The paraphernalia of the sensationalist composer is necessarily limited, and Thalberg’s fantasias and variations suffer principally because of these limitations. He has a great knowledge and control of the pianoforte, but can find only scant variety of use for them. He must depend most upon speed and upon noise, and both are what we may call cumulative effects. In other and less elegant words, he must use lots of speed and lots of noise. His runs are masses of notes, very frequently no more than arpeggios or chromatic scales. He throws a run up from a melody note as you throw a ball into the air. It covers its distance and drops. It is no more the style of Chopin than your ball is like the flight of a bird. But the very fact that it goes up and down with no more freedom of movement than the ball that is thrown in the air, is what makes it purely sensational, purely a matter of speed in a mass of sound. If it went otherwise than upon its automatic way, your ears would be pricked from feeling into listening. In the matter of noise the effect must still be massive. The sensationalist composer must always write for the feeling, not the listening ear, and he can best overpower the former by repeating chords rapidly; for in doing this he not only makes a very mountain of noise but adds the mountain of movement upon it. Of all the tricks of the pianist this is the most vulgarly sensational; and yet, when it comes to a matter of noise how else can he accomplish his purpose? In no other way can he make such a din, and if he tries any other he shocks the ear into listening. So in many a way Thalberg is a slave to his purpose. The ear that has been trained to listen cannot but be wearied or outraged; but forget our recently acquired habit of listening (for even among many of the exalted it is only half acquired) and Thalberg may still today become what Schumann called him more than half a century ago,--a god--at the piano. Rubinstein, by the way, was hardly the man to call him a grocer, even though he dealt, as we have had to admit, with masses of notes. There was a splendor about him, something fine and grand as well; but like gods in general he was not to be, or may not now be approached, else he loses his godhead, which resolves into an agitation of the ear. There is no splendor in his music but the splendor of sensation. If we examine the fabric of his music with a more technical eye we shall find that he makes relatively little use of double notes, relatively little demand upon the left hand as far as broad figures are concerned, but much upon the lightness and freedom of the wrist in both hands. There is, besides, the dividing of the melody between the thumbs of both hands, already mentioned.