The Press. — London, England, 1854-05-06 00:00:00

MAY 6, 1854. Two Boys," by Mr. J. P. Knight, represents two young men, the sons of the painter, the eldest of whom, at least, has certainly emerged from boyhood, if we may judge from a thick black beard : they are grouped together in an attitude perhaps rather affected than graceful, but the heads are well and carefully painted. No. 185, " The Author of Alpha," by Mr. H. Weigall, jun. We are ashamed to con fess we have neither heard of the author nor b his book. He is represented in the flappings to Guy G and black suit which immemorially help Fawkes, a resemblance which is somewhat g increased lly by the scowling brows and sallow complexion. l No. 211, " Lord Downe," by Mr. Bozall, is a ., c ever, expressive head. No. 200, " Lord Dufferin, by Mr. Schiffer, aims at simplicity, but is only still; and the body rests on neither of the legs. No. 420, "The Countess of Nithsdale Petitioning George 1.," by Mr. Hannah. We have never seen a subject less fitted for representation, or represented in a less pleasing manner. No act of importunity can be unfitting or degrading when undertaken by a wife in the service of her husband : we can only pity Lady Nithsdale without blaming her for the shocking position in which she placed herself and the sovereign by a vehemence which, by irritating and offending him, must have rendered her intercession ineffectual. The attitude of all the actors is ex aggerated, that of the King is complete caricature. Effect is wanting, and the colouring is harsh and gaudy. No. 63, " Rcyal Sports on Hill and Loch. The Queen, the Prince Consort, and the Prince of Wales ; the Viscountess Jocelyn," by Sir Edwin Landseer. We own we are tired of portraits of her Majesty sur• veying the slaughter of the chase ; and we wish some other manner might be found of uniting pot% trait with animal life and animal death. A confused mass of bloody game is, we should have thought, to all a painful, and is certainly to those who are not sportsmen a revolting, spectacle. This picture is unfinished, and, in justice to the admirable artist, should not have been exhibited. We venture to offer some criticisms, however, with less reluctance, as the faults we point out may yet be remedied. The glowing and varied hues of autumn which light up the distance are too vivid and too brilliant to suffer the objects they fall upon to retain their place in the landscape; and the figures in the foreground have no share in the same glowing rays : they are, on the contrary, cold and grey as the sunless morn ing of a wet spring. We have no doubt, when we see this picture in its finished state, the various parts will be placed in better harmony. The cos tume of the principal male figure is unpicturesque ; but we should have thought so clever an artist might have made more even of a grey shooting-jacket and a cap of the same colour. The young lady in attend ance on the royal party has eyes as large as a mode rate-sized teacup. We have heard it universally lamented that the painter has rendered so little justice to the Queen. We trust the features will be improved in regularity and softness, anti the resem blance consequently increased. No. 403. There is no picture in the collection that has been more admired than " The Last Sleep of Argyle," by Mr. Ward, " painted for the Commons' corridor by order of the royal commission." We could have wished that, in representing a subject destined for such a position, Mr. Ward had followed the description of a less partial and more trust worthy historian than Mr. Macaulay. To realise the description of the historian, which is given at length in the catalogue, he has violated all historical pro bability :—" Argyle, after his last meal, lay down, as was his wont, to take a short slumber, in order that his body and mind might he in full vigour when he should mount the scaffold. At this time one of the lords of the council, who had probably been bred a Presbyterian, and had been induced by interest to join in oppressing the church of which he had once been a member, came to the castle and demanded admittance to the earl. It was answered the earl was asleep. The privy councillor thought that this was a subterfuge, and insisted on entering. The door of the cell was softly opened, and there lay Argyle on the bed, sleeping in his irons the placid sleep of infancy. The conscience of the renegade smote him." Those who are not well acquainted with the story, and who did not read this fanciful description, would certainly suppose that the hypothetical renegade en tered the cell with some such purpose as that which brought Macbeth to Duncan's bedchamber, or the Gaul to the cell of Marius at Mintusnse. His attitude expresses surprise and terror rather than the remorse which the historian somewhat gratui tously attributes to him. The sleep of the prisoner could not have surprised the experienced statesman : the Indian slumbers at the stake, and history informs us that sleep very seldom deserts the couch of the weary body and the heavy soul, even on the verge of separation. Lord Argyle died probably with the approbation of