An Essay On The Opera

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AN ESSAY ON THE OPERA
WRITTEN IN ITALIAN
/
BY COUNT ALGAROTTI
F.R.S F.S.A
ETC.
LONDON, PRINTED FOR L. DAVIS AND

C. REYMERS. MDCCLXVII.
' . m. azyflzp 1
ZBRITA
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their ;\.- V ma,
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TO WILLIAM PITT
FRANCESCO ALGAROTTI
That to you, immortal man, who knew how

to rekindle in 'your nation, her native valor,
to provide for her perpetual defence, and
cauſed her to triumph, in 'one year, in
the four quarters of the globe, a treatiſe
on Poetry, Muſic, and Theatrical Subjects,
ſhould be addreſſed, will to ſome appear
ﬅrange.
But, theſe, it ſhould ſeem, are not apprized,
that the reﬅorer of England, the Friend of the
Great FREDERJC, knows alſo to invigoratc
vi
his leiſure with the powers of literature; and

that that Victorious eloquence, with which
he thunders in the ſcnate, proceeds not leſs
from the elevation of his mind, than from his
ﬅudies in Tully and Demoﬅhenes, his pre
deceſſors. r
May this treatiſe even find place in the
leiſure of ſuch a man, and obtain the ſuffrage
of one, who, in the higheﬅ offices of the ﬅate,
has deſervcd the admiration and applauſe
of all Europe! '
Piſa, dec. 18, 1762.

CONTENTS.
Introduction. '1
Of ..1e Poem, Argument or Bufineſs of an
Opcra. 10
Of the Muſical Compoſition. 24.
Of the Recitative, and Singing. 50
Of the Dances. 65
Of the Structure of Theatres. 90
Conclufion. 170
ZEneas in Troy. I 13
Iphigenia in Aulis. 105
Gloſſary to the Engliſh tranflation. 187

p
'
'
'
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.-Þ-.- _..-
AN ESSAY ON OPERAS.
INTRODUCTION.
No method more effectual hath been ima

gined by human invention, to afford a de
lightful entertainment to ingenuous minds,
than that all accompliſhed and harmonious
performance, by way of excellence, called
OPERA ; becauſe in forming it no article was
forgotten, no means omitted, no' ingredientleft'
unemployed, that could in any ſhape contri
bute to ſo important an end : and indeed, it
may with reaſon be affirmed, that the moﬅ
powerful Charms of muſic, of the mimic art,
of dancing, and of painting, are in operatical
performances all happily combined, that they
may conſpire in a friendly manner to refine '
our ſentiments, to ſoothe the heart, and ſub
due the ﬅubbomneſs of reaſon, that cannot
B
2
help ſurrendcring itſelſ a willing captive to ſo

pleafing a ſaſcination.
But, from the very concurrence oſ ſo many
r'equifites, it happens in like manner to the'
Opera, as it does to the moﬅ complicated
machines, to be thence liable to frequent ſai
lures and being out of order. Nor indeed,
ſhould it be a cauſe oſ ſurprize to us, if ſo
ingenious a Compoſition, and reſulting ſrom
the combination of ſo many parts as an Opera
does, ſhould not always anſwer the end pro
poſed; although no care, pains or ﬅudy, 'to
attain perfection, had been omitted by thoſe,
to whom the preparation of ſuch an enter
tainment was intruﬅedſi
It muﬅ however be conſeſſed, that the per
ſons, who now-a-days take upon them the
guidance of thoſe public diverſions, do neither
enter into a due conſideration of particulars,
nor pay a proper attention to the ſeveral ne
ceſſary conﬅituents for making an Opera pen
fect: nay, upon examination, they will be.
ſound remiſs in chufing the ſubject of their
dramas, and ﬅill more negligent about the
3
words thereof being congenially adapted for
the muſic that is to accompany them. Theſe
gentlemen appear to be entirely careleſs of
xerifimilitude in the finging and recitative
parts, as .well as about the connection that
ought to ſubſiﬅ between the intervening
ballets exccuted by the dancers, and the
main bufineſs of the drama. - The former '
ſhould ſeem to ſpring genuinely from the
latter. They are equally regardleſs of ap
propriated decorations in the ſcenery depart
ment ; and the faulty ﬅructure of their the
atres, hitherto hath quite eſcaped their notice.
What wonder then, if that ſpecies of dra
matic repreſentation, which, from its nature,
ought to prove the moﬅ delightful of all
ſcenic entertainments, hath degenerated to
ſuch a degree of inſipidity and irkſomeneſs to '
ſpectators in general.
Through a defect of that harmony, which
ſhould always prevail among the ſeveral parts
of which an Opera is compoſed, there now
hardly remains even a faint ſhadow of'that
true imitation and agreeable illuſion, which
Bz
4
can only reſult from a perfect conſcnance
among them." By ſuch neglects hath the
Opera (originally one of- the moﬅ ingenious
combinations the human mind could pride it
ſelf for) dwindled into a languid, badly con
nected, improbable, groteſque, and monﬅrous
aggregate; wherefore, it has too juﬅly in
curred the evil fame. that was ſpread againﬅ
it, and the ﬅigmatizing cenſures-of many
reſpectable perſonages, who otherwiſe very
judieioully conſidered innocent amuſements,
when taﬅefully directed, as matters of no
ſmall moment, or indifference, to a well re
gulated government *.
i Among the many unfavourable opinions againﬅ orenAs,

which may be cited_ is the following from an eminent Engliſh
writer, and runs thus. -- V As ehe waters of a certain foun
" tain of Theſſaly, from their benumbing quality, could be
" contained in nothing but the hoof of an aſs 5 ſo can this
V languid and disjointed Compoſieion [the Opera] find no
" admittauce, but in ſuch heads as are expieſsly formed to
" receive it." 'Ille WORLD, No. 156. A long time
prior to this cenſure had the judicious Addiſon applied for
motto to the fifth number of the firﬅ volume of the Specta
tor, (where he treats of the Italian Opera) this verſe from
Horace, '
Spectatum admiſii riſum tencatis amici.
And
5
But, to reﬅore the Opera to its priﬅine dig
nity and eﬅimation, is, in my ſenſe, an un
dertaking, now as neceſſary to be attempted,
as it may prove difficult to be carried into ex
ecution. The attempt I propoſe here, is to
reduce the muſical province into a proper re
gulation, and to make the performers learn a
due obedience to diſcipline and authority.
For how is it to be expected that a drama,
although written in ever ſo maﬅerly a man
ner, can be exhibited with the requiſite pro
priety, iſ the judgment oſ thoſe, who ought
to preſide, ſhould be diſregarded. Nay more,
how can we harbour even the leaﬅ hope of
enjoying the laudable Compoſition of a drama,
iſ thoſe perſons, who by their ſituation ſhould
liﬅcn to and obey the directions oſtheir ſupe
riors in ſenſe, notwithﬅanding their diſquali- '
fication, arrogate to themſelves the power of
And before him Dryden had ſaid,

For what a ſong, or ſenſeleſs Oper', '
Is to the living labour of a play ;
Or what a play to Virgil's work would be,
Such is a ſingle piece to hiﬅory.
33
6
dictating and iſſuing their mandates. In fine,
how can we propoſe to ourſelves, that any
good effect ſhould reſult from the diſorderli
neſs of a mutinous band of people, ſo obﬅi
nately averſe from filling thoſe ﬅations in an
Opera, to which their nature had beﬅ adapted
them What frequent acts of flight and miſ
bchaviour are obſervable towards the muſical
compoſer, and ﬅill more ſo towards the poet,
who, from the right reaſon of things, ought
to ſuperintend the whole, and act as chief
pilot to ﬅeer their Veſſel to the harhour of
ſucceſs.
What frequent jealouſies and wranglings
ariſe among the fingers, on account ofone per
ſon's having more ariettas than another, aloftier
plume, a. longer and more flowing robe, &e.
all which frivolous diſputesyare often more
perplexing to be ſcttled than the ceremonial
to be obſerved at a congreſs, or the prece
dcncy of embaſſadors from different courts.
The firﬅ ﬅep then neceſſary to be taken, in
order to remove ſuch ahuſes, is, that the poet
ſhouldreſume the reins of power, which
7
have been ſo unjuﬅly wreﬅed from his hands ;
and that, being reﬅored to his rightful au-.
thority, he may diffuſe through every depart
ment good order and due ſubordination.
V/hat legillator would take upon him to
give new laws to apeople, whirled about in the
Confuſion of anarchy, until ſuch-time as their
natural magiﬅrates were replaced on their
tribunals, and homage paid to their power.
NVhat general would march to attack an ene
my, if he had not previoully baniſhed diſor
der and licentiouſneſs from his army ?
VJhere ſhall we now find a man qualified to
undertake the direction of an Opera? In for
mer times, an edile, or an archon did not
think it beneath his rank to preſide over
theatrical exhibitions; and then each article
was conducted with a ſuitable decorum ; but
more eſpecially whenever the moﬅ celebrated
of the antient republies made a political uſe
of ſcenic repreſentations to arouſe their citi
zens to a ſenſe of glory, or to keep them
peaceably diverted for the general quiet of the
commonwealth.
B4
8
But now-a-days, the fallen theatre, alas,
groans under the miſmanagement oſ merce
nary and intereﬅed undertakers, whoſe only
object is to raiſe pecuniary contributions on
the Curioſity and leiſure of their fellow-citi
zenr, they being for the moﬅ part totally
unfit for ſuch an employment, through their
groſs ignorance of the ſeveral views proper to
be conceived, or of the executive means
to which they ſhould have recourſe, in or
der that the deſired effect may be ob
tained. *
It is therefore neceſſary, that an entire change
in the manner of proceeding, and a thorough
reſormation of thoſe habitual errors be made;
that a ſalutary doctrine, agreeable to the
wiſhes oſ taﬅe, may be adopted. Yet ſo
praiſe-worthy a revolution can hardly be'
hoped for, but under the patronage of -a
ſovereign, whoſe court affords a ſoﬅering
aſylum to the muſes; becauſe there no man
will dare to offer himſelf to be the director
oſ ſuch an entertainment, but one duly qua
lified, and whoſe diſp'oſition to exeel will go
9
hand in hand with the means that ſhall be
furniſhed to him. Under ſuch a guidance,
and never otherwiſe, ſhall we ſee the per
formers reduced to proper order and diſci
pline; or we, in conſequence,..become ſpecta
tors of dramatic compoſitions, not inferior
to thoſe ex'hibited at Athens and Rome, in
the times of a Cgeſar and a Pericles.
IO
C'HAP. I.
or ThE "PCEM, ARCUMENT, on BUSINESS
OF AN OPERA. '
As ſoon as the defired regulation ſhall have

been introduced on the theatre, it will then
be incumbent to proceedtothe various con
ﬅituent parts of an Opera, in order that thoſe
amendments ſhould be made in each, whereof
they ſcverally now appear the moﬅ deficient.
The leading object to be'maturely conſidered,
is the nature of the ſubject to be choſen ; an
article of much more conſequence, than is
commonly imagined ', for the ſucceſs or failure
of the drama depends, in a great meaſure, on
a good or bad choice 'of the ſubject. It is
here of no leſs conſequence, than, in arclii:
tecture, the plan is to an ediſice; or the can
vas, in painting, is to a picture; becauſe,
- thereon the poet draws the outlines of his in
tended reprefentation, and its colouring is the
talk of the muſical compoſer, lt is iherefore
the poet's duty, as chief engineer of the un
I!
dertaking, to give directions to the dancers,

the machiniﬅs, the paint-ers; nay, down even
to thoſe who are entruﬅed with the care of the
wardrobe, and dreffing the performers. The
poet is to carry in his mind a comprehenſive
view of the tubo/e of the drama; becauſe
thoſe parts, which are not the productions of
_his pen, ought to flow from the dictates of
his actuatin'g judgment which is to give being
and movement to the whole.
At the firﬅ inﬅitution of Operas, the poets
imagined the heathen -mythology to be the
beﬅ ſource from which they could derive ſub
jects for their dramas. Hence Daphne,
Etiridice, Ariana, were made choice of by
. Octavius Rinuccini, and are looked upon as
the elde'ﬅmuſical dramas; having been ex
' lhibited about the beginning of the laﬅ ccn'
' tury. There was beſides Poliziano's Orpheus,
which alſo had been reprefented with inﬅru
mental accompaniments ; as well as another
performance that was no more than a medley
of dancing and muſic, contrived by Bergonzo
Rolla, for the entertainment of a duke of
12
Milan, in the city of Tortona, A particu

lar ſpecies of drama was exhibitcd at Venice
for the amuſement of Henry the Third; it
had been ſet to muſic by the famous Zarlino,
-Add to theſe, ſome other performances,
which ought only to be conſidered, as ſo many
rough ſketches and preludes to a complete
Opera. -
The intent of our poets, was to revive the
Greek tragedy in all its luﬅre, and to intro
duce Melpomene on our ﬅage, attended by
muſic, dancing, and all that imperial pomp,
with which, at the brilliant periods of a So
phocles and Euripides, ſhe was wont to he
eſcorted. And that ſuch ſplendid pageantry
might appear to be the genuine right of
tragedy, the poets had recourſe for their ſub
jects to the heroic ages, and heathen mytho
logy. From that fountain, the bard, accord
ing to his inventive pleaſure, introduced on
the theatre all the deities of paganiſm; now
i'hifting his ſcene to Olympus, now fixing it
in the Elyſian ſhades, now plunging it down
to Tartarus, with as much eaſe as if to Argoa
S
J3
or to Thebes. And thus by the intervention

of ſuperiour beings, he gave an air of proba
bility to moﬅ ſurprizing and wonderful events.
Every Circumﬅance being thus elevated above
the ſphere of mortal exiﬅence, it neceſſarily
followed, that the finging of actors in an
Opera, appeared a true imitation of the lan
guage made uſe of by the deities they re
preſented.
This then was the original cauſe, why in the
firﬅ dramas that had been exhibited in the
courts of ſovereigns, or the palaces of princes,
in order to celebrate their nuptials, ſuch ex
penſive machinery was employed ; not an ar
ticie was omitted that could e -ite an idea of
whatever is moﬅ wonderful to be ſeen either
' on earth, or in the heavens.-To ſuperadd a
greater diverſity, and thereby give a new
animation to the whole, a crowded chorus of
fingers were admitted, as well' as dances of
various contrivance, with a ſpecial atten
tion that the execution of the ballet ſhould
coincide, and be combincd with the choral
fong: all which pleafing effects were made
14
to ſpring naturally from the ſubject -.f the
drama.
No doubt then can remain of the exquiſite
delight that ſuch magic repreſentations muﬅ
have given to an enraptured aſſembly ; for al
though it conſiﬅed but ofa fingle ſubject, it
nevertheleſs diſplayed an almoﬅ infinite va
riety of entertainment. There is even now
frequent opportunity of ſeeing on the French
muſical theatre, a ſpirited_ likeneſs to what is
here advanced; becauſe the Opera was firﬅ
introduced in Paris by cardinal Mazarine,
Whither it carried the ſame magnificent appa
ratus with which it had made its appearance
at his time in Italy.
Theſe repreſentations muﬅ, however, have
afterwards ſuffered not a little by the inter
mixture of buffoon characters, which are ſuch
ill-ſuited companions to the dignity of heroes
and of Gods; for by making the ſpectators
laugh out of ſeaſon, they diſconcert the ſo
lemnity of the piece. Some traces of this
theatric impropriety, are even now obſervable
in the eldeﬅ of the French muſical dramas. .
IS
The Opera did not long remain confined in
the courts of ſovereigns, and palaces ofprinces,
but'emancipating itſelf from ſuch thraldom,
diſplay'd its charms on public theatres, to
which the curious of all ranks were admitted,
for pay. But in this ſituation, as muﬅ ob
v'ioufly occur' to whoever refiects, it was im
poffible that the pomp and ſplendou'r which
was attendant on this entertainmcnt from its
origin, could be continued. The falling off
in that article, was occaſioned principally by
the exorbitant ſalaries the fingers inſiﬅed on,
which had been but inconſiderabie at the firﬅ
outſet of the muſical drama; as for inﬅance,
a certain female finger was called La Caneo-vane',
The Hundred-and-Twmey, for having received
ſo many crowns, for her performance during
aſingle carnival. A ſum which hath been
amazingly exceeded fince, almoﬅ beyond 'all
bounds. , '
Hence aroſe the neceſſity for opera-directors
to change their meaſures, and to be as fru
gally oeconomical on one hand, as they
found themſelves unavoidably profuſe on the
16
other. Through ſuch ſaving, the Opera may

be ſaid to have fallen from heaven upon the
earth, and being divorced from an intercourſe
with gods, to have humbly reſigned itſelf to
that oſ mortals.
Thence forward prevailed a general renun
ciation of all ſubjects to be ſound in the fabu
lous accounts oſ the heathen deities, and none
were made choice of, but thoſe derived from
the hiﬅories of humble mankind, becauſe leſs
magniſicent in their nature, and thereſore_
leſs liable to large dilburſements for their ex
hibition. ' '
The directors, obliged to circumſpection,
for their own ſaſety, were induced to imagine
they might ſupply the place of all that coﬅly
pomp and ſplendid varietyoſ decoration, to
which the dazzled ſpectators had been ac
cuﬅomed ſo long, by introducing a chaﬅer
regularity into their drama, ſeconded by the
auxiliary Charms oſ a more poetical diction,
as well as by the concurring powers of a more
exquifite muſical Compoſition. This project
gained ground ihe ſaﬅer from the public's ob
ſerving, that one of theſe arts was entirely
employed in modelling itſelf on our ancient
authors ; and the other, ſolely intent on en
riching itſelf with new Ornaments ; which
made Operas to be looked upon by many, as
having nearly reached the pinnacle of per
fection. However, that theſe repreſentations
might not appear too naked and uniform, in
terludes and ballets, to amuſe the audience,
were introduced between the acts ; and thus,
by degrees, the opera took that form, which
is now practiſed on our theatres.
It is an uncontrovertible fact, that ſubjects
for an operatical drama, whether taken from
pagan mythology or hiﬅorian's, have inevita
ble inconveniencies annexed to them. The
fabulous ſubjects, on account of the great
number of machines, and magniſicent appara
tus, which they require, often diﬅreſs the poet
into limits too narrow for him, to carry on
and unravel his plot with propriety; becauſe
he is not allowed either ſufficient time or
ſpace to diſplay the paffions of each character,
ſo abſolutely neceſſary to the compleating of
XI
an opera, which, xin the main', i"s nothing
more than a tragic-poem recited to muſical-

ſounds; and from the inconvenience alluded
to here, it has happened that a great number
of the French Opera-5, as well as the ſiffi: of
the Italian are 'nothing better than entertain
rnents for the eye; having more the ap-=
pearance of a maſquerade than of a regular
dramatic performance : becauſe therein the
principal action is whelmed, as. it were, under
a heap of aoceffaries; and the poetical part be
ing ſo flimſy and wretched, it was, with juﬅ
reaſon, called aﬅning of madtigals.
On the other hand, the ſubject-s taken from
hiﬅoryfflre liable to the objection of their not
being ſo well adapted to muſic, which ſeems
to exclude them from all plea Of probability.
This impl-eaded error may be obſerved every
day upon the Italian Rag-e. For who can be
brought to think, that the trilli-ngs of an air
flow ſojuﬅi-fiably from the mouth ofa Julius
Czeſaror a Cato, as from the lips of Venus
or- Apollo? Moreover, 'hiflorical ſubjects do
not furniſh ſo ﬅriking a variety, as thoſe that
'49
are fabulous; they are apt to be too auſtere'
and monotonous. The ſiage, in ſuch repre
ſentations, would for ever exhibit an almoﬅ
ſolitary ſeene, unleſs we are willing to num
ber among the ranks of actgrs, mob of
attendants that crowd after ſovereigns, even
into their cloſets. Beſides, it is no eaſy
matter to contrive ballets or interludes ſuit
able to ſubjects taken from hiﬅory ; becauſe
all ſuch ente'rtainments ought to form a.
kind of ſocial union, and become, as it
were, conﬅituent parts of the whole.
Such, for example,- on the French ﬅage, is
V The Ballet of the Shepherds," that ce
lebrates the marriage of Medoro with An=
gelica, and makes Orlando acquainted with
his accumulated wretchedrteſs. But this is
far from being the effect of entertainments
obtruded into the Italian Operas; in which,
although the ſubject be Roman, and the bal
let conſiﬅ of dancers dreſſed like Roman ſol
diers, yet ſo unconnected is it with the buſi
neſs of the drama, that the ſcozz'eſe or fur
lan'a might as well be danced. And this is
C a
"20
the reaſon why ſubjects choſen from hiﬅory,
are for the moﬅ part neceffitated to appear
naked, or to make uſe of ſuch alien accoutre
ments as neither belong, nor are by any
means ſuitable to them.
In order to obviate ſuch inconveniencies," the
only means left to the poet is, to exert all his
judgment and taﬅe in chufing the ſubject of
' his drama, that thereby he may attain his
end, which is to delight the eyes and the ears,
to rouze up, and to affect the hearts of an
audience, without the riſk of finning againﬅ
reaſon or common ſenſe: wherefore, the moﬅ
prudent method he can adopt, will be to'
make choice of an event that has happened
either in very remote times, or in countries
very diﬅant from us, and quite eﬅranged from
our uſages, which may afford various inci
dents of the marvellous, notwithﬅanding that
the ſubject, at the ſame time, be extremely'
ſimple and not unknown: two defirable re
quifites. .
The great diﬅance of place where the action
is fixed, will prevent the recital of'it to mu
,. w
JMMTQHF- .._..:. _..
21
ſical ſounds, from appearing quite ſo impro

bable to us. The marvellouſneſs of the theme,
will furniſh the author with an opportunity
of interweaving therewith dances, choruſſes,
and a variety of ſcenical decorations. The
climplicity and notoriety-oſ it will exempt his
muſe from the perplexing trouble and tedious
preparations neceſſar) to make the pe'rſonages
oſa drama known, that, ſuitable to his no
-tification, may be diſplayed their paffions, the
main ſpring and actuating ſpirit of the
flage.
The two Operas oſ Dido, and of Achilles
in Sciros, written by the celebrated Mctaﬅa
ſ10,_come very near to the mark propoſed
here. The ſubjects of theſe dramatic poems
are ſimple, and taken from very remote an
t-iquity, but without being too far fetched.
In the midﬅ of their moﬅ impaffioned ſcenes,
there is an opportunity of introducing ſplen
did banquets, magniſicent embaffies, em
barkations, choruſſes, battles, conflagrations,
&e. ſo as to give a farther extenſion to the
Tovereignty of the muſical drama, and make
C3'
22
its rightfulneſs be more aſcertained than has
been hitherto allowed. '
The ſame doctrine maybe advanced in regar
to an Opera on the ſubject ofMontezuma, as
much on account of the greatneſs, as 'of the
novelty of ſuch an action, as that emperor's
cataﬅro'phe muﬅ afford. A diſplay of the
Mexican and Spaniſh cuﬅoms, ſeen for a firﬅ
time together, muﬅ form a moﬅ beautiful
contraﬅ ; and the batbaric magniſicence of
America, would receive various heightenings
by being oppoſed in different views to that of
Europe *.
Several ſubjects may likewiſe be taken from
Arioﬅo and Taſſo, equally fitting as Monte
zuma, for the Opera-theatre ; for, beſides
theſe being ſo univerſally known, they would
furniſh not only a fine field for exerciſing the
paffions, but alſo for introducing all the ſur
prizing illuſions of the magic art.
An Opera of ZEneas in Troy, or of Ip'hige
* Montezuma has been choſen for the ſubject of an Opera

performed with the greateﬅ magnificence at the theatre
'royal of Berlin,
:nia in Aulis, would anſwer the ſame purpoſe;
and to the great variety for ſcenes and ma
chinery, ﬅill greater heighthenings might be
derived from the enchanting poetry of Virgil
and Euripides,
There are many other ſubjects to the full as
applieable to the ﬅage, and that may be found
equally fraught with marvellous incidents.
Let then a poet, who .is judicious enough,
make a prudent collection of the ſubjects
truly dramatic, that are to be found in
tmeing the fabulous accounts of the
'heathen gods, and do the ſame alſo in regard
to more modern times. Such a proceeding
relative to the opera, would not be unlike
to 'what is oft-times found neceſſary in
ﬅates, which it is impoffible to preſerve from
deeay, and in the unimpaired enjoyment of
lconﬅitutional vigour, without making them
revert from time to time to their original
principles.
CHAP. II.
ON THE MUSICAL COMPOSITION FOR

