Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, No. 341, March, 1844, Vol. 55 by Various

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"WANTS A SITUATION--An able-bodied, middle-aged man, without encumbrance,
who can have an undeniable character from his last situation, as headsman,
hangman, and general executioner. He is accustomed to the use of
thumbikins and the most approved and fashionable modes of torture; and
officiated for many years as superintendent of the wheel of a foreign
prince, renowned for the neatness of his rack. Drawing and quartering in
all their branches. Pressing to death performed in the most economical
style. Impalement in the Turkish manner; and the pile, as practised by the
best Smithfield hands, &c. &c. &c."

Independent, indeed, of the high prosperity and vast perquisites of such
posts as executioner of the Tower of London or the Greve of Paris, there
was honour and satisfaction in the office. A royal master knew when he was
well served. Henry III. stood by, in his chateau of Blois, to see, not
only the heads severed from the dead bodies of the Duke and Cardinal de
Guise, but their _flesh cut into small pieces_, preparatory to being
burned, and the ashes scattered to the winds. "His majesty," says an
eyewitness, "stood in a pool of blood to witness the hacking of the
bodies."

This Italian _gusto_ for the smell of blood, appears to have been
introduced into the palaces of France from those of Italy by alliance with
the Medici--those ennobled pawnbrokers of the middle ages, whose _parvenu_
taste engendered the fantastic gilding of the _renaissance_, which they
naturalized in the Tuileries and at Fontainbleau, in common with the
stiletto and acqua tofana of their poisoners, and the fatalism of their
judicial astrology.

But enough of Catharine de Medicis and her sanguinary son--enough of Henry
Tudor and his savage daughters--enough of the monstrous professions
flourishing in their age of monstrosities. And turn we for relief to the
exquisite vocation completing the antithesis--the vocation whose execution
is that of _pas de zephyrs_, and the tortures of whose infliction are the
tortures of the tender heart!

The calling of the _danseuse_, we repeat, is among the most lucrative of
modern times, and nearly the most influential. The names of Taglioni and
Elssler are as European, nay, as universal, as those of Wellington and
Talleyrand-Metternich or Thiers; and modern statesmanship and modern
diplomacy show pale beside the Machiavelism of the _coulisses_.

With what pomp of phraseology are the triumphs and movements of these
_danseuses_ announced, by the self-same journal which despatches, with a
stroke of the pen, the submission of a province or revolution of a kingdom!
One poor halfpenny-worth, or half a line, suffices for the death of a
sultana; while fiery columns precede the departure and arrival of the
steamer honoured by conveying across the Atlantic some ethereal being,
whose light fantastic toe is to give the law to the United States. Her
appearance in the Ecclesiastic States, on the other hand, is announced in
Roman capitals; and her triumphal entry into St Petersburg received with
regiments of notes of admiration!!!

Were Taglioni, by the malediction of Providence, to break her leg, what
corner of the civilized earth but would sympathize in the casualty? Or
were Elssler epidemically carried off, on the same day with the Pope, the
Archbishop of Dublin, a chancellor of an university, an historiographer,
or astronomer-royal--_which_ would be most cared for by society at large,
or to which would the public journals distribute the larger share of their
dolefuls?

Nor is it alone the levities of Europe which have encompassed with a
gaseous atmosphere of enthusiasm these idols of the day. We appeal to our
sober, plodding, painstaking brother Jonathan. We move for returns of the
sums he has expended on his beloved Fanny, and for notes of the honours
conferred upon her, not only on the boards of his theatres and in the
publicity of his causeways, but amid the august nationalities of his
senate! "Fanny Elssler in Congress" has become as historical as the name
of Washington! As if for the purpose of proving that extremes meet, the
democrats of the New World were demonstrating the wildest infatuation in
favour of one dancer, while the great autocrat of the Old was exhibiting a
similar fervour in honour of another. La Gitana became all but
presidentess of the Transatlantic republic; La Bayadere depolarized the
tyrant of the Poles! But, above all, the Empress of Russia--albeit, the
lightest of sovereigns and coldest of women--was carried so far by her
enthusiasm as to fasten a bracelet of gems on the fair arm of Taglioni;
while the Queen-Dowager of England conferred a similar honour on the
Neapolitan dancer Cerito!