his own conscience, and certainly with the applause of a large and zealous party. Such reflec tions would have supported him underheavier trials. THE PAESS. The sleeping figure reposing on snowy and downy pillows while his limbs are confined in irons, however little it may accord with historical probability, is finely conoeived. The dress of black satin is too carefully represented, and the studied disorder accords little with the place and circumstances. The accessorial details are far too elaborately made out, and distract attention from the principal figure. The light on the table of the inner cell, on which are placed the re mains of a substantial meal, illumines a part of the picture, which, to preserve breadth of effect, should have been studiously kept down. We do not under stand why the scene should be represented by candle light : the hour of dinner was probably midday, and at that hour even the cell of a prisoner could hardly be quite dark. The figures of the councillor and the gaoler have no redeeming merit. We are rather surprised that a subject in which we are in vited to sympathise with unsuccessful rebellion against legitimate authority should have been se lected to adorn the walls of a parliament-house yet owning allegiance to an hereditary sovereign. Where we are obliged to censure we would willingly be brief, but we must defer any further remarks till a future occasion. glusir. ROYAL ITALIAN OPERA. To hear Fidelio for the purpose of discovering cha racteristic excellences, or to be astonished by spe cial feats from the singers, would be about as sensi ble as to attend the symphony in 1) for the purpose of wondering at Tolbecque or Piatti. In this magni ficent production all individuality must be sunk, at the same time that nothing but finished excellence on every side will carry it through, as a symphony will be spoiled by the inefficiency of a single per former. What will always be the popular opinion was well expressed by a couple of sentences we heard behind our backs, addressed by one friend to another at a little distance. " What a very superb opera !" cried one. "It is, indeed," said the other— who had misheard—" a very heavy opera." " Superb" and "heavy "—these will be the general impressions of Fidelio. It is heavy, as other famous works are heavy, but in a very different way. Oberon is heavy, from its mannerism. Zauberfibte, from its absurdi ties. Otello, from its poverty. Guillaume Tell, from its labour. But Fidelio is heavy from the excess and exuberance of its wealth. It is overwhelmed, like the Roman virgin, with the gifts thrown over it. There never was anything like it. Idea, sentiment, expression, melody, succeed with such rapidity that you have no time to breathe. You long to dwell a little longer on the exquisite movement which has passed away before you have time to seize it. You long to repose for a moment in the midst of your ecstasies. The resources of inferior writers, who, when conscious of a goad idea, take care to repeat it, would here be most welcome. For this reason the second chorus (or third rather, but the first is nothing), the only thing badly sung in the whole performance, was, we verily believe, listented to with the greatest pleasure : its beautiful movements were , allowed to rest and to be repeated upon the ear. The vocalisation of Fidelio, as connected with the instrumentation, forms altogether a vast and wonder ful symphony, of which the vocal instruments are performed by Cruvelli, Tamberlik, etc. That most magnificent instrument of God's own making, the human throat, is used, in accordance with the others, with the power of a giant. But it is not, as in other operas, an accompanied song or an accompanied quartet, but the voice nobly and gloriously instru mented, forming a part of a huge instrumental whole. The singers are kept perforce in their places. Cruvelli adventured, if we recollect right, but one roulade. which had been much better let alone ; and Tamberlik never made the faintest attempt to sing C sharp, losing thereby the applause of some eminent critics, and of various others who believe that, as no authors ever wrote with the expectation of such a vocalism, it must be peculiarly consonant to the intention of their airs. With the acting it is different. Here alone you perceive that you are assisting at a dramatic per formance. But even here the actor is tied and circumscribed. A simple tale of love and fortitude, it admits but of one mode of dealing with it, and forcibly excludes what are vulgarly called interpreta tions. In short, the opera in every way requires finished artists perfectly under the influence, not of themselves—as is elsewhere the rule now-a-daya-- but of the scene. And this it most assuredly found. Cruvelli, the Leonora, made no display ; but the perfect education of her acting and the noble tones of her voice gave everything to the part it required. Her firm, sustained, melancholy character—always on the stage. always on the watch—is assuredly a terrible task for the physical powers; but it is so completely suggested and kept up by the absorbing nature of the story and the music