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MOZART found rules as to the form and technicalities of the opera 1 seria rigidly laid down even to the minutest details, and he was the less tempted to disregard these, since the extraordinary ease of his invention prevented his ever finding a prescribed form to be a burdensome restriction. Mozart's mission was not to overstep the bounds of custom, but quietly and gradually to bring to perfection all that was genuine and true in the diverse elements of his time. He found the opera already in the hands of the vocalists, and execution had by this time asserted its victory over characterisation. He did not attempt to enter the lists against singers and public, but contented himself with striving for fair conditions. He was willing to write to the satisfaction of the singers, and for the display of their powers, but he saw no necessity for sacrificing to this object either musical beauty or dramatic force. At times the dramatic situations in Mozart's early operas are true and even striking; but the dramatic element yields on the whole to execution and euphony. It must not be overlooked that the apprehension of dramatic truth and character varies with different times and different nations, and that the genius of first-rate artists could inspire life into what now appears a lifeless assemblage of notes. But it must at the same time be allowed that Mozart's operas of this period come under the influence of a taste perverted in many respects, which the youthful master had not yet overcome; and his forced compliance with many purely conventional demands must of necessity have left traces on his work as deep and lasting as those of his creative genius.

The opera of "Mitridate, Re di Ponto" (87 K.) was first adapted from Racine by the Abbé Parini, and revised by Vitt. Am. Cigna-Santi. The dramatis persona are as follows:—[See Page Image]

On the news of the death of Mithridates the inhabitants of Nymphæa deliver up the keys of the town to his son Sifares. Aspasia seeks his protection against the suit of his brother Pharaaces, thereby betraying her partiality for Sifares, which he secretly returns. Pharaaces attempts to force his hand on Aspasia, whereupon Sifares throws himself between them; Arbates separates the contending brothers with the news of the landing of Mithridates; they are reconciled, and agree to keep secret from their father what has passed. Marzio promises to the ambitious Phamaces the help of the Romans against his father.

Mithridates enters, proud and courageous in spite of the defeat he has just suffered, and is received by his sons; he introduces to Pharnaces his destined bride Ismene, who regards Pharnaces with little favour. The demeanour of his sons awakens the suspicions of Mithridates, and on Arbates revealing to him the passion of Pharnaces for Aspasia, he falls into an extravagant rage. Pharnaces acknowledges to Ismene that he no longer loves her; whereat, wounded alike in her pride and her love, she complains to Mithridates. The latter resolves to punish him, and suspecting from Aspasia's cold demeanour towards himself that she returns the love of Pharnaces, he sets Sifares to watch her. The lovers of course now come to an understanding, but Aspasia virtuously commands Sifares to leave her for ever to the fulfilment of her duty.

Mithridates, in order to test the fidelity of his sons, consults with them on the prosecution of the war; he discovers the complicity of Pharnaces with the Romans, and orders his imprisonment; Pharnaces acknowledges his çuilt, but accuses Sifares of the greater guilt of complicity with Aspasia. In order to try her, Mithridates offers generously to resign her hand to Pharnaces, which draws from her the confession of her love for Sifares; this so infuriates Mithridates that he resolves to slay his two sons and Aspasia. This is the crisis at which the second act is brought to a conclusion by a duet, in which the lovers declare death preferable to separation.

In the third act, Ismene, repenting her resentment, strives to soften Mithridates, and Aspasia solicits Sifares' life with an assurance of his innocence; but, as she refuses to give her hand to Mithridates, he maintains his resolve, and the triple execution is to take place during a sally which he makes on the Roman host besieging the city. Aspasia is on the point of emptying the fatal bowl, when Sifares, who has been set free by Ismene, snatches it from her, and rushes against the enemy. Pharnaces, who has been released from his dungeon by the besieging Romans, is seized with compunction and returns to his obedience, setting fire to the Roman fleet. The Romans are defeated, but Mithridates is mortally wounded; before he dies he unites Aspasia and Sifares, and pardons Pharnaces, who has made his peace with Ismene.

