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see—and whose identity with Florestan she cannot certainly determine, there was a terrible force of truth imparted to her acting by the struggle within her, which was actually painful to the audience. She was playing as to an audience of statues. Rocco went for Pizarro. He drew

near. He examined the grave. He ordered Fidelio to retire, and then made himself known to his victim. What passed between him and the prisoner was scarcely heeded by the spectators, for all eyes were fixed upon Julia, who, concealed from Pizarro, stood aside waiting for the moment to attempt the rescue, pale as death and leaning for support upon a projection of the scenery.

The savage aria, in which hate and triumph are so awfully expressed, ended, and the dagger was raised to be plunged into the breast of the victim. As Julia rushed between the two actors, the astonishment and recoil of Pizarro were not acting. To him, too, the scenes had long since lost their unreality, and as he caught and hurled her from him, it was with a violence from which her arm long felt the effects. Again Pizarro rushed upon the prisoner. She again interposed and pointed the pistol to his breast. The trumpet was heard in the distance, and Florestan was saved.

As Pizarro, with his face muffled in his cloak, left the dungeon with old Rocco, Julia followed a short distance, then dropping the pistol, she stood as if bewildered. She looked wildly round, as if asking, is this all unreal? She pressed her hands to her eyes for a moment, and then rushing into the arms of Florestan, would have fallen but for his support. The audience was too much excited for applause. The few hands which applauded were immediately hushed, and all waited in profound silence for the ritornel of the duet. It was played but there was no response from the stage. A burst of tears relieved the actress, and she gave the signal for the orchestra to repeat it. Then and there was heard Beethoven's immortal duet: Oh namenlose Freude, (Oh joy beyond expression). I cannot describe it. Some, who find in music the almost articulate speech of the heart, may perhaps imagine the depths of expression which the divine tones of her voice conveyed. And yet through all the torrent of "joy unspeakable," which was expressed, was felt a something which told too truly of the woe of the singer. The singers retired. The tears of the audience were wiped away, and a few hands began hesitatingly to applaud. The spell was broken. The audience rose. How many times Florestan assisted her to appear and bow her acknowledgments, while wreaths, boquets and presents of value were showered the stage, I have forgotten. It was long before the machinists could prepare for the closing scene.

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one pedestal. Those supporting the corners are square, while those in the centre are round. The entablature and cornices are ornamented with

appropriate mouldings and brackets, the contours of which are embellished with a profusion of sculptured enrichments. The soffit of the corona is broken into panels, between the brackets, with appropriate mouldings in the sinkage. The ovolo, torus, scotia, cavetto, fillet, bead, cymarecta and cyma reversa are the elements from which the mouldings and ornaments have been designed. A great portion of the front is made with iron, while the remainder is built with brick and covered with mastic. The surface is finished with paint and sand so as to imitate the Jersey sandstone, laid in courses. The front view presents a grand and imposing effect as the eye glances over its outlines, from the side walk to the peak of the roof. The relief produced by the light and shade of the various indentations and projections, exhibits a deep but pleasing contrast to the surrounding scenery.

The first story is arranged for stores in connection with a broad entrance to the main corridor that leads to the halls above.

*

After passing through the front door you enter a vestibule which is connected with the corridor by glass doors. A passage way 12 feet wide extends the entire length of the building from Main to Waldo street. On the east end two flights of stairs ascend to the upper stories. On the west end also, two flights of stairs ascend upward, which, for solidity, beauty of design and thorough workmanship are worthy of a passing remark. The grade of these stairs is remarkably easy, being composed of 30 steps of 6 1-2 inches rise and 14 1-2 inches tread. The newel post, rail and ballusters, are of a new and novel pattern, of massive size and solid materials. The hand rail is about 4 by 8 inches, with a mahogany cap on top and ogee moulding on the sides. The ballusters are of oak, 4 1-2 inches square, top and bottom, and the middle is turned to a graceful pattern. The treads are of southern hard pine 1 1-2 inches thick. These stairs land in a transverse corridor 20 feet wide, from which you can enter all the rooms on the second story. There are eight rooms upon this floor, including a Hall, 50 by 80, with permanent circular seats, a platform, desk and two ante-rooms adjoining. This Hall is well adapted for concerts, lectures and social assemblies. Upon this floor, the Association will probably reserve two spacious rooms for its library and for holding the monthly meetings of the board of trustees, and the remainder will be rented for offices or other purposes.

From each end of the transverse passage at the head of the main street way, a flight of stairs ascends upwards to a broad stair, 6 by 10 feet, thence branching to the right and left, reaches the large Hall above at four different points, making, with other entrances, 8 places of ingress and egress to the main Hall. The hand rails, newel posts, ballusters, risers and treads of all these stairs correspond with those before described, and they certainly present one of the most attractive features about the buliding.

The great Hall is on the third floor and is 130 feet long and 80 feet wide, with galleries on each side and across one end, extending over three of the ante rooms. There are seven rooms upon this floor, either one or all of which may be used as drawing rooms in connection with the Hall. On the east end, an organ case of great beauty and richness has been constructed and it was confidently hoped that an organ would have been procured and placed within it, in season for the dedication, but, we are sorry to say, in this particular, with many others, we are doomed to be disappointed. The Hall itself independent of its surroundings, is a curiosity of rare excellence and of great beauty. As a work of art it is not surpassed by any thing in the country, if it has an equal. The gallery front is a very beautiful feature of the hall, with its salmon colored damask curtain stretched behind an ornate railing of little columns. The scroll brackets, underneath the galleries, of beautiful design but of mammoth dimensions and sculptured exterior, give solidity

and grace to what might have been otherwise deemed defective in point of strength as well as offensive to the eye. The ceiling is the great

