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 myselfled 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 inclination 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

that this inimitable writer had as good food for ridicule at home, in the affairs of the stage, as he had found in the French metropolis. "Our authors," says the Spectator, "in translating the Italian operas, would often make words of their own, which were entirely foreign to the meaning of the passages they pretended to translate; their chief care being to make the numbers of the English verse answer to those of the Italian, that both of them might go to the same tune. Thus the famous song in Camilla:

Barbara, si t'intendo, &c.

"Barbarous woman, yes, I know your meaning,”—which expresses the resentment of an angry lover, was translated into that English lamentation:

Frail are a lover's hopes, &c.

And it was pleasant enough to see the most refined persons of the British nation, dying away, and languishing to notes that were full of rage and indignation."

"The next step to our refinement, was the introduction of Italian actors into our opera, who sung their parts in their own language, at the same time that our countrymen performed theirs in our native tongue. The king or hero of the play generally spoke in Italian, and his slaves answered him in English. The lover frequently made his court and gained the heart of his princess, in a language which she did not understand. One would have thought it very difficult to have carried on dialogues after this manner, without an interpreter between the persons who conversed together, but this was the state of the English stage for about three years."

LETTER IX.

AMONG the dramatic performances of the French metropo lis, those of the "Theatre Français" are highest in the esteem and favour of its inhabitants,-the wonders of the opera always excepted. Upon this theatre, which is exclusively reserved for tragedy, and genteel comedy, they plume themselves not a little, and, in my opinion, with great justice. No other of the kind wheresoever, is so well constituted:-none altogether capable of affording so rational, refined, and elegant an entertainment. Every stranger of good taste acquainted with the French language, and versed in the principles of sound criticism, must find in the "Theatre Français," a source of exalted delight, and matter for warm and discriminating admiration. If any theatre whatever be a school of morals, it is this, while at the same time it is one of the true bon ton in manners and language;-a ton of which the real life of France presents at present but few examples. It surpasses all others of the world, in the delicacy, and general elevation of the dialogue; in the purity of the diction, and pronunciation, in the classical propriety of the dresses, and decorations. As the mind is oftener recreated with classical images, and carried back to antiquity in Paris, than in any other metropolis, with the exception of Rome, so is it likewise in the theatre of which I am speaking, more frequently, than in any similar establishment whatever.

You perceive that the commendation which I have here pronounced on the "theatre Français," looks not merely to its mechanical details, and the capacity of the actors, but to the constitution of the French drama itself. I do not, however, mean to discuss the question of the comparative merits of this drama and that of England; a question upon which criticism may be said to have nearly exhausted all its resources, and which is nevertheless far from being settled to the conviction, either of the parties immediately concerned, or of the rest of the world. On this point I would refer you to Dryden's Essay on dramatic poetry, in whose opinions I partly concur; and to many very solid ideas to the same purport, scattered throughout the "Elements of Criticism" by lord Kames. I shall merely indulge myself in making a few general incidental observations on the subject, and in stating the in

fluence exerted over my own feelings by the drama of each nation, as it is acted in London and Paris.

During my residence in the latter city, the performances at the "Theatre Français," consisted generally, of the best tragedies and comedies, of the good school of the ancien régime. Corneille, Racine, and Moliere had preserved their empire, amid the ruin of every other legitimate authority. Their chosen temple now and then presented a novelty, such for instance as the " Henri Quatre" of Légouvé, or the “Omasis” of Basur de Lormian, but the effect of the change was rather a fresh illustration of their merits by the force of contrast, and a consequent corroboration of their sway. In truth, the whole tribe of revolutionary and post-revolutionary dramatic writers, whether a Collin-d'Harleville, a Picard, a François de Neufchâteau, a Ducis, a Chenier, a Legouvé or a Lemercier, make but a sorry figure by the side of the Molieres, Pirons, Regnards, Destouches, Racines, Crebillons, Corneilles and Voltaires, their illustrious predecessors. The disparity in this case, is even greater than that which obtains, between our cotemporaries of the same profession in England, and those who flourished under the Tudors and Stuarts.

It would, indeed, be doing an injustice to such a maker of tragedies as "Monk Lewis," for instance, to say, that his "Castle Spectre," was as far removed from the "Hamlet" of Shakspeare, as the "Henri Quatre" of Legouvé from the "Cid" of Corneille, or the "Macbeth" of Ducis from his English original. This last, together with the similar productions of the same author, which can neither be called metaphrase nor paraphrase, and which certainly were not intended as caricatures, exhibits our old bard in a guise, under which, were he not previously announced in the gazettes, no one of his compatriot acquaintance would ever recognize him. Although he has been dealt with, as Corneille, and particularly Racine, have been accused of treating the heroes of antiquity, pared down to the French standard of humanity, the Parisians have not welcomed him with much cordiality,owing perhaps to the circumstance of his having fallen into very different hands from the poets just mentioned, and to his not being even as yet sufficiently cured of his fondness for slaughter, against which the French critics of every class, exclaim loudly, and with greater reason perhaps than we are willing to allow. Voltaire, in his imitations and plagiarisms, has introduced. Shakspeare to his countrymen with better success, and more advantageously for the latter: And yet how great an inequality of general excellence, between "La Mort de Brutus" and "Julius Cæsar!" VOL. III. 2 D