with a voice which the Examiner has aptly likened to the rumbling of iron rods in a cart. Of Ronzi de Begnis' Donna Anna it is unnecessary to speak; her name gives assurance of excellence. Altogether, the Opera went off very heavily, though the packed parts of the house did their best to enliven it for some time, by the most boisterous applause; but towards the end many of them dropped asleep, worn out possibly by their exertions, and soothed by the dulness of the scene; a loud roar from Garcia in viva la libertà,' however, suddenly awakened them; and thus roused to the recollection of their business, between sleeping and waking, they began clapping and shouting bra―vo, with all their might and with all their main, with all their hearts, and with all their strength, which seasonable exertion caused an encore, we rather apprehend in the wrong place. To avoid accidents of this kind, which may sometimes prove extremely ridiculous, it would be well to require the clappers to attend rehearsal, when they may practise applauding in the right, or to speak it more properly in the desired place, and may thus undergo a sort of drill which will perfect them in their manual exercise. They ought also to be well primed with anti-soporifics, coffee and strong tea, before they take their places in the house; for, on the occasion to which we allude, some of these gentlemen towards the conclusion, snored very disagreeably, so much so indeed, as to keep a number of people in the neighbouring boxes awake.

*

On the 23d Pietro L'Eremita was performed with charming effect. It furnishes indeed a single, but a brilliant exception to the miscarriages of the month. We have not for some time seen an Opera so well cast as Pietro. Ronzi de Begnis, in the part of Agia, gave exquisite effect to the beautiful music allotted to her. Though betraying traces of indisposition on the first night, she sang the duet with Orosmane (Curioni) 'Ah se puoi cosi lasciarmi' so delightfully as to provoke an encore, which was evidently extremely unwelcome and trying to her. Caradori as Fatima, sang with great taste and delicacy of execution; we have seldom seen this lady to greater advantage. Remorini made an excellent Noraddino, and Porto, in Pietro, was highly respectable; the part is peculiarly suited to him, and he filled it well in every respect. Curioni made his first appearance for the season in Orosmane; we are glad to see him on the boards again, for he is a pleasing and an useful singer. The various leading characters thus ably supported, an Opera so full of beauties as Pietro l'Eremita could not fail to succeed; and the expres

*It is sufficiently well known that the music of Pietro l'Eremita is the music of Ros sini's Mosè, but it is not sufficiently well known why it was necessary to turn the Mosè into Pietro. We have heard it said, that a Right Reverend personage who takes cognizance of the business of Operas, did not approve of the idea of bringing Moses on the stage, and would not allow of the performance of the Scriptural piece. Whether this be the truth or not, we cannot pretend to say, and it is not very important. One has, however, a prejudice in favour of originals of all kinds, and people are inclined to prefer the particular drama, whatever it might be, for which Rossini composed his music to any substitute for it.

sion of satisfaction on the part of the audience, though not shown after the manner of Messieurs the claqueurs, was sufficiently unequivocal and flattering. By the by, now that an Opera has been well cast, we hope that the presence of these noisy gentlemen may be dispensed with, and that they will give place to the visitors of the Theatre. Before we conclude our notice of Pietro, we must remark, that it owes none of its success to the pomp and circumstance of dresses and decoration. Indeed, all the proprieties of costume are most daringly violated, and we observed the very newest modes in millinery prevalent in the time of Peter the Hermit. Madame Castelli as a Crusader's lady, appeared dressed for a drawing-room, while poor Begrez, her lord, had his stomach fortified (certainly not with a breast plate) against the Saracens. Why should ages be thus interposed between husband and wife? If Constance may exhibit herself in the spring fashions, why should not Lusignan, the Crusader, display a contemporaneous costume; a coat, white waistcoat, trowsers, shoes and stockings? He would surely prefer this style of dress, to wearing pasteboard at the pit of his stomach in the manner of a warm plaister. As for the Crusaders, never was there such a ragged regiment, and we are surprised that any Christian manager could suffer these doughty champions of the Faith to appear in such shabby guise; they certainly bear all the marks of having been in the hands of the infidels. The badges which they wear are so fashioned as to resemble pin-be-fores or bibs under their chins much more strongly than any article of knightly accoutrement; nor is the demeanour of these warriors by any means chivalrous, or calculated to exalt them above the meanness of their equipment. We do not require show or finery, but some little attention to the decencies of the properties at this theatre would not be amiss.

