A perfect sostenuto piano has been the dream of many a musician whose ardent desire it was to perform his music exactly as it was written. A sustained piano note is, indeed, the great mechanical desideratum for the music of the future. In music, as at present written and published for the piano, which is, and must continue to be, the real "King of Instruments," there is a good deal of make-believe. A long note—or two notes tied in a certain method—is intended to be played as a continued sound, like the note of an organ; whereas there is no piano in existence which will produce anything even approximately approaching to that effect. The characteristic of the piano as an instrument is percussion, producing, at the moment of striking the note, a loud sound which almost immediately dies away and leaves but a faint vibration.

The phonographic record of a pianoforte solo shows this very clearly to the eye, because the impression made by a long note is a deeply-marked indentation succeeded by the merest shallow scratch—not unlike the impression made by a tadpole on mud—with a big head and an attenuated body. Every note marked long in pianoforte music is therefore essentially a sforzando followed by a rapid diminuendo. Anything in such music marked as a long note to be sustained crescendo—the most thrilling effect of orchestral, choral, and organ music—is necessarily a sham and a delusion.

The genius and skill which have enabled the masters of pianoforte composition not only to cover up this defect in their instrument, but even to make amends for it, by working out effects only suitable for a percussion note, present one of the most remarkable features of musical progress in the nineteenth century. So notable is that fact in its relation to the pianoforte accompaniments of vocal music, that it seems open to question whether, even in the presence of a thoroughly satisfactory sostenuto piano, much use would for many years be made of it for this particular purpose. The effects of repeated notes succeeding one another with increasing or decreasing force, and of arpeggio passages, have been so fully explored and made available in standard music of every grade, that necessarily the public taste has set itself to appreciate the pianoforte solo and the accompanied song exactly as they are written and performed. These are, after all, the highest forms of music which civilisation has yet enabled one or two performers to produce.

Yet, in regard to solo instrumentalisation, there is no doubt that a general hope exists for the discovery of a compromise between the piano and the organ or between the piano and the string band. Some inventors have aimed in the latter direction and others in the former; but no one has succeeded in really recommending his ideas to the public. Combined piano-violins and piano-organs have been shown at each of the great Exhibitions from the middle of the nineteenth century to its close. Several of these instruments have been devised and constructed with great ingenuity; and yet practically all of them have been received by the musical profession either with indifference or with positive ridicule.

The fact is that revolutionary sudden changes in musical instruments are rendered impossible owing to the near relationship which exists between each instrument and the general body of the music that is written for it. No one can divorce the two, which, as a factor in Æsthetic progress, are really one and indivisible. Therefore, if any man invents a musical instrument which requires for its success the sudden evolution of a new race of composers writing for it, and a new type of educated public taste to hail these composers with delight, he is asking for a miracle and he will be disappointed.

What is wanted is not a new instrument, but an improved piano that shall at one and the same time correct, to some extent, the defects of the existing instrument, and leave still available all the brilliant effects which have been invented for it by a generation of musical geniuses. We want the sustained note, and yet we do not wish to lose the pretty turns and graceful devices by which the lack of it has been hidden, or atoned for, in the works of the masters. Therefore our sustained note must not be too aggressive. For a long time, indeed, it must partake of the very defects which it is intended ultimately to abolish.

In other words, we want to retain the percussion note with the dampers and with the loud and soft pedals, in fact, all the existing inventions for coaxing some of the notes to sustain themselves while others are cut short, as may be desired, and at the same time we have to add other and more effective means to assist the performer in achieving the same object.

The more or less complicated methods aiming at the prolongation of the residual effect of the percussion have apparently been very nearly exhausted. Some of the most modern pianos are really marvels of mechanical ingenuity applied to this purpose. We have now to look to something slightly resembling the principle of the violin or of the organ, in order to secure the additional sostenuto effect for which we are searching. Having to deal with a piano in practically its existing form, we obviously require to take special account of the fact that the note is begun by percussion, and that any attempt to bring a solid substance into contact with the wire while still vibrating, with the object of continuing its motion, is likely to produce more or less of a jarring effect.

The air-blast type of note-continuer for sostenuto effect therefore offers the most promising outlook for the improvement of the modern piano in the direction indicated. By directing a blast of air from a very thin nozzle on to the vibrating wire of a piano, the sound emitted may be very greatly intensified; and although naturally the decreasing amplitude of the vibration may in itself tend to create a diminuendo, yet it is possible to make up for this in some degree by causing the air-blast to increase in force, through the use of any suitable means, modified by an extra pedal as may be desired.

