ir."

"You are right."

But I was delighted at the French opera, with the rapidity of the scenic
changes which are done like lightning, at the signal of a whistle--a
thing entirely unknown in Italy. I likewise admired the start given to
the orchestra by the baton of the leader, but he disgusted me with the
movements of his sceptre right and left, as if he thought that he could
give life to all the instruments by the mere motion of his arm. I admired
also the silence of the audience, a thing truly wonderful to an Italian,
for it is with great reason that people complain of the noise made in
Italy while the artists are singing, and ridicule the silence which
prevails through the house as soon as the dancers make their appearance
on the stage. One would imagine that all the intelligence of the Italians
is in their eyes. At the same time I must observe that there is not one
country in the world in which extravagance and whimsicalness cannot be
found, because the foreigner can make comparisons with what he has seen
elsewhere, whilst the natives are not conscious of their errors.
Altogether the opera pleased me, but the French comedy captivated me.
There the French are truly in their element; they perform splendidly, in
a masterly manner, and other nations cannot refuse them the palm which
good taste and justice must award to their superiority. I was in the
habit of going there every day, and although sometimes the audience was
not composed of two hundred persons, the actors were perfect. I have seen
'Le Misanthrope', 'L'Avare', 'Tartufe', 'Le Joueur', 'Le Glorieux', and
many other comedies; and, no matter how often I saw them. I always
fancied it was the first time. I arrived in Paris to admire Sarrazin, La
Dangeville, La Dumesnil, La Gaussin, La Clairon, Preville, and several
actresses who, having retired from the stage, were living upon their
pension, and delighting their circle of friends. I made, amongst others,
the acquaintance of the celebrated Le Vasseur. I visited them all with
pleasure, and they related to me several very curious anecdotes. They
were generally most kindly disposed in every way.

One evening, being in the box of Le Vasseur, the performance was composed
of a tragedy in which a very handsome actress had the part of a dumb
priestess.

"How pretty she is!" I said.

"Yes, charming," answered Le Vasseur, "She is the daughter of the actor
who plays the confidant. She is very pleasant in company, and is