Come, let all our little band Who for you would break a lance. Here, all around you, lovers stand, Who has filched another's heart, Welcome, Love! oh, pilgrim dear, Young and old, oh, maidens mine, TALIANS are a caffè-frequenting and a theatre-going people. No city is so small that it has not its theatre, and no town so insignificant as to be without its caffè. As the lion has its jackal, the shark its pilot-fish, the crab its pinna, so the theatre is sure to have its one caffè at least stuck to it, and living upon it. The caffè is the social exchange of the country towns. There every evening may be seen groups of the middle classes gathered about little marble-topped tables, interchanging small talk in loud voices, playing dominoes, smoking, sipping coffee or bibite, and spelling out the little miserable sheets which are the apologies of the government for newspapers, and which contain nothing you wish to know and much you wish not to know. The waiters are always crying out " Vengo, vengo subito," and thrusting with a clash metal trays, covered with cups and glasses, on to marble tables. The visitors are as constantly crying out for the "bottega" (for so the waiter is euphuistically called), and rapping on the tinkling glasses to attract his attention. In Rome, the number of caffès is legion; no street is without them; and each of these has its special class of regular customers. There is the Caffè dei Scacchi, where chess-players go and discuss this game theoretically and practically; the Caffè of the Liberali, who show their liberal views principally by going there and speaking sotto voce; the Caffè of the Codini, where queues and tricornered black hats gather, and speak in louder and more assured tones; the Caffè Nazzari, where strangers meet and pay a third more than is paid elsewhere, simply because they are strangers; and the Caffè Greco, where artists meet and discuss subjects of art, pictures and statues, read the French newspapers and Galignani, and fill the air of the crowded little rooms with tobacco-smoke. There you may see every night representatives of art from all parts of the world, in all kinds of hats, from the conical black felt, with its velvet-ribbon, to the stiff French stove-pipe; and in every variety of coat, from the Polish and German nondescript, all befrogged and tagged, to the shabby American dress-coat, with crumpled tails; and with every cut of hair and beard, from that of Peter the Hermit, unkempt and uncut, to the moustache and pointed beard of Anthony Vandyck. Peeping in there, one is sometimes tempted to consider philosophically what innate connection there is between genius for art, and long uncombed hair, and untidy beards. This question I have never answered satisfactorily to myself, and I recommend the subject to some German friend, who will go to the root of the matter. The caffè and theatre are to the mass of Italians of the present day what the logge were to their ancestors in the great days of Tuscany. In the public logge the people met and discussed their affairs as on a social or political exchange. But times have changed, and the caffè has usurped the place of those magnificent old logge, which still form so striking a feature of many of the Italian cities. The people who thronged under the noble arches of Orgagna's "Loggia dei Lanzi," at Florence, now meet at Doney's, and have surrendered the place to the Perseus of Cellini, the Rape of the Sabines by Giovanni di Bologna, and other aged companions in marble and bronze, So, too, at Siena, opposite to the "Casino Nobile," whose loggia, rich with carving and statues, forms one of the most imposing features of that curious mediaval city, stands the Caffe Greco of to-day, and disputes precedence with it successfully. In like manner, the loge at the theatre has taken the place of the private loggia which was once attached to every noble's palace, and beneath whose shade the Signoria received their friends in summer and transacted their business. Some of these logge were celebrated for their social amusements and for the sharpness of their epigrams, scandal, and satire. At some, gambling was carried on to such excess that the government at last was forced to interfere and prohibit the practice. Others again, as the "Loggia degli Agolanti,” achieved a reputation for match-making, so that it was said of it, "Si potea star sicuro di non far casaccia lì". -one may be sure of not making a bad match there. Such was the number of happy marriages there arranged that the site of the house received at last the name of the "Canto del Parentado "—the marriage corner. At the "Loggia dei Rucellai,” on the contrary, the leading spirits of the age met to discuss questions of politics and philosophy. There, too, were hatched dangerous plots against the state. The master mind of all who frequented the gardens and Loggia dei Rucellai was Niccolò Macchiavelli, who in the shadow of his own private convic tions, unknown then as now, discussed in the coterie there assembled the principles which have given so sinister a character to his name. Here also might be seen Jacopo Pitti the senator, and author of the "Istoria Fiorentina," together with