The most desirable attainment for confederate Amateurs, next to a familiar acquaintance with their respective instruments, is that self-knowledge which enables each to find contentedly his proper place, and ensures that all shall be “correspondent to command, and do their spiriting gently.” Then, by good discipline, under the direction of a well-educated musician, whose practical knowledge, added to his intimacy with the compositions of the best masters, gives him a moral influence and authority over an organized body of Amateurs, it is surprising what excellence of effect in musical execution may be produced. It has been sometimes, however, the bane of Amateur Societies to be subject to the control of some unwarrantably officious member, whose musical qualifications in nowise render him a proper person for the assumed dictatorial capacity: or, it may happen that accident brings into the employ of a Society of Amateurs one of those mere practical and executive professional Fiddlers, whose notions of art are only on a level with the quality of their manners. In either case, little benefit, and much less pleasure, is derived from submitting to such directorship. The Amateur, and the Fiddler, will each exercise alike his own weak judgment in the general appeal for the “time” of the music—each (the composer being least thought of) preferring the time of an allegro in the ratio of its adaptation to his own powers of execution. Of the two, the Professor is the more mischievous, as regards the production of bad consequences. Vain of his advantage over the Amateur, he never neglects to shew it by the rapidity with which he will time the quick movements; creating thereby a bad habit in the Amateur, who, to keep up with the first-fiddle, is obliged so to scramble through his part, as if it were the purpose of the composer to represent a race. A musician with a cultivated mind, on the contrary, whose enthusiasm for art renders “self” a secondary consideration, and whose perseverance has enabled him really to conquer the difficulties of his calling, is sure to effect very great good amongst private Amateurs. His remarks on the merits of composers and players are listened to with attention; his authority is respected; and the encouragement he patiently bestows on the ingenuous efforts of the young player, is sure to obtain the utmost confidence of the party.
In the practice of instrumental music, the chief obstacles (besides the difficulty of playing passages in tune and time) are those which attach to reading, and to feeling the rhythm of the phrase, as well as to the executing of passages without hurry. Young novices, adults, and bands, are in one common predicament, as to partaking, more or less, of a certain two-fold error—that of producing a disproportionate acceleration of time in a quick and loud passage, and a disproportionate delay in a slow and piano movement. By the advantage of the skilful tact of a clever maestro, this error is either altogether corrected, or the tendency is so well kept in check as never to become offensive. In order to conquer the naturally strong influence of rhythmetical impulse in playing, the Amateur should seek every occasion to play with others in concert. The excitement in first playing with other instruments is similar, in its origin, to that of which we have everyday proof in the case of young ladies, who have devoted years of practice to playing the pianoforte, and are yet unable to accompany a song, or solo, in time and with proper feeling—the too common consequence, by the by, of an English musical education. In Germany and France, every lady takes alternate lessons, of her pianoforte master, and of an experienced and well-educated musician, employed in the best orchestras; and thus she imperceptibly loses those impediments which are the consequences of nervous and timid inexperience.
One of the chief advantages of the Professor is his capacity of reading onwards. Whilst occupied in executing one bar, his eyes and attention are partly bestowed on the three or four subsequent ones—nay, on the next line, and even the next page. All this is best acquired by perusing music, without an instrument. By practice, the eye and mind seize at once the construction of a simple phrase, so that, whilst the operation of playing it is going on, you have time to prepare for the fingering and execution of the following passage, without at once bursting on it, and becoming confused. In overtures and sinfonias, the time of the several movements is seldom subject to alteration; and, beyond the mere reading of the passages, the Amateur has only to attend to the various signs used for the modification of sound.
The highest test of the discipline of a band is in playing “piano,” and in attacking points of imitation and fugue with vigour. Whatever constitutes the test of the excellence of a band, in execution and effect, applies also to the individual performers.—The coarse, vulgar, pantomime fiddler would make sad havoc in accompanying a trio of Beethoven’s, where the most delicately subdued tone, and the most vigorous expression, are alternately required. It must never be forgotten, that the utmost strictness of subordination is an essential requisite in an orchestra. In fact, it is one of the principal merits of a good orchestra-player to practise uniformly this quality of subordination, whereby the perfection of the whole is importantly promoted.
