in 'Dardanus' is as full of genuine fire as a Bourrée from the Suites of Seb. Bach. One can readily understand how such Movements as this must have taken the Parisians, accustomed to the dead-level of Lulli's poorest imitators, by storm. The misfortune was, that Rameau, like Lulli, found no one to succeed him; and it was not until ten years after his death that French Opera owed another regeneration to another foreigner.
The arrival of Gluck in Paris, in 1774, marks one of the most important epochs in the History of Music, and one of the most curious anomalies in that of national Schools. Born a German, with all a German's love for solid Harmony, Gluck studied in Italy, wrote Italian Operas, conceived the first idea of his great reform in England, tried in vain to introduce it in his own country, and finally, with the aid of a French Librettist, achieved his greatest triumph in French Opera, at Paris. The history of that triumph is too well known to need repetition.[1] But it is impossible to lay too much stress upon the fact, that, from circumstance, and not from choice, it was French Opera that Gluck reformed. Germany would have nothing to say to his improvements. France received them. And, notwithstanding the opposition of the Piccinists, it was the French School that reaped the first benefit of a movement which will probably leave its mark upon Art as long as the Opera shall last. What is this mark? It is necessary that we should be able to recognise, not only its outward form, but the spirit of which that form is the symbol: for, if rightly understood, it will furnish us with a key to more than one very difficult problem connected with our present position; whereas, if misinterpreted, it cannot fail to lead us into fatal error.
From the moment in which he first entertained the idea of remodelling the Lyric Drama, until that of his greatest triumph, Gluck had but one end in view—the presentment of pure dramatic truth. To secure this, he was willing to sacrifice symmetry of Form, continuity of Melody, regularity of Rhythm, flexibility of Voice, or any other means of effect which he felt to be unsuited to the situation with which he had to deal. But, under no circumstances whatever was he prepared to sacrifice euphony. Neither in his practice, nor in the detailed exposition of his theory which he has given to the world, does he ever hint at the possibility of this. Yet it has become a common thing to cite his authority in justification of enormities which would have made his hair stand on end. The best answer to this misconstruction will be found in the Operas he wrote after he had cast aside the trammels of conventional treatment, and learned to think for himself. In these great works, planned in full accordance with the principles laid down in his preface to 'Alceste,' he does indeed, over and over again, refrain from introducing a telling Melody into a Score unsuited to its character; but he takes care that the Music which supplies its place shall always be good and beautiful; and it is precisely because this condition is too often neglected, by some who profess themselves his most devoted admirers, that we feel bound to lay more than ordinary stress upon it here. In discussing the peculiarities of later Schools, we shall probably refer to the subject once more. Meanwhile, let it be clearly understood, that, whatever may be the opinion of more modern authorities, Gluck, at least, never believed ideal beauty to be incompatible with dramatic truth.
XXIX. The English School of the 18th Century also owes its chief glories to a foreigner, who, naturalised in this country, found his attempts to meet and lead the taste of an English audience rewarded by inspirations grander than any with which he had been previously visited.
Handel made his first public appearance in London on Feb. 24, 1711, fifteen years and three months after the sad day on which the brightest prospects of the School of the Restoration had been clouded by the death of Henry Purcell. During this period of respectable stagnation, no native Musician had ventured, either to strike out a new path, or to take up the work, on the old lines, where Purcell had left it. Yet it is certain that, notwithstanding this, the national taste had not deteriorated. Purcell had so far raised its standard, that, when Handel demanded a hearing, he found an intelligent and thoroughly appreciative audience only too glad to do him justice. He achieved his earliest successes at the Queen's Theatre, in the Haymarket. But we need not speak of these. Had we not already described his Operas[2] we should scarcely feel justified in classing them among the productions of an English School: for, though composed in England, for an English audience, performed at an English theatre, and printed exclusively (until within the last few years) by English music-sellers, they were written in the Italian language, to be sung by Italian Vocalists. But, side by side with these Italian pieces grew up a collection of English works, in a style which has never yet been fully appreciated, save in the land of its birth. A style more impressive than any that had been conceived, since the decadence of Polyphony; more colossal in its proportions than the grandest combinations of Leo, or Colonna, or the most elaborate productions of the German Polyodic period; and more true to Nature, in its endless varieties of expression, than any form of Dramatic Music previously cultivated. We first find this new phase of thought distinctly asserted in the 'Utrecht Te Deum and Jubilate,' composed in 1713—though traces of it are not wanting in the 'Birthday Ode,' produced a few months earlier. In the twelve 'Chandos Anthems,' written in 1718–20, for the Chapel at Cannons, it is present throughout; and, in 'Esther,' and 'Acis and Galatea,' com-
- ↑ See vol. i. pp. 601–603; ii. pp. 514–517.
- ↑ See vol. ii. p. 507.
