PENELOPE AND THE DANSOMANIE.
King’s Theatre.
King’s Theatre.
King’s Theatre.
King’s Theatre.
This theatre was opened for the present season under very favourable auspices; and we congratulate the public on the prospect of the continuance of this addition to the stock of elegant amusement. Though the opera is not among the ordinary resources of the lovers of the drama, it is a splendid object in thevistaof a winter’s evening, and we should be sorry to see it mouldering into decay, its graceful columns and Corinthian capitals fallen, and its glory buried in Chancery. We rejoice when the Muses escape out of the fangs of the law, nor do we like to see the Graces arrested—in apas de trois. We do not ‘like to see the unmerited fall of what has long flourished in splendour; any void produced inthe imagination; any ruin on the face of Art.’ At present we hope better things from the known tastes and talents of the gentleman who is understood to have undertaken the management of the principal department, and from what we have seen of the performances with which the company have commenced their career. The pieces on Saturday and Tuesday were the Opera ofPenelopeby Cimarosa, and the inimitable comic Ballet,The Dansomanie. The first is, what it professes to be, a Grand Serious Opera: but it is somewhat heavy and monotonous. It introduced to the English Stage several actors of considerable eminence abroad. The principal were Mad. Camporese asPenelope, Madame Pasta asTelemachus, and Signor Crivelli asUlysses. The last of these appears to be as good an actor as a singer. His gestures have considerable appropriateness and expression, besides having that sustained dignity and studied grace, which are essential to the harmony of the Opera; and his tones in singing are full, clear, and so articulate, that any one at all imbued with the Italian language can follow the words with ease. Madame Camporese performedPenelope, and drew down the frequent plaudits of the house by the sweetness of her voice, and the flexibility of execution which she manifested in some of the most difficult and impassioned passages. If we were to express our opinion honestly, we should say that we received most pleasure from Madame Pasta’sTelemachus. There is a natural eloquence about her singing which we feel, and therefore understand. Her dress and figure also answered to the classical idea we have of the youthfulTelemachus. Her voice is good, her action is good: she has a handsome face, andveryhandsome legs. The ladies, we know, think otherwise: this is the only subject on which we think ourselves better judges than they.—Of theDansomaniewe will say nothing, lest we should be supposed to have caught the madness which it ridicules so sportively and gracefully. The whole is excellent, but the Minuet de la Cour is sublime: and the Gavot which succeeds it, is as good. Madame Leon was exquisite, and she had a partner worthy of her.
‘Such were the joys of our dancing days.’
‘Such were the joys of our dancing days.’
‘Such were the joys of our dancing days.’
‘Such were the joys of our dancing days.’
Really when we see these dances, and hear the music, which our old fantastical dancing master used to scrape upon his kit, played in full orchestra, we do not know what to make of it; we wish we were old dancing-masters, or learning to dance; or that we had lived in the time of HenryIV.The tears do not come in our eyes; that source is dry: but we exclaim with the Son of Fingal,
‘Roll on, ye dark-brown years! ye bring no joy on your wing to Ossian.’
‘Roll on, ye dark-brown years! ye bring no joy on your wing to Ossian.’
‘Roll on, ye dark-brown years! ye bring no joy on your wing to Ossian.’
‘Roll on, ye dark-brown years! ye bring no joy on your wing to Ossian.’