|Thalberg, returned to
New-York from his triumphant tour in the interior, is reposing
gracefully and quietly on his laurels. At the present he dreams
only of a far niente season at the sea-side, and if,
from the force of habit, he must indulge in some musical recreation,
it is not with the piano-forte.
the piano-forte?" do you ask? "And what, then, may
We give you ten, yes, a hundred guesses,
but we counsel you, as you value your comfort, to "give
up" at once. Know that Thalberg, the great Thalberg,
reposes from his royal sovereignty in cultivating—the
banjo! We have written it—the banjo!
Here are the facts. Entering his apartments
the other day at the St. Nicholas, in place of the magnificent
Erard we were accustomed to find there, there appeared a suspicious
box of somewhat musical form, and bearing the significant
address: S. Thalberg, New-York.
"In the name of St. Cecilia, is it not
a banjo case?"
"It is nothing else," replied Thalberg,
in his usual quiet and modest tones.
"And," we continued, "you
play on this odd instrument?"
"I have taken ten lessons," responded,
most humbly, the celebrated man; and encouraged, doubtless,
by the admiration plainly depicted in our countenance, he
"And I will acknowledge that I have
made considerable progress already."
"Pray let us have the special favor
of judging for ourselves! All the word has heard Thalberg
upon the piano-forte; let us have the privilege of hearing
him on the banjo!"
With his uniform kindness, he at once opened
the case. It was empty. Thalberg, with the enthusiasm of all
young students, had attacked with two much warmth the melody
"O Susannah, don't you cry
I come from Alabama, with my banjo on my knee,"
and, alas! the instrument was now gone to
the shop for repair.
Thus we have not yet heard Thalberg on the
banjo! When we have that honor, the world shall surely know
it. Oh! that we could be in Paris when, on the artist's return,
this new accomplishment is made known to the public of that
city! Nothing of the like has been dreamed of there, and all
the little eccentricities of Vivier will be entirely eclipsed.
Every man will be button-holed in the streets, not for the
salutation, "How do you do?" but with the query:
"Have you heard Thalberg's banjo?" . . .