Delicate pianissimo effects, somewhat resembling those of the Eolian lyre, are produced by playing the notes with the air-blast alone, without the aid of percussion. But the louder sostenuto notes depend upon the added atmospheric resistance offered by a strong current of air to those movements of the wire which have been originally set up by percussion, and the fact that this resistance gives rise to a corresponding continuance of the motion. The prolongation of a note in this way is analogous to the continual swinging of an elastic switch in a stream of water, the current by its force producing a rhythmic movement.

When these Eolian effects, as applied to the pianoforte, have been carefully studied, many devices for controlling them will be brought forward. The main purpose, however, must be to connect the air-blast with the percussion apparatus in such a manner that, as soon as a key is depressed, the nozzle of that particular note in the air-blast is opened exactly at the same time that the wire is struck by the hammer, and it remains open as long as the note is held down. The movement of an extra pedal, however, has the effect of throwing the whole of the air-blast apparatus out of gear and reducing the piano to a percussion instrument, pure and simple.

It will be on the concert platform, no doubt, that this kind of improvement will find its first field of usefulness. Performers will require, in addition to their grand pianos, reservoirs of compressed air attachable by tubes to their instruments. In private houses hydraulic air-compressors will be found more convenient. When the piano has by some such means acquired the faculty of singing its notes, as well as of ringing them, its ascendency, as the finest instrument adapted to solo instrumentalism, will be assured.

The common domestic piano is rightly regarded by many people as being little better than an instrument of torture. One reason for this aversion is that, in the great majority of cases, the household instrument is not kept in tune. Probably it is not too much to say that the man who would invent a sound cottage piano which would remain in tune would do more for the improvement of the national taste in music than the largest and finest orchestra ever assembled. The constantly vitiated sense of hearing, which is brought about by the continual jangle of notes just a fractional part of a tone out of tune, is responsible for much of the distaste for good music which prevails among the people. When the domestic instrument is but imperfectly tuned, it is natural that those pieces should be preferred which suffer least by reason of the imperfection, and these, it need hardly be remarked, generally belong to the class of music which must be rated as essentially inferior, if not vulgar.

The device of winding a string round a peg and twisting it up on the latter in order to obtain tension for a vibrating note is thousands of years old. It was the method by which tension was imparted to some of the earliest harps and lyres of which history is cognisant; and it is still to be found to-day in the most elaborate and costly grand piano, with but few alterations affecting its principle of action. The pianoforte of the future will be kept in tune by more exact and scientific methods, attaining a certain balance between the thickness of the wire and the tension placed upon it by means of springs and weights.

Besides the ravages of the badly-tuned piano, much suffering is inflicted by the barbarous habit of permitting a sounding instrument to be used for mere mechanical exercises. The taste of the pupil is vitiated, and the nerves of other inmates of the house are subjected to a source of constant irritation when long series of notes, arranged merely as muscular exercises, and some of them violating almost every rule of musical form, are ground out hour after hour like coffee from a coffee-mill. The inconsistency of subjecting the musical ear and taste of a boy or girl to this process, and then expecting the child to develop an innate taste for the delicacies of form in melody and of the beauty of harmony, is almost as bad as would be that of asking a Chinese victim of foot-binding to walk easily and gracefully.

The use of the digitorium for promoting the mechanical portion of a musical education by the training of the fingers has already, to some slight extent, obviated the evils complained of. But this instrument is, as yet, only in its rudimentary stage of development. The dumb notes of the keyboard ought to be capable of emitting sounds by way of notice to the operator, in order to show when the rules have been broken. Thus, for instance, the impact caused by putting a key down should have the effect of driving a small weight upwards in the direction of a metal bar, the distance of which can be adjusted. Another bar, at a lower level, is also approached by a second weight, and the perfect degree of evenness in the touch is indicated by the fact that the lower bar should be made to emit a faint sound with every note, but the higher one not at all. The closer the bars the more difficult is the exercise, and remarkable evenness of touch can be acquired by a progressive training with such an instrument.

