which the slightest degree of prudence would have taught him to avoid. To gratify his taste, he bought pictures, and to supply his wants, he sold them. The result of this irrational system was that he suffered from continual distress and poverty. With the object of securing immunity from arrest, poor Geminiani was fain to avail himself of the protection which the nobility were privileged to give their servants. Being on a visit at the house of the Earl of Essex, one of his pupils, he persuaded his lordship to enrol his name in the list of his domestics. He soon had an opportunity of testing the validity of his claim to security; for he was arrested by a creditor for a small sum, and thrown into the Marshalsea. Geminiani sent a note, through one Forest, an attorney, to a gentleman in Lord Essex's family, who showed the message to the Earl, and was directed to go to the prison and demand Geminiani as the servant of the Earl of Essex. This was done, and Geminiani was set at liberty. It might be imagined that, being perpetually in debt, and harassed by duns, he would have been glad to accept a regular situation, with a fixed income, on any terms; but, although careless and prodigal, Geminiani was not without principle. In 1727, the place of master and composer of the state music in Ireland was vacant by the death of John Sigismund Cousser, a German musician of eminence. The Earl of Essex, by the influence of Lord Percival, obtained a promise of the place from Sir Robert Walpole, which he offered to Geminiani, telling him that his difficulties were now at an end, for that they had provided for him an honourable employment, suited to his profession and abilities, and which would afford him an ample provision for life. Unfortunately, on inquiring into the conditions of the office, Geminiani found that it was not to be held by a Roman Catholic; he therefore declined it, alleging as the reason that he was a member of the Romish Church, and that though he had never made any great pretensions to religion, the thought of renouncing, for the sake

of worldly prosperity, the faith in which he had been baptized, was what he could in no way answer to his conscience. As Geminiani thus positively refused the place, it was bestowed on Mr. Matthew Dubourg, a young man who had been one of his pupils, and who was a distinguished performer on the violin. At this period Geminiani was at the height of his fame. He had in 1726 published his opera terza, consisting of six concertos for the violin, the last of which was looked upon as one of the finest compositions of the kind in the world. He was conIsidered to be without a rival in his profession; but he benefited very little by the profits that accrued from the publication of his works. The manuscript of his opera secunda was surreptiously obtained by Walsh, who was about to print it, when the notion struck him that it might be an advantage to have the corrections of the author. He wrote to Geminiani, giving him the alternative of correcting the work, or having the mortification of seeing it appear before the public with such faults as would seriously injure it. At first Geminiani was in a passion at this insult, and rejected it with scorn; he instituted a process in the Court of Chancery for an injunction against the sale of the book, but Walsh compounded the matter, and the work was published under the supervision of the composer. The opera terza he parted with for a certain sum to Walsh, who printed it, and in an advertisement gave the purchaser the satisfaction of knowing that he had come honestly by the copy.

The speculation into which Geminiani entered at the Little Theatre in the Haymarket was a complete failure. He was utterly ignorant of the business of the orchestra, and had not the least conception of the labour and unwearied attention required to instruct vocal and instrumental performers, nor did he understand anything of the practical details of operatic business. The performances did not continue more than nine or ten nights; and this was Geminiani's first and last attempt at playing the perplexing part of Opera

Director. It is difficult to conjecture what could have suggested to him the idea of undertaking it.

About fifteen years later, Geminiani visited Ireland, to pass some time with his pupil and friend Dubourg. He went for a sojourn of some weeks with another pupil, Squire Coote (afterwards Lord Bellamonte), at Coot-hill, in the north of Ireland. Here a ridiculous adventure befel him. Mr. Joseph Younger, an actor, was then on a summer excursion with a company of itinerants, who were in a very impoverished state, and he informed Mr. Coote of their pitiable condition, when that gentleman ordered a play to be performed in a stable the next evening for their benefit. Geminiani was persuaded by Mr. Coote to attend the entertainment at the rural theatre. When the little company assembled they found, to their dismay, that they were without a musician, and they were consulting as to what should be done, when, to their joy, a little girl appeared, leading a blind man, who carried a 'crowdy'-a species of rude violin-under his coat. He was immediately engaged, and placed on a stool behind the scenes. After twanging his instrument, to put it in tune, he drew from the strings a series of horrible discords. All eyes turned instinctively to Geminiani, who stopped his ears, and even then writhed and groaned with torture. The poor fiddler, being informed by some wags behind the scenes that the greatest violinist in the world was in the pit with Squire Coote, and was in raptures with the excellence of his playing, became more energetic. The great musician sprang from his seat, his features distorted with convulsive agony at the harsh grating 'torn and rasped from the vilest of instruments,' and implored Mr. Coote to order the carriage to take him away. The young squire, in ecstacies with the fun, refused to comply with his request; and the fiddler, hearing the shouts, the clapping of hands, the roars from every part of the house, fancying that he was creating a marvellous sensation, played the louder, especially when he was told that the squire was delighted with his performance.

