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modern music, Mendelssohn being the most prominent representative of the barcarole in its artistic stage; but Auber, Schubert, Chopin, and Sterndale Bennett, have also written. beautiful barcaroles.
Of the efforts of German scholarship and thoroughness, to which some of the most valuable compendiums of musical knowledge are due, it would be impossible to give a complete list. The first amongst these appears to have been Walthern's 'Alte und neue musikalische Bibliothek, oder Musikalisches Lexikon,' published early in the last century at Weimar. The best amongst technical dictionaries is Arrey von Dommer's revised edition of Koch's 'Lexicon' (Heidelberg, 1865). The first biographical dictionary of musicians also appears to have been of German origin, being Gerber's 'Historisch-biographisches Lexicon der Tonkünstler' (Leipzig, 1790-92, 2 vols.), followed twenty years later by the Dictionnaire historique des Musiciens' of Choron and Fazolle (Paris, 1810-11). But by far the most important work of this class is Fétis's 'Biographie Universelle des Musiciens,' already alluded to. Of Mendel's 'Conversations-Lexikon,' combining the technical and the biographical elements, mention has also been made.
In conclusion, we think Mr. Grove has exercised a wise discretion in omitting from his valuable Dictionary a whole class of subjects, the nature of which is indicated by the following paragraph of the Preface :
The limits of the work have necessarily excluded disquisitions on acoustics, anatomy, mechanics, and other branches of science connected with the main subject, which, though highly important, are not absolutely requisite in a book concerned with practical music.'
It has of late become the custom to speak of a 'science of music,' and composers and virtuosi are often sternly reproved for being unacquainted with the scientific basis of their art. They may plead in excuse that the number of vibrations by which a tone is produced is a matter of total indifference to those who can string such tones together into a melody, or play them on the violin or the flute. Neither is the intonation of a singer improved by his minute knowledge of the larynx and its anatomical qualities. Moreover, the experiments with pure fifths,' and other attempts at meddling with our system of tuning the pianoforte, have hitherto led, and will probably always lead, to miserable failures. It may indeed be broadly stated, that the discoveries of Helmholtz and other scientific men, valuable and excellent though they undoubtedly are, have never been of the slightest use to the practical musician.
The story is told of a scientific man who wrote a piece of music on strictly mathematical principles. It was a model of symmetry, and everything that could be desired from a scientific point of view, but extremely dull and uninteresting. On the other hand, there is no evidence that Bach or Mozart knew anything whatever of the physical laws of their art. The two things are different, and ought not to be mixed up together. There is a science of acoustics, and an art of music.
ART. IV.-1. Cavour. A Memoir. By Edward Dicey, author of Rome in 1860.' London, 1861.
2. Le Comte de Cavour. Rive. Paris, 1862.
Récits et Souvenirs. Par W. de la
3. Euvre Parlementaire du Comte de Cavour. Traduite et annotée par J. Artom et Albert Blanc. 4. Henry d'Ideville. Journal d'un Diplomate en Italie. Notes intimes pour servir à l'Histoire du Second Empire. Turin, 1859-1862; Paris, 1872.
5. A Discourse on the Life, Character, and Policy of Count Cavour. By Vincenzo Botta, Ph.D., Professor, &c. New York, 1862.
6. Bismarck et Cavour.
L'Unité de l'Allemagne et l'Unité de l'Italie. Par M. N. Reyntiens, Membre du Sénat Belge. Bruxelles, 1875.
7. The Life of Cavour. From the French of M. Charles de Mazade. London, 1877.
8. Life of Victor Emanuel II., First King of Italy. By G. S. Godkin. In Two Volumes. London, 1879.
9. Pie IX. et Victor Emmanuel. Histoire Contemporaine de l'Italie (1846-1878). Par Jules Zeller, Membre de l'Institut. Paris, 1879.
HE Lives, Memoirs, and biographical notices of Count Cavour, emulously hurried out soon after his death, were inevitably and confessedly incomplete. The author of one of the best, Mr. E. Dicey, expressed the common sentiment when he said that many long years had yet to pass before either friends or foes could judge fairly of the statesman's memory:' that the fame of the architect rests ultimately not so much on the gorgeousness of his edifice as on the stability of his strucThe so-called edifice was in a most unsatisfactory state: the added parts had to be brought into harmony with the main building: the scaffolding was still standing: the foundation
lines of the complete structure he meditated were hardly traced when he died. Or his position might be compared to that of the prophet on Mount Pisgah :
'The barren wilderness he passed,
Did on the very border stand
And from the mountain-top of his exalted wit
The promised land was reached, and fully realized the expectations he had raised of it: his mantle fell upon successors who comprehended him: his spirit survived and spread; and the grandest of his conceptions, which even the southern imagination was slow to grasp, was caught up and realized in the colder and less congenial atmosphere of the north. United Italy, with Rome for its capital, was the prototype of united Germany, with Prussia for its head. The fire of nationality, which fused and moulded the jarring States of the German Confederation into an empire, was kindled at Italian altars; and there was a connecting link, an associating chord, between the two greatest men of our generation which may be illustrated by the striking metaphor of Burke: Even then, before this splendid orb (Chatham) was entirely set, and while the western horizon was in a blaze with his descending glory, on the opposite quarter of the heaven arose another luminary (Charles Townshend), and for his hour became lord of the ascendant.' The living career of the regenerator of Italy was closed in June, 1861: the regenerator of Germany became lord of the ascendant in September, 1862; and the prolonged influence of the descending orb upon the course of the rising luminary may be compared to that which the moon exercises over the tides; although, perhaps, each of them would be best typified by the comet with fear of change perplexing nations.' To facilitate the just appreciation of both, to bring the distinctive qualities of these two master minds into broad relief by contrast, we propose to place a careful study of Count Cavour alongside the sketch which we recently hazarded of Prince Bismarck. Quite independently of other considerations, the accumulation of valuable materials since we last approached the subject † forms an ample justification for resuming it.
