The Press.
London, England, 1858-06-12 00:00:00

Tl4t PRESS, JUNE 12, 1858.

562

artist, whose exquisite groups of birds are well known in
England, and who has been for many years Rosa's most
intimate companion—resides with her, relieving her of every
material responsibility, and leaving her free to devote her-
self exclusively to her favourite pursuit. Every summer
the two lady artiati repair to some mountain-district to
sketch. Arrived at the regions inhabited only by the
Chamois, the ladies exchange their feminine habiliments
for masculine attire, and spend a couple of months in ex-
ploring the wildest recesses of the hills, courting the ac•
qusintance of their shy and swift-footed truants; end harvest.
ing " effects" of storm, rain, and vapour, is assiduously as
those of sunshine. Though Rosa is fully alive to the
beauties of wood and meadow—as we know from the Lovell-
tress she has transferred from them to her canvas—
mountain scenery is her especial delight. Hitherto her
explorations had been confined to the French chains,
and the Pyrenees, but in the autumn of fifty-six she vi<ited
Scotia/id and made numerous sketches, in the neighbour.
hood of Glenfallock, Glencoe, and Ralloculish ; and struck
by the beauty of the Highland cattle selected some choice
specimens off' these, which she had sent down to Wexhain
Rectory, near Windsor, where she resided, and spent two
months in making numerous studien, front which she has
already produced two pictures,—" The Denizens of the
Mountains," and " Morning in the Highlands." The Alps
sl'ie has not yet visited, though c.mstatitly intending to do
so. Her preference being for the stern, the abrupt, and the
majestic, instead of the soft, the smiling, and the fair;
Italy, with all its glories, has hitherto attracted her less
powerfully than the ruder magnificence of the Pyrenees
and the north.

Among mountains, the great artist is completely in her
element ; out of doors from morning till night, lodging in
the humblest and remotest of roadside hotels, or in the

huts of wa,d•cutters,

',and chamois-hunters,

and living contentedly on whatever fare can be obtained.
Two years ago, being furnished by families of distinction
in the Bearnais and the Basque provinces with intro-
ductions to the rare inhabitants of the region, the party
pushed their adventurous wanderings to the little station
of Peyronere, the last inhabited point within the French
frontier, and thence up the romantic defiles of the Vallee
d'Urtlos, across the summit of the Pyrenees. Thanks to
the letters they carried, the travellers were hospitably
received at each halting-place, and furnished with a trusty
guide for the next march. In this way they crossed the
mountains, and gained the lonely pusada of Canfan, the
first on the Spanish side of the ridge, where, for six
weeks, they saw no living souls but the bourriquairos
(muleteers) with their strings of mules, who would halt
for the night at the little inn, setting out at the earliest
ray of morning for their descent on the opposite side of
the mountains.

The people of the posada lived entirely on curdled
sheep's milk; the sole article of food the party could
obtain on their arrival. At one time, by an early fail of
snow, they were shut out of all communication with the
valley. Their threatened starvation was averted by the
exertions of Mlle. Micas, who managed to procure a
quantity of frogs, the hind legs of which she enveloped
in leaves, sad toasted on sticks over a fire on the hearth.
On these frogs they lived for two days, when the hostess
was induced to attempt the making of butter from the
milk of her sheep, and even to allow the conversion of
one of these animals into mutton for their benefit.
Their larder thus supplied, and black bread being brought
for them by the bourriquairos, from Rome village a very
long way off, the party gave themselves up to the plea-
sure of their wild life, and the business of ake:ching.
The arrival of the muleteers, with their embroidered
shirts, their pointed hats, velvet jackets, and leathern
breeches and sandals, was always a welcome event. Rosa
paid for wine for them, and they, in return, performed
their national dances for her: after which they would throw
themselves down for the night upon sheepskins before
the fire, furnishing subjects fur many picturesque croquia.
As the posada was a police station, established there as
a terror to smugglers, the little party felt perfectly safe,
notwithstanding its loneliness.
With her Scotch tour Rosa was so much pleased, that
she will probably revisit a district from which she has
brought away many agreeable associations, and a wonder.
ful little Skye terrier, named " Wasp," of the purest
breed, and remarkably intelligent, which she holds in
great affection, and for whose benefit she has learned
several English phrases, to which " Wasp " responds
with appreciative and grateful waggings of the tail.

The Train has this month come to a conclusion.
Perhaps if it had contained more such excellent
articles as the opening one of the present number,
the catastrophe would not have occurred. This
periodical, though distinguished by considerable
smartness, has addressed itself all along to too
limited an audience. We allude rather to its tone
than to its subTcts. The latter have been varied
enough ; but the former has smacked so uninter
ruptedly of the London Funny Man, a being un-
known beyond a very small area, that we cannot say
we are surprised at the fate that has befallen the
magazine. The individual contributors are, doubt-
less, clever men, but they are too much alike. They
resemble a salad that is all mustard and cress. We
should admire them a great deal interspersed with
other materials. We hope to meet them again, as
they have afforded us a goo :I deal of real pleasure ;
and we hope also that, when we do, it will be with
more permanent prospects.