Dramatic music is the most difficult to give effect to; whether it be orchestral, for the action of a ballet, or as an accompaniment to the voice—the license shewn in the numerous changes of a movement, and of time, rendering this species of music by far the most embarrassing to both Professor and Amateur. The attention of the performer must here be divided between his instrument, and the singer, or the director; whilst, in other music, his whole soul is wrapt up in his own performance. Hence it follows that, on his first attempt to play opera-music, he is embarrassed at every page! This difficulty is only conquered, like every other, by habitual practice.
In the more advanced stage of his progress, there is nothing so beneficial to the Amateur as to listen, “arrectis auribus,” to the performance of genuine classical quartetts by accomplished masters of the bow. This will do him far more good than all the Capriccios and Fantasias with which the most brilliant of the solo-players, or single-handed exhibitors at concerts, can dazzle his discernment. It will exalt his standard of taste, and enlarge his sense of the beautiful—fully directing his perception, at the same time, to the legitimate powers of the violin and its cognate instruments. The remark has been well made by Spohr, that perfect quartett-playing, while it requires perhaps less of mechanical skill than is called for in a concerto, yet demands more of refined sentiment, taste, and knowledge. No opportunity (adds the same great Master) of joining a good quartett-party, ought to be lost. The occasions afforded for such mode of improvement were for a long while, however, in our English metropolis, as rare as they might have been advantageous. The experiments of the London Concerti da Camera, and “Quartett Concerts,” happily occurred, at length, to test the feeling of our musical circles, and open a new path to the career of the art in this country. Following that new path, and developing further resources to which it led, the “Beethoven Quartett Society,” originated and managed by a Committee of enlightened Amateurs, with the Earl of Falmouth for their President, came into honourable existence in 1845, to render the justice of a too tardy notoriety to some of the most perfect and original of musical compositions, and thereby to erect a higher standard of taste for the benefit of our musical circles. The intentions of this most laudable Association, practically wrought out by Professors of the first ability, have had some, at least, of the success that should belong to well-directed ambition[66].
With the stimulus and the enlightenment that may be derived from such a school of observation as this, and others to the establishment of which it may possibly lead, is it a thing to be altogether despaired of, that we may hereafter be enabled to enjoy the rational luxury, here as in Germany, of a quartett performed within the evening family circle, and competently performed, by its own members? Already, indeed, in some of our provincial towns, there have been examples of a disposition this way[67]. It is to be hoped that our
London Amateurs will no longer be slow to adopt so laudable a practice, nor be deterred from the pleasant advantages of family fiddling by any poor jokes about “the brothers Bohrer,” or the like. That there is good capacity in them, which occasion may bring out, was made evident at the Musical Festival held at Exeter Hall, towards the end of 1834, as well as at more recent celebrations there. A somewhat large amount of single practice, and more working by fours, together with such exercise of observation as has been here alluded to, would develop their capabilities into real means of conferring pleasure upon their friends—whether in the snug and smiling little domestic circle, or in the wider area, and amid the more stimulative accessories, of the hired music-room.
There is a little story, illustrating so pointedly that love for his peculiar pursuit, which gives to the Amateur his very name, that I cannot resist the temptation to introduce it here. With that little story—and a few special hints to the younger and earlier class of students, conveyed in familiar verse, by way of a spur to the attention—I propose to wind up the present chapter.
A certain Amateur, whose fondness for fiddling was his liveliest passion, had two instruments—his best, on which he would by no means have permitted his own father to draw a bow—and his second best. In the course of his business, which was commercial, he was preparing to quit England for South America, as super-cargo in a certain vessel, and to make a long stay in the latter country. Concern for his two violins—(he had no wife)—was uppermost in his mind. Should he commit them, along with himself, to the perils of the ocean’s bosom? Should he, suspending or sacrificing his own enjoyment, leave them behind, in the custody of friendship that might prove fickle, or negligent? Much he pondered—and much hesitated. At length, unable to endure the thoughts of a separation from both, he came to a resolution that was, at the same time, a compromise. He determined that he would take with him his second best, and tear himself away from his principal darling, his beloved best—not, however, to leave it behind—that were quite too much!—but to export it, highly insured, to the scene of his own destination, in another (because, as he conceived it, a safer) vessel than that in which he was himself about to embark!