must be confessed, is not the Brutus of history, and could never have been the Brutus of Rome. There have been several other novelties produced at this theatre, but they have all been more or less unsuccessful, and merit very little notice. Swisserland. A tragedy was produced under this title, written by Miss Jane Porter; and we are sorry to report, that it received the most decided condemnation, and that it is generally considered as having deserved it.-The public opinion of it was so strong, and so unequivocally expressed, that the manager was obliged to come forward, after much awkward delay, and announce that it should be withdrawn.-Not having been present, we are unable to give an opinion as to the justice of this decision. We have been told, that Mr Kean walked through the principal character in a most extraordinary manner. In fact, that he did nothing, because he had nothing to do. If this was the case, we think he was quite right; and are glad to find that he knows the value of his own powers in something more than a pecuniary point of view; and will not consent to waste or fritter them away in endeavouring to further any interests inconsistent with those of nature. She made him for a great tragic actor, and he will not be degraded into any thing less. High Notions, or a Trip to Exmouth. As we happened to sit in the next box to a great lord, who seemed to be mightily pleased with this farce, we shall not presume to say, that it is very tedious, vulgar, and commonplace; but we are at liberty to think as we please.-Mr Munden, a ci-devant cheesemonger in the Borough, succeeds to the title and estate of a brother who was a baronet, and, together with his family, becomes infected with " High Notions," which they go to Exmouth to indulge in. To this place they are followed by Mr T. Cooke, the lover of the niece, who willingly joins in a plot to deceive her uncle-which every theatrical niece is in duty bound to do; and, by means of the tricks and disguises of his servant, Mr Russell, The Heroine, or a Daughter's Courage. The managers of this theatre, ever assiduous (as they tell us themselves) in the production of novelty, brought forward what they call a melo-dramatic play, with the above title.— It was probably intended for an after-piece; but, in consequence of the failure of Miss Porter's tragedy, it seems to have been expanded into a first piece: a process which, from their elastic nature, is very easily performed on works of this kind.-It is said to be written by Mr R. Phillips, a retainer of this theatre; and as he does not deny the charge, we are bound to believe it of him: though we should have been glad if he could have trans ferred it to any one else for he already labours under the imputation of being a very indifferent actor. Could he not contrive to persuade one of the chorus singers or figure dancers to take this new load of reputation off his shoulders?-The Heroine is a melo-drama in the most extended sense of the word that is to say, it occupies three long acts. It is, as usual, an affair of palaces and dungeons, sighs and tears, curses and exclamations-of fainting, fighting, and setting houses on fire. The entrances and exits, the incidents, speeches, &c. are introduced by soft, solemn, or discordant music, as the nature of the case may require; and the whole ends to the satisfaction of all parties-particularly the audi ence. We must really beg to be excused, if we leave the detailed criticism of such productions as these to Mr S. Kemble himself-who appears desirous of taking the affair out of our hands. He seems to have established a daily magazine for that purpose, at the foot of the play-bills. We confess that he is much better qualified for the task than we are, and the place he has chosen is much better fitted for it than this. We are, therefore, very much disposed to say to him, "Take mine office:" for though "to be di rect and honest," is "safe" enough in these cases, it is by no means either pleasant or profitable.-Mr S. Kemble tells us every day, that this drama has met with extraordinary success, and that it is applauded by the "whole audience." We cannot deny the fact. Indeed, he had the best means of judging, if he chose to employ them for when we saw the piece on its second performance, there was plenty of room even for him to have gone about at his ease, and collected the opinion of every body in the house, This at once cradle, temple, and tomb, of the “legitimate drama," now generally answers to Milton's exquisite description of a very different place it is, "A pillar'd shade, high over-arch'd, With echoing walks between." This state of things cannot last long. The concern could hardly keep its head above water last season; and now that the precious committee who conduct its affairs have slung Mr S. Kem ble, like a dead weight about its neck, it must sink:—and what is worse, it deserves to sink. It would be a disgrace to the taste and judgment of the metropolis, if a theatre managed as this is, should continue to be patronised or frequented. Its company of performers would, after making two or three exceptions, disgrace a third rate country town; the novelties it * brings forward are, generally speaking, totally worthless and contemptible; and the means it employs to attract the public attention are (to say the least of them) mean and disreputable. The