OPERA. THE KING'S THEATRE

Opened for the season on Saturday the 13th of December, with the tragic opera of Semiramide and the ballet of La Dansomanie.

Madame Catalani made her debut in the Opera, the music of which was expressly composed for her by Portogallo.

This celebrated singer was preceded in England by the great reputation she had acquired in Italy, Portugal, and France. Since we have heard her, we are fully convinced that her merits are not inferior to it. No praise is above the perfections which she derives from art; no comparison can give an adequate idea of the organ with which nature has wonderfully endowed her. Besides a prodigious extent, her voice has a very peculiar character; in the three octaves which she runs over, it is always equally just, full and brilliant; it is a silvery tone that seizes the ear and vibrates long after the sound has ceased. Madame Catalani passes, without labour, over the most distant intervals, and in her boldest attempts she pleases no less than she astonishes. In Semiramide she does not appear till the third seeife; some parts of the recitative and airs of the mine first scenes of the first act were rapturously applauded; but it was especially in the tenth scene that she united the suffrages of all, and struck every one with amazement and admiration. The air begining with In consigliata che fo! in which are these words. Son regina e son guerricru, where the composer has happily expressed the pride and courage of Semirdmide, is one of the best calculated for the display of a fine voice. Madame Catalani sung it with such an imperious accent, with so much emotion, fire and impetuosity, that the effect tupon the audience was electric. By her manner of exccution, those great traits, those exertions of voice which the composer meant only as ornament, gave additional force and expression to the music.

In the air L'Ira Terribile, in the second act, we were struck with the effect of the opposite expressions of terror and love, where she softly complains to the daughters of Babylon, expresses the torture of an unfortunate passion, and calls on death to end her miseries.

Her countenance is very expressive and her person is finely formed; but what we value in her above every thing, is, her simplicity, can dour and modesty, with which we understand her manners and conduct correspond.

After having thus given our opinion of this eminent singer we may be allowed some remarks on the music of Portogallo, and then on the management of the King's Theatre.

The music of Semiramide is quite novel, and well adapted to the present taste of Italian and French spectators, who are now more apt to be pleased with the wonders of elaborate execution, or the exertions of supernatural powers, than with the natural, soft and ex

presive melody of a cantabile. The composers of the modern Italian School disdain the style of their predecessors: they would now make an instrument of a voice, and seem to wish rather to surprise than to please. They might be excused if their music was always sung by such voices as Catalani's; but, as prodigies like this are very rare, they would do well 10 return to a character of music more congenial to nature; and to a composition, more conformable to the chaste, inventive, and diversified style, that will, for many centuries to come, be admired in the works of Handel, Gluck, Sacchini, and Haydn.

Respecting the management of the King's Theatre, we are still of opinion, that it wants great reform and improvement. There has been this year an advance in the price of the boxes; therefore the public, we mean that part of the public which resorts to this theatre, has a right to expect additional exertions from the managers. The higher orders of society who pay such large sums of money, especially, have a right to expect not to be confounded in the pit of that house with noisy prostitutes, whose indecency and effrontery put the wives and daughters of the most respectable part of the kingdom to the blush.

For several years past, there has been at this theatre in almost every branch, two or three of the best performers, for the principal parts; but the inferior parts have been very much neglected. We now see Catalani almost alone; she is very feebly supported by the other actors. Although Righi is improving fast, and will most undoubtedly be very useful, and deserve applause in secondary characters, yet we are confident that we shall not be thought too severe in saying that he is inadequate to the part he performs in Semiramide. The other performers are scarce ly worthy any remark, except it be that every year increases their defects.

The same observations apply to the Ballet. While we are enchanted with the display of the graces and powers of the Deshayes', Parisot, and we are glad to add the Depresle, we cannot help being shocked at the awkward figures among which they are obliged to appear; and sometimes with the shabbiness of their dresses.

As to the machinery,-to the disgrace of the first stage of this great capital, there is not one of the most insignificant summer theatres, where it is not better managed-and when we compare the tout ensemble with the Opera of Paris, we must acknowledge, our Italian theatre is far, very far behind it.

Previous to the opening, the manager pro posed to receive the subscribers' tickets on admission; and to return them to the proprie tors the next morning. We consider this as a laudable attempt to ascertain the company. This, however, has failed: but-something must be done.

