variety in the exhibitions of their "corps." Their interludes consist of a repetition of vague movements, and unconnected achievements of agility. The figures traced out, and the groups formed, are often, indeed, exceedingly ingenious and beautifully picturesque, but they excite nothing more than a momentary emotion of pleasure, and necessarily partake of a great sameness of character. In general, the like observation may be applied to the ballets, the more elaborate compositions of the art, which aspire even to dramatic excellence. If tested by their effects, they are but a disjointed series of prolusions of fancy, sometimes conceived with much taste, and of mechanical devices adroitly contrived; all executed in perfection, and kindling an agreeable surprise, in their novelty. This, however, is very different from the influence of a regular and skilful dramatic representation on the mind.

Dancing may perhaps be rendered,-as pantomime in general must have been among the ancients, if we are to credit the astonishing effects, ascribed to it in their histories,—an imitative art, capable of expressing, by gesticulation and movement alone, all the sentiments and passions of the soul; of representing fully a methodical intrigue, and of affording pictures and situations, competent to touch the heart, as well as to exalt the imagination. But it has not yet reached this height of excellence, at the Grand opera, whatever may be said by the enthusiasts of the coulisse. If such perfection be attainable, -and of this I very much doubt,-it could not be compassed, without the aid of a ballet master, endowed with the genius of a great poet, of dancers consummate not only in their ow art, but in that of acting-of a musical composer capable of seizing, and expressing fully by his notes, the language of nature and truth. As to the present ballet of the opera,—were it not for the instrumental music, which, however, consists for the most part of light ball-room airs,-it might be said to resemble a long service of pastry inimitably well made, and moulded into a great number of beautiful forms, but still mere puff-paste, and of which more than one or two courses, would be very apt to prove fatiguing, even for the most voracious gourmand. The spectators of the ballet evidently anticipate little more than a feast for the eye, and a wonderful display of agility, and these are all that the composer is materially concerned about. The whole is an affair of scenic decoration, of picturesque grouping and figuring, of cadence and measure, of balancing, whirling, bounding and posture making, multiplied and rehearsed even to satiety. There are, without doubt,

some few exceptions to this rule; dramatic interest is sometimes excited by particular scenes, and music truly divine, now and then introduced. Great classical taste is, moreover, exhibited in the mythological and allegorical scenery,-if there be not much congruity in the action of the personages. It is, I must confess, somewhat ludicrous, to see Achilles "the most terrible of men," —παντων εκπαβλοτατ' ανδρων—cutting " entrechats" and "brisées."

You must not conclude from what I have here said, in relation to the "Imperial Academy of Music," that I undervalue the musical entertainment, or lyric drama called an opera, of which unfortunately we have as yet had no specimen. in this country. On the contrary, I think it when even moderately well constituted, the most delightful, and susceptible of being rendered, the most sublime, brilliant and touching of all scenic performances. Nothing of this kind could, in my mind, equal the Olympiade of Metastasio for instance, with music correspondent to the excellence, and congenial to the spirit of the poem, and with a body of performers possessing suitable qualifications of voice, and genius. The Italians have opened for themselves, an inexhaustible fountain of the most delicious sensations, in the invention of their opera. By judiciously abstaining from the introduction of such appendages as those which give a distinct, and so much less powerful character to that of the French academy of music, they have afforded scope to the inherent, unrivalled influence of the lyric drama. Their rapid and unaffected declamation, the rich pathos of their recitative obligé, their penetrating and melodious cantabilé, their arias, the delight of the ear and at the same time the most just and feeling expression of the emotions of the soul, a music brilliant yet natural, full of variety and ornament, and yet simple, united to a language supereminently mellifluous and significant,-all these contribute to render their opera, particularly when such a poet as Metastasio has contributed the verse, more forcible in effects of every kind with a person of a nice ear, and a lively imagination, than any common tragedy or comedy that was ever performed.

Lame as are the Italian operas of London and Paris in their means, I derived, perhaps more gratification from them, than from any other of the theatres of these capitals. The comic opera of the Italians,-opera Buffa-is generally wretched in point of plot and dialogue, although abounding in ludicrous images and situations, and seasoned at times with the most original pleasantry. You readily, however, overlook its defects, in consideration of the music, which is truly ravishing. VOL. III.

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I frequented much, and with unwearied delight, the "Theatre de l'Imperatrice," in Paris, where the opera Buffa is performed. Some few of the Italian company were not without respectable powers; Bianchi as a tenore, Barilli as a bouffon or comedian, Crespy Bianchi, and Mde. Barilli as prime donne. The last was almost equal to Catalani in sweetness, flexibility, preci sion, and clearness of voice, although much inferior to her in brilliancy, strength and compass. The rest were scarcely above mediocrity. But the orchestra was excellent, and with the exception of number, superior, indeed, in every respect, to that of the opera. The enchanting music of such pieces as the Matrimonio segreto, the Cantatrici Villane, the Duc Gemelli of Gulieglmi, was executed in a style that made amends for the extravagance of their plan, and the inequality of the vocal performance. No theatrical entertainment of their metropolis is so little sought after by the Parisians as this; a circumstance which would show that their taste is susceptible of improve. ment, if the music of their own operas, did not furnish an unequivocal demonstration of the fact.