OPERAS.
No art now appears to ﬅand ſo much' in

need of having the concluſive maxim of the
preceding chapter put in practice, as that of
muſic; ſo greatly has it degenerated from its.
former dignity. For by laying aſide every
regard to decorum, and by ſcorning to keep
within the bounds preſcribed, it has ſuffered
itſelſ to be led ſar, very far aﬅray, in a be
wildered purſuit of new-ſangled whimſies and
capricious conceits. Wherefore, it would be
now very ſeaſonable to revive the decree made
by the Lacedemonians, againﬅ that man, who,
through a diﬅempered paffion for novelty,
had ſo ſophiﬅicated their muſic with his
crotchetty innovations, that, from noble
and manly, he rendered it effeminate and
diſguﬅing.
25
Mankind in general, it muﬅ be owned, are
actuated by a love of novelty; and it is as
true that without it, muſic, like every other
art, could not have received the great im
provments it has. What we here implead, is
not a chaﬅe paſiion for novelty, but a too great
fondneſs for it; becauſe itwas thatwhich reduced
muſic to the declining ﬅate ſo much lamented
by all true connoiſſeurs. While arts are in
their infancy, the love of novclty is no doubt
eſſential ; as it is to that they owe their being ;
and after, by its kindly influence, are im
proved, matured, and brought to perfection ;
but that point being once attained, the in
dulging this pafiion too far, will, from
benign'and vivifying, become noxious and
fatal. The arts have experienced this vi
ciffitude, in almoﬅ every nation where
they have appeared ; as, among the Italians,
hath muſic at this time in a more remarkable
manner.
On iis revival in Italy, though in very
barbarous times, this elegant ari: ſoon made
its power be known throughout Europe; nay
26
more, it was cultivated to ſuch a degree 'by
the tramontane nations, that it may, with
out exaggeration, be afferted, the Italians
themſelves were, for a certain period of time,
glad to receive inﬅruct' As from them.
On the return of muſic to Venice, Rome,
Bologna, and Naples, 'as to its native
place, ſuch conſiderable improvements were
made there in the muſical art, during the
two laﬅ centuries, that foreigners, in their
turn, repaired thitherfor infiructicn: and ſuch
would be now the caſe, were they not de- .
terred from fo doing by the raging phren
zy after novelty, that prevails in all the.
Italian ſchools. For, as if muſie were yet
unrudimented, and in its infancy, the miſ
taken profcſſors ſpare no pains to trick out
their art with every ſpeeies of grotefque ima
gination and fantaﬅical combination, which
they think can be executed by ſounds; The
public too, as ifthey were likewiſe in a ﬅate of
childhood, change almoﬅ every moment their
notions of, and ſondneſs for things, rejecting
eto-day with ſcorn, what yeflerday was ſo paſ
- "----*--r*--vrw*-_Y;->-zm*-. . - < ..
27
ſion-ately admired. The taﬅe in finging,
which, ſome years "ago, enraptured audiences
hung upon with wonder and delight, is now
received with a ſupercilious diſapprobation;
not becauſe it is ſunk in real merit, but for
the very groundleſs reaſon of its being old,
and not in frequent uſe. And thus we ſee,
that in Cbmpoſitions inﬅituted ſor the repre
ſentation of nature, whoſe mode is ever one,
there is the ſame defire of changing, as in the
fluctunting ſaſhions of the dreſſes we wear.
Another principal reaſon, that can be affign
ed for the preſent degeneracy or' muſic, is the
authority. power and ſupreme command
uſurped in its name; becauſe the compoſer,
in conſequence, acts like a deſpotic ſovereign,
contracting all the views of pieafing to his de
partment alone. It is almoﬅ impoffible to.
perſuade him, that he ought to be in a ſubor
dina'te ﬅution; that muſic derives its greateﬅ
-merit from being no mo're 'than an auxi.liary,
the handmaid to poetry. His chieſ buſineſs
then is to pre-diſpoſe the minds of the audþ
Fnce for receiving the impreſſion to be e-x-.
28
cited by the poet's verſe; to infuſe ſuch a
general tendency in their affections, as to -
make them analogous with thoſe particular
ideas, which the poet means to inſpire. In
fine, its genuine office is to communicate a
more animating energy to the language of
the muſes. .
. That old andjuﬅ charge, enſorced by critics
againﬅ operatical perſormances, of making
their heroes and heroines die ſinging, can be
aſcribed to no other cauſe but the defect of
a proper harmony between the words and the
muſie. Were all ridiculous quavering omitted
when the ſerious paffions are to ſpeak, and
were the muſical Compoſition judicioufly
adapted to them, then it would not appear
more improbable that a perſon ſhould die
ringing, than reciting, verſes.
It is an undeniable fact, that, in the earlieﬅ
ages, the poets were all muſical proſicients;
the voeal part, then, ranked as it ſhould,
which was to render the thoughts of the mind,
and affections of the heart, with more ſorci
ble, more lively, and more kindliug expreſ
1
'29
ſion. But now that the two twin-ſiſiers,
poetry'fimd muſie, go no longer hand in hand,
it is not at all ſurpriſmg, if the bufineſs of the
one is to add colouring to what the other
has deſigned, that the colouring, ſeparately
conſidered, appear beautiful ; yet, upon a nice
examination of the whole, the contours oſ
fend, by. not being properly rounded, and
'by the abſence of a ſocial blending of the
parts throughout. Nor can aremedy be ap
plied to ſo great an evil, otherwiſe but by the
modeﬅ diſcretion of a eompofer, who will
not think it beneath him to receive from the
poet's mouth the purport of his meaning and
intention, who will alſo make himſelf a com
petent maﬅer of the author's ſenſe, before
he writes a note of muſic, and will ever af
terwards confer with him concerning the mu
ſic he ſhall have compoſed; and by thus pro
ceeding, keep up ſuch a dependence and
friendly intercourſe, as ſubſiﬅed between
Lulli and Qrinault, Vinci and Metaﬅafio,
which indeed the true regulation of an ope
ratical theatre requires.
30
Among the errors obſervable in the preſent'
ſyflem of muſic the moﬅ obvious, and that
which firﬅ ﬅrikes the ears, at the very open
ing of an Opera, is the hackneyed manner
Of. eomppfing ovcrtures, which are always
Made to conſiﬅ of two allegros with one
grave, and to be as noiſy as poſſible. Thus
are they void of variation, and ſo jog on'
much alike. Yet, what a wide difference
ought to be perceived between one over
ture- and another; between that, for ex
ample, which precedes the death of Dido,
and that which is yrefixed to the nuptials oſ
Demetrius and Cleonice. The main driſt of
an overture ſhould be to announce, in a cerſi
tain manner, the buſineſs of the drama, and
conſequently prepare the audience to receive
thoſe affecting impreffions, that are to reſult
from the whole of the performance; ſo that
from hence a leading view, and preſaging
notions of it may be conceived, as is of an
oration from the exordium. But our preſent
compoſers look upon an overture as an arti;
ele- quite detached and abſolutely different
3f
from the poet's drama. They uſe it as an"
opportunity of playing offa tempeﬅuousmuſie
to (lun the ears of an audience. If ſome,
however, employ it as an exordium, it is oſ
a kindred complexion to thoſe of certain
writers, who with big and pompous words,
repeatedly diſplay before us the loftineſs of
the ſubject and the lowneſs of their ge
nius ; which preluding would' ſuit any other
ſubject as well, and might as judicioufly be
prefixed for an exordium to one oration as
another. . '
After the overture, the next article that pre
fiants itſelf to our conſideration is the reci
tative -, and as it is wont to be the moﬅ noiſy
part of an Opera, ſo is it the leaﬅ attended
to, and the moB: neglected. It ſeems as if
our muſtcal compoſers were of opinion, tzhat
the recitative is not of conſequence enough'
to deſerve their attention, they deeming it
incapable of exciting any great delight. But
the antient maﬅers though-t in a quite dif
fcrent manner. There needs no ﬅronger
proof than to read what Jacopo Pe-ri, who
3
32
may be juﬅly called the inventor of the re

citative, wrote in his preface to Euridice.
When he had applied himſelf to an inveﬅi
gation of that ſpecies of muſical imitation,
which would the readieﬅ lend itſelf to thea
tric exhibitions, he directed his taﬅeful re
ſearches to diſcover the manner which had
been employed by the antient Greeks on
' fimilar occaſions. He carefully obſerved the
Italian words, which are capable of into
nation, or conſonance, and thoſe which
are not. He was very exact in minu
ting down our ſeveral modes of pronun
ciation, as well as the different accents of
grief, of joy, and of all the other affections
incident to the human frame; and that, in
order to make the baſe move a timing atten
dance to them, now with more energy,
now with leſs, according to the nature of
each. So nicely ſcrupulous was he in his
courſe of vocal experiments, that he ſcruti
nized intimately the very genius of the Ita
lian language; on which. account, in order
to be more accurate, he frequently conſulted
33
Kwitb ſeveral gentlemen, not leſs remarkable
'ſor the delicacy of their ears, than for their
":being uncommonly (killed both in the arts of
'muſic and poetry.
The final concluſion oſhis ingenious enquiry
was, that the ground-work of all ſuch imi
-tation ſhould be an harmony, chaﬅely ſol
lowing nature ﬅep by ﬅep; a ſomething be-
tween common ſpeaking and melody; a well
combined ſyſtem between that kind of per
formance which the antients called the diaſ
zcmaeica ', as if held-in, and ſuſpended; and
the other, called the ranez"nuala *. Such were
the ﬅudies of the muſical compoſers in ſort-ner
times. They proceeded in the improvement
of their art with the utmoﬅ care and atten
tion; and the effect proved, that they did
not loſe their time in the purſuit of unprow
'fitable ſubtleties.
The recitative in their time was made to vary
with the ſubject, and aſſume a complexion
ſuitable to the ſpirit of the words. It ſome
? See thegloſſary of technical'tenns at the end.
-D
346 _
times moved' with a rapidi-t'y equal to that oF
the text; and at others with an 'attendant
flowneſs: but never failed to mark, in a con
ſpieuous manner, thoſe inflexions and ſallies,
which the violence of our paffions can tranſ
ſuſe into the exprelſion of them. All mu
ſtcal compoſitions, finiſhed in ſo maﬅerly a
manner, were heard with delight. Num<
bers now living muﬅ remember how cer
tain paſſages of ſimple recitative have aſ
ſected the minds of an audience,' to a de
gree, that no modern air is able to pro-_
duce.' ' . -
However, the recitative, all diſregarded as it
may be, has been known to excite emotions in
an audience, when it was of the obligaeo kind,
as the artiﬅs term it; that is, when ﬅrictly ac
companied with im'lruments. Perhaps it
would not be improper to employ it oftener
than is now the Cuﬅom. What a kindling
" _ . .
Warmth might be communicated to the recita- -
tive, if, where a paffion exerts itſelf, it were
to be enforced by the united orcheﬅra l By ſo
doing, the heart and mind at once would be.
35-
Rcimed, as it were, by all the powers of mu-
fie. A more evincing inﬅance of ſuch an eſ
fect cannot be quoted, than the greater part
oſ the laﬅ act of Didone, ſet to muſic by
Vinci, which is executed in the taﬅe recom
mended here : and no doubt but Virgil's ſelf
would be pleaſed to hear a Compoſition ſo ani
mating and ſo terrible.
Another good purpoſe,which muﬅ be derived'
from ſuch a practice is, that, then, would not
appear to us ſo enormous, the great variety
and diſproportion now obſervable in the an
dameneo of the recitative, and that of the airs;.
but, on the contrary, a more'ſriendly agree
ment among the ſeveral parts of an Opera
would be the reſult. The connoiſſeurs have
been often diſpleaſed with thoſe ſudden tran
ſitions, where, from a recitative in the enden-
l'ffimo and gentleﬅ movement, the perſormers
are made to ſkip off and bound away into
arimas of' the briſkeﬅ execution ;. which is
to the full as abſurd, as if a perſon, when
ſoberly walking, ſhould all on the ſudden ſet
tzo leaping and capering.
D 2
36
The ſureﬅ method to' bring about a better
underﬅanding among the ſeveral conﬅituent
parts of an Opera, would be not to crowd ſo
rnuch art into the airs, and to curb the in
.ﬅrumental part more than is now the Cuﬅom.
In every pei iod oſ the Opera theſe two formed
the moﬅ brilliant parts oſit ; and, in propor
tion as the muſiea'l Compoſition has been more
and more refined, ſo have they received ﬅill
greater heightenings. They were .naked for
merly in compariſon of what we ſee them
now, and were in as abſolute a ﬅate of ſim
plieity, as they had been at their-origin 5
inſomuch that, either in point of melody or
accompanimcnts', they did not riſe above re
citative. - -
Old Scarlatti was the-firﬅ who infuſed life,
movement, and ſpirit into them. It was he
who cloathed their nakedneſs with the ſplen,
did attire of noble accompaniments; but
they were dealt out by him in a ſober and '
judicious manner. They were by no means
intricate or Obſcure, but open and obvious 5
highly finiſhed, yetfrce from all the minute
3
37
neſs of affectation ; and that not ſo much on
account of the vaﬅneſs of the theatres, by
means of which many of the miner. excel
lencies in muſical perſormances may be loﬅ,
as in regard to the voices to which alone they
ſhould be made ſubſervient.
\ But unwarrantable changes have happened
ſince that great maﬅer's time down to ours,
in which all the bounds of diſcretion are
wantonly overleapt. The airs now are
whelmed under, and disfigured, by crowded
Ornaments, with which unnatural method
the rage of novelty labours to cmbelliſh them.
How tedioufiy prolix are thoſe ""'ieorneI/i that
precede them; nay, and are often ſuperfluous.
For, can any thing be more improbable than;
that, in an air expreffivc of wrath, an actor
' ſhould calmly wait with his hand ﬅuck in
his ſword-belt, until the ritornello be over,
to give vent to' a paflion that is' ſuppoſed to
be boiling in his breaﬅ : and after the ritor-'
nello, then comes on the part to.be ſung;
but the multitude of fiddles, &e. that accom
pany it in general, produce no better an ef-
D 3._'
38
fect, than to aﬅoniſh the faculty of hearing,
'and to drown the voice of a finger? Why is
there not more uſe made of the baſes, and
why not encreaſe the number of baſſe-viols,
which are the ſhades of muſic? Where is
the neceffity for ſo many fiddles, with which
our orcheﬅras are now throng'd? Fewer
would do; for they prove in this caſe like
too many hands on board of a ſhip, which,
inﬅead of being affiﬅant, are a great impedi
ment to its navigation. Why are not lutes
and harps allowed a place? with their light
and piercingnotes they would give a ſpright
lineſs to the ripienos. Why is the 'vicle-ela
excluded' from our orcheﬅras, fince, from its
inﬅitution, it was intended to act a middle
part between the fiddles and. the baſes, in
order that harmony might thence enſue?
But one oſ the moﬅ favourite practiees now,
and which indeed makes our theatres to re
ſound with peals of applauſe, is, in'an air,
to form a conteﬅ between the voice and a
hautboy, or between the voice and a trum
pet, ſo as to exhibit, as it were, a kind of mue
39
ſical tilting-match with the utmoﬅ exertion
on either ſide. But ſuch a ſkirmiſhing of
voices and inﬅruments are very diſpleafing to
the judicious part of an audience, who, on
the contrary, would receive the greateﬅ de
light from the airs being accompanied by in
ﬅruments differently qualified from the preſent
in uſe, and perhaps even by the organ, as
hath been formerly practiced *. The conſe
quence then would be, that the reſpec
tive qualities of inﬅruments would be pro
perly adapted to the nature of the words
which they are intended to accompany, and
that they"would aptly glide into thoſe parts,
where a due expreſſion of the paffion ſhould
ﬅand moﬅ in need of them. Then the ac
companimen't would be of ſervice to the
finger-s voice, by enſorcing the pathetic aſ
ſections of the ſong; and would prove not
unlike to the numbersloſ elegant and har
monious proſe, which, according to the
* in the orcbzflra of the theatre in the famous city of

Cataio, an Organ into' t' be ſeen.
134..
40
maxim of a learned ſage, ought to be like
the beating on an anvil by ſmiths, at once
both muſical, and ſkilfully laboured.
Theſe faults, however conſiderable, are not
the greateﬅ that have been introduced in the
Compoſition of airs; we muﬅ go farther
back to inveﬅigare the firﬅ ſource of this
evil, which, in the judgment of the moﬅ
able proſeſſors, is to be found in the miſcon
duct of chuſing the ſubject of an air: be
cauſe rarely any attention is paid to the anda
mento of the melody being natural, and cor
reſponding to the ſenſe of the words it is to
convey; beſides, the extravagant varieties
which it is now made to ſhift and turn about
after, cannot be managed to tend to one
common centre, or 'point of unity. For the
chief view of our preſent muſical compoſers
is to court, flatter and ſurprize the ears, but
not at all either to affect the heart, or kindle
the imagination oſ thoſe who hear them;
wherefore, to accompliſh their favourite end,
they frequently bound over all rules. To
he prodigal of ſhining paſſages, to repeat
41
words without end, and muſically to inter
weave or entangle them as they pleaſe, are
the three principal methods by which they
carry on their operations.
The firﬅ of theſe expedients is indeed big
with danger, when we attend to the good eſ
ſect that is to be expected from melody, be
cauſe through its middle ſituation it poſſeſſes
more of the virezZ. Moreover, muſic de
lights to make a uſe of acute notes in her
compoſitions ſimilar to that which painting
does with ﬅriking lights in-her performances.
In regard to brilliant paſſages, common ſenſe
forbids the introduction of them, excepting
where the words are expreffive of paffion or
movement, otherwiſe they deſerve no milder
an appellation, than being ſo many imperti
nent interruptions of the muſical ſenſe.
The repeating of words and thoſe chiming
rencounters that are made for the ſakc of
ſound merely, and are devoid of meaning,
prove intolerable to a judicious ear. Words
are to be treated in no other manner but ac
cording as the paffion dictates ; and when the
42
ſenſe of an air is finiſhed, the firﬅ part of it
ought never to be ſung over again; which
is one of our modern innovations, and quite
repugnant to the natural proceſs of our ſpeech
and Paffions, that are not accuﬅomed to
thus tum about, and recoi-l upon them
ſelves.
Moﬅ people, who frequent our Italian.
theatres, muﬅ have obſerved, that even when
the ſenſe of an air breathes a rouzed and
furious tendoncy, yet if the words Father or
Son be in the text, the compoſer never fails
to flacken his notes, to give them all the
ſoftneſs he can, and to ﬅop in a moment
the impetuoſity of the tune. Moreover he
flatters himſelf, on ſuch occaſion, that, be
ſides having cloathed the words with ſenti
mental ſounds ſuitable to them, he hath alſo
given to them an additional ſeaſoning of va
nety.
But in our ſenſe he hath entirely ſpoiled all '
with ſuch a diſſonance of expreffion, that will
ever be objected to by all who have the leaﬅ
Ipretenfions tojudgment and taﬅe. The duty
43
of- a compoſer is to expreſs the ſenſe, not of
this or that particular word, but the com
prehenſive meaning of all the words in the
. air. It is alſo his duty to make variety How
from the ſeveral modiſications the ſubject in
itſelf is capable of; and not from adjuncts,
that adventitioufly. faﬅen themſelves thereon,
jand are ſoreign from, prepoﬅerous, or repug
'nant to, the poet's intention.
It ſeems that our compoſers take the 'ſame
miﬅaken pains which ſome writers do; who,
regardleſs of connection and order in a diſ
courſe, bend all their thoughts to collect and
ﬅring together a number of finely (ounding
words. But, notwithﬅanding ſuch words
are ever ſo harmonious, a diſcourſe ſo
written would prove an uſeleſs, vain, and
contemptible performance. The ſame may
be ſaid of every .muſical Compoſition, which
is not calculated either to expreſs ſome
ſentiment, or awaken the idea of ſome
imagery of the mind ". Like what we
' Tou'e muſigue gui ne [se/"e rist', 'l'rﬅ oue du bruz'r, &5'
ſam 1'baþitude, Qui den/'ture eout, 'He ne ſeraie gurrer ply: de
p/a'fir,
44'
have compared it to, it muﬅ turn out but _
'an uſeleſs and a vain production, which,
ſhould it be received with a temporary
and flight applauſe, muﬅ ſoon be con
ſigned to perpetual ſilence and ohlivion,
notwithﬅanding all the art that might have
been employed in chufing the muſical com
binutions. On the contrary, thoſe airs alone
remain ſor ever engraven on the memory of.
the'publick, that paint 'images to the mind,
or expreſs the paffions, and are for that rea
ſon called the ſpeaking airs, becauſe more
congenial to nature; which can never bejuﬅly
imitated, but by a beautiful ſimplicity, which
will always bear away the pa'lm from the moﬅ.
laboured refinements of art.
Although poetry and muſic be ſo near a-kin
to each other, yet they have purſued different
views here in ltaly. The muſe preſiding
p/aiſir, gu'rme ſuite de mm barmonieux, U ſonorcs, demnz.

