480 SAN CARLO. 



care ; he could still sleep in his basket, and there are plenty of lofty 

 gateways to shelter him during his hours of repose. Strip him naked, 

 and he will he annoyed by no needless sense of shame ; and except 

 in March, when the Sirocco drives the rain before it, each drop a 

 bucket-full, he will suffer nothing from cold, or from inclement 

 weather. Restrict his diet, it is no matter; provided his macaroni 

 be tolerably long, he cares not of how coarse a flour it is made. But 

 leave, oh ! leave him his iced water and lemonade ! Spare, as you 

 would avoid his bitterest maledictions, spare his amusements I All 

 misfortunes but one, in this world, he can submit to cheerfully. 

 Per eat mundus, stet Theatrum ' 



After what has been said, it will readily be conceived, that Naples 

 contains the largest and most magnificent Opera House in the world, 

 the Teatro di San Carlo, Experience has proved that it is not so 

 well adapted for hearing, as many other theatres of nearly equal 

 dimensions, such as the Scala at Milan, the Carlo Felice at Genoa, 

 the King's Theatre at London, or that most beautiful specimen of 

 theatrical architecture, the Hof-und-National Theater at Munich. 

 But on entering it, the eye is overpowered and satiated, not daz- 

 zled, with the richness of its decoration, and the vastness of its 

 enclosure. Deep blue and gold is the prevailing colour of the house ; 

 and any little variations of tint introduced, are only such minute and 

 piquant touches in the details, as serve to increase, instead of dis- 

 turbing, the general effect. The stage and proscenium are immense: 

 if you are seated at all near to the centre of the theatre, the men and 

 women acting upon it, " show scarce so gross as beetles.'' Exactly 

 in the centre, and therefore opposite to the stage, is the royal box, 

 occupying a great part of the space between the pit and the ceiling, 

 and itself enclosed in a gorgeous frame of gold moulding and carved 

 work, that both in magnitude and in splendour would well serve for 

 the proscenium of many a humbler theatre. 



Every thing too has been contrived, which can conduce to comfort, 

 as well as to show. Outside the theatre, carriages can draw up under 

 a lofty portico, instead of setting down their fair and full-dressed 

 occupants, in the midst of a drizzling rain, as is the case in our 

 suites de spectacle, in a climate too where such precautions are so much 

 more requisite. Inside, the number and civility of the attendants, 

 set the rawest stranger at his ease. There are no cold draughts nor 

 cutting winds, to give all the spectators a fit of sneezing, that shall 

 last for the next fortnight. In the pit, instead of miserable benches, 

 are rows of luxurious and well-stuffed arm chairs, in which you may 

 loll and lounge the whole of the evening, without being so cramped 

 as almost to forget whether you ever had any legs at all, and without 

 being amused during the latter half of the performance, by feeling 

 the "needles and pins" tingling at the soles of your feet. On buying 

 a pit ticket, you find that it is numbered : and on entering the pif, a sort 

 of usher leads you to the chair corresponding to the number, seats 

 you in your throne, tears the ticket in halves, and gives you one 

 moiety as a title of continued possession, to be produced by you as a 

 voucher for the night, in case any impertinent individual should 

 attempt to turn you out of your comfortable lodgment. The usher 



