racters have distinguished themselves in the ranks of that army. Judging from the conduct of a young field-officer, whom I saw wounded in the neck, at the battle of Moscow, that army possesses officers as remarkable for elevation of mind, as for military merit. I have found them, in general, unaffected in their manners, natural and profound in their way of thinking, and free from all ostentation. This was not the case in 1750. There has, then, taken place, an important change in the inhabitants of Italy. This change has not yet had time to affect the arts. The provinces of the ancient kingdom of Italy have not yet enjoyed any of those long intervals of repose, which lead nations to seek for a variety in their sensations from the fine arts. I have been well pleased to observe, of late years, in Lombardy, a circumstance which is not equally agreeable to all my countrymen. I mean a little aversion for France. Alfieri laid the foundation of this sentiment, and it has been strengthened by the twenty or thirty millions which the kingdom of Italy paid every year to the French empire. An ardent young man, just entering upon his career, and eager to distinguish himself, is checked by the admiration he cannot help feeling to be due to those who have obtained the first honours from the hands of victory before him. If the Italians admired us more, they would resemble us less in our brilliant qualities. I should not be greatly surprised, if they were now to become aware that there is no true greatness, in the arts, without originality; no national greatness, without an English constitution. Perhaps I may yet live to see the Mandragore of Machiavel, the Commedie dell' Arte, and the operas of Pergolese, revived in Italy. The Italians will be sensible, sooner or later, that these are what constitute their glory, and foreigners will esteem them the more for it. For my own part, I confess I was quite disappointed, on going one day to the theatre at Venice, to find them perform A ing Zaïre. The whole audience, down to the very corporal at the door, were in tears, and the actors possessed considerable merit. But when I want to see Zaïre, I go to the Theatre Français, at Paris. I was much more gratified with seeing, the next day, the Ajo nel Imbarazzo, a comedy written by a native of Rome, and played in superior style by a fat actor, who reminded me, immediately, of Ifflaud of Berlin, and of Molé, in the serio-comic parts which he took towards the close of his career. This fat actor appeared to me worthy to be one of the triumvirate. But I sought in vain in Venice for the plays of Gozzi, and the Commedia dell' Arte; instead of these, they performed, almost every day, translations from the French theatre. The day before yesterday I escaped from the dullness of the Jealous Wife, to divert myself with Punch, in the Piazza di S. Marco. He has really afforded me more amusement than I have found in any theatre where music is not per |