point of attraction to persons visiting the Hall. It derives its chief beauty from the chaste design and happy combination of colors with which it is decorated. It is thrown into panels, both square and parallelograms, with about 12 inches recess from the face of the margin which separates them. These panels are painted in fresco so as to present one of the most rich and mellow tinted shading of colors imaginable. The ornaments upon the margin of the panels, representing flowers of various tints, give a bold relief to the whole picture. The numerous fret work pendants, through which the gas fixtures are suspended, are got up with such taste that they are considered ornaments rather than blemishes. At the angle of the ceiling with the walls there is a beautiful dentil cornice and freize with sculptured mouldings and brackets, the whole entablature resting upon graceful arches which are supported by pilasters extending down to the gallery floor. Over the stage, in front of the organ case, are several mechanical fixures or diagrams, painted in fresco, representing the genius of mechanism in the act of demonstrating the theories and problems of philosophy which mark the age in which we live.

The whole establishment is lighted with gas, and warmed by steam generated by a furnace outside of the building.

OPENING ADDRESS

FOR THE ACADEMY OF MUSIC, PHILADELPHIA.

Written by the Hon. Robert T. Conrad.

SPOKEN BY MISS CAROLINE M. RICHINGS.

When Time was young, and Music's spell, 'tis said,
Moved stones and trees, and e'en recalled the dead,
Then, (when the poet's dreams were sooth,) the lyre
Once bade a city's prostrate walls aspire:
Quick throbs the granite rock-a living thing;.
The ruins tremble with the trembling string;
They move, respective to the lyre's command;
They form-they rise-a towery wall they stand!
Such power had Music's self. But, lo! a thought-
Her shadow here a mightier work hath wrought;
Spoils of the Past here bade the walls arise,
While listening Hope leaned o'er, with glad surprise;
Soon towers the dome-the temple soon expands;
For thousand needs quick meet a thousand hands;
The purpose plann'd, 'tis jostled by the deed;
And wonder, wonder crowds with eager speed.
"Tis done, and nobly done! Exulting Art
Smiles o'er the pile so perfect in each part.
Wide and harmonious as bright music's reign,
Her newest triumph lights her noblest fane.
Long may it stand! Loud yield the tribute due
To Art, to joys reproachless-and to you!
Music! whose hymn the Stars of Morning sung,
Ere the sweet spheres by Discord's hand were wrung;
Whose rules great Kepler in the planets saw,*
And knew, in them, the Universal Law-
The law by which the stars their orbits sweep,
And 'quiring worlds their course in concert keep;
Music! whose code by bright Ægea's tide,
(So Plato tells), o'erruled all codes beside; +
For Athens trembled o'er the Lydian lute,
And Sparta battled to the soft-voiced flute;
Music! whose boundless wealth, like day can give
At large, unlessen'd, unto all who live
Costless, yet priceless, free as Ocean's wave,
Alike to Fortune's darling or her slave;
The peasant's joy-it thrilled Arcadia's sky;
The poet's bliss-it lighted Milton's eye;
The courtier's grace-'twas gallant Raleigh's pride;
The lover's voice-so burning Sappho sigh'd;
The warrior's summons, when, 'mid Alpine snows,
Gaul's quick strength falter'd and her hot blood froze.
When squadrons fainting paused, or stark and stiff,
Toppled to gulfy death, far down the cliff,
Sudden, Napoleon bids the war-charge sound,

See Kepler's Harmonices Mundi-afterwards confirmed by Newton's discoveries.

↑ Plato said that Demon's music could not be changed without changing the constitution of the state itself.

And wild and high the glaciers echo round;

They start-they burn-their nerves are fire again-
They win the height-to conquer on the plain!
Music! which sins not-cannot fail or fade-
Exalter, Friend, Consoler, Soother, Aid-
Here, in her temple, we her altars rear,
And service meet-hearts-hopes-all-offer here!
Nor sole, though regnant, here our sovereign's sway!
The Drama, too, shall know its better day;
Bright in the splendor of immortal youth,
Rich in rare Wisdom, Poetry and Truth-
What though her mirror darkling mists distain;
Clear but its surface, it will shine again;
Shine with the wild and weird-like glory shed
By Poet-seers, the myriad-minded dead.
In such a home, where ardent service tends,
Where wealth is zealous and where worth befriends,
No more shall scenes unmeet the stage profane,
Nor Vice nor Folly steal into her train.
Afar, the tastes that with her Genius war;
The sullying jest, the sordid taint, afar;
The Drama here in vestal fame shall live,
And crave no triumph virtue cannot give!
As when the morn on Memnon's marble shone,
The marble warm'd, breath'd Music's sweetest tone,
So, in your kindling smiles our dawn will break,
And music here, in grateful witchery wake;
The buskin'd muse with solemn step descend,
And their sweet spells the Arts and Graces lend.
We, of our temple proud, our triumph too,
Proud of our cause, and, patrons, proud of you,
Will call up words of Fancy, pure and bright,
With Genius, Wit, Mirth, Melody, Delight;
While white-rob'd Virtue, from her sacred throne,
Smiles o'er the Scene, and claims it as her own!

For Dwight's Journal of Music.

"Home, Sweet Home."

"G. M. F." writes as follows to the Boston Journal:

Master Paine's School in Berry street, (now Channing street), was one of the prominent schools of Boston. Many of our public men were educated by Master Paine. His school, his teaching, and his great care of his scholars, will ever be remembered by those who were under his tuition. He was the father of John Howard Paine, who in his youth was

called the young "Roscius" of America, and the

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old Boston Theatre" was often filled with Boston folks to witness the histrionic powers of the young "Boston Boy." He was the author of some fine plays, which have contributed to the pleasure of Boston audiences.

