nuisance, by means of an act of parliament, or that it should have fallen under the ban of "the Society for the suppression of vice." The Parisian corps de ballet appear on the stage in a condition very little different, in effect, from that in which the wrestlers are said to have contended, at the Olympic games, after the misfortune which befel Orcippus. When the change to which this circumstance led, took place, all women and girls were, as you may recollect, prohibited on pain of death from appearing at the stadium. Were I to legislate for France, I certainly would enact a similar rule with respect to the Grand Opera, although perhaps, under a sanction somewhat less severe. It was not inaptly said by a French wit, that in order to insure success to a representation at this theatre; il ne falloit qu'allonger les danses, et racourcir les jupes." The state of the public morals of the French metropolis is not, in all probability, such, as that evil can now result from the licentiousness of the stage in any respect. The Opera, however, has, no doubt, had its share in the formation of the present character of the nation. It is certainly in many points, a type or reflection of that character.

Such is the magnificence of the Academie Imperiale de Musique, that, notwithstanding the crowds which frequent it, the government, to which it exclusively belongs, is annually brought in debt by the establishment. The surplus of the disbursements over the receipts forms an item of the public expenses, in the budget of the minister of finance. The preparation of such an opera as "The Triumphs of Trajan,' could not have cost less than ten or fifteen thousand dollars. The conqueror appears on the stage in a car drawn by a number of horses, and attended by a crowd of nearly six hundred persons, all of whom are engaged in the regular service of the Academy. It is subject to a formal code of laws, and governed by a special "administration," the members of which are appointed by the Emperor. The performers are paid out of the national treasury. The salary even of the most eminent, is but trifling, when compared with what they might earn from the public, if they enjoyed a free agency in the exertion of their powers. They are not suffered to leave the metropolis without a particular license from the "administration," not even for the purpose of regaling the Provincials. When allowed to visit foreign countries, the motive and the condition are, invariably, the promotion of some political purpose, and not the advancement of their private fortunes.

The dissoluteness of the lives of this gentry, beggars all description. An opera heróine and a femme galante, have been,

at all times, regarded as synonimes, and no reason, as you may be well assured, now exists, why they should be differently considered. The scandalous chronicle of the opera, although equal in corruption, and not much superior in refinement, to that of a brothel, is a subject of great interest for all ranks of society, and much the theme of polite discourse. The amours of Vestris, and of Elleviou, the Corypheus of the French comic opera, are not only hawked about the streets, and embodied in volumes, but current in the drawing-room, and familiar to every boudoir. These gentlemen seem to have been eminently hommes à bonnes fortunes, and to have broken many hearts, as well in the regions of fashion, as in the sphere of their professional converse. The triumphs and infidelities of "the god of the dance," surpass in number and éclat, those related by the poets, of the good old monarch of Olympus himself.

I have already spoken of the interest taken by the Parisians of every grade, in the concerns of the members of the greenroom, universally. That attracted by the "divinities" of the Grand Opera, is however much the most lively, inasmuch as they are admitted to occupy the highest rank in the yet decried profession of the stage, contributing as they do, not merely to banquet the public taste, but,-according to an official declaration of the government,-to adorn the national character. The Emperor himself might,-not without reason,-be jealous of some of the personages of his academy. I was convinced of this, by the moral effect of an unlucky accident, which I witnessed at the opera, during his warfare in the north of Europe against Russia. At the representation of a new bullet called Ulisses, one of the female dancers, in the act of descending on the stage in a cloud, in the character of Minerva, fell precipitately from a height of nearly fifteen feet, and was much injured. The confusion, dismay, distress and anguish of the whole house on the occasion, are altogether indescribable. Never was there a more prodigal display of sensibility: never in any assembly a more general and violent paroxysm of sighing, shrieking, groaning, sobbing and swooning. The attention and sympathy of the "good city of Paris," were, I can undertake to assert, more powerfully excited the next day, by this occurrence, than they had been by the contents of any one of the bulletins transmitted from "the grand army," during the whole of the campaign of Poland then in its most critical period. The gazettes, the coffee-houses, even the faubourgs rung with the melancholy event. The sufferer received visits. of condolence from most of the leading members of the haut

ton, and was comforted in her misfortune, by a free benefit which the sympathy of the Parisians rendered so lucrat ve, that it must have enriched her for life. I should not forget, however, to add, that notwithstanding the intensity of their compassionate sorrow, and these benevolent efforts to alleviate her calamity, very many witticisms, and playful allusions were indulged about "the downfal of Minerva," la chute de Minerve, and the faux pas which occasioned the catastrophe.

Before I quit altogether the subject of the lyric drama, you will probably expect me to add something concerning the Italian opera of London, to which I have alluded in one or two instances. This establishment is far less celebrated than the Imperial academy at Paris, and certainly much less gorgeous. It is not, however,without considerable splendor, and possesses many more powerful attractions for "chromatic ears." The fine music of Italy, to which it is chiefly devoted, gives it an exquisite and uncloying relish for persons of good musical taste, notwithstanding the comparative inferiority of the ot chestra, and the stage decorations. With respect to scenery, costume, the organization and execution of the ballet, it is far behind the Parisian opera. On the whole, as a spectacle, it cannot sustain a comparison, whatever some of the honest citizens of London may imagine, when the "Siege of Troy" even to the consummation, by fire, of the destiny of that renowned city, is exhibited to them, amid so many dazzling appendages. You witness constantly at the opera of London, the grossest violations of the first principles of perspective, and the most ludicrous mismanagement in the mechanical details. The corps de ballet has some able members, such as Deshayes and the younger Vestris, but is wretchedly composed, in the mass.

