The Sun.
London, England, 1856-05-12 00:00:00

HER MAJANTY TLIEATRE.

(From the Morning Post of this day.)
The 10th of May, 1856, will long be remembered in
the annals of the operatic stage as the day on which her
Majesty's Theatre—one of the oldest and greatest lyric
temples in Europe—was reopened, after having remained
closed, and, to all appearance, hopelessly closed, during
nearly four years.

The feelings awakened by the reopening of this splen-
did place are akin to those produced by the sudden re-
storation to vigorous health of some eld friend who had
long been given over even by the cleverest doctors. We
can scarcely believe that he is really alive ; and clasp
his hand, and say, " How are you old fellow ?—how
have you been ? Dear me ! Is it possible ?" gazing
wistfully into his face, as much as to say, are you quite
sure it is you ? We feel for him infinite affection, love to
think only of his good qualities, and hope that the others,
if such existed, may be reformed in the new career upon
which he is entering. It was truly pleasant to see on
Saturday night the old familiar Majesty's Theatre faces
—even the humblest of those connected with so many
happy recollections. It seemedas though the four years
which have elapsed had been blotted from the book of
time, and that we were not a day older than when last
we visited the great theatre in the Haymarket. Is that
huge and gorgeous place with all its dependencies just
now awakening from a trance produced by some en-
chanter's wand, or have we been dreaming all this
time ? were our hypothetical reflections as we rode
down the Haymarket on Saturday evening. There
were the same vendors of indifferent bouquets and
doubtful opera books threading the mazes of vehicles,
at the risk of their neoks. We recognised them at a
glance, and verily believe they bad not exercised their
dangerous and tormenting trade since 1852. The cus-
tomary file of soldiers, too (alas l we cannot answer for
their being the same)—the aristocratic and zealous Mr
Nugent (we are quite sure of him) looking rubicund and
good-natured as ever—Fish (still of the freshest), the
well-known stage-door keeper, one of the oldest and
most faithful officers of her Majesty's Theatre, who be-
longs to the stock of the establishment, and may there-
fore, without offence, be termed a stock-Fish. The same

severe-looking old gentleman, who guards the little iron
gate leading to that mysterious region " behind the
scenes," and whose hair is not a bit whiter or thinner
than it was. In fact, ticket-takers, check-takers, box-
openers, lean and vociferous carriage and cab-callers,
who are always painfully hoarse, and seem to have a
prive understanding with the horses which were never
known to kick them, though they are constantly under
their feet. " Cloak-room' attendants, who appear to
live in constant enmity with frock-coats, and coloured
cravats, all, or nearly all, were the same as in former
years. So far, then, the illusion was complete ; and we
walked into the theatre fully and happily persuaded that
we had made a gross mistake in our age.
Then the first view of the splendid salle served to con-
firm our belief, for there again we were struck not only
by the architectural elegance and appropriateness which
have always rendered her Majesty's Theatre a perfect
model of an opera-house, but the very same richly bril-
liant and tasteful decorations—in short, the surpassingly
beautiful ensemble which no other theatre in Europe can
boast was again presented to our eyes exactly as it ap•
peared in days of yore. Then we recognised in the or
cheAra the well-known physiognomy of Talbecque, the
admirable opera leader, and of Nadaud, the equally effi-
cient ballet leader, besides others of lesser note. There
was one old familiar face, however, which we did not see,
and here began our disenchantment. We regretted this
much, because it made us four ytars older without ren-
dering us wiser or better.

\Ve, need not dwell longer upon the aspect of the salle.
Everybody knows the gay yellow box curtains, which
set off the ladies and their costumes to as much advan-

tage as if they were placed in golden frames ; also the
splendidly ornamented ceiling, panels, and the bright
exhilarating effect of the house when filled, as it was on
this occasion, with oompany of the best kind. All our
readers have to do is to imagine that everything wore a
brighter hue than usual ; that the gentle "entr'acte"
hum of voices had a peculiarly genial and congratulatory
tone. Let them, in short, add that embellishment of
an always fascinating anti delightful scene which the ex-

traordinary excitement belonging to the occasion might
naturally be supposed to produce, and they will have a
more faithful picture of her Majesty's Theatre on Satur-
day evening than we could possibly draw. The bands
being assembled, Signor 133netti, the now conductor,
made his first bow to a London public, and was very
kind), welcomed.