d'ordre, U de l'iaiﬅm. '
rnzr. or. 1. sncvcnonme.
All muſic, that paints nothing, is only noiſe; and were
it not for cuﬅom, that unmtures every thing, it would ex
cite no more pleaſure than a ſequel of harmonious andfmely
founding words, without any order or connection.
45
overharmony, was too chaﬅe in the laﬅ cen
.tury to give into thoſe affectations and lan
guiſhing airs, which ſhe is at preſent ſo fond
of indulging. She then knew the way to the
human heart, and how to ﬅamp permanent
impreffions thereon; ſhe poſſeſſed the ſecret
of incorporating herſelſ, as it were, with the
meaning of the words, and that the proba
bility might ſeem the greater, ſhe was to the
laﬅ degree ſimple, yet affecting; though at
the ſame time, the poetic muſc had run away
" from all ſemblance oſ truth, to make a parade
of hyperbolical, far-fetched fantaﬅical whim
dies. Since that'time, by a ﬅrange viciffitude,
as ſoon as poetry was made to return into the
.right path, muſic-ran aﬅray.
Such excellent maﬅers as a Ceﬅi and a Ca
riſſimi, had the hard ſate of compofing muſic
'for words, in the ﬅyle oſ the Achillino; men,
who were equal to the noble taſk of convey
ing, in muſrcal numbers, the ſighs and love
'breathings oſ a Petrarch. But now, alas, the
1elegant, the terſe, the graoeſul poems of
lfletaﬅaſio, are degraded --into muſic by
46.
wretched'compoſers. It muﬅ not, however,
be hence concluded, that no veﬅige of true
muſic is to be perceived among us ; becauſe,
as a prooſ againﬅ ſuch an opinion, and that.
no ſmall one, may be produced our inter
mezzi, and comic Operas ; wherein the firſi:
of all mu-ſical requifites, that of exprefiion,
takes the lead more than in any other of our
compoſitions: which is owing perhaps to the
lmpoffibility the maﬅers ſound of indulging
their own fancy in a wanton diſplay of all
the ſecrets of their art, and the maniſold
treaſures of-muſical knowledge; from which
oﬅentatious prodigality, they were luckily
prevented by the very limited abilities of their
fingers. Wherefore, in their own deſpite,
they ſound themſelves obliged to cultivate
' fimplicity and follow nature. Whatever may
have been the cauſe, this ﬅyle ſoon obtained
the vogue, and triumphed over every other,
although called plebeian. Why did it ſuc
ceed? Becauſe it was ſraught with truth,
that in all arts and ſciences muﬅ ultimately
prevaiL.
47
To this kind' ofperformance, we owe the-ex
tending of our muſical fame on the other ſide
of the Alps among the French, wh0.had'
been at all times our rivals in every polite
art. The emulous contention which had ſo
long ſubſiﬅed between them and us, for a pre
eminence in muſic, is univerſally known.
No means could be hit on by our artiﬅs, to
make their execution-agreeable to Gallic ears;
and the Italian melody was abhored by them,
's much as had been in former times, an
Italian regency.
But no ſooner was heard upon the theatre of
Paris, the natural, yet elegant ﬅyle of the
Serva Padrona, rich with airs ſo- expreffive,
and duets ſo pleafing, than the far greater
part of the French- became not only proſe
lytes to, but even zealous advocates in bet
half of the Italian muſic. A revolution" ſo
ſudden, was cauſed by an intermezzo and
two comic actors. The like had beenat
tempted in vain, in the moﬅ elaborate pieces
of eminent compoſers, through a long ſeries
of years, although bedizened over with ſo
48
many brilliant paſſages, ſurprizing ſhakes, &o.
nor did the repeated efforts of our moﬅ celo
brated performers, vocial or inﬅrumental, fare
better.
Nevertheleſs, all the good muſieal Compoſi
tion modern Italy can boaﬅ of, is not abſo
lutely confined to the intermezzi and comic
Operas; for it muﬅ be conſeſſed, that in ſome
of our late ſerious pieces, there are parts- not
unworthy of the beﬅ maﬅers, and the moﬅ
applauded zera of muſic- Several inﬅances
are to be found in the works of Pergoleſi and
Vinci, whom death too ſoon ſnatched from
us ; 'as well as in thoſe of Gualupi, Jurnelli,
Saſſone, that are deſerving to be for ever in
eﬅeem. -
Through the energy of the Compoſition of
theſe maﬅers, muſic makes an aud'rence ſeel
ſometimes from the ﬅage, the very ſame effects
that were formerly felt in the chapels under the
direction of Pale-ﬅrina and Rhodio. We have
likewiſe proofs ofthe like powerful influence in
the ſkilful productions ofBenedettoMarcello;
a man, ſecond in merit to none among the
49
ancients, and certainly the firﬅ among the
moderns. XVho ever was more animated with
a divine flame in conceiving, and more judi
cious in conducting his works, than Mar
cello ? In the cantatas of Timoteo, of Caſ
ſandra, and of the celebrated Opera of Salmi,
he hath expreſſed in a wonderful manner, not
only all the different paffions of the heart,
but even the moﬅ delicate ſentiments of the
mind. He has, moreover, the art of repre
ſenting to our fancy, things even inanimate.
He found out the ſecret of affociating with
all the gracefulneſs and Charms of the mo
dern, the chaﬅe correctneſs of ancient muſic,
which in him appears like the attractive graces
of a beloved and reſpected matron.
50
c H Air. In.
'oN THE R'Ecr'i'Aairvi-r, Am) SINGINO,
IN'OFER'AS'.
It is n'ot eno'ugh for co'r'1iei'ct' muſical' compo

ſition in order to ſucceed, that it be attentive
to what effect it ſhall produce, becauſe that
depends cliiefly on: the manner in which it is
exeeuted by the fingers. For i't may ſo hap
pen, that a good' mufical compoſer, may be a
good commander at the Head of a Bad army',
with' this difference, that a good commander
may make good fo-idiers, but a ſkilful corn
poſer of muſic cannot flatter himſelfto' do the
like with his fingers. It has never entered
into the heads of moﬅ of them, how neceſſary
above every other article, it is to learn an
accurate pronunciation of their own . lan
guage, to articulate well, to be intelligible,
and not to change, as is too oſten the caſe,
one word for another. Nothing is more!
. _ _...* .
_W 1-5-_ r_
SI
lmgraceful, than their mincing and frittering'

away the finales, as well as their clipping
and mutilating words, leﬅ they ſhould offend
their own tender palates; by which means,
thoſe who have not the books of the drama
open before them, do not receive by their ears,
any diﬅinct impreffion of what is unmeaningly
liſped aw'ay. It was glancing at this error, that
Salvini humoroufly remarked, " Suchacting,
which, to be underﬅood, labours under the
inconvenience of its drama being read, is not
unlike to thoſe pictures, under which it is
neceſſary to write, this is a dog, and this is a
horſe." To Italy, much better than to
France, might be applied the pleaſant carica
ture that was made there, of an Opera with
out words; as if in an Opera, words were
quite ſuperfluous *.
The gait of our actors, their adjuﬅmerrt,
their _ repreſentative deportment, and their
manner of moving on the ﬅage, are as un
graceful, as their faulty habit of pronouncing
* The amour-s of the emperor Caracalla with a veﬅal,

' by Le Grand.
Ea
52
words, or expþreffing ſentiments. Being ſo

unqualiſicd, and groſsly defective in the firﬅ
principles of their art, it is not at all to be
wondered at, that they never make any pro
greffive advances towards the attainment of
thoſe exquifite exertions, without which, there
can be neither dignity nor truth in an action.
Performers in an Opera, have this advantage
over the comic, that their execution is ſettl'ed
and reﬅrained by the notes, as was the Cuﬅom
in the ancient tragedies; and thus have they
marked out for them, the path which they are
to follow, and therefore they cannot err, in re
gard to the different inflexions, or duration of
the voice upon the words, becauſe all that is
carefully directed by the compoſer. Not
withﬅanding theſe boundaries preſcribed, an
opportunity is always left to an intelligent
finger, to throw in a great dealofhis own; as in
a ſtmilar manner, coregraphy, orthe artoſdan
cing does; for at the ſame time that it points
out to its perſormers the times, the' ﬅeps, and
turnings they are to obſerve in conſonance
with the notes of the tune they 'are to be'
53
gu'ided by: there is not room for the leaﬅ
diefitation in aſſerting, that it is the dancer
.himſelf who is to give the ſiniſhing hand, and
-to heighten his execution with thoſe in.-born
graces, which are the very ſoul of art.
It is even ſo with' the recitative; for be
ſides the geﬅure's, which entirely depend on
the actor, there are 'certain ſuſpenſions of the
voice, certain ſhort pauſes, and a certain in
.ſiﬅing on one place more than on another,
that cannot be communicated, and are there-
ſore religned over to his ſagacity and diſcre
tion. For it is in ſuch minute .refinements,
that chiefly conſiﬅs the delicacy of expreffion,
whichimpreſſeth the ſenſe of words, not only
on the mind, but on the hearts of all who
hear them.
Even at this day, among the French, are
remembered excellencies oſ this nature in the
-unparallelled acting of their Baron, and Le
Couvreur, that gave a heighthening to the
verſes of Corneille and Racine. Their ſu
perior ﬅrokes of art are ever kept in view,
and moﬅ faithfully imitated, in a nation
Es
'54
where the theatre now is, as it was formerly
in Athens, no inconſiderable object of the
-public's attention. It would have been an ad
vantage to the Italian ﬅage, if. our perſormers
had alſo ﬅudied Nicolini's and Teſi's manner
of recitative, that is, when they kept cloſe to '
the modeﬅy of nature in expreffing her ſenti
ments; but not at all, when, in order t.0
pleaſe too much, they indulged a ranting
ﬅrain, and bordered upon caricature.-The
playing, to what an actor ſays, which may be
called the dumb ſhew of a ſcene, is likewiſe
another part of dramatic expreffion that totally
depends upon the actor's judgment; and is
as conducive to an enſorcing of theatrical illu
ſion, as it is neceſſary that a cauſe ſhould pro- .
duce an effect. Every body knows, without my.
entering into a detail of proofs, how careleſs
and inſignificant in this article are, generally
ſpeaking, each Roſcius that we ſee. Their
thoughts are bent on every thing, but on that
to which they ſhould ſolely attend.
Inﬅead of one actor minding what another
ſays to him, and marking by the different mo
55
difications of geﬅure and features, what im
preflion ithas made upon him, he does no
thing butſmile to the boxes, and bow to the
company there, with ſeveral other ſuch pret
ty impertinences.
By ſo Prepoﬅerous a conduct, one would
think they had come to a reſolution not to im
poſe upon any account, or ſuffer the audience
to miﬅake them for what they really are not ;
þſor ſhould one incline to imagine ſuch
actors, for a time, to repreſentatively ſill the
rankoſAchilles, Cyrus, &c. on the ﬅage;
theſe dear undeceiving creatures do all_ in
their power to defeat ſuch a pleafing error,
and declare themſelves as a. wag merrily ob
ſerved, to be no more than the ridiculous
ſignor Petricino, the ſilly ſignor Stoppiano,
and the zanyſignor Zolfanello.
This remiſſneſsmay þe aſſigned, perhaps,
among the principal cauſes of that extreme
diſguﬅ, that tyranizing irkſomeneſs, ſo pre
valent at the repreſentation of our Operas;
againﬅ which, a remedy has been fought in
the perpetual chattering of the company, in
E4.
56
vifits being made from one box to another, in

ſupping there; and finally, in that other re
medy, which is a thouſand times worſe than
the diſeaſe Complained of, and that is, gaming
All which irregularities, will never be re
moved until ſuch time, as, what in reality is
the firﬅ ſoundation of muſical pieces, ſhall
no longer be held of no value in the opi
nion of compoſers, 'as well as of perſormers ;
that is, when the recitative, the moﬅ eſſen
tial part of the drama, ſhall be no'longer ſo
disfigured or neglected as at preſent, and
when the ſongs too ſhall be well acted: then
only will Operas be heard with delight, and
force their way to the hearts of an au_
dience. '
But in ſpite of all that connoiſſeurs may ſay
of acting, the modern perſormers ſeem de
termined to attend to finging only; yet, even
in that, they do not obſerve the reﬅrictions
they ſhould ;
E Iz'bz'to fan lia"eo in [or 'Icggg

Knowing no other law but their own will
57
and pleaſure. Piﬅocco, who may be looked
upon as the head of the ſchool, the Marini of
modern licence-taking, thus rebuked Bernac
chi, 54 it is very diſagreeable to me, that al
though I have taught you to fing, yet you
will do the reverſe," It is an old axiom, that
he who knows not how to bridle his voice,
can never learn to fing; which, indeed, our
gentry are very careleſs about. Though to
keep the voice ſuﬅained in a certain key, or to
raiſe it to a certain pitch required by the ſub
ject, is the great ſecret of ﬅirring up our at',
ſections; yet that they are ﬅrangers to, be
ing perſuadedxon the contrary, that all their
ſkill is to conſiﬅ in ﬅraining and ſplitting the
voice, and in deſultory tranſitions from one
note to another. Their object is not to make
choice of what will produce the beﬅ effect,
but of that which they think the moﬅ extras
ordinary and difficult in the execution.
' lt is not amiſs, to be ſure, that young
fingers apply themſelves to become maﬅers of
the greateﬅ difficulties in muſical execution ;
becauſe, by that means the voice is rendered
58
more obedient to their command on every oe

caſion, and grows habituated to perform what
was deemed beyond its reach, and above its
owner's ſaculties. Moreover, it hence ſol
lows, that the perſon who can exccute the
moﬅ difficult parts, will be certainly qualiſzed.
to perform what are leſsſo'; and through that
acquired ſacility, the graces ſuitable to the'
ſubject, may be the readier joined by ſuch a
proſicient.
But to be ever on the tiptoes, 'in ﬅraining '
after difficulties, is againﬅ the very intention
and ſpirit of the muſical art. lt is a mon
ﬅrous inverſion of things, making that the
end, which ſhould only be the means-It is
preſcribed by all the rules oſ taﬅe, that the
duty of fingers is to fing, not to quaver or
trill away the ſenſe, butto be intelligible; ſor by
ſo doing, it is no fault of theirs, that a muſical
performance, though it be ever ſo chaﬅe,
ſo regular and appoſite, be dwindled into
an unnerved and effeminate Compoſition. '
Wheiher it be that they have never learn
ed, or that they do not like to follow the true
59
precepts of their art, they apply 'the ſame
graces to every kind of cantilena; and what
with their paſſages, their trillings, and beſides,
with their ſplittings and flights of the voice,
they over do, confound, and disfigure every
thing; thus putting, as it were, the ſame
mask on different compoſitions, they ſo ma
nage matters, that all tunes appear to reſem
ble each other; in the ſame manner, as all
the ladies in France, by means of the paint
'and patches, appear to be of the ſame
family.
There is a great liberty allowed by us to a
finger, eſpecially in the cantabile ſongs,
which are compoſed looſely, and but with a
ſew notes,' ſufficient to direct the melody,
that he may have an opportunity of filling up
from himſelf as he pleaſes, and of throwing in
what graces he ſhall think the beﬅ adapted.
If one conſiders the good and the evil, which
may reſult from ſuch a practice, the French _
uſage may appear preferable; it ncver allows
'their ſmgers ſuch a diſcretionary power, of
which, ours, indeed, make ſo bad an uſe.
60
'The French bind them down to be ihe mere

performers of others thoughts, no more. It
is true, to hear conﬅantly an exact replication
of the ſame thing, muﬅ be diſagreeable;
therefore, the moﬅ reaſonable meaſure, is to
leave ſome occaſions for the ſkil'l, fancy, and
ſeelings of a finger to diſplay themſelves : but
the miſchiefofit is, that a finger is rarely to be
found; who, whether through ignorance, or
through an immoderate luﬅoſ pleafing, hath
either judgment enough, or inclination to be
confined to the ſubject, and will not depart
from it, forgetful of all decorum and truth.
Hundreds of common-place rhapſodiﬅs, and
of ridiculous heads, that thruﬅ in matter
forcign from the ſubject, are to be met for one
performer, in whom knowledge is united
with taﬅe, in whom elegance and nature
combine, and whoſe fancy is ſubordinate to
his judgment.
To the happy few of that ﬅamp, on whom
Apollo ſmiles, be it allowed to throw in ſup- '
plemental touches of their own ; becauſe,
they can beﬅ enter into the ſenſe of the com
3
61
p'oſer, and are not liable to diſagree (as We

fay) with the baſe, and movement of the
inﬅruments: But, for all others, not thus
qualified, let a maﬅer be provided that ſhall
write down every thing they are to do, lead
ing them by the hand in every variation, and
in every'paſſage. For this very reaſon, it
ſhould not be a matter of ſo much indifference
as it now is, to abandon to the fingers their'
concluſive cadenzas, which they moﬅ com
rn-only pervert to a quite different meaning.
and complexion from what was intended by
the air : for here the finger is fond of croud
ing in all the graces, all the difficulties, and
all the muſical tricks he is maﬅer of; -ridi
culousl They ſhould ariſe naturally from
the air, and be, as it were, the peroration or
epilogue to it.
If our fingers were well inﬅructed in'their
mother tongue, were taught the uſe of grace
ful action, were properly initiated in the
knowledge of muſic, and above all, were un
der due ſubmiffion to good compoſers ; what'
then ſhould hinder our hopes of having re
62
i'ived among us, that manner of finging
which penetrates the ſoul ? And of ſeeing new
Sifacis, new Buzzolenis, and new Cartonas
ariſe; the memory ofwhom is not extinct, altho'
their voices be heard no more. If'alſo, an
expreffive melody, accompanied with proper
inﬅruments, and having good poetry for its
baſis, were to be executed by fingers free from
affectation, and animated by geﬅures both
fitting and noble, then muſic would be in
veﬅed with the arbitrary power of exciting,
or calming our paffions ; and then ſhould we
ſee renewed in our times, fimilar' effects to
thoſe, which that enrapturing' art had cauſed
among the ancients, and for this apparent
reaſon of her enjoying now the lilee auxiliary .
concomitants. But it would be folly in us to
hope for obtaining, by one fingle article,
what requires the concurrence of many *.
* " We are to conſider, that th-e muſic wieh the ancienis;

was of a larger extent than what me call m'uſic now-a days z
for poetry and dancing or [comefy mrtion] were then ac
counted parts of muſic, when muſic arrived to ſome perfec
tion- what we-now (all m'uiie, is but what they called'
harmo
__.......___.
. ...,____ MNFW
63
it is not to be doubted, that whenever mu-
ſic ſhall be reﬅored to her' priﬅine dignity,
Operas will be honoured with the attention'
of the public, and. be heard with the great
efl delight from the beginning to the end,
1 becauſe then a grateful ſilence will be im
'poſed on all ſpectators; whereas, quite the
contrary is now obſervable in our theatres;
on entering one of which, ſo great a confu
ſion and uproar is heard, as to reſemble the
bellowing of a wood in a ﬅorm, or the roar
ing of the ſea to a tempeﬅuous wind *.- Even,
the moﬅ attentive oſ our now 'Opera-fre
quenters can be ſilent only to hear ſome air of
Bravura; but they are all defire at the dances,
which can never begin too ſoon for their im
harmonic; which was but one part of their muſi"c, (cori

ſiﬅing of words, verſe, voice, tune, inﬅrument, and acting)
and we are not to expect the ſame effect of one piece a! of
the whole."-Strange effects reported of muſic in ſor
mer times examined by Dr. Wallis.-Philoſoph. Tranſact.
abridged, v. l. p. 618, 619.
'* Garganum mugire putes nemus, aut mare Tuſcum,
Tanto cum ﬅrepitu, ludi ſpectantur, & artes.
' HOIAT
64
patience, nor laﬅ too long for their enjoying'
them ; ſo that it may now be aſſerted of the
dances, that they have taken pofleffion of the
ſpectators hearts as well as of their eyes *.
lt ſeems indeed, as if our theatre had been
intended rather for an academy of dancing,
than the repreſentation of an Opera; and
one would be induced to think, that the Ita
lians have adopted the Frenchman's advice,
who ſaid, not unpleaſantly, that, in order
to make the theatre flouriſh, the dances
'X
ſhould be lengthened, and the women's pet
ticoats made ſhorter. '
* Verum cquitis quoque jam migravit ab aure voluptas,