Ma. DICKENS read the life of Paul Dombey, jun., on
Thursday evening t., a somewhat thinner and less
enthusiastic audience than usually assembles to
listen to him. His performance was meritorious, but,
perhaps from the nature of the subject, not altogether
s4oC9tAllp Mrs, Pipchin was good, and ilia

Toots capital. Paul too, if his voice was a little
husky, was in other respects as childish and as old-
fashioned as could be expected. But perhaps the
story itself is somewhat weak, and the pathos some•
what maudlin, or perhaps, in Mr. Dickens' own
phrase, we were somewhat " too grown•up" to relish
it. At any rate, as we came away the conviction was
strong on our minds that Mr. Dickens cannot write
a thoroughly good story of a child. his attempts
nt such a story contrast strangely with countless
German masterpieces in the same line. Yet the
story of Little Dombey does no doubt abound in
cleverness and pathos, and the closing scene in par-
ticular has all the music and sweetness of *lyric
poem. In this last scene, however, the reader
seemed to us to be wanting to his own composition.
We missed something of the melody. The last
sentence is particular, though Mr. Dickens took es-
pecial pains with it, seemed to us so weakly delivered
that we could scarcely believe that we were listening
to the author himself.

6 U S I C.

HER MAJESTY'S THEATRE.

A. MORNING representation of Don Giovanni on
Monday, and the first ono of Luisa Miller on Tuesday,
have been the principal "doings" at Her Majesty's
Theatre during this week. With reference to the
former, there can be no doubt but that it afforded a
great treat to many persons who, living in the
country, are unable to attend an evening performance
without much extra expense and inconvenience. The
facilities afforded by railways are so great, that per-
sons living within fifty miles (or even more) of
London, have it in their power to breakfast at home,
reach London in time to have two or three hours for
business, go to the opera from 1 to 4.30, and return
home to a late dinner. For these reasons we should
be glad if it were found practicable and desirable by
the managers of both Opera-houses to have a morn-
ing representation every Monday.
In the event of this ever being brought about, it
would, perhaps, be worth while to make arrangements
for admitting an ample supply of daylight to the
stage during morning scenes, and totally excluding
it during night scenes. At all events, it would be
very advantageous if the neutral light which pre•
veiled on Monday—neither sun nor gas—were
replaced by either one of its components. We are
quite prepared for the objections that are supposed
to surround theatrical performances by daylight.
Foremost amongst them are to be found, first, that
much of the scenery and accessories which pass
muster very well when seen under artificial illumi•
nation would look frightfully shabby when seen by
sunlight; and, secondly, that full-dress toilette is not
becoming before sunset. We reply to the former
(arguing on the assumption that the means were
provided for throwing at will either kind of light on
the stage), that in our opinion the advantages
derived from the greater naturalness acquired in day
scenes, and the striking contrast that would be
obtained between them and night scenes, would
much more than compensate for any loss sustained
by the diminished brilliancy of the scenery, tfrc. ; and
to the latter we have only to remark, that though
Court etiquette prescribes an evening costume for
royal morning receptions, we see no reason why,
under such an arrangement as above, theatrical
costume should not be adapted to the supposed
hour of the day. We would also suggest, as a
means of increasing the popularity of morning
operas, that on such occasions a portion (say half)
of the stalls should be thrown open at pit prices, or
somewhat higher. We offer this opinion, having
regard to the class of persons who would probably
always compose the majority of the audience—a class
less wealthy than are found at evening represents.
Lions—as well as to the actual distribution of those
present on Monday. The pit was crowded to over•
flowing—many ladies having to stand up throughout
the performance—whilst more than half the stalls
were unoccupied.
Of the performance itself, we have little to say.
There was a general appearance of langour through-
out, if we except Mme. Titiens, who has certainly
improved on her original Donna Anna, and greatly
diminished the magnitude of the few defects that have
been pointed out in her singing. If Signor Belletti
would content himself with the truthful interpreta-
tion of the parts assigned to him, he would do more
credit to himself, and give greater pieasure to his
audience, than he can ever do, whatever he may
hope, by misapplied buffoonery, such as he, more
than once, indulged in on Monday. This error has
been already noticed several times by our contempo•
runes, and Signor Belletti will do well to heed re-
marks in which every one agrees. We fear it is
hopeless to look for more fire in the present cast of
Donna Elvira and Don Ottavio ; but the representa-
tion of this opera loses much of its force from the
unimpassioned acting of Mile. Ortolani and Signor
•

