It was hardly until the time of Peter the Great—that is to say, in the early part of the last century—that European music was introduced into Russia. "The czar appointed a certain number of young men, who were taught to play on trumpets, kettle-drums, hautboys and bassoons; and so that the public might be in a state to judge of their progress, he commanded that every day at noon they should perform, some of them in the belfry of the Admiralty, the others in the belfry of the fortress.... While he was at table cornets à bouguin and sackbuts (trombones) were played. The violins and bass-viols were reserved for court balls." But it was not until the reign of the czarina Anne that a troupe of Italian singers established themselves at St. Petersburg. The first opera played by them in this capital was entitled Abiazare: the score was by the Florentine maëstro Araya, chapel-master of the court. It was to the empress Elizabeth, "née avec une âme sensible," that the town of Moscow owed the building of its first theatre. The opera with which it was inaugurated was La Clemenza di Tito, a poem of Metastasio's, the music by Hasse, with a prologue of Araya's entitled La Russia afflitta e riconsolata.
From this time on the musical part of Russia maintained uninterrupted relations with Italy. Araya's successors were Galuppi, Iraetta, Sarti, Cimarosa, Federico Ricci (author of Crispino e la Comare). We must add to the list Boieldieu, who in the first part of this century occupied the envied position of chapel-master to the czar.
And now let us pass over the Pruth. It would be difficult in an article of a few lines to give an exact idea of the Turkish music, for in order to do this it is necessary to treat the question from an acoustic point of view.
In fact, the Oriental gamut differs from ours very essentially, as it contains quarter tones. Our ears, educated to the semitone as minimum interval, cannot seize any melodious meaning in the midst of these heteroclite sounds. However, the Turkish music, well suited to the dance, is not lacking in rhythm. The principal instruments used to mark the time are the daul, or great drum; the tomboleh, or small drum; the kios, a brass drum; the triangle, etc.... As for the other instruments, they are—the sinekeman, a violin of large dimensions; the nei, flute made of a reed; the ghirif, little flute; the kânon, a psalterion with strings of catgut, which is particularly in favor in the harems, etc.... In Constantinople in 1828 (by Farlane) we read: "The music to which the dervishes perform their ambulatory rotations is made up of tambourines, small drums and Turkish flutes.... The dervishes begin singing a soft and slow melody while turning around: then the movement is gradually accelerated until it becomes a giddy whirl, lasting twelve or fifteen minutes. After a brief pause a second dance begins, then a third, more rapid and more savage, and the cries, Allah il Allah, la illa il Allah, are given louder and sharper than before." If our readers have any curiosity about this strange art, they have but to open the score of Oberon: they will find there two authentic Turkish airs, noted down almost textually by Weber—namely, the march of the patrol which ends the first act, and the dizzy round that makes the dénoûment of the piece, dragging the pasha and his suite into a choreographic vortex with the force of a whirlwind.—Condensed from an article by A. de Lasalle.
"LES NAUFRAGÉS DE CALAIS."
After the restoration of the monarchy in France on the 22d of July, 1815, a royal decree ordained the banishment of thirty-eight ex-members of the Convention who had voted for the death of Louis XVI. These unhappy regicides took refuge in the Low Countries, but the French government demanded their expulsion, and King William of Holland was reluctantly compelled to obey. Among these persons was Merlin of Douai, who had been Minister of Justice in 1795. On being refused an asylum on Dutch soil, he took passage on board the brig Alice for New York. She was wrecked off Flushing before reaching the Channel. Her passengers were saved, and relanded on the coast of Belgium. In this situation how vividly must Merlin have recalled a parallel event in which he played the part of an unjust and cruel judge, while his victims were two hundred and fifty shipwrecked noblemen escaping from the government of the Reign of Terror!
Minister Merlin, having been written to to know what disposition it would be proper to make of the naufragés de Calais, as these unfortunates are called in history (since the law dooming to death emigrants who returned to France with arms in their hands did not seem to apply to persons shipwrecked while escaping), he answered with fierce brevity, "Wherever I find an enemy I kill him!" In spite of the Minister of Justice, however, public opinion in Calais was on the side of humanity. Delays were interposed, and one brave lawyer, Gorse by name, ventured to address a letter of remonstrance to the minister, which cost him his liberty, and would doubtless have brought him to the guillotine but for the fall of Robespierre.
Among the naufragés de Calais (all noblemen) was the duke de Choiseul-Saintville. He and his companions were transferred from jail to jail during the reign of the Directory. Sometimes they were threatened with courts-martial—sometimes they appeared to be forgotten. Several times they were tried in civil courts, and every time they were acquitted. But they were never set at liberty, and it is difficult to imagine what might have been their fate had not Bonaparte suddenly returned from Egypt. The news of his landing was hailed by all who were suffering from the weak tyrannies and unjust indecisions of the Directory. The naufragés especially saw in his sense of what was generous and just a hope of deliverance.
That deliverance came even sooner than they expected, thanks to the following letter, written by Stéphanie de Choiseul, a girl of fourteen, to the First Consul:
"Citizen General, First Consul:"