been in unison with the public feeling. His manner would have been condemned for bad taste and exaggeration, and he would have been proscribed for his adventurous innovations. To this day the adherents to the old school of politics and literature (for it is remarkable that the supporters of the one are equally devoted to the other) manifest their distaste in a querulous sort of criticism of this great and original actor. They consider his genius as tainted with the revolution, and are as fully convinced that the ancien régime should be restored at the theatre, as at the Louvre. They talk of the good old times of Le Kain, and of La Rive, and lament the barbarous degeneracy of the age in many a pathetic reminiscence of a better day. His gesture, gait, and aspect, furnish them with topics of mournful comparison with the favourites of their younger years; and they remain unmoved, or at most but shrug their shoulders with the habitual demonstration of contempt, while the revolutionary actor traverses the stage in the whirlwind of passion, merging the dignity of the monarch in the vehement emotions. of the man, and presenting in his countenance, in a terrible succession, the rapid vicissitude of those stormy feelings, which it is his chief pride and noblest faculty to paint. But upon the great mass of spectators he exercises a magical dominion. To men who court a familiarity with terror, he offers at every moment new materials for astonishment and pleasure, and they gaze upon his terrible delineations in mute and marvelling delight. The cavern of a magician is not more silent than the Parisian theatre, when this great enchanter awakes the furies, and calls up the passions from their dark abysses in the human heart. It is not wonderful that he should have gained so unequalled a reputation with the French people, by the display of those extraordinary faculties with which their own feelings sympathized so well. He accordingly attained a station in society which had never been reached by any other actor, and the blot upon his profession was in part worn away. His intimacy with Bonaparte too gave him a consideration independent of his theatrical fame. The partiality of the emperor for the stage, and his love of dramatic literature, which he continued to protect, when by a singular inconsistency he discountenanced every other branch of polite learning, raised him into estimation at the court. Talma had been intimate with Bonaparte when the latter was a subaltern in the army; and to his honour, their friendship lasted during his elevation, and survived his fall.

Talma mentioned to me some singular circumstances of Bonaparte, which may be of interest, as they are derived from an authentic source. The early acquaintance of Talma with Bonaparte originated from his passion for the stage. Talma had an opportunity of gratifying it, by giving him free admissions, when the finances of the "emperor to be" were too limited for a frequent indulgence in what every Frenchman considers as almost a necessary of life. Their acquaintance soon ripened into familiarity, and the hours which were not devoted to their respective professions, were often passed together. They used frequently to stroll through the streets of Paris in the evening. Bonaparte was so immoderately fond of coffee, that he could not refrain from entering every tavern by which they passed, in which his favourite beverage could be procured. His love for it arose from its exciting qualities. After he had swallowed large draughts, and when his spirits VOL. IV. No. 19.-1822.

D

were awakened into unusual vivacity, he indulged in all sorts of ambitious speculation. His friend could not help smiling at the confidence with which he predicted his future greatness, for he was ever commercing with futurity, and by anticipation was already a great man. All his notions were vast and daring; and he expressed himself in wild and dreamy imagery, which was well suited to his high and aspiring thoughts. Talma said, that at this time his conversation was nearly Ossianic, from which I took occasion to inquire from him if it was true that Bonaparte had so much partiality for the writer, whom he little suspected for a modern Scotchman, who had arrayed his conceptions in the mists of his own grey hills, and contrived to impose upon the world in this ingenious and fantastic masquerade. Talma did not seem to be quite pleased at my being so incredulous of the authenticity of the favourite author of his imperial friend; for he assured me, that from the earliest period of their acquaintance, he remembered Bonaparte's passion for what he considered as among the sublimest fragments of antiquity. He used to carry a small edition of Ossian about him. No doubt, the style more or less communicated something of its own colour to his mind; and we may account for the occasional hyperboles to be found in his public documents, by referring them to that very likely source. I asked Talma whether Bonaparte's temper was as violent before he attained his elevation, as it was said to have been afterwards. He denied, and that with no little warmth, that his temper had ever been remarkable for its vehemence, and asserted, that on the contrary, though subject to gusts of a sudden and transitory kind, he was generally gentle, and exceedingly good-natured. As a proof of it, he mentioned the deep attachment of all those who were immediately about his person. Talma was often much affected in speaking of the man, who had loaded him with favours, and upon one or two occasions he was moved even to tears. He could not help admitting the evils which Bonaparte had inflicted, and that he was a foe to liberty; but at the same time he said, that those who knew him best indulged in the hope that age might have calmed his ambition, and given his mind a more pacific cast an opinion which, from politeness, I did not care to controvert. Talma always found a ready access to Bonaparte, even in the days of his loftiest prosperity. The emperor used to chat with him, with all the familiarity of an old acquaintance; he inquired minutely into all the concerns of the theatre, and dwelt upon the subject with a real and unimpaired delight. Corneille was Bonaparte's favourite dramatist; and of all his works, he chiefly admired Cinna. It occurred to me indeed, when I saw that noble tragedy, that the sentiments it conveyed must have been greatly agreeable to him, as the evils of a republic, and the necessity that one strong hand should seize the reins in turbulent and distracted times, are strongly inculcated. Talma played Augustus for the first time whilst I was in Paris, and to Lafond, who had till then performed the former part, Cinna was committed. There was a rivalry between the two actors, which gave additional interest to the performance. Talma soon left competition at an immense distance, and carried all the applauses of the house, which was crowded to excess. The deepest emotion was produced among the spectators, by the many references to the scenes of Roman conception, which afforded a painful association with what they had