The opera is now sung throughout in the Italian, and many of the best productions of the Roman school brought forward. The house is generally well filled, not indeed with persons who understand the language used on the stage, or who have much fondness for the music chaunted, but with the fashiona. ble world, for whom it serves as a lounge, and a multitude of other persons, who regard it as a show. In truth, were it not for the intrinsic, invincible merits of the Italian music, and the stupendous powers of Catalani, it might justly be considered in this light alone, so miserably deficient are her associates in all the requisites of their art. Even this wonderful woman does not command a very strict attention from her English audience, extravagantly as she is applauded in the English gazettes, and however ample her pecuniary profits. I have almost uniformly had occasion to remark, I may add to fret at, a pretty general

chattering in every part of the house, during the time that she was performing such "feats of voice," and pouring forth such melodies, as seemed sufficient to work a miracle still more extraordinary than those ascribed to Orpheus or Amphion. Even at Paris, a real lover of music, who has the misfortune of being stationed in a box of the opera, with a number of French ladies, will find himself subject to a similar vexation, during the performance of the masterpieces of Gluck and Sacchini.

Catalani, of all modern singers, is unquestionably the most admirable and perfect. She is at the same time a good actress, and therefore does full justice both to Metastasio, and Pasiello. In her, the English have a treasure worth more than the whole aggregate of the riches of the same kind, to be found in Paris. I was in that capital, towards the close of her residence there, and present at the third concert which she gave to the astonished Parisians. The two first took place at the Grand Opera; for the use of which, it was said, she paid some thousand crowns each night. For the third she selected the Theatre Olympique, one of the most beautiful edifices of the kind that can be imagined. The house was admirably well lighted, and after the assembling of the company, among whom were the principal dignitaries of the empire, and most of the "bon ton," presented an exceedingly brilliant spectacle. The air of Piccini, s'il ciel mi divide, threw the Parisians into transports, which were revived with double violence, when she executed an air of Nazolini, and subsequently one from Mitridate, with a boldness, a force, a facility, a precision, a mellowness, such as they, or perhaps the world, had never before witnessed. Unaccustomed previously to any thing of great vocal powers, I was myself overcome by my emotions of delight and astonishment. I have never been able to comprehend fully why it was that the French government, so eager to make Paris the emporium of whatever is excellent in the fine arts, suffered her to visit England. It is certain that her first application for a passport was rejected.

There still obtains at the Italian opera of London, an abuse often anathematized by the well-wishers of the establishment, and of which the toleration is attended with the worst consequences. I allude to the privilege enjoyed by the beau monde, of assembling behind the scenes, after the lyric performance, and remaining there during the ballet. I have found myself led by the curiosity natural to strangers-in this situation, in the midst of a numerous crowd of fashionable loungers, through whom it was by no means easy for the dancers, to make their

way to the stage. You may easily imagine how much this circumstance interferes with the regularity of the representation, and with the convenience, of such at least of the female performers, as are not desirous of being well jostled, or of snatching a moment of gallant badinage. These poor creatures daubed as they are with coarse paint, and covered with tinsel, should, however, if they consulted their true interests, studiously keep the world, at a proper theatrical distance, on these occasions. The whole illusion of the stage, and of their charms, vanished for me, when I returned to the pit, after having contemplated them in the way I have mentioned. No optical deception can soon efface from the imagination, the idea of the disgusting reality.

A similar practice existed at the French opera, some time previous to the revolution. It was, however, at length proscribed, to the great satisfaction of the critics. One of them, in writing on the improvements of the French theatre, holds a language with respect to this point, which I think worth transcribing, and which the English public would do well to consider. "The most necessary," says he "and at the same time the most difficult improvement to be effected, was to clear the stage of that crowd of idle spectators, who inundated it, and who left scarcely any space whatever to the actors. It will hardly be imagined at the present day, that Merope, Iphigenia, and Semiramis, were played in the centre as it were, of a battalion of spectators standing, who blocked up the avenues to the stage, and through whom, the actors found it a laborious task to penetrate, in entering and retiring. Nothing could be more adverse to the pomp and illusion of the scene. The shade of Ninus, elbowing and making his way through a crowd of petits maîtres, was at first an object of pleasantry, and the consequence was the fall of Semiramis, one of the most theatrical of our tragedies. But custom and the incli nation of the performers maintained this barbarous abuse, which, perhaps, would still subsist, had it not been for the exertions of the Count de Lauragais." Every frequenter of "the king's theatre" in London, will, when he reads the above remarks, feel the force of the application.

I should, perhaps, dwell on the history of the London opera, which is curious,-in some respects as an illustration of the English character-were I not persuaded that you must be by this time, weary of the topic of this letter. I shall therefore, before I pass to something else, content myself with making only a short extract from a very amusing paper of the Spectator, on the subject, written by Addison, and which shows