The opera consists of twenty-four numbers without counting the overture; they are all solo songs, except one duet and the concluding quintet. 2 The original score appears to be lost; but several detached numbers of this opera are preserved in different forms of composition, showing that Mozart had made various experiments, more, doubtless, to please the singers than himself. Of the first air of Mithridates (7), "Se di lauri il crino adomo," there are four different sketched studies; Aspasia's song (13), "Nel grave tormento," is begun in a different form, but breaks off at once; five other numbers are completely worked out, but have given place to later arrangements. 3

This opera comes in all respects within the rules of the existing opera seria. Musical etiquette is strictly adhered to; the principal and secondary parts are divided in the usual way; the secondary parts are easier (not always simpler), and their character is tamer and less important, so that they may act as foils and connecting links to the principal parts. The chief singers had to be furnished with opportunities for making effect as soon as they appeared; and must have at least one great aria in each act. All this is carefully provided for. The compass and executive skill of the artists, more especially of Bernasconi and d' Ettore, must have been extraordinary. The division of the aria into two movements, which prevails here as elsewhere, favours the elaboration of details by affording more than one principal subject. We must not expect to find a uniform florid song, the ornamental passages growing out of and entwining the chief melody, like an architectural ornamentation; they form an integral part of the composition. The taste in such passages is essentially fleeting, for it depended chiefly on the skill of the individual performer; what is most admired in one age is least pleasing to the next. The same dismemberment made itself apparent too, in the cantilene. The various vocal tricks, long notes, sustained melodies, long jumps, syncopated passages, &c., to which due effect had to be given, could not be thrown together without some connecting principle. For this the subjects of the songs were made use of, but the effect was still disjointed and inartistic. The detached phrases were usually still further separated by a full or a half cadenza, to which an instrumental interlude was often attached. No doubt this wealth of variety was then considered a great charm; now we miss unity of form and conception. The turns of harmony are generally monotonous and poor, the form of the cadenza with its trills is just as stereotyped as that of the present day with its suspended sixth, and both the singer and the public expected and required that this should be so. No doubt the freedom which was allowed to the singer in delivery often gave quite a different form to the cadenza, but the want of conception could at best but be concealed.

These shortcomings are not to be ascribed in Mozart's case to youthful immaturity, but to the musical conditions of the time at which he wrote; they are equally observable in the works of the most experienced contemporary musicians, and were indeed hardly regarded as blemishes. The question involuntarily arises what there was in these early operas which could so enchant the public and draw from a master like Hasse the prediction that this youth would eclipse them all. A witty artist once declared that the public always requires novelty, but it must be novelty that they are acquainted with; anything really new demands too great an effort of comprehension from them. In this case, no doubt, the public, agreeably prepossessed by the readiness with which the work complied with all existing conditions, were quick to appreciate the skill and taste which were manifest, as well as a certain youthful freshness, and here and there traits more significant still of genius; traits in which Hasse recognised the germ of future development. We, who know Mozart in the full perfection of his powers, seek eagerly in these earlier works for such indications as there are of his future greatness. Sometimes, even in the bravura songs, pure, grand touches of melody light up their conventional surroundings; these are usually in the second part, and in the minor key. The more dramatic "situation-songs" in which the composer made fewer concessions to the singers, are not only conciser in form, but more pregnant and original in expression.

The most striking among them is the song of Aspasia (4). Upon the news of the arrival of Mithridates, whereby she knows Sifares to be in danger, and her love for him rendered hopeless, she utters these words:—

Nel sen mi palpita dolente il core

Mi chiama a piangere il mio dolore,

Non resistere, non so restar.

Ma se di lagrime umido è il ciglio

È solo, credimi, il tuo periglio

La cagion barbara del mio penar.

Grief, which seems too deep for words, here breaks forth in such an uncontrollable flood of song, expressed with so much truth and nature, that a dramatic artist like Bernasconi would be sure to make an extraordinary effect by it. The simple, purely musical means employed, the expressive flowing melodies, rich harmonies, suitable accompaniments, and charming moderation of expression—all these show us the genuine Mozart.

