expression on their faces was stupid, dull, and
unmeaning; what expression there was, I could
connect only with cunning and distrust.

SINGING TO SOME PURPOSE.

THE caprice which has caused so many of the
Italian painters to forego their paternal names,
and live renowned under accidental ones, was
notably instanced in the case of Carlo Broschi,
the celebrated Neapolitan singer, who is
generally known to the world as the famous Farinelli.
More than one reason has been assigned for
this harmonious substitution; the most probable
being that Carlo Broschi adopted the name of
Farinelli out of gratitude for the protection he
received from the family of Farina, musical
amateurs almost as locally celebrated as he—their
possible descendant—who lived at Cologne,
"gegenüber dem Jülichs-Platz," amidst a host
of unworthy pretenders.

This wonderful soprano was born at Naples
on the 24th of January, 1705, and though he
received his first lessons in singing from his
father, the great composer Porpora was his real
instructor. Porpora's system of teaching, like
that of Bernachi of Bologna, and of all the
Italian masters during the first half of the
eighteenth century, consisted in the mechanism
of the vocalisation, all the difficulties of which
had to be surmounted before the pupil was
permitted to think of the meaning of the words or
the expression of the musical phrase. In that
heroic age of the art of singing and the birth of
scientific melody, the virtuosi admired before
all other things the material purity of the sound,
the flexibility of the organ, and that long-drawn
breath which allowed the singer to disport
like a bird with his voice; and never was
soprano endowed with these brilliant qualities
in the same degree as Farinelli. In proof of
this we have the contemporaneous statement
which Dr. Burney has recorded in the following
terms:

"No vocal performer of the present century
has been more unanimously allowed by professional
critics, as well as general celebrity, to
have been gifted with a voice of such uncommon
power, sweetness, extent, and agility, as Carlo
Broschi, detto Farinelli. Nicolini, Senesino, and
Carestini, gratified the eye as much by the
dignity, grace, and propriety of their action and
deportment, as the ear by the judicious use of a
few notes within the limits of a small compass
of voice; but Farinelli, without the assistance
of significant gestures or graceful attitudes,
enchanted and astonished his hearers by the force,
extent, and mellifluous tones of the mere organ,
when he had nothing to execute, articulate, or
express. But though during the time of his
singing he was as motionless as a statue, his
voice was so active, that no intervals were too
close, too wide, or too rapid for his execution.
It seems as if the composers of these times were
unable to invent passages sufficiently difficult to
display his powers, or the orchestra to accompany
him in many of those which had been composed
for his peculiar talent. And yet, so great
were his forbearance and delicacy, that he was
never known, when he was in England, to
exclaim or manifest discontent at the inability of
the band or mistakes of individuals by whom
he was accompanied. He was so judicious in
proportioning the force of his voice to the space
through which it was to pass to the ears of his
audience, that in a small theatre at Venice,
though it was the most powerful, one of the
managers complained that he did not sufficiently
exert himself. 'Let me, then,' says Farinelli,
'have a larger theatre, or I shall lose my
reputation, without your being a gainer by it.'
On his arrival here, at the first private rehearsal
at Cuzzoni's apartments, Lord Cooper, then the
principal manager of the Opera under Porpora,
observing that the band did not follow him, but
were all gaping with wonder, as if thunderstruck,
desired them to be attentive; when they
all confessed that they were unable to keep pace
with him: having not only been disabled by
astonishment, but overpowered by his talents.
. . . . There was none of all Farinelli's excellences
by which he so far surpassed all other
singers, and astonished the public, as his messa
di voce, or swell; which, by the natural
formation of his lungs, and artificial economy of
breath, he was able to protract to such a length
as to excite incredulity even in those who heard
him, who, though unable to detect the artifice,
imagined him to have the latent help of some
instrument by which the tone was continued,
while he renewed his powers by respiration."

At seventeen years of age, Farinelli was
already called "un ragazzo divino" (a divine
youth), and Naples witnessed his departure with
the deepest regret, when, in 1722, he accompanied
his master, Porpora, to Rome, where the
composer had undertaken to write an opera for
the Aliberti Theatre. There was at this time
in Rome a performer on the trumpet, a German,
whose prodigious skill excited the public to
enthusiasm; and in order, if possible, to increase
that enthusiasm, and still further excite the
general curiosity, the manager of the theatre
proposed to Porpora that he should write an air
with a trumpet accompaniment, in which the
young Neapolitan soprano should contend with
the far-reaching instrument. Acceding to the
wish of the impresario, Porpora wrote the
required aria. It began with a ritornello, in which
was introduced a lingering note, to be
commenced by the trumpet and taken up afterwards
by the singer; then came the principal motive,
which each of the rivals was to repeat in his
turn. The trumpet opened the note in question
with extreme sweetness, gradually increased its
volume, and held it suspended beyond the chord,
keeping it there for an infinite time, to the
astonishment of the listening public. Farinelli,
without being in the slightest degree disconcerted,
seized—so to speak—the ball at the hop,
played with the privileged note, and gently
endowing it with force, warmth, and life,
suspended it yet longer in space, dazzling the ear
and the imagination of the audience. Frantic