which this gentleman possesses over his musical troops is very
curious. The whole mass of performers seem to wait upon his will as
the spirits did on Prospero. At the spreading of his arms, the music
dies away to the most faintly-whispered murmurs. A crescendo or
musical climax works gradually up step by step, and bar by bar, until
it explodes in a perfect crash of vocal and instrumental tempest. The
extraordinary choral effects produced in the performance of the
_Huguenots_ almost bewildered the hearers; and the wondrous lights and
shades of sound given in many of the oratorios, are little behind the
dramatic achievement. The aspect of Exeter Hall on an oratorio night
is one of the grandest things in London. The vastness of the
assemblage, the great mountain of performers, crested by the organ,
and rising almost to the ceiling, are thoroughly impressive, while the
first burst of the opening chorus is grand in the extreme. The
oratorio is, in fact, the Opera of the 'serious' world. It is at once
a place in which to listen to music and a point of social reunion.
There are oratorio _habitues_ as well as Opera _habitues_; and between
the parts of the performance, the same buzzing hum of converse rises
from the assemblage which you hear in the Opera corridors and lobbies.
A glance at the audience will enlighten you as to their character.
They represent the staid respectability of the middle class. The
dresses of the ladies are often rich, seldom brilliant, and there is
little sparkle of jewellery. You very frequently perceive family
parties, under the care of a grave _pater familias_ and his
staid and stately partner. Quakers abound; and the number of
ecclesiastically-cut coats shews how many clergymen of the church are
present. The audience are in the highest degree attentive. The rules
forbid applause, but a gentle murmur of admiration rises at the close
of almost every _morceau_. Here and there, you have a practical
amateur, or a group of such with the open score of the oratorio before
them, eagerly following the music. Often these last gentlemen are
members of the rival Society, and, as might be expected, pick plenty
of holes in the execution of their opponents, for which charitable
purpose only they have probably attended. But in M. Costa's Society,
at all events, the task is difficult; the orchestra 'goes,' as the
phrase is, like one instrument, and the singers are beautifully under
the control of the master-spirit w