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SCHOOLS OF COMPOSITION. taste is formed on Northern models. But it is no ignoble characteristic; for it is founded upon Nature, as exhibited in the impulsive temperament of the South. And, it is always true. The climax always comes in the right place; and the moment of exhaustion follows, naturally, in due course. Rossini first made it a necessity. Bellini threw his whole soul into it. Donizetti—a more cultivated Musician than Bellini, though, with less exceptional natural gifts—used it no less skilfully than his predecessors. And time has proved that these defenders of the true Italian style were in the right. Mercadante felt this strongly, and turned his conviction to account: while a host of inferior Composers followed the leading of these powerful Chiefs; some doing good work of an inferior grade; others doing their best to vulgarise that which really contains the very essence of refinement; but none venturing to dispute the one great principle, that, deprived of its passionate expression, its melodious grace, and its perfect adaptation of vocal passages to vocal capabilities, their School could no longer exist. When Grisi and Mario were in their prime, and Verdi on his trial, the truth of this principle was universally accepted. Among the most popular Composers then living, there was not one, in any part of Italy, strong enough to set it at defiance. No Italian Opera, destitute of passion, of melody, or of vocal propriety, would have lived through its first night. But, within the last few years, a notable revolution has taken place. It is impossible to say whether the change was due to the Italians themselves; or was imported into Italy from foreign sources. But, it is manifestly unfair to assert, as some have done, that the movement is due to the influence of Wagner. It is true that its promoters have, to a certain extent, adopted the theories proposed by the German Master; inasmuch as they regard the symmetrically-constructed Aria as incompatible with the healthy development of the Lyric Drama, and, on that account, eliminate it, in favour of declamatory Recitative, and Instrumental Tone-painting, subordinating the claims, even of these powerful vehicles of expression, in their turn, to those of the Poetry, the Scenery, and the Action of the Story. But these restrictions, proclaimed by Peri, in the 16th century, and advocated by Gluck, in the 18th, are not altogether ignored by Meyerbeer and Gounod; and, since it is notorious that the best modern Italian Singers have achieved great successes in the Operas of these two Composers, it is more reasonable to believe that the latest Italian writers have been tempted, by this circumstance, to modify their style, than to suppose that they adopted their ideas from Munich. Be this it may, the movement is a res facta; and the present Italian Composers no longer care to write in the true Italian manner.

The standard of revolt was first raised, by Verdi, at Venice, in the year 1857; and the result of his experiment was, the utter failure of his Opera 'Simone Boccanegra.'

But Verdi was not the only believer in the new theory—the hated avvenerismo of the Italian dilettanti. A formidable body of young Composers soon joined the insurgent ranks, and laboured so enthusiastically in the cause of 'progress,' that they have already secured a strong revulsion of public feeling in its favour. Foremost amongst these are Arrigo Boïto, Alfredo Catalani, Filippo Marchetti, Amilcare Ponchielli, Anteri-Manzocchi, and the clever Contra bassist, Bottesini; Composers who have all made more or less impression upon the public, and whose works, whether good or bad, have at least sufficient individuality to secure them against the charge of servile plagiarism.

That the success of the Italian reform—if 'reform' it may be called—is almost entirely due to Verdi's clear-sightedness and perseverance, there can be no doubt. Well knowing the goal to which his new ideas must lead, he was not to be deterred from reaching it, by the disapproval of a Venetian audience. His earlier Operas were uniformly indebted, for their reputation, to a few catching Melodies, adapted to the taste of the period; the Music apportioned to the Action of the Drama being put together with so little care that it was difficult for a cultivated audience to listen to it. In 'Simone Boccanegra' the new convert endeavoured to remedy this defect, not by any startling change of style or method, but by devoting serious attention to points which he had too much neglected in his youthful works. These innovations were small indeed compared with those destined to follow. We have seen how the audience received them. We have now to see how Verdi received the judgment of the audience. In his later Operas, he gradually introduced a real change of style. Yet, some of these have achieved a far more lasting success than that which followed themost popular of his earlier efforts. In judging these transitional works, we cannot but see that he still felt doubts as to the mode in which they might be most effectively treated. As time progressed, these doubts merged, one by one, into certainties; until, in 'Aïda,' first produced at Cairo in 1872, we find the fullest enuntiation of the principles at issue, which the Composer has hitherto given to the world. It would not be safe to regard even 'Aïda' in any other light than that of a tentative production; but it at least discloses Verdi's idea of the goal to which the new movement is tending; and it is especially interesting as a proof that his ideal differs, very materially, in one point—the most important of all—from the standard aimed at by the most ambitious and the most prominent of his fellow-reformers. He has given up the orthodox form of the Aria d'entrata, the Cabbaletta, and the Canzonetta; he has welded his Movements together, so as to produce the effect of a continuous dramatic whole; he has centred more interest in his declamatory passages, and his orchestral pictures, than in his passages of flowing Melody—but, that stream of Melody is never wanting. It may be broken into a thousand scattered phrases; it may lack the continuity necessary to ensure a