mr. Kean's most frequent inflexion in passages of depression.

If then, Sir, it can be explained how these contradictions to our general sense and general science are not only borne, but are in the instances of birds particularly, highly pleasing, it may lead to the knowledge of some curious laws in the doctrine of sounds. I am, your's, &c.

SPECULATOR.

VOL. VII. NO. XXV.

E

SCHOOL OF VENICE.

Continued from vol. 6, page 498.

GIOVANNI BATTISTA PESCETTI was born at Venice about the end of the 17th century. He was a pupil of Lotti, and one of those who did most credit to his master.-For immediately on quitting his instructor he proved himself to be already far advanced in the secrets of his art, by a mass which, although his first production, was declared to be a chef d'œuvre. The celebrated composer Hasse, who was at that time residing in Venice, discovered in this mass such profound science and beautiful harmony, that he said nature had shortened for Pescetti that road which others were so long in traversing, ere they could attain the summit of perfection in art. Pescetti came to England about the year 1734, to supply the place of Porpora, and remained there till the year 1740. His principal operas are twelve in number, and were highly thought of. His style was easy and natural, very florid, but still not wanting in correct expression. His music did not display much fire or imagination, but in writing for the voice he was judicious, and many of the great singers of that day were very fond of performing his compositions, particularly Manzoli, who was intimate with him, and was so much pleased with his easy style, that he scarcely ever sung any other music. Pescetti died in the year 1758.

About this time Pietro Porfiri obtained the favour of the public by his opera of Zenocrate, which was succeeded by several other compositions as highly esteemed. Andrea and Marco Antonio Ziani were the contemporaries of Porfiri-but although very fertile composers, their style possessed but little of that expression and force of conception which distinguish the great masters of their school, and they can only be considered as composers of a second class.

Carlo Pallavicino was a dramatic composer of some eminence about the year 1666; from that time to the year 1687 he composed twenty-two operas, which raised his reputation very high, and caused him to be invited to the Court of Saxony, which possessed

one of the best Lyric Theatres in Germany. The style of this composer contained much truth of expression and elegance,

Bernado Sabadini flourished at the same time with the lastmentioned composer. He became ultimately Chapel Master to the Duke of Parma, and filled the same office at the cathedral of the same town. The operas which gained him the greatest credit, for taste and elegance of style, were "Il favore degli dei,” “La Gloria degli amori," "Eraclea." Sabadini also composed oratorios, the best of which was "La Divina Sapienza."

Tomaso Albinoni flourished in 1694, and from that time to 1730 he enjoyed very distinguished success, both as a sacred and dramatic composer. This however was not Albinoni's only, nor perhaps his greatest recommendation to public favour. He was one of the finest violinists of his time, and also held a very high rank as a singer, but in the present instance we must speak of him only as a composer. The peculiar character of Albinoni's style fitted him more for the composition of sacred than of dramatic music; it was distinguished by a certain coldness and rigidity, but ill-suited to the warmth and vigour of scenic effect-yet, by one of those strange contradictions, not less frequent among artists than amongst less enlightened men, he preferred that career, in which he was the least likely to shine-nevertheless his operas, redeemed by the purity and science they displayed, almost all succeeded.

Giuseppe Tartini, although born at Pirano, in Istria, (in 1692) may be considered as belonging to the School of Venice, from having studied and resided in Padua ; as he was merely considered as a violinist, we only mention him as one of the ornaments of the school, whose history we are relating, and shall refer our readers for his memoir to vol. 4, page 54.*

In 1723, Antonio Pacelli composed the operas of “L'Amore furente" and "Il finto Esau," which were highly esteemed-and in 1741, Andrea Bernasconi, the intimate friend of Hasse, and Chapel Master at the Court of Bavaria, raised himself to a high rank in art by his dramatic compositions of a serious character.

Salvadore Apolloni, a Venetian, flourished about this time, and obtained great credit from his fellow citizens by the composition of Barcaroles, a species of local music which is

In this part of our history we should introduce the celebrated Galuppi. A memoir of him will be found at page 161, vol. 6.

scarcely known out of Venice, and to which he imparted a degree of elegance and taste, which had never belonged to them before. Apolloni was at first but a poor barber, and a bad violinist—but, after the great success of his Barcaroles, he ventured still further in the career of fame, and composed three operas, which had at the time great success, although it is more than probable that he was treated with greater indulgence than was usual, on account of his previous reputation in another style.

Ferdinando Bertoni, who was born at Salo, a small island near Venice, in 1727, was a composer of great celebrity, not only in his own country but throughout almost all Europe. He was a pupil of Martini, and no sooner had he left his instructor than he showed himself worthy of his great master. His first situation was that of master of the Conservatory dei Mendicanti, at Venice, and on the death of Galuppi he succeeded him as organist of St. Mark's church. Bertoni, although he composed in several different styles, gained most, or indeed all his celebrity by his dramatic music. He was invited seven times to Turin, which perhaps speaks more highly than any thing else in his favour, as in this town the drama is conducted on a scale of great magnificence, and they are consequently very scrupulous in their choice of composers. Bertoni was at first not successful in Rome, but even there at last his talents were duly appreciated, and his music was in great vogue, particularly amongst amateurs. In 1798 he came over to England with Pacchierotti, who was his intimate friend, and whose performance of the principal character in his opera of "Quinto Fabio," was the chief cause of its great success both in Italy and in London, where it was performed twelve nights. At this period however the reputation of Sacchini, in England, was so complete as to keep down that of Bertoni; besides the style of this composer was not of a kind to make much head against such music as that of his more fortunate rival. Bertoni's disposition was of so quiet and innoxious a character, that he was as little depressed by mortification as elevated by success, and thus his friend Pacchierrotti found it impossible to stimulate him to any thing like energetic conduct in his profession. The style of his music partakes largely of this placidity, indeed in some instances, it even amounts to languor; nevertheless his melody is flowing and graceful, though not displaying much invention. His parts are clear and well