Now, what queen or princess, we should like to know, has lavished necklace,
or bracelet, or one poor pitiful brooch, on Miss Edgeworth or Miss Aitkin,
Mrs Somerville or Joanna Baillie, or any other of the female illustrations
of the age, saving these aerial machines which have achieved such enviable
supremacy? Mrs Marcet, who has taught the young idea of our three kingdoms
how to shoot; Miss Martineau, who has engrafted new ones on our oldest
crab-stocks, might travel from Dan to Beersheba without having a fatted
calf or a fatted capon killed for them, at the public expense. But let
Taglioni take the road, and what clapping of hands--what gratulation--what
curiosity--what expansion of delight!

The only wonder of all this is, that we should wonder about the matter.
Dancing constitutes that desideratum of the learned of all ages--an
universal language. Music, which many esteem much, is nearly as
nationalized in its rhythm as dialect in its words; whereas the organs of
sight are cosmopolitan. The eye of man and the foot of the dancer include
between them all nations and languages. The poetry of motion is
interpreted by the lexicon of instinct; and the unimpregnable grace of a
Taglioni becomes omnipotent and catholic as that of

"The statue that enchants the world!"

Who can doubt that the names of these sorceresses of our time will reach
posterity, as those of the Aspasias and Lauras of antiquity have reached
our own--as having held philosophers by the beard, and trampled on the
necks of the conquerors of mankind--as being those for whom Solon
legislated, and to whom Pericles succumbed?

Pausanius tells us of the stately tomb of the frail Pythonice in the Vica
Sacra; and we know that Phryne offered to rebuild the walls of Thebes, by
Alexander overthrown. And surely, if modern guide-books instruct us to
weep in the cemetery of Pere la Chaise over the grave of Fanny Bias,
history will say a word or two in honour of Cerito, who proposed through
the newspapers, last season, an alliance offensive and defensive with no
less a man than Peter Borthwick, Esq. M.P., (_Arcades ambo_!) to relieve
the distress of the manufacturing classes of Great Britain! It is true
such heroines can afford to be generous; for what lord chancellor or
archbishop of modern times commands a revenue half as considerable?

Why, therefore--O Public! why, we beseech thee, seeing that the influence
of the operative class is fairly understood, and undeniably established
among us--why not at once elevate choriography to the rank of one of the
fine arts?--Why not concentrate, define, and qualify the calling, by a
public academy?--since all hearts and eyes are amenable to the charm of
exquisite dancing, why vex ourselves by the sight of what is bad, when
better may be achieved? Be wise, O Pubic, and consider! Establish a
professor's chair for the improvement of pirouetters. We have hundreds of
professor's chairs, quite as unavailable to the advancement of the
interests of humanity, and wholly unavailable to its pleasures. Neither
painters nor musicians acquire as much popularity as dancers, or amass an
equal fortune. Why should they be more highly protected by the state?

To disdain this exquisite art, is a proof of barbarism. The nations of the
East may cause their dances to be performed by slaves; but two of the
greatest kings of ancient and modern times, the kings after God's own
heart and man's own heart--David and Louis le Grand--were excellent
dancers, the one before the ark, the other before his subjects.

Never, perhaps, did the art of dancing attain such eminent honours in the
eyes of mankind, as during the _siecle dore_ of the latter monarch. At an
epoch boasting of Moliere and Racine, Bossuet and Fenelon, Boileau and La
Fontaine, Colbert and Perrault, (the fairy talisman of politics and
architecture,) the court of Versailles could imagine no manifestation of
regality more august, or more exquisite, than that of getting up a royal
ballet; and the father of his people, Louis XIV., was, in his youth, its
_coulon_.

How amusing are the descriptions of these _entrees de ballet_,
circumstantially bequeathed us by the memoirs of the regency of Anne of
Austria! The cardinal himself took part in them; but the chief performers
were the young King, his brother Gaston d'Orleans, and the maids of honour,
figuring as Apollo and the Muses, or Hamadryads adoring some sylvan
divinity. Who has not sympathized in the joy of Madame de Sevigne, at
seeing her fair daughter exhibit among the _coryphees_! Who has not felt
interested in the _jetees_ and _pas de bourrees_ of the _ancien regime_,
when accomplished at court by Condes, Contis, Montpensiers, Montmorencys,
Rohans, Guises! The Marquis de Dangeau first recommended himself to the
favour of the royal master whose courts he was destined to journalize for
posterity, by the skill of his _pas de basques_; and long before the all
but conjugal influence of the lovely La Valliere commenced over the heart
of the _grand monarque_, his early love, and more especially his passion
for the beautiful niece of the Cardinal, may be traced to the rehearsals
and _rondes de jambes_ of Maitz and Fontainbleau.

