centre, in which the first gentleman seats his partner. He then leads up and presents each of the other gentlemen in succession. If the lady rejects, the discarded retires behind the chair; but when" the right man," as the old saying goes, arrives, she springs up, the time and accent of the music are accelerated, and off she waltzes with the elected. The rest seize their partners, and the circle is continued. All, in turn, go through the same process. Three chairs are then placed. A lady (in succession) is seated between two beaux, who importunately solicit her reluctant regard; till, at length, she gives herself, by an impulse, as it were, to one, and the waltzing is resumed. A gentleman is then seated in the centre chair, hood-winked, and a lady takes the place on each side. In this perplexity of choice the Tantalus of the minute remains; till, by a sudden resolution, he decides for right or left, uncovers his eyes, and waltzes away with the chance-directed partner, followed as before by the rest. The chairs are then placed dos à dos triangularly, and three ladies are thus seated; the youths pace round them in a circle; till each of the fair ones throws her handkerchief, and away they again whirl. The men then appear to deliver to each-but to one only is it really given a ring; and the dance concludes by the ladies passing hand in hand through arches made by the elevated arms of the gentlemen, till each seizes his partner, and once more swings round the circle. We have certainly never seen any thing in private society so gay, so full of fantasy, or so charming, as this display of naïveté, grace, and playfulness. I may now curtsey to my partner, for our dance is ended. SONGS BY L. E. L. I loved her! and her azure eyes To the dewy evening's close, Dyeing rosier the rose. Yet I said, 'tis best to be But I changed-and auburn hair Till I thought the orange-flower Breathed of nothing but her bower. Next I loved a Moorish maid, Yet I said, 'tis best to be But there came a lovelier one; Now the wonder is to me II. A mouth that is itself a rose, A laugh, an echo from the song I might say she is so kind, My sweet maiden's hidden heart III. I send back thy letters: I send back thy tresses, Ring and chain are unbroken, That my rival,-how bitter How faithless thou art. IV. As steals the dew along the flower, So stole thy smile on me; I cannot tell the day, nor hour I first loved thee! But now in every scene and clime, In change of grief or glee, I only measure from the time I first loved thee! I only think, when fast and fair I leave the lovely island where The wide world has one only spot Where, all the rest of life forgot, THE THEATRES OF ROME. "Come now; what masks, what dances shall we have, Between our after-supper and bed-time? Midsummer Night's Dream, Act V. Scene 1. THE theatres of Rome deserve that an article should be devoted to them because they are very numerous, because they differ widely from each other in the cast of their performances as well as in the character of their audiences, and because they are more interesting to the stranger and the observer, than the theatres of any other city in Europe; for they not only may be taken as an average specimen of the Italian stage, but they display most vividly the character of a remarkable and a historical people, and the influence produced upon that character by a peculiar form of government and unusual institutions. In order not to detain the reader by a preface of general observations, I shall simply give a list of the theatres of Rome, and to each one attach the remarks which they suggested at the time of visiting them. This method will give him a much clearer idea of the Italian stage than could be obtained from a formal essay, or a long dissertation. But when the reader sees the words " Italian stage," he will be disappointed if he expects to find amusing accounts of plots and traits of character, or pointed extracts drawn from the pieces of the day. Scarce any such dramatic performances can be found to exist in Italy, and the meaning of the expression "Italian stage" comprehends a great deal of the opera, a great deal of the ballet-that is, pantomime acting, or the unwritten drama-something of Punch and broad caricature, but a small proportion of the legitimate drama. In fact the Italians, though highly imaginative and susceptible of excitement, are not a dramatic people. They have scarcely a comedy which rises above a sketch; and their literature, though older than that of either England, France, or Germany, boasts fewer good tragedies than are possessed by any one of those nations. An Italian, indeed, is touched to the heart by the skilful representation of the workings of the passions; but he prefers the single expression of one absorbing passion, to the complicated action of a variety of passions. He sympathizes strongly, but the fixedness of his sympathy must not be disturbed by the introduction of any unnecessary episodes. His feelings are more moved by the display of one expressive figure, than by a well-adapted group containing numerous individuals. He is really more thoroughly pleased with an accomplished improvvisatore, than by a tragedy of Alfieri; and the first seedling of the Greek drama-an interesting monologue-would command his attention as fixedly as "Othello" or "King Lear." Expression and simplicity are the two great objects, to attain which the fine arts in Italy are at present directed. Expression is the first point necessary; and if simplicity is violated, expression becomes either difficult or unattainable. Intenerire il cuore (to melt the heart) is the motto of the Italian artist, whether he be poet, sculptor, painter, or musician. It is this which makes him prefer the Dying Gladiator to a crowded relievo; the pure, touching melodies of Bellini to the laboured magnificence of German harmony; and it is this taste, I am convinced, and not any deficiency of genius or imagination, which causes him also to prefer the simpler interest of a well-acted opera or ballet to the complications of a tragedy or comedy in five acts, with plot and counterplot, and half-a-dozen passions to furnish the material. Doubtless this love for complete unity of interest, this passion for the exhibition of concentrated expression, is not the only reason why the drama is comparatively neglected in Italy-because the drama