shocked with the sophisms of the cunning Athenian that he rose in the Roman senate and demanded that this false specious reasoner should be sent back to his own country, in order that he might not corrupt the minds of the Roman youth by his subtle false arguments. Many writers attribute to those famous lectures of Carneade the beginning of Roman corruption. They say that the ignorant simplicity of the Romans was entangled in the refined worn-out speculations of degenerate Greece. Rome, at that time young, practical, and straightforward, needed a strong, healthy philosophy. But love of conquest and thirst for riches had more to do with the ruin of Rome than subtle, sophistical Greek philosophy. "Poverty, mother of heroes," had long disappeared from the City of the Seven Hills before Carneade arrived; and "Opulence, that avenges the vanquished world," was the fatal mistress leading Romans to their destruction.

Carneade was noted for a negligence of person which this bust represents. The head, for example, is very rough and unkempt; the expression of the face is cool and indifferent, but there is a keen outlook in the eyes, and the mouth has a cunning, self-satisfied curve. The head is round and smooth in form, so is the face. The impression the bust gives you is of an acute reasoner, a selfish character, and an unbelieving man.

How different is the head of Aristotle, No. 47, 1st avenue, which was found in the Torlonia scavi at Porto d'Anzio, where the great imperial villa stood, and where the Vatican Apollo of the Belvedere was found, also the Borghese Gladiator of the Louvre! This bust is an excellent study of good modelling. The head is that of a serious thinker, a fine moralist; it is high, well built up, with broad brow; the hair hangs over the round full temples. The face is square, energetic, and thoughtful; it has broad, clear planes of surface, but is not round nor smooth. The eyes are not large, but they are deep set; the upper eyelid is arched, and the under one sinks in; they are far-seeing eyes, and have an eagle-piercing look. The nose is large, well-formed, and indicative of energy. The mouth is firm, but the full upper lip makes the smile benevolent. The chin comes forward with an upward curve, and adds to the kindly expression of the mouth; the vigorous jaws contribute great force and strength to the countenance. It is a handsome face; the features and expression indicate the highest, best nature. It is good to look at and study such a bust, which is a fitting representation of that great man who sought wisdom and found her, who saw the substance through the form; indeed it is a fine contrast to that of Carneade, the subtle reasoner who strove to destroy all faith, while Aristotle did his best to raise human character and human intellect to its highest elevation.

Volumes might and undoubtedly will be written in the future on this marvellous collection of sculpture in the Roman Lungara. The Hall of Athletes, for example, should have an elaborate study. We see there figures of the great hieronica as well as the ordinary professional

athlete; and the whole history of Isthmia, Nemea, Olympia, and Pythia stands in that hall illustrated with the finest models. The prePhidian collection also will furnish material for many studies; and the imperial series of portrait-busts will be of infinite service to the student of Imperial Rome;-an Ampère would make it glowing with life. This imperial series, by the way, has not its equal in any museum. It has been formed with the most scrupulous exactitude, and each bust made more certain by comparison with the Roman numismatica. There are one hundred and two imperial portraits, in which the Cæsars are represented as hereditary princes as well as emperors; and with them are busts of the famous imperial women; also five of distinguished personages contemporary with the first and second triumvirate Caius Marius, and Sylla, Pompey, Lepidus, and Brutus.

This collection of imperial busts is a Suetonius in marble, in the matter of frank expression of character, and much more complete than that imperial chronicler; for in it is the whole range of Cæsars, from Caius Julius to Maxentius and his son Romulus, who ended old heathen Rome with the name that founded it. There they stand with tell-tale faces that disclose the characters created by the dangerous possession of despotic power. Two Nero heads, for example-Nos. 434, 435-are very curious, and suggestive of that strange emperor's character. One is as the hereditary prince, the other as emperor. The handsome boy-face is even more cruel than the imperial portrait. The eyes have a furtive, cunning watchfulness in them, and remind us of what his biographers tell us that he was first cruel from fear. mouth is like his grandmother's and mother's, the two Agrippinas, but stronger, and inexpressibly haughty. The hair has a barbarian thickness; it rises up around the temples and forehead, as on the head of a young bull. The imperial bust looks more sensual and ferocious, but has an increased cunning in the expression. It recalls, Tacitus's description of this man, formed by nature to "veil hatred with caresses."

His

The

This collection of imperial portraits, by itself, would be a most valuable possession: added to the adjoining galleries it completes, with sumptuous perfection, the richness and variety of the Museum. whole gallery is to the students of mythology, iconography, and Greek sculptural art, as valuable as a choice library of precious codici to the historical scholar. Time, patience, learning, exceptional advantages of nature and wealth,-only these qualities combined could have assembled together such a rare collection as is contained in the solitary Roman Lungara halls. Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine.

THE COMÉDIE FRANÇAISE.1

LADIES and GENTLEMEN,-In addressing a public before whom I have the honour to appear for the first time, I ought to speak of the emotion I feel, and, at the same time, solicit your indulgence. Such is the usual exordium of lecturers when making their début. But the truth is, I am not moved in any way, and do not feel the shadow of a fear. It is your fault if I express this unwonted confidence, and you have only yourselves to thank for it. The fact is that, ever since I landed on the hospitable shores of England, I have met with so much courtesy, kindness, and attention-a cordiality so frank and so obligingthat, in speaking to you, I feel as if I were addressing my friends at home rather than my hosts abroad. Hence I do not think it necessary to solicit an indulgence which I feel sure you have already granted to me. I am about to speak to you of the Comédie Française and its organisation, and particularly the latter point, for it is the organisation of that institution which constitutes its power and greatness. It is, in fact, owing to that organisation that it is able to-day to lay before your eyes the imposing and marvellous sight it offers to the world.

