Punch (90.1886)

Mat 29, 1886.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 253

ROOM FOR RUBINSTEIN!

Stand back, ye^ minor pianists, for awhile, and take a lesson!
Rubinstein, the finest player in the world, is with us once again.

His name has long
been a household
word in almost
every f amily that
possesses a piano;
and not to admire
Rubinstein is, in
some _ quarters,
even] a" more dan-
gerous heresy than
not to appreciate
Beethoven. The
"cycle" of seven
recitals, which was
inaugurated last
week at St. James's
Hall, has already
created a furore—
not to say a cy-
clone—in the prin-
cipal capitals of
The Cyclone visiting England. Europe ; so, at the

opening Concert, the short people at the "back of the hall, and the
expectations of everyone present, were on tip-toe to get a first
glimpse of the cyclist. Such an enthusiastic greeting as Ajjton
Rubinstein received might well shake the mental equilibrium of a
lesser artist. But down he sat, cairn, self-possessed, impassible, to
begin the programme upon which, first and foremost in chrono-
logical order, stood the innocent strains of two Englishmen, Thomas
Bird, and Dr. John Bull. The latter did not compose " God Save
the King"—a fact greatly to his credit.

Departed celebrities of every kind are said by historians to have
"flourished" at such and such a period. In a double sense is this
true of the earlier Composers, whose works betray a child-like ten-
derness for bird-like chirrupings. They soothe the contemplative
mind, but do not excite the various emotions which it is the object of
the Moderns to arouse. Hence, the first concert was rather inter-
esting to the student, as illustrating the advance of pianoforte music,
via the virginal, the spinet, and the harpsichord, than impressive to
those among the audience who had passed their novitiate. Together
with Biud and Bull, Scabxatti, Bach, Handel, Haydn, and
Mozart were all disposed of at one sitting—summarily, as it might
at first sight seem. But then it must be borne in mind that the
reputations of the last four writers are principally associated with
the orchestra and music for the fiddle tribe. This is not surprising
when we reflect that the pianos available even in the days of Mozart
were still most ungrateful instruments. The harmless and quaintly
graceful music was of course faultlessly rendered; and Handel's
variations upon " The Harmonious Blacksmith" were taken at a
pace which made many listeners " sit up."

Three Composers are, in the scheme of the series, honoured with a
concert to themselves. These are Beethoven, Schumann, and Chopin;
and their works will be heard at the second, the fourth, and the
seventh recitals respectively. There is every justification for this
arrangement. "With characteristic modesty,_ Rubinstein has not
devoted any entire programme to the discussion of his own pieces,
though the public would certainly not have complained had he done
so. His particular Muse will, however, find expression at the seventh
(mystic number!) recital, in company with Nicolaus Rubinstein of
that ilk, and such small contemporary deer as Liadopf, Balakirefp,
Rinsky-Korsaxopf, and Ceasar-cui. My gracious! What names!
Familiar, too, don't they seem? In the same category the patronymic
of Tschaikowski rings refreshingly as that of an old friend. But a
truce to badinage. Rubinstein as composer of orchestral and piano-
forte works enjoys an European fame to the full as great as that
achieved by his playing. And, since he is a scientific and inspired
musician into the bargain, a very powerful combination of genius is
represented in an individual—so powerful indeed as to be unpre^
cedented, unless in the case of Schumann. All hail, thou Moldavo-
Russian, a cup of wine to thy health! And mayst thou reap a golden
harvest with thy Cycele! Ntbbelunglet.

ON EPSOM EYE.

Teust Seers unto your sorrow,

What's dubious to divine.
The Sun will rise to-morrow;

That's safe—but will he shine ?
None but a young beginner

Can credit, or suppose, _
A man e'er names the Winner,

Unless the Prophet knows.

vol. xc.

You can but wait and wonder.

Predictions are in vain.
Look out for squalls, for thunder

And lightning, hail and rain.
The Derby was, one season,

Amid a snow-storm run ;
May, with a North-east breeze on,

Once, more be lost and won.

FOLK-LOBE AT FOLKESTONE.