At

last the squire's fits of laughter became so alarmingly violent, that his mother commanded the fiddler to terminate his performance, on pain of her weighty displeasure; so Geminiani was relieved. The bell rang, the curtain drew up, and Younger, in the character of Lord Townley (in the 'Provoked Husband'), was discovered seated at a table. His soliloquy being finished, Lady Townley entered, when he should have said, 'Going out so soon this morning, madam?' but an unforeseen accident broke the thread of his discourse. There was no raised stage, in consequence of the place not affording space for such a convenience, and the ground was a new-laid malt-house floor. When the actor attempted to advance towards his lady, the high heels of his theatrical shoes stuck in the newmade floor, and so tenacious was the clay, that although he extricated himself, he was obliged to leave his shoes fixed in the mire, until with might and main he compelled the earth to yield up his property.' In utter confusion he ran off the stage, so furious that he said he would have had the greatest satisfaction and pleasure in kicking Lady Townley out of the stable, horsewhipping his sister, the mild Lady Grace, and in pulling his friend Manly by the nose. This ludicrous accident caused the performance to be suspended for some time. Even Geminiani forgot his own misfortunes, and joined in the shouts of laughter. When Younger returned he was so irate that every smile he detected on the countenances of the audience appeared to be specially directed against himself.

On returning to Dublin, a fatal mishap befel Geminiani. He had devoted some years to composing an elaborate treatise on music; but a female servant- recommended to him, it is said, for the purpose— treacherously abstracted the manuscript from his chamber and it was never recovered. Unable to repair his loss, Geminiani pined away, and soon after died.

The arrival of Gluck was the principal event which distinguished the season of 1746. His father was

master of the chase to Prince Lobkowitz, and as the prince was at this time in London, it is probable that he partly induced Gluck to come over in 1745. January 7, 1746, was produced the 'Caduta de' Giganti,' which was performed before the Duke of Cumberland, in compliment to whom the piece was written and composed. Gluck was then thirtytwo. He was not very prepossessing in aspect, being terribly pitted with small-pox, and exceedingly coarse in figure and face. At rehearsal he was perhaps one of the most curiouslooking gentlemen imaginable. In character he was frank and open, but

hot and choleric. His impatience knew no bounds when his airs were not executed in the style and expression in which he composed them. "You sing that air very loud,' said he one day bluntly to a prima donna, 'but don't flatter yourself that you sing it very well.' He was thoroughly obstinate and unyielding, and always pursued his way amid difficulties which would have been insuperable to anybody else. During his residence in London he associated much with Dr. Arne and his wife-formerly Miss Brent, a popular opera singer-who exercised a most beneficial influence on the simplicity of

his productions. The singers in his 'Caduta de' Giganti' were Monticelli (who left England at the end of this season), Jozzi, and Ciacchi, with Signore Imer, Frasi, and Pompeati, afterwards better known under the name of Madame Cornelie. The company was an excellent one, yet the new dances by Auretti and the charming Violetta were much more applauded than the singing. Violetta, afterwards Mrs. Garrick, was born at Vienna, but she looked infinitely more of an Englishwoman

He

than a German. She was exceedingly dignified, and had a peculiarly graceful walk. Gluck's genius, naturally so great, was yet immature; the piece was not a very good one, and it ran only five nights. then brought out one of his former operas, Artamene,' which was performed ten nights. An opera rarely ran more than ten or twelve nights at that period. When 'Artamene' was withdrawn, Gluck arranged a pasticcio, Piramo e Tisbe,' a selection of the most ad

mired airs from his other works; but as the pieces, when thus collected, were totally inapplicable to the scenic representation, they inevitably lost all their beauty, and the public were greatly disappointed. Soon after the production of this pasticcio, Gluck quitted England, much astonished to find that those airs which had been most effective in the operas for which they were originally composed, were tame and flat when reproduced with other words. Gluck had hitherto followed the then fashionable style and taste of the Italian opera; yet he was conscious of its defects, and felt how little his music, as a whole, could lay claim to real dramatic merit. Indeed Handel declared that his works were detestable. The chief obstacle to the attainment of true dramatic perfection by the composer was the empty and disconnected character of the poetry. It was not till he accidentally made the acquaintance of a man who had the boldness and energy to strike into an independent path as a librettist, that Gluck was inspired to do the same as a musician.

In the autumn of 1746, Reginelli first appeared on the London Opera stage, in a pasticcio called 'Annibale in Capua.' He was an old but great singer; his voice, as well as person, was in ruin. He was now over fifty years of age; his voice, a soprano, was cracked, and in total decay; his figure was tall, raw-boned, and gawky; yet there were fine remains of an excellent school in his taste and manner of singing. He had some refinement in his embellishments and expression which cannot be described,' says Dr. Burney, 'and which I have never heard from any other singer. In a cantabile his taste, to those who had places near enough to hear his riffioramenti, was exquisite.' Unfortunately, the numerous imperfections of his voice and figure disgusted those who could hear only the worst part of his performance. The rest of the singers this season were very indifferent, consequently there was nobody to supply Reginelli's deficiencies. The singers were Borosini, Triulzi, and Ciacchi, with Pirker, a

German woman of small abilities, and Signore Casarini and Frasi, then in an inferior class.