his fellow-historian and senator Filippo de' Nerli, to whom Macchiavelli dedicated his lines on Opportunity, and to whose family Dante alludes in these lines: “E vidi quel de' Nerli e quel del Vecchio E le sue donne al fuso ed al pennecchio." This garden still exists under the name of the Orti Orcellari, though the voices of the past are heard there no more. And should any wandering ghost by chance revisit his old haunts, he would surely be scared away by the shrill whistle of the locomotive as it rattles through them on its way from Florence to Pistoia. But if those famous assemblies no longer meet at the logge to talk scandal, make visits, arrange matches, and discuss politics, modern society in Rome meets for similar purposes in the loge of the theatre. And here the various classes are distinguished and separated by different theatres, as well as different tiers in the same theatre. To the Italians, not only "all the world's a stage," but every stage is a world. For high and low, rich and poor, prince and peasant, there is a theatre; and no one need deprive himself of this amusement so long as he has two baiocchi in his pocket. First, comes the Apollo, or Tor di Nona Theatre, which is exclusively devoted to the opera, and the masked balls of Carnivals; then follow the Valle and Aliberti, where prose and music alternate, and the drama is played by an excellent company; the Argentina, which is a degree lower, and dedicated to comedy, farce, and a second-rate opera; the Capranica, where melodrama raves, and jugglery throws its highest balls; and the little Metastasio, where tragedy and comedy are performed, sometimes by a French, and sometimes by an Italian company. Besides these, are theatres of a lower grade for the people the Vallino, where one can hear quite tolerable acting, in a small, but clean house, for five baiocchi, and where actors make their début in Rome, and train for the higher boards; the Emiliano in the Piazza Navona, where puppets perform; and last, and lowest of all, the Fico, which is frequented solely by the lowest classes. The prices of a seat vary very much, and depend not only on the theatre but on the season. The amusement is, however, cheap ;— even at the largest and most fashionable, a numbered seat in the pit only costs three pauls (thirty cents), and a box, holding four or five persons comfortably, may be ordinarily obtained for two or three scudi the night, or for from fifty to sixty scudi the season. The boxes in all the theatres are completely separated from each other by partitions from floor to ceiling, and must be taken entire, no single seats being sold in them, as in the French and American theatres, where the tiers are open. The Apollo, or, as it is commonly called, the Tor di Nona, is the most fashionable theatre in Rome, and here alone, of all the Roman theatres, full dress is required. The second tier of boxes, called the ordine nobile, is occupied exclusively by the nobility, ambassadors, and ministers, who have the right of choice, according to their rank, and precedency of title and appointment. The distribution of boxes among them is, it may well be imagined, anything but easy, and the impresario is often put to his wits' end to satisfy the demands of all. As the practice is not to vary the opera every evening, but to give only a fixed number of operas during the season, and to repeat the same for many consecutive nights, a box every night is not generally desired by any one, and it is the custom to take only a half or quarter box. By this is intended, however, not a portion of a box every night, but a whole box for one or two nights out of every four. By this arrangement, quarter boxes may be taken at several theatres for the same price that a whole box would cost at one, and the amusement is in this way varied. The first and third nights are generally taken by the nobility, and for these there is a great struggle among those who are not originally entitled to them, great diplomacy being used to obtain them, and heart-burnings often following want of success. Not only the ordine nobile is abonné for the season, but also the principal boxes in the other tiers, and many of the seats in the pit. When the company is good, and the operas promised are favourites, the best boxes and seats are all taken before the season commences. The abonnes of the pit are young men about town-artists, shopkeepers, and generally any single person, from the guardia nobile to the barber. No lady sits in the pit or parquet, and if one be seen there she is at once recognized as a stranger, not aware of the etiquette of a Roman theatre. She will, however, be always treated with courtesy, and will never imagine from the bearing of the people towards her that she is out of place. Women of the lower classes in Rome are constantly seen there. The great mass, however, are men, who in the intervals between the acts are levelling with whitegloved hands the opera-glasses they have hired at the door at all the boxes from floor to ceiling. During the performance they have a vile custom of humming audibly the airs which are sung on the stage, keeping about a note ahead of the singer, as if they were |