which that boy's legend may give witness, led me now here now therewhen the mixture of fable and history, mythology and religion, threatened to bewilder me, I fled eagerly to those eastern regions-I immersed myself in the first book of Moses, and among the scattered tribes of herdsmen found myself at once in the greatest solitude and the greatest society.

These family scenes, before they were to lose themselves in a history of the Israelitish people, show now in conclusion a shape with which the hopes and imaginations, more particularly of the young, may most pleasantly delight themselves. Joseph, the child of the most passionate wedded love-he appears to us tranquil and clear, and foretells to himself the advantages which are to raise him above his family. Cast by his brothers into misfortune, he remains constant and upright in slavery, resists the most dangerous temptations, frees himself by prophecy, and is raised for his services to high honours. He first shows himself helpful and useful to a great kingdom, and then to his own kin. He resembles his ancestor Abraham in tranquillity and greatness, his grandfather Isaac in stillness and devotion. He exercises on a large scale the spirit - of traffic inherited from his father. It is no longer herds gained for one's-self from a father-in-law-itis peoples, with all their professions, which he knows how to purchase for a king. Most graceful is this natural story, only it seems too short, and one feels called to expand it into details.

Such an expansion of the characters and events presented only in outline in the Bible, was no longer strange to the Germans. The persons of the - Oldand New Testaments had received -through Klopstock a tender and sympathetic kind of existence, which admirably suited the boy as well as many of his contemporaries. Of the labours of Bodmer in this kind, little or nothing reached him; but Daniel in the Lion's Den, by Moser, made a strong impression on the young heart. In this, a right-minded man of business and of the Court passes through many afflictions to high honours; and his piety, through which he was threatened to be destroyed, becomes from first to last his shield and sword. I had already long wished to work out the history of Joseph. But I could not make any thing satisfactory of the

form of the composition, particularly as no kind of metre was familiar to me which would have suited such a work. But now I thought the treatment of it in prose would be very proper, and devoted myself with all my strength to the execution. I now tried to distinguish and paint the characters, and, by the insertion of incidents and episodes, to make the old simple history a new and complete work. I did not consider, what indeed cannot be considered by the young, that for this purpose a substance is required, and this can arise in us only by the intimations of experience. In fine, I represented to myself all the incidents even to the smallest detail, and repeated them to myself most accurately, one after another.

My undertaking was much facilitated by a circumstance which threatened to make this work and my authorship in general very voluminous. A young man of great capacity, but who had become imbecile by over-exertion and self-conceit, lived as a ward in my father's house, mixed quietly with the family, and, if let go on in his usual way, was contented and pleasant. He had written out his notes of the lectures at the university very carefully, and had attained a rapid and legible hand. He employed himself in writing more willingly than in any thing else, and was gratified if something was given him to copy. But he was still more pleased if any one dictated to him, because he then felt himself carried back to his happy academical years. My father, who did not write a ready hand, and whose German character was small and trembling, desired nothing better; and he was therefore accustomed, in carrying on either his own business or that of others, to dictate for some hours daily to this young man. found it no less convenient, during the intervals of this employment, to see fixed on paper, by another's hand, all that flew swiftly through my head, and my powers of feeling and of imitation strengthened from the facility with which their products were caught and preserved.

I

I had not as yet attempted any work so great as that Biblical prose epic poem. There was now a tolerably peaceful time, and nothing called back my imagination from Palestine and Egypt. Thus my manuscript flowed forth day after day, while the poem, which I repeated to myself as it were into the air, lay length after length upon the paper, and only a few pages now and then required to be

written over.