Omnis ad incertos oculoa, 8: gaudia vana, nonAT.
'Gum,w- W . .'.
65
CHAP. IV.
ON THE DANCES.
What is the eſſence and nature of Dancing,

which people run 'ſo paffionately after? It
never was a conﬅituent part of the drama ,*'. .
is always foreign from the bufineſs, and very
often repugnant to it. As ſoon as an act is over,
ſeveral dancers ſally forth on the ﬅage, who
have no manner of affinity with the plan of
the piece. For, if the ſcene of action be
in Rome, the dance is often made to be in
Cuſco, or in Pekin; and if the Opera be ſe
rious, the dance to'be ſure is comic. Nothing
can be imagined ſo devoid of a methodical'
proceeding', of explanatory connection, or
that is carried' on: w1th ſuch irregular bounds
from one appearance to another, or is ſo
much a ﬅranger to (if it is not profzming
the word on ſuch an occaſion) the law of
continuity, an'inviolable law of nature, and
-F
66
which it is the duty of all her imitative arts
never to tranſgreſs.
But no more on that head ; becauſe, in the
preſent licentiouſneſ; of taﬅe, it might be
rebuked as the ſophiﬅry of hyperc-riticiſm:
therefore let us to the point. The dancing,
which delights ſome people ſo much, is in
itſelf (as now uſed by us) nothing better
than irrational caprioling from the beginning
to the very end, an illiberal ſkipping about,
which ought never to be applauded by per
ſons of a polite education, being as it were
a perpetual monotony of a very few ﬅeps,
and of as few figures. The wonted Cuﬅom
now is, that, after the preluding flouriſh of
a very diſagreeable tune, a couple of young
men. are detached on the ﬅage from the dan
cing band, all in readineſs behind the ſcenes;
and it is the hackneyed practice, that. one of
them robs the other of a noſe-gay, ſome
flowers, &e. or plays him a trick of this
ſort; they grow angry with each other; _
but ſoon become reconciled, although they
ﬅop not ſor a moment to ſettle the mat
'3 .
57
ter: then one invites the other to dance,
and to it they go, like mad folk-s, without
the leaﬅ moderation. After the firﬅ two
have done their taſk, two of larger ſize
come on, who are ſucceeded by the two
chief dancers ; they likewiſe perform a
dance of the ſame complexion; and it is
epilogued by the.latter part of the tune,
which is to the ſull as had as its beginning.
Whoever knows one dance, knows them
all; for, though dancers may change their
dreſſes, the characters introduced are ſeldom
varied.
Whoever, as ſar as relates to the art of
dancing, would let hisjudgment be warped by
what he ſees in vogue with Italians, and would
not raiſe his thoughts higher, muﬅ be in.
duced to conſider as fabulous relations, many
things that are nevertheleſs founded upon
truth. Thoſe accounts, for example, which
are to be read in authors, oſ the very tragic
effects that had been cauſed in Athens by the
dance of the Eumenides, as well as of the
powerful energy transſuſed into others by the
F 9.
68
amazing ſkill and execution of Pylades and
Batillus ; one of whom could excite pity or
terror by dancing, the other could provoke
jollity and laughter. Theſe divided Rome in- '
to two parties in the reign of Auguﬅus.
It happens but very rarely that, in our
Italian dancers, ﬅrength of body is united
with a gracefulneſs of figure; or a delicate
diſplay of the arms with a dextrous activity
in the fect ; or that a certain eaſe and. gentle
ſway appear in their movements ; without
which concomitants, dancing is a ſatigue,
not only to the performers, but even to the _
ſpectators. Yet theſe are nothing more than
the rudimentsof the art, or, to ſpeak with
more propriety, the requiſite materials ; but
the final accompliſhing of, and taﬅeful form
ſuitable to the ſubject, is another thing, and
requires great delicacy of judgment in the
contrivance.
The art of dancing ought to be imitative '
of nature, and of the affections of the mind
by the body's moving to muſical numbers.
lt is her office to ſpeak continually, and paint
69
'to the eyes. A dance, moreover, ſhould have
its expoſition, its intricacy, and denoument;
it ought to be _the quinteſſential abridgment
of an action. A brilliant example of what
we have here advanced is the dance of The
Gum-ﬅer, compoſed on an admirable air of
Jumelli; in which are wonderfully expreſſed
all the incidents in the charming intermezzo
called by the ſame name.
It is but juﬅ, however, to own, that in
the comic, or rather perhaps the groteſque
ﬅyle, we have had dances compoſed among
us worthy of applauſe; and dancers, of whom
it might be ſaid, that they were eloquent both
in hands and feet, and whoſe execution was
not perhaps inferior to that of Batillus.
But for compofing and performing both ſe
rious and heroic dances, not only we Ita
lians, but all the other nations of Europe,
muﬅ ﬅrike to the French. _For what people,
in the modern world, hath applied themſelves
ſo ﬅudioufly as they have to excel in the art
of dancing, for which indeed they ſeem to
be fitted by nature, as Italians are for muſic.
F3
70
Coregraphy, or the art of dancing, took its

riſe among them about the end oſ the fif
teenth century ; and in theſe latter times they
have produced the ballets of La Roſe, Ari
ane, Pygmalion, and many others, that ap
proach very near to the eitcellence of Pylades,
and of the moﬅ celebrated antient panto
mimes.
The French are the acknowledged maﬅers
in this ſchool of the imitative arts, nor ought
any other nation to be aſhamed to take leſſens
from them in this article of polite accom
pliſhment. We Italians, in particular, may,
without ceremony, receive from the French,
wherewith to render our Opera-exhibition
leſs imperfect, fince to us'the French are in
debted for the very inﬅitution of theirs.
7]
CHAP. V.
on SCENERY, Dness,'&c.
To the many improprieties, with which the

dances now abound, may be added thoſe ob
ſervable in the ornaments and dreſſes of the
dancers: for their dreſſes, as well as thoſe
of the fingers, ought to approach as near as
poffible to the manners of the times and na
tions which are repreſented ; I ſay as near as
poffible, becauſe the ﬅage muﬅ be allowed
occaſionally ſome liberties; and in this article,
more than in any other, ought it to avoid the
imputation of ﬅiffneſs, and pedantry. If,
on one hand, it is not expected, that our
artiﬅs plan out, hit eitactly, and trim up a
toga, or chlamys, in ſo accurate a man
ner, as they are deſcribed by the learned Fer
rario; yet, on the other, they never 'ſhould
be permitted to put pipes into the "mouths,
and Dutch breeches on the poﬅeriors of
Eneas's 'Trojan companions, But, in order
F 4
72
that dreſſes ſhould be appropriated according to

the Cuﬅom of a country, and be well fancied
at the ſame time, the affiﬅance of a Julio
Romano, and a Tribolo, would be wanted ;
becauſe in that article they have given proofs
of their ſkil] ; or at leaﬅ it would be neceſſary
that the perſons, who'ſuperintend the ward
robedepartment, were bleſs'd with a kindred
genius to thoſe eminent artiﬅs.
It would have been ﬅill more neceſſary for
'our modern painters to copy after a San Gallo
and a Peruzzi, becauſe we conſequently ſhould
not ſee in our theatres the temple of Jupiter
or Mars bear a reſemblance to the church of
jeſus, nor would the architecture of a piazza
in Carthage- have a gothic complexion ; for,
in all ſcene-painting, the coﬅume and pro
lpriety muﬅ be united. The ſcenery is the
iirﬅ object in an Opera that powerfully at
tracts the eye, that determines the place of
action, and co-operates chiefly to the illuſive
enchantment, that makes the ſpectator ima
gine himſelf to be tranſported either to
Egypt, to Greece, to Troy, to Mexico,
73
to the Elyſian Fields, or even up to Olym
pus.
'Who does' not now perceive of what im
portance it is, that the painter's imagination
ſhould be regulated by learning, and guided
by a correct judgment ? To this will greatly
contribute the peruſal of authors and con
verſation of learned men well (killed in the
cuﬅoms of antiquity. But the artiﬅ ſhould
have recourſe to no perſon preferably to the
poet, the author of the Opera, who, we
are to ſuppoſe, has preconceived in his mind
every article ; and to have omitted nothing
that can help to embelliſh, or make the action
he has choſen to exhibit, appear probable.
Although the painters of the fifteenth cen
tury are, without doubt, the moﬅ excellent,
yet the art of ſcene-painting received conſi:
derable improvements in the laﬅ age, and
the obvious reaſon is, the many theatres,
then'erected, gave occaſion to that ſpe
.cies of painting to become more com
mon; whence it neceſſarily followed, thata
greater number of ingenious perſons, apply-ing
74
themſelves to it, have brought it nearer to
perfection.
The dcviſed eontrivances oſ Giralomo
Genga, (extolled ſo much by Serlio) to
make, in the theatre of Urbino, trees, &e.
oſtbe fineﬅ ſilk, would now-a-days be claſſed
among the childiſh baubles that adorn the
manger, in the ſhews oſ Chriﬅ's nativity.
It is farther my opinion, that Serlio, from
whoſe treatiſe upon ſcenery there may ne
vertheleſs ſome good hints be taken, did not
ſufficiently conſider how, without the affiﬅ
ance of relievos in wood, we might conqucr
all the difficulties of perſpective -, and how, in
very confined fituations, we could repreſent
the appearance of cxtenſive ſpace; but to ſuch
a pitch the ſcience of deceiving the eye has
been improved in our time. The introduc
tion, eſpecially, of accidental points, or ra
ther the invention of viewing ſcenes by the
angle, produces the fineﬅ effects imaginable; '
but that requires the. niceﬅ judgment to
bring properly into'practice. F'ERDlNANDO
BIBIENA was- the inventor of thoſe fcene's, .
/.
75
which, by the novelty of the manner, drew
the eyes of all the curious upon him. They
ſoon began to look upon, as unpleafing ob
jects for a ﬅage, thoſe ﬅrcets, and narrow
paſſages, thoſe galleries that were always
made to tend to its center, there at once to
limit the ſpectators imagination and ſight.
He had ﬅudied the principles of his art in
V ignola under good maﬅers : moreover, be
ing endowed with a pictureſque and ani
mating fancy, he came to a reſolution of
giving a meaning to his ſcenes, after the
ſame manner as had been done before him,
by the painters in the fifteenth century, to
the figures of Bellini, Perrugi, and Man
tegna *.
Ferdinando Bibiena was the Paul Vcro
neſe of the theatre; and, like him, he en
joyed the glory of raifing his art to the ſum
mit, ſo far as relates to the magniſicent, and to
* 'ſhe writer of this eſſay bath in his poſſeſſion a large
volume of d-efigns by the ſame artiﬅ, which are I more
evincing proof of hls ſuperior merit, than theſe engrav'mgs
that are carried about in his name, and executed by Buſ
fagnoti and Abbati. -
76
a certain degree of the marvellous. He had

the luck too, like Veroneſe, of not eﬅa
blifhing it by the pupils reared up under
him. They employed all their pains in
imitating the eaſieﬅ part of his manner, which
was the whimſical; forgetting the funda
mentals of the art, by which means only
things are rendered probable: therefore, in
profeffing to follow, they went quite aﬅray
from their maﬅer.
The moﬅ new fangled whims, the moﬅ
out of the way conceits, that could be ima
gined, were the objects they delighted to re
preſent; and, not to mention a certain ar
bitrary perſpective of their own creation, they
beﬅowed the name of cabinet on what ought
to be called a large faloon, orra hall; and
the name of priſon on what might ſerve for a
portico, or rather for a piazza.
Vitruvius relates the following anecdote of
a painter, employed at Tralli to execute a
ſcene: He introduced therein ſome things,
that, without finning againﬅ verifimilitude,
could have no place there. The citizens,
77
however, were about honouring his perfor
mance with their approbation, it being in:
ſome parts finiſh'ed in a very maﬅerly manner.
But all on a ſudden, one Licinius, a ma
thematician, by thus accoﬅing them, opened
their eyes, " Do ye not perceive, my ſel
low citizens, that, if ye ſhould praiſe in
pictures what can neither ﬅand the ſcrutiny
of the judicious, nor be warranted by taﬅe,
your city will run a great riſk of beihg ranked
among thoſe that are not remarkable ſor a
keenneſs of underﬅanding *."
What would that mathematician ſay, were
he now alive, on hearing ſo much applauſe
' laviſhed by us on thoſe labyrinths oſþarchi
' tecture, thoſe crowded buildings, with which
our ſcenes are ſurcharged, and from which
all ſemblance of truth is excluded; or thoſe
unwieldy ſabricks, that appear neither to
ﬅand upright, nor to have a ſettled ſounda
tion; and where the columns, having their
architraves topſy-turvey, and jumbled with the:
'- Lib. vu. Cap. V.

78
roof, loſe themſelves in a ſea ofclouding rags,

ſuſpended in mid-air. Thelike blundering is 1
vifible in the volutcs, being executed in ſo
delective and lame a manner. But even
' among us there riſes up now and then a Li- -
cinius *. For ſomething ſimilar to what had
happened to the above-mentioned painter,
was the caſe of father Pozzi, one of the
maﬅers in the modern ſchool. In his'pic
ture of a cupola he made the columns to
lean upon little props, which was ridiculed
by ſeveral architects, declaring that, for any
conſideration, they would not have done the
like in a real ﬅructure. Nevertheleſs, they
were made to alter their opinion, as he him
ſelf relates, by a friend of his, who offered
to bind himſelf to pay all expences of an ex
periment to be made, if, in ﬅriking away
ſuch props, the columns ſhould fall. How
ever, that is but a poor excuſe ; as if archi
* Uei'um Dii inner-eale: fccſſne, 14: Lidniu: rr-ur'wfl cr'e, U

com-gme (9' barn: amn'riam.
Would to the immortal Gods, that Licinius were to riſe
up again to correct this madncſa.
79
tecture were not to be painted according to
rule, and as if what offends in a reality,
' would not offend the imagination in a picture.
To keep their conceptions within the
boundaries of prudence, it will be expedient
for painting artiﬅs never to be tired of ﬅu
dying thoſe vcnerable pieces of ancient ar
chitecture that are yet ﬅanding. India can
furniſh them alſo with ſeveral noble exam
pies, as can likewiſe Greece. To her we
are indebted ſor the revival of correct archi
tecture. Even Egypt, the firﬅ miﬅreſs of all
polite inﬅitutions, can ſupply many uſeſul
hints. And in effect, what can be more ſu
perh and awſul, not to mention the pyra
mids, than the remains oſ Memnon's palace,
that tower along the banks of the river
Nile, or of that ancient city Thebes, with
an hundred gates; all which the public can
now enjoy by the means of Norden's accu
rate perſormance'. They are admirable, not
only in their forms, but in the chaﬅe ormh
ments which they receive from the coloſſal
* See his Travels into Egypt.
80
parts, and the ſphynxes that accompany them,

becauſe therein moﬅ conſpicuouſſy appears
the Tuſcan manner; and iſ they were ſome
times, properly introduced on the ﬅage, they
would produce amazing effects.
China alſo, that ancient nurſery of the
arts, peopled, as ſome will have it, by a co
lony from Egypt, may alſo furniſh very beau
tiſul ſcenes. But, as I have above objected'
againﬅ the exhibition of any capricious
and fantaﬅical eombiriations, which, to the
diſgrace of our national taﬅe, have got too
great a footing among us, and have ſup
planted the learnedly groteſque compofitions
of Gioan da Udine, and of other cotempo
. rary maﬅers with him : I do not mean here
that our painters ſhould imitate either pagods
or towers oſ porcelain, unleſs the ſubject of
the Opera be Chineſe.
The objects I purpoſe to recommend to
t-he imitation oſ our artiﬅs, from which plea
ſing ideas will ariſe, and delightſul ſcenes
may be drawn, are the gardens oſ that moſt
ingenious nation ; for the gardeners there are
81
ſo many painters, who do not lay out thei_r
ground with the ſame regularity which ar
chitects obſerve in building houſes; no, they
take nature for their guide, and employ all
their efforts to imitate her noble diſregard of
ſymmetric order, and her fondneſs of variety.
Their favourite practice is to make a choice
of thoſe objects, which, in their ſeveral kinds
are moﬅ entertaining to the eye, Then they
arrange them in ſuch a manner, as that the
one may be a contraﬅ to the other, and
' that from the whole may reſult ſomething
new and uncommon. In their little woods
there is planted a lively intermixture of thoſe
trees, which are of a different appearance,
condition, colour, and nature. What a va
.riety of ſituations do they contrive to exhibit
in one place l Here \we are alarmed on view
ing rocks, cut in ſo artiſicial a manner, as
to appear pendulous in air; or caſcades of
water, burﬅing from Caverns and grottos,
'where they know how to make the light
play in various ways. In another part we are
charmed with the ſight of flowery parterres,
G
m-r-Tz-r- --*- -**-- << - - - . -

82
limpid canal's, lovely ifiands, crown'd with

pretty ediſices, whoſe reflexion is ſeen in the
water. Thus, from the moﬅ horrid proſ
pects, they waſt us in a moment to the
moﬅ enchanting; and from the marvellous
the delightſul is never ſeparate; to produce
which effect in a garden, coﬅs them as much
application and ﬅudy, as an author is ſubject
to in compofing the fable of a poem.
The Engliſh have derived their preſent
taﬅe in gardening from. the Chineſe, by
which means it is that their Kent and Cham
bers have ſo far ſurpaſſed Le Nautre, who
before their time was eﬅeemed to be the
unrivalled maﬅer of the art of laying out gar
dens. The French regularity is now baniſhed
from all the villas in England. The moﬅ de
lightful ſituations there have the complexion
of nature. Cultivated ground is intermixed
with parts neglected ; and a ſeeming irregula
tity is the effect of conſummate art '*.
* On a bad tafle in gardens.

His gardens next your admiration call;
On ev'ry fide you look, behold the will.
No
s;
But to return nearer home; what is the
reaſon our painters do not ﬅudy thoſe objects
that are under their eyes! Beſides the an
tient ediſices ﬅill ſubſiﬅing in Italy, the ele
gant fabries erected in modern times, might
often be introduced on the ſeenes without in
curring the charge ofimpropriety. And like
wiſe, why do they not ﬅudy thoſe plans of
architecture that adorn many of Paole's pic
tures, by which he may be ſaid to have ren
dered the events of hiſlory theatrical ? Why
alſo do they not ﬅudy the landfkips of Pouffin;
No pleaſing intricacies intervene,

No artful wildneſs to perplex the ſcene:
Crove nods at grove, each alley has a brother,
And halfthe platformjuﬅ refiects the other.
On a good taile in gardens.

Conſult the genius of the place in all,
That tells the waters or to riſe, or ſall,
Or helps th' ambitious hill the heav'ns to ſcale',
Or ſcoops in circling theatres the vale ;
Calls in the country, catches open glades,
Joins willing woods, and varies ſhades from fludes;
Now breaks, or now directs th' intending lines,
i'uints as you plant, and as you work dcſigns,
Pork;
Gz
84
of Titian, of Marchetto Ricci, and Claudio,
who all poſſeſſed the ſecret of obſerving and
collecting from nature her moﬅ valuable and
nttractive appearances? Finally, I would
adviſe thoſe painters, unendowed with ima
ginative powers, to betake themſelves to co
pying the pieces of the before-mentioned maſ
ters; and in ſo doing they would imitate that
worthy churchman, who, rather than peﬅer
an audiencc with his own nonſenfical ſer
mons, got by heart, and repeated to them
thoſe of Segneri.
Another moﬅ important article, not ſo
much attended to as it ſhould, is the not
leaving convenient x'openings in the ſcenes,
particularly of architecture, that the actors
may come on, and go off the Rage, in ſuch
a manner, as that their figures may appear,
to anobſerver's eye, to be in ajuﬅ proportion
with the columns. We often ſee them obliged
to advance from the bottom of the Rage, be
cauſe it is there that the only entrance is con
trived for them,which makes their perſons ſhew
very incongruous and offenſive to a diſcerning
85
ſpectator. The apparent magnitude of an ob
ject depends on a judicious compariſon made of
the exhibited figure, with its diﬅance from
us. So a figure, being ſuppoſed of ſuch a
magnitude, the farther it is diﬅant from us,
the greater the object will be eﬅeemed. And
hence may be affigned the reaſon why the
performers, preſenting themſelves from the
bottom of the ﬅage, appear like ſo many
towering giants, by the artiſicial magic of
the ſeene, through the illuſtve power of per
ſpective, inducing us to fancy them at a pro
digious diﬅance. Yet theſe imaginary giants
dwindle by degrees, as they come forward,
and are dwarfed down to their native ſize, as -
they approach nearer to us.
The ſame remark holds good in regard to
attendants, guards, &c. who ſhould never
be made -to zenter at that part of the ﬅage,
where the capitals of the columns riſe no
higher than their ſhoulders, or perhaps their
ſword-belts, which defeats all deception in
tended by the ſcenery. Let this be a general
caution ;-It requires the greateﬅ circumſpec
t
----- m *-- *' '* - '