A new ballet, by M. Aumer, has been produced, called Cleopatra, Reine d'Egypte. It is a mere gaudy spectacle, with very little dancing in it; and what little dancing there is is by no means effective. The story, as may be supposed, is not very interesting. Cleopatra makes her appearance in a machine, not the least like a galley, and commences a brisk attack on the heart of Antony, who of course falls in love, and into every sort of folly, incontinently. While the Queen, Antony, and the whole court, are making merry and capering about, Octavia inopportunely arrives, dragging two small children about with her, and throws herself into a variety of affecting attitudes, which manifestly make her false husband justly ashamed of himself. Cleopatra, however, successfully exerts her blandishments in opposition to the honest woman, and Antony is at last caught in bands of roses by two able-bodied graces, and fairly hauled off the stage in the Queen's train. In due time he is beaten in battle; Cleopatra puts her best foot foremost to captivate the conqueror, without effect; has recourse to the asp, and sets her palace on fire. In the last scene the people of the Opera have made an extraordinary effort to produce a fine conflagration. As they are not much in the habit of doing these things, we only hope that they will not

consummate the calamities of this unlucky house by burning it down one of these nights. Altogether, this is the dullest and most tasteless ballet that we have seen for a long time, and certainly it is the worst that M. Aumer has produced; for, generally speaking, we think that he has been eminently successful. People who have a taste for gaudy shows should go to Covent Garden, where they will see them in perfection. The Opera possesses neither the materiel nor the machinery for them. As Cleopatra has been got up at some expense, it is to have a run it seems; that is to say, we are to have nothing else for some months to come. This is a judicious imitation of the bad policy of onr national theatres,-a timely stroke, truly worthy of a house addicted to chancery. Mademoiselle Le Gros made her first appearance for the season, in Cleopatra, and was, we regret to say, coldly received. The truth is, that the claqueurs have put an end to all fair applause; and people now applaud nothing, because they know that there are persons in the theatre who applaud every thing. It was probably thought that Le Gros would be secure of a cordial greeting, without this sort of aid, and the claqueurs did not make their customary share of noise; but the public were silent, because they expected a prodigious uproar from the professional clappers. It is plain, therefore, that this quackery must either be abandoned altogether, or never omitted on any occasion. Madame Ronzi Vestris gives all possible effect to the part of Octavia; but, expressive as her action undoubtedly is, we prefer her dancing to her pantomime; for pantomime at best is but a dull exhibition. A critic of the Morning Chronicle, who seems to think, with a French author, that "un petit mot Grec ne fait jamais de mal," compliments this accomplished dancer on her excellence in "the choregraphic art." We would earnestly recommend this learned Theban to consult some fourth form boy on his compounds, before he ventures to publish them; or at all events, if such aid cannot be procured, it would be well for him to look for the words in the Lexicon, in order to ascertain their meaning, and consequently the justness of their application; graphic, we entreat him to believe, does not mean tol-de-rol-lol, or la, la, la; it is not a word of all work, to fill up the tail of a compound, but has a certain signification, which any little school-boy will explain. We know but of one instance in which graphic could be predicated of any art that lay in the toes, and that was in the case of a poor man who used to write with his feet on the pavement of Piccadilly. But then, "choregraphic !" oh! the offence is compound, and cries for birch.