Luisa Miller, by Verdi, an opera of which the
music is very little known in this country, but in
which Mlle. Pic.lolomini is reported to have
" created a sensation " in Italy, may be said to have
obtained, on the whole, all the success that could
have been anticipated. The story and the dramatis
persclue are, with some variation, from the Cabale
tend Litbe of Schiller, a play in fits acts. Luisa,
the heroines forms an attachment .with
who passes himself off as a peasants Carlo. in truth,
he is the son of a great mans Count Walter, *hoe,
castle is near the cottage in which Luisa resides
with her father (a retired old soldier, in the opera,
but the town-musician in Schiller's play). Wurm,
the seneschal and confidant of Count Walter, is also
in love with Luisa, and his suit seems to have found
favour with her father, conditionally on her recipto-
eating the tender feeling. Count Walter has made
up his mind that his eon shall marry his niece; a
young duchess, Frederica, widow of the Duke
d'Ostheim, whom he has invited to the castle for
this purpose unknown to Rodolfo, but after due
explanation and arrangement with her. Rodolfo
and the duchess were brought up together, and she
assures him that her earliest affections were fixed on
him, and that she married the Duke d'Ostheim only
under compulsion. Warm, failing to win the affec-
tions of Luisa, wishes her father to exercise his
authority, and to compel her to become his wife.
This the old soldier indignantly refuses to do, and
then learns from Warm's lips that the pretended
peasant, Carlo, is the " figlio del tuo Signor." After-
wards, Wurm having made known to the count the
attachment of his son to Luisa, Walter sends for
Rodolfo and insists that he shall abandon his beloved
Luisa for the wealthy duchess, into whose presence
he then leads him. Rodolfo determines at once to
unbosom himself to her, and tells her that his vows
and heart are plighted to another. Meanwhile,
Miller breathes vengeance against Rodolfo, who, he
imagines, has improperly deceived his daughter.
Luisa declares her lover to be incapable of a base
action. Whilst she and her father are discussing
the value of his honour, Rodolfo comes into the cot-
tage. Explanations follow, and the quondam pea-
sant testifies to the honesty of his intentions by
kneeling along with Luisa before the old man, sad
exclaiming with tender vehemence, and clasping her
hand in his—

Sono
Tuo sposo ! II padre testimone a Dio
Chiamo del giuramento.
This sentimental scene is scarcely terminated when
Walter comes into the cottage, and immediately oom-
mences loading Luisa with opprobrium. This of
course rouses tha indignation of Rodolfo, and the
old man, Miller, who threatens violence to the Count,
when a body of archers rush in at a signal from their
lord, and seize the old soldier and his daughter.
Rodolfo, seeing no other chance of saving Luisa,
warns his father that he will reveal to the world by
what means he became Count Walter. The deed of
darkness alluded to is the murder of his predecessor
by himself and Wurm—a deed with which Rodolfo
had accidentally become acquainted. This threat
has the desired effect ; Walter, in the greatest tre•
pidation, orders Luisa to be released. Miller having
been cast into priroa by the order of Walter, Wurm
comes to his cottage and persuades Luisa that, unless
she writes a letter at his dictation, her father will be
put to death. In order to save her father's life she
consents, and writes, as though o Wurm, to the
effect that she had never felt any real affection for
Rodolfo, but had always loved Wurm, whom she
invites to come at nightfall and fly with her. This
letter is made to fall into the hands of Rodolfo, who,
maddened by the apparent treachery of his affianced
bride, consents to marry the duchess. Meanwhile
he goes to Miller's cottage, and, unknown to Luisa,
who is on her knees engaged in prayer when he
enters, he pours poison into a cup of milk that is on
the table. He then produces the fatal letter, and
asks if she wrote it. Having been compelled by
NVurro, as part of the condition of her father's re-
lease, to swear that she would not tell Rodolfo under
what circumstances she had written it, poor Luisa is
obliged to confess what she had done, without ex-
planation. In utter despair, and upbraiding her for
her faithlessness, Rodolfo swallows the poisoned
draught, of which she also is in ignorance induced
to partake. Informed at length that her end is
approaching, and feeling thereby released from her
promise, she explains all to Rodolfo, who utters a
cry of despair that brings Miller to their side. But
the hour fixed for the nuptials of Rodolfo and the
duchess is now arrived, and the bridal procession
reaches the chapel adjoining Miller's cottage, where
the bridegroom had promised to await his father.
Attracted by the mournful accents of the lovers and
Miller, the party approach the cottage, which they
enter just as Luisa has breathed her last. Rodolfo,
seeing Wurm amongst those who have come into the
cottage, gathers up his remaining strength, and,
rushing forward, passes his sword through the sena
schal'e body, and then falls down, in
struggle, beside I.uisa, his own death:

