not yet a concert-hall, as the smallest provincial towns in Germany have; and this shameful indifference, unworthy of the artistic renown of Paris, obliges the symphonic societies to take refuge in circuses or theatres, which they share with other kinds of performers, though the acoustics of these places are not intended for concerts.  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.  The fashion of inept fantasias and acrobatic variations has, it is true, gone by; but of late years virtuosity has returned in an offensive way, and, sheltering itself under the solemn classical name of “concertos,” it usurped a place of rather exaggerated importance in symphony concerts, and especially in M. Chevillard’s concerts—­a place which Lamoureux would never have given it.  Then the younger and more enthusiastic part of the public began to revolt; and very soon, with perfect impartiality and quite indiscriminately, began to hiss famous and obscure virtuosi alike in their performance of any concerto, whether it was splendid or detestable.  Nothing found favour with them—­neither the playing of Paderewski, nor the music of Saint-Saens and the great masters.  The management of the concerts went its own way and tried in vain to put out the disturbers, and to forbid them entry to the concert-room; and the battle went on for a long time, and critics were drawn into it.  But in spite of its ridiculous excesses, and the barbarism of the methods by which the parterre expressed its opinions, that quarrel is not without interest.  It proved how a passion and enthusiasm for music had been roused in France; and the passion, though unjust in its expression, was more fruitful and of far greater worth than indifference.

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3. The Schola Cantorum