In the year 1798 a curious and most imposing ballet was given at Court in honour of the Czarina and the Grand Duke. It was called “The Conquered Prejudice,” and was of a most elaborate character, the most imposing stage effects being introduced. And, coming down to recent years, Théophile Gautier, describing the opening of a Court ball in 1866, tells how the spectators in the ball-room of the Winter Palace separated so as to leave free a pathway of which they formed the hedges. Every one in position, the orchestra played a majestic air, and with slow steps the promenade began, led by the Emperor giving his hand to some lady whom he was desirous of honouring. They were followed by the rest of the Court, all according to precedence, and gradually “the cortège of brilliant uniforms goes on increasing: a nobleman leaves the hedge and takes a lady by the hand, and this new couple take their place in the procession, keeping step by step with the leader. And what adds to the originality of the Russian Court is, that from time to time a young Circassian prince in his fastidious Oriental dress, or a Mongolian officer, will join the cortège.” Portuguese dances having long been famous, it is not surprising that at most Court festivals dancing was in high repute. King Dom Pedro I. is reported to have been a great votary of the dance, and the Portuguese historian, Ferñao Lopes, tells how, mad with sorrow at the loss of his wife, Inez de Castro, he would in the weary hours of nighttime, as he lay sleepless, order a troop of soldiers “to form a hedge from his palace, and to hold lighted torches that he might dance between them, and thus give bodily expression to the vehemence of his grief.”[49] But a monarch who degraded and brought dancing into the lowest repute was Alfonso VI.--a wicked and unscrupulous sovereign, whose conduct, as already noted, seemed to savour of insanity. Thus, when his country was in the greatest peril, he indulged in every kind of infamy. While his soldiers and his English allies[50] were spilling their blood in defence of his dominions, he devoted his time to ruin himself and his country. His palace, it is said, “particularly his residence at Alcantara, afforded a scene at which the most immodest might blush.” He violated the nunneries, assailed the affrighted sisters with rough wooing, and at once terrified and disgusted them by fitting up a stage in the choir of the church at Alcantara, on which he not only had theatrical performances and unseemly dances, “but compelled the unhappy nuns to honour them with their presence.” This was a pleasing spectacle for a responsible ruler, and one well worthy of the days of a Nero. But one of his successors on the throne--John V.--was of a very different turn of mind; for although a munificent patron of literature and the fine arts--founding the Academy of History at Lisbon--he was a great lover of music and the theatre, and spent large sums in importing singers and