* * * * We dined every day between eleven and twelve, and afterwards were respectfully served with a cup of laced coffee; our dinners were generally indifferent, but our suppers (what they call grand repas, or best meal) were plentiful and elegant. I was at a loss the first day, as every person was obliged to use his own knife, and wine, there being only a spoon and a four-pronged fork laid with each napkin and plate; however, in the evening my servant attended me with some excellent port, a goblet, knife and fork; the latter being different from theirs, particularly the knife's being round, and not sharp-pointed, together with the superior strength of my wine (which they by no means disliked) to their poor sour stuff, afforded us a copious subject for agreeable conversation, with variety of opinions and remarks upon the different customs of countries. Each person here produces an ordinary clasped knife from his pocket which serves him for every use; and when they have dined or supped, they wipe and return it: the one I had, before I was provided with my own, was lent me by the Frenchman who stood at my chair, and it gave my meat a strong flavour of tobacco. The hour for supper was between six and seven in the evening. As we dined so early. I gave myself no trouble about breakfast; but after being there two or three days, one of the nuns delivered me a polite billet from Madame St. Claude, the Motherabbess, requesting my company to partake of an English breakfast as she called it, to which the bearer added: "If you are ready, sir, I will do myself the honour to show you the way." I instantly followed my conductress to a spacious apartment, where I found the lady with several of the sisters employed at needle-work. A table was placed in the middle of the room, on which stood two large silver coffee-pots, one quart and one-pint mug, a plentiful loaf of bread, a plate of butter and a knife; on another plate lay five or six slices of bread, not less than an inch thick each and half the circumference of the loaf, covered with a profusion of butter. Upon my entering, I paid my compliments to the eldest of the ladies (in which I happened to be right, she being the Gouvernante) and then to the others; two chairs were immediately set to the table and Madame St. Claude desiring I would take my place, we both sat down. She then pointed to the coffee-pots telling me one contained tea, the other milk; but, perceiving it was not to my taste, for the tea was black as ink, she assured me there was half a pint in the pot, and it had been well boiled with the water. I told her that it was rather too good for me, and that I should make a good repast of bread and milk. Hereupon I was not a little incommoded with apologies, and I remember she observed, 'that they are not accustomed to such diet, for that they never drink tea, except in cases of indisposition, to work as an emetic, when it is always boiled in water to render it as strong as possible.' * * * * I fared exceedingly well upon the other provision that was made for me, and spent nearly two hours most agreeably in "the society of this ancient lady and her virginal sisters." All this on the 11th of October, 1759. MUSIC AND ITS POSITION IN POPULAR LIFE. [From the German.] By E. PEILER. II. In addition to his lofty sacred music, Bach has, with great dignity and variety of style, applied the French dance to his Suites, and adopted it in his Sonatos. As rivals of Bach's master-pieces, we mention the Hungarian and Wallachian dances and popular songs, which are remarkable for similar vigour, and for wealth in figure, rhythm and movement; these have come into vogue of late-an evidence of the universality of the musical nature among all nations. We all know how much joy, and sorrow, and passion, how many recollections of every-day life are associated with the dance, and accompany it, and its cheerful echoes return upon us from the young hearts of every nation. But we cannot yet leave the people; that fertile province of music, the Songs of the people, tempts us to penetrate still further and trace it. Popular song is such an evident emanation of the heart, it gives such forcible utterance to the most expressive language of every nation, that it excels all spoken language in distinctness and character. Popular song is as much varied as language itself. The student of musical philosophy will soon discover the differences between Russian, Polish, Swedish, Irish, Scottish, French, Spanish and Wallachian people's songs. The most notable of the Italian songs are the Neapolitan and Calabrian people's songs, among which we find the wellknown Tarantella; but, in Italy, music in general, and especially Opera music, is so indigenous that people's music is not especially an object of attraction. In Germany, the song is so purely at home that it is rightly called the property of the people; it has attained such a high point of cultivation, and has so much enlarged its compass and richness, both in melody and in expression, that it has touched every chord of the heart. At the same time, the modern popular song, because of the general musical culture, is not so characteristic as among other nations; another cause for that may be found in the fact, that modern German music is passing through a process of fermentation, which is unfavourable to people's songs. German masters, such as Beethoven, Weber, Ries and Spohr, have often introduced people's songs into great works of art; but successful imitations are also found among newer composers, such as Julius Otto and Johannes Hager. Most of the people's songs, especially those of the North, are found to be in Minor keys; plaintive and touching, they express a longing for a better existence, but, on the other hand, are frequently descriptive of gratitude and joy for the beauty of the surrounding world. Among the masters, Beethoven, Weber, Kolein, Reissiger, Cursch mann, Mendelssolin, and, above all, Franz Schubert, have distinguished themselves in the various departments of German song. The richness which springs forth from the songs of Schubert is wonderful, and his success has been of the highest and best character. But, also, in the more humble walks of life we find a large quantity of people's songs, which are an echo of the German soul. To innumerable human beings at their labours, or journeying in foreign countries, or in the social circle the people's song affords the consciousness that they are, and form a part of the people. Among every nation there is always at work an effort to place before the mind, in pleasing modes of representation, the deeds of the past. In language, Art is continually endeavouring to perfect Epics into tragedy and comedy; in music, we can trace a similar transition of representation from Church Music