The familiar overture to the opera of the night, La
Cenerentola, was played with great spirit, and much ap-
plauded. Before proceeding further, we must state that
in consequence of the suddan indisposition of Signor
Belletti, Signor Benevantano, a new candidate for Lon-
don fame, came forward at a three hours' notice to supply
his place. The cast of the opera then stood thus—
Cenerentola, Madame Alboni ; Clotilde, Madlle. Berti ;
Thisbe, Madlle. Rizzi ; Don Ramiro, Signor Calzolari ;
Don Magnifico, Signor Zucconi ; and Dandini, Signor
Benevantano.
The great musical star of the evening was, of course,
Madame Alboni, who was most enthusiastically received
after her long absence from the London stage. Her de•
livery of the charmingly naive and characteristic molody
" Una Volta c'era un re," marked as it was by that pecu-
liar richness and deep brilliancy of tone which belong to
her alone, showed at once that the unrivalled contralto
has returned to us with unimpaired power.% But amore
delightful performance even than this was her execution
of the florid solo " Sprezzo quei doni," and, better still,
the rendering of " Parlar, pensar, vorrei," a masterpiece
of vocalisation, which we thought could not be surpassed
until we heard the last finale, " Non pia mesta," ren-
dered by Madame Alboni with such wondrous fluency,
exquisite grace, and apparent facility, as threw all her
previous efforts into the shade, and proved that more
things existed in bravura vocalism than were dreamt of
in our philosophy. Need we say that the marvellous
contralto was applauded with the utmost furore, or that
she deserved all the honours bestowed upon her. Num-
berless floral tributes and a laurel crown were thrown at
her feet, and the " Non piu mesta" was unanimously
redemanded. In short, every possible homage was of-
fered to Madame Alboni ; but the demonstrations were
genuine and thoroughly merited, and we joined in them
heartily, although a tolerably long experience of theatres
has taught us to be somehwat mistrustful of first-night
" ovations." Signor Calzolari has made great pro-
greas in his art since lase we heard him, and we doubt
very much whether any artiste at present on the Anglo-
Italian stage could sing the difficult music of Don
Ramiro better than he did on this occasion: Signor
Calzolari's execution was quite irreproachable ; he sang,
too, with much more expression than formerly, and his
voice is greatly improved. Signor Zucconi has not vocal
power for her Majesty's Theatre, neither did he display on
Saturday evening
such mental qualities as might com-
pensate for his physical defects. We have never seen a
less amusing Don Magnifico. He was about as comic as
a hearse. Of Signor Benevantano's abilities it were
scarcely fair to judge from this performance, undertaken
(as we have stated) at a very short notice, and more espe-
cially as the part of Dandini is unsuited to him—his
forte being serious opera. But we heard enough, never-
theless, to convince us that Signor Benevantano has a
fine baritone voice of great compass, and that he knows
how to use it to advantage.
The new ladies, Mesdames Rizzi and Berti, did fair
justice to their respective parts, and the chorus did the
little they had to do in a highly satisfactory manner.
At the termination of the opera the national anthem
was sung, the solo verses being taken by Madame Al-
boni and Signor Calzolaii.
To the performance of ballet divertissement " Les qua-
tre saisons " we can award the highest praise. Madlle.
Boechetti, and Madlle. Bellon are dancers of the very
best kind ; that is, they aro intellectual, refined, poeti-
cal dancers, whoso movements express ideas, apt were

