papier-maché and japanned goods, by Japan
and China; in coloured satin, by both countries;
in carved woods, by the East generally;
in gold and silver filagree work by Malta,
Algeria, Persia, India, and Italy; in inventive
machinery by the Americans; and in silver
repoussé work by Russia. But, on the whole,
France and England stand at the head of the
greater industries, and, while rivals to each
other, leave all the rest of the world behind.

SHAKESPEARE AND TERPSICHORE.

To the British tourist, whiling away the
spring days in fair Florence, waiting, it may be,
to witness the festivals in honour of a royal
marriage, or pausing on his northern flight
from Rome or Naples before finally taking wing
across the Alps, this announcement on the public
bills and placards of the Pergola Theatre is not
without interest:

            ROMEO E GIULIETTA,
                 TRAGIC OPERA.
                 To be followed by
                  SHAKESPEARE;
                            or,
    A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.
G                GRAND BALLET.

He is here, then, in a new guise, this Proteus-like
"Divine Williams," " Swan of Avon," or
howsoever he be named in the various dialects
of men. Rossini has given to the world that
exquisite dying lay (the last notes of the ill-fated
Desdemona, ceasing in sweetness like a crushed
flower), Assisa al piè d'un salice. Verdi has
Italianised the " blasted heath," and made
Lady Macbeth bid her guests to their revels
with a rousing brindisi, Si colmi il calice!
Of Romeos and Juliets, Montecchi e Capuleti,
there is no end. And in these latter days
doth not Hamlet himself " discourse most
eloquent music," and a fair Swede warble forth
the lovely lunacies of Ophelia until all hearts
be melted by the pouring in of sad sweet song
at the ears? And now, painting, poetry, and
music, having each in turn seized the
inexhaustible Shakespeare, and "played upon"— if
not "fretted"— him, up rises the goddess of
the dance, and, circling the astonished Bard in
her gracefully rounded arms, whirls him away
to tread a fantastic measure under her guidance.

Shakespeare; or, a Midsummer Night's
Dream. Grand Ballet.

Shakespeare, from an Italico-histrionico-
terpsichorean point of view!

Allons! To the Pergola! Let us thither on
this 25th evening of April, 1868, to see what
we shall see.

Note first, that the theatre— one of the most
elegant and well-proportioned in Europe— is at
the beginning of the evening nearly empty.
Romeo e Giulietta, or so much of M. Gounod's
opera as the powers that be condescend to
give us, is evidently not attracting the public.
Neither will we, whose business is with terpsichore,
and not with her sister muse, speak of
that performance, which, indeed, but too
evidently serves as a mere prelude, or "lever du
rideau," for the main business of the evening.

Be it recorded, too, that we, sitting in the
pit of the Pergola, did altogether judge of the
argument or conduct of the ballet by the
unassisted light of nature, having neither libretto
nor programme to refer to, in case of doubt or
bewilderment. And such cases did arise, even
rather frequently! But in this way, perhaps,
the British tourist may be enabled the more
faithfully to report to his countrymen the
impression made upon him by "Shakespeare; a
grand ballet."

The libretto of a ballet is at best an
arbitrary document, so to speak, and one from which
there is no appeal. It being evident that should
the libretto set forth that when the prima ballerina,
nicely balanced on the great toe of her
right foot, raises her left leg in the air at right
angles with her body, and gently waves her
arms to and fro, to soft music, such action
means, and shall be held to mean, that the
weather is beautiful; that we may look out for
squalls; that she is in love; that she never will
marry the count; that she would be glad of a
little refreshment; that she never felt better in
her life, and will be happy to favour the
company with a " pas," expressive of unlimited
rapture; or any other conceivable statement,
the spectator has no choice but to submit and
acquiesce. Nay, if he be of a flexible and
conformable cast of mind, he may even by-and-by
trace in the wavings and pirouetings some faint
shadowing forth of the meaning given to them
in the libretto! We, however, in our character
of British tourist, cast aside all such leading-strings
whereby the ballet-master cunningly
sways the mind of man hither or thither as he
will, and sturdily take our " posto distinto" in
the wide pit of the Pergola, unprejudiced by any
ex-parte statement as to what we are going to see.
The curtain descends on the first scene of
the fourth act of Romeo e Giulietta; and now
the buzz and hum of talk grow louder, and the
rows of crimson chairs are dotted more thickly
with sombre coats— black, brown, blue, or
mingled pepper-and-salt. Some sprinkling, too,
there is of brighter feminine garments,
gossamer bonnets, glossy folds of silk. The white
and gold frames of the private boxes— in Italian
theatres all the boxes are private boxes— begin
to show within them, groups of heads. Heads
pretty or ugly, smart or dowdy, young or old,
furnished or empty, as the case may be, but all
addressing themselves with considerable attention
to that canvas screen which divides us as
yet from " Shakespeare." The opera has been
cut sheer in two, and between its severed
portions is inserted the bonne bouche of the
evening. Layers of bread and mustard, as it
were, on either side of the dainty slice of roast
meat. Bread and mustard, not in themselves
appetising, but serving to give an added relish
to the really savoury and succulent morsel.
Also, to drop metaphor, the acts of the opera