Chamberss Edinburgh Journal, No. 436 | Page 2

a theatre in
Constantinople; rumours arrive of a peerless prima donna, with a voice
which is to outstrip everything ever heard of, who has been dug out, by
some travelling amateur, from her native obscurity in a Spanish or
Norwegian village; an extraordinary soprano has been discovered in

Alexandria; a wondrous contralto has been fished up from Riga. The
instrumental phenomena are not one whit scarcer. Classical pianists
pour in from Germany principally; popular pianists, who delight in
fantasias rather than concertos, and who play such tricks with the
keyboards, that the performances have much more of the character of
legerdemain than of art, arrive by scores; violinists, violoncellists,
professors of the trombone, of the ophicleide, of the bassoon, of every
unwieldy and unmanageable instrument in fact, are particularly
abundant; and perhaps the most popular of all are the particularly clever
gentlemen who, by dint of a dozen years' or so unremitting practice,
have succeeded in making one instrument sound like another. Quackery
as this is, it is enormously run after by no small proportion of the public.
Not that they do not appreciate the art of the device at its proper level,
but that the trick is curious and novel; and most people, even the
dignified classicists, have a gentle toleration for a little--just a
little--outré amusement of the kind in question. Paganini was the
founder of this school. He might have played on four strings till he was
tired, without causing any particular sensation; but the single string
made his fortune. Sivori is one of the cleverest artists of the present day,
who resorts to tricks with his violin, and wonderfully does he perform
them. At a concert last season, he imitated the singing of a bird with the
strangest and happiest skill. The 'severe' shook their heads, but smiled
as they did so, and owned that the trick was clever enough, and withal
agreeable to hear. But it is gentlemen who make one instrument
produce the sounds of another, or, at all events, who extract from it
some previously unknown effect, who carry all before them. The
present phenomenon in this way is Bottesini, who, grasping a huge
double-bass, the most unwieldy of instruments, tortures out of it the
notes of a violin, of an oboe, and of a flute. A season or two ago, M.
Vivier took all London by storm, by producing a chord upon the French
horn, a feat previously considered impossible, and probably only the
fruit of the most determined and energetic practice, extending over
many years. At all the popular concerts, this trick-music is in immense
request. Bottesini was the lion of Jullien's last series; but in his place in
the orchestra of the Philharmonic, he plays his part and holds his
instrument like any ordinary performer. Bagpipe music is not much
appreciated on the banks of the Thames; but I can assure any

enterprising Scotsman, that if he can only succeed in producing the
notes of the bagpipe out of the trombone, he will make a fortune in five
seasons or less.
Such is musical London, then--rushing from concert to concert, and
opera to opera--from severe classicism to the most miscellaneous
omnium gatherum--from solemn ecclesiastical harmonic assemblages
to the chanting of merry glees, and the warbling of sentimental ballads.
Let us, then, contemplate a little closer the different kinds of
concerts--their features and their character--their performers and their
auditories. Our sketch must be very hurried and very vague, but it will
give an idea of some of the principal characteristics of the London
musical season.
First, then, among the performances of mingled vocal and instrumental
music, stand the two Sacred Harmonic Societies, which execute
oratorios and similar works in Exeter Hall. The original Sacred
Harmonic Society has within the last couple of years split into two
bodies. It had long contained within itself the elements of division.
There were the Go-ahead party and the Conservative party--the first,
eager to try new ground, and aim at new effects; the second, lovers of
the beaten way. At length, the split took place. The progressistas flung
themselves into the arms of M. Costa, the famous conductor of the
Royal Italian Opera orchestra, and the highest and most Napoleonic of
musical commanders. The Tories of the society went peaceably on in
the jog-trot ways of Mr Sarman, the original conductor. Each society
can now bring into the field about 800 vocal performers, the immense
majority of them amateurs, and their concerts take place
alternately--Exeter Hall being invariably crammed upon either occasion.
The Costaites, no doubt, have the pas. The discipline of their chief is
perfect, and as rigid as it is excellent. The power which this gentleman
possesses over his musical troops is very curious. The whole mass of
performers seem to wait upon his will as