(From the Times.)
We firmly believe that when, by S o'clock on Saturday.
• evening, the huge audience had filled the wide space al-
' lotted for their accommodation in her-Majesty's Theatre,
a spirit of general satisfaction was diffused over the whole
assemblage, though the first chord had not been struck
by the orchestra—though the first wicked sister of Cene-
rentola had not yet uttered her opening phrase of self-
commendation. There was the sensation of being once
more in the old house that had so long held an undis
puted pre-eminence as the focus of everything brilliant
in London society—the conviction that the world of
fashion was once more at home. Everybody as he en-
tered looked round the edifice, just as, after an absence
of several years, one surveys some residence of earlier
years, to which belong a thousand associations more or
less sentimental. The very sight of the boxes gradually
filling round that vast arena and of the conversion of the
vacant series of stalls into a compact multitude of well-
dressed persons bad all the peculiar interest that attaches
to the revival of a custom which is universally familiar,
and which, from some cause or other, has fallen into
desuetude. All seemed so old, and yet so new. Faces
closely connected with the establishment in the memory
of former habitues were eagerly sought out and recog-
nised ; congratulatory 'nods were interchanged by
the occupants of contiguous boxes. The interval
of something like three years that had elapsed
since the same parties bad met in the same place
seemed to fade away like a dream, or like the trance of
that monarch in the Eastern tale, who dipped his head
into a tub-Of water, and, after passing through a series
cf imaginary adventures, found, on his emersion, that
they hal all taken place within the limits of a second.
There had occurred, indeed, a few trifling events to give
something like reality to 18534-5,. and many within the
period indicated by those figures had found their geo-
graphical knowledge enlarged by familiarity with such
names ,as Sebastopol, Balaklava, Inkerman, and the
like, but that reality could hardly stand its ground be-
fore the spectacle of Saturday last, so exactly did it fit
the ancient order of things. We hear that when Old
Style was changed into the New, by an act of Parlia
ment, declaring that the day immediately following the •
2d of September, 1752, should be reckoned as the 14th,
an indignant mob gathered together, shouting, Give
na bsok our LI days!". -13041/41 we, ast„witikAhjajgd,..l
kr>3l;y- in ilmost imagine that the ele-
gant multitude of Saturday, finding the interval between
1852 and 1856 completely shrivelled up, was inclined to
ejaculate, " What has become of our three years ?"
Nor was there anything in the appearance of the
house itself calculated to belie the notion that some great
chronological convulsion had been effected. Had it
looked very dirty, or, on the other band, very bright
with new painting and gilding, the link would have been
broken—those three years would have bad their visible
record. But, no ; there was the house just as we had
left it—neither older nor newer. There were those
same panels that had first dazzled the public eye in
1846, just as they looked when toned down six years
afterwards. There were those amber curtains that, in
the same 1846, had given rise to so much and such
sharp controversy as to their effect on opera costume.
The lava of Vesuvius had not more completely pre-
served the rooms in the house of Sallust than some mys-
terious influence had fixed all the contingent pheno-
mena appertaining to her Majesty's Theatre, that it might
look unchanged on its resuscitation. There was the
whole affair all over again, under its most pleasing
aspect—namely, that of being occupied by an audience
that filled it in every part.
One other circumstance of identity ought not to be
overlooked. There was still the same manager as in
the ' good old times," the same Lumley to whom the
public had been indebted for refined amusement for such
a long series of years, and for whom it bad so often
shouted on the occasion of some brilliant success. Cer-
tain we are that no figure was more thoroughly present
to the minds of the whole audience on their first entrance
into her Majesty's Theatre than that of the opera-chief-
tain, whose rule had been distinguished by the debut
of Jenny Lind, the immortal pas de quatre, and so many
glories both of the lyric drama and of ballet. No sooner
had the curtain descended after the conclusion of " Ce-
nerentola than the calls for " Lumley" already began
to mingle themselves with the applause at the per-
formance.

So much for the influence of the past on the brilliant
public which, on Saturday, wag gathered within the
walls of her Majesty's Theatre ; so much for that love
for old institutions which still exists in spite of the
modern innovating spirit, provided always those institu-
tions do not take the form of heraldic proclamations.
Such influences while they promoted good humour, also
heightened expectation, and, therefore, we should hasten
to add that rarely have expectations been more com-
pletely satisfied than on Saturday last. The good
humour that went in at eight o'clock was heightened
into positive joyousness before twelve.