The reign of Madame de Maintenon (_la raison meme_) over his affections,
declared itself by the sudden transfer of a ballet-opera, expressly
composed by Rameau and Quinault for the beauties of the court, to the
public theatre of the Palais Royal. No more noble figurantes at Versailles!
Louis le Pirouettiste's occupation was gone; and the _maitre des ballets
du roi_ arrayed himself in sackcloth and ashes. But, lo! the glories of
his throne took wing with the loves and graces; ballets and victories
being effaced on the same page from the annals of his reign.

During the minority of Louis XV., the same royal dansomania was renewed.
The regent, Duke of Orleans, entertained the same notions of kingly
education, on this head, as his predecessor the cardinal; and Louis _le
Bien-aime_, like his great-grandfather before him, was the best dancer of
his realm. Such dancing as it was! such exquisite footing! In the upper
story of the grand gallery at Versailles, hang several pictures
representing these court ballets; Cupids in coatees of pink lustring, with
silver lace and tinsel wings, wearing full-bottomed wigs and the riband of
the St Esprit; or Venuses in hoops and powder, whose _minauderies_ might
afford a lesson to the divinities of our own day for the benefit of the
omnibus box.

Some of these groups, by Mignard, Boucher, and their imitators, are
charming studies as _tableaux de genre_. But in nothing, by the way, are
they more remarkable than in their _decency_. The nudities of the present
times appear to have been undreamed of in the philosophy of Versailles.
That simple-hearted, though strong-minded American writer, Miss Sedgwick,
who has published an account of her consternation as she sat with Mrs
Jameson in the stalls of our Italian opera, might have witnessed the royal
performance unabashed. On being told, as she gazed upon the intrepid
self-exposure of Taglioni, "_qu'il fallait etre sage pour danser comme
ca_," Miss S. observes, that it requires to be more or less than woman,
and proposes to divide the human species into men, women, and
OPERA-DANCERS, little suspecting that half her readers translate such a
classification into "men, women, and ANGELS;" or that they would see
herself and her sister moralist go down in the _President_ without a pang,
provided Elssler and Taglioni were saved from the deep!

Natural enough! we repeat it--natural enough! To create a good dancer,
requires the rarest combination of physical and mental endowments.
Graceful as the forms transmitted to us by the pottery of Etruria and the
frescoes of Herculaneum, she must unite with the strength of an athlete,
the genius of a first-rate actress. That even moderate dancing demands
immoderate abilities, is attested by the exhibition of human ungainliness
disfiguring all the court balls of Europe. There may be seen the
representatives of the highest nobility, tutored by the highest education,
shuffling over the polished floor with stiffened arms and bewildered
legs--often out of time--always out of place--as if acting under the
influence of a galvanic battery. Not one in ten of them rises even to
mediocrity as a dancer. A few degrees lower in the social scale, and it
would be not one in twenty. Amid the shoving, shouldering, shuffling mob
of dancers in an ordinary ball-room, the absence of all grace amounts even
to the ludicrous. Forty years long have people been dancing the quadrilles
now in vogue, which consist of six favourite country-dances, fashionable
in Paris at the close of the last century, and then singly known by the
names they still retain--"La Poule, L'Ete, Le Pantalon, Le Trenis," &c. &c.
To avoid the monotony of dancing each in succession, for hours at a time,
down a file of forty couple, it was arranged that every eight couple
should form a square, and perform the favourite dances, in succession,
with the same partner--a considerable relief to the monotony of the
ball-room. Yet, after all this experience, if poor Monsieur le Trenis
(after whom one of the figures was named, and who, during the consulate,
died dancing-mad in a public lunatic asylum) could rise, sane, from the
dead, it would be enough to drive him mad again to see how little had been
acquired, in the way of practice, since his decease. The processes and
varieties of the ball-room are just where he left then on his exit!

Previous to the introduction of quadrilles and country dances or
_contredanses_, the inaptitude of nine-tenths of mankind for dancing was
still more eminently demonstrated in the murders of the minuet. For (as
Morall, the dancing-master of Marie Antoinette, used passionately to
exclaim)--_que de choses dans un minuet_! What worlds of modest
dignity--of alternate amenity and scorn! The minuet has all the tender
coquetry of the bolero, divested of its licentious fervour. With the
minuet and the hoop, indeed, disappeared that powerful circumvallation of
female virtue, rendering superfluous the annual publication of a dozen
codes of ethics, addressed to the "wives of England" and their daughters.
All was comprehended in the _pas grave_. That noble and right Aulic dance
was expressly invented in deference to the precariousness of powdered
heads; and its calm sobrieties, once banished from the ball-room,
revolutionary _boulangeres_ succeeded--and chaos was come again! The
stately _pavon_ had possession of the English court, with ruffs and
farthingales, in the reign of Elizabeth. With the Stuarts came the wild
courante or corante--

"Hair loosely flowing, robes as free"--

and if the House of Hanover, and minuets, reformed for a time the
irregularities of St James's--what are we to expect now that waltzes,
galops, and the eccentricities of the cotillon have possession of the
social stage? WHAT NEXT? as the pamphlets say--"What will the lords
do?"--what the ladies?