OF

EULOGIUM OF FRANÇOIS DE SALIGNAC DE LA MOTHE FENELON, ARCHBISHOP CAMBRAY, &c. BY M. DE LA HARPE.

Among the celebrated persons who have a claim to public eulogium and the homage of the people, there are some whom general admiration has consecrated, whom it is impossible not to honour without being unjust, and who present themselves to posterity surrounded with all the imposing attributes of greatness. There are others who are still more fortunate, who awaken in the heart the more flattering and dearer sentiments of love, whose name cannot be pronounced without a tender sensibility, whom to forget is to be guilty of ingratitude; to exalt whose character is an object of emulation, not so much from the impulse of justice, as to reeeive the pleasure of being grateful; and who, so far from losing any thing in passing over the track of ages, collect new honours in their passage, and will present themselves to the latest posterity preceded by the accla mations of every people, and laden with the tribute of every age.

Such are the characters of that glory which surrounds with its lustre the amiable and benevolent virtues, and the talents which inspire them; such were those of Fenelon, whose praise will be welcome to every class of men, and whose panegyrist will be anticipated in all he can say by the sensibility of those who hear him. I shall say to men of letters, he possessed the ardent eloquence of the soul, blended with the simplicity of the ancients ;to the ministers of the church, he was the father and the model of those committed to hie charge-to controversialists, he submits his opinions to authority to courtiers, he never flattered to obtain favour, and was happy during his disgrace;-to the instructors of Kings, the nation expected to derive its happiness from the Prince whom he had educated ;-to all mankind, he was virtuous, and he was beloved. His works consisted of Lessons given by a great genius, who was the friend of humanity, to the heir of a great empire. I shall connect the history of his writings with the August Educationwhich was the object of them; I shall follow him from glory to disgrace, from the court to Cambray; I shall attend him on the theatre of his pastoral and his domestic virtues; and I shall begin with remarking, as a most uncommon circumstance, that the honour of being numbered among the first writers of France, which has satisfied the ambition of so many great men, was the least of those which dignified and adorned the character of Fenelon.

Among the advantages which such a man might owe to nature or to fortune, it would be superfluous to reckon that of birth. It - VOL. I. [Lit Pan. Jan. 1807.]

was for him to throw a brighter lustre round his ancestors than he could receive from them. The most fortunate chance that could hap pen for him was, to be born in an age when he could take his proper place in the world. That tender and amiable mind, which was entirely filled with an idea of the happiness which might be procured to civilized nations, by the cultivation of social virtue, the sacrifice of interest, and the management of the passions, would have been but ill-suited to the times of ignorance and barbarism, when pre-eminence originated solely in the strength which oppresses, and the policy which de ceives. His voice would have been lost among the clamours of a rude multitude, and in the tumult of a boisterous court. His talents would then have been buried or despised; but nature produced him at a period of light and splendor. After he had completed his studies, which had already announced what he would one day be, and had been admitted to the priesthood, he appeared at the court of Louis XIV. It was then the most brilliant epocha of France: the monarch, surrounded by all the arts, was worthy of their homage, and presented his reign to them as a subject for their labours.

At

Fenelon, who displayed to the most polished court of Europe, superior talents, gentle manners, and the indulgent virtues, was most favourably received by all those who themselves possessed a sufficient degree of merit to be sensible of that which he pos sessed, and attracted the notice of a master, whose observation no merit ever escaped. the age of nineteen years, he made his first essay in the eloquence of the pulpit, and succeeded even after Bourdaloue and Bossuet. So great was his success, that his uncle, the Marquis de Fenelon, a man of rigid manners, but universally respected for a characteristic probity, entertained an apprehension that the young apostle might be seduced by popular applause; and therefore obliged him to confine himself to the more obscure functions of a profession, whose duties, however they may vary, are equally sacred. This first trial of obedience might be painful to a young man at the opening of such a career, but it soon yielded to the natural docility of his temper. He passed through all his religious exercises, under the direction of the Superior of St. Sulpice; but all those who saw him obey, were convinced that he would soon be qualified to command, and an office was confided to his youth, which appeared to de mand the maturity of age to fulfil-it was that of Superior of the new catholics. They were, for the most part, young female con verts, who were to be confirmed in a faith which was not that of their parents. It was impossible to have chosen a person more admirably suited than himself to such an em 2 C

