The performers are about equal to those of our country theatres. Of the females, Doña Trinidad Guevra takes the lead. She has a good figure, a tolerably expressive face, and a sweet, plaintive voice. In such parts as Letitia Hardy, and Maria, in “The Citizen,” she excels; and likewise in the sentimental.
Velarde is their first male performer, and plays tragedy, comedy, farce—it would be unkind to say, with Silvester Daggerwood—and “makes nothing of them;” for, in comedy, he has talent: his tragedy is not first-rate. He has the merit of dressing his characters with some regard to costume. I have seen him personate a British officer, with a uniform coat nearly a copy of those worn by our Foot-Guard officers.—The general manner of dress upon the stage, at times, approaches to the burlesque. An English nobleman is always made to wear the order of the Garter, and a star, whether in street, forest, or drawing-room. Señor Rosquellas, in the part of Lord Leicester or Essex (I know not which) in Rossini’s “Queen Elizabeth,” wears the dress of a modern French field-marshal: his taste and experience should reform this.
Señor Culebras (in English, Mr. Snake) is made the butt of the juvenile part of the audience—the Claremont of this theatre. When he appears to give out the play, they vociferate his name. Why they thus make sport of him, I know not, except that he has a peculiarly spare person, and is a sort of deputy manager, the Mr. Lamp of the company. He is said to be a sensible man, speaking the Spanish language very correctly. As an actor, he is both chaste and pleasing.
In low comedy, they have a good actor, named Felipe David, the Liston of the company; and one Señor Vera, who is a useful performer, as well as singer, and has abilities of no mean order. His representation of Colonel Cox, in the play of “Charles Edward Stuart,” founded upon an incident after the battle of Culloden, forcibly brought to my recollection Lovegrove’s Rattan, in the farce of “The Bee-Hive.”
Our English actresses, when they come on the stage, “prepared for woe,” have their white pocket-handkerchiefs pinned to their clothes: here they are held in the hands. Both customs are ridiculous; and the constant application they make of them in this theatre renders it more so.
The orchestra consists of twenty-eight instrumental performers. The symphonies between the acts are from Haydn, Mozart, &c. &c. as in the English theatres. The performances are ushered in by an overture, generally selected with great taste.
The musical department has greatly improved; and they get through difficult compositions with considerable spirit: constant practice, and, above all, the great exertions of Señor Rosquellas has effected this. This gentleman, a Spaniard by birth, made his first debût before a Buenos Ayres audience in 1822, as a vocalist. His science has enabled him to surmount the imperfections of a very indifferent voice, and he is always heard with pleasure. Mr. Rosquellas[5] may be called the founder of the Buenos Ayres Opera; for, until he came, the orchestra was very indifferent. Mr. Rosquellas speaks English, and is married to an English lady. He has been in London, and, I believe, sung with Braham there. He was ably seconded by Señor Vacani, also from Rio Janeiro, the best buffo I have seen (Naldi, perhaps, excepted). We had the music of Rossini night after night to delighted audiences: the duet of “Al’ idea di quell metallo,” from “The Barber of Seville,” is as great a favourite here as in Europe.
The departure of Vacani left a blank in the musical world, which has been since, in some degree, compensated by the appearance of Doña Angelina Tani. She has a fine tenor voice; the lower tones are of great depth, and some of them she elicits with great effect in a trio from Rossini’s “Elizabeth Queen of England.”
During the Lent of 1824, we had some delightful musical treats, which rendered the representations of their regular drama very dull, particularly to a foreigner.
An English mechanic, by name Waldegrave, was tempted to make a trial upon this stage as a singer. He sung “The Beautiful Maid,” and “The Bewildered Maid;” but he failed to make any impression. His voice was good, but he wanted grace.