When the work was done, for to my own astonishment it was really accomplished, I reflected that I had many poems by me from former years, which even now did not seem to me worthless, and which, if written out in the same size with Joseph, would make a very handsome quarto, and might have the title of Miscellaneous Poems. This gave me great pleasure, as I had thus an opportunity of imitating in private well known and celebrated authors. I had composed a good number of so-called Anacreontic poems, which, on account of the convenience of the measure and the easiness of the subject, were very readily produced. But these I could not well make use of, because they had no rhymes, and I wished above all things to do what would gratify my father. Therefore the Spiritual Odes seemed here quite suitable, having been composed with much zeal in imitation of the Last Judgment of Elias Schlegel. One written in honour of the Descent of Christ into Hell, received much applause from my parents and friends, and had the fortune to please me myself for some years afterwards. The so-called texts of the Sunday music for the churches, which were to be had every where in print, I studied diligently. They were in truth very weak, and I could well venture to believe that mine, of which I had composed many in the prescribed manner, deserved as well to be set to music, and executed for the edification of the congregation. More than a year before I had written out these with my own hand, and many like them, because in favour of this private practice I was released from the copies of the writing-master. All was now corrected and brought into good order, and little persuasion was required to have all neatly copied by the young man who was so fond of writing. I hastened with them to the bookbinder, and, when very soon after, I presented the handsome volume to my father, he exhorted me, with much satisfaction, to give him every year a similar quarto, which he did with the greater confidence because I had ac

complished the whole only in my hours of recreation.

Another circumstance also increas. ed my inclination to these theological, or rather Biblical studies. The senior of the clergy, John Philip Fresenius, a mild man, of handsome and pleasing appearance, who was respected by his congregation and by the whole city as an exemplary minister and good preacher, but who, because he had stood forth against the Moravians, was not in esteem with the peculiarly devout; while, on the contrary, he had rendered himself famous, and almost sacred among the multitude, by the conversion of a free-thinking general who had been mortally wounded;this man died, and his successor Plitt, alarge handsome dignified person, who had brought from his professorial chair at Marburg the gift rather of instructing than of edifying, announced immediately a kind of religious course, in which his sermons were to be delivered with a certain methodical connexion. Even before, as I was obliged to go to church, I had noticed the distribution of the subject, and could occasionally display my talents in a tolerably complete recitation of the sermon. But now, as much was said in the congregation for and against the new senior, and many had no great confidence in his announced didactic sermons, I undertook to write them down more carefully. I succeeded in this the better, from having already made some smaller attempts in a seat very convenient for hearing, and yet concealed from view. I was very at tentive and alert; the moment he had said Amen I hurried from the church, and employed a couple of hours in hastily dictating what I retained on paper and in my memory, so that it was still before dinner when I was able to present my father with the written sermon. My father was very proud of this achievement, and the good friend of the family, who came in then to dinner, had his share of the pleasure. He was at all events very kindly disposed to wards me, because I had so made his Messiah my own, that in my frequent visits to him to get impressions of seals for my collection of coats-of-arms, I used to repeat long passages to him till the tears stood in his eyes.

ONE evening-if I remember rightly, it was at the end of 1831-there was a great crowd at the Opera, for Taglioni was to dance. The spectators had crowded themselves on the steps of the orchestra, and the extra stools furnished for the friends of the conductor, formed a sort of barricade which I found it difficult to surmount, amidst cries of "Hush, hush, silence, silence!" from the enthusiastic amateurs whom I disturbed. For when Taglioni dances, one not only gazes but listens. It seems as if the eye were not sufficient to admire with. I found myself in an awkward position, forced to stand amidst a group of my friends whom I met there by appointment, and who were too much crowded to make room for me, when a young man rose and offered me his seat, which of course I declined, not wishing to des prive him of the pleasure of the spec

tacle.

sion of melancholy and despair. Involuntarily I turned in that direction, and I saw that the box was empty.

"He expects somebody who has not come!" I said. "She has deceived him-she is ill-or her father has prevented her and he loves and expects in vain! Poor young man!" And I watched as attentively as he; I pitied him, and would have given the world to see the door of the box opened - but it remained closed the whole night. The ballet was about to end; and while the inferior dancers were performing, conversation as usual proceeded almost aloud. Among other things we talked of Robert le Diable, which was then in rehearsal, and was about to appear in a few days. My friends made all sorts of inquiriesabout the music- the ballets - the situations, &c., and begged very earnestly to attend the last rehearsals. A rehearsal seems so strange and wonderful to those unaccustomed to it! I promised to introduce them, and we all rose up to go away-for the curtain was about to fall and as I found myself near my unknown friend, who remained still motionless in the same place, I expressed my regret that I had accepted his offer, and my gratification if I could do any thing to oblige him in return. "You can do so, quite easily," he replied; just gathered that you are M. Meyerbeer."

66

I have

"I have not the honour""At any rate, you are one of the authors of Robert le Diable?"

"After a sort," I said; "I wrote the words