Covent Garden Theatre Opens
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The Bridge - 1861 - Erasmus+
Although not first in the order of time, the opening of the Royal Italian Opera at Covent Garden is the great theatrical event of the week. It was anticipated with extraordinary interest, with manifestations of the most violent partisanship, for and against, and corresponding prognostica- tions about every part of the enterprise. Some foreboded that the house would not be ready—would not be big enough—would not bear the weight of its audience—would not be good for hearing, &c. Tuesday night settled those doubts. The theatre was ready. Although workmen were engaged to the very last moment, even upon the stage, the curtain drew up punctually to a minute. Mr. Albano, the architect, whose task it was to transform the great theatre in three or four months, had accurately measured the time required; and the last sound of the hammer had scarcely died away before the audience entered. The light was dim; but by that dim light the change could be dis- cerned. Old Covent Garden was indeed transformed. The cornice of the ceiling describes a circle. The walls, now converted from top to
bottom all round (with alight exceptions) into private boxes, form a horse- shoe, spacious, graceful, and favourable to a view of the stage. The pit is parted into tolerably equal halves—stalls and unreserved seats; the benches all have backs and arms, stuffed, so that each seat is in itself an arm-chair, with ample space for altering the position, and for the legs.
The front-seats of the boxes are also more commodious than usuaL In the centre of the fourth and fifth tiers are undivided spaces, which are called " amphitheatres,"—being in fact a kind of pit among the boxes.
Above these' in the centre of the sixth tier, is the gallery. The approaches to all parts are commodious. The lobbies and staircases are ample; they are floored with stone and covered with carpet, so that the footstep is noiseless. All is roomy, solid, and comfortable. After the audience were seated, the full light of the fine chandelier in the centre of the ceiling was thrown forth, and the house was displayed in all its new splendours. In size it looked considerably less than the parent establish- ment in the Haymarket; but chiefly, we understand, from differences of form and arrangement. The linings of the boxes and the curtains are a crimson not very deep in tint; the front of the boxes is white relieved by light blue, and ornamented in gold; the ceiling is the blue sky, refulgent with light in the centre, animated at the sides by figures which seem to rest upon the solid cornice. The general effect therefore is brilliancy and openness at top; around, red walls with circling bands of white; at bottom, the sober ground of the dark-cushioned pit. There is too much red, per-
haps too much gold; but the aspect of the whole is at once rich and light- s-me, reselendent without glare. The whole of those walls, the whole of that ground, were alive with an audience whose ready admiration bunt out in loud plaudits at the first great burst of light.