John Howard Paine was the author of "Home, Sweet Home," the sweetest song, embracing the purest sentiments, ever penned by man. How many sweet homes are cheered by this song, and how many turn to home and its fond remembrances as they

hear it when absent! I have heard it in the far West-in the sunny South, and never without feelings of deep sympathy for its author, for he had no home. He was for years a wanderer in foreign lands. I knew him well, and when he was first appointed Consul at Tunis, he was a constant visitor at my house. He was poor, and complained of neglect. I have often been with him when he would speak of what he had done for the amusement and pleasure of the world, and how poorly he had been paid. I well remember of an evening's walk in New York, when we heard voices singing "Home, Sweet Home." We stopped under a window, and at the conclusion he gave a hearty sigh, and remarked, "how little they know of the author who has no sweet home."

John Howard Paine died in a foreign land, and there is no monument at home to his memory. Mount Auburn does not contain a more interesting memorial, than one which should be erected to the author of "Home, Sweet Home."

I appeal to every lady who has ever sang or played this sacred song, and to every man who has listened to its melody-and to every Bostonian who values the credit of his native city-to unite in placing some memorial at Mount Auburn to the memory of

JOHN HOWARD PAINE,

THE AUTHOR OF

"HOME, SWEET HOME."

One evening at the house of Mr. Vroom, the American minister at Berlin, Home, sweet Home,

Musical Correspondence.

was sung, and I innocently remarked, that it was
creditable to American literature that this very
popular song was written by an American. The
remark excited some surprise, and on the part of
an Englishman present was received with no little
incredulity. The fact is however so, notwith-
standing. In Duyckinck's "Cyclopædia of Ame-
rican Literature," vol. ii. p. 140, et seq., is a sketch
of Payne, drawn from two articles by T. S. Fay,
now minister to Switzerland, contributed many
years since to the old N. Y. Mirror. The reader
will find there that this song was sung by Miss M.
Tree, (elder sister of Ellen Tree, now Mrs. Chas.
Kemble,) and that she gained a rich husband by
it, &c. &c. It was in one of those mixed plays,
called operas in England, entitled "Clari," which
was changed from a comedy to the operatic (Eng- only half the profits were to be applied to this object,

lish) form, at the request of Charles Kemble, who
had just succeeded Henry Harris in the manage-
ment of Covent Garden Theatre. My purpose
now is to give some account of “ Clari.”

The opera is in three acts, music composed by
Bishop, then a young man, and becoming very
popular.

"Clari, or the Maid of Milan," was acted for the first time at Covent Garden Theatre, May 8, 1823, with the following cast:

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.J. Isaacs.
...Keeley.

.Miss M. Tree.

Miss Love.
Mrs. Vining.
Miss Hallande.

.Baker.
Chapman.
..Miss Beaumont.
.Mrs. Pearce.

The story is this.-The Duke falling in love with Clari, has at length persuaded her to leave her lowly home, the "thatched cottage," and take up her abode in his house, under a solemn promise of marriage, which, though sincerely in love with her, he does not intend to keep. Clari, however, is looking forward with full confidence to the marriage, meantime preserving her innoHer eyes are opened to her situation and danger by the performance of a play at the chateau, the subject of which is similar to her own history. The Duke happening to be called away at the time of the performance to answer letters, he does not know the drift of the piece until it is too late to prevent its effects upon the mind of his intended victim. She is deeply affected by the mirror thus held up to her, and making her escape, returns from the splendor which "dazzles in vain" to the humble home of her father. Her mother believes in her innocence and forgives her; her father refuses forgiveness. The duke, unable to live without her, visits Rolamo, who levels a gun at him; Clari springs before the duke, and her father drops the weapon. The duke now makes honorable proposals of marriage, which are accepted, and the farmer places his daughter's hand in that of her high-born lover.

The play ran twelve nights. It was revived in the autumn of 1824, and again produced Nov. 26, 1825, when Miss Paton-the Mrs. Wood whom we all remember-took the part of Clari. It was given again in November, 1826, again in Nov. 1829, Miss Foote as Clari, and beyond this deponent saith not.

A. W. T.

NEW YORK, MARCH 27.-Who can dispute the supremacy of humbug in this country, when even THALBERG finally succumbed to it? The Brown and lunch movement, mentioned in a former letter, was only the beginning of the maestro's homage to this American god, of the nineteenth century; during the past week his influence has grown more and more sure, until at last, with the aid of STRAKOSCH and the Academy, he was brought out triumphant, in all his glory. A history of the last rapid strides of this divinity will interest you. On Monday, the 16th inst., Mr. Thalberg gave a "grand Combina. tion Festival," nominally for the benefit of the Ger man Society. But it was so well understood that

while the other half were to fill certain private pock

ets, that many persons would not countenance the
proceeding at all, who would otherwise have con-
tributed largely. Nevertheless, the house was
crowded, and the performances, consisting of a
miscellaneous concert by the orchestra, Thalberg,
d'Angri, and various German singing societies, (the
best of which, however, had withdrawn their servi
ces in view of the above-mentioned condition), and
the first act of Fidelio. At the foot of the pro-
gramme it was announced that on Saturday the con-
cert would be repeated, with various alterations, and
the second act of Fidelio! The newspaper advertise-
ments, however, for several succeeding days, prom-
ised the whole of the Opera; but when Saturday
came, behold the following change: The concert
was transferred to the Academy, and the aid of the
functionaries of that institution announced: "Mr.
Thalberg-prime donne-German and Italian Opera,
etc., etc." The programme was literally as follows:
the first act of Norma; a miscellaneous concert by
Thalberg and d'Angri; the second act of Don Gio-
vanni; the second act of Fidelio, and (finis coronat
opus,) the last act of Trovatore! ! !
"On account
of the length of the programme," the performances
commenced at 7 1-2; when they were to end, no one
could know. Perhaps the remark of one of our
dailies, concerning Manager Stuart's speech, at the
first representation of Mrs. Howe's play, might
apply to them also: "If he gets through in time,
the piece will be repeated to morrow evening." In
the end, Fidelio was left out, after all.

