1631.] Good Nighl to TagUoni ! W 



I am poor, yet I have been three times to see T^lioni. Tlie first 

 time was after Pasta's sublime impersonation of Medea ; I shall never 

 forget it — the contrast was wonderful. It was like one of Anacreon's songs 

 after the Agamemnon of ^schylus, or one of IMoore's Melodies bound 

 up with Paradise Lost. She came bounding forth from the dimness 

 of the back scenes like a golden roe out of a rose-brake in Palestine, 

 or a Hamadryad from some myrtle-nook in the Valley of Tempe, who 

 hath heard the pipe of the shepherd among the sun-lit trees. If the 

 reader has not seen Taglioni, I cannot hope to offer any adequate 

 picture of her countenance. It seemed to me, though not what is 

 generally called handsome, to be perfectly interesting, as she stood — but 

 that is not the word — with arched arms and flushing cheek, before the 

 enthusiastic audience. And then her attitude ! Titian might have 

 breathed it into colour, or Canova might have kindled the marble with 

 the life, as the sculptor did aforetime, when he had given the last touch to 

 one of his most beautiful statues, and flinging the chisel from him, 

 exclaimed — " Dice .'" Speak ! / will not attempt it — words would 

 be weak and idle. I never heard silence so intense ; the motion of a fan 

 in Lady Londonderry's box fell on the ear with startling distinctness. 

 If Juno had been petitioning Venus for her girdle, or Lady Lyndhurst 

 twining her delicate fingers in Lord Brougham's hair, the attention 

 could not have been more breathless. Do not suppose for a moment, 

 however, that Taglioni is a posture-maker — Brocard is a figurante, but 

 Taglioni is a lady. I have frequently read of performances far more 

 scientifically wonderful than any of Taglioni. William IMethold, an old 

 traveller, in his Relat. des Royamnes de Golconda, speaks of a girl, not 

 more than eight years of age, who could elevate one leg perpendicularly 

 to her head, supporting herself meanwhile upon the other, so as to be 

 parallel with his uplifted arm ; and he has frequently seen the dancing 

 girls place the soles of their feet upon their head. 



who ever heard Taglioni's feet touch the ground ? I never did. 

 Sometimes, indeed, I thought I could distinguish a faint melody — a 

 ^t^ufKTjxoi. Ttf 'TTo'^oi — like the tremulous murmurs of the water round the 

 foot of a Naiad, as she stands doubtingly by the fountain side, ever and 

 anon shaking the ripples into silver light as she bendeth over her own 

 shadow. IMercandotti's step was always audible, Brocard's shoes had the 

 density of Suffolk hiloes, and Mdlle. Emile alighted with an echo like 

 Kean falling backward in the last scene of Othello. 



But Taglioni — she seemed to float an Iris in the filmy light — a dove's- 

 wing might bear her up — the gossamer cloud of summer would not 

 fade beneath her — and when she did touch the stage, it was with an 

 aerial and lingering motion —if I may employ so fanciful an illustration 

 — like a humming bird with its purple wings winnowing the air as it 

 sinketh down into the golden bosom of the flower where it sleepeth. 



It was oljserved to me, by a clever artist, that her arms were too 

 long ; for my own part I perceived nothing to detract from her 

 enchanting appearance, as she glided along with her limbs wandering 

 at their " own sweet will," and the eye acknowledged with rajiture that 

 " her body thought." 



It can never be said of Taglioni, that she is first in a first class ; she 

 is the first and the last — we have had nothing like her before, and we 

 shall see nothing like licr in after time — Brocard by her side is like 

 Mori accompanying Paganini. Tlie dancer and tlie violin-player are 