he was to temper the austerity of his mission, and to adapt it to the delicate feelings of women, with whom the gift of persuasion cannot be well separated from that of pleas ing, and to whom the divine legislator of the gospel always addressed the words of grace, of inercy, and of peace. Then it was that he composed, le Traité de l'Education des Filles, and le Ministère des Pasteurs, which were the first productions of his pen. The fame of his labours reached Louis XIV., who was greatly delighted with his success, as he thought his glory was interested in effacing every vestige of the Calvinistic religion.-It is, indeed, with regret, we mention the odious violence exercised against peaceable subjects, and whom a vigilant authority might have preserved in a due state of restraint, without employing the spirit of persecution. In deploring these abuses, I do not impute them to the prince from whom they were concealed, nor to religion which disavows them, nor to the nation which condemns them. It is my wish to pass on to another subject, but I must not omit to mention one of the finest circumstances of the life of Fenelon; that which first unfolded the goodness of his character, and the superiority of his understanding..

The king sent him on a mission into Saintonge and Aunis; a mission which was to be supported by force of arms and escorted by soldiers so common is it to be humane from character, and cruel from policy. Others knew as well as Fenelon the rights of humanity; but he alone appears to have defended it. That barren pity which laments the unfortunate whom it abandons, was not his; a profound and enlightened sensibility which when it operates on moral conduct, becomes a sublime Reason, elevated him above the policy of the moment, and unfolded to him the miserable consequences of this system of oppression. He declared that, he would not charge himself with the duty of promulgating the divine word, with any other supports than those of charity, which is the principle of it, and that he would not speak in the name of his God and his King, but to inspire the love of both of them. This truly christian courage rendered him superior both to power and to prejudice; and thus two provinces were preserved from that scourge of persecution which overwhelmed so many thers. He alone offered to religion such conquests as were worthy of her and of himself.

To a virtnous man, the greatest recompense which he can receive after the testimony of his own heart, is the friendship of those who resemble him: and it was the tribute which Fenelon received on his re-appearance * Versailles. The Beauvillers, the Che

honour to be ranked among his friends. Superior minds judge each other, understand each other, and seek each other. Content with their regard, and happy in their society, Fenelon paid no attention whatever, to the means of advancing himself in the career of ecclesiastical dignity.-He was too deserving of such advancement to intrigue for it. It is very rare that those who have favours to bestow, though they are ready to acknowledge merit, forestall its solicitation. Vanity must have its followers, and interest its creatures. Fenelon, recommended by the public voice, was on the point of being named to the bishopric of Poitiers; but his competitors em ployed those arts to turn aside that appointment, which he disclaimed, in order to support it. He was therefore passed by; but there was immediately opened for him another field of honourable and important labour. The education of the grandson of Louis XIV. became an object of rivalry among those of the most distinguished merit at the court of Versailles. Beauvilliers who was the governor of the young prince, naturally desired such an associate as Fenelon. Louis XIV. listened to Beauvilliers, and Fenelon was called to the duty of forming a king.

Pride might have been flattered by such a choice, and ambition might have swelled at the attainment of it. Far more pure and noble are the sentiments that Fenelon experienced. That refined spirit ever glowing with the desire to do good, was now engaged to labour for the happiness of a great people. Elevated by the hope of succeeding in this great work, he entered, with the highest satisfaction, on the laborious functions which were to occupy his life. To be annihilated as to himself, and to be solely devoted to his pupil, never to utter a word which might not prove a lesson, never to take a step which might not be an example to conciliate the respect due to a child which would one day be a king; with the yoke he must impose to teach him to be so; to inform him of his greatness, but, at the same time, to trace out its duties and to destroy its pride; to combat the propensities which flattery engenders, and the vices which seduction fortifies;-to overawe by firmness and conciliating manners the sen timent of independence so natural in a prince, to guide his sensibility and to prevent it from becoming a weakness; to blame him without losing his confidence, to punish him sometimes without losing his friendship; to impress continually on his mind the essential difference between what he can do, and what he ought to do; between his power and his duty, and never to deceive his scholar, the state, nor his own conscience. Such are the duties which that man imposed on himself, to whom the monarch said, I give you

my son,'-and to whom the people say give us a father.'