After all this humbug, it was a great relief to see one of EISFELD's unpretending, sober, sterling soireés announced, which could remind one that there are still some earnest, striving musicians in existence. We had a lovely Quartet, in G, by Mozart, and Beethoven's Quintet in C, for stringed instruments, in which Mr. BURKE played the first violin, with his usual sweetness. The Trio was the one in G minor, by Rubinstein, the piano part of which fell to Mr. MASON. It is the same that he played at two of his own Matinées last winter; but he has improved exceedingly since then, and played with much more spirit. The Trio itself I did not like as well as last year; there did not seem to me to be so much in it as I then thought.

The singer of the evening was a Mme. HENRIETTE SIMON, a young French lady, who has a pure, clear, but rather thin voice, with very little flexibility, and who sang her two pieces: Va, dit-elle, from Robert, and Cherubini's Ave Maria so apathetically, almost stonily, as to waken no sympathy at all in her hearers. The effect of the last piece was much improv. ed by an accompaniment on the Viola, by Mr. L. Simon, a relative of the singer.

On this same evening, Mme. EUGenie De Roode, sister to the singer of the same name, gave a concert at Niblo's, assisted by her sister and the three brothers MOLLENHAUER. The first-mentioned very young lady, (she is hardly more than a child), is

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PHILADELPHIA, MARCH 28.-A visit to the new Opera House is one of the most unmistakeable duties of every stranger at present visiting the Quaker City. On every side he will hear its praise resounding, and the interest taken in it by all classes of citizens is really astonishing. They are quite convinced that there never was such another opera house in the world-that at Milan may be somewhat larger, but it is otherwise far inferior; and as to that at New York-its a pigeon-house beside their own.

This very gratifying self-satisfaction is impregnable to all attempts at argument. It is true, many of them have never seen the New York Opera House, or indeed any other; but at the same time they are perfectly convinced, that in Philadelphia must of necessity be the largest and best in this hemisphere, if not in the world. Why, they cannot exactly tell, excepting from the simple fact of its location-it is in Philadelphia, and must therefore surpass any of its species, located in less favorable quarters of the globe.

And it is indeed a house to be proud of. Though lacking in the gorgeous decorations that add such a splendor to our Opera House in New York, and about one-third smaller in size, it yet appears to me to be the most complete and perfect I have ever seen. I would like to give you some idea of the architectural elegance of the proscenium, the comfortable arrangements of the seats, the great conveniences of egress, the magnificent effect of the princely stair-ways, &c.; but no mere word-description and collocation of figures would give a correct notion of the reality. I felt an impotent desire to be transmu. ted into a Philadelphian, and thus have as my prerogative the right of crowing with delight over my new Opera House, clapping my hands with joy, and skipping about like a young lamb upon the mountains all of which the Philadelphians seem inclined to do, whenever they think of their new lyric establishment, the "American Academy of Music."

As to the scenic attractions, they far surpass anything of the kind I have ever yet seen. The banqueting scene in La Traviata was one of the most brilliant ever witnessed within a theatre. The stage represents a handsome apartment, with frescoed walls and ceiling, with corridors leading off in the back ground, and illuminated by real chandeliers. Rich furniture adorns the room, and the banqueting tables are profusely decorated with flowers. Nothing is spared to make the illusion complete; and the tout ensemble forms a splendid contrast to the conven. tional banqueting scenes on the stage.

Having a splendid house, a spacious stage, all necessary scenic requirements, and an enthusiastic audience, the "American Academy of Music" of Philadelphia next requires a good opera troupe, and this they also have, under the supervision of the "indefatigable Max," as the newspaper critics invariably call MARETZEK. The company comprises names familiar to Boston opera-goers. BRIGNOLI is the tenor, AMODIO the baritone, COLETTI the basso, and ALDINI the contralto, though I understand the place of the latter has been taken by Miss ADELAIDE PHILLIPPS. The prima donna is Mme. GAZZANIGA, and the seconda Miss CAROLINE RICHINGS.

Mme. Gazzaniga, as a stranger, and the bright particular star of this company, demands the first notice. I witnessed her performance in two operas -Norma and Traviata, and as it was in the latter

she achieved her greatest triumphs, it is to her wonderful rendition of the role of Violetta that I would chiefly confine my remarks.

Mine. Gazzaniga is not handsome; her voice is not at all remarkable for either compass or tone; her execution is very mediocre, and yet withal she is a lyric vocalist, that can arouse into a wild enthusiasm the most blasé of opera habitués. In the Traviata, an opera generally considered as one of the weakest Verdi has ever written, she achieves triumphs, that are due more to the singer than the composer. Verdi merely gives the foundation, upon which Gazzaniga builds a glorious operatic fabric.

When she first appears upon the stage, it is as Violetta, the fashionable mistress of a brilliant establishment, in all the bloom of youth, and revelling in the delights of gay society. It is true we all know that her assumed happiness is but a mask to hide her sorrows; but for the moment, she appears to have forgotten them herself, and carols the drinking song with all the spirit of bacchanalian glee. This is the "point" of the first act, the remainder of the music being such as to tax a singer's powers of vocal execution, rather than her dramatic ability, and it is only in the latter that Gazzaniga excels. In the second act, Violetta is visited by old Germont, who implores her to forsake his son. In this fine scene, Gazzaniga sings and acts wonderfully, making more out of the comparatively insignificant music, than one would suppose possible. It is truly thrilling, the intense passion she throws into her performance, as she repeats the words:

"Morro! La mia memoria
Non fia ch 'ei maledica,
Se le mie pene orribili
Vo sia che almen gli 'dica.
Conosca il sacrifizio
Ch'io consumai d'amor
Che sarà son fin l'oltimo
Sospiro del mio cor.'

