ne representing
the small St. Mark's Square in Venice, taken from the Island of St.
George, but I am shocked to see the ducal palace on my left, and the tall
steeple on my right, that is to say the very reverse of reality. I laugh
at this ridiculous mistake, and Patu, to whom I say why I am laughing,
cannot help joining me. The music, very fine although in the ancient
style, at first amused me on account of its novelty, but it soon wearied
me. The melopaeia fatigued me by its constant and tedious monotony, and
by the shrieks given out of season. That melopaeia, of the French
replaces--at least they think so--the Greek melapaeia and our recitative
which they dislike, but which they would admire if they understood
Italian.

The action of the opera was limited to a day in the carnival, when the
Venetians are in the habit of promenading masked in St. Mark's Square.
The stage was animated by gallants, procuresses, and women amusing
themselves with all sorts of intrigues. The costumes were whimsical and
erroneous, but the whole was amusing. I laughed very heartily, and it was
truly a curious sight for a Venetian, when I saw the Doge followed by
twelve Councillors appear on the stage, all dressed in the most ludicrous
style, and dancing a 'pas d'ensemble'. Suddenly the whole of the pit
burst into loud applause at the appearance of a tall, well-made dancer,
wearing a mask and an enormous black wig, the hair of which went half-way
down his back, and dressed in a robe open in front and reaching to his
heels. Patu said, almost reverently, "It is the inimitable Dupres." I had
heard of him before, and became attentive. I saw that fine figure coming
forward with measured steps, and when the dancer had arrived in front of
the stage, he raised slowly his rounded arms, stretched them gracefully
backward and forward, moved his feet with precision and lightness, took a
few small steps, made some battements and pirouettes, and disappeared
like a butterfly. The whole had not lasted half a minute. The applause
burst from every part of the house. I was astonished, and asked my friend
the cause of all those bravos.

"We applaud the grace of Dupres and, the divine harmony of his movements.
He is now sixty years of age, and those who saw him forty years ago say
that he is always the same."

"What! Has he never danced in a different style?"

"He could not have danced in a better one, for his style is perfect, and
what can you want above perfe