86
tion in a director, where it is neceſſary to
blend ſalſhood with truth ; for if the one give
the lie to the other, a diſcovery enſues, and
the whole is rejected as an intended impo
ſition.
There yet remains an article to be men
tioned, and of equal importance with the
foregoing, though not ſufficiently conſidered,
and that erroneoufly; to wit, the illumination
of the ſcenes. What wonderful things might
not be produced by the light, when not diſ
penſed in that equal manner, and by de
grees, as is now the Cuﬅom. Were it to be
played off with a maﬅerly artiſice, diﬅributing
it in a ﬅrong maſs on ſome parts of the ﬅage,
and by depriving others, as it were, at the
ſame time; it is hardly credible what effects
might be produced thereby; for inﬅance,
a c/n'aro obſruro, for ﬅrength and vivacity, not
inferior to that ſo much admired in the
prints of Rembrant. '
And pray, why might not a repreſentation
of the pleafing mixtures of light and ſhade,
in the pictures of Giorgione or of Titian,
37
"be found practicable on the Rage? Nay, the
more ſo, when we call to mind thoſe little
__portable theatres, carried about under the
names oſ mathematical optic-views, that re
preſent ſea ports, fleets engaged, &e. Therein
the light is admitted through an oiled pa
per, that deadens ihe rays which might prove
too ﬅriking, and by that means is ſo at
tempered, that its various rays gently con
ſociate, and are reflected with the greateﬅ
harmony.
I alſo remember to have ſeen (on the oc
caſion of ſhewing one oſ the holy ſepul
chres, according to a practice at Bologna)
ſome very coarſe pictures upon the walls of
the church, and ſome contemptible Ratues,
that ſeemed no bettcrthan as iſmade of bundles
of coarſe paper, which nevertheleſs, byre
ceiving the light through ſome oiled papers
from lanterns, appeared, although near our
eyes, to be finiſhed to the life, and of the
pureﬅ marble. .
VVhenever a theatre ſhall be illuminated in
the manner it ought, then will manifeﬅly
G4
88
triumph the great advantage our dramatic re
preſentations by night have over thoſe of the
ancients, which were by day ; and then no
doubt but the" ſcenery, diſplayed in ſuch a
theatre, being executed by the moﬅ eminent
painters, remarkable too for their propriety
and elegance, will not only pleaſe above,
but even ſuperſede all thoſe capricious &age
cxhibitions, that have ſhamefully been hi
therto ſo much in vogue, and are even no'w
ſo much extolled by certain would-be con
nolſſeu'rs, who examine nothing, yet decide
upon every thing.
Then ſuch a revolution will happen in
the Italian as once happened in the French
theatre; when, after the long reign of Spa
niſh abſurdities, which were a diſgrace to
Thalia, her favourite Molicre's judicious
and natural comic pieces appeared. Rapid
was the ſucceſs they obtained through that
reſiﬅleſs power, which truth hasupon the
minds of mankind, when once they are
made acquainted with her. At that glo- -
rious cpoch, did the learned Menagius
89
exultingly cry out, 5' Now, at laﬅ, the time
- is come to knock down thoſe idols, before
whoſe unhallowed ſhrines the mifled na
tives of France have ſo long burnt in
cenſe."
90
CHAP. VI.
ON THE STRUCTURE OF THEATRES.
Thus far we have treated of all the conR-i

tuent parts of an Opera, that want to be cor
fected, and ﬅand greatly in need ofa thorough
reformntion. The defire ofpleafing too much,
was the principal cauſe of each Rraying be
yond its due bounds ; by which tranſgreffions,
they have ſpoiled a Compoſition, whoſe
beauty ſhould reſult from all the parts being
properly adjuﬅed together, and amicably cO
operating with each other.
From the ſame ſource too, another fault
has ſprung; and that is, when, in theſe
latter times, an opportunity of building a
pew theatre preſented it-ſelf, architecture, ,
ſeized by the ſame contagious diﬅemper, in
Read of conſidering the uſe and intent for
which the ﬅructure was propoſed, thought of
3
. .... _,.._.-_
91
nothing but giving a looſe to ornamental at-z
.chievings, and all the expenſive pomp of her
art; which, indeed, rendered ſuch ediſices
beautiful to the eyes of common beholders,
but to the judicious they appeared culpable,
becauſe deviating from their intent.
As many debates upon this head, ſet the
curious about enquiring what were the fitteﬅ
materials to build a theatre with, as well as
about the dimenſrons and form it ought
to have, and the diſpoſition of the boxes,
and how they ſhould be decorated; it will
not be departing from our ſubject, to ex
amine thoſe articles a little. For fince, as
far as in our power lay, the requiſite form of
an Opera has been delineated; it is not im
proper now, to determine the moﬅ commo
dious form that can be given to the ſabric in
which it is to be exhibited, for thejoint en
"tertainment of our ſight and hearing.
In regard to the firﬅ article, the materials,
we cannot but very much approve the practice
of thoſe, who in building theatres, contrive
that the galleries and the ﬅairs be of brick or
92
ﬅone: for beſides the perpetuity ſuch materials

give to a building, they are its beﬅ inſurance
againﬅ ſire, to which theyare more liable than
any other kind of ﬅructure *. Why then,
whether for the ſake of the ſabric's per
petuity, or through a miﬅaken notion of
magniſicence, have not ſome artiﬅs taken it
into their heads to make the boxes, and the
interiour parts looking towards the ﬅage, of
ﬅone ?-Becaufe, ſuch a proceeding would
militate againﬅ the chief end an architect
ſhould propoſe to himſelfin erecting a theatre,
to wit, that its ſonoreity ſhould be ſuch, as
that the voices of the fingers may be heard as
diﬅinct as poffible, and rendered, at the ſame
time, both melodious and pleafing to the ears
of an audience.
Daily experience teacheth .us, that in a
box, whoſe walls are naked, the finger's voice
is reverberated in a particular manner; it
ſounds crude and harſha and by no means
flatteringto the ear. The accents are quite loﬅ,
* In Italy.
93
* if the box be hung with tapeRry ; whereas, they
are reflected full, ſonorous, and agreeable to
the ear, when the boxes are only boarded;
which is an obvious proof, and confirmed by
experience, that the beﬅ lining for the inte
riour part of a theatre is wood, and, preſer
ably, that ſpecies of which muſical inﬅru
ments are made, on account of its being more
apt than any other, when ﬅruck by ſound,
to be agitated by the kind of vibrations, that
are the moﬅ analogous with the organ of
hearing.
The ancients, it is true, had vaſes made of
bronze, fixed in certain places of their thea
tres, in order to encreaſe the ſound of the
actor's voice; but ſuch ediſices, among them,
were made of ſolid materials, viz. Rone,
cement, or marble, which, are by no means
reſounding: while, on the contra-ry, ſuch re
fources were unneceſſary, in thoſe made of
wood; whoſe gift it is, as Vitruvius aſſerts,
to reflect ſounds *.' And thus this great
* Ieaque .ex In" indagalionſflu: marbe'meirir mh'anibue fiunt

q'aſa mea, pro raeion: mgnimdinii 'bealrt'.-Dicee aliguisfuree
'in/la
94
maﬅer, among the ancients, comes now, as it
were, by the rebound, to teach us moderns,
what are the proper materials for conﬅructing a"
theatre. Be it however remembered, that
wood ſo employed, ought to be properly
ſeaſoned, and to be made throughout equally
ſmooth and even; by which expedient, the
vibrations will not come riding, as one may
ſay, one upon the other ; and that wood
will reverberate the ſonorous rays in the moff
regular manner, whoſe every fibre is vibrated
alike.
Many perſons think, that the vaﬅneſs of a
theatre contributes much to its beauty. It is
certain, that large ediſices have wherewithal
to ſurprize, and pleaſe the human mind ; but
it is neceſſary, that in this article, as well as
in every other, certain' regulations and boun
daries ſhould be obſerved.
'ny/la lSeal'd Rom' quomnim facta effi, 'ligne e'l/am rationem

earum rerum in birfrxi e ; ſed arm-vil In eo, quod omnia, Publi-u
jwm'L-Cmn
Iigm'a rbear'a fi--/'m
eabula/inn:
exſolia'ixbabene
rebu: ebmlra
rcmffllurer,
mqﬅieuuneur,
gun: 'reegffle
ie! eﬅ,
txﬅruc'iura rmmeorum, lapide, mannere, greaſe/'are non Paffi-nl,

lne ex bis ben-akin: full! cxplimnda. Vitr. lib. v. c. 5.
95
The extent of a place, Vitruvius declares,
ſhould always be in proportion to the multi
tude of the inhabitants ; ſo that on one hand,
the ſpace 'allotted ſhould not be too narrow
for conveniency and uſe, and on the other,
through the fewneſs of the people, the forum
ſhould not appear ſolitary and unfrequented *.
Now, without inſiﬅing upon the abſurdity of
a large theatre being built for a ſmall diﬅrict,
let us conſider, that the meaſure of the length
of the parterre or pit, and ſize of a theatre, is '
the performers reach of voice, and none other.
For it would be equally ridiculous in any per
ſon, to have a theatre built ſo large, as that
people 'could not hear in it, as in an engineer,
to make the works of a ſortreſs in ſuch a man
ner, as that they could not be defended ;
which will always be the caſe when the line
of defence, or the length of the curtain that
ought to be the module for all the parts of
* Magnieudi-m aumn ad Mpias lum/'num opoml fen', "e

par-vumjþariumſir aduſum, an! mpropler inopiampopuli 'w'-Firm
ſmcm rvideaeur. Lib. v. e. v.
96
a fortiſication, are not made in a due reference

. to the reach of the muſketry.
That the ancients had theatres much larger
than ours, is not to be doubted ; wherefore,
beſides the vaſes of bronze which they made
uſe of to ﬅrengthen the voice, the mouth oſ
the maſks which the actors wore, were con
trived ſo as to ſpread themſelves outwards like
a ſpeaking trumpet: by ſuch devices, the
natural power of the voice was greatlyen
creaſed. But we, being deprived of ſuch aſ
ſiRance, muﬅ confine ourſelves to narrower
bounds; fince who would be defirous of hear
ing the voice raiſed like to that of a crier; in
other words, who would be defirous of
truth disfigured by a miſrepreſentation of
nature ?
As moﬅ people are captivated with what
appears grand and magnificent, ſome were
induced 'to reſolve on having a theatre built of
an exceffive extent, and out of all reaſon,
where, however, they ſhould hear commo
dioufly ; which to effect, they made the Rage
whereon the actors perform, to be advanced
4.
97
into the parterre ſeveral Feet ; by 'that ex'
pedient, the actors were brought forward into
the middle of the audience, and there was no
danger then of their not being heard. But
ſuch a contrivance can only pleaſe thoſe, who
are very eaſily to be ſatisfied. For who that re
flects, does not ſee that ſuch a proceeding is
ſubverſive of all good order and prudent re
gulation.
The actors, inﬅead of being ſo brought
forwards, ought to be thrown back at a cer
tain diﬅance from the ſpectator's eye, and
iiand within the ſcenery of the ﬅage, in- order
to make a part of that pleafing illuſion for
which all dramatic exhibitions are calculated;
But by ſuch a Prepoﬅerous invei ſion of
things, the very intent oſ theatric repreſenta
tion is deﬅroyed ; and the propoſed effect de
ſeated, by thus detaching actors from the
precincts oſ the decoration, and dragging them
forth from the ſcenes into the midﬅ oſ the
parterre; which cannot be done by them
without ſhewing their ſides, or turning their
(houldcrs to a great part of the audience, be
H
98
ſides many other inconveniencies; ſo that

what was conceived would prove a remedy,
became a very'great evil.
Some were oſ opinion, that notwithﬅand
ing the largeneſs of a theatre, its: interior
formation might greatly contribute to render
it commodious for hearing. They tortured
their brains not a little to demonﬅrate ſuch
problematic doctrine; but without applying
much to geometry for her affiﬅance in their
puzzlcd ſituation; For the better 'elucidation
oſ their meaning, they made choice of the
figure of a bell preferably to all others, and
' to which they were pleaſed to give the epithet
of phonic. _
According to thoſe Wiſeacres, the mouth of
the bell anſwers to the opening of the ﬅage,
and the middle box is placed where the clap
per- ofa bell is ſuſpended from. It is not dif
ficult to diſcover, how ſuch a notion could
be received ; it was, from the ſimilitude
or analo-gy which unphiloſophical ' heads
thought they diſcovered, between the figure
ofa bell and the ſound it gave. But how
99
groundleſs ſuch r aſoning is, will readily ap
pear; the concave figure of a bell, with its
out-ſpreading lips, are extremely well ſitted
for the ſpreading abroad on every ſide, the
ſound which tho clapper excites by ﬅriking
on the lips ; the bel] being ſuſpended on high,
ſoon throws into agitation the ocean of air
that ſurrounds it. What can be thence in
ferred? Is it to be expected that the voice of
a finger, who is placed. as it were, in the
mouth of the bell of the Rage, can cauſe the
like effect in the internal parts of it.
An abſurdity oſ this ſort, can only be a
dopted by ſuch underﬅandings as believe, that _
the perſon who is born under the ſign of
Aquarius, will undergo great perils upon ſea;
or by thoſe, who, againﬅ the bite of a ſer
pent, preſcribe, as a ſovereign ſpcciſic, the ſer
pentine wood, becauſe it reſembles a ſerpent;
with many other inferenttis equally ridicu
lous, yet have been eﬅeemed as the legitimate
children of analogy, when the ſyllogiﬅic ſo
phiﬅry of the ſchools had diſgraced the name
of Philoſophy. Beſides the. inconveniencies
ll 2
IOO
already recited, there are others annexed ''to

the figure of a-bell, in the ſenſe thoſe pſeudo-
connoiſſeurs would apply it ; as the narrowing,
in the manner oſ a bell towan's'its upper
part, the area of the parterre, and thereby
ſcreening ſeveral boxes from a view oſ the
ﬅage, &e.
Shouldwe perchance be asked, -lrVhat thenis
them'oﬅcommodious ſhape that can be given to
the interior part oſa theatre, and which oſthe
curve lines is the moﬅ eligible for diſpoſmg.
the boxes in the beﬅ manner? Our anſwer
is; the ſame that the ancients made uſe of in
their theatres, the ſeini-eircular. '
It is well known, that oſ all the'figures oſ
an equal perimeter, the circle .is that which
contains the greateﬅ ſpace. Therefore, the
ſpectators placed in a ſemi-circle, are all prec
ſented in a like manner towards the ﬅage, of
which they have a full view, their hearing
and ſeeing being alike uninterrupted. So true
itis, that, aſtcr all the wanderings from art',
in curious reſearehes, we are often obliged
to return to the ſimple and plain inﬅructions
10!
ſhe had delivered to our ſoreſathers. There

is one inconveniency which the ſemi-circle,
as employed in modern theatres hath, and
which proceeds from our ﬅage being built in
a different manner from that of the ancients,
whereby the opening of it is too large for the
ſide parts of the audience to ſee well. But
the cauſe of this complaint might be very
ſoon removed. There needs no more than to
change the ſemi-circular into a ſemi-eliptic
form, which comprehends almoﬅ the ſame ad
Vantages; and"then its minor axis might be
the opening of the ﬅage, and its larger allot
ted for the ſpcctators.
There is yet a better manner of arranging
the boxes; and for which invention we are
indebted to Andrea Sighizzi, the ſcholar of
Brizio and Dentone ; he was the predeceſſor
ofBibiena; his method though, had been ap
proved, and made uſe ofeven by them, The
plan he followed was, that the boxes, accord
ing as they were to be removed from the ﬅage
towards the bottom of the theatre, ſhould
continue gradually rifing by ſome inches one
Hs
102
above the other, and gradually reeeding to the

ſides by ſome inches ; by which means, every
box would have a more commodious view of
the Rage; and the ſight of one, could not be
intercepted by the other, eſpecially if the
Partition that ſeparates them were made per- '
vious, in a rack-like form, as may be ſeen in.
the Formagliari theatre atBologna, finiſhed
in this manner, under the direction of Si
ghizzi.
The boxes, be they ever ſo well arranged,
have yet one ſaſhionable vice to get rid of,
viz. thoſe ornamental parts that have too
much relievo, too many ſwellings and finuous
cavities ; becauſe the voice, by ſuch inequa-
lities, is reverberated irregularly, and in part
loﬅ. For ever be baniſhed from the in
terior part of a theatre, that kind of orna
menting which repreſents the orders of archi
tecture : a pedantic affectation devolved to us
from the fifteenth century; at which period no
ſcrivener's office, or even a ſami-ly-cupboard,
was made without being ridiculoufly adorned
with all the orders ofthe Coliſcum; but ſuch
103
miſplaced decorations are not ſuitable to a
theatre.
The pilaﬅers and columns that are made
to the boxes, as their elevation can be but
of a ſew feet, preſent a bad appearance,
they ſeem dwindled into pygmies, by lofing
ſo much of thatloftineſs and dignity which
is their natural right. The ornaments above,
although the cornices be architraved, are too
high for the ſize of ſimple boxes ; beſides, their
purpoſe is nothing more than to ſeparate one
range of boxes ſrom anoth'er.--But this is not
all that is exceptionable here, ſor as to act
conſormahly to the laws oſ architecture, it is
neceſſary to give to the upper ranges, a greater
air of lightneſs, what the Itaiians call
Srucleezza, than to the inſerior 3 conſequently
the bcxes muﬅ be different in height, whence
the internal part of the theatre, is made like
a ſemi-zone or tower ; and thus, without
any neceffity, the ſpectarors in the upper-
moﬅ range oſ boxes, are quite thrown out ſrom
the point oſview, which is ſettled by the mid
dle box in the firﬅ range; or elſe, there will
H4
a'
104
be but few ranges of boxes made, and thereby
a great ſpace will be loﬅ.
Let the architect, whoſe province it is to
Ornament the interiour parts of a theaire in a.
proper manner, condeſcend to take for model,
a certain ſpecies of the groteſque, which is yet
to be ſeen in ancient pictures; and alſo of the
gothic, they being nearly a-kin; this pro
-poſal, we are well aware, will ofle"nd over
nice modern ears.
My meaning is, that I 'would have the
props of the boxes to be made very flender,
having but a ſmall weight to ſupport. Let
the Ornaments above, be narrow and con
fined; but in all the parts, oſ a light and
delicate workmanſhip. In fine, the archi
tect's principal care, ſhould be to leave no ar
ticle unremcdied that might any way tend to
impede the view; and at the ſame time, to
let no gaping chaſm appear, by any ſpace re
maining unoccupied, and loﬅ to every ſervice
able purpoſe. Let him alſo contrive, that the
audience may appear to form a part of the
ſpectacle to each other-, rangcd as bobks are
105
are in a library. For producing ſuch an ef
fect, no better example Can be propoſed, than
the theatre of Faunus, admirably deſigned by
Jacopo Torelli; who, in the' laﬅ century,
having paſſed many years oſ his life in France,
was afterwards ennobled by his country.
An- architect will find opportunities of' diſ
playing his talent-5 and judgment in directing
the workmanſhip, as well as the ornamental
part of the boxes, and of the reﬅ of the
theatre. That artiﬅ will juﬅly merit our
praiſe, who will order the carving in wood to
be light, but with taﬅe at the ſame time; and
he will be indulged in diſplaying all the pomp
and magniſicence of his art on the outſide, in
galleries, niches, balconies, &e. I have ſeen
two plans' in Italy, wherein no article was
wanting, even for modern dramatic'repreſen
tations, yet all the maj-eﬅy'of the Grecian
theatre was preſerved.
One of them was the performance of Tom
maſo Temanza, a man of extraordinary me
rit; and 'wh0, by his Writings, has given
new life to Sauſovino and Palladio : the other
' I
106
was the production of the Conte Giralomo

dal Pozzo; who, by his works, has revived
in Verona, his native country, the grateful
memory of Samnichele. The theatre, which
was dedicated ſome years ago in Berlin to
Apollo and the Muſes, does not ſall far ſhort -
of their idea, and is ranked among the
firﬅ rate ornaments of that imperial city.
107
CONCLUSIOÞL
There yet remain ſeveral articles that

might be added to a ſubject oſ this nature,
which is the reſult oſ ſo many different arts,
each in itſelf important, copious, and not
ignoble. Let it however ſuffice, for me to
have pointed out the way thus far, having
propoſed to myſelfno other view, than to ſhew
the intimate connection that ought to be
kept up among the ſeveral conﬅituent parts
Of the muſical drama or opera; by which
means, the effect will be one regular and
harmonious 'who/e. The doctrine here laid
down will be found ſufficient, whenever it
ſhall be ſo lucky as to be honoured by the
countenance of a ſovereign, bleſſed with a
refined underﬅanding and delicacy of taſle;
becauſe, through ſuch a wiſhed-ſor pro-
tection, may be reﬅored to its ancient rank in
108
the public's eﬅeem, a ſpecies of ſcenical ex

hibition, to whoſe accompliſhment and final
embelliſhing, all the polite arts emuloufl-y
concur. Therefore, for many other rea
ſons that might be affigned, it is an object
not unworthy oſa place in the attention even
of thoſe who govern kingdoms.
At ſo happy an epoch as that hinted here, .
we ſhould behold the theatres no longer as a
place deﬅined for the reception of a tumultu
ous aſſembly, but as the meeting of a ſolemn
audience ; where an Addiſon, a Dryden, a
Dacier, a Muratori, a Gravina, a Marcelli,
might be ſpectators, without the leaﬅ diſ
paragement to their judgments.
Then would the Opera be no longer called
an irrational, monﬅrous, and groteſque com
pofition: on the contrary, it would diſplay
a lively image of the Grecian tragedy, in
which, arcþitecture, poetry, muſic, dancing,
and every kind of dheatrical apparatus united
their efforts to create an illuſion of ſuch re
fiﬅleſs power over the human mind, that
from the combination of a thouſand Pleaſures,
109
formed ſo extraordinary a one, as in-orur world
hasinothing to equal it *.
But fince, agreeably to what I have-ad
vanced in the beginning of this eſſay, the
drama or poem oſ an Opera, is to contain in
it every part, the ground work oſ every
beauty; it is upon the well conducting of
that, the-ſucceſs of the whole muﬅ depend
I therefore thought it not unneceſſary to
give two examples of a drama, according
to the manner l have deviſed. One of them
IENBAS m TRoY; the other, IPHIGENlA
IN Auusf.
The ſormer, is but the emhrio of a drama,
the latter is a ſiniſhed one.
* Hfim/ ſe remIre a ce pale/'s magr'gue,

Ou lee lmulx vere, [a danſe, la 'na/fyue,
L'art de eromper lee yeux Pa' In ron/eun',
De rer-xplaffinfone 'm plaz'ſir um'gue.
Let ua repair to that gay magic temple, where the power

of' verſe, oſdancing, and of muſic, joined to the ſweet em
belliſhments oſpainting, can make ſuch various chavms com
bine to form one bliſsſul ſcene. VOLTAXRZ
f An lp_ igcnia in Aulis, has been repreſentcd at'tho

theatre royal in Berlin, with the greateﬅ Applauſe.
XIO
Eneas in Troy, is little more than the ſe

cond book of the ffineid of Virgil, put into
action, with ſome few alterations, in order to
make every incident, as it ſhould, refer to
ZEneas, who is the principal actor in the
piece.
The other drama, Iphigenia in Aulis,
is the ſubject Euripides repreſented on the
Athenian ﬅage ; and which, in modern times,
has been transferred from the Grecian to
the French theatre, by the affecting muſe
of the tender Racine.
In ſome parts of the fable I have followed
the ancient poet, in others the modern:
aſſuming to myſelf the liberty, among 'other
things, of departing occaſionally from the_
one, where neceſſary to render the action
quite ſimple; and from the other, to exhibit
Iphigenia with a conſiﬅeney of character
ſuitable to the raſeume of her age and country.
_ For though ſhe hath a fondnefs for life,
through that natural ſenſation common to all;
yet, as aGrecian princcſs, and daughter of
Agamemnon, ſhe meets her fate with a b'e- .
._.--_þ-:-*--.--_..._
Xll
coming fortitude. In my lketch, ſhe is not

made a timid fuppliant from the beginning,
and by a ſudden change at the end, entirely
the reverſe, as Euripides hath drawn her 5
for which irregular deviation in point of cha
racter, and palpab-le violation of the czſtume,
he was juﬅly ccnſured by Ariﬅotle in his Art
of Poetry'*. ' _
iVhere I have copied Racine, I have made
uſe of his diction as far as my abilities would
permit. Where I have followed Euripides's
plan, Brumoy's tranſlation anſwered my purn
poſe, and the more ſo', as I am confident that
the Grecian poet himſelf, had it been his lot
to write in French, could not have cloathed
his ſentiments with a happier diction.
What I have added of my own, hath been
executed in the beﬅ manner I could, in order
to make the whole wear a congenial ſemblance
oſ ﬅyle, in order that it ſhould not appear
like a piece of moſaic work, made partly of
_ r' \ " ' a
* Ear' de Vmpoirluyzaa Tomgia; (Air new; . - - o
TOU-.. di'\ &rupahu
1 57. ey. aiuhiar ip'ys'yra,
. &ualir ydcg Yoimrvſſv
.. ,_
ix'ruiowa rn ver-eige
.
[12
Rones, and partly of glaſs. My intent in

theſe eſſays, is to enforce by example, the
doctrine I have delivered, and to preſent it to
the reader's eye in a. more ﬅriking point of
light; that he, in conſequence, may have
clearer idcas, and form to himſelſa founder
judgment, whether the rules' communicated
be practicable or not; although at the ſame
time I may, perhaps, be conſidered not un
like to that individual, who, having compoſed
the beﬅ rules imaginable for tacties, yet could
not command twenty grenadiers to' wheel
about to the right.
113
ZENEAS IN TROY--
'
" -- Quzque z'þﬅz mrﬅrrz'ma r

Ee quorum pa'rs mdgnafw'. '
. ,' - v
' The perſonag'es 'to he' _ reprefented are,

d'En'eas, Priam, Paris,A'n'chiſes, I_ulus, Sinon,
Pyrrhus, Calchas, Caſſandra, Hecuba,Creuſa.
The choruſſes are to conſiﬅ of Trojan men"
' a"nd women, as well a's o'f the deities, both
adveriſe, and friendly to Troy.
* The ſcene of 'the firﬅ act, exhibits the
country adjacent to Troy; the wooden horfe'
ſi on one ſide. - Priam advances from the city,
at the head of the principal Trojans; cele

brates the flight of the Greeks, and the de-'
livcrance of his kingdom. The old king en
joys a rapturous triumph, on beholding the
(hote cleared of his enemies, and their ſhips;
I
114.
obſerving-Here the dolopian camp was
pitched; in this place many a battle
fought, .
.-.- bit-ſtout eenddm Achilles,
and here the fierce Achilles looſ'd his

vengeful ire. Hecuba, at theſe words, calls -
to mind her ſon Hector, whom Achilles
had flain, and afterwards dragged his body
round the walls of Troy. The chorus
comfort her, joining at the ſarne time with
Priam, to celebrate the flight of the Greeks ;
of which ſhameſul departure, the Horſe,
conſecrated to Minerva, will prove a perpe
tual monument." ' '
In the midﬅ of their fong and dance of joy,
enters Caſſandra, ' ct ct ' ' -' A
Ver-ate ſemþr', t non creduea mar',
Anncuncing always truth, yet ne'er believed.

