Such whose sole bliss is eating, who can give
But that one brutal reason, why they live.

Every thing that I saw in the French metropolis, either as to modes of thinking or acting, in public or in private,-served to convince me, how much truth there is in the animated exclamation of Cowper,

Domestic happiness, thou only bliss

Of Paradise, that hast survived the fall,
Thou art not known, where Pleasure is ador'd,
That reeling goddess with the zoneless waist
And wandering eyes, still leaning on the arm
Of Novelty, her fickle, frail support!

I scarcely need inform you, that the stage constitutes the principal diversion, of a great majority of the inhabitants of Paris. At the period of my residence there, no less than nineteen theatres great and small were open every night, and in general well filled. The government has since, as I observe, reduced the number to eight. Added to these was an incre dible number, of similar exhibitions of an inferior order, dispersed in every part of the capital; several of them established in the night cellars of the Palais Royal. We are not without some fondness for the amusements of the stage in this country, but a sober American who has never been abroad, would find it impossible to imagine the force of their attraction, or the importance attached to them, in Paris, and indeed in most of the capitals of the European continent. The observation of each successive day renewed my first and lively surprise, at the hold which they possess on the hearts of the Parisians. They would seem in their estimation, to be the most important of human concerns; an integral and chief part of the social order; as natural and necessary in the routine of life as the periodical meal, the movements of industry, or the operations of government. Although the profession of scenic performers is under disrepute both in England and in France, yet, in both countries, this class of persons engage more of the public attention, are followed with more curiosity even in their private walks, are more the theme of discourse and authorship, than almost any of the "right worshipful" branches of the community. The heroes of the buskin Occupy as much of good biographical literature, as those of the field or the cabinet, and in all likelihood, flourish even longer with posterity. In the United States, as you know, we take still less interest in the history, than in the amusements of the stage. Dramatic biography of our own, we have none, and

that which is imported from our mother country, has but a small number of consumers, among the cultivated intellects of the country.

The chief idol, the chosen resort, the capital boast of the Parisians, is the Grand Opera, or as it is yet more sonorously denominated, the Imperial Academy of Music. It is here that they drive in vast crowds, with a vehemence and constancy of pursuit, worthy of the highest object of rational desire; that they hug themselves with complacency, and yawn withal, although they still exultingly pronounce, and perhaps believe it to be, as Voltaire has instructed them,-a spectacle,

Où les beaux vers, la danse, la musique,
L'art de tromper les yeux par les couleurs,
L'art plus heureux de séduire les cœurs,
De cent plaisirs, font un plaisir unique.

I am by no means disposed to deny that the Grand Opera is fully intitled, to many of the encomiums bestowed upon it by its worshippers. It is, in fact, the chef d'œuvre of the magnificence of luxurious art; a most wonderful exhibition, surpassing all description and all expectation. Few persons could have felt its magic more intensely than myself. I cannot paint to you the vivid emotions with which I contemplated the whole scene; the electrical ecstacy which I experienced from the first stroke of the bow; the admiration with which I beheld the feats of Duport and Mde. Gardel; the raptures into which I was thrown by some of the fine passages of Gluck and Piccini, chaunted by Lais and Lainez. The immensity of the theatre crowded as I have seen it, through all the seven tiers of boxes, with women whose coiffure consisted of the richest artificial flowers, and with public functionaries in their glittering costume of office; the unrivalled splendor and taste of the scenery and dresses of the stage,-the number, skill, and animating "concerto" of the orchestra; the ingenuity of the ballets, and the perfection with which they are executed, make up altogether the most fascinating entertainment for a short period of time, that can be offered to the fancy.

In spite of all this, however, it happened to me at the end even of the first representation which I witnessed, and on every subsequent occasion, to experience a very heavy sense of weariness, and the same thing, I am well assured, occurs to every spectator,whether stranger, or indeed, native, as I have before hinted. All the Parisians whom I questioned on this point, confessed to me that they were uniformly seized with a fit of ennui, even before the first part of the performance

was finished. I visited the Grand Opera often, with renovated curiosity, with increased admiration, and yet never quitted it but with rejoicing, and a determination to suffer a good long interval to pass, before I again exposed myself to so much fatigue of the spirits. A similar paradox, if I may so call it, obtains with the Parisians; for, notwithstanding the lassitude which they themselves suffer, and the multitude of their theatrical amusements, they will struggle for a seat, on the annunciation of a new piece, with the utmost ardour of emulation, and be content to wait for many hours at the door of the house, previous to its being opened, in order to attain their object. A solo of Kreutzer, a brilliant "aria" from Lais, or a new pas-seul from Vestris, will occasion such tumults of applause, kindle such animation in their whole frames, that you would suppose the emotion of delight to which these transports would seem to be owing, too intense and penetrative, to admit of a revolution of feeling, within the term prescribed for the duration of the spectacle.

