ve as
a conduit. In 1763, in the tragedy of Manco-Capac[4143] the "principal
part," writes a contemporary, "is that of a savage who utters in verse
all that we have read, scattered through 'Emile' and the 'Contrat
Social,' concerning kings, liberty, the rights of man and the inequality
of conditions." This virtuous savage saves a king's son over whom a
high-priest raises a poniard, and then, designating the high-priest and
himself by turns, he cries,

"Behold the civilized man; here is the savage man!"

At this line the applause breaks forth, and the success of the piece is
such that it is demanded at Versailles and played before the court.

The same ideas have to be expressed with skill, brilliancy, gaiety,
energy and scandal, and this is accomplished in "The Marriage of
Figaro." Never were the ideals of the age displayed under a more
transparent disguise, nor in an attire that rendered them more
attractive. Its title is the "Folle journee," and indeed it is
an evening of folly, an after-supper like those occurring in the
fashionable world, a masquerade of Frenchmen in Spanish costumes, with
a parade of dresses, changing scenes, couplets, a ballet, a singing
and dancing village, a medley of odd characters, gentlemen, servants,
duennas, judges, notaries, lawyers, music-masters, gardeners,
pastoureaux; in short, a spectacle for the eyes and the ears, for all
the senses, the very opposite of the prevailing drama in which three
pasteboard characters, seated on classic chairs, exchange didactic
arguments in an abstract saloon. And still better, it is an imbroglio
displaying a superabundance of action, amidst intrigues that cross,
interrupt and renew each other, through a pele-mele of travesties,
exposures, surprises, mistakes, leaps from windows, quarrels and slaps,
and all in sparkling style, each phrase flashing on all sides, where
responses seem to be cut out by a lapidary, where the eyes would forget
themselves in contemplating the multiplied brilliants of the dialogue
if the mind were not carried along by its rapidity and the excitement
of the action. But here is another charm, the most welcome of all in a
society passionately fond of Parny; according to an expression of the
Comte d'Artois, which I dare not quote, this appeals to the senses, the
arousing of which constitutes the spiciness and savor of the piece.
The fruit that hangs ripening and savory on the branch never falls but
always seems on the point of falli