The opinion is, I believe, general, particularly among those who have never witnessed the performance of a lyric drama, that it is so far removed from nature, as to be incapable of producing an illusion in the mind of the auditor, and even to border necessarily on the ridiculous. It is not conceived how a plot conducted in recitative, can excite a steady interest, or passions expressed in the cantabilé, awaken correspondent emotions in the breasts of an audience. Yet such is undoubtedly the case; and I am well persuaded as I have before intimated, that a performance of this nature, perfect in its kind, would, with a people of ardent character and nice organs, achieve all the ends, and secure all the triumphs of the drama, more successfully than any other of the exhibitions of the stage. There is no disadvantage under which the opera labours, in its theory at least,-which is not common to the other species of dramatic composition, while it enjoys a decided superiority in the more powerful influence which it exerts over the senses, and through them over the heart. In the common utterance of our thoughts and feelings by sound, do not indeed sing, to use the word in its technical sense, nor do we either, employ the factitious tone and verse of tragedy. If there be any violence done to nature, it is nearly the same in both cases. Our comedies, for the most part, more features of ridicule in a single character, and more dents and adventures in a single plot, than one individual, or the same space of time, ever affords in reality. Where rhyme

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is used, as among the French, in tragedy or comedy, particularly in the latter, there is certainly a wider deviation from the truth of nature than in any of the features of the opera: and yet it is stoutly contended by all the French critics, and by our own master-critic Dryden, that this does not impede the attainment of the proper purposes of either of those branches of the drama, or in any other manner detract from their merit.

The fact is, that tragedy and comedy are imitations, and not strictly representations, of nature, and that in them, as in landscape painting, and every other imitative art, nothing more is required than a perceptible resemblance. In imitation there is always something of fiction. Upon this indeed depends in part, the illusion produced, and the pleasure communicated. The embellishment of nature conduces eminently to both, where her materials and those of art being the same, there is but a refinement in the manner, effected by the latter. Thus the elevated tone and the verse of tragedy are but an ornamental modification of speech;-the recitative, and the aria, but a further refinement of the same kind, effected by means of which the process of nature herself furnishes the model,* and which, being of all other accessaries, the most irresistibly seductive with the imagination and the heart, are likely to create the most complete illusion, as well as to convey the highest pleasure. The argument in favour of the lyric drama, would acquire double force, if we adopted the theory of Johnson, who rejects altogether the idea of an illusion of reality, produced by any scenic exhibition whatever.

As the constitution of this drama is very little understood among us, and as I am desirous of impressing more fully upon you, my notions with respect to its intrinsic excellence, I shall venture to subjoin a translation of some passages from a French critic, in reference to the point which I have dis

*The following remarks in relation to this point, are made by Sir William Jones, in his Essay on the Imitative Arts.

"It seems probable, that poetry was originally no more than a strong, and animated expression of the human passions, of joy and grief, love and hate, admiration and anger, sometimes pure and unmixed, sometimes variously modified and combined: for, if we observe the voice and accents of a person affected by any of the violent passions, we shall perceive something in them very nearly approaching to cadence and measure; which is re markably the case in the language of a vehement orator, whose talent is chiefly conversant about praise or censure; and we may collect from several passages in Tully, that the fine speakers of old Greece and Rome, had a sort of rhythm in their sentences, less regular, but not less melodious, than that of the poets."

cussed in the two last paragraphs. You will pardon this digres sion from the affairs of Paris, in consideration of the novelty of the matter in question.

"The imitation of nature by song, must have early occurred to the human imagination. Every animate being is stimulated by the feeling of existence, to utter at particular times, accents more or less melodious, according to the nature of its organs. How could man remain silent amid the general chorus? The first music probably consisted only of couplets and light airs: but genius did not long remain within these limits. It conceived the bold and noble project of making song an instru ment of imitation. It soon discovered that we raise our voice, that there is more of force and melody in our speech, in proportion as our minds are agitated. By studying men under different circumstances, it learned that they really sing in all the important junctures of life; it saw, moreover, that each passion, each affection of the soul, has its cadence, its inflexions, its melody, its peculiar song."

"From this discovery, sprung imitative music and the art of singing, which became a sort of poetry, a language, an imitative art, whose object it is to express by melody, and with the aid of harmony, every species of discourse, accent and passion. The association of this art, not less sublime, than nearly allied to nature, with the dramatic, gave birth to the opera, the most noble and brilliant of all modern theatrical per formances."

"Music is a language. Imagine a people of enthusiasts, who, with our feelings and passions, were, moreover, gifted with organs much more acute, delicate, flexible, and sensitive; such a people would sing, instead of speaking. The lyric drama does not exhibit beings of a constitution distinct from ours, but only of a more perfect organization. They express themselves in a language, which cannot be spoken without genius, but which cannot fail to be understood, with the aid of a delicate taste, and a nice and cultivated ear. Those who have styled song the most fabulous of languages, and who ridicule the idea of a hero dying in the act of singing, have, then, less of reason on their side, than might be at first imagined; they may perceive in music nothing more than an agreeable and harmonious noise, a succession of accords and cadences, but the defect lies in their own organs. It required an attic ear to appreciate the eloquence of Demosthenes."

"The language of the musician has the same advantage over that of the poet, that a universal language possesses

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