She prophecies that day to be Troy's laﬅ, and
counſels them to plunge the wooden horſe into
the ſea 5 adding, ' ' ' '
1 15
-- eimco Dame: ee danafererzeu,
I dread the Greeks, eſpecially when they offer

preſents. ZEneas accoﬅs her, and is of opinion,
' that the horſe ſhould be examined, whether
any am.buſh were therein concealed by the
Greeks; but he is oppoſed by many. Priam
invokes the tutelary gods of Troy to inſpire
him for the beﬅ ; while the reﬅ ſacriſice to the
' river Xanthus, and to the nymphs' of mount
Ida, inviting them to deſcend, and join with
Venus, to partake of a feﬅive ſong and choral
dance, upon the ſpot where lately Mars
enjoyed'the cruel ſport of war.
In the ſecond act, Sinon is brought a pri
ſoner before the king, and utters to him that
ſpeech, in which Virgil, by his harmonious
numbers, hath tranſmitted to us a noble and
energetic ſpecimen oſ Grecian eloquence.
In vain doth IEneas make every effort to op
poſe the horſe's being admitted within the
walls of Troy. The art of Sinon finally prc*
vails, and vanquiſhcs a people,
- ' I 2
no
Qzm atque fljrdider, m: Larz'ffieus ſirbi/lc-r,

Non anni domuerc decem, non miI/e Carinze,
Whom neither Diomed, nor Lariſſa's chief,

nor ten years conflict, nor a thouſand ſhips,
could e'er ſubdue. Paris, with an inﬅrument of
muſic in his hand, commences an hymn to
Venus and Minerva, now reconciled : at the
ſame time, part of the city wall is broken
down, for the eaſier introduction of the horſe,
which is drawn within its precincts, amidﬅ
ſongs of joy and feﬅive dances, by the in
fatuated Trojans ; '
--- puen' a"reum'in'zupexque puellas _

Sarra canune, funemqut mami Wrieings-r:
gaudene;
Their blooming youths and lovely maids

ſing votive ﬅrains around, rejoicing to touch
with eager hands, the cords that pull it on.
The third act is begun by ZEneas, who,
rowſed in the early part of the night from
his fleep, by a terrifying vifion of Hector,
repairs to his tomb with preſents and offer
\
117
ings; there commiſerates the deﬅiny of his
country, and calls upon the immortal gods to
witneſs, that he had done all that was in his
power, to prevent the fatal horſe from being
brought within the city. He farther entreats
the Gods, to endow him with a courage like
to that of Hector, when he ſet fire to the Gre
cian ſhips; in order, that if his country be
doomed to fall, it may not fall unrevenged.
He then (hapes his courſe to Priam's palace.
The ſcene changes to an ample area be
fore the temple of Pallas, where the horſe is
lodged as a ſacred depoſit. Sinon relates to_
Calchas and Pyrrhus (come from within the
horſe) how hisfine-laid ſcheme had like to have
miſcarried through the oppoſition of Eneas :
when he remonﬅrates, that one of the firﬅ and
moﬅ neceſſary articles to be done for the inſur
ing ſucceſs, is to diſpatch ZEneas, being, fince
"Hector's death, the braveﬅ warrior" Troy can
boaﬅ of: During-this ſpeech, the Grecian'
'are teen to deſcend from the horſe.
Calchas animates them in a few words to
deﬅroy the hoﬅile city, then commences a
I 3
_\
118
cnntata in a low voice, to which the Greeks

anſwer alſo in the ſame way. About the
end of the chorus, a battle is begun at
the bottom of- the ﬅage, between the
guards of the citadel, and ſome Grecians deſ
cended from the horſe, who want to make
themſelves maﬅers of the ſort. The tumul-t
encreaſes by the arrival of the Grecian troops
ſrom without the city. Calchas and Sinon,
at the front of the ﬅage, pray in a loud voice.
And, at certain intervals, the cries, the
groans and lamentations, of people wounded
and expiring, are made to concert with their
ſongs.
The ſcene of the ſourth act is in the court
yard of Priam's palace.
Edibus in mediis, nudoqueſub cee/mis axe

Ingem arafm"e, juxtaquc weeerrima laund,
Imumbem are, aeque umbrzi complcxa Permm: _ _
In the midﬅ of the imperial edifice, and under

the open air, ﬅands a great altar ; near to it
a laurel tree leaning upon the ſhrine, and
with its foliage, hoſpitably embraeing the
119
houſhold gods. There afflicted Hecuba is ſeen
with ſome Trojan dames, who, all fearful and
ſu'ppliant, claſp the ﬅatues of the gods- Old
Priam comes on at one 'ſide of the Rage, ſcarce
ableto walk,being whelmed under an unwieldy
weight of arm-ou'r,which, vainly, he would put
on. Hecuba no ſooner fees, than (he haﬅes
to place him in the conſecratefl feat near the
altar, and thu-s addreſſes him,
Quae omis eam dira, mifirrzſime conjux,
Impulie bis cingi eells ? aue guo ru'is ?-
Nor' eali auxilio, her defl'zſoribu: z-ji'i: ;
Temper: eget 3
unhappy huſb'and, what fatal reſolution hath

impelled you to be thus clothed in armour ;
or whither do you ruſh ? Alas, the preſent cala
'mity requires not ſuch affiﬅanc'e as thine,
nor ſo unavailing a defence. For if Troy
can yet. be ſaved, it muﬅ be by [Eneas's
valour only ; who now defende the tower of
the palace, and by the [laughter of ſo many
Greeks, hath in part avenged the havock
of his country. _
la
120
One of the principal Trojan dames re

-marlts, how much more advantageous it
might have proved, to pay a proper attention
to the advice of jEneas, and the prophecy of
'Caſſandra.. On the inﬅant, a tremendous
noiſe is heard of the tower falling to the
ground. Hecuba begins a prayer to the gods,
in which ſhe beſeeches them to preſerve from
captivity the concubines of Priam, and his
queene-The other women have hardlytime to
reaſſume the votive ﬅrain, when Pyrrhus
enters, purſuing Polites, who falls dead at
his father's feet. Next follows, the ſpeech of
Priam, ﬅrongly accompanied. Then the
diﬅ-reﬅ old king
Tc/um imlzelleſine z-ctu

Caije"czcte,
lets fly a weak and ineffectual arrow at

Pyrrhus; who replies, according to the words
in Virgil, and kills the aged monarch. The
women fill the air with ſhrieks; Pyrrhus
orders them to be-conducted to the filips oſif
Greece, and goes oſſ in queﬅ offEneas. The
r
r1 I
12!
Trojan prince enters from ihe oppoſite ſlLlC of

the ﬅage, and deſcrying Priam flain, make:
a ſhort lamentation over him,
H-zec fim"s Priami faeorum --
ſuch is the end 'of Priam's fate. And

ﬅraight bethinks him of his own aged fire,
Anchiſes; and his young ſon Iulus. But
-having formed a reſolution to periſh with
his country, and to wreak. ſome ſhare of
vengeance either on Helen, or on Sinon ; his
mother Venus appears, and ſhews to him the
adverſe deities to Troy, all zealoufly con
fcderated in its overthrow. -jEneas being
gone off the Rage, achorus ſucceeds by thoſe
deities, and a ballet by ſuries.
In the fifth act is introduced, in the refi
dence of ſEneas, that noble contention,
ſo maﬅerly expreſſed by Virgil, between
Anchiſes, determined to expire with Troy,
and his ſon ſEnsas, reſolved to fnatch him
from falling into the hands of the Gre
cian ſpoilers. Not being able to prevail,
herefumes his arms, to rally out again among
' 'I 4
127.
the Greeks ; but as Creuſa and Iulus, lay hold

on ffineas to ﬅop him, a ſudden miraculous
flame deſcends from heaven, and plays in-'
offenſively round the head of little Iulus.
Thunder is heard on the leſt ſide l Stricken
with ſuch admonitions from above, Anchiſes
conſents at laﬅ to depart. '
The ſcene changes, and preſents the hor
rible view of a di-ſmantlcd city, half of it a..
prey to flames ;
I-Iumi ſumae A-cpeum'a Troja,
Troy, which Neptune built, now ſmoak-'s_

upon the ground. The chorus here, is to
conſiﬅ of Trojans deploring their ciilamity;
and of Grecians inſulting them as they
march 5 the Coryphzeus is crnel Cal
chas. þ '
As ſoon as the ﬅage is cleared, [Eneas
enters, ſeeking for, and calling Creuſa,
who, in the flight, had loﬅ her way. He:
ghoﬅ appears' to him, and ſoretels, firﬅ,
his deﬅined wanderings on the ſeaj and next,
s
123
his founding a new empire: at that word,
through the ſmoke of Troy, muﬅ be ſeen to
blaze forth, with reſplendent glory, the ca
- pitol. Immediately follows achorus of dei
ties; and a ballet by Rome's protecting
genii.
IPHIGENIA '1.N AULIS.
ANOPERA.
Wot victim: in nail

THE PERSONAGES.
AGAMEMNON
AcnrtLes
ULYSSES
CLYTEMNESTRA, wife of Agamemnon
IPHrcENrA, daughter of Agamemnon
CALcHAs, high prieﬅ
ARCAS, one ofAgamemnon's houſhold officers
A BAND of ſoldiers belonging to Agamemnon
A BAND of Grecian nymphs
A BANDlof virgins conſecrated to Diana
A BANn of prieﬅs
A BAND of flavcs, captiv'es, and ſoldiers be
longing to Achilles.
'
127
IPHIGENIA IN AULIS.
AC_T I.
The theatre repreſents the Grecian camp,
near the city of Aulis. A fleet of ſhips is
ſeen at the bottom of the ﬅage. On the
' front part of it is the entrance to the royal
tent ofAgamemnon. The theatre, dark
at firﬅ, becomes gradually enlightened,
S C E N E I,
AonMEMNoN, ARCAS.
AGAMEMNON.
Come Arcas ; haﬅe: obey your ſov'reign's call.
ARCAS.
X-Vhy thus great king ſore-run the morning's
dawn ?
No-e'yes but yours in Aulis do yet wake;
The birds, the winds, the Euripus is ﬅill,
An univerſal ſilence reigns o'er all.
128
A o A ME MN o N. _
Happy who, far from glory and renown,
Nor know their ſplendour,nor the cares annex'gi.
ARCAS. .
CanAgamemnon,ſprungfromthund'ringJove,
Chief of our arm-y, firﬅ of twenty kings,
Supreme commander of a thouſand ſhips,
By leagued Greece 'gainﬅ Aſia's ſhore em
ploy'd,
Speak ſuch deſpondingwords asthoſel'veheard?
Fair Iphigenia is your lovely daughter,
And her, Achilles (of a goddeſs born,
The ſoremoﬅ hero of our Grecian bands,
By fate appointed Ilion to deﬅroy)
VVoo's ſorhis wiſe, and hopes for yourconſent.
What other boon have you from heav'n to
wiſh Z' _
>Tis true ; that long ſuſpended by a calm_'.
But ha l what tears guſh from your royal
eyes l
Weep you for the loſs of young Oreﬅes?
Your queen expir'd, or Iphigenia dead 3
. AGAMEMNON.
Thou- ſhalt not die 3 I never will conſent.
____...__. __.-._. .--_.____.

129
AncAs.
Dread ſil-o-v-FF'
AGAMEMNON.
Thou know'ﬅ three moons are now
elaps'd
Since by' this calm, which ﬅill detains us here,
We were impeded in our-'courſe to Troy.
Struck at the portent, I ſummon'd Calchas
To learn the cauſe. He to Diana's ſhrine -
(The goddefs here ador-Fd) devout repair'd.
But Ol what racking agopics I felt,
When he brought anſwer back, that the pure.
_ blood '
Of Iphigenia ſaeriſic'd- (my child l)
Was the price deﬅin'd for the fall of Troy.
ARCAS.
To ſacriſice your child l--..
rctor.rvrr-zrvmoir.
Ev'n ſo, good Arcas.
Urg'd by ambition, and Ulyſſes' wiles,
r'Gainﬅ nature's voicel did indeed conſent.-
But then what ſcheme, what artifice to uſe,
To draw the daughter from the mother's arms!
K.
130 A
All would prove vain; 'till in Achilles' name
To wed the princeſs hither, ſhe's invited,
XVith Clytemneﬅra to behold the rites.
ARCAS.
ſil'hinkyou, fir, the haughtyproudAchilles
XVill tamely bear to have his name abus'd.
AGAMEMNON. _
He then was far from Aulis and from me,
His father Peleus' realm from hoﬅile troops
To guard; we b'liev'd ſo glorious an exploit
YVould fill up all his ſoul ; nor let him think
Of us, till that were over ; which ſome time
Muﬅ keep him occupied : but his dread
ſword
What pow'r can long reſiﬅ ? At his approach
Far fled the f0e.-He march'd, he ſaw, he
vanquiſh'd ;
And to our camp did yeﬅerday return.
Gueſs my Confuſion ;-but that is not all.
A father's feelings for a fav'rite child
Harrow my heart, nor can my eyes know reﬅ.
Sure heav'n can't countenancea crimelike this.
'Tis only meant to try, _how I ſhould bear,
Submiflive to its will, ſo dire a blow,
131
But thou chos'n confident of what I feel,
Fly with this letter, intercept their coming;
On that depends my Iphigenia's life -
Join with the contents which l have written ;
Tell 'em Achilles, lukewarm in his love,
Deſers to wed 'till Troy be overthrown.
If ſhe to Aulis come, ſhe dies.-Ulyſſes,
Calchas, and the aſſembled Greeks, will all
Demand her Virgin blood.-Speed, Arcas,
ſpeed,
'Save her from them; and from a father's
Weakneſs.
ARCAS.
With wings of zeal, I'll execute your will. .
[Exit
AGAMEMNON.
A 1 R. '
Say, Diana, goddeſs bright,
Can you ſuch an act endure,
As to ſhock your heav'nly ſight
With blood, royal, chaﬅe and pure.
But hark l-a noiſe, as oſ approaching feet."
Achilles, Gods l-- with him fell Ulyſſes.
K a
132
SCENEII.
AGAMIMNON, ACHILLES, ony-sans.
AGAMEMNON.
Amazing, fir, the conqueﬅ you have made!
With victory you march'd againﬅ the foe,
And (ſame your herald) now return to Auiis.
Leſhos, the ﬅrongeﬅ City t'hat's ailied
Toperjur'd Troy, you vanquiſh'd in yourway,
To ſave your native Theſſaly from havoc.
Exploi'ts like theſe, to y'ou are but amuſements.
AGHILLES.
May heav'n, great moharch, friendly to out
wiſhes,
Soon open to my ſword a nobler field
For glorious deeds.-But firﬅ let me expreſs
Thejoy with which my raptur'd boſom glows,
On hearing a report, which glads my foul, '
That I'm to wed your daughter, and that ſoon,
Ev'n here in Auiis Hymen wiil unite us,
And render me the happieﬅ of men.
AGAMEMNON.
Who told you, prince, that Iphigenia_ comes?
YZS
AcH1LLEs
YVhy thus alarm'd .P Can ſuch news then
bode ill i
AGAMEMNON.
[aſide to Ulyſſes]
Think you he knows the ﬅratagem we've us'd?
ULYS'SES.
Not without reaſon Agamemnon wonders,
Illuﬅrious hero, that while adverſe heav'n
Oppoſes our intent, and th' angry gods
Are, by th' effuſion of moﬅ precious blood,
To be prevail'd on to eſpouſe our cauſe ;
You think of nothing but the joys of love,
And Claſping Iphigenia in your arms.
ACHILLES.
My deeds among Troy's ſons ſhall ſoon de
clare, '
'Who pants for glory more, or thou, or I-,
I born of Thetis, thou Laertes' ſon.
I leave to you political intrigues,
Or talk inglorious of conſulting entrails,
And flaughter'd victims, why the winds are
dumb.
K3
134
But think not, fir, [to Agam.] the nuptials
I ſolicit, '
YVill in the leaﬅ abate my thirﬅ of fame.
No-the few hours I may here give to love,
Troy ſhall repay with meaſure of revenge.
AGAMEMNON.
Why, cruel heavln, debar our way to Troy?
Have I then ſeen ſo many heroes met,
Put to lament their diſappointed hopes,
And all ,with ſhame oppreſs'd,return toGreece.
ULYSSES.
XVhat have I heard our ſov'reign ſay l
ACHlLLES.
Great king, .
You mean not ſure as you have ſpoke !
AGAMEMNON.
Too true :
Heav'n's partial favour has for Troy declar'd,
By various preſages in its behalf.
ACHILLES.
What various preſages ? I've heard of none!
AGAMEMNON.
Remember, fir, concerning thy own life,
-t'v-hat in clear terms the oracle foretold.
I35
ACHILLES. .
- I dorememher well the ſates' decree,
As by the anſwer to my mother given,
That I enjoy a ſhort, but glorious life,
Or without fame drag on a chain of years.
.The choice I've made ſhall now be crown'd
with love;
And then from Troy new laurels ſhall I reap,
Or, iſ there fall, my ſame will ever flouriſh.
AIR.
The Trojan dames, with plaintive cries,

. Shall oft repeat my name ;
While, from their wounded, groan: ariſe,
And give me deathieſs ſame.
S C E N E Ill.
AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES.
O, what a cruel conflict tears my breaﬅ!
ULYSSES.
Is it Achilles can have wrought this change?
1 AGAMEMNON.
Nor he, nor Ajax, Diomed, nor all
. K 4 .
136
The kings, combined in this war 'gainﬅ Troy, _
Could Agamemnon force to change reſolves.
uLYssE's
What muﬅ I now conclude theſe ſmother'd
ſighs,
And ſpeech ambiguous,can po'rtend? has then
One night o'erturn'd the work oſ ma'ny days?
AGAMEMNON.
Not ſo, Ulyſſes ; but my heart can't b'lieve, -
That gracious heaven commands to flay a
child.
ULYssEs.
I know not Agamemnon, irr theſe words.
Has not th' avow'd interpreter of Gods,
Calchas, to whom the will ofheav'n is known,
Declar'd in terms, that leave no room to
doubt?
AGAMEMNON.
Perplex'd and intricate are heav'nly mandates,
_ And oft ſuperior to the reach of mortals.
ULYSSES.
Remember, fir, you owe your child to Greece.
Your word i's giv'n.-Why did I ſay to
Greece ?
I37
To your own houſe's fame, you owe her
blood.
ls't not t' avenge the inſult it receiv'd.
The Grecian kings aſiemble on this ſhore.
who call'd us hither ? You, now rais'd above
Your fellow ſovereigns, their chief elect.
Shall itbe ſaid our gen'ral's firſt command
Was to diſmiſs ſo great a league inglorious, -
And ſhrink ſupinely from the taſk of honour 3
Turning our backs on victory, that wooes
To certain conqueﬅ and immortal ſame.
AcAflB'fiNoſſ.
You 'talk it nobly, fir; but were your-forty
Telemachus, like Iphigenia, doom'd ;
Were you to ſee him at the altar plac'd,
The facred fillet round his temples bound,
His boſom barſi'd 'for th' executive blow,
Like me you'd doubt the oracle's decree,
And, to protect, ruſh between him and "CaI
chas.
138
ÞUETTO'
AGAMEMNON."
Behold my child, breathleſs lying,
What plaints, what tears, what groansl
View a wretched mother ſighing ;
Such precious blood a people moans.
Let a father's feelings move you.
ULYSSES.
Behold proud Troy, vanquiſh'd lying,
What plaints, what tears, what groansl
View a proﬅrate people ſighing,
There's martial muſic in their moans.
Let a hero's feelings prove you.
AGAMEMNON.
Be't ſo, our royal promiſe to devote

