PARIS.
For a long time it has been evident to every one who has the slightest taste or feeling for music, that the downfall of this art in Italy is complete; but nothing, perhaps, could give so just an idea of the state of absolute degradation into which the Italian taste has fallen, as the popularity which an opera called Chiara di Rosenberg, which was played lately at the Théâtre Italien, has obtained and still enjoys in that country. At all times, even when the Italian school was in the height of its vigour and splendour, bad operas were written, but they were received as they deserved, and the hisses of the public consigned them to their merited fate. At the present time this is no longer the case; the production of a boy makes a furore on its first production, is twice revived with plaudits at Milan, and is now playing everywhere. What does all this indicate, but that nothing better is to be hoped for from a country where the public taste has fallen so low?
An ill-constructed overture, made up of incoherent phrases clumsily put together, followed by an introduction still more flat and feeble, cast a cold chill over the audience; however they waited with very laudable patience for some piece that might interest them, but in vain; the same mediocrity reigned throughout. A trio for three basses, which had been much talked about, was looked for with great expectation, but turned out just as bad as the rest. The success of this trio, in Italy, arises from one of the characters using a broad provincial dialect, which is changed according to the city in which the piece is performed; in Naples it is the Neapolitan, in Venice the Venetian, in Milan the Milanese, and so on: this makes the audiences laugh there, but in a foreign country the comic effect is wholly lost, and there is nothing in the music to compensate for it. The most supportable pieces in the opera are a chorus and duet between Tamburini and Santini. There is not in the whole opera one phrase of melody that has either novelty or any other merit; the harmony is flat and incorrect; the rhythm totally devoid of character, and eternally broken in upon; and to close all, the instrumentation is that of a school-boy who had not even the good sense to study the scores of his contemporaries.
Tired of singing such stuff, Tamburini introduced an air from the Inganno Felice of Rossini, and never did a base voice give so splendid a specimen of ease, taste, and execution; the audience, without considering the fatigue of the singer, encored it; Tamburini repeated it with more spirit than at first, and then the audience took their hats and left the rest of Chiara di Rosenberg to be performed to empty benches.