might, in a great measure, be moulded so as to attain this object; and it is upon this principle that Alfieri has written his most successful tragedies. There is another cause, to meet which the drama cannot be adapted, and which is unalterable, because it exists in the peculiar character and constitution of this people, in whom the sensual or physical qualities of human nature are mixed up in much greater proportion, with reference to the intellectual qualities, than they are in the more northern nations. Hence, the opera and the serious ballet, to which music is a necessary appendage and ingredient, are more attractive to the Italians than they are to us of colder climates. For music is sensual, oratory is intellectual; and we prefer oratory, the Italians are devoted to music. The opera addresses itself to the senses and the imagination-the drama addresses itself to the intellect and the imagination: we go to the play; the Italians crowd to the opera. From what has been said, it will readily be concluded that at Rome, as in other Italian cities, the theatre which claims the highest rank is the Opera-House. This theatre was formerly called the Teatro Tordinone, because it stands in a street the name of which is Strada Tordinone; but its title has since been changed into that of Teatro di Apollo, and is now fixed as such in large letters over the entrance. Unlike other theatres, the price of admission is constantly varying from day to day. For the boxes, you must go to the theatre and make your bargain, and think yourself well off if you only pay one-third more than the proper value. Upon purchasing a box you do not receive tickets, but the key is delivered to you; and at least one of the persons who kept these keys I know to be the most impudent cheat that Italy ever produced. For the pit, the prices are fixed according to the interest of the performances; and the first night of the season, or the first representation of a new opera, is always dearer than those which follow. At Rome, not to be present at the first representation of a new opera is not only a loss of amusement and a disappointment of curiosity, but the omission is considered as a mark of vulgarity, and a stamp of social insignificance, which every one would be most anxious to conceal. In consequence of this passion, of course the prices are always raised on such occasions. It is well worth a stranger's while to make a point of being present, for he sees a full assemblage of the upper and middle classes of Rome; he hears the most amusing criticisms, and catches the most delicate and interesting traits of character. So old and so well-known is the universal rush to the opera on the first evening, that there is a comedy," La prima Sera dell' Opera," by De Rossi, one of the best Italian dramatists, which is expressly written to ridicule this foible of the Romans, and its consequences; and the author, in his pre face, states his fears that the point of the satire will be understood in no other city of Italy but in Rome. Admission to the pit for the first representation, 5 pauls (2s. 1d); for the second, if very attractive, 4 pauls (1s. 8d.); for the others, 3 pauls (1s. 3d.). During the Carnival of 1835, Signora Ungher, a German lady, appeared as the prima donna, and was always most enthusiastically applauded by the Romans. The rest of the corps were mediocre and bearable, a circumstance which tended to display the great good humour, as well as the delicate ear and nice judgment of a Roman audience. When these middling singers succeeded in their parts, they were sure to receive applause; when they failed they were rarely hissed, but a false note or a ridiculous ornament was received with a universal laugh, as if the singer had uttered a good joke. The Teatro di Apollo is the only theatre in Rome where the ballet is exhibited, unless we except the imitation of it at the puppet theatres; and as all classes here seem to take a peculiar delight in the performance, I shall venture a few words on the subject. The Romans, doubtless, value all theatrical amusements more highly, in consequence of the few opportunities they have of enjoying them: their relish is certainly quickened by the short time during which the theatres of Rome are permitted to be open, compared with those of other towns in Italy; but it is amusing to observe what a predilection they have for serious pantomime in particular. All Italians seem to be much pleased with this mode of expressing sentiments and passions, without having recourse to words: the Neapolitans even introduce it into common life, and demonstrate twenty things without having uttered a syllable; but the Romans will sit night after night and see the same tragic pantomime over and over again, without once exhibiting the signs of a tired attention or a flagging imagination. They call them ballets ("balli "), though there is very little dancing; and two of these spectacles were considered a sufficient variety to amuse Rome all the time from Christmas to Lent. They are not witnessed languidly, like an old ballet in any other capital, but every eye is attentive. The principal actors in the dumb show are hailed with the same acclamations as we bestow on a Kean or a Kemble; and the composer of the ballet receives more public marks of respect and approbation than would be gained from us by a successful tragic poet. The gestures used by the actors are generally very graceful and expressive; but there is one very often repeated, which I could not understand, and the meaning of which I could never learn from Italians themselves. It consists in moving the hands very quickly one round the other, in the manner of a child who wishes to box and does not know how. An Englishman would never think of inventing or using these gestures, or applying them in this manner to scenic representation; and it seems as if the animal were more developed in the nature of an Italian than it is in the inhabitant of a northern climate: not that his intellect is duller or his imagination fainter-quite the contrary-but that he is more guided than we are by the impulses and propensities of his physical constitution. In all men there are two distinct sets of qualities those of the mind and those of the body. In the Italian both sets are equally developed, and in equal force; so that he can with May.-VOL. XLVII. NO. CLXXXV. Ꭰ |