themselves so recently beheld. The terrific descriptions of the poet, given with all the power of the most masterly declamation, approached, at moments, to the vividness of reality. Scarce a sentiment was uttered which did not find an echo in every bosom around me, and I could not refrain from praying, that in the theatres of my own country I should never be a witness to emotions derived from any kindred cause. Talma appeared to me, in his personation of Augustus, to aim at presenting some shadows of Bonaparte. Indeed there was a vehemence and abruptness in his acting, so little conformable with my own ideas of the character, that I was satisfied that he intended to pourtray the great product of the revolution. Talma afterwards mentioned that Cinna was the play which Bonaparte chiefly liked; and that one day, after witnessing its representation, he mentioned, that the depth and justice of the political reflections which every where occur in the writings of Corneille, had so much impressed him with admiration for the genius of the poet, that if he had been living in his time, he would have made him his prime minister, S.

LETTERS FROM TOURS,

NO. II.

MISS MARY BALL TO MISS JANE JINKINS.

DEAR Jane, we reach'd Paris as day-light was closing,
And its aspect, to use a French phrase, was imposing,
Its magnificent portals, majestic and wide,

Through which Temple-bar without stooping might ride-
Its houses of such Brobdignagian height

That they make Portland-place Lilliputian quite,—

Its spacious Boulevards with their vistas of green,

Flank'd with structures of stone that ennoble the scene-
The Rue de la Paix, with the Tower at its end,

All of brass like the one in which Danae was penn'd,-
(This was made out of cannon, and Boney must pop
Himself, like the knob of a poker, at top;

But it's gone, and a little white flag met my eyes
That look'd like a kite in the shadowy skies),—

All these sights, quickly seen in succession, combined

To dazzle, delight, and astonish my mind.

We drove to Meurice's, and there should each thing go
That, to use Papa's phrase, cannot jabber the lingo,

For our language is spoken by all that you meet,

Nay, even the charges are English complete,

And beef and plum-pudding you get if you choose,

With young roasted-pig, which the French hate like Jews,
Next morning with Pa to the Louvre I flew,
The statues, and marbles, and sculptures to view.
La! Jenny, they're quite indecorous: why, Madam,
They've not e'en the primitive wardrobe of Adam!
I didn't know which way to look; but in France
These matters are view'd with complete nonchalance;
And the ladies around me, like cool connoisseurs
Were raving in raptures on limbs and contours-
"O Dieu! que c'est beau! c'est superbe, magnifique !
Voilà ce que c'est que de suivre l'antique."

"There's the young piping Faun-hark, he's going to warble,
Is it petrified nature, or animate marble?

Is this one of the stone-produced men of Deucalion?
That the vivified nymph of enamour'd Pygmalion ?"
Thus mounting the hobby Virtù, the fair prancers
Interrogate statues, though none of them answers ;
Then hurry to criticise ice at Tortoni's,

Or the elephant actor that plays at Franconi's.

Colour'd gowns without sleeves are the promenade dress, Which to me has a servant-like look, I confess;

Some wear an elaborate cap, but upon it

Not an atom of hat or iota of bonnet !

