And so it happens that for six
years the Chevillard Concerts have been given at the back of a
music-hall, which has the same entrance, and which is only separated
from the concert-room by a small passage, so that the roaring choruses
of a _danse du venire_ may mingle with an adagio of Beethoven's or a
scene from the Tetralogy. Worse than this, the smallness of the place
into which these concerts have been crammed has been a serious obstacle
in the way of making them popular. Nevertheless, in the promenade and
galleries of the Nouveau Theatre, in later years, arose what may be
called a little war over concertos. It was rather a curious episode in
the history of the musical taste of Paris, and merits a few words here.
In every country, but especially in those countries that are least
musical, a virtuoso profits by public favour, often to the detriment of
the work he is performing; for what is most liked in music is the
musician. The virtuoso--whose importance must not be underrated, and who
is worthy of honour when he is a reverential and sympathetic interpreter
of genius--has too often taken a lamentable part, especially in Latin
countries, in the degrading of musical taste; for empty virtuosity makes
a desert of art.
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