e story I had from her own lips, and which shows the Scotch of the
early thirties in quite a new light. It may have been known once, but
has been probably forgotten by now, except by the "oldest inhabitant" of
Perth. In 1832 or 1833--I will not vouch for the exact year, seeing that
it is two score of years since the story was told to me--the season in
London had been a fatiguing one for Taglioni. A ballet her father had
composed for her, "Nathalie, ou la Laitiere Suisse," a very inane thing
by all accounts, had met with great success in London. The scene,
however, had, as far as I could make out, been changed from Switzerland
to Scotland, but of this I will not be certain. At the termination of
her engagement Taglioni wanted rest, and she bethought herself to
recruit in the Highlands. After travelling hither and thither for a
little while, she arrived at Perth, and, as a matter of course, put down
her name in the visitors' book of the hotel, then went out to explore
the sights of the town. Meanwhile the report of her arrival had spread
like wildfire, and on her return to the hotel she found awaiting her a
deputation from the principal inhabitants, with the request to honour
them with a performance. "The request was so graciously conveyed," said
Taglioni, "that I could not but accept, though I took care to point out
the difficulties of performing a ballet all by myself, seeing that there
was neither a corps de ballet, a male dancer, nor any one else to
support me. All these objections were overruled by their promise to
provide all these in the best way they could, and before I had time to
consider the matter fully, I was taken off in a cab to inspect the
theatre, etc. Great heavens, what a stage and scenery! Still, I had
given my promise, and, seeing their anxiety, would not go back from it.
I cannot tell where they got their _personnel_ from. There was a
director and a stage-manager, but as he did not understand French, and
as my English at that time was even worse than it is now, we were
obliged to communicate through an interpreter. His English must have
been bewildering, to judge from the manager's blank looks when he spoke
to him, and his French was even more wonderful than my English. He was a
German waiter from the hotel.

"Nevertheless, thanks to him, I managed to convey the main incidents of
the plot of 'Nathalie' to the manager, and during the first act, the
most complicated one, all went well. But at the beginn