managers commenced last season, by putting forth an enormous puff, for the purpose of puffing their intention of not puffing any more. In the depth of their play-bill learning, they had discovered that Garrick, after the performance of a successful play-much less of an unsuccessful one did not underline the bills with a puffing panegyric on its merits—and therefore (not on account of the taste or reason of the thing, but, therefore) they pledge themselves to discontinue the practice. It was disrespectful to the public, they said, and disreputable to themselves. They were quite right. But how have they kept their words? By now putting forth more extravagant puffs than ever, with the addition of their being written in the most vulgar and illiterate style. After the success of Brutus, we used to meet, at every turning, men bearing about placards upon a pole, stating, that "the magnificently splendid" tragedy of Brutus was performing every night, &c.— and we have scarcely seen a play bill this season, that has not contained addresses to the public, which were absolutely false in grammar and in fact, and which would have been highly impertinent and disgusting, even if they had been well-written and true.-We have hastily glanced at this subject, and as willingly quit it. THE OPERA. No I. King's Theatre.-THE success of the two last seasons is, we believe, unprecedented in the history of this establishment, and the cause is obviously the great eminence of the performers. The music of Mozart, which has occasioned a kind of epidemic, could never alone have produced this revolution in public feeling: the people of England will have their eyes, as well as their ears, gratified; it is not enough that an air shall be performed in the very finest style, they will know why it is sung at all; in short, unless the entertainment be, in every sense of the word, dramatic, it has but little chance of pleasing the British taste. It is on this account that the works of Mozart alone are popular, and that concerts are exclusively frequented by the higher classes of society. The production of Don Giovanni did more for the proprietors than all the efforts of several years. Every one knew the story of this celebrated drama, therefore all pretended to judge of the excellence of the music. Never before had so much talent been combined to give effect to an opera; managers were formerly content to have a primo Tenore and a prima Donna for every piece, serious or comic, and the subordinate characters were almost invariably beneath notice. But as soon as this absurd system was abandoned, the opera acquired popularity. The house was, on every night of performance, filled with people who seldom, if ever, had thought of going before; and that music, which had hitherto been confined to the admiration of the select circles, became familiar even to vulgarity in all. That the genius of the composer had not a principal share in this revolution no one will attempt to deny; unaided, however, by excellent acting, as well as singing, it never could have produced the same effects. We are old enough to remember the first public performance of Mozart's music in London. Mrs Billington produced "La Clemenza di Tito" for her benefit, and we have for that divine work all the attachment of a first love. That opera, however, with the exception of her own part of Vitellia, was very ill performed; even Braham was tame, and maudlin in the extreme, in the character of Sesto; and it is impossible to recollect, with becoming gravity, the gentleman who used to enact the nobleminded Titus. This opera should have been reserved for the season 1817; no one who then saw will ever forget it. The admirable performance of Crivelli in the part of the emperor, and Madame Camporesi's Sesto-were, to our thinking, the perfection of the lyric art. Every other character was sustained with almost equal excellence; it was therefore, in all its parts, the only complete opera we ever witnessed. We have now lost, with one exception, all those performers with whom we were so much gratified during that season. Crivelli has been replaced by Garcia, and perhaps by Placci-for Madame Camporesi, Miss Corri has been substituted-and Madame Fodor has given place to Madame Georgi Bellochi. Why all this radical reform has taken place, we shall not presume to determine, but it will, in the course of the season, appear to have been exceedingly impolitic in the manager to break up such a company. Already have the subscribers become dissatisfied; meetings have been called, and statements required and obtained. The extravagant demands of singers and dancers, have been the topic of common animadversion, the improvements on the outside of the house have however assumed a most formidable aspect-the inside has likewise been daubed over in a manner which is equally at variance with good sense and good taste; and, after some delays, the season commenced on the night of Tuesday, 26th January, with L'Italiana in Algieri, composed by the celebrated Rossini. This is a piece which we cannot suppose to be tolerable in any country, without the assistance of excellent music; it is an awkward combination of the farce of the Sultan, with an excellent scene in "Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme," which is in this opera as absurd as it is absurdly managed. As it is quite