Should it be objected that the milk-and-water heroism of the piece is still further debased by gallantry in powder and gold lace, we can nevertheless claim for it, after all deductions made, a certain amount of stateliness and dignity. These qualities are indeed displayed more according to court etiquette than to classical antiquity, but they are unmistakably there, conformably to the manners of the time and the nation, and their artistic significance is not small. Mithridates, who has most of individual character after Aspasia, never forgets, as Sonnleithner justly observes, that he is first tenor as well as king; but on the other hand he always remembers that he is king as well as first tenor.

The text of the opera "Lucio Silla," composed in 1772 (135 K.), was written by Giovanni da Camera, and according to the preface, revised by Metastasio. The programme runs:—[See Page Image]

Cecilio, a senator, banished by Silla, has secretly returned to Rome to learn the fate of his betrothed Junia, daughter of C. Marius; his friend Cinna warns him that Silla has spread the rumour of his death in order to win the hand of Junia; Cinna counsels him to meet her in a burial-place. Silla, whose suit has been repulsed by Junia, resolves to slay her. Cecilio awaits his betrothed in the dusky burial-place, surrounded by the trophies of Roman heroes. She enters, accompanied by noble youths and maidens, who call for vengeance on Silla, and lament by the urn of her father. When she is alone, Cecilio reveals himself. She takes him at first for a ghost, and they then express their joy in a duet.

In the second act Aufidio, Silla's evil counsellor, advises him publicly to declare Junia as his betrothed, and thereby reconcile the contending factions; she will not be able to oppose the universal wish. Celia, his sister, who always counsels well, informs him of the ill-success of her appeal to Junia; he promises to unite Celia to her lover Cinna. Silla has scarcely departed, when Cecilio rushes in to murder him in obedience to a vision; Cinna counsels postponement, to which Cecilio at last consents. Ciàna is now so engrossed in his plans for revenge that he scarcely heeds Celia, who tells him of their approaching happiness, and tries to persuade Junia to a feigned submission, and the murder of Silla in his bed-chamber. But she refuses to be guilty of high treason, and he resolves to slay Silla himself.

Junia, who declares that she will never give her hand to Silla, is threatened with death, but nevertheless counsels Cecilio, who wishes to avenge her, to remain in concealment. Celia seeks in vain to persuade her by the portrayal of her own happiness, but cannot stifle gloomy anticipations. Silla announces from the capitol his intended union with Junia, and is answered by acclamations, but Junia endeavours to stab herself, which is prevented. Cecilio rushes in with drawn sword, is disarmed, and his death on the following day decreed by Silla; Cinna, entering also with drawn sword, sees that his plot has failed, and feigns to have come to Silla's protection. A terzet between Junia, Cecilio, and Silla concludes the act.

In the third act Cecilio in fetters is informed by Cinna of the ill-success of his plot, and calls on him for vengeance. Junia declares her resolve to slay herself before Cecilio. Aufidio comes to fetch him, and the lovers take leave.

Silla declares before the assembled people that this day shall give him vengeance and his heart's desire. Junia accuses him as the mur» derer of her betrothed, and calls on the people to avenge her. Silla pardons her and Cecilio, and unites the loving pair. Seized with compunction Cinna reveals his plot against Silla; he, too, receives pardon and the hand of Celia. Finally Silla forgives Aufidio his evil counsels, lays down the dictatorship, and restores freedom to Rome.

The consideration of such a libretto as this renders comprehensible the esteem in which Metastasio's texts were held. There is no trace of psychological study of motive; Silla, a sort of distorted Titus, alternates between cruelty and remorse, and finally empties a perfect cornucopia of generosity on to the stage; Junia too is unequal and weak. The situations are one and all as if purposely arranged to lead to nothing; the poet has with difficulty disposed the numerous scenes so as to introduce the necessary songs in their proper order. And the verse itself is very far removed from the grace and melody of Metastasio.