To these general difficulties were added the particular obstacles which arose out of the character of the young prince. With many promising qualities, he had all those defects which are peculiarly obnoxious to discipline. A natural haughtiness, which considers remonstrance as offensive, and becomes indig nant at contradiction; a violent and unequal temper, which sometimes broke forth into passion, and sometimes appeared as caprice, with a secret disposition to despise mankind, which was continually discovering itself. Such were the obstacles which the preceptor had to encounter, and perhaps, he alone was qualified to surmount them. Fenelon could not be too severe, and he would not be too indulgent. He well knew that, in the human character there is an irresistible impulse, whose active principle cannot be destroyed, but which may be turned into a proper channel, and directed to a right object. The Duke of Burgundy possessed an imperious disposition, and delighted in the idea of dominion; but his master succeeded in rendering it subservient to the purposes of humanity and virtue. Without being very pointed in censuring his pupil's notion that he was born to command, he made him comprehend that his self-love proposed but very little, when it suggested nothing better than an empire to which he succeeded as a mere inheritance, and as every one succeeds to the patrimony of his ancestors, while there is another empire made for privileged spirits, and founded on the talents which are admired and the virtues which are adored. Thus he got possession of that mind, whose impetuous sensibility wanted a right direction. He infatuated him, as it were, with the pleasure which flows from being loved; with that noble power which is exercised in doing good, and with that rare glory which consists in commanding oneself. Whenever the Prince was carried away by passion, of which he was too susceptible, the tempestuous moment, when reason spoke in vain, was suffered to pass away, and all those who approached his person had orders to serve him in silence, and with a melancholy aspect even his exercises were suspended: it appeared that no one dared to communicate with him, and that he was no longer thought worthy of any rational occupation. In a short time, the young man, terrified at his solitude, troubled at the dread which he seemed to inspire, would ask pardon and beg to be reconciled to himself. It was then that the able master, availing himself of his advantages, made the Prince feel the disgraceful effects of his violent temper, and convinced him what a sad thing it is to be an object of fear and to be surrounded with consternation. His paternal voice penetrated a heart open to truth

and to contrition, and the tears of his roval disciple bedewed his hands. It was in the very soul of the Prince that he found the arms with which he combated his errors. He en lightened him by the testimony of his own conscience, and never punished him, but by making him ashamed of himself. This is, doubtless the most salutary kind of chastisement. The humiliation which proceeds from another is an outrage; that which arises from ourselves is penitentiary instruction.— One of the secrets of the preceptor was to appear to treat him as a man and never as a child. Much is gained by giving to youth a high opinion of what it can do: It very readily believes you when it is treated with respect that age has all the candour of selflove without its suspicions. When, to cares so wisely applied and so constantly pursued, we join the attractive, gentle and softening manners of Fenelon, his unalterable patience, the flexibility of his zeal, and his inexhaustible resources when in the work of instruction; we shall not be surprised at the astonishing change which was observed in the young prince, who afterwards became the idol of the court, and the nation. If we could awake from the sleep of the tomb the gencrations, which are buried there, they would give a portrait of this prince, which would in reality, be the eulogium of Fenelon. It is the Prince," they would say, "whose infancy filled us with alarm, whose youth re"stored our hopes, whose maturity trans"ported us with admiration, and whose too early death has cost us so many tears. "He it was whom we have seen so gracious "and so accessible in his court; so full of compassion for the unfortunate; adored in his palace; the friend of order, of peace, "and of the laws.-He it was, who when "he commanded armies, was the father of "his soldiers; consoled them in their fati"gues, and visited them in their sickness. "He it was whose mind was open to the "attraction of the fine arts, and to the illu"mination of science; who was the bene"factor of La Fontaine.-He it was whom

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we have seen shed tears over the public "miseries, and who promised us a future reparation for them. Alas! we have shed our own too soon over his ashes; and when "Louis XIV. was afflicted by so many fatal "wounds, given, at the same time, to his posterity, we beheld the tomb open to re"ceive the hope of France, and the work of "Fenelon."

To complete the eulogium of the master and of the scholar, we must add the tender attachment which united them to each other, and continued till death closed it for ever. The Duke of Burgundy always regarded his preceptor as his friend and his father. It is impossible to peruse the letters which they