indispensable to have a young gentleman in love, we have, of course, Sig. Garcia, who sings very amorously, and very beautifully. A lively Italian lady, who is a captive at Algiers, like Roxalana, makes a fool of the silly sultan of the place; and therefore, Madame Georgi Bellochi makes her first appearance in England to torment Sig. Placci, who sings very seriously for the first time, through his cold. Ambrogetti is, as in duty bound, a buffoon-admirer of the same lady, and is, somehow or other, constituted by the aforesaid bey, or sultan, a papataci, a sort of dignity which is not very well understood, or defined, and Mesdemoiselles Corri and Mori enact the very insipid sultana and confidante. All this nothingness, however, gives occasion to some excellent acting, and we shall, as shortly as possible, notice what appeared to us most worthy of remark. The newspapers had, as usual, in some degree prepared us for what we were to expect from the Debutante Bellochi, and aware as we are, from our knowledge of the springs by which they are moved, how faithful are those honest chroniclers, we must cordially confess that we were agreeably disappointed. This lady sings much better than we had been told she did, and her acting was superior to any thing we have at present on our national stage. It would be difficult perhaps to characterise it; it is in fact a style, and not a manner, of acting, and is peculiar, as far as we know, to the foreign stage. It is, at the same time, so sensible, so true, that perhaps the very rarity of its occurrence induced us to form a higher estimate of its merit. Madame Bellochi is, without doubt, in broad comedy, the best actress we have seen on the Italian stage; but the part which she sustains in this opera, although it be that on which the whole of the plot depends, is in fact very poor, and the music, albeit gay and brilliant, is not such as we can dwell upon with any thing like affectionate remembrance. There are, however, here and there several fine airs, and the trio which concludes the first act, beginning " Pria di dividerci da voi Signori," although it appears to us to be almost the same with a finale by the same composer, in the self-same place in the Barbiere di Seviglia, is altogether so cheerful-so peculiar-so uproarious, if we may be allowed the expression, that it pleased us beyond any thing of that kind we have heard for a considerable time. A Bravura in the second act, "Pensa alla patria é intrepido Il tuo dovere adempi," &c. was admirably executed by Madame Bellochi; indeed, we never heard any thing which could more completely answer the wishes of both the author and composer. The part of Lindoro, the lover of this volatile lady, was very seriously performed by Sig. Garcia, who, dressed in the very appropriate costume of an officer in the Coldstream regiment of foot guards, warbled, on his entrance, a caratina, a stanza of which we shall gratify our readers by quoting, it runs thus: 66 Languir per una bella, E star lontan da quella E il piu crudel tormento, Che provar possa un cuor." This singularly happy and original thought is spun out into the usual number of verses, which go to make a legitimate full length fashionable love song. The music is composed expressly for the Signor, who does it so much justice in the performance. Garcia and Rossini are happily made for each otherthe compositions of the latter invariably remind us of something we have heard before. We are not, however, learned enough on this subject to be able to state from whom he borrows with such freedom; but we are like the Vicar of Wakefield, disposed ever and anon to exclaim, "Surely we have heard something of this before;" although we are seldom fortunate enough to light upon the identical Ephraim Jenkinson. The truth appears to be, that Rossini seldom takes the trouble of thinking for himself; he takes most of his ideas from the compositions of others, and by a happy adaptation, in the manner of the dear defunct Michael Kelly of happy memory, he bestows it all as original upon his wondering admirers. There is however a wide difference between these two gentlemen-Rossini is a man of genius and Kelly was not. The original compositions of the former are invariably beautiful, while those of the latter, if they ever occur, are always so questionable, that we know not if he has ever had credit for what actually belongs to him. The forte of Rossini is in his concerted pieces, and in that, as well as in every other respect, this opera is decidedly inferior to the Barbiere di Seviglia. Garcia is the perfection of the Florid; his embellishments, of the most simple air, are infinite; and we will go so far as to say, that it appears to us he has adopted that style to conceal the want of power and sostenuto in his voice. There is no recognising an air as sung by him. We remember his performance last year of one of the finest tenor songs in existence, " Pria che spunti in ciel l'Aurora," by Cimarosa; we then felt like David in the Rivals, "If we had not been at the dressing, we should not have known the dish again." This gentleman is however a good comic actor, and in his style an accomplished singer, consequently a great acquisition to this theatre. We do protest, however, against his being engaged at the expense of Crivelli. Of Signor Placci we shall say nothing until he has