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SCHOOLS OF COMPOSITION. critical ingenuity will ever satisfactorily bridge over.

Of Haydn we shall speak more particularly, when treating of the structural change by which he revolutionised Instrumental Music; though his Dramatic Works, written for Prince Esterhazy's Theatre, deserve more attention than has yet been devoted to them. To Mozart, the German Lyric Drama owes, not only its most precious possessions, but its splendid position at the head of the Schools of Europe. His genius, breaking down all distinctions of manner, whether popular or scholastic, acknowledged no law but that of Nature. By pure instinct he learned so to blend the brightness of Italian Melody with the sterner combinations suggested by German Thought, that it is impossible either to affiliate him to any recognised family of Composers, or to decide upon the nationality of his style. To say, as critics have said, that he was more Italian than German, is absurd: yet the converse would be no nearer the truth. As a dramatic writer he stands alone. He was not the mere creator of a School: he was the School itself the source of its inspiration, its moving principle, its inmost soul. He did not even invent it, in the ordinary sense of the word. It came to him as a part of his nature—a wealth of genius, which, added to that bequeathed by Haydn and Beethoven, made the School of Vienna the richest in the world. If ever there was a case in which the glorious freedom of natural talent carried all before it, it was his. The dry formality, too often engendered by the cultivation of learning at the expense of feeling and expression, vanished, in his presence, like mist before a sunbeam. Learned he was, indeed, beyond the wisest of his contemporaries: yet he wrote, not from the head, but from the heart; and almost always produced his happiest effects by means before untried. Whether we study him in his instrumental or vocal phrases, in his Symphonies or his Masses, his Quartets or his Operas, we always find him pressing resolutely forward, on untrodden paths, in pursuit of some new ideal beauty which he alone had power to conceive. One good thing only did he condescend to borrow. For the outward form of his Instrumental Movements he was indebted to the ingenuity of another mind, as fertile as his own: a mind which exercised so vast an influence over the whole realm of Art, that it is impossible to exaggerate the importance, either of the principles it enuntiated, or the mission it accomplished.

And here it is that Haydn asserts his claim to notice, as one of the greatest musical reformers of any age.

Sebastian Bach died in 1750, when the Composer of 'The Creation' was just eighteen years and five months old—a chronological certainty to which, if it rested on internal evidence, we should refuse credence. With the 'Suites Françaises' of the one Master, and the 'Twelve Grand Symphonies' of the other, before us, we might well expect to find two such works separated by at least a century of thought and progress. Yet Bach was still alive, while Haydn, in his garret in the KohlMarkt, was patiently working out, by his own unaided genius, that justly famous 'Sonata-form,' which holds, in Music, a place analogous to that of the Vertebrate Skeleton in the Animal Kingdom, serving, in one or other of its countless modifications, as the basis of every great Instrumental Composition that has been given to the world since it was first evolved from the 'Allemande,' the 'Courante,' and the 'Allegro' of the old 'Suite de Pièces.' We need not stay to analyse this ingenious device, which is fully described elsewhere. Our present purpose extends no farther than the indication of its just position in the technical History of Music. No gift so precious has since been offered at the Shrine of Art. Its value has been acknowledged by the practice of every great Composer, from Mozart's day to our own: and it is noticeable that every Composer is seen at his greatest, when he most freely acknowledges his obligation to the 'Father of the Symphony.' This argues no want of originality among later Masters. For 'Papa Haydn's' invention is founded upon a great principle: and, until some still greater one shall be discovered, the Composer who ignores it runs the risk of producing an ill-planned Movement, the defects of which can no more be condoned by the perfection of its details, than the monstrosities of an ill-formed skeleton can be concealed by the softness of the fur which covers it. The 18th century may therefore be said to govern the Instrumental Schools of the present day, by means of this invaluable contrivance, not only in Germany, but throughout Europe.

XXVIII. The history of divides itself into two distinct periods, quite unconnected with each other.

Too jealous to endure the thought of a rival, the Italian, Lulli, worked for himself alone, and left neither disciple nor worthy successor. It is true that his fame long outlived him; but, meanwhile, Art was at a stand-still: and it was not until many years after his death that France herself produced a genius capable of advancing his work. The right man was found at last in Rameau, who was recognised as one of the most learned Theorists in Europe, long before he attempted to lay the foundation of a new School of Dramatic Composition, and was, therefore, the better fitted to carry out his task with dignity. Yet, notwithstanding his reputation, he found it difficult to obtain a hearing: and it was not until the production of his 'Hippolyte et Aricie,' in 1733, that his talent received its due reward. Then, indeed, his name became deservedly popular; and, in his 'Castor et Pollux,' 'Dardanus,' and many later Operas, he introduced improvements in form, expression, management of the Orchestra, and general dramatic effect, which Lulli had never anticipated, and which soon raised the French Opera to a level it had never before seemed likely to attain. The suddenness of his success was probably in a great measure due to the strongly-marked character of his well-arranged ideas. The 'Rigaudon'