WeGA, Rezeptionsdokumente, Digitale Edition
author: Anonymus
source date: 1. September 1824
language: en
availability: Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International (CC BY 4.0) (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/)

ENGLISH OPERA HOUSE.

Der Freischutz. – This celebrated opera, long vaunted by the German musicians, has at length been produced, and has satisfied the expectations which its announcement raised. A more spirited and a more successful effort was certainly never made by the Proprietor of a Summer Theatre. It was much to find space in so limited a sphere for the exhibition of the scenic wonders of the piece, but still more to find heart to engage all the professional talent necessary to give effect to its strange and thrilling music.

The story of this opera is taken from a spirit-stirring and blood-freezing work, called "Popular Tales and Romances of the Northern Nations." The original is unquestionably a tale of deep and fearful interest, which is not entirely preserved in the drama. According to this more authentic legend, William, clerk to the bailiff of a forest in Germany; loves and is beloved by Katherine, the only child of a forester, who lives on a little estate granted to one of his ancestors for his skill as a marksman. The father is resolved that his daughter shall marry none but a huntsman, which indeed is only reasonable, since his farm is held by tenure, which requires each possessor to go through a trial of his skill as a marksman before he is allowed to enjoy it. William, on hearing of the old man's determination, leaves his desk for the field, and is accepted as Katherine's lover. In a short time he is mysteriously bereft of his skill; his bullets seem turned aside by the air, and he entertains bitter fears that he shall be unable to stand the trial-shot, on which his marriage depends. While he wanders about in this state of suspense and misery, he is joined by an old soldier with a wooden leg, who gives him a number of balls which are charmed, and which never miss their aim. With these, he more than regains his former reputation; but he finds them gradually reduced in number; and just before the day of the trial, is compelled to part with his last. Thus distressed, in spite of several warnings which he receives, he proceeds at midnight in the depth of the forest to cast sixty-three balls, sixty of which are to obey his will, and three are to fail. He performs this work in the midst of terrible prodigies, but he does not flinch from its accomplishment, and when it is completed, sees a black horseman, who tells him that the three balls belong to himself, and disappears in the recesses in the wood. Morning dawns; William, feverish and alarmed, comes to the trial; he shoots at a dove, pointed out to him as his mark; but the bullet, which is one of these reserved by the demon, is turned aside and strikes the bride, who falls dead at his feet. The aged parents die of grief, and William, the Fatal Marksman, wears out his life in a mad-house.

This catastrophe is too mournful for the stage; and therefore we do not object to the turn (by which the adapter shews some charity for the devil) in changing the course of the ball from the bride to the seducer. But we protest, in so far as in us lies, against the transmutation of the mysterious horseman, just introduced in the tale to intimate to his victim the full extent of his guilt and misery by a few terrible words, into a spirit with fiery eyes, and an enormous hat, who perpetually haunts the stage, and comes at the call of the human fiend with whom he is connected. Still more do we object to the change of the old soldier with the wooden leg, about whom so fearful a mystery hangs, and who is so sparingly introduced in the original, to a huntsman who has sold himself to the devil, and who lays an elaborate but inexplicable plot to obtain a respite for himself, by offering another in his stead. The introduction of two persons to the magic circle where the bullets are cast, greatly dilutes the horror we feel at the single daring of the agonized lover, who stands unappalled amidst all the terrors of hell, when his mistress is the stake for which he ventures. In the drama too, the last act is singularly devoid of interest; we have seen too much of diabolisms to care for those which are only hinted; and the working up does not supply any natural interest to make amends for the supernatural terrors which have lost their power. Still, with all these deteriorations, enough of the original remains to render the drama one of the most impressive of those few dramatic pieces whose interest is not of this world.

Of the music, scientifically, it does not become us to speak; but its effect on our feelings was peculiar and decisive. The first solemn breathings of the overture disposed the mind to reverential awe, and its subsequent passages told a dim tale, and shadowed to the imagination strange images of superstition and of pleasure. It realized the idea of the Poet,

"Soft notes, awful as the omen
Of destructive tempests coming,
And escaping from that sadness
Into elevated gladness."

The music throughout, espacially where the demon appears, is of the same wild and preternatural cast. The very joyous passages have, or seem to have, a certain fiendish spirit infused into them, and the notes of the bridal song are charged with melancholy forebodings.

In order to do justice to this singular music, the orchestra has been greatly strengthened, and a number of able chorus singers added to the company. Braham, as the fatal marksman, sings with all his heart and all his science, and without the least affectation or superfluous flourishing. In the presence of Weber he forgets even himself, and makes an impression which will never be forgotten by any who hear him. Miss Noel at first played and sang Agnes, the Katherine of the original, and raised herself in the estimation of the town by the correctness of her singing and the gentle quietness of her acting: she has now raised herself still higher by voluntarily resigning the part to Miss Stephens, and thus exhibiting a striking exception to the usual humours of the green room. Our sweetest warbler, and we are glad of it, is not most at home in German music, nor are the associations she raises at all spectral; yet who would not see and hear her when they can? Mr. H. Phillips sings the drinking song, to which we have alluded, with considerable gusto; and Mr. T. P. Cooke plays the devil fearfully well. The chief acting part is that of Caspar, the huntsman, who is sold to the forest spirit, and is played by Bennett, whose performance is a servile, but clever imitation of Macready. Of the execution of the incantation scene, in which the bullets are cast, it is impossible to speak too highly. The first dreariness of the glen; the withered witch; the spectral forms; the livid fire; the monstrous shapes of owls, bats, serpents, and huge creeping things without a name; the skeleton chase in the air; and the appearance of Zamiel, the forest demon, in flames, are all finely imagined: the gradations of horror are managed with singular skill; and the final accumulation of wonders is so tremendous as to leave the spectator gaping with amazement at the fall of the curtain.

One of the elegant trifles peculiar to this house, called "The Reign of Twelve Hours," has shewn us Miss Kelly in a new character, and added, if possible, to our sense of the versatility of her genius. She is here a vizier's daughter, who bewitches the reigning caliph into resigning his sceptre to her for a day, in order to triumph over the heart of a man whom she loves. Her graceful coaxing is so exquisite as to render almost probable the strange sacrifice which it produces. These charming efforts, if efforts they may be called which seem spontaneous, are happily seconded by Mr. Bartley, who plays the most moderate of caliphs. A scene in which he hears his late flatterers pay court to the young sultana is very felicitously hit off both by the author and the actor. The little drama is interspersed with music so original and appropriate, that we can bear to listen to it after Weber's opera, which it regularly follows.