1828.] 
ment with Mr. A. B. is not settled, they 
must go home.”” What is the refuge of the 
manager? If he remains steadfast, an ap- 
peal to the committee (consisting of certain 
lords and others, who erect themselves into 
patrons of the institution, and whose patron- 
age seems indispensable) is an engine of 
confusion quite at hand—especially if the 
complainant happen to be a jolie danseuse. 
Yet some things are setiled—for instance, 
the prima donna absoluta, no one presumes 
to interfere with her allotments. Could not 
similarly effective limits be fixed for the 
successive gradations of rank, in the origi- 
nal contract between player and manager ? 
Her privileges are defined—she has a dress- 
ing room, with a sofa, andsix wax candles 
—a box, twelve box tickets, and twelve pit 
tickets ;—the seconda, a separate dressing- 
room, but no sofa, and two wax candles, and 
a smaller number of orders, &c. The same 
principle might surely be carried farther. 
The yolume contains slight sketches of 
the principal performers, particularly of the 
ladies, with some portraits, on stone ; but 
the few anecdotes scattered over the pages 
are very flat concerns, and Taylor’s practi- 
cal jokes are perfectly insufferable. Gene- 
rally, the narrative is of a plain and unam- 
bitious character—with a little, and but a 
little, of the puff and flourish—much more 
might have been expected from a theatrical 
quarter ; but here and there we were sur- 
prised with a scrap in a very superior style 
—for instance— : 
Ronzi de Begnis—who does not know as the 
model of voluptuous beauty? Perhaps no per- 
former was ever more enthusiastically admired. 
Her beauty came upon the spectator at once, 
electric and astonishing. You did not study her, nor 
trace out feature by feature, till you grew warmed 
into admiration—one Jook fixed. Her personal 
perfection took the more sure hold, because it 
was not of the ordinary stamp. Her features, 
bet not her complexion, were Italian. ‘The cha- 
racteristic of the latter was a fairness so perfect 
as to be almost dazzling—the more so, because so 
palpably set off by the glossy blackness of her 
hair. Her face was beautiful, and full of intelli- 
gence, and made almost eloquent by the inces- 
sant brilliance of eyes, large, black, and expres- 
sive, and in which the playful and the passionate 
by turns predominated—either expression seemed 
s0 Watural to them, that it seemed for the time 
incapable of being displaced by another as suit- 
able and as enchanting. Her mouth was so de- 
Tightfally formed, that she took care never to dis- 
figure it, and whatever she sang she never forgot 
this care. Her figure, if a thought more slender, 
would have been perfect, perhaps it was not less 
pleasing, because it inclined to exceed the pro- 
portions to which a statuary would bave confined 
itsswell. The form, when at rest, did not seem a 
Tively one, but when in action, it appeared per- 
feotly buoyant, so fall of spirit, so redundant with 
life. The exquisite outline of her swelling throat, 
pencilled, when she sang, with the blue tinge of 
its fall veins, admitted of no parallel—it was rich 
and full ~imeffectnal terms to convey an idea of 
its beauty, kc. 
* 
i? 
Domestic and Foreign. 
415 
Speaking of her performance—especially 
of Fatima— 
Her beauty, gaiety, and that little touch of the 
devil, so exquisite and essential in a comic ac- 
tress, were almost too bewitching ; but admira- 
tion was blended with astonishment, when the 
representative of the coquettish Fatima, changing 
her walk, exhibited, with a life and force that 
spoke to the soul, the wretchedness of the be. 
reayed Donna Anna (in Giovanni), when, in thrill- 
ing accents of despair, she calls on her dead 
father, and invokes her lover to avenge his fate, 
Teobaldo e Isolina failed to win the favour 
of the public, yet there were parts of it al- 
most unrivalled in effect— 
In the last scene, the prominent object is a 
castle illuminated by the rays of the moon, before 
which Velluti, habited as Theobaldo, in a suit of 
steel] armour, entered, the very personification of 
chivalry and romance. Such had been the skill 
of the painter, that a pale gleaming light seemed 
to pervade every part of the stage—it might have 
been the steely hue reflected from the armour of 
the solitary knight, that clothed the walls of the 
castle in a kindred tint. The melancholy light 
that fell on the dim scene appeared only to deepen 
its sombre and unearthly aspect. While this 
scene is displayed, which seems to paint the si- 
lence of night even to the eye, the full orchestral 
accompaniment is hushed—the flute and the harp 
alone are heard to prelude the mournful air that 
breaks from the lips of the melancholy warrior, 
If ever the attention of an audience was en- 
chained, enthralled, bound, as it were, by a spell, 
it was when Velluti sang the Notte Tremenda. 
‘The stillness of the scene was communicated to 
the house; and nut a word was spoken—not a 
breath was heard. Was this wonderful?—when 
not to the eye and ear only, but to the heart and 
the soul, every thing conveyed but one impression 
—that of pathos, so deep, so touching, so true, 
that it wanted but one added shade to become too 
deep for enjoyment. 
Rest your scribbling fame upon that; 
Mr. Ebers. 
Military Reflections on Turkey; 1828. 
—The materials of this little volume have 
been subtracted from the third volume of a 
Treatise on the Art of War, written by 
General Von Valentini, a major-general in 
the Prussian service. It is addressed mainly 
to military readers, and contains a general 
account of the military qualities and capa- 
bilities of the Turks, and their wars and 
modes of fighting during the 17th and 18th 
centuries, with some observations on the 
actual state of things in the present day— 
the result of which appears to be, that the 
Turks are very much as to these matters 
what they were during the last century—a 
little more degenerated. The eavalry is 
good, but, from the nature of the country, 
the horses cannot remain long on the field. 
They are still good hands at defending 
their towns, though the system of fortifiea- 
tion is any thing but system. They have 
no notion of bastions or of lines, of out 
works and covered ways, nor of conforming 
the height of the works: to. the nature of the 