The organ has been wonderfully improved during the nineteenth century. Yet the decline of its popularity in comparison with the pianoforte may be accounted for on very rational grounds. While ardent organists still claim that the organ is the "King of Instruments" the public generally entertain a feeling that it is a deposed king. It remains for the organ-builders of the twentieth century to attack the problem of curing its defects by methods going more directly to the root of the difficulty than any hitherto attempted.

As contrasted with the pianoforte, the organ is extremely deficient in that power which the conductor of an orchestra loves to exercise—facility in accentuating and in subduing at will the work of each individual performer. For all practical purposes the ten fingers of a piano-player are the ten players in an orchestra; and, according to the force with which each finger strikes the note, is the prominence given to its effects. An air or a motif may be brought out with emphasis by one set of fingers, while the others are playing an accompaniment with all sorts of delicate gradations of softness and emphasis.

By multiplying the manuals, the organ-builder has endeavoured, with a certain degree of success, to make up for the unfortunate fact that the performer on his instrument possesses no similar facility in making it speak louder when he submits the note to extra pressure. One hand may be playing an air on one manual, while the second is engaged in the accompaniment on another; and the former may be connected with a louder stop, or with one of a more penetrating quality than the latter.

This device, together with an elaborate arrangement of swells and pedal-notes, has greatly enlarged the capacity of the organ for producing those choral effects which mainly depend upon gradations of volume. Yet the whole system, elaborate as it is, offers but a poor substitute for the marvellous range of individuality that may be expressed on the notes of the piano by instantaneous changes in the values ascribed to single notes. By the same action of his finger the pianist not only makes the note, but also gives its value; while the method of the organist is to neglect the element of finger-pressure and to rely upon other methods for imparting emphasis or softness to his work.

An organ that shall emit a louder or softer note, according to the force with which the key on the manual is depressed, will no doubt be one of the musical instruments of the twentieth century. Whether each key will be fitted with a resisting spring, or whether the lever will be constructed in such a way as to throw a weight to a higher or lower grade of position, according to the force with which it is struck, is a question which will depend upon the results of experiment. But the latter method is more in consonance with the conditions which have given to the piano its wonderful versatility, and it therefore seems the more probable solution of the two. Upon the vigour of the finger's impact will depend the height to which a valve is thrown, and this will determine the speed and volume of the air which is liberated to rush into the pipe and make the note.

The nineteenth century orchestra is a fearfully and wonderfully constructed agglomeration of ancient and modern instruments. Its merits are attested by the fine musical sense of the most experienced conductors, whose aim it has been so to balance the different instruments as to produce a tastefully-blended effect, while at the same time providing for solos and also for the rendering of parts in which a small number of performers may contribute to the unfolding of the composer's ideas. The orchestra cannot therefore be examined or discussed from a mechanical point of view, however much some of the instruments of which it is composed may be thought capable of improvement.

But the position of the conductor himself in the front of an orchestra is, from a purely artistic standpoint, highly anomalous. It is as if the prompter at the performance of a drama were to be seen taking the most conspicuous part and mixing among the actors upon the stage. If an orchestral piece be well played without the visible presence of a conductor, the sense of correct time reaches the audience naturally through the music itself; and any sort of gesticulations intended to mark it are under these conditions regarded as being out of place.

The foremost orchestral conductors of the day are evidently impressed with this unfitness of the mechanical marking of time by the wild waving of a stick or swaying of the body; and accordingly, however much they exert themselves at the rehearsal, they purposely subdue their motions during a public performance. The time is not far distant when the object of the conductor will be to guide his band without permitting his promptings to be perceived in any way by the audience.

For this purpose an "electric beat-indicator" will prove useful. Various proposals for its application have been put forward, and for different purposes several of them are obviously feasible. For instance, in one system the conductor sits in a place hidden from the audience and beats time on an electric contact-maker, which admits of his sending a special message to any particular performer whenever he desires to do so. The signal which marks the time may be given to each performer, either visually by a beater concealed within a small bell-shaped cavity affixed to his desk or to his electric light; or it may be conveyed by the sense of touch through a mechanical beater within a small metal weight placed on the floor and upon which he sets one of his feet.

The electric time-beater in the latter system thus taps the measure gently on the sole of the performer's foot, and special signals, as may be arranged, are sent to him by preconcerted combinations of taps. The absence of any distraction from the music itself will soon be gratefully felt by audiences, and the playing of a symphony in the twentieth century, in which the whole orchestra moves sympathetically in obedience to the "nerve-waves" of the electric current, will be the highest possible presentment of the musical art.