When, Sir, you said, "Be of?, and do it," I rushed away, and,
special trains being of no account (thanks to the courtesy of the
ever amiable Mr. Mtles Eenton) soon found myself at the Folke-
stone Exhibition. To my delight I discovered it was the "Press
view day," and consequently had the advantage of the lecture of
a cicerone, denied to the general public. _ As I am a little deaf,
and there was a good deal of talking, which partially drowned the
speaker's voice, I am not quite sure I caught all he said, nor am I
certain that what I did catch I caught accurately; but these are the
statements I fancy he made :—

The Folkestone was the finest Art Exhibition in the world.
Florence was not in it, and South Kensington was simply nowhere
when compared with Folkestone.

All the curious armour decorating the transept came from the
Tower of London; and if a report had got about that the collection
had been supplied, from the armoury once attached to Astley's
amphitheatre, the rumour was a canard. The armour was quite
genuine, and very historical.

The lecturer, a most pleasant gentleman (I heard him called a
Yine of several Summers, who would and could and should flourish
everywhere), who informed me that he^ was my ''Hon. Executive
Adviser," seemed extremely proud of this martial display.

" You see," lw said, " this is all genuine. That armour has been
worn by the British Army from the time of the Roses up to the
present. And as for those tattered flags, they have been carried to
victory on many a hard fought field by the British Army and the
Militia!"

I noticed that the tattered flags were being hammered on to the
walls with a vigour that would be likely, when they got back to the
Tower, to add to their bullet-torn appearance. My "Hon. Execu-
tive Adviser" gave me further tips.

There were a lot of pictures—modern and ancient. The modern
pictures were finer than anything that had ever been seen before; and
the ancient—well, they were " Old Masters."

As I walked through the first Fine Art gallery, I was much struck
with some of the exhibits. There was an admirable portrait of either
Wilson Barrett or Henry Irving (as there was no catalogue I was
forced to make a guess as to which it was intended to represent) in
the character of Hamlet. Another "advertisement picture" was
what I took to be the original of that charming conception of the
hoardings, the young lady who washed herself ashore with a piece
of soap. Yet a third of the same class—a magnificent study of a
gorgeous blue silk dressing-gown, which I fancy could not have been
run together for less than two pounds, and which, considering the
material and the trimming, would have been extremely cheap at that
price ! The artist, to give additional interest to what, I suppose, he
intended for a sign-board, had introduced a likeness of Sir Moses
Montepiore, as an appropriate accessory.

Hurrying through the Galleries, we came to the department de-
voted to curiosities. Here I found my "Hon. Executive Adviser"
once more overflowing with information." I regret to say that I eould
not quite catch all he said, but I fancy he told me this :—

One of the cases contained the waistcoat in which James the
First was beheaded by Oliver Cromwell. Another, the latch-key
that Mary, Queen of Scots, gave to Charles the Second to admit
him to Kensington Palace, at that time a part of the Cinque Ports.

A third, the pocket-bible that Edward the First carried with
him to the battles of the Roses. This came (I think) from Dover Castle.

A fourth, some enamels and snuff-boxes belonging originally to
the Princes murdered in the Tower. Some of these were very quaint,
and proved the infant collectors to be children of no ordinary intelli-
gence.

A fifth, the tattered flag of the Cinque Ports, borne before the
Warden five hundred years ago, and, consequently, at least of that
age, if not older. The exact birthday was not recorded.

Then there were hanging-up irons in which pirates used to be
executed, and gags for a scold, and tapestry, and pillories, and, in
fact, every luxury that could be imagined to render a medieval home
really happy.

Following the "Hon. Executive Adviser," I revelled in some
exciting French pictures and an admirable display of the aforesaid
"Old Masters," which were _ all the customary complimentary
adjectives, and a few over. Without doubt the Exhibition will be a
great success, and reflects credit upon all who took part in its creation.

The day concluded with a magnificent display of modernhospitality
under the superintendence of Messrs. Spiers and Pond. The " gem
of the curiosities" was the speech of the Mayor of Folkestone, in
gracefully returning thanks for " Prosperity to the Exhibition,"
proposed by a well-known journalist, dramatist, and musician. This
quaiut oration was "so unique" that it can be neither imagined
nor described further than to say its characteristic was the element
of surprise. No more at present from

Your Impulsive Contributor.