Thus much in proof, that the boss of pirouettiveness is strangely wanting
in human conformation, and that there is consequently all the excuse of
ignorance for the wild enthusiasm lavished by London on the operative
class. Ten guineas per night--five hundred for the season--is the price
exacted for a first-rate opera-box; and as the exclusives usually arrive
at the close of the opera, or, if earlier, keep up a perpetual babble
during its performance, they clearly come for the dancing.--"_On voit
l'opera, et l'on ecoute le ballet_," used to be said of the Academie de
Musique. But it might be asserted now, with fully as much truth, of the
Queen's Theatre, where the evolutions of Carlotta Grisi, Elssler, and
Cerito, keep the audience in a state of breathless attention denied to
Shakspeare.

In two out of these instances, it may be advanced that they are consummate
actresses as well as graceful and active dancers. Elssler's comedy is
almost as piquant as that of Mademoiselle Mars. Nor is the ballet
unsusceptible of a still higher order of histrionic display. We never
remember to have seen a stronger _levee en masse_ of cambric handkerchiefs
in honour of O'Neill's _Mrs Haller_, or Siddons's _Isabella_, than of the
ballet of "Nina;" while the affecting death-dance in "Masaniello" is still
fresh in the memory of the admirers of Pauline Leroux. We have heard of
swoons and hysterics along the more impressionable audiences of La Scala,
during the performance of the ballet of "La Vestale;" and have witnessed
with admiration the striking effect of the fascinative scene in "Faust."

Of late years, the union of Italian blood and a French education has been
found indispensable to create a _danseuse_--"Sangue Napolitano in scuola
Parigiana;"--and Vesuvius is the Olympus of all our recent divinities.
Formerly, a Spanish origin was the most successful. The first dancer who
possessed herself of European notoriety was La Camargo, whose portraits,
at the close of a century, are still popular in France, where she has been
made the heroine of several recent dramas. To her reign, succeeded that of
the Gruinards and Duthes--in honour of whose bright eyes, a variety of
noblemen saw the inside both of Fort St Eveque and St Pelagie; the opera
being at that time a fertile source of _lettres de cachet_. To obtain
admittance to the private theatricals of the former dancer, in her
magnificent hotel in the Chaussee d'Antin, the ladies of fashion and of
the court had recourse to the meanest artifices; while the latter has
obtained historical renown, by having excited the jealousy, or rather envy,
of Marie Antoinette. Mademoiselle Duthe appeared at the fetes of
Longchamps, in the Bois de Boulogne, in a gorgeous chariot drawn by six
milk-white steeds, with red morocco harness, richly ornamented with cut
steel; and thus accomplished the object of incurring the resentment of the
court, from the prodigality of one of whose married princes these
splendours were supposed to emanate--splendours exceeding those of the
Rhodopes of old.

But the greatest triumph ever achieved by _danseuse_, was that of
Bigottini! The Allied sovereigns, after vanquishing the victor of modern
Europe, were by _her_ vanquished in their turn. At her feet, fresh
trembling from an _entre-chat_, did

"Fiery French and furious Hun"

lay down their arms! The Allied armies appeared to have entered Paris only
to become the slaves of Bigottini!

In our own country, devotees of the _danseuse_ have done more, by
promoting her to the decencies of the domestic fireside. In our own
country, also, even Punch was once purchased by an eccentric nobleman for
the diversion of his private life. But as Demosthenes observed of the cost
of such a pleasure, "that is buying repentance too dear!"

We are perhaps offending the gravity of certain of our readers by the
extent of this notice; albeit, we have striven to propitiate their
prejudices by the peculiar combination and juxtaposition of professions,
selected for consideration. But we are not acting unadvisedly. Close its
eyes as it may, the public cannot but perceive, that the legitimate drama
is banished by want of encouragement from the national theatres, and that
the ballet is brandishing her cap and bells triumphantly in its room.

