Aufführungsbesprechung London, Drury-Lane Theatre: „Der Freischütz“ von Carl Maria von Weber, November 1824

DRURY-LANE THEATRE.

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Freischutz, the eternal Freischutz, has appeared at this theatre with all the devilry, and more than all the music, which have given it fascination all the town over. This is well; for in that music are science for the student and sentiment for the | unlearned, which can hardly fail to refine and elevate the taste of those who listen. The noble overture is played here "with a difference," yet nearly as well as at Covent Garden; the chorusses are, we think, not quite so excellently drilled; but some fine concerted pieces in the last act are restored, and Caspar is made to sing. For the performers, Miss Graddon is less potent than Miss Paton, yet so modest and unaffected as to disarm criticism; T. Cooke is not unequally matched against Pearman; the bridemaids and the monsters are better at Covent Garden; but Drury-Lane has, by far, the finer devil in the mysterious person of Mr. O. Smith, who glides about in flame-coloured vestments, and vanishes almost as well as Valmondi from the ultra-terrific stage of the Adelphi. Mr. Horn and Mr. Bedford stand alone, as the representatives of their parts at the other house do not sing; and both considerably heighten the general effect of the opera by their vocal efforts, though Horn is inferior to Bennett as an actor. The incantation scene is better conceived at Drury-Lane, and more completely executed at Covent-Garden. At the former the glen itself is truly picturesque; and the mode of raising the spirit by lifiting a skull on the point of a sword, is really poetical. A fire blazes from the handle, which runs in a blue flame up the blade, and glares through the holes "which eyes did once inhabit" in deep crimson, till Zamiel appears. The close of the act too, where a cataract of real water acts the part of a torrent of fire, skeletons rise from the ground, and the whole stage is in terrific motion, is well imagined; but the intermediate horrors are tiresome and ineffective compared to those of Mr. Farley. The plot is rather better than that of Covent-Garden, because the lover himself is perilled instead of a poor drunken wretch who degraded the dignity of damnation; but still it is not worth a pin. There can be no real interest without cutting out Caspar, and all the dull incumbrance of his contract with the demon and unintelligible failure, and making the young huntsman involve himself in the toils of the fiend from the agonizing fear of losing his mistress; but then the conclusion would be painful; and we hardly know whether the story, at the best, is worth a shudder.

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