passage, the actor must needs bow his thanks for the applause it draws down. In Semiramis, the other night, the spectre of Ninus paid his respects to the pit with an obsequiousness quite neutralizing the awe his costume should have created. In Italy, the theatre is looked on merely as a rendezvous, where you need listen to nothing but the songs and the ballet. I may well say they _listen_ to the ballet, for they are never quiet till after its commencement; in itself it is the _chef-d'œuvre_ of bad taste; I know not what there is to amuse in your ballet beyond its absurdity. I have seen Gengis Khan, clothed in ermine and magnanimity, give up his crown to the child of his conquered rival, and lift him into the air upon his foot, a new way of raising a monarch to the throne; I have seen the self-devotion of Curtius, in three acts, full of divertissements. The hero, dressed like an Arcadian shepherd, had a long dance with his mistress, ere he mounted a real horse upon the stage, and threw himself into a fiery gulf, lined with orange satin and gold paper. In fact l have seen an abridgement of the Roman history, turned into ballets, from Romulus down to Cæsar."--"All that is very true," mildly replied the Prince of Castel Forte; "but you speak only of our Opera, which is in no country considered the dramatic theatre."--"Oh, it is still worse when they represent tragedies, or dramas not included under the head of those with _happy catastrophes_; they crowd more horrors into five acts than human imagination ever conceived. In one of these pieces a lover kills his mistress' brother, and burns her brains before the audience. The fourth act is occupied by the funeral, and ere the fifth begins, the lover, with the utmost composure, gives out the next night's harlequinade; then resumes his character, in order to end the play by shooting himself. The tragedians are perfect counterparts of the cold exaggerations in which they perform, committing the greatest atrocities with the most exemplary indifference. If an actor becomes impassioned, he is called a preacher, so much more emotion is betrayed in the pulpit than on the stage; and it is lucky that these heroes are so peacefully pathetic, since as there is nothing interesting in your plays, the more fuss they made, the more ridiculous they would become: it were well if they were divertingly so; but it is all too monotonous to laugh at. Italy has neither tragedy nor comedy; the only drama truly her own is the harlequinade. A thievish, cowardly glutton; an amorous or avaricious old dupe of a guardian, are the materials. You will own that such inventions cost no very great efforts, and that the 'Tartuffe' and the 'Misanthrope' called for some exertion of genius." This attack displeased the Italians, though they laughed at it. In conversation the Count preferred displaying his wit to his good-humor. Natural benevolence prompted his actions, but self-love his words.