Such changes are never the result of accident. The supply is created by
the demand. It is because we prefer the Sylphide to Juliet, that the
Sylphide figures before us. Shakspeare was played to empty benches; the
Peri and Gisele fill the houses.

We repeat, therefore, since such is the bent of public appetite, let it be
gratified in the least objectionable way. Let us have a royal academy of
dancing. We shall easily find some Earl of Westmoreland to compose its
ballets, and lady patronesses to give an annual ball for the benefit of
the institution. Do not let some eighty thousand a-year be lost to the
country. An idol is as easily carved out of one block of wood as another.
Let us make unto ourselves goddesses out of the haberdashers' shops of
Oxford Street; and qualify the youthful caprices of Whitechapel to command
the homage of Congress, and of the great autocrat of all the Russias.
Properly instructed, little Sukey Smith may still obtain an enameled
brooch or bracelet from her Majesty the Queen-Dowager! Let us "people this
whole isle with sylphs!" Let Drury-Lane and Covent-Garden flourish;
but--thanks to Great Britain pirouettes!--the art of giving ten guineas
for a couple of hours spent in an opera-box, will then become less
criminal; and we shall have no fear of the influence of some Herodias's
daughter in our domestic life, when we see the Cracovienne announced in
the bills "by Miss Mary Thomson." The charm will be destroyed. The
unfrequented _coulisses_, like Dodona, will cease to give forth oracles.

Under the influence of an "establishment," we shall have to record of
opera-dancers as of other professions, that "the goddesses are departing!"
The _danse a roulades_ of Fanny Elssler will be voted vulgar, when
attempted by a Buggins. Let Mr Bunn look to himself. He may yet survive
his immortality. We foresee a day in which he will be no longer styled
Alfred the Great. With the aid of George Robins, and other illustrious
persons interested in the destinies of theatrical property, we do not
despond of hearing attached to "a bill for the legalization of the Royal
and National Academy of Dancing of the United Kingdom," the satisfactory
decree of "LA REINE LE VEUT!"

* * * * *

THE PIRATES OF SEGNA.

A TALE OF VENICE AND THE ADRIATIC. IN TWO PARTS.

PART I.

CHAPTER I.--THE STUDIO.

It was on a bright afternoon in spring, and very near the close of the
sixteenth century, that a handsome youth, of slender form and patrician
aspect, was seated and drawing before an easel in the studio of the aged
cavaliere Giovanni Contarini--the last able and distinguished painter of
the long-declining school of Titian. The studio was a spacious and lofty
saloon, commanding a cheerful view over the grand canal. Full curtains of
crimson damask partially shrouded the lofty windows, intercepting the
superabundant light, and diffusing tints resembling the ruddy, soft, and
melancholy hues of autumnal foliage; while these hues were further
deepened by a richly carved ceiling of ebony, which, not reflecting but
absorbing light, allayed the sunny radiance beneath, and imparted a sombre
yet brilliant effect to the pictured walls, and glossy draperies, of the
spacious apartment. Above the rich and lofty mantelpiece hung one of the
last portraits of himself painted by the venerable Titian, and on the dark
pannels around were suspended portraits of great men and lovely women by
the gifted hands of Giorgione, Paul Veronese, Paris Bordone, and
Tintoretto. Regardless, however, of all around him, and almost breathless
with eagerness and impatience, the student pursued his object, and with
rapid and vigorous strokes had half completed his sketch--totally
unconcious the while that some one had opened the folding-doors, crossed
the saloon, and now stood behind his chair.

"But tell me, Antonello mio!" exclaimed old Contarini, after gazing awhile
in mute astonishment at the sketch before him; "tell me, in the name of
wonder, what kind of face do you mean to draw around that lean and
withered nose and that horribly wrinkled mouth?"

Antonio, however, was so unconcious of the "world without," that he
started not at this sudden interruption of the previous stillness.
Regardless, too, of the serious and indeed reproving tone of the old man's
voice, he hastily replied without averting his gaze from the canvass.
"Hush, maestro! I beseech you. Question me not, for Heaven's sake! I
cannot spare a word in reply. The original," continued he, after a brief
interval of close attention to his object, and drawing as he spoke; "the
original is still firmly fixed in my memory. I see its sharp outlines
clear within me, and, as you well know and oft have told me, a feature
lost is lost for ever. Alas! alas! those lines and angles around the mouth
are already fading into shadow."

After he had thrown out these words, from time to time, like interjections,
and with Venetian rapidity of utterance, nothing was audible in the saloon
for some minutes but the young artist's sharp and rapid strokes upon the
canvass.

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