The Opera, as yet, has not been very fashionably attended, and the appearance of the company has for the most part been any thing but elegant. We think that it would be wise to annul the regulations (such as they are) about dress altogether, for they have only the effect of taking off the bonnets of women who go to the pit, and of obliging honest men to wear shoes instead of boots. Black stocks are permitted in the pit, and also shirts nearly as black as the stocks are too frequently observable, which we regard as a much more serious solecism. An order that no gentleman

should be admitted in dirty linen would be much more to the purpose than the present canon against boots. We would just hint, too, that it would be well to have a barber in attendance, to trim the hair of certain foreigners, who carry heads about that fill one with the most frightful apprehensions. Were a little more discretion used in the issuing of orders, regulations about dress (which are at present violated on principle by the young men of fashion) would be unnecessary in this theatre; and while orders are issued as they now are, no regulations can compel a genteel appearance on the part of the folks who chiefly fill the pit. In order to see how and by what description of persons the house is filled, let any one stop for five minutes in the lobby, at an early hour, and observe the mob about the free side. Attractive performances render this miserable packing system unnecessary.

QUATRAINS

TO THE EDITOR OF THE EVERY DAY-BOOK.

I LIKE you, and your book, ingenuous Hone!
In whose capacious, all-embracing leaves
The very marrow of tradition's shown;

And all that history-much that fiction-weaves.
By every sort of taste your work is graced.
Vast stores of modern anecdote we find,
With good old story quaintly interlaced-
The theme as various as the reader's mind.

Rome's lie-fraught legends you so truly paint-
Yet kindly that the half-turn'd Catholic
Scarcely forbears to smile at his own saint,
And cannot curse the candid Heretic.

Rags, relics, witches, ghosts, fiends, crowd your page;
Our fathers' mummeries we well-pleased behold;
And, proudly conscious of a purer age,

Forgive some fopperies in the times of old.

Verse-honouring Phoebus, Father of bright Days,
Must needs bestow on you both good and many,
Who, building trophies to his children's praise,

Run their rich Zodiac through, not missing any.

Dan Phoebus loves your book-trust me, friend Hone-
The title only errs, he bids me say:

For while such art-wit-reading-there are shown,
He swears, 'tis not a work of every day.

C. LAMB.

PROVERBES DRAMATIQUES,

PAR M. THEODORE LECLERCQ, 3 VOLS. PARÍS, 1825.

An immense quantity of leisure was thrown into French society about the year 1770, when a great portion of the higher classes began to look upon the court and its intrigues with an eye sufficiently philosophic to prevent them from devoting their time exclusively to watching the chances of this species of gambling, where honour and character were staked against places, pensions, and ribbons. At this period also the great internal political questions that have since agitated society to its deepest foundations, had not yet made their debut. Up to 1770, the theatre had been a source of agreeable recreation, but the persons belonging to good society had confined themselves to the part of spectators, and it was not until that period that they conceived the idea of stepping from the house upon the stage. It is a fact familiar to every one's experience that a person may play upon the violin, or any other instrument, for three or four hours continuously, without being wearied, whilst it is impossible to feel pleasure in the performance of others after an hour's attention. Those who may be inclined to doubt this fact, we refer to the first concert they may happen to see advertised. A somewhat similar feeling exists with regard to seeing plays acted, and acting them ourselves.

This will account for the ardour with which the higher classes engaged in private theatricals about the period in question. However, it was not long before certain disadvantages inseparable from private theatricals became visible to every one. As the best comedies of the time were chosen upon these occasions, they were consequently those in which the first professional actors had most frequently appeared. Hence a most formidable rivalry. The higher class of society, in this case judge and party, declared unanimously that the actors emanating from that class had a meilleur ton than Molé, Mouvel, and Buzard, the most celebrated actors of the day; but that with regard to talent, animation, and the dramatic effect produced, there was no possibility of their flattering themselves into an idea even of equality. Private actors in general play well only as far as the voice is concerned. The play of the features, the attitude of the body, the manner of treading the boards, contradict every moment, what the lips pronounce; or if a private actor pays the necessary attention to the management of his person, he that instant falls into his usual way of speaking, and consequently is no longer an actor.

As the getting up of private theatricals is a powerful auxiliary against the tedium and monotony that haunt the country chateaux during the fine season, care should be taken not to choose for representation those comedies which have been played during the winter at the principal theatres of the capital; as otherwise the spectators will MAY, 1825.

C