The Comédie Française took possession of the Gaiety Theatre a few weeks ago, and during this lapse of time a fresh bill has been issued every day, and every night a series of new plays submitted to your judgment. This ever-changing variety will continue to the end of its stay in London. The Comédie Française intends to remain here for forty-five days, and its programme comprises forty-three plays. These forty-three pieces constitute only a small portion of its répertoire. Thus, although four or five of the dramatic masterpieces of Corneille are constantly played in Paris, only one, the Menteur, a comedy, has been selected for representation here; Racine also is represented by only one tragedy; from Molière three or four comedies have been chosen, while Regnard and Beaumarchais supply but one work eachthe Joueur and the Barbier de Séville. The names of Lesage and Marivaux are altogether absent. Coming lower down, Scribe, who contributed so much to the Comédie Française, is likewise absent; and as to the contemporary dramatic authors, we shall see with regret what an amount of dramatic treasure the Comédie Française has been obliged to leave aside.

The répertoire courant-that is to say, the pieces which the company can play at any moment, all the parts being known beforehand, without any other preparation than one of those summary rehearsals known in the language of the French green-room as raccords-its répertoire courant includes about one hundred plays, out of which the manager

'An address delivered at the Gaiety Theatre; afterwards written down by M. Sarcey and translated by M. Barbier for The Nineteenth Century.

can choose as he likes. A single order to the storekeeper, a notice posted up in the green-room, is all that is required: the same night the scenery is ready, all appurtenances in order, and the actors at their posts.

Need I tell you that all the plays are acted with remarkable ensemble? You have been able during the past fortnight to ascertain this fact by your own experience; and I find by your papers that it is precisely the perfection of that ensemble which has most deeply struck the theatrical critics of the English press. At the Comédie Française the most insignificant parts are filled up, if not by fist-class actors, at least by persons who have already studied long and know their business. In plays like Hernani and Mademoiselle de Belle-Isle, for instance, in which, as you may have seen, there are a certain number of very secondary personages, some of whom have but a few words to utter, while others say nothing at all, these obscure parts, instead of being given up to common supernumeraries engaged for the night, are filled either by young actors who have their trial to go through, or by old actors who have no other talent but their perfect knowledge of the boards-in short, by actors who form part of the company, and who are thoroughly acquainted with the traditions and manners of the house.

Such a numerous and homogeneous company in possession of such a vast répertoire is a most singular phenomenon, and one well worthy of arousing your astonishment. There are, no doubt, in all the great towns of Europe, and especially in London, theatrical companies in which some great actor may be found, like your Henry Irving, some striking individuality perhaps superior to the most eminent actors of the Comédie Française. But this is an exception, a kind of accidental occurrence. Supposing you brought together for a season two or three great actors, they would no doubt offer very attractive entertainments, but they could not be compared with the Comédie Française, which possess a répertoire, and which, to use the consecrated expression, joue d'ensemble.

So very true is this fact, ladies and gentlemen, that eminent Englishmen have often proposed to copy the organisation of the Comédie Française, and to establish a similar institution in London, formed on the same model and worked according to the sames rules. This idea is no doubt an enticing one: unfortunately it is next to impossible to realise it. If you wish to transplant an old tree, you must, in order to keep it alive, transport along with it the mass of earth in which the roots are embedded: both must be transplanted together and at the same time. In the same way, when it is sought to transport into one country some old institution which has been born and grown, and become great and strong, in some other country, it is necessary to transport along with it the manners and customs from which it derives its life, and all the traditions which create, as it were, a special atmosphere around it, and in the midst of which it can alone be grown. This process is an impracticable one. There is, besides, one element over which we have no command and that is time.

Certain nations have tried to borrow from you, and to acclimatise in their own country, the parliamentary form of government which it was your glory to be the first to establish in Europe. Nothing was easier than to copy your constitution, to regulate, according to the model furnished by yourselves, the respective rights and duties of the different powers of the State towards one another. But it was not possible to import at the same time the long experience and practice you have had of that constitution, the manners and traditions which form around it a rich soil in which its roots are so firmly and deeply planted-the inviolable respect of the Crown for the rights of Parliament, and the feelings of deference and love for the Crown-the loyalty, in a word— which distinguish the English people. Certain other nations may have assumed all the apparatus, all the outward forms of parliamentary government, but they have lacked the guiding spirit which should animate it, the traditions which support it.

Tradition alone constitutes the power of the Comédie Française. In order, therefore, thoroughly to understand this ancient institution, it is necessary not so much to study the rules by which it is at present governed, as the whole of the customs and traditions from which it has gradually risen. The cause of its glory can be fully understood only by searching its past history and studying it from its very beginnings.

II.

A child, on his birth, brings into the world a certain number of natural dispositions, which, on being developed later by education, will contribute to give the man a character of his own, and tend to form his individuality. Just in the same way there stand, at the origin cf all old institutions, one or two initiative facts which gave them a distinctive character, and which regulated their ulterior development. It is necessary to find out and bear these facts in mind, for they are the key to the whole history of an institution.

Two such facts stand at the origin of the Comédie Française. Both contributed to give it a certain shape and to lead it in a certain direction; the influence of both has acted through centuries, and is still felt to-day.

What are these primordial facts?

Any of you who visited the Paris Exhibition last year may have seen, in the room devoted to the history of the stage, an extremely curious old engraving. It represents a dozen or so actors, wearing their costumes, standing round a table lit up by a candle. He who appears to be the chief is counting out money and dividing it into parts. The engraving is entitled Après la représentation.

Such was, in fact, what used to take place. Every night, after the performance, all who belonged to the company, from the manager down to the lowest supernumerary, met together to reckon up the receipts. The total sum was then divided into parts-twelve parts was the number, if I remember right. One actor would receive the