But it is in the last act that Gazzaniga excites the greatest furore. Throughout the whole of this portion of the opera, where Violetta is struggling with consumption, the sympathies of the audience are excited to a degree that is almost painful. The short cough, the pale cheek, and the symptoms of bodily pain, are heightened by the expression of mental anguish, which in the aria: Addio del passato, finds vent in agonized cries, that, though written in the music, produced, as sung by Gazzaniga, an effect entirely different from that which would be given to it by any other singer. And then, after Violetta is rejoined and forgiven by her lover, and about to be happy in his love, she is suddenly struck by the thought that she must die-that fell thought that "hangs like a slimy snail on the rich rose of love" -and in a wail of anguish her breaking heart pours forth its misery-then it is that Gazzaniga throws an intensity of passion into her performance that is almost awful. I have never heard anything on the stage to surpass it, and can never again think of La Traviata without Gazzaniga's agonized

"Gran Dio! morir si giovane,"

ringing in my ears.

A cold, conscientious critic might find fault with this prima donna's lack of vocal cultivation. She cannot sing a chromatic scale with clearness, and is deficient in many of the graces of vocalization. But then her every tone is replete with deep feeling, and when required, she can portray with thrilling effect the most intense passion. In this she surpasses any singer I have ever heard, not excepting GRISI herself, though the latter is of course a much more finished artist in other respects.

So much for Gazzaniga. She appears in New York next month, and will probably shortly visit Boston, where you can judge her for yourself.

Miss RICHINGS, the seconda donna, whom I heard sing the role of Adalgisa in Norma, has recently debuted on the lyric stage. Though favorably

known as a vocalist and actress, I believe her Adalgisa is her first essay as a singer in Italian Opera, and as far as I can judge, she promises well. Her voice is clear, and tolerably well cultivated, but cold and unsympathetic. She appears to be a great favorite with the Philadelphians, and in a more prominent role her dramatic as well as vocal abili ties will appear to better advantage. The Adalgisa is a stupid character at the best-a passive nonentity, who can in her action express no emotion beyond an occasional lachrymose demonstration, and in whom both passion and gayety are out of place. Miss Richings will shortly appear as Amina in the Sonnambula.

That was a shocking accident that occurred the other night at the Philadelphia Opera House, just before the curtain rose on the first act of Linda. One of the chorus women, the Signora LOCATILLA, was suddenly taken ill of disease of the heart, and in a few moments expired. She was a large woman, always took a prominent position among the chorus singers, and her familiar form was an inevitable fraction, and no small one either, of every opera troupe we have had for years. Poor woman! it is all over with her now, and if it do no good, it may do no harm, to let out a bit of green-room gossip, and tell that some time ago she had a quarrel with another lady of the chorus, who, in a fit of spleen, applied to her the epithet, "cow." The name was immediately taken up by her associates. and as "the cow" was she known in the green-room until the night of her death. This event did not, however, stop the performance. The opera, after a short delay, was played with unusual success, but few of the audience being aware that, directly behind the gay scene, lay the dead body of the unfortunate opera singer. She had for the last time taken her place in the stiff row of awkward chorus womenfor the last time made those angular gestures so sug gestive of the pump-handle-for the last time had tripped forward in peasant costume to welcome the young Amina-for the last time had sailed majestically in the train of the guilty Lucrezia-for the last time had shuffled about the stage in the clumsy robes of the nuns in Trovatore, and for the last time had wandered in a huge blue cloak through the masquerade scene of Ernani. Her troubles and her triumphs were now forever past; she had trodden the boards for the last time.

Among the musical celebrities of Philadelphia, is the pianist, Mr. GEORGE F. BENKERT, whom I had the pleasure of hearing. He performed several of his own compositions, among them a quaint "Marche Chinois" and a highly colored fantasia, suggested by the fourth act of King Lear. Mr. Benkert is quite a young man, but has composed extensively, over thirty of his piano pieces having been published in Europe. At present he devotes himself chiefly to orchestral works, of which he has whole mountains of manuscript scores. For the past five years he has been pursuing his musical studies in Germany, under LINDPAINTNER, of whom he has written a biographical article that appeared in the last number of Fitzgerald's City Item. Mr. Benkert has given several concerts in his native city with success, and now conducts one of the best musical societies that Philadelphia can boast. He has taken up his permanent residence in the Quaker City, in which he was born and brought up, and where his family reside.

My time in Philadelphia was limited, and consequently I was unable to attend an organ exhibition, advertised to take place in one of the city churches, at which Mr. Benkert and a number of other organists were to perform. Philadelphia can boast some very superior organists, and among its church musicians whose names are familiar all over the country, are HOMMANN, CROSS, B. CARR, DARLEY, EMERICK, TROVATOR. STANBRIDGE, and others.

