Addison's duties as Under-Secretary were probably not particularly arduous. In 1705 he was permitted to attend Lord Halifax to the Court of Hanover, whither the latter was sent to carry the Act for the Naturalisation of the Electress Sophia. The mission also included Vanbrugh, who, as Clarencieux King-at-Arms, was charged to invest the Elector with the Order of the Garter; the party thus constituted affording a remarkable illustration of the influence exercised by literature over the politics of the period. Addison must have obtained during this journey considerable insight into the nature of England's foreign policy, as, besides establishing the closest relations with Hanover, Halifax was also instructed to form an alliance with the United Provinces for securing the succession of the House of Brunswick to the English throne. In the meantime his imagination was not idle. After helping Steele in the composition of his Tender Husband, which was acted in 1705, he found time for engaging in a fresh literary enterprise of his own. The principles of operatic music, which had long been developed in Italy, had been slow in making their way to this country. Their introduction had been delayed partly by the French prejudices of Charles II., but more perhaps by the strong insular tastes of the people and by the vigorous forms of the native drama. What the untutored English audience liked best to hear was a well-marked tune sung in a fine natural way the kind of music which was in vogue on the stage till the end of the seventeenth century was simply the regular drama interspersed with airs; recitative was unknown; and there was no attempt to culti vate the voice according to the methods practised in the Italian schools. But with the increase of wealth and travel more exacting tastes began to prevail: Italian singers appeared on the stage and exhibited to the audience capacities of voice of which they had hitherto had no experience. In 1705 was acted at the Haymarket L. Arsinoe, the first opera constructed in England on avowedly Italian principles. The words were still in English, but the dialogue was throughout in recitative. The composer was Thomas Clayton, who, though a man entirely devoid of genius, had travelled in Italy, and was eager to turn to account the experience which he had acquired. In spite of its badness Arsinoe greatly impressed the public taste; and it was soon followed by Camilla, a version of an opera by Bononcini, portions of which were sung in Italian and portions in English, an absurdity on which Addison justly comments in a number of the Spectator. His remarks on the consequences of translating the Italian operas are equally humorous and just. "As there was no great danger," says he, "of hurting the sense of these extraordinary pieces, our authors would often make words of their own which were entirely foreign to the meaning of the passages they pretended to translate; their chief care being to make the numbers of the English verse answer to those of the Italian, that both of them might go to the same tune. Thus the famous song in Camilla: 'Barbara si t'intendo,' etc. 'Barbarous woman, yes, I know your meaning.' which expresses the resentment of an angry lover, was translated into that English lamentation 'Frail are a lover's hopes,' etc. And it was pleasant enough to see the most refined persons of the British nation dying away and languishing to notes that were filled with the spirit of rage and indignation. It happened also very frequently where the sense was rightly translated, the necessary transposition of words, which were drawn out of the phrase of one tongue into that of another, made the music appear very absurd in one tongue that was very natural in the other. I remember an Italian verse that ran thus, word for word : 'And turned my rage into pity, which the English for rhyme's sake translated, 'And into pity turned my rage.' By this means the soft notes that were adapted to pity in the Italian fell upon the word 'rage' in the English; and the angry sounds that were turned to rage in the original were made to express pity in the translation. It oftentimes happened likewise that the finest notes in the air fell upon the most insignificant word in the sentence. I have known the word 'and' pursued through the whole gamut; have been entertained with many a melodious 'the;' and have heard the most beautiful graces, quavers, and divisions bestowed upon then,' 'for,' and 'from,' to the eternal honour of our English particles." 1 Perceiving these radical defects, Addison seems to have been ambitious of showing by example how they might be remedied. "The great success this opera (Arsinoe) met with produced," says he, "some attempts of forming pieces upon Italian plans, which should give a more natural and reasonable entertainment than what can be met with in the elaborate trifles of that nation This alarmed the poetasters and fiddlers of the town, who were used to deal in a more ordinary kind of ware; and therefore laid down an established rule, which is received as such to this day, 'That nothing is capable of being well set to music that is not nonsense. "2 The allusion to the failure of the writer's own opera of Rosamond is unmistakable. The piece was performed on the 2d of April 1706, but was coldly received, and after two or three representations was withdrawn. The reasons which the Spectator assigns for the catastrophe betray rather the self-love of the author than the clear perception of the critic. Rosamond failed because, in the first place, it was very bad as a musical composition. Misled by the favour with which Arsinoe was received, Addison seems to have regarded Clayton as a great musician, and he put his poem into the hands of the latter, thinking that his score would be as superior to that of Arisinoe as his own poetry was to the words of that opera. Clayton, however, had no genius, and only succeeded in producing what Sir John Hawkins, quoting with approbation the words of another critic, calls "a confused chaos of music, the only merit of which is its shortness."1 But it may be doubted whether in any case the most skilful composer could have produced music of a high order adapted to the poetry of Rosamond. The play is neither a tragedy, a comedy, nor a melodrama. It seems that Eleanor did not really poison Fair Rosamond, but only administered to her a sleeping potion, and, as she takes care to explain to the King, "The bowl with drowsy juices filled, This information proves highly satisfactory to the King, not only because he is gratified to find that Rosamond is 1 Sir John Hawkins' History of Music, vol. v. p. 137. not dead, but also because, even before discovering her supposed dead body, he had resolved, in consequence of a dream sent to him by his guardian angel, to terminate the relations existing between them. The Queen and he accordingly arrange in a business-like manner that Rosamond shall be quietly removed in her trance to a nunnery; a reconciliation is then effected between the husband and wife, who, as we are led to suppose, live happily ever after. The main motive of the opera in Addison's mind appears to have been the desire of complimenting the Marlborough family. It is dedicated to the Duchess; the warlike character of Henry naturally recalls the prowess of the great modern captain; and the King is consoled by his guardian angel for the loss of Fair Rosamond with a vision of the future glories of Blenheim : "To calm thy grief and lull thy cares What, after long revolving years, Thy bower shall be ! When time its beauties shall deface, This is graceful enough, but it scarcely offers material for music of a serious kind. Nor can the Court have been greatly impressed by the compliment paid to its morality as contrasted with that of Charles II., conveyed |