My child is .giv'n ; let unrelenting fate
Have the completion oſ its dire decree. .
But if my Iphigenia's better ﬅars
Prevent her coming to unhallow'd Aulis,
-Then be it conﬅru'd in the princeſs' favour,
That heaven has ehang'd, and thirﬅs not
for her blood.
" """--'*- H-'-.---__ 1 4

I39
\Vhat ſprightly ſounds invade my ﬅartled ear?
[A warlike ſymphony is heard at a diſ
tance ; Clytemneﬅra and Iphigenia.
are drawn forward in a triumphal car,
attended by Grecian women, and the
guards, who receive them on their en
trance to the camp.] .
My queen and daughter in the camp arriv'd l
Gods, 'tis too much: I cannot bear their ſight,
And fly with horror from an interview.
SCENE IV.
ULYSSES, CLYTEMNESTRA, IPHIGENIA,

and the CHORUS.
CHORUS.
Not the fam'd Helen, won by Paris,
As beauteous lphigenia fair is.
And now ſhe comes to wed Achilles 3
Of gods conſenting ſuch the will is.
[While the chorus fing, Clytemneﬅra
and Iphigenia deſcend from the car,
affiﬅed by the Grecian women.
'49
ULYSSES.
Advance, bright dames ; let not the pomp
of war, '
Or ſight unuſual of an army fright ye,
CLYT-IMNEGTRA.
My eyes in vain for Agamcmnon ſeek; '
He ſhcuid be firﬅ to meet us on arriv'mg.
IPHIGENIA.
Some luekleſs accident detains him from us.
vLYssE's.
The weighty cares attendant on his rank,
May for ſome moments keep him from your
ſight.
Mean while do you, fair Iphigenia, come,
And (hew your beauty to the Grecian troops,
As a kind "flat, propitious to out league.
CHORUS.
Not the fam'd Helen, won by Paris,

As beauteous Iphigen-ia fair is.
r
And now 'ſhe comes to wed Achilles;
Of gods confenting ſuch the will is',
143
A C T. II.
The theatre repreſents a .colonade, through
which gardens are ſeen.
S C E N E- I.
AGAMEMNON aloneſ
\Vhat ﬅroke of adverſe fortune has contriv'd
That faithful Arcas ſhould miﬅake his way?
In what have I deſerv'd the wrath ofheav'n ?
To me, this day isbig with miſery.
I hear Ulyſſes, Calchas, Menelaus
Demand, both in the name of Greece and
heav'n,
My child for victim-She comes-What a'
- meeting! '
Hold heart-I fain would ſhun her, but I
can't.
S C E N E II.
AGAMEMNON, IPHIGENIA. '
Why, fir, avoid the preſence of your child P
There was atime you would notflight me thus.
I'
. 3
'44
W-hat mighty cares have from me ween'd
your heart i
As duty urg'd, I yielded to the queen,
The firﬅ occaſion of embracing you ;
Now, in my turn, I hope to ſhare that ſa vour.
AGAMEMNON.
Come to your father's arms, never more
fond.
IPHLGERXA.
Tranſporting newsl-PMY boſom hounds with
joy P
W'hat cxtacy, to ſee you now ſopreme,
O'er all theGrecian ſovreigns here aſſembled i
AGAMEMNON.
Your-innocence deſerves a better father.
IPHIGENIA.
A better cannot be ; ſor which, kind heaven
Receives my conﬅant and moﬅ grateful thanks.
AGAMEMNON [aſide.]
How l let her know the ſecret of her ſate.
* IPHIGENlA.
There's ſomething laþ'ring in your breaﬅ ;
theſe ſighs '
145
You fain would ſmother, but confirm it
more.
'Tis with anxiet'y you look on me.
Are we from Argos come without your order?
AGAMEMNON.
Alas ! miﬅake me not. Your father's eyes
Vſith the ſame wonted tenderneſs behold you.
But ſuch eventſul changes have ta'en place,
The joy of ſeeing you is daſh'd with ſorrow.
IPHIGENIAn
Forget a moment your ſuperior rank
In achild's preſence - be my father ﬅill,
Nor bluſh to ſee me happy in your kindneſs..
'Tis ſaid, fir, that a ſolemn ſacriſice
By Calchas, to the heavenly powers, anon
Is to be made.
AGAMEMNCN.
Heart-rending queﬅion l
IPHIGENIA.
Will You indulge me to be preſent, fir,
And join the gen'ral pray'r for your ſucceſs ?
The Greeks would wonder not to ſee me there.
AGAMEMNON.
Good heaven l
L
146
IPHICENIA.
You ſpeak not, fir!
AGAMEMNON.
Child, you'll be there.
D U E T T o.
- IPHlGENIA.
Pcriſh the Trojan cauſe of' all your griefl.
AGAMEMNON.
Conqueſhto pain like mine, brings no relief.
IPHlGENIA.
Why not? explain to me this hidden woe. '
ACAMEMNON.
For your lov'd ſa"ke, I cannot more relatc.
IPHIGENIA.
Ye guardian pow'rs of Greece, protect my
ſire.
AGAMEMNON.
Now, cruel Gods, relent in her behalf.
[ Both together. J
Periſh the Trojan cauſe of all our grief.
147
SCENE IiI.
IPHIGENlA [alone]
This cold reception of a father chills me.
Vſhat can I gather from thoſe low'ring looks,
Thoſe half-form'd words, deep ſighs, and
ﬅarting tears ? '
Alas l how different from what I hop'd,
Has our cold meeting been? Leaving Argos,
I fancied Iſhould ſee my father haile
To joyſully embrace us as we came;
A nd with him,as th'attendants on his greatneſs,
Ajax, and Diomed, and Menelaus,
And -l'hetis' ſon, the braveﬅ of them all,
Achilles, my betroth'd- by all neglected :
I'm leſt alone ; my father even ſhuns me. '
What can have caus'd ſuch conllernation ?
Say, Virgin goddeſs, in this clime rever'd,
If e'er diſpleafing hath my worſhip prov'd ;
Or if impure, the ſacriſice l made.
148
S C E N E IV.
lPHIGENlA, CLYTEMNESTRA.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Ah daughter, under what unhappy ﬅar
Came we from Argos to ill boding Aulis ?
Vv'ith what indiff'rence has the king receiv'd
us l .
IPHrdENIA.
The cares.of ﬅate weigh heavy on his mind,
His anxious thoughts to carry on the war
For cruſhing Troy, uſurp his whole regard 5
And for awhile make tenderneſs ſubſide.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
No ;--'tis ſome other cauſe, to me unknown,
But which, ere long, l'll learn l'll draw't
from Arcas ;
That faithful flave, by Tyndarus, my father,
To me was giv'n, whom I to Agamemnon
Have reſign'd-But what delays Achilles?
Invited in his name, we're hither come.
No intervening conqucﬅ can detain him.
From Hector, Priam, and from Troy's proud:
walls,
149
VVe're by the ſea divided - the prince afks
Your hand in marriage, as a juﬅ reward
Of all the Trojan warriors he ſhall flay ;
And yet he comes not- it is wond'rous all.
IPHICENIA.
Our haplel-s race is doom'd to new diſaﬅers.
A 1 R.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Though hemm'd in by troops, and a woman,
I'll know
T'efface an affront by a nzoﬅ vengeſul blow.
Nor ſov'reign, nor prince, ſhall unpuniſh'd
remain,
If to our high ſlation they offer a ﬅain.
- IPHICENIA.
Here comes Achilles-wrongly he's accus'd.
S C E N E V.
IPHIGZNIA, CLYTEMNESTRA, ACHILLES.
[Achilles is followed by ſoldiers crowned
with laurel ; Leſbian flaves, of both ſexes,
carrying trophies, vaſes, and other ſpoil:
taken from the enemy]
L3
150
ACHILLES.
Hail, princeſs l Agamemnon's beauteous
child ;
On thee alone my happineſs depends.
And may th' exploits, which I am doom'd
t'atchieve
Againﬅ Troy's chiefs, inſure me all your love.
[turns to Clytemneﬅra-J
Nor will my mother, Thetis, tho' divine,
Bluſh, Clytemneﬅra's ſiﬅer to be call'd,
The queen and conſort to the king of kings.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Your words inſpire me with the pureﬅ joy 3

And may my daughter crown your love with
heirs, '
'That will riſe equal to their father's ſame.
IPHIGENIA.
Whatever be the lot ſate has prepar'd
For Iphigenia, 'tis her pride, her boaﬅ,
T'have rivall'd glory in Achilles' heart.
ACHILLES.
Dcign t'accept theſe ſpoils obtain'd at Lcſbos,

151
. The firﬅ my valour has acquir'd. [to the Leſ
bians] Captives,
Pay homage to your miﬅreſs, and to mine.
CHORUS of captives.
Lelbos, to bold Achilles yields,
He ſometimes will ſweet thraldom prove;
The princeſs' arms prefer'd to ſhields.
Be ever ſung the pow'r of love.
CHORUS ofGreeks.
This happy hero ſoon will twine

With Mars's laurel, Hymen's wreath,
Around his helmet known to ſhine,
In the reſiﬅleſs ſcene of death.
One of the cHoRUs of captives.

How, from their banks, the ſhepherd'sjoy,
Where flocks no more their care employ,
Will Xanthus, and Simois' flood,
' Be by Achilles dy'd in blood ?
YVhile adverſe gods rage on the plain,
And flaughter with her horrid train.
L +
152
One of the CHORUS of Greeks.
Thus the kind hoſpitable pow'r,

Willjuﬅ and ample vengeance take
On the vile ſwain of Ida's bow'r,
Who broke all laws ſor Helen's ſake.
ALL TOGETHER.
Leſbos, to bold Achilles yields,

He ſometimes will ſweet thraldom prove;
His princeſs' arms prefer'd to ſhields.
Be ever ſung the pow'r of love.
'53
'A C T Ill.
An apartment in the palace.
S C E N E I.
AGAMEMNON.
A 1 R
Sweet hope, beﬅ gift of heav'n to cheer
Deſponding mortals in their woe,
Or gild the gloomy ſhades of fear,
And black deſpair to overthrow.
You raiſe the peaſant to a throne ;
.Do not my pious vow diſown.
Let the fell monﬅers who delight in blood,
Aſcribe their ſavage nature to the gods.
I can't think heav'n commands atroeiou'
crimes ;
Nay, I'm determin'd to conſult its will,
No more impos'd on by deſigning prieﬅs.
Too long the ear of Greece hath been deceiv'd
By ſuch, who're like ourſelves to error prone.
A mob implicit raiſes them to pow'r ;
15+
And yet, why thus reluctant to proceed ?
Ifth'oracle demands my child - ſhe dies.
Ulyſſes comes ; I tremble leﬅ he chide.
S C E N E II.
AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES.
ULYSSES.
Now learn the friendly effort I have made,
To win ﬅern Calchas to approve your wiſh;
Who, firﬅ, indignant at my offer mild,
Exclaim'd-ls our religion ſcorn'd ? By whom?
Our chief, who ſhould the firﬅ example give,
Of due obedience to the gods decree ;
Elſe, muﬅ we never hope to conquer Troy.
AGAMEMNON.
Imperious, haughty prieﬅ, whoſe tow'ring
pride " '
Would fain uſurp ſupreme authority ;
And lord it over all the kings of Greece,
By his falſe prophecies, and juggling dreams.
His tongue, ill-omen'd to_Atreus' houſe,
Ne'er yet aught pleafing to our ears foretold ;
Nor hath he done a deed good men would
praiſe. '
155
ULYBSES.
I thought, 'as ſoon I ſhould from Paris gain,
Helen to be return'd to Menelaus,
As your admiffion to the ſacred temple.
But I ſuch pow'rſul arguments have urg'd
For fire, for daughter, for your patriot cares,
And homage to the gods (their will made
known) '
That forc'd him to relent-let's thither now,
And the ſame gods, who fir'd me in your.
cauſe,
Will to yourſelſ declare th'award of heav'n.
S C E N E III.
CLYTEMNESTRA, IPHIGENlA, AGAMEM
NoN, ULYSSES. '
CL'YTl-ZMNESTRA.
Stop, fir, unfold what myﬅery contriv'd..
' AGAMEMNON.
'Tis now no time to afk ; I muﬅ be gone
To learn what deﬅiny the gods intend use
156
S C E N E IV.
CLYTEMNESTRA, IPHIGENIA.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Alas, my child l your father flies our ſight,
He's gone to haﬅen ſome diſaﬅrous act :
Hence, ſault'ring words, and ſo much grieſ.
lPHIGENlA.
Ah, me!
CLYTFMNESTRA. .
You know not all your ſorrows yet.
lPHIGl-ZNIA.
What means the queen ?
CLYTEMNESTRA.
This note by Arcas giv'n,
But.now, into my hand, imparts, the king
Had ſent us orders to return to Argos.
IPHlGENIA.
How l not to haﬅen our arrival here ?
CLYTEMNESTRA.
And the pretext was, that Achilles' will
Was to defer his nuptials, till fall'n Troy
3
I57
Should yield to you its conqueror renown'd.
Alas l the purport was to ſacriſice thee.
IPHlGENIA.
Good heav'n l
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Arcas miﬅook his way - Ruin l
IPHlGENIA.
Have I been born for ſuch an hapleſs end ?
In public, ſacriſic'd before the Greeks!
Cruel deceivers l how they lur'd my hopes
On a triumphal car, thro' Aulis' ﬅreets,
To light the torches for the rites of hymem.
I was intended for Achilles' bride,
Now I'm devoted to untimely death.
CLYTEMNESTRA. '
It ſhall not be, your mother will oppoſe,
And ſnatch you from th'aſſaffinating hands
Of parent-Brave Achilles, cruel too,
Shall join in my reſentment, to cbaﬅiſe
A plot, thus varniſh'd in that prince's name.
It makes him ſharer in the monﬅrous crime 5_
A crime, which he'll not eaſily forgive.
158
IPHICENIA.
Ahl be not ſo incens'd againﬅ my fire.
The letter proves he meant to ſave my life,
By his commanding our return to Argos.
Perhaps, he yet may ſome expedient find,
To ſave me from impending deﬅiny :
He'shere all pow'rſul,and he loves his daughter.
But with what eyes can I revifit Argos?
I, who thence parted 'midﬅ acclaiming
crowds,
'Midﬅ ſcﬅive muſic, and adance oſjoy;
I, that was going to eſpouſe Achilles,
To be acknowledg'd queen of Pthia's realm 3
That there made happy in Achilles' love,
I ſhould a race oſ heroes give to Greece,
Who would not prove unworthy oſ their ſire.
But ſuch vain thoughts adieu- now welcome
l-xtel -
I will reſign ; and without murm'ring die,
Since ſo my father and the gods reſolve,
Nor ſhall there be a cauſe to blame my con
duct.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Helen, how fatal'to the race of Atreus ?
I59
Shame of thy ſex, and a reproach to Greece,
Thy baneful beauty proves thus kindling war,
Between the pow'rs of Europe and of Alla.
VVhat tears you make me ſhed ? Was't not
enough
To have diſhonour'd'ihe chaﬅe nuptial bed
Of Menelaus, but a brother's child
Muﬅ for your wantonneſs be ſacrific'd ? .
IPHlGENIA.
Unleſs you can command your ſorrow more,
I well foreſce, more miſchiefs will enſue ;
- Should you attempt to interpoſe, 'twere vain :
Such diſobedience to a husband's will,
E'en could you gain on him, would nought
avail,
Becauſe, he'd, too, rebel againﬅ the gods:
But, if Achilles' ſword ſhould interfere
To reſcue lphigenia from ſuch woe, ,
Diſcord among the Grecian chiefs would rage,
Order muﬅ fly the camp, and heav'n alon'e
Can tell, how ſuch a mutiny would end.
Now let me end the cares oflife,
Nor be expos'd to longer ﬅrife ;
But let my death prevent the woe,
That ready ſeems on Greece to flow.
S C E N E V.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
30 good, ſo mild, ſo excellent a child,
Can heav'n command a father to deﬅroy ?
NQ- fell ambition, nature's ſureﬅ foe,
That prompts, and not the gods, to ſuch a
crime.
A I R.
I cannot yet diſcern "
That the decree is truth',
The whole I'll ﬅrive to learn,
And thereby ſave her youth.
[The theatre repreſents the interiour view

of the temple of Diana.]
16!
AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, cALcHAs,

CHORUS of prieﬅs.
CHORUS .of prieﬅs.
.'Twere a vain proof of mortal pride,
To..think heav'n's will to put aſide.
. One of the cHoR'Us.
The orders which from gods emane,
Engrav'd on adamant remain.
. Two of the CHORUS.
Th' eternal tables of their will,
Neither by time, nor human ſkill,
Can ſhew the leaﬅ impreſſion made,
. Nor years, nor force can them invade;
'L [A part of the prieﬅs dance ſolemnly
around the altar ofthe goddeſs.
One of the CHORUS.
They rule th'events of night and day,
- Shepherds and kings alike they ſway.
All the CHORUS.
Behold Jove gives th'almighty nod,
Olympus trembles 'fore its god;
Our low world is to ſilence huſh'd,
Leﬅ in his anger it be cruſh'd. .
' \ M
162
cALcHAs.
Thro' ſpecial favour, Agamemnon, learn,
The goddeſs here ador'd, a ſecond time
Now deigns, that you interrognte her ſhrine.
HALF-AlR.
Thou, goddeſs, ſprung from mighty Jove,

Vſho pleaſant hills, ſweet vales below,
And bloomy woods, delight'ﬅ to rove,
O, pity a fond father's woe l
If all my pray'rs for Greece's good, .

And duteous immolations made
You like- O l be not now withﬅood,
But have your oracle obey'd.
Speak, goddeſs, claim your victim now,-

While incredulity exiﬅs, ' '
Who, henceforth at your ſhrine will bow ;
Speak, goddeſs, ſpeak, revenge your prieﬅs.
AGAMEMNON.
O l let her beauty, innocence, and youth,

Her piety to heav'n, and chief to you,
163
Chaﬅe goddeſs, object ofmyworſhip too,
Plead ﬅrong in Iphigenia's behalf.
[While Agamemnon ſpeaks, a noiſe, as
of diﬅant thunder, is heard, gradu
ally encreafing.
CALcHAs.
Mortals attend ; the goddeſs means to ſpeak.
The ORACzl-E.
If, Grecians, ye expect to land at Troy,
The blood of Iþhigenia muﬅ be ſhed.
AGAMEMNON.
What cruel ſounds to a fond father's ea-r.
CHORUS..
'High heav'n's decrees ne'er know decay,

Shepherds and kings alike they ſway.
Two of the cHoRUs.
Where now the thouſand ſhips combin'd,
That ſhadow'd all yon ﬅretching ſhore ;
' And warlike chariots, fleet as wind,
That cover'd plains? they're ſeen no more
Ma
164.
All the CHORUS.
To puniſh t.he reluctant mind
Of Agamemnon, has loud fate
Excited a tempeﬅuous wind,
They're now all in a ſhatter'd ſtate.
cALcHAs.
Sir, be advis'd, provoke not by delay :
()bcy the oracle, leﬅ ills enſue.
The CHORUS.
The orders which from gods emane
Engrav'd on adamant remain.
CALCHAS.
Who'll profit moﬅ by ſuch a ſacriſice ?
Yourſelf ;-opens it not your road to glory?
Victory beckons from the Trojan ſhore,
And bids you haﬅe to reap a laurell'd harveﬅ.
The Helleſpont again will gladly foam
Beneath your ſhips, chear'd by the ſailors
(hours I -
Ere long, will they return ſurcharg'd with
ſpoils
Think, as you land in Greece, how crowds
on crowds
Beholding you from' far, with peals ofjoy
-.ſi165
Will welcome your approach, and fing your

triumph.
Theſe, ſure, are motives to command reſpect
To that decree you've in the temple heard.
AGAME'MNON.
My heart's ſo full, words cannot find a way.
The CHORUS.
The 'orders which from gods emane,
-Engrav'd on adamant remain.
High heav'n's decrees ne'er know decay,
' Shepherds and kings alike they ſway.
Behold, Jove gives th'almighty nod,
Olympus trembles 'ſore its god ;
Our low world is to ſilence huſh'd,
Leﬅ in his anger it be cruſh'd.
166
A C T. IV.
A gallery in the palace.
SCENE I.
AGAMEMNON alone.
[The ſcene opens to pathetic muſic.]
Too plain I heard the oracle's decree.