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SALEM, MASS., MARCH 26-We look to your Journal, Mr. Editor, for musical news from all parts of the world, and doubtless it will please many of your readers to hear from the good old city of Salem, as we are by no means the hindmost in musical matters. Although we send a large delegation to attend every good concert which you announce in Boston, we are not without such entertainments occasionally at home. We have not heard from the "Salem Academy of Music" nor from the "Choral Society" during the past winter, although the previous season the latter society brought out Mozart's Twelfth Mass and Romberg's "Transient and Eternal," under the able conductorship of Mr. M. FENOLLOSA, a gentleman of thorough knowledge and judgment, whose labors have done much to improve the taste and ear of our community. He has now under his charge a private class of some thirty or more good voices, whose exquisite rendering of many classical selections reflects the highest credit upon Mr. F. We are much indebted to the Young Mens' Union," who have treated us to some good lectures and concerts during the past winter, the gem of which was an evening's enter tainment from the "Mendelssohn Quintette Club.” It was a delightful performance, and gave extreme pleasure to the large audience. The last of the series took place on Monday evening, the 23d inst., when a very attractive programme was presented, including the names of Mrs. WENTWORTH, Mr. B. J. LANG, &c. The lady sang even better than ever before, and received hearty applause from all parts of the house. Every piece she sang was encored, and some pieces were reëncored. Mr. Lang fairly surprised the audience; he has made a remarkable improvement within a short time, which we in a great measure attribute to his attention to the Thalberg concerts. His mind's eye and ear have been wide open to the performance of that great artist, and we could not but admire how prominent he kept his subject throughout the performance of his highly embroidered selections. He is our townsman, and we feel truly proud of him.

Speaking of TuALBERG, on his first visit to Boston, he gave us an evening, and indeed it was such an evening as your humble servant never expected to enjoy in Salem. We shall go to Boston to every performance that he announces, and we shall go everywhere we can to hoar such wonderful perfor mances. Our churches cannot boast of very superior choirs, but we shall review them at another time. We have two Brass Bands, who produce some fine music, for the enjoyment of those who are fond of the fortissimo of such instruments-it sounds better to us in the distance. CARL HAUSE is very popular here. He is very industrious and attentive to his profession. His many pupils speak of him as being

a most obliging, patient and conscientious teacher, adding this to his fame as a performer of the first school. After his day's labor, he may retire to bed with a happy heart. His pupils are among the best families here, and some of them have become excellent performers under his careful tuition. The 'Old Folks," from Chelsea, gave us a concert this week, and considering that the profits went to the benefit of one of our benevolent institutions, we shall not speak a word against them.

PRESTO.

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PART II.

1-Overture Zimpa.
2-Beethoven's Quartet No. 1, Adagio.
3-Andante with Variations.

(God save Fraucis, the Emperor.) 4-Sounds from Home.

De Clercq, 1st Violin; Weber, 2d Violin; Biesing, Viola ; Junkerman, Violoncello."

This private concert was attended by a company of some seventy or eighty persons, who sat in breathless enjoyment throughout all the pieces. Our artists here are very fine, equal to anything perhaps you have in Boston; which is no marvel, when you remember that nearly a half of Cincinnati is a completely German city; the German manners, customs and speech prevailing exclusively. Prof. CLERCQ of New York, has taken up his residence in this city, and has given a new impulse to music. He is a very superior violinist, and is fresh from the tuition of F. Dowit, (David ?) of Leipsic. Our friend WILLIS, of the Musical World, was present on this occasion, and expressed his admiration.

We have here an admirable St. Cæcilia-Verein, which has given us the Paulus, and next week is to give us Romberg's music of Schiller's "Bell," and the 42d Psalin of Mendelssohn. Our Philharmonic Society is busy also in rehearsal of Beetho ven's beautiful 2d Symphony, and some of the music of the Sommernachtstraum for their fourth

Subscription Concert. Let Boston look to her

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"Fidelio" at the Boston Theatre.

We had both rejoicings and misgivings when we saw Beethoven's only opera-a work which has taken its place by the side of Don Giovanni as one of the two greatest lyric dramas yet presented to the world-suddenly announced for performance at the Boston Theatre, on Wednesday night. We had never heard the opera, but from what we had heard and read about it, from a profound interest and faith in the genius of BEETHOVEN, and from such imperfect glimpses of its glories as we could get from frequent study of the music in a mere piano and vocal score, we were prepared to welcome any opportunity of hearing it and seeing it upon the stage as a most particular God-send. Hence the rejoicings— not unmingled with thanks to the management of Mr. Thalberg, to whose enterprise we owe this opportunity. But then were these misgivings: Fidelio, as the highest specimen of purely German opera, is also the most difficult of operas, and needs to be exceedingly well done to speak for what it really is. Will this first, almost extempore attempt, by an indifferent German Company from New York, with almost no rehearsal here, the chorus of prisoners supplied by our "Orpheus" Club, who, good singers as they are, were never in their lives upon the stage, with no female chorus at all, and an orchestra essaying almost at first sight music of the greatest difficulty-will it exert a desirable influence upon the unformed taste of our semi-musical public? Will it help to prepare the way for a gracious and appreciative reception of German Opera, of which much has been said, but of which no specimen was ever yet produced in Boston?

Since the performance our rejoicings and misgivings both remain with equal force. It was in truth, considered as a whole, a very bad perform

ance of the very best of music. To us, and to a few like us, who have made some study of the music, it was a rare privilege to hear the music and the drama put together audibly and bodily for once, though the performance had been twice as bad. We found out what Fidelio was, and shall know how to receive it and appreciate it, unconfused by novelty, when the time shall come for hearing it presented as it should be.

But with the mass of the audience the case was different. Coming to it with no musical preparation, and even with a contrary bias in favor of their familiar, darling Verdi, Donizetti and Bellini; accustomed too, in every case, to think more of the singer than the music, what notion did they, could they get of German Opera, and of Fidelio especially, curtailed as it was, not half rehearsed, sung out of tune by mostly coarse or ineffectual voices, and without even the usual assistance of a libretto? Surely the Italians had their triumph-they relished the performance marvellously well! Surely there is no shaking off a fear that German opera has gained but little foothold in the musical love of Boston, by this rash experiment; that its establishment among our musical institutions or habits is only the more postponed.

