Genius is essentially creative; it bears the character of the individual who possesses it. Nature, who permits no two leaves to be exactly alike, has given a still greater diversity to human minds. Imitation, then, is a double murder; for it deprives both copy and original of their primitive existence."--"Would you wish _us_," asked d'Erfeuil, "to admit such Gothic barbarisms as Young's 'Night Thoughts,' or the Spanish and Italian _Concetti_? What would become of our tasteful and elegant style after such a mixture?" The Prince Castel Forte now remarked: "I think that we all are in want of each other's aid. The literature of every country offers a new sphere of ideas to those familiar with it. Charles V. said: 'The man who understands four languages is worth four men,' What that great Genius applied to politics is as true in the state of letters. Most foreigners understand French; their views, therefore, are more extended than those of Frenchmen, who know no language but their own. Why do they not oftener learn other tongues? They would preserve what distinguishes themselves, and might acquire some things in which they still are wanting." [1] Cesarotti, Verri, and Bettinelli, three modern authors, have instilled more thought into Italian prose than has been bestowed on it for many years. CHAPTER II. "You will confess, at least," replied the Count, "that there is one department in which _we_ have nothing to learn from any one. Our theatre is decidedly the first in Europe. I cannot suppose that the English themselves would think of placing their Shakspeare above us."--"Pardon me, they do think of it," answered Mr. Edgarmond; and, having said this, resumed his previous silence. "Oh!" exclaimed the Count, with civil contempt; "let every man think as he pleases; but I persist in believing that, without presumption, we may call ourselves the highest of all dramatic artists. As for the Italians, if I may speak frankly, they are in doubt whether there is such an art in the world. Music is everything with them; the piece nothing: if a second act possesses a better _scena_ than the first, they begin with that; nay, they will play portions of different operas on the same night, and between them an act from some prose comedy, containing nothing but moral sentences, such as our ancestors turned over to the use of other countries, as worn too threadbare for their own. Your famed musicians do what they will with your poets. One won't sing a certain air, unless the word _Felicità_ be introduced; the tenor demands his _Tomba_; a third can't shake unless be upon _Catene_. The poor poet must do his best to harmonize these varied tastes with his dramatic situations. Nor is this the worst: some of them will not deign to walk on the stage; they must appear surrounded by clouds, or descend from the top of a palace staircase, in order to give their entrance due effect. Let an air be sung in ever so tender or so furious a