" Grecians, if you expect to land at Troy,
U The blood of Iphigenia muﬅ be ſhed."
SCENE II.
ACAMEMNON, CLYTEMNESTRA, IPHIGENXA.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Now, fir, we're met, tho' midﬅ the din of
arms,
And crowding caresofyourſupremecommand,
Let, fir, your queenxs, a mother's voice be
heard.
My child and I have been ſeduc'd from Argos,
Hither to haﬅe, that (he might wed Achilles;
167
Then we are told, the prince has ehang'd his
mind',
Nor wilI' in marriage join, 'till Troy's o'er
thrown ;
Yet he in perſon urges the eſpouſal,
And will not hence depart on other terms. -
AGAMEMNON.
The right's in me to rule my daughter's fate.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
I know it is, thou barb'rous, cruel' father.
Why now diſſemble? I have learn'd your plot.
AGAMEMNON.
Then the falſe Arcas has betray'd my ſecret.
IPHIGENIA.
No, royal fir, you have not been betray'd._.
When you'll command, I'm ready to obey.
My life is yours; you'll take but what you
gave :
And you ſhall find I'll die a hero's daughter,
Nor will my boſom ſhrink from Calchas' knife.
However, if obedient innocence,
And full ſubmiffion to the will of heav'n,
Were worthy of a better fate, my lot_
M4
168
Is hard indeed, from ſuch inviting joys,
To be thus prematurely torn, in life's
Gay bloom ;-an'd, O Sir! deign now to
remember,
That the once lov'd, but now loﬅ Iphigenia,
Firﬅ call'd you by the tender name of father;
And in return you call'd her that of child.
How many fond embraces have I ſelt!
Me you've long deﬅin'd for Achilles' bride,
Becauſe a hero worthy your alliance.
And with what joy us'd I to hear recounted
The various kingdoms ye were both to con
quer.
I did not think the auſpice of your triumphs
Was to be fought in Iphigenia's blood.
AGAMEMNON.
'Tis but too true; nor can l yet conceive
By what crime I've deſerv'd the ire of heav'n.
But you are nam'd, nor is't in mortal pow'r
T' elude its high Lbeheﬅ : the murm'ring
Greeks,
By Calchas' tongue inſatiate for your blood,
Will -mutiny, and execute by force
What better were ſubmitted to with mildneſs.
&69
Long did I force myſelf to doubt, but now
The oracle a ſecond time has ſpoke.
Unlucky Arcas was diſpateh'd to meet you,
'And interdict your coming to the camp.
By that intent what dangers I provok'd,
Both to our rank and realm, to Greece com
bin'd.
But heav'n thought otherwiſe, and from the
path
He ſhould have'ta'en,made faithful Arcas ﬅray.
' Vain then, on my ſide, would prove 'all at
tempts.
The fatal hour is come ; when dying, ſhew
The oracle's unjuﬅ, and you're my daughter.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Thou doﬅ not, monﬅer, now belye thy race ;
Of the ſame blood with Atreus and Thyeﬅes.
Barbarian,canﬅ thou th us condemn a child ?
Next ſend her breathleſs corſe for me to
_ feaﬅ on P
HaveI then brought her hither tobe butcher'd,
And muﬅ I ehildleſs now return to Argos,
By the ſame roads where flow'rs were ﬅrew'd
before her ?
170
A l R
Mifl'ed Greeks, touch not my child 1

The' raſh attempt you'l.l ſurely me.
Vain on oracles you build.
With her kill her mother too.
SCENE IiI.
ACHlLLES, AGAMEMNON, cLYTEMNEsTRA,
and IPHIGENlA.
ACHmLes.
Sir, I'm alarm'd at the report I've heard,
And ſcarce can think it true; that in my name,
From Argos hither Iphigeni-a call'd,
Is in the temple to be ſacriſic'd.
Have I then, fir, your inﬅrument been made, '
To lure the prineeſs from her native home,
For an intent ſo horrid, and 'gainﬅ nature ?
AGAMEMNQN. .
Thoſe of my rank, for what they pleaſe to do,
Are not aecount'ablc to inſeriors.
But, when the proper moment is arriv'd,
You and all Greece ſhall learn my daughter's
ſate.
17'
CLYTEMNESTRA
Execrable tyrant!
AcmLLEs.
Evaſrve king,
Too well I know the ſate which you intend.
' AGAMEMNON.
Why aſk of me, what you already know ?
ACHILLES.
Patience, ye gods !-Why aſk F-Can your
heart own
So black, ſo impious a reſolu-tion.
But iſ it does-then think not that Achilles
Will be a tame ſpectator oſ thy crime.
His love, his honour, urge him to protect her.
IPHIGENIA.
Good heav'n, what miſchiefs am I like to
cauſe!
Fatal diſſenſion 'twixt my honour'd fire,
And the lov'd hero, I once hop'd to wed.
No, let me die, and put an end to all
The rifing obﬅacles to certain glory :
Since' 'tis decreed ye cannot land at Troy,
But thro' th' effuſion oſ my hapleſs blood.
. Z
1-72
There let your valiant deeds make Trojan
dames, _
In their loﬅ ſons and huſbands rue my fall.
Tho' 'tis forbid that I ſhall be your bride,
.Yet will our names be join'd thro' ages down,
And my death deem'd the ſource of all your
glory. -
ACHlLLES.
Talk not of dying while Achilles lives,
'And that my eyes behold yon radiant ſun.
With this good executive ſword of mine,
The foremoﬅ ofthem all ſhall bite the ground,
'VVho'd arrogantly dare diſpute my right.
AGAMEMNON.
Such menaces, and in our preſence too,
Become thee not; nor will I ſuffer, prince.
i - ACHILLES.
Become me not! when Agamemnon dares
To wrong me in the tend'reﬅ part, my love.
If-thou'rt a king o'er kings, knowI.'m Achilles,
And that I've ſworn youi-daughter ſhall not die.
i AGAMEMNON.
And will you, prince, diſpute a father's
pow'r?
I73
ACHILLES-.
'Your pow'r of father is no more; ſhe's mine
By love, by promiſe mine ; was't not to wed
With Peleus' ſon, that ſhe from Argos came?
AGAMEMNON.
Implead the gods, who've otherwiſe ordain'd;
Blame the whole camp, Ulyſſes, Menelaus,
Calchas, who're not ſo culpable as thou.
' ACHILL'ES.
I culpable! _
AGAMEMNON.
Yes thou, whoſe wild ambition
Was ever railing 'gainﬅ th' oppofing gods,"
That here detain'd us. I the meahs propos'd
By which ſhe might be ſav'd, but you rejected;
And that was to decline the war with Troy;
You'd hear of nought but Ilion overturn'd.
Now thither haﬅe, her blood inſures its fall.
AQHlLLESa
Barbarian,-mercileſs, and bloody king,
What had Troy done to draw on 'my refent
- ment?
Thence no ſhips ever fail'd for Theſſaly,
.With hoﬅile troops, our ſubjects to invade 5
174
Nor Phrygian raviſhers have ever dar'd

To carry off their wives in haughty triumph.
Is't not for you that I've 'gainﬅ Priam leagu'd,
And fain would haﬅen his deﬅruction, fir,
That the ſoul ﬅain of your illuﬅrious line
Niight ſoon be waſh'd away with Trojan blood?
For Helen's crime muﬅ your chaﬅe daughter
periſh P
And ſhe the only change for an adultreſs l
Your daughter's mine, or I'll not move
tow'rd Troy ;
Try then without me what your arms
can do.
(Lo A R 'r E 'r T o.
AGAMEMNON.
Hence, part, be gone, wc want thee not,
Yet Troy ſhall tumble to the ground ;
To live inglorious be thy lot,
'Mongﬅ cowards will thy name be found.
. ACHlLLES.
Thou ſaithleſs king, provoke me not,
Lefl my ſword fell thee to the ground ;
To be her fire's thy happy lot,
Elſe 'mongﬅ the flain thou now wert ſound.
'75
IPHIGENIA.
O, prince! if me you ever lov'd,
Be not thus with anger mov'd.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Mercileſs fate, muﬅ ſhe expire ?
Oh l yet more mercilefs her ſire l
A L La
By ſo barbarous a decree,
Immortal gods how wretched we!
SCENE .IV.
CLYTEMNESTBA, IPHIGENIA.
CLY'nEMNESTRA.
Your father's gone, and gives you up to fate.
O, my poor child, and are we thus topart l
- IPHrGENIA.
O, ſun l thou ehearing light to mortal eyes,
Soon Iphigenia will behold no more
Thy friendly beams-I take my farewel view_
CLYTEMNBsT-RA. .
Do not deſpond, Achilles' love-will ſave thee,
And ſnatch thee from a tyrant father's pow'r.
176
IPHIGENIA.
O madam! in the name of all the gods,
Perſuade him not to riflc his life for mine.
Of what avail to feed illuſive hopes ?
Diana is determin'd on her victim,
And to oppoſe her will would fruitleſs prove.
No, for my country's good, I die reſign'd
O, why thus ſilent, and why flow theſe tears'_
. CLYTBMNESTXA. '
Have I not cauſe to weep, my child? My
tongue,
By grief- oppreﬅ, denies its wanted uſe.
i
tPHrGENrA.
lnﬅead of adding to, ſupport my Weakneſs.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Ah me! muﬅ I return alone to Argos,
Without my child; and when I'm there ar.
riv'd,
In vain, to chear my ſolitary walks,
Shall I in fancy ſeek for Iphigenia.
IPHIGENIA.
Madam, once more have pity on your
child,
177
Nor with ſuch'tender plaints unnerve mc.-*
There's one requeﬅ I' hope you'll not reſuſe.
CLYTEMNESTRA. '
If in my pow'r, I can ret"uſe thee nothing. .
IPHIGENIA.
Then do not, on account of my diſaﬅer,
Or by rent veil, torn, or diſhevell'd locks,
Betray the leaﬅ regret that l'm no more.
CLY'I'EMNESTRA.
Of thee depriv'd, I never can return.
IPHIGENIA.
Comfort my ſire, and Ohl upbraid him not.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Your death muﬅ draw down vengeance on his
head.
IPHIGENlA. \
My death's no crime oſ his 3 'tis heav'n's
command ; i '
The weltſiare of the Greeks forc'd his aſſent.
,
cHoRUs' of women.
As when cut down, the lilly fair,
Declined, lies with fading Charms,
So with her' boſom wounded, bare,"
YVill thatbrightnymph in death's cold arm
' ' N
178
Two of the cnoavs.

Ah l if ſo ſweet a princeſs die,
There's no compaffion from on high.
IPHlGENIA.
I ſhall be ever fam'd in ﬅory ;
The Greeks to me will owe their glory.
One of the CHORUS.

Deſerving of a longer date,
She came to wed, but meets her fate.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
If any gods befriend our cauſe,
Oh l rouze Achilles to take arms.
'Now the deﬅructive ſword he draws,
And fhields young Iphigenia's Charms.
One of the CHORU-s.

Deſerving of a longer date,
She came-to wed, but meets her ſate.
JPHroEmA.
I ſhall be ever fam'd in ﬅory;
To me the Greeks will owe their glory.
179
CHORUS.
As when cut down, the lilly fair,

Declined, lies with fading Charms,
So with her boſom wounded, bare,
Will that bright nymph in death's cold arms,
180
ACT V.
S C E N E I.
The Tent oſ Achilles.
ACHlLLES.
'Whatther
urgent
? cauſe brings Clytemneﬅra
ſi hi
CLYTEMNESTRA. '
I bluſh not, prince, to throw me at your feet,
And beg your help for Iphigenia's life,
Your lately promis'd bride ; to death con
demn'd,
Unleſs you ſnatch her from the preffing woe.
ACHILLES.
And is it thus you know Achilles' ſpirit,
That you can now my ſacred promiſe doubt?
CLYTEMNBSTRA.
The horrid ſacriſice they now prepare.
ACHlLLES. .
Let's waﬅe no time in words ſuperfluous.
1'8r
A I R, '
By my chaﬅe love, and thirﬅ of fame,
This ſword ſhall reek with Grecian blood.
For ever die Achilles' name,
If in her cauſe I be withﬅood
SCENE 11._
[The theatre repreſents, on one ſide, a wood,
and the temple of Diana; on the oppo
ſite ſide is ſeen a part of the Grecian
c'amp, the port of Aulis, and the fleet.
Iphigenia, Agamemnon, Calchas, Ulyſſes,
Arcas firﬅ appear 5 then Clytemneﬅra,
prieﬅs, virgins conſecrated to Diana, and
attendant ſoldiers. They all advance from
the bottom of the theatre to melancholy
rnuſic. '
_ CALCHAS."
Goddeſs, who gild the ſolemn night,
While from thy orb mild beams do flow,
May Greece find favour in thy ſight,
Let looſe the winds, and bid them blow.
Ns
18'2.
CHORUS.
The victim take our vows do owe ;
Part of the cHonus.

Now Trojans, with the guilty pair,
Moek at our fleet from their high tow'rs,
But ſoon ſhall yield to black deſpair,
All eruſh'd by Grecian pow'rs.
The CHoRUS.
Goddeſs, the victim take we owe ;
. lPHIGENlA. [to Agam.]

I'm ready, fir, and ſhall, without a groan,
My life reſign, your glory to inſure,
And make Greece triumph o'er the perjur'd
foe- '
Let none dare offer to lay hands on me ;
I'll to the knife, unmov'd, my boſom bare..
I mean to die a voluntary victim, '
ln death triumphant, and the bane of Troy.
183
AGAMEMNON.
Alas, my child ! my eyes can ne'er behold.
[throws his cloak around his head.
Part of the cHoRUs.

Such beauty, ſuch undaunted ſpirit,
1
Should a more happy fortune merit.
Another part of the CHORUS.

Soon ſhall we land on Ilion's ſhore,
In ſpite of gods whom they adore.
The CHORUS.
Goddeſs, the victim take we owe,
CALCHAS.
Attend, ye Greeks, hence hope a lucky omen.
' CT-YTEMNESTRA.
Achilles not yet come, and Calchas' knife
Is readydrawn'gainſt lphigenia's breaﬅ. [aſide.
[Calchas having put his drawn knife in a.
'' golden vaſe, crowns' the victim; and,
with a cup oſ conſecrated water inhis
hand, advances towards the altar.
N 4.
134.
cALcHAs.
Thou goddeſs, daughter of immortal Jove,
Deign to accept young Iphigenia's blood.
For ſhedding it, be Pergamus our prey.
[The moment he is going to ﬅrike, a claſh
oſarms is heard,towards which alltunL]
(ALCHAS continuing.
-\Vhat ſacrilcgious mortals hither come,
And interrupt our ſacrifice to heav'n?
The Laﬅ s c E N' E.

Enter ACHlLLES. DIANA at the ſame time
is ſeen in the air.
AC'HILLES.
Behold Achilles, who demands his right.
. DIANA.
Suſpend your ire, O valiant ſon of Thetis!
And tum' it tenſold 'gainﬅ perfidious Troy.
'Alay the great fire of allceleﬅial pow'rs'f
Forbid Achilles' wrath againﬅ the Greeks
Should rage, and ſo prevent the fall of Troy.
Now Iphigenia, as my prize, I claim.
[Diana diſappears, and in the room of
Iphigenia is ſeen a doe panting and
185
bloody; Achilles raiſes his hands to
heaven.
CALCHAS.
A miracle l .
' CHORUS.
A miracle indeed!
CALCHAS.
The lprinceſs' blood appear'd of too much
worth,
To be effus'd in this our cauſe. The goddeſs
Takes her to herſelſ, and henceforth to us
:Indulgent, ſhe will favour all our wiſhes.
Ye Grecian warriors, now for Troy prepare
Your hoﬅile arms ; the ohﬅacle's remov'd.
[The noiſe ofa rifing wind is heard, the
fiza thrown into agitation, and the ſhips
are all in motiom]
A cHoRUs of ſailors in the ſhips, is heard
from a diﬅance.
The ſea is rouz'd, the billows riſe,
The winds invite, and Troy's our prize.
--CHORUS of ſoldiers on the fore part of the
_ theatre.
The winds invite, and Troy's our prize.
186
[After the two chorufes, ſeveral times alter

nately ſung, then
The full CHORUS of both.

Paris ſhan't long his crime enjoy;
The winds invite ; now, now we ﬅeer
To puniſh him, and conquer Troy.
To injur'd Greece revenge is dear.
A D A n c a of ſailors.
187
A.SHORT GLOSSARY OF CERTAIN

TERMS USED lN THIS WORK.
ADAGlO, a flow tune.

AFFETTO AFFETTUOSO, means that kind
oſmuſic, which is tender and moving.
ALLEGRO, a briſk, lively, gay, and pha
ſant ﬅyle of muſic.
AluA, a ſong, air, or tune.
ARIETTA, a little ſhort fong, a ſonnet, or '
catch.
ANDAMENTO, }Theſe are derived from
ANDANTE, the Italian word andore,
ANDANTISSIMO, to go, and figniſy that
the notes (eſpecially in the thorough
baſſes) are to be played diﬅinctly and
flow, from a leſs to the greateﬅ de
gree.
188
BALET, is oſ French origin, and ſignifies a

ſucceffion oſ airs in all ſorts of mcve-'
ments, whether briſk or flow, with
which the dances agree, and are car
ried on as the ﬅrains or motions differ.
BRAVURA, is applied to whatever perſor_-.
mance, inﬅrumental 01) vocal, requires
a ſpirited, lively, and impaffioned ex.
ecution.
CADENZA. Cadence, in modern muſic, is
a certain concluſion of along, or of
the parts thereof, in many places of
the piece; which is divided as it were
into ſo many numbers or periods. The
cadence is when the parts fall, or_
terminate on a chord or note, the ear
ſeeming naturally to expect it; and is
much the ſame in a ſong, as a period
that cloſes the ſenſe in a paragraph of
diſcourſe. '
CANTABrLE, - ſigniſy, the firﬅ, a piece of
CAN'I'ILENA, } melody well compoſed, and
-the ſecond, a fong. '
189
CONTINUATA, in vocal muſic, means to
continue or hold'on a found with an'
equal ﬅrength or manner, or to con
tinue a movement in an equal degree
< of time all the way.
. DESANT, is to run adivifion or variety up
on one, two, or more given notes,
with an inſlrument or voice.
DIASTEMATlC, implies, according to the
ſenſe of the ancients', a ſimple inter-_
' val, in oppoſition to a compound one,
by them called a ſyﬅem.
' FINALE, is the end or 'laﬅ note of a piece of
muſic; but it more particularly means
the cloſe or laﬅ note of a tone or
mode, by which it is diſlinguiſhed
from all others; ſometimes the ends
of airs. .
HARMONY, is the agreeable effect of ſounds,
differing in acuteneſs, produced to
gether. X '
MELODY, is the effect of ſounds ranged and
diſpoſed in ſucceſfion: ſo that melody
190
is the effect of a ſingle voice or in
ﬅrument; which diﬅinguiſhes it from
harmony, though they are often con
founded.
OBLIGATO, ſigniſiesfor, on purpoſe for, or
neceſſary, asduoi 'vie/ine', on purpoſcfir
two violins, and ſo of other inﬅru
ments.
ORCHESTRA, is that part of a theatre where
the muſicians are placed.
Puomc, comes ſrom the Greek word ewm,
ſmiſying voice or ſound, and implies
the doctrine or ſcience of ſound, called
likewiſe am: its.
PlANo, ſoſt or ſweet, or gently flow.
Pxes'ro, quick or faﬅ; and gaily, without
being rapid.
RlP1ENo, ſignifies full; and is uſed in pieces
of muſic in parts, to diﬅinguiſh thoſe
parts that are played but now and
then, from what fill up thoſe that are
played throughout the piece.
R1'roRNELLo, the-burden, or the repetition
4
19!
of the verſes of a fong- at the end of
each ﬅanza. It means alſo, thoſe
ſymphonies played before the voices
begin, by way of an introduction. or
_ prelude.
SvEGLIATo, a gay, briſk, lively manner of
playing or finging.
ZYMPHWY, ſignifies in muſic, a concert or
conſonance of ſeveral ſounds agreeable
to the ear, be they inﬅrumental, or
vocal, or both, and may be called har
mony in general ; yet ſome there are,
who confine the meaning of ſymphony
"to inﬅrumental muſic alone, and there
:fore ſay, that theſhmpbonies of ſuch an
Opera were excellent, although the
rccifaei-vos were abominable.
W IOLETTA, this term fignifies the erip/e viol.
LVIRTU, ſignifies a ſuperiority of genius and
talents ; and by vireuaſo is meant a per
ſon thus eminently endowed by nature
and due cultivation ; wherefore an ex
..cellentpainter,.able architect, &e. are
192
called oiremſi. But this dcnomination
ſeems to be appropriated by the Italians
in a more eſpecial manner to eminent
muſicians; and among them, rather to
thoſe who apply themſelves to the
theory than to the practice of that art..
The term vireuqſo is 'underﬅood in a
very different ſenſe by the Engliſh l
of
a
a
an
dun

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AN ESSAY ON THE OPERA

LONDON, PRINTED FOR L. DAVIS AND

That to you, immortal man, who knew how

his leiſure with the powers of literature; and

Piſa, dec. 18, 1762.

Gloſſary to the Engliſh tranﬂation. 187

ca. **-_"-*m _._._._a...._

No method more eﬀectual hath been ima

help ſurrendcring itſelſ a willing captive to ſo

i Among the many unfavourable opinions againﬅ orenAs,

And before him Dryden had ſaid,

As ſoon as the deﬁred regulation ſhall have

dertaking, to give directions to the dancers,

Milan, in the city of Tortona, A particu

or to Thebes. And thus by the intervention

other. Through ſuch ſaving, the Opera may

more than a tragic-poem recited to muſical-

ſical ſounds, from appearing quite ſo impro

* Montezuma has been choſen for the ſubject of an Opera

ON THE MUSICAL COMPOSITION FOR

No art now appears to ﬅand ſo much' in

may be juﬅly called the inventor of the re

? See thegloſſary of technical'tenns at the end.

* in the orcbzﬂra of the theatre in the famous city of

p/aiſir, gu'rme ſuite de mm barmonieux, U ſonorcs, demnz.

It is n'ot eno'ugh for co'r'1iei'ct' muſical' compo

lmgraceful, than their mincing and frittering'

* The amour-s of the emperor Caracalla with a veﬅal,

words, or expþreﬃng ſentiments. Being ſo

viﬁts being made from one box to another, in

E Iz'bz'to fan lia"eo in [or 'Icggg

more obedient to their command on every oe

'The French bind them down to be ihe mere

p'oſer, and are not liable to diſagree (as We

* " We are to conſider, that th-e muſic wieh the ancienis;

harmonic; which was but one part of their muſi"c, (cori

* Verum cquitis quoque jam migravit ab aure voluptas,

What is the eſſence and nature of Dancing,

Coregraphy, or the art of dancing, took its

To the many improprieties, with which the

that dreſſes ſhould be appropriated according to

a certain degree of the marvellous. He had

'- Lib. vu. Cap. V.

roof, loſe themſelves in a ſea ofclouding rags,

* Uei'um Dii inner-eale: fccſſne, 14: Lidniu: rr-ur'wﬂ cr'e, U

parts, and the ſphynxes that accompany them,

m-r-Tz-r- --*- -**-- << - - - . -

limpid canal's, lovely iﬁands, crown'd with

* On a bad taﬂe in gardens.

No pleaſing intricacies intervene,

On a good taile in gardens.

----- m *-- *' '* - '

ON THE STRUCTURE OF THEATRES.

Thus far we have treated of all the conR-i

ﬅone: for beſides the perpetuity ſuch materials

* Ieaque .ex In" indagalionſﬂu: marbe'meirir mh'anibue ﬁunt

----- m -- ' '* - '

.... .-._. .--_.____.