And yet we do not lose faith or hope. With some of that same hope which in Beethoven's drama lights the heroine and the victim on through glooms and disappointment to the triumph of the good and true, we have but to remember how in all our experiences of Art, we have had to grope our way through most imperfect, miserable first representations, and almost perversions, to at last a clear presentment of the thing. So we came to the great Symphonies, now so generally loved; so to Don Juan, which suffered worse the first times given here than did Fidelio; so to nearly all great compositions. Attention to the roughest, most bewildering rehearsal, helps one immensely to appreciate a work in clear performance. The work of understanding great things, and learning to enjoy and feel them perfectly, is, like every other work of value, one beset with difficulties, doubts and disappointments. We are thankful to begin with seeing through a glass darkly, so we only may begin, and afterwards keep on. But it is useless to expect an opera audience to listen with this spirit, and we have no reproaches for any one who found himself disappointed Wednesday night.

But do not let us give too dark an impression of that experiment. We shall have to give credit, when we come to details, for good intentions generally, and in some parts felicitous achievement. Mme. JOHANNSEN is certainly in many respects an excellent artist, Mr. BERGMANN an excellent conductor, and the acting was generally good. The mistake was the not making a more serious business of introducing Beethoven's great work, or any German opera, in Boston. Instead of a hasty, slovenly preparation for one night, it should have been thoroughly prepared and studied for a run of several nights, with great care to present it whole and perfect in its every part; taking plenty of time for that, and also to prepare the public. This would have resulted very differently, as the marked appreciation of many points of the opera, even as it was, assured us.

In the absence of librettos, the history and plot

of the opera were thus briefly sketched upon the bills:

Beethoven's Opera, "Fidelio," was produced in November, 1805, at the Imperial House at Vienna, under the title of "Leonora." In 1814, it was revised throughout, and put upon the stage, under its present title; since which time, no work has been a greater favorite upon the German stage. The plot is simple: Florestan, a Spanish nobleman, and intimate friend of the Prime Minister, has, in some manner fallen into the power of his arch enemy, Pizarro, Governor of one of the castles of the kingdom, used as a prison, who has thrust him into one of the lowest dungeons, and is reducing his portion of bread and water daily, to destroy him with all the horrors of slow starvation. Leonora, the wife of Florestan, seeking her husband in all directions, at length has her suspicions aroused that he is in this prison, assumes male attire, and enters the service of Rocco, the head jailor.

In the opening scene, we have some by-play between Jacquino, another servant, and Marcellina, daughter of Rocco, in which the girl breaks off her engagement of marriage with Jacquino, in favor of the elegant and cultivated Fidelio. The latter comes in from the city with chains purchased for Rocco, and with letters for Pizarro. Marcellina announces her desire to marry Fidelio; old Rocco consents and blesses the union. Pizarro enters; Rocco requests him to appoint the future son-in-law his assistant, which is granted. Among the letters is one sent by a friend to the Governor, informing him that the Minister is secretly on his way to examine the prison and that he must prepare to meet him that day. Pizarro sees that his only means of escape is in the death of the prisoner, and tempts Rocco to murder him.

He refuses utterly. He then orders him to clear out an old cistern in the dungeon for a grave, and will commit the deed himself. After he retires, Fidelio persuades Rocco to allow the prisoners to come out of their dungeons into the court of the castle to inhale the fresh air, and enjoy the sunshine. They appear and she scrutinizes their faces, in hope of finding Florestan, in vain. Pizarro appearing again, is enraged to find the prisoners out of their cells, and Rocco exeuses it as a custom upon the King's birthday, and reminds him that one is dying in the deep vaults beneath the castle.

In Act Second, we follow Rocco and his new assistant into the vaults, whither they come to dig the grave. Florestan, chained to his hard couch, is seen lying in the dim obscurity of the dungeon. The grave is dug; Fidelio, trying in vain to catch a sight of the prisoner's features. She persuades Rocco to give the dying man the piece of bread and the pitcher of water they have brought with them for their refreshment. When all is ready, Pizarro is called. In the first act, the Governor has ordered a watch in the tower of the castle, to give a signal upon a trumpet, the moment the Minister appears. Now the monster approaches the prisoner, ordering Fidelio to retire. She has at length seen the features of her husband, and in an agony of suspense, hides herself behind a neighboring pillar. Ordering Florestan to be loosed from his confinement, he addresses him in an aria expressive of hate, satiated vengeance, and infernal triumph-an aria, in the mouth of a competent singer, and before an audience whose knowledge of the German language enables them to feel its truthfulness, which is a masterpiece of unbridled rage and passion. He raises his dagger, and Fidelio rushes between them. Slay first his wife!" she cries. Throwing her violently aside he raises the weapon, but she again springs before him and points a pistol to his breast. At this instant the trumpet comes faintly sounding down from the ramparts, and Florestan is saved. Pizarro baffled retires, and leaves the husband and wife to the joy, too great for words, which can only find vent in the sweetest sounds of music.

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Here was a subject after Beethoven's own heart. No dramatic story could better embody the sentiment that burns in all his music. The struggle of the soul with destiny, of light with

darkness; Joy ("Choral Symphony"), Freedom, Truth, Humanity, bright ideals, natural rights and objects of the soul,. postponed by human wrong and error; darkness, confinement and long suffering for the present, but glorious delivery at last by heavenly, all-conquering, human Love. The deliverance of the prisoner, made so because he "dared to utter Truth," through the high faith and persevering heroism of a devoted wife! The moral sublimity of this inspired him to his task. The fortune of his effort was alike characteristic. The first production was a failure. Vienna then, (in 1805), was occupied by the French army; the theatres were deserted; an audience of unmusical French soldiers, with but a sprinkling of friends of the true sort, found it tedious. He had written more for Art, than for the convenience of singers, and these important personages murmured at the difficulty of the music; he had enemies besides; the German libretto, adapted by Sonnleithner from an earlier one in French, was not altogether well managed; it was badly divided in three acts; the composer had not studied popular effect sufficiently, and was persuaded into endless bother of altering and re-altering. Peace restored in 1814, it was again brought out in Vienna, wisely compressed into two acts, and with many parts omitted or re-written; and in this form we have it now.