that so gifted an artist could not fail in her duty. Susini, the old gaoler, did his part perfectly. It was feared that his would be the weak part of the performance. It 427 was quite equal to his predecessors. Tamberlik was the Florestan (Ferdinand° they now call Lim). He could nut do otherwise than well, and sang nobly ; but he scarcely looked at home in his part, and, we fear, had a hankering after the C sharp. The little part of Margarita was excellently managed by Mlle. Marai. Sugelli, Tagliatico, and Poloniui were the other performers. It tells well for English taste that the house was crowded in every part to hear a performance which less than any work ever written appeals to vulgar sympathies. The difficult piece of instrumentation known as the overture to Leonora was given between the first and second acts in true Philharmonic style. It is quite easy to see why Beethoven should have rejected it as the overture to his opera. With all its manifold beauties, nothing can be less operatic. This and the quartet in the first act were the only encores; and the opera was over at a quarter to eleven, with nothing to follow. The curtain was certainly not up for two hours on the whole. We are speaking of Thursday night. Fideflo will be repeated this evening. L'Elisir was given again on Tuesday. NEW PHILHARMONIC SOCIETY. _ _ THE programme of the third concert was as fol lows PART I.—Overture, " Sehauspiel•Director," No.l, pianoforte, Mlle. Claure, eudelseohu—N "Paradise Lost.," Wyttle. PART 11.—Symphony, No. 4, rteethoven—Aria, " Zauberfhite," ?died iv l'yne, Mozart—Overture, " Tanutiauser," Wagner. tu Itilwn's After a second hearing of Dr. Wylde's music we see no reason to change the opinion we expressed last year (vide PRESS, vol. i. , p. 45). We by no means deny the composer's talent, but we deem it wholly insufficient to enable him to contend in the same arena with musical intellect.' of a high order; added to this, the form in which his work is presented to the public operates much in its disfavour; the prepon derance of recitative, the almost comic effects of certain uncouth noises, and last, but not least, its extreme length, confirm us in the position before enunciated, that its success can never be either complete or lasting. Beethoven's symphony in B flat was well performed, but it lost much of its effect by the repetition of the slow movement. The directors seem determined to put an end to the existence of these concerts this year, not only by open rivalry of the Philharmonic Society, but by studiously imitating its defects. We should like to see a set of directors bold enough to do honour to art by forbidding all " encores," as it is the fashiou to style them. Mile. Clause, who was received with great applause, rendered Mendelssohn's concerto with much effect. We confess we are not amongst the number of this young lady's enthusi • astic admirers; but, as we are in a decided minority, we shall not venture to state the particular grounds of our opinion until the musical season is further advanced. Mozart's overture, an early work of the composer, n. spirited and admirably written. But we cannot extend our commendation to M. Wagner's overture, which is in our judgment neither more nor less than complete rubbish. Miss L. Pyne, the most charming concert-singer of the day, gave much assistance to the vocal portion of the concert. She was ably seconded by Messrs. Belletti, Formes, and Weiss. ate pram. OLYMPIC THEATRE. WE owe Mr. Wigan many apologies for having omit ted to notice the performances at his charming little theatre on Easter Monday. Ever since that national holiday Buckstone's The Happiest Day of My Life has been the first piece of the evening, and the re vival of this pleasant and agreeable farce has met with the most complete and deserved sue cest,. It has always been a favourite theory of ours that an evening performance of three hours or three hours and a half's duration, consisting of light one or two act pieces, well put upon the stage, would be successful with the general as well as with the spe cial public; and we feel indebted to Mr. Wigan for having transformed our crotchet into an established fact. But our readers must not run away with the notion that this happy result can be effected without trouble. To do the deed, good and carefully-trained artists are required, and the accesscries must be pro vided and kept in their proper places by some judi cious ruling power. Thus, in The Happiest Day of My Life, Mr. Robson, as Mr.GiUmen, is exceedingly diverting in the comic scenes, and,when the situation demands of him, exhibits qualities of a very high order. Still, to the eyes and ears of the spectator, the piece by no means depends upon him alone. Mrs. Chatterley, Miss Horton, Miss Stephens, Miss Marston—in fact, everybody employed—contribute to present a perfect picture, and without their assist nice the success would only be one half of what it is. On Monday last Mr. Horace Wigan, a brother of the manager, appeared as Paddy Murphy in The Happy Man, a worthless extravaganza of the days of Power. Mr. H. Wigan, though a young actor, is of consider•