with regard to the music of this opera, we confess
that, after witnessing the representations of Tuesday
and Thursday, we are still quite unable to under-
stand a great deal of it. Looking to its general cha-
racteristics, however, we think it may, fairly, be placed
on a level with the music of any other of Verdi's
works ; and admitting, as we do, our difficulty of com-
prehension, we may nevertheless, we hope, without
being guilty of any inconsistency, describe it as very
light and very pretty (wo use the term advisedly;,
but almost entirely wanting in those attributes which,
in the music of greater composers, seem to grasp
and imprison the niind. The overture was not done
justice to by the orchestra, who, on Tuesday, seemed
under no control whatever, and thoroughly ran riot.
Signor Bonetti contrived to keep his instruments far
more in band on Thursday ; but much remains yet
to be done fur the ensemble in this department.
We know not where to look for an opera so filled
with staccato, and to this circumstance must be very
greatly attributed the flimsy, unsubstantial nature of
this nevertheless (we we have before described it)
very pretty music. if it can be said of the orchestra
that they did not do their part in sustaining the
reputation of Verdi, the same observation will cer-
tainly not apply to those who undertook the principal
characters in the opera. As for Piccoloreini, we have
never seen her to so great advantage before: here
anti there the music was somewhat beyond her
powers, but by a little adroitness she avoided every
effort that was not completely within the compass of
her capabilities. Nothing could be more delicious
than her delivery of " T'amo d'ainor " in the third
scene of act i., or more touching than " Tu punis-
cimi" in the second scene of act ii. Her acting
throughout is quite a masterpiece of art of the most
elaborate description, in which every detail is found
in such truthfulness as can only proceed from a rare
knowledge of human passions, and the representation
of which belongs exclusively to consummate his-
trionic talent. We should far exceed our limits were
we to notice all the points of unusual excellence in
this charming artiste's rendering of the part assigned
to her. We will merely mention (1) Luisa's inter-
view with Wurm in the second scene of act ii., in
which she is compelled to write the terrible letter
that seals the fate of herself and Rodolfo. Her hesi-
tation, her resignation, her indignant refusal to sign
her own shame (when she flings from her the pen
with which she has been writing), her convulsive
anguish when, to save her father's life, she sacrifices
herself,—all these emotions are here most admirably
depicted, but not more so than her feelings in (2)
the subsequent interview between her and the
duchess. In this latter scene we look in Luise, at
one and the same time, for the artless simplicity of
an innocent country girl—for the manifestation to
the audience, but concealment from the duchess, of
all but overpowering jealousy—for a profession of
love for Warm to the duchess, and of a display of
horror towards him as addressed to the audience—
for the exhibition of an ardent desire to assert the
truth, accompanied by the stronger desire to save
her father's life. Success in the simulation of all
these contending and simultaneous emotions an
artiste may well feel proud of. Thirdly and lastly,
we would call attention to the poisoning scene, in
which, both in a musical and in a dramatic sense,
Mlle. Piccolomini shows extraordinary power and
perfection. We heartily congratulate her on a decided
triumph.
Until we had seen this opera, we confess we were
unacquainted with Signor Giuglini's power as an
actor. In several parts of it, but especially through-
out the three last acts, he was so far beyond his
wonted self that it was difficult, but for his beautiful
voice, to recognize the popular tenor of Her Majesty's
Theatre. It would scarcely be possible to speak too
highly of the tenderness of his delivery of " Quando
le sere," which, by the way, is unquestionably the
gem of the opera. Signor Beneventano has cer-
tainly achieved a success in the part of Miller,
though the music is not, we think, very well adapted to
the display of the finer qualities of his voice, which,
moreover, on Thursday seemed to be less clear than
usual. Neither his fame nor that of the composer,
nor the gratification of the public, would lose much
by the omission of "Fra mottali," in the twelfth scene
of act i. Other parts, such as nearly the whole of the
seventh scene of act 1., and scenes 3 and 4 of
act ii., Including two duets and a solo by Rodolfo,
have been left out for some reason or other; but the
aria alluded to could be suppressed with greater
advantage to the audience. It can only be regarded
au a misfortune for him, when a good singer is
called upon to interpret such an unintelligible piece of
music. Of Mme. Alboni's aria from some other
opera, introduced in the seventh scene of act i., and
substituted for that scene, we cannot speak too
highly. The richness, the purity, and sweetness of
her fine voice were never beard to greater advantage
than on Tuesday. We should like to know why we
were deprived of the duet between her and Rodolfo.
Vialettt sustained well the part of Walter—the music
Ythith is somewhat trying. If Signor Castelli
(who took the part of Wars) would sing a little