Beethoven wrote for his opera four overtures. The first did not satisfy. The third, known in our concerts as the "Leonora" overture, in C, is a different treatment of ideas found in No. 2. This is by far the finest of the four, as well as by far the fittest introduction to the opera, since it is a resumé of its leading themes and incidents, and conceived in the lofty tone and spirit of the whole. Beethoven much preferred the overture in C, but many thought it too long and too great a work for the commencement, and hence he substituted the lighter and brighter overture in E, now commonly played before Fidelio. This borrows nothing from the opera itself; has on the contrary a lively and Don Juan-like expression, and only connects itself as a natural prelude to the lighter and half-comic situations with which the play commences. There is only this advantage about it, that it conforms to the remarkable crescendo of the entire music, beginning with the lightest and least exciting, and growing more and more intensely tragical and grand until the climax where the prisoner is saved. The composition consists of sixteen numbers.

No. 1 is a gay and charming, half-comically serious duet, (in A), between Marcellina and Jacquino, who presses her to name the happy day; but she, poor simpleton, is all in love with the supposed youth Fidelio. The music is Mozartish, clear and sparkling. Knocks at the door keep interrupting the luckless lover just

as he thinks he is getting on so famously in his suit. Mme. BERKEL makes a pretty little Marcellina; her voice is flexible and bright, and runs glibly through her high and often florid role; but it is hard, thin, unsympathetic, and very often out of tune. Herr NEUMANN acted and sang respectably.

No. 2, in C minor, commencing Andante, is a sentimental Aria by Marcellina, in which she sighs and dreams of union with Fidelio, and then as the richly sombre instrumentation, "growing to a point," dashes down a scale of triplets and quickens to a livelier movement, she gives utter

ance to the inspirations of hope. Mozartish still, beautifully and truly so, except in the Beethoven climax and change just mentioned.

No. 3 is unmistakeably Beethoven, a few bars of his mystical and deeply shaded introduction leading into the Quartet in G, (Andante): Mir ist's so wunderbar, between Marcellina, Leonora, Jacquino and Rocco. This Canon is so exquisite, the characters so set apart in their answering and imitative phrases, (Marcellina longing and hoping for Fidelio; Leonora painfully conscious of it, yet countenancing the illusion, intent on her great purpose and its dangers; Rocco, too, noticing it and liking the idea well; Jacquino, his" hair on end" at sight of his poor prospects), that it was greatly relished and encored, in spite of an execrable rendering, the voices being harsh and out of tune; even Mme. JOHANNSEN sang with so rough an edge that, had we heard her then for the first time, we should have thought her a tenth-rate singer. She looked and acted the part of Fidelio charmingly throughout, and the inflections of her voice in spoken dialogue, (with which the music alternates in this as other German operas), were beautiful and natural.

No. 4. Rocco, (Herr OEHRLEIN), a person stout enough for a jailor, with a bass voice of uncertain truth, but a fair singer), sings a song in praise of money;-the least important number in a musical point of view, though it might pay the best.

The music waxes in warmth and inspiration, and in richness of ideas, in No. 5, a Trio, full of life and movement, in which Rocco applauds Fidelio's courageous determination to enter the prison service, tells him (her) he will succeed by perseverance, that the heart gets hardened by familiarity with horrors; she trusts in God and her heart's pure purpose; Marcellina hints that love, too, is a motive worth consideration.

Nos. 6 and 7. A quick march heralds the entrance of Pizarro, who sings an Aria, (D minor), with chorus, a terrific outburst of vengeful rage and hatred, in which he gloats with fiendish delight upon the thought that he shall soon have the heart's blood of Florestan, his fallen enemy and prisoner. The orchestra is lashed into a tempest, and we have the Beethoven energy under its most fearful aspect. The effect is marvellously enhanced, where, as the song thunders along in D major, a low whispered chorus of the guards in B flat comes in: "He talks of death, &c." But of the chorus not a note was uttered on our stage; the guards were dumb show. Herr WEINLICH has an energetic action, and a strong, hard, telling kind of basso, better suited to such declamatory music than to most other kinds; yet his tones were dry and rattling, and his rage somewhat too blustering. Nor was he free from the prevailing distemper with regard to pitch.

No. 8. Duet of basses, in which Pizarro proposes to Rocco to make way with the prisoner, but, he refusing, declares his intention to do the dark deed himself; so his revenge will taste the sweeter; but Rocco must prepare a grave by the old cistern in the cell. The contrasted feelings of the two men are powerfully and wonderfully depicted in the music, which, with Beethoven's dark and mysterious modulations, is singularly suggestive and exciting.

No. 9 is the great recitative and Aria of Leonora, who has overheard the plot: Abscheulicher! wo eilst du hin? (Monster! to what deed art thou hastening?) It is a piece constructed like the scena in the Freyschütz: first a recitative, in which the orchestra, (Allegro agitato), depicts her horror and alarm at the thought of his cruel " tiger sense," but yielding to the rainbow of hope which rises in her mind at the thought that she may save her husband; then a heavenly Adagio, (in E), with prelude and accompaniment of mellow horn and bassoon tones: "Come Hope, let not the last star of the weary pale; however distant the goal, Love will reach it," &c.; then an Allegro of immense fire and rapid running accompaniments of horns and. energy: "I follow the inward impulse!" with reeds in full chords, exceedingly effective and inspiring when well done, but nearly spoiled by

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