Various

To the EDITOR of the HARMONICON.

Oxford, July 8th, 1833.

SIR,

IT is very well known that many persons are annually induced to visit Oxford at the time of The Commemoration. The town is always unusually gay at this season. The friends and relatives of the students go thither to gratify the proud satisfaction they feel in hearing a brother or cousin recite his prize poem in the theatre; strangers, of all ranks and degrees, to hear speeches in Latin and Greek, of which they do not understand a syllable, and to see—the lions! Hence it follows that throughout both the University and city there is visibly a greater air of gaiety, more stir and bustle in the streets, and in each “lane and alley green,” you hear more sounds arising from the “busy hum of men” (and women too) at this particular time than at any other part of the year. To, stroll in Christ Church meadow, and hear the “mighty Tom” beat the hour, or to loiter at sunset in “Addison’s Walk,” is, with many of those annual visitants, a classical event, much talked of, and never to be forgotten. You may not, perhaps, be aware that, at the Commemoration, it is usual for the stewards of the music-room to get up some musical performances, and which, for the reasons before stated, have generally been well attended. According, therefore, to their usual custom, two concerts were announced for the evenings of Tuesday and Wednesday, the 18th and 19th of June last, upon which occasion they (the stewards), with a spirit of liberality that has indeed marked all their former proceedings, engaged (and it is said at a very large sum) Madame Malibran and Signor Tamburini. Nor did they stop here; for in order to make the attraction still greater, and at the same time to render the performances as perfect as possible, to those eminent and celebrated vocalists was added M. de Beriot, who, I understand, is confessedly the finest and most finished performer on the violin either in this or any other country.

That the performers were few in number will not be disputed; but, to borrow a theatrical phrase, they were all “stars,” and of the first magnitude. With a view to accommodate the public in general, and that “the listening crowd” might meet with no impediment, the Town Hall (being larger than the music room, where the concerts are usually given) was, by permission of the mayor, fitted up, at a considerable expense, for the occasion.

The programmes were printed and circulated; and I beg leave to send you a copy of each, to enable both you and your readers to form an opinion for yourselves of what I shall venture to call the musical treat that was prepared to gratify the excited expectations, and realize the anticipated pleasures of, what was naturally enough conjectured would prove, a crowded audience: for, be it remembered, the aforesaid three eminent performers were new at Oxford.

FIRST CONCERT, Tuesday, June 18, 1833.

ACT I.

ACT II.

SECOND CONCERT, Wednesday, June 19, 1833.

ACT I.

ACT II.

So far all was well; and I think it will be allowed that the authorities here had left nothing undone that they ought to have done, in order to make the concerts literally as good and as attractive as possible. Well, sir, Tuesday, the day for the first concert, arrived; and about one o’clock the Worcester coach arrived. By the coach came Signor Tamburini and M. de Beriot, accompanied by Madame Malibran—and (most unfortunately) Madame Malibran came, accompanied with—what an Irishman would call—a great big cold! This was an ill omen to commence with. “Thus bad begins, but worse remains behind;” for just as the doors were about to be opened, the lady informed the stewards that it would be impossible for her to sing that evening! This proved a sore annoyance to the Committee, and a very great disappointment to the public, who were flocking in crowds to hear this far-famed prima donna; but on being informed that Madame Malibran could not sing, hundreds turned away without entering the Hall.

But how was the concert to be got through with only one singer? All parties were placed in a most unpleasant situation. An apology was made, explaining to the thin audience the cause of their disappointment. Signor Tamburini sang two extra Italian arias. M. de Beriot performed a third piece for the violin, which helped to put the audience in good humour. Mr. Willman played a second fantasia on the clarinet, and—and—and so the concert ended.

But while all this was going on, the stewards, it appears, were anxious to make some preparation for the next evening’s performance; and, not thinking it prudent to depend on any assistance from Madame Malibran, despatched a special messenger (who travelled all night) to London, with a carte-blanche to Mrs. Bishop, desiring her, if possible, to come down. Luckily the letter found Mrs. Bishop at home, and, at almost a minute’s notice, she very good-naturedly started, and arrived in time to sing at the second concert. It was fortunate this precaution was taken; for Madame Malibran’s cold and hoarseness continuing, she left Oxford at mid-day on the Wednesday, and returned to London. Mrs. Bishop was warmly greeted on her entering the orchestra. She sang three songs, and an Italian duet with Signor Tamburini, in all of which she acquitted herself admirably. She was (and most deservedly) much applauded. Still, however, the public disappointment was great in not hearing, Madame Malibran; and the concerts, which promised so fairly, and which every one expected would prove most successful, turned out to be a very losing concern. But you know very well, Mr. Editor, that “’tis not in mortals to command success,” and so, sir, I shall bid you adieu, for the present, by signing myself,

Your obliged and obedient servant,
AN OXONIAN.

P.S. Since writing the foregoing, I have been told that the very day before Madame Malibran went to Oxford, she was prevented singing at M. Begrez’ Morning Concert, by a severe cold and hoarseness; and that on the evening of the same day, she literally walked through the part of an opera at Covent Garden Theatre, without speaking one word of the dialogue, or attempting to sing any one of the songs. If it really were so, it may be asked, why did Madame Malibran set out for Oxford? Or, if she would persevere in going, why did she not select some female singer from among her acquaintance to accompany her, and who might, in case of an emergency, be brought forward as her substitute? Should these questions be ever put to Madame Malibran, I hope she will be able to answer them satisfactorily.