The score of the opera is preserved entire in Mozart's handwriting; it is in three parts, and has 610 pages. It contains besides the overture twenty-three numbers, among them three choruses (6, 17, 23), one duet (7), and one terzet (18). No wonder that the composer paid court to the singers! The mishap that deprived the opera of its tenor has been already narrated (p. 142). As the part devolved in the end on a very unpractised singer, the greater part of it was omitted, leaving only what was necessary for the coherence of the plot. The two songs (5, 13) are written for a singer whose voice and execution do not rise above the average, without any passages, and with a moderate compass; the more elaborate instrumentation alone betrays that they are intended for a principal performer. Two other songs for Silla which are in the libretto were not composed at all, in order, no doubt, as Sonnleithner conjectures, to give the tenor as little as possible to do.

All the more stress is laid on the parts of De Amicis and Rauzzini. Junia has four songs, which are all for a singer of the first rank. The special bravura song (II) is in the second act, "Ah, se il crudel periglio del caro ben ramento." Long passages of varied structure are here the chief considerations. One example among many will serve to show that Mozart was right in afterwards calling them "dreadful":—[See Page Image]

Notwithstanding the bravura character of this song, its style is far from well defined; that of the entering song, "Della sponde tenebrose" (4), and of the third aria (16) is more marked. This last, "Parto, m' affretto, ma nel partire il cor si spezza, mi manca la anima," consists of a continuous and progressive allegro assai. An agitated phrase for the first violins—supported by an accompaniment for the second, runs through it almost without intermission; the harmonising is interesting and varied; particularly effective is the immediate juxtaposition of major and minor keys; the whole song is strikingly expressive of an unsettled wavering mood.

Passages such as—[See Page Image] are brilliant, but not, properly speaking, characteristic. At least they do not stamp the actual situation with individuality; they seem designed only to define the character and mood of the acting personage in their main features, like the masks of ancient tragedy. The more detailed analysis was left to the art and individuality of the performer, to whom the composer offered only the means of combining dramatic force with song. We can still recognise the essential features of the characters; but we are quite unable to realise either the animation with which great artists inspired them, or the effect they produced on the minds of contemporaries. It is a mistake to consider bravura and character as opposite terms; ornamental passages are quite susceptible of characteristic expression, if they are delivered at the right time and in the right way. Junia's songs express the character of a proud strong Roman woman, and an opportunity for dramatic analysis is offered to the performer even in the more florid songs. But the true dramatic expression is undisturbed in Junia's last song (22), "Fra i pensier più funesti di morte veder parmi l' esangue consorte." The long adagio, followed by an allegro, is a distinct foreshadowing of the later form. The treatment of the orchestra too is significant. The flutes, oboes, and bassoons are in unison, and contrast with the stringed instruments, after a fashion not usual at the time: and in the allegro the orchestra is in significant opposition to the voice part, which is simple and unadorned, although calculated to give due effect to a fine voice; its dramatic expression is quite excellent.

In the part of Cecilio, written for Rauzzini, the regard paid to the singer is very apparent both in the compass of the voice, which comprises two octaves, and in the style. He was what may be called a scholarly singer, theoretically educated, and a composer himself, and difficulties are introduced evidently with a view to this. Thus, for instance, the recitative preceding his second aria is full of curious, sometimes harsh, turns and transitions in the harmonies; in the third aria such jumps as the following occur—[See Page Image] requiring no small certainty of execution. The first song (2), introduced by a fine expressive recitative, begins, as these male sopranos loved, with a long-sustained note, and'contains various brilliant passages; but it is quite without original invention. The second song (9) expresses a proud, free mood with strength and animation; the last (21) can only be explained as a freak of the performer. Cecilio, in the act of being led to execution, moved by Junia's tears, turns to her with the words—

Pupille amate

Non lagrimate!

These tender, trifling words, are treated by Mozart with an exquisite grace which is quite foreign to the character and the situation of Cecilio, and, as Sonnleithner observes, would be much more suitable to a soubrette. Probably Rauzzini chose this way of ingratiating himself with the public.

Besides the solo songs the opera contains a duet for J unia and Cecilio, and a terzet for the same and Silla, which are cleverly constructed, but not otherwise remarkable. The duet (7) consists of an andante and a somewhat tedious allegro, in which the voices go together for the most part in thirds or sixths, with little attempt at imitation. The terzet is well conceived. Each of the three voices has a characteristic motif, which is not elaborated, but set in contrast with the others; afterwards the lovers are set in opposition to Silla, and the expression is heightened by occasional use of the three voices together; in short, some traces are here discernible of the talent for musical architecture which Mozart afterwards displayed is so remarkable a degree.