The Italian, like the German statesman, came of a noble
*Cowley-referring to Lord Bacon.
Quarterly Review' for July 1861. In going over the same ground, especially as regards facts essential to be kept in mind, we think it better to repeat than refer.
and ancient race. The original name was Benso, and the real name (abbreviated in common parlance) became Benso de Cavour on the elevation of the head of the house to the Marquisate of Cavour, some three or four generations back. The founder of the family is traditionally said to have settled at Santena, their present seat, in the eleventh century, and M. Artom relates that he asked Cavour how it came to pass that a German device, Gott will Recht,' made part of his armorial bearings. 'It is supposed,' was the reply, that my family is of Saxon origin, and that a pilgrim named Benz came to Piedmont in 1086. Hence the shells which you see in my arms and the motto which decorates them. Do you believe this?' 'No.' 'No more do I;' and he burst into a loud peal of laughter.
But on the same authority we learn that during a railway journey, towards the close of his life, he suddenly exclaimed to a fellow-traveller, 'Do you see that spire yonder, half hidden among the trees? It is the church steeple of Santena, the hereditary seat of my family. It is there I wish to repose after my death.'
He was the second son of the Marquis de Cavour, who held the office of Grand Chamberlain under Prince Camillo Borghese, when Piedmont formed part of a French department; and that he came into the world under Napoleonic auspices is commemorated by the fact that he received his Christian name from the Prince, and that the Princess Pauline was his godmother. His mother was the daughter of the Comte de Sellon, a noble Genevese, one of three sisters, all highly cultivated and accomplished women. He was born on the 1st of August, 1810, and bred up in a domestic circle regulated by a kind of patriarchal feeling. So striking indeed were old customs, especially the prerogatives of primogeniture, observed in it, that when Cavour, in the height of his fame, was occupying the town-house at Turin with his elder brother, he still retained the position of a cadet, and was obliged to take his place every day at table with the family factor (intendant), whom he detested. 'People fancy me very powerful,' he remarked one day in the hearing of M. d'Ideville. Well, I have never been able to get rid of Barnabo. I must endure him, whether I like it or not.'
When he was in his fifth year, his mother writes: 'Gustave (the elder brother) is fond of study; Camillo holds it in horror. Tell me if you have much trouble in teaching your Eugene to read; as for my poor Camillo, he can make nothing of it, his sighs are heart-rending.' His half-boastful avowal in after life, that he knew neither Greek nor Latin, recalls Berryer exclaiming, Moi, qui ne sais ni lire ni écrire!' In 1816 he was
taken by his parents to Geneva, on a visit to the De la Rives, whose impression of him at this period has fortunately been handed down.
'He was an arch, roguish little fellow, with a lively physiognomy, indicating decision, a very amusing playfulness, and inexhaustible spirits. He wore a red coat, which gave him a resolute and at the same time agreeable air. On his arrival he was very excited, and told my grandfather that the postmaster of Geneva, having supplied execrable horses, ought to be dismissed. "I demand his dismissal," he repeated. "But," replied my grandfather, "I cannot dismiss the postmaster, it is only the first syndic who has this power." "Well, I desire an audience of the first syndic." "You shall have one to-morrow," replied my grandfather, and he immediately wrote to his friend M. Schmidtmeyer, the first syndic, to announce that he was about to send him a very droll little fellow. The next day he presents himself at the first syndic's, is ceremoniously received, and after three formal bows makes a clear, calm statement of his complaint and demand. On his return, as soon as he caught sight of my grandfather, he called out, "All right, he will be dismissed."
He was then hardly six. In his tenth or eleventh year, he left the paternal mansion for the Military Academy of Turin, and at the same time was appointed page to the Prince of Carignan, the heir presumptive to the throne; an honour, due to his birth, which was highly esteemed for the rank and privileges it conferred. He was far from viewing it in that light. When M. de la Rive asked him what was the costume of the pages, 'Parbleu!' he replied in an excited tone, how would you have us dressed, except as lackeys, which we were. It made me blush with shame.' His open contempt for the place, with probably his lax discharge of its duties, led to his speedy dismissal, and left a disagreeable impression on his royal master, who subsequently visited on the officer the offence given by the page. His youthful inaptitude or distaste for the learned languages did not extend to other branches of knowledge. He so distinguished himself in the studies of the Academy, especially mathematics, that he left it at sixteen with the grade of sublieutenant in the engineers, despite of the regulations fixing at twenty the age at which this grade could be conferred. The best part of his military career was passed in garrison at Genoa, at that time the abode or resort of the choicest Italian intellects. 'It was here,' remarks M. de la Rive, 'that he made his real début in the world, and I have heard him say that, in this great school of statesmen, no instruction was spared him.' The instruction would seem to have run in the liberal or ultra-liberal direction; for the language in which he spoke of the Revolution