passing from one ‘voice’ to the other,
especially while descending the scale, a break or crack
may be observed in the untutored and uncultivated
voice. When this defect has been overcome, and
the student has acquired the power of passing from
one ‘voice’ to the other without this
break, the voice is said to be joined. The soprano
also has to contend with a similar difficulty.
It often requires many months of constant and unremitting
practice to overcome this natural defect of the vocal
organ, and in some voices it is never entirely conquered.
An acute ear might often detect the faulty joining
of the voice, in both the Grisis, when executing a
distant descending interval. This obstacle meets
the student at the very threshold of his career; but
we have met with many English taught amateurs, who
were altogether ignorant even of what was meant by
joining the voice. In fact, the art of singing,
or of acquiring a mastery and control over the voice,
of remedying its defects, and developing its latent
powers, is comparatively unknown in England; our professors
are for the most part entirely ignorant of the capabilities
of the human voice, as an
instrument, in the
hands of the performer. Many of these observations
apply to our instrumental performers. With few
exceptions, defective training has, in this branch
of the musical art, long prevented us from producing
performers of equal celebrity with those who have visited
us from the Continent. From them we have become
acquainted with effects, which we should have deemed
the instruments on which they played wholly incapable
of producing. Our young professors now often follow
these men to their own country, there to learn of
them that proficiency which they would seek in vain
to acquire at home.
In the midst of all this ignorance, with our one opera,
our anthems, madrigals, glees, and ballads, we nevertheless
esteem ourselves a musical people, and every one is
ready to exclaim with Bottom, “I have a reasonable
good ear in musick!” Music certainly is the fashion
now, and no one would dare to avow that he had no
music in his soul. It may be thought, that none
but a people passionately devoted to music, could
produce a succession of patriots ready to sacrifice
health and wealth, rather than their countrymen should
fail to possess an Italian opera. Some one is
ever found equal to the emergency; there is seldom
any lack of competitors for the “forlorn hope”
of the management of the Italian opera, and, undismayed
by the ruin of his predecessors, the highest bidder
rushes boldly on to the direction of the Queen’s
theatre. Forty thousand pounds of debt has been
known to have been incurred in a single season; and
it has been calculated that a sum little short of a
million sterling, besides the produce of the subscriptions
and admissions, has been sacrificed to the desire
of an Italian opera. Every autumn is rich in
musical festivals, as they are called, by which, though
the temples of God are desecrated, and the church,