KING’s THEATRE.

THE practice of giving fragments of operas has been continued during the last month, and so far as such feeble stuff as Anna Bolena, Norma, &c. is concerned, it is not worth while to complain: but when a work like Semiramide is exposed to the same treatment, it is time to protest against such barbaric taste, such an insult to common sense. This fine opera has actually been compressed into one act, and so performed! But La Cenerentola, one of Rossini’s inferior operas, has been given in an entire state, and strongly got up, Mad. MALIBRAN in the principal part.

On Saturday the 20th of July, BELLINI’s promised serious opera, I Capuleti e Montecchi, (which may be translated, The Capulets and Montagues,—or, Romeo and Juliet,) was performed for the first time here, and thus cast:—

It was performed twice, then, it is said, finally withdrawn. Mad. PASTA’s acting could not save it! It had not even the negative support of the proverbially tolerant audiences at this theatre: none scarcely, except of the orderly kind, attended the second performance, and it died without a groan; for privileged visiters never express their disapprobation, and only such were in at the death. Let it rest in peace! We will only say of this wretched work, that it is inferior even to Norma. Anything more would be superfluous, and a wanton waste of ink more valuable than Bellini’s opera.

The musical product of the season, then, has been two operas, fit only for the Milanese, for the Italian subjects of the Austrian government, to hear! But the apologists for such management cry out, ‘where are better to be procured?’ We will tell them—in Germany: nay, in the library of the King’s Theatre are operas enough to be found that are unknown, or forgotten, which, if properly prepared and brought out, would suffice for ten years to come,—operas that would not merely satisfy the public, but meet with their warmest approbation and most effectual support.

A Sunday paper has talked again and again about the expenses of this theatre considerably exceeding a thousand pounds a night. Doubtless the writer believes what he asserts; but we will tell him, fearless of contradiction, that they do not amount to anything like three-fourths of a thousand pounds. We know upon what saving terms the performers have all, except Pasta, been engaged; how their benefits have been managed; we have looked attentively at the scenery, dresses, &c. and challenge the lessee to produce any proof that our calculation is incorrect. Moreover we will add, that, in spite of the terms which performers, through the mismanagement of the three or four principal impresari of Europe, are enabled to demand,—the Italian opera in London ought, if well conducted, to yield a certain profit of some thousands every season.

COVENT-GARDEN THEATRE.

ON Saturday, June 29th, Weber’s opera, Euryanthe, was produced at this theatre, by the German company, for the first time in England. Owing to the abominable practice of advertising pieces ‘for the last time,’—though it is almost always intended that they should continue to be performed as often as the public will attend to hear them, and that there should be two or three, or even more, ‘last times,’—we were defrauded of an opportunity of hearing this able work of Weber, knowing that it would be more correctly given on a third or fourth night, and entirely disbelieving the manager’s announcements. Hence we are enabled only to lay before our readers the dramatis personÆ and the story, (for which we are indebted to the Observer,) and to state our general opinion of the work, not as now performed, but from a pretty intimate acquaintance with it from the vocal score, as published at Vienna, by Steiner. Of this, it is true, we have heard portions in concerts with the full orchestral accompaniments, but have had no means of judging its complete effect as a whole, either as a musical or dramatic composition.

The parts were thus cast—

Ludwig has appointed a fÊte to be celebrated for the return of one of his most gallant knights and accomplished troubadours, Adolar, who arrives, and, in a beautiful romance, sings his adventures in the war in which he has just been engaged for his royal master. He is crowned with laurels by the fairest ladies of the court. His happiness is almost complete, for he is on the point of seeing once more the object of his love, Euryanthe, the beautiful and accomplished ChÂtelaine of a wide domain, near Nevers. In his absence, another noble, Lysiart, has endeavoured to win the affections of Euryanthe; but finding, after repeated trials, that his attempts are useless, he resolves to blast her fame, and destroy the peace of mind of his favoured rival. In the presence of the king and his court, he tells Adolar that his mistress is inconstant. Adolar cannot believe it, and offers to defend, in single combat with the accuser, the innocence of Euryanthe. The challenge is accepted. In the mean time, Lysiart is sent by the king to the castle of Euryanthe, to conduct her to court, where, for the present, Adolar is tarrying. The traitor, in conjunction with Eglantine, an attendant of Euryanthe, gets possession of a ring given to the latter by Adolar, and with this proof, supported by the false evidence of Eglantine, convinces Adolar, the king, and the court, of Euryanthe’s infidelity. She is stripped of her possessions, and abandoned by Adolar. She is afterwards seen, in all the agony of wronged innocence, wandering alone in the woods. In heart-rending accents she sings her woes, and falling down exhausted, is found by a party of hunters, and conveyed to a place of safety. The last act opens with a view of Euryanthe’s castle, from which is seen issuing a gorgeous procession, going to celebrate Lysiart’s marriage with the perfidious Eglantine. Adolar having, however, now become convinced of the innocence of his mistress, and the treachery of Lysiart, breaks in on the pageant, accuses Lysiart, and forces him to draw and defend himself. Their swords are already crossed; when the king arrives and separates the combatants. Eglantine confesses her guilt, and accuses Lysiart of his crime. She is by him stabbed, and he then is dragged to meet his doom. At this juncture Euryanthe rushes in, Adolar receives her in his arms—the king proclaims her innocence—her possessions are restored to her—and she becomes the bride of him whom she long has loved.

The overture to this opera has abundance of both beauty and science to recommend it; its frequent performance at the Philharmonic Concerts has made it known to most connoisseurs in London, and we have more than once spoken of it. An extract from this was published in our work some few years ago, and in our early numbers will be found two of the most lovely airs in the opera, with English words adapted to them, as well as other pieces from the same.

Though Euryanthe is not so popularly formed as the FreischÜtz, it does not less show the hand of a great musician. There is not so much, by a great deal, in it that at once commands attention and admiration, but a closer acquaintance with it developes beauties that are not so obvious on a first or second trial. Neither the FreischÜtz nor the present work were produced without great labour, but this is more apparent in the latter than in the former. In the one, genius and skill are combined in nearly equal proportions; in the other, there is more of skill than genius; though the invention displayed in Euryanthe would be enough to confer a great name on any composer of any country. Let us, however, repeat, that our judgment, in the case of the opera now under notice, is formed from a knowledge of an adaptation—of what is called the vocal score—only.

ENGLISH OPERA, ADELPHI

MR. ARNOLD resumed the management of this company at the beginning of last month, and brought out a new operetta, The Convent Belle, the main support of which was Mrs. WAYLETT’s very charming ballad singing; this kept it the piece till the 16th, when it was superseded by The Yeoman’s Daughter, a clever, affecting drama, written by Mr. SERLE; the music by Mr. Wade, Mr. Hawes, and others. This has proved very successful, and fills the house, notwithstanding the heat of the weather, which is a sure friend to Vauxhall, an implacable foe to theatres.