The scene which precedes the close of the first act deserves special notice; it is both conceived and executed with true dramatic force. In a hall (atrium), decorated with the trophies of his ancestors, Cecilio awaits in the twilight the coming of Junia. The varied emotions roused in him by the contemplation of the graves of departed heroes, and the yearnings of love, are graphically expressed in an accompanied recitative. Junia appears, escorted by noble Romans of both sexes. The chorus calling on the spirits of the heroes for support and vengeance is serious to solemnity, with striking harmonies and an independent treatment of parts, giving animation to the whole—an altogether excellent piece of music, with much dramatic effect. Junia joins in with a prayer to the shade of her father. The pain of a proud, strong spirit is expressed in a simple and dignified adagio, which gives a fine soprano voice full scope for the display of its capabilities. The prayer is followed by a curse pronounced on Silla by the chorus, powerful and animated, and a fitting close to this truly dramatic musical scene. A resemblance to the first chorus in Gluck's "Orfeo," pointed out by Sonnleithner, is too slight to be considered more than a mere suggestion.

Among the secondary parts that of Celia has the most independence of character. Her two first songs (3 and 10) are, on the whole, simple and graceful, especially the second. Passages in Cinna's three songs (1, 12, 20) and in the air for the second tenor, Aufidio, are calculated to display the powers of the artists, but the songs, as a whole, have little or no individuality.

There are two choruses besides that which we have noted, but neither of them are so impressive. In the second act Silla's appearance on the capitol is greeted by a chorus which is powerful, and supported by a running accompaniment. The last act is brought to a conclusion by a chorus, alternating with the solo voices, but the movement is unimportant.

The overture consists of the usual three movements (Molto allegro 4–4, Andante 2–4, Molto allegro 3–8), and pretends to no connection with the opera itself, being altogether after the ordinary pattern. The treatment of the orchestra is not unusual. Trumpets are frequently used, and sometimes kettledrums; but this is of little moment—more interesting is the fact that the wind instruments are often freer and less subordinate to the strings than usual. An attempt is evident to render the accompaniment full and lively; the second violins have characteristic and occasionally imitative passages. But these are merely attempts; the influence of the traditional form overpowers all endeavours after a freer method; it displays itself in many mechanical habits, as, for instance, in the harmonic turn which almost invariably precedes the singers' cadenzas:—[See Page Image]

The two festival operas composed in 1771 and 1772 belong in essentials to the opera seria, but were subject to certain special rules. The festa (azione) teatrale, also called serenata, were arranged with immediate reference to the person in whose honour they were given. They were usually also allegorical, the advantage of this kind of poetry being that it was capable of expressing more or less open flattery. A pastoral character was almost always given to the treatment of the old myths, so that the dramatic element was thrown into the background, and the brilliancy of the entertainment was left to depend principally on the magnificent costumes and scenery. The musical treatment became more openly and unreservedly undramatic, and the composer was satisfied with affording a means of display to the singers. The serenata was in the traditional three acts, but not bound by the scenic divisions of the opera seria; as it originally served as an interlude to other festivities, it was usually also shorter. As a rule, it was only performed once; and took the second rank after the opera seria. 4 It was on this account that the festival piece was intrusted to young Mozart, the opera to Hasse.

In "Ascanio in Alba" (111 K.) Parini 5 had endeavoured to produce a work worthy of a festivity such as the marriage of the Archduke Ferdinand with the Duchess Marie Beatrice d'Este. Divinities, heroes, and shepherds form the dramatis persona, and there are abundant choruses, ballets, and spectacular effects, with no lack of flattering by-play. The programme will serve to show what distinguished artists 6 were engaged to represent this piece:—[See Page Image]

