btatrts au 3luir.
The Lyceum came into collision with Her Majesty's Theatre by the production of a rival Trariata ; Her Majesty's Theatre has retorted by bringing out a counter noratore ; and now two operas of Verdi's composition are the chief attractions at both the competing houses. This is the third season of the Trovatorc at the Royal Italian Opera. The year before last it was produced with Noy, Tamberlik, Graziani, and Tiardot ; last year the cast was changed to Bosio Mario and Didiee ; and this year there is a further change, the part of Leonora being taken by brisi. At Her Majesty's Theatre the opera is now performed with a cast as strong upon the whole as at the other house,—Spezia as Leonora, Giuglini as Maurice Beneventano as the Count de Luna, and Alboni as Azucena. On the first night (Saturday last) the house was as crowded and the audience as applauding as on any previous night of the season. In the face of so much success and such general popularity, there is no denying that the Troratore is a powerful work. Verdi's music has owed much to his good fortune or good judgment in the choice of his subjects—witness Ernani and the l'oseari. The Trovatore is as full of crime and horror as a Porte St. Martin melodrama; but it is full likewin of stirring interest, and its scenes of passion are strongly suggestive of musical ideas. The gipsy woman, burning with hate and living for vengeance—nurttning with a mother's tenderness the son of her enemy, and yet exulting in making him the victim of her revenge—is a Mule, tragic creation. The son himself, raised from a lowly state by deeds of anus, and perishing in the attempt to save his mistress—and she, escaping by a voluntary death from the arms of a powerful oppressor— form a tale of true love which commands deep sympathy ; while even in the proud grandee himself there is a nobleness which redeems him from unmixed odium. The characters are highly dramatic, and this opera must be both well acted and well sung. It is justly deemed Verdi's masterpiece. The principal airs are simple, demanding from the singer little artistic finish but great expression,—the reason why Verdi's music is so suitable to the present Italian singers ; and there are some scenes
of concerted music in which he may be truly said to excel himself for there is nothing comparable to them in his other operas.
The gipsy woman—by far the principal character—is magnificently performed by Alboni. When she essayed it in Paris after Viardot, the public were astonished, it seemed so entirely out of her way. When she first appears in the gipsy camp, telling her shuddering companions the etory of her mother's fearful end and her own terrible act, in a wild gloomy chant, her face her voice, her whole aspect, are something unearthly; and in the fink scene, where the gipsy, in the midst of horrors, lies asleep, dreaming of her peaceful mountains, the pathos of her tones is indescribable. Didiee, at the other house, acts and sings very beauti. fully ; but the two cannot be compared for a moment. Mario's Manrico is so noble and chivalrous, while his rich mellow voice is so exquisite, that it is saying much to say that Ginglini divides the palm with him. But so it is : this young singer has never before appeared to so much advantage. He displayed a vocal power' force of manner, and lofty bearing, which his previous parts did not call forth. Spezia, too, made a greater impression than she had done before. She seems at home in Verdi's music, and in this opera in particular. Her youth, too, gave her an advantage. But she was far from rising to the level of Grisi. Graziani, also, had the advantage over Beneventano both in acting and singing. So that, taking all the parts, the strength of the two houses in the Traratore is pretty evenly balanced. The debilt of Miss Victoire Balfe at the Lyceum, on Thursday, was such as to give her assurance—if anything could be sure in this uncertain world—of a brilliant future. She performed Amine in the Sonnatnbula. The house was extremely crowded ; and she acted and sang so charmingly as to captivate the audience, who gave the warmest expression to their admiration and pleasure—we do not remember ever to have witnessed a more successful first appearance. Miss Balfe is very young ; exceedingly handsome, with a light graceful figure, a blonde complexion, and a speaking countenance, full of ingenuous sweetness. Her voice has perhaps not yet reached its full strength, and is slightly " veilcd,"—a quality which, like a transparent haze on a sunny landscape, lessens it brightness but heightens its beauty. It is a pure soprano, most delicately in tune ; and her use of it, as well as her whole method of vocalizing, is that of a finished artist of the best Italian school. She was timid and nervous at first ; but her agitation was the reverse of =pleasing, and did not materially affect her performance. She acted with great simplicity and feeling, throwing in so many pretty touches of nature that she often reminded us strongly of Jenny Lind ; an impression, we find, that she made on many persons, especially in the scene where the forsaken sonnambulist mournfully dreams of departed happiness. Miss Balfe has begun her career auspiciously, and she may well be welcomed as a star just risen above our musical horizon.
The notion of a masculine young lady restored to the gentleness of womanhood through the influence of the tender passion was by no means new to the stage when, a year or two since MM. Marc Michel and Labiche chose it for the theme of a little vaudeville, which they called Monsieur votre Fill& An English version of this vaudeville, entitled My Son Diana, has been brought out at the Haymarket this week • and is. rendered amusing by the dashing sprightliness of Miss Oliver, who represents the lovely virago, and the humour of Mr. Buckstone, who is her lover, scared at her eccentricities : but the construction of the piece is scarcely worthy of its practised authors. In working out the character of the Amazon, who first wears male attire (supposed to be her habitual dress,
and then appears armed with all the attire, of an elegant gown, particular attention should have been paid to the transition from one phase to the other. Now this transition is utterly disregarded. The same lady is first masculine, then feminine, with scarcely a motive for the change ; and thus the story, with the pretension of a purpose, is without purpose altogether.
At the St. James's Theatre' a very pretty piece of fantasy, entitled Les Pant ins dc Violeta, has been played by the " Bouffes Parisiens." A magician named Alcofrilas, finding that his son Pierrot will die at an early age, unless—so says the voice of Fate—a young lady, believing hire to be insensible, bestows her heart upon him, passes him off as a mechanical doll upon an innocent young damsel, who has been brought up in a life of seclusion comparable to that of Miranda in the Tempest, and exhibits qualities similar to those of Dorinda in Diyden's alteration of that drama. Violette, as she is called, admires the new plaything to such a degree that the conditions required by destiny for the longevity of Pierrot are soon fulfilled. Pierrot, who is represented by Mademoiselle Mereschal, is in the miller costume of the old French clown, idealized by the substitution of satin for cloth ; and thus we have a specimen of that ancient " conunedia dell'arte," which originating in Italy, still exists on the French stage, though no longer to be found in the drama of England, save in the extremely modified form of pantomime. The peculiar humour of the character in this operetta consists however, in the Matt, tion by Pierrot of mechanical gestures, after the fashion of those flat wooden figures moveable by a string, to which the word
" Pantin " especially refers. The pertly innocent Violette is acted by Mademoiselle Delmont, the prima donna of the company ; and the magician is the inimitable Pradeau, whose transitions from the gravity of the enchanter to the unbridled chuckles of the farceur is comical in the extreme. It is an old adage, that we often do not know the real value of a thing till we have lost it, and this has been particularly applicable to M. Pradeau. For several days he was absent from the stage on account of indisposition, and during that period the mirth of the Bouffes was of a very diluted sort. With him returns the full measure of merriment.
At Willis's Rooms, Signor Volpe, an Italian gentleman, has begun to read a series of unpublished tragedies in his own language ; arming his audience with an elaborate description of each plot, that they may duly appreciate his elocution. The first tragedy is on the never-to-be-forgotten story of the quarrel between the Buondelmonte and the Amadei, which has so often set poet and painter to work, and is supposed to be the origin of Florentine troubles in general. Signor Volpe's style of reading is =affected and persuasive.
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