The fact, however, is, that the Grand Opera becomes from many causes, a tedious exhibition. It is overloaded with ornament, and almost exclusively directed to the imagination through the senses. It oppresses the mind by its pageantry, and the frequent repetition of the same prodigies of art. The "programme" or bill of fare promises a wonderful variety of entertainment, but you find a surfeiting monotony in the exe cution. A few of the musical compositions, such as those of Gluck, Sacchini, and Piccini, are endued with the highest excellence, and may be listened to throughout, with untiring delectation. In general, however, the music is heavy and unnatural, full of parade and puerility, without tenderness of expression, or distinctness of character: the recitative cold, drawling and harsh,-the air a series of feats of strength,wholly artificial, and rarely in unison with the spirit or situations of the poem. You are stunned by noise, and too often reminded of the phrase of Piccini, "that the ear of the Italians is but a simple cartilage-that of the French lined with morocco." "Que l'oreille des Italiens n'étoit qu'un simple cartilage; celle des Français doublée de marroquin."*

Another of the causes tending to render the opera in some degree oppressive, is, in my opinion, that part of the spectacle which is styled "le merveilleux," the marvellous. A ce

Goldoni styled the French opera-house, "the paradise of the eyes, and the hell of the ears." Le paradis des yeux, et l'enfer des oreilles.

lebrated French writer has defined the opera to be the epic dramatized. But the lyrical poets of France have not confined themselves to the common machinery of the epic. Not satisfied with gods, goddesses, ghosts, genii, fairies, and magicians, they have personified the loves, the graces, the virtues, the passions, the vices, abstract ideas. These are all embodied, and brought on the stage. The supernatural creation forms a magnificent show, being for the most part very richly and variously attired, but they are dull companions, after the first glance of the eye. No interest can possibly be excited by such agents, nor can any thing of illusion prevail where they are present. The license indulged in this way is justly said by the French critics, to have retarded the progress of the music of their opera, which indeed can never become natural, expressive, or truly graceful, when destined to be the language of beings sprung from the poet's fancy. This machinery is much better placed in the ballet or afterpiece, to which it has been of late chiefly restricted. It is impossible to look upon the scene of the "toilet of Venus" in the ballet of Pysché, without lively sentiments of admiration. This piece, which lays open both Olympus and Tartarus to the spectator, and occupies him almost exclusively with their inhabitants, awakens the same feeling throughout. But it completely jades the imagination. I derived much more pleasure,-vastly more elasticity of spirits, from the "Dansomanie" precisely because the subject is human, the action simple, and the music, on this account, more natural and touching.

as

The dancing of the opera, also, contributes to the untoward effect which I have mentioned. You may perhaps be surprised at this opinion, after all that you have heard concerning the perfection, to which this art has been brought in France. It is true that the dancing of the opera is something almost miraculous; that it transcends any idea which could be formed of its character at a distance. But there is by far too much of it in the course of an evening. The opera house might, with full as much propriety, be called the academy of dancing, music. The former shares considerably more than the half of the six hours which the exhibition consumes, and seems to enjoy the precedence in dignity, in the estimation of the public. Gardel and Milon, "the maitres des ballets" are per sonages of more consequence and interest for the Parisians, than Piccini or Le Sueur. The dancing not only fills up intervals between the acts, but is blended with the plot, and suspends the action of the opera itself. The most tragical and pathetic scene, when both the lyric poet, and the musical com

the

poser are supposed to exert their utmost powers for the enthralment of the heart, is suddenly arrested by the entrance of the corps de ballet; the dramatis persona whether divinities or heroes, seem instantaneously to forget their distress, and to lose sight altogether of the embarrassments of their situation: they quietly take the seats which are adjusted for them at the corners of the stage; the orchestra sounds a totally different strain; and after some movements on the part of the whole group of interlopers, Vestris, perhaps, or Mde. Gardel, or both, are detached from the crowd, and during a considerable period, absorb the attention and admiration not only of the public, but of the personages of the drama, by "pirouettes," "gargouillades," "aplombs," " attitudes," and other academical exercises of their art. These are repeated in the same incongruous way, from act to act, besides forming the interludes, as I have said, and constituting the groundwork of the long ballet which succeeds. Thus the opera itself is broken up into loose fragments, which have no other interest for the auditor, than what results from the display of skill on the part of the composer and singer, the one in arbitrary and unmeaning combinations of harmony, -the other in prolations, " trilles," "chevrottements," "ports de voix," &c.

The bulk of the audience, while the drama goes on, are secretly impatient, for the appearance of Messieurs et Mesdames les artistes,-such being the official appellation of the Terpsichorean band-and generally wish them off again, before they have finished their round of evolutions. Even "the god of the dance" himself, as Vestris is reverentially styled by the idolatrous Parisians, or Duport his formidable rival in the arts of saltation and gyration, pall upon the appetite at last; the sooner perhaps, on account of the supernatural vigor and agility with which they perform their task. A "gavotte" between Vestris and Mde. Gardel, the principal female of the corps, would seem sufficient, I must confess, to fascinate the mind for almost any length of time, were not the spell weakened by the horrible grimaces of the former, and an excess of sinuosity on the part of the lady, which is, however, said, and I presume, thought to be, the acmé of grace, by the Parisians. You should know that Mde. Gardel was, at the time of my acquaintance with the opera, more than fifty years old, extremely meagre, and ugly, and yet personated Venus, Hebé, Virginia, &c. certainly to the admiration of every spectator. Notwithstanding the fertility of invention ascribed to the ballet masters of the opera, I cannot say that I found much