and Oratorio to the Opera. If this art-form, as has been said, were a mere combination of sense and nonsense, or if the relation of the music to the words were accidental, possessing no inward necessity, then, indeed, the Opera would be a miserable product. But it is not so. On the contrary, the Opera furnishes the most perfect, the most attainable results, to be found in all dramatic representation. The language of words and that of tone, when judiciously associated, add to each other's effect, for which we have evidences in many a simple song. Music possesses this great advantage, that, by means of its harmonies, it can fill a thought with manifold varieties of conception, or with a number of homogenous emotions, for whose expression, if at all possible by words, many words would be required. In the Opera, music imparts a leading character to the text, and thus gives it an impress of unity; it quickens the expression of feeling and passion, invests the chorus with power, beauty and dignity, and shows in the recitative the intimate relationship of the two languages of words and of tone. In the successful treatment of the recitative, the Italian has no rival; but in the noble, powerful style, which reminds, in its effects, of the Greek tragedy, we find the immortal Gluck, in his renowned Operas, filling the recitative with vigour, truth and beauty. The Operas of Gluck, the great creations of Mozart, and the intellectual works of Weber, must be ranked among the treasures of the world, and throughout the limits of civilization the musical language of these great masters is spoken. Neither is the modern Italian school without importance. Rossini's musical wealth has stamped him, in this respect at least, the greatest musical genius the world has ever known, although his great creative power has often carried him too hastily forward, and led him to neglect the proper depths of treatment; still he was capable of performing anything, of which there are many proofs. The more recent Italian composers have given us rather diluted performances, yet the tenderness of Bellini, and the representative power of Donizetti, together with the musical richness of both, must not be too lightly valued. But if we desire to keep in view the significance of the Opera, as a portion of the people's life, we must not omit the French. The first shining characters which appear in this direction are Mehul, Boieldieu, and Cherubini. Mehul's Opera, "Jacob and his Sons," furnishes the strongest musical requirements, and brings out of a simple biblical narrative the most touching beauty, the deepest passion, and the most awe-inspiring sublimity. Boieldieu furnishes the most beautiful and attractive subjects of thought, under gay and unassuming forms. Of this, his "Jean de Paris" and "La Dame Blanche" are striking illustrations, He has a fine perception of the spirit of Knight-errantry, which contains more than it shows, clothing its fervour in a gay and lively exterior, and thus proving highly fascinating. In "La Dame Blanche," he takes a subject from popular life, and not only ably represents, but animates it-an auction. This is a proof that far more depends on treatment than on matter. Cherubini's "Les deux journées" shows how music may select an event, and investing it with ornament and crowning it with beauty, leave it unforgotten. But we must put an end to details, and, by way of transition, to another art-form, mention Beethoven's "Fidelio." This is the sublime and magnificent work of a spiritual giant that lays hold of our innermost being, while it inspires and delights us. But Beethoven's bold and powerful mind could not permit of the fetters of the contracted form of Opera. True, music can produce great effects in conjunction with words, yet she can dispense with them, and must cast aside the restraint whenever she wishes to ascend into regions of limitless liberty. Hence, the choicest music is the "music without words." This leads us to the symphony and to Beethoven. We can here only confine ourselves to the most finished examples of this order of music, yea, of all that passes under the name of music -the Symphonies of Beethoven. These are, indeed, worlds of tone, regarding which it would be better to remain silent than say the little we can say of them. Produced by a spirit who united in himself all the greatness and beauty of his race, these works are daily gaining ground among mankind, and spreading the consciousness of the nobility of nature that it always possesses. In these works Beethoven has displayed such a complete and perfect command of the entire field of music, that the remark that he used the orchestra as his instrument is fully true. In these symphonies we recognize all that is passing in the mind, of the land of our existence, of society, of the world beyond. This master spirit raises his wand and plays with our fancies at his will; he trifles with the greatest extremes; with majesty and childishness, with furious passion and soothing repose, with riotous humour and the softest tenderness, with capricious temper and heavenly peace. We must, however, not omit to bear testimony to the merits of the other two great masters in the department of symphony-Haydn and Mozart. First praise is due to Haydn, who has sown the seed for the even tual greatness of the other two illustrious masters, and who is certainly not their inferior in all that relates to invention and originality. Of all the musical art-forms, the symphony is the most diversified, comprehensive and unrestrained. On a smaller scale, the so-called chamber music assumes many of the specialties of the symphony, although chamber music is much older; for the symphony is the highest effort of instrumental music, having gradually risen out of its more inferior grades until it attained its summit with Beethoven. We will not here detain our readers by enumerating all the productions in chamber music of the musical heroes, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven; their performances exceed the scope of ordinary comprehension. Nor will we particularize the innumerable productions of such men as Onslow, Ries, Prince Radziwill, Romberg, Mendelssohn, Schubert, Cherubini, Schumann, Reissiger, Spohr. Let us close this department with the following remarks: The symphony addresses itself to a whole people; we may imagine that, in communion with Beethoven, we are listening to whole nations solemnizing their wars and their victories, that we are hearing the peoples of the earth, in mighty chorus, singing the great hymn of humanity; while in chamber music the individual speaks to the individual. GLORIA IN EXCELSIS. BY W. P. D, Most sacred season, when with holy joy Calm, reverent wisdom may His grace impart, Meek Faith, sweet Hope and saintly Charity. |