recovered from his cold; he appears, as far as we have been able to judge, a sensible actor-he is, at any rate, a good looking man. quency of repetition, the opera we are If we were to judge from the frenext to mention must be in high estimation. Of "La Modista Raggiratrice," our contemporaries have almost universally spoken in terms of unqua lified reprobation. The materials of the piece are indeed of the slightest kind, and such as would scarcely constitute a farce on our own stage. It is briefly this: a very engaging lady keeps a milliner's shop; she has two pretty apprentices (Corri and Mori), and two lovers, the one a fencing master (Garcia), and the other an apothecary (Angrisani); there is likewise a third gentleman (Ambrogetti), who is the parish schoolmaster, simple in wit and manners, to whom the aforesaid milliner is attached, but who has no idea of his own happiness, and who is most intent upon teaching his little boys their accidence. This personage is at once the butt of the lady, and the instrument by which she effects her purpose of marrying the two young ladies to her rejected lovers. He is at last, by the plain dealing of the lady, aware of his own importance, and in a manner, peculiar, we believe, to the stage, he becomes the impassioned husband of the fair intriguante, and the other two gentlemen transfer, in the happiest manner, all their affections to the two apprentices. There was one scene in this play which we confess was not much to our taste, in which Madame Perlina, the Modista in question, substitutes her lovers for three blocks, which she adorns with caps and bonnets, in the last and most approved taste. We have not seen any thing which appeared to us more ludicrous or ridiculous; the opera, however, went off with considerable effect. Madame Bellochi was the soul of whim and intrigue; she personated the milliner with the happiest effect; indeed, without the excellent acting of herself, and Ambrogetti in the schoolmaster, the piece would not have been suffered. We cannot say that the music of Paisiello is in fault, for very little of it was retained; the principal, and certainly the most effective airs, were taken from other authors; that, for instance, in which Bellochi was so loudly applauded, "Di piacer mi balza il cor," is from La Garza Ladra, by Rossini; it is one of the happiest efforts of this composer-joyous and full of heart -and it communicated to the audience a great portion of that delight which was so evidently felt by the singer, whose apparent enjoyment of her own performance could not be mistaken-it was enthusiastic, and as remote from conceit as truth is from falsehood. Notwithstanding that this could be understood comparatively by few (as, most assuredly, eight-tenths of those who attend the opera do not understand even the language), it was thoroughly appreciated, and applause was never more heartily or more deservedly bestowed; the conclusion of this piece is ill defined and abrupt. Ambrogetti's acting surpassed any thing we have hitherto seen him do-his quiet unconsciousness when Perlina, his mistress, is making the most direct attacks upon his heart, his total abandonment to his fate when he is made the object of her ridicule, and invested with a woman's cap, his serious apostrophe to the "Shade of Cicero," while in this situation, were worthy of a better cause. It is in such characters that this gentleman is very great. He here appeared to have given up his excessive propensity to buffoonery, and to have raised himself very high in the estimation of all those who were capable of feeling what he did: he had little indeed to sing, but that was well done, and in perfect keeping. On Saturday, 27th February, a very full house was, as usual, attracted by the announcement of Il Don Giovanni. This was generally supposed (although there be in fact nothing in her part to justify the opinion), a trial of Bellochi's strength. She had a bad cold (indeed we never knew a capital singer without one). She delighted, although from our knowledge of her talents, she by no means surprised us. In Zerlina, Madame Fodor was lively, engaging, nay, even in some measure, elegant; but there was always in every thing she did a marked attention to her dress, or to her own person, which was paramount, and she was indebted to her sweet and true voice, and comely appearance, for the great portion of applause she uniformly obtained. In personal qualifications we are not disposed to compare the two ladies; but in point of talent, there is the same difference between them that there was between Mrs Jordan and any comic actress of her time, or since. Madame Bellochi possesses, in an eminent degree, that downright, sensible, apparently thoughtless and hearty manner which was the inimitable charm of Mrs Jordan; this is obviously the greatest compliment we can pay to any actress, and it is that which renders Bellochi decidedly superior to Fodor. In the part now under consideration, Madame Fodor was considered as su preme, from the natural prejudice in favour of the person who originally plays a part successfully. Every one who succeeds is looked upon as invading that ground which is prescriptively the right of another. Popular feeling was therefore a spring-tide in favour of Madame Fodor, and yet Madame Bellochi had both the courage and the talent to turn these disadvan |