Venus, preceded and accompanied by a chorus of genü and graces, descends from heaven with her grandson Ascanio, and informs him that she desires to unite him with Silvia, a lovely and virtuous nymph of this her beloved land. Silvia is of the race of Hercules, and Cupid having caused her to see Ascanio in a vision, she already glows with secret love for him. Ascanio is filled with joy, and being counselled by Venus to prove Silvia's constancy before declaring himself to her, he expresses impatience at this postponement of his happiness. Fauno comes to the sacrifice with a chorus of shepherds, and reverently extols the goodness of Venus to the country and the people. Silvia then draws near, accompanied by Aceste and a chorus of nymphs and shepherds. The priest Aceste informs Silvia, whom he has brought up, that Venus herself intends to unite her to Ascanio, and to found a new city with their progeny, and expresses his joy in a long aria. Silvia is amazed, and declares her love for the youth whom she has seen in her dreams; Aceste consoles her by saying that Venus must have sent the dreams, and she in her turn sings a long song denoting her joy. After all have retired to prepare the sacrifice Ascanio declares in an aria his delight with the charming Silvia; but Venus exacts that he shall yet make trial of her virtue.

A ballet follows this act, in which the nymphs and graces astonish the shepherds by changing the grove into a splendid temple, the first building of the newly founded city.

Silvia beholds this new erection with admiration, and utters her longing for the yet unknown beloved, in which she is supported by a chorus of shepherdesses. When Ascanio appears she recognises her lover in him; but as he feigns not to know her, she remains doubtful, and Fauno confirms her in the error that it is not he; she swoons. Ascanio laments that he cannot show himself in his true form, and departs, whereupon she revives, and makes known her anguish and determination to remain true to her duty in a long recitative and aria. Then he returns, and throws himself at her feet. She repulses him with the words, "Io son d' Ascanio," and flees, which gives him opportunity for a song full of tender admiration. Aceste, to whom she confides all, praises her for her virtue. Venus appears with the chorus of nymphs and shepherds, and presents Ascanio to Silvia as her spouse. After the lovers and Aceste have announced their joy in a terzet, Venus exhorts the young rulers to fulfil their duties faithfully to their subjects, and ascends to Olympus among the expressions of gratitude uttered by Aceste in the name of the people; and a joyful chorus brings the whole to a conclusion.

The description which Fauno gives of the guardian divinity of the country, and the address of Aceste to Venus as she departs, contain so many allusions to Maria Theresa that non-recognition was impossible. Silvia too, of the race of Hercules (the name of Ercole was common in the family of D'Este), the pupil of Minerva and the muses, the pattern of virtue and modesty, is undoubtedly the Princess Beatrice, whose intellect, literary cultivation, and amiability were universally admired. 7 There was less to be said of the Archduke Ferdinand; nothing could be made of him but a fair youth with rosy cheeks. It is worthy of note that although mutual liking founded on beauty and spiritual endowments is highly extolled, yet, as became a royal wedding, the subjection of inclination to duty is made the theme of highest praise. The union had not been consummated without difficulty, 8 and some anxiety was felt as to the relations of the young couple.

"The Archduke and his wife are well and very happy," writes L. Mozart, "which must be a great satisfaction to Her Majesty the Empress, because it was feared that he would not think much of his wife, she not being beautiful; but she is uncommonly amiable, pleasant and virtuous, consequently beloved by every one, and she has quite captivated the Archduke, for she has the best heart and the most engaging manners in the world."

The original score, in two volumes of 480 pages, is preserved: it contains twenty-two numbers. At the close of the first act we have the bass part of the ballet in nine numbers, written by a copyist, and affixed, doubtless as a guide to the conductor. L. Mozart writes expressly that the ballet which connects the two acts was to be composed by Wolfgang (September 7, 1771); there must have been a special score for the manager of the ballet which has not been preserved.

We cannot help wondering that Hasse should have founded his prophecy of Mozart's future greatness on this opera, for it seems to us less original than its predecessors. It certainly displays talent and assurance, but there is not an original idea in any of the fourteen songs to be compared with those of the former operas. The accompanied recitatives do not arrest attention, the most animated among them being the recitative (13) in which the lovers, seeing each other for the first time, express their agitation in asides. Contrary to custom, the wind instruments are employed in the recitative; but otherwise the treatment of the orchestra calls for no remark. One song of Silvia's (11) is accompanied by four horns (two in G, two in D) without any singular effects; the last song of Ascanio (18) has, besides horns, bassoons and flutes, two serpentini (in F), instruments which, Schindler suggests, resembled the English horn.