Two new composers came to England at the close of 1746, Paradies, a pupil of Porpora, and Terradellas, Terradeglas, or Terradeglias. They were very unfortunate in not finding singers capable of performing their works. Terradellas was especially clever, and so sensitive about his productions, that he died at Rome in 1751, of grief at the bad success of one of his operas.

The Earl of Middlesex, who, till the winter of 1747, had been patentee and sole director of the Opera, was then joined by several noblemen at the beginning of that season. They opened a general subscription: the first in November, for six nights only; the second in December, for ten; the third in January, for seventeen; and the fourth in March, for fourteen nights. The season was commenced with 'Fetonte,' or Phaëton, a new opera, set by Paradies, the drama being written by Vaneschi, afterwards manager, to which was prefixed a Discourse on Operas, inscribed to the Earl of Middlesex. November, 1747, the Little Theatre in the Haymarket was opened by some unemployed or discontented performers, who brought out an opera entitled 'L'Ingratudine Punita.' After the second night, however, the speculation was abandoned.

Reginelli was still first male singer, and Signora Galli, who had made a favourable impression in Handel's 'Judas Maccabaeus,' was leading female performer. Early in 1748, during the last year of the reign of Lord Middlesex, Gaetano Guadagni arrived in England. He was a wild and careless singer, though he had a full and well-toned voice. He attracted the notice of Handel, who assigned him the parts in his oratorios of Samson' and the Messiah' originally written for Mrs. Cibber. He remained for several years in London, during which time he was more remarkable for singing English than Italian. When he played in an English opera called the 'Fairies,' Garrick took much pleasure in forming him as an actor. He had a

noble-looking, elegant figure, and a handsome and intelligent countenance; his attitudes were so full of grace and dignity that they would have been excellent studies for a sculptor. He had a delicious voice and irreproachable taste. His temper, unfortunately, was capricious, obstinate, and unyielding; he was perpetually quarrelling with the manager, his fellow-singers, and the public, and involving himself in difficulties, though he was lavishly generous and very good-natured towards those whom he liked. Soon after his arrival, Cuzzoni, now grown old, poor, and miserable, worn down with infirmities, her once magnificent voice grown thin and cracked, reappeared upon the scene of her former triumphs. She was engaged at the King's Theatre to sing in the opera of Mithridate,' composed by Terradellas, but she disgusted those who came anticipating pleasure.

The noble directors found themselves considerable losers by their speculation in the Opera, and obliged to make up all deficiencies in the shape of salaries and general expenses. The season wore on heavily, and the Earl of Middlesex was again a loser to a large amount. May 14 the house was shut up, although three popular operas had been tried.

When the Earl of Middlesex relinquished the Opera management, Dr. Croza came into possession. Like his predecessor, he has left no records of his life.

In the spring of that year there arrived in England a young musician, who was destined to mark a new era in the history of instrumental music in this country. This was Felice Giardini. He was then thirty-three, and he had acquired a splendid reputation on the Continent. His first appearance in public was at a benefit concert for Cuzzoni, May 18, at the Little Theatre in the Haymarket. There were very few people present, as nobody cared about the dilapidated old ex-prima donna, who had besought public assistance in her distress; yet when Giardini played a solo of Martini of Milan's composition, the applause was so long and loud,' says

Dr. Burney, that I never remember to have heard such hearty and unequivocal marks of approbation at any other musical performance whatever.' The doctor had met him the night before at a private concert, with Guadagni and Signora Frasi, at the house of an amateur named Franks, who was himself one of the best dilettante performers on the violin at that time. 'We were all equally surprised and delighted with the various powers of Giardini, at so early a period of his life; when, besides solos of his own composition, of the most brilliant kind, he played several of Martini's in manuscript, at sight, and at five or six feet distance from the notes, as well as if he had never practised anything else. His tone, bow, execution, graceful carriage of himself and instrument; playing some of my own music, and making it better than I intended, or had imagined it in the warm moments of conception; and, at last, playing variations extempore, during half an hour, upon a new but extraordinary kind of birthday minuet, which accidentally lay on the harpsichord; all this threw into the utmost astonishment the whole company, who had never been accustomed to hear better performers than Festing, Brown, and Collet.'

After her unprofitable concert, the wretched old singer-poor Cuzzoni, erst the flattered and admired prima donna, who had received the homage of all Europe, had defied Handel, thrown London into a fever, beheld the rank and fashion of the haughtiest country in the world at her feet, seen the dress of one of her favourite characters adopted as a uniform by the fair and youthful aristocracy of England, insolently refused to accept princely salaries, and who had recklessly flung herself into all kinds of extravagancies and eccentricities and audacitiespoor improvident Cuzzoni retired to Italy, there to drag on a pitiable existence by making buttons, until she expired in a public hospital.

Giardini led the Opera band, into which he introduced new discipline, and a new style of playing, far superior in itself and more congenial with