Then they lace down their waists, while the garment so scant is
That you see the hips working like lean Rozinantes ;

And 'tis painful to mark the unfortunate stout
Screwing every thing in that the hips may stick out.
Their legs, as our malaprop statesman once said,
"Form the capital feature in which they 're ahead"
Of us and of all from the Thames to the Po,

And the reason is plain-they are always on show;
For to walk on such horrible pavements as these

They must constantly hold up their clothes to the knees.-
I shall tell you, of course, all the lions I've seen,

And the places and wonders at which I have been ;
But as things of importance flow first to my pen,
You shall hear of my bonnet in Rue Vivienne.

The bonnets in fashion are sable as ink,
But there's nothing, to me, so becoming as pink;

And my visage would look, in black lining and borders,
Less feminine, Jenny, than Mr. Recorder's.

So I vow'd I would do my face justice, in spite

Of fashion and France, and not look like a fright.

The French I have learnt is what Chaucer, you know,
Says was taught to the scholars at Stratford-by-Bow,
But at Paris unknown-so I got a Precisian

To teach me the phrases and accent Parisian;
And in stating my wants I was cautious to close
With "Il faut qu'il soit doublé en couleur de rose."
I wish you had seen their indignant surprise,

The abhorrence they threw in their shoulders and eyes,
And the solemn abjurings each minx took upon her,
As if I had offer'd offence to her honour.
"Nous en avons en noir-mais O Ciel! O Dieu!
En rose!! Ah, vous n'aurez pas ça dans la rue.

Ce n'est pas distingué-c'est très mal-honnête,

C'est passé-c'est chassé"-Six weeks out of date!

Then they tried on their own, and exclaimed How becoming! "C'est charmant-distingué :"-I knew they were humming,

For I look'd just as sable, and solemn, or worse

Than the plume-bearing figure preceding a hearse.-
Would they put in a lining of pink, if I waited?
This point was in corners and whispers debated;

But granted, on pledge not to tell for they said, it
Might implicate deeply their à-la-mode credit.

And the price? "Soixante francs, quand c'est monté comme cela;
C'est toujours prix-fixé-nous ne marchandons pas."

I blush'd as I offer'd them forty; but they

Took the cash without blushing or once saying nay.

I think you'll allow me one merit, dear Jane,-
I'm the least of all women inclined to be vain ;
But this bonnet, I frankly confess, did enhance
The notion I had of myself—and of France.
The value I set on my beauty is small,

For the manner-the fashion's the thing, after all :
Thus in bonnets it isn't the feathers and lace,

So much as the smartness, gentility, grace,

That the wearer possesses;—now these, you'll acknowledge, I
May modestly claim without any apology;

And I offer you none for this lengthen'd report

On my bonnet, (the plume would be handsome at Court),

For I'm sure my dear Jenny would wish me to state

All that interests deeply my feelings and fate.

The scene where my purchase first made its début

I reserve for the next-for the present adieu :

I meant to add more, but I hear Papa call,

So can only subscribe myself-Yours, Mary Ball.

P. S.

Pray, Jenny, don't quarrel with me, but the laws,

If I write on this flimsy and bibulous gauze ;

For were I to scribble on substance less taper,

They would charge double-postage, though one sheet of paper.
I think the Police has commanded it thin

For reading outside all the secrets within.

We left Chamounix by way of the sublime Alpine pass of the Téte Noire. We should have preferred passing over the mountain of the Col de Balme, but the weather was thick and cloudy, and all the attractions of the Col de Balme consist in its commanding prospect of the Alps around Mont Blanc, for the enjoyment of which a clear sky is indispensable. We had no reason to repent our choice; for the scene of wild magnificence presented by the Tête Noire, is certainly one of the most remarkable and the most interesting which Alpine scenery can afford. Nature appears here to luxuriate in savage grandeur: she has here achieved her masterpiece in the style of sombre magnificence; and the traveller may be said to sup full of all the horrors of the picturesque. Chamounix itself, with all its impending snows and glaciers, presents a picture of smiling beauty and graceful loveliness, in comparison with this dark glen of rocks, and precipices, and cataracts, funereal firs, inaccessible crags, and bottomless abysses—

"Umbrarum hic locus est, somni, noctisque sopora."

and one has abundant reason to invoke with the poet "umbræ silentes," and all other deities of night and gloom, before attempting to describe these vales, on which the sun never shines, and where the rocks eter