The most prominent among the singers was Manzuoli, for whose part Mozart now applied the instruction he had formerly received from him in London (p. 41). It is written for a mezzo-soprano, keeps always to the middle notes, and has no passages at all; only here and there easy embellishments. The simple lingering melody is not without feeling, which, however, never rises to passion. The first song (2) begins with a long-sustained note, whilst the last resembles those in "Lucio Silla" in its tender playful grace.

There is more variety in the part composed for Maria Ant. Girelli-Aguilar, who sang in Gluck's "Aristeo" and "Orfeo" in Parma (1769). The first cavatina (7) is simple, graceful, and complete in design and treatment; two others (8, 11) are bravura songs, with brilliant passages, the melody having an air of dignity, which is also apparent in the last song (16), both in the adagio and the allegro.

Gius. Tibaldi, whom Gluck had summoned to Vienna, where in 1767 he sang the part of Admetus 9 in "Alceste," was already in years, and his voice past its prime; his two songs (6, 19) are adorned with long passages, which imply a very fluent singer.

In the closing terzet (21) the voices are at first contrasted in detached characteristic motifs; but afterwards the soprano and tenor are grouped together with alternating passages, while Manzuoli's part retains its simplicity of character.

Of the two secondary characters, to each of whom two songs were assigned, it is to be noted that they have a higher compass than the principal singers. Their songs, too, are richly provided with passages; but their character is perceptibly subordinate.

The choruses, seven in number, were a great ornament to the piece. They do not interfere with the action, and five are in connection with dances. Also in the overture, on the conclusion of the first animated allegro, the second movement changes into a dance "of eleven females," as L. Mozart writes, "either eight nymphs and three graces, or eight graces and three goddesses," and instead of the third movement 10 a chorus of nymphs and graces with corresponding ballet is introduced, the orchestra retaining the character of a third movement of the overture, and the voices (four or two-part) filling out the harmonies after the manner of wind instruments, but in a freer, more flowing style. The chorus is repeated on both occasions when Venus ascends to heaven. Most of the other choruses are also repeated like refrains on appropriate occasions; the second (3) is given six times. It is in two parts, for tenor and bass, and remarkable for its accompaniment of 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 bassoons (and violon-celli), 2 horns, and double-bass, but not otherwise original. The following chorus (5), introduced by a short intrada, which announces Silvia's approach (four-part, but interrupted by two short three-part movements) is blithe and animated. The accompaniment has an independent passage in dance-measure for the violins; the voices move with spirit and freedom. The second act begins with two female choruses. The first, two-part (12), acquaints Silvia of the approach of her lover, and is lively and fresh; the two voices alternate easily in imitative phrases.

Still more animated is the next three-part chorus (17), when, Silvia having repulsed Ascanio and fled, the chorus express surprise in a short imitative movement addressed to Venus. The following chorus (20), which is repeated three times, has simple harmonies, but is powerful and effective. The concluding chorus (22) is effectively worked up after the manner of the first into a quick animated movement, followed by a full ballet.

The choruses, heightened by the scenic arrangements, must have contributed greatly to the success of the opera. They display so much freedom and assurance, such perfect mastery of method in order to attain the truest effect, that perhaps it was here that Hasse recognised the footprints of the lion.

The second festival piece, composed in honour of the newly elected Archbishop Hieronymus in 1772, was Metas-tasio's "Sogno di Scipione" (126 K.), an allegorical poem in one act, on a classical model. 11

To the younger Scipio, asleep in the Palace of Massinissa, appear Steadfastness (Costanza) and Fortuna, and require him to decide which of the two he will choose for his guide through life. On his demanding time for consideration, Fortuna depicts in a song her fleeting, unstable nature. Costanza answers his question as to where he is by telling him he is in heaven, instructs him on the harmony of the spheres, and informs him that he is in that region of heaven where his departed ancestors abide. These approach him in a chorus, and from their midst steps out the elder Scipio Africanus, who acquaints him with the immortality of the soul, and the reward of the good in another life. Then Scipio's father, Emilius Paulus, draws near; he shows him the earth as a little point in boundless space, and warns him of the nothingness of all earthly things in comparison to the heavenly. Struck by this, Scipio wishes at once to leave earth and remain with his forefathers, but Africanus refuses, telling him that he is destined to save Rome, and that he must therefore tarry on earth, and earn by his great deeds the reward of immortality. Africanus refuses also to influence by his advice Scipio's choice between the two goddesses, who now demand his decision. Fortuna, who has more than once expressed her impatience, again depicts her omnipotence, which Costanza opposes with a representation of her victorious strength. On Scipio's declaring himself in favour of the latter, Fortuna threatens him with her heaviest penalties, the dazzling apparition disappears, a tremendous storm breaks forth, and Scipio awakes in the Palace of Massinissa, and declares himself true to Costanza.

The allusions to the circumstances under which the piece was first produced on October 1, 1735—the birthday of Charles VI., who had suffered severe defeats in Italy—are evident enough, especially in the speeches of Africanus and Costanza. Nevertheless, the Licenza comes at the conclusion, making a direct address to the hero of the occasion, and winding up with a formal congratulation in the form of an aria and chorus.

This occasional piece was considered by the Salzburg authorities to be a suitable greeting to the new Archbishop without any alteration, apparently on account of its philosophic moral reflections, and it may indeed be considered as a good example of the dramatic treatment of such reflections. 12 Dramatic the treatment can hardly be called; it is a kind of concert in costume. It is difficult to comprehend how Scipio can act or sing songs while he is supposed to be dreaming; yet Metastasio makes him awake from his dream at the end of the piece. 13

Mozart's composition, of which the original score, in one volume of 315 pages, is preserved, has more of a concert character than any other of his dramatic works of the period. It keeps strictly within the customary limits, and is poor in original invention, giving just the impression of work done to order; the score bears traces also of great haste.

The overture closes with the second and slower movement, which prepares the scene for the slumbering Scipio by a change from the principal key of D major to E major, and a decrescendo to pp. 14 This, and the accompanied recitative, that closes with the storm in the midst of which Scipio returns to earth, are the only dramatic or characteristic movements. It is curious that the opportunity for an obbligato recitative (for instance, at the description of the harmony of the spheres) is never taken advantage of; the long speeches are all in plain recitative.

Not one of the ten songs has any dramatic characterisation; even the parts of Fortuna and Costanza do not offer any marked contrast. Each of them has two songs—one freely conceived in a broad style, with full orchestral accompaniments, the other of smaller design, and both richly provided with high passages. First, Fortuna sings her principal song (2), and Costanza her shorter one (3); afterwards the case is reversed (8, 9); but the character, pitch, and formation of the songs differ so little that apart from the words they might easily be mistaken the one for the other. There is a second composition of the Licenza in existence, pointing by its handwriting, firm structure, and the independence and delicate treatment of the orchestra, to a considerably later date.

The three Roman heroes all sing tenor. Africanus has a great bravura song (5), with passages as high as C in alt; his second is quieter and simpler, and makes an attempt at characterisation; the image of the rock, standing immovable in the sea, is sketched in sober colours. The song of Emilius Paulus has a kind of dance measure, not very lively, and reminding us of a polonaise; the words "un fanciullin che piange" are illustrated by a chromatic scale. Finally, Scipio has two bravura songs (1, 10) with many passages, the second being remarkable for its length.

But, indeed, most of the songs are of great length, and introduced by long ritomelli. Where there is no distinct second part, the Da capo comes into use; the middle movements are short and lightly treated. The orchestra displays some freedom and independence, but is not equal to "Ascanio."

The two choruses are of the usual opera type. The first (4), in which Scipio is greeted by his ancestors, is not without power and dignity, but it has no characterisation, and is almost throughout in harmony; only once the voices make an attempt during a few bars at independent movement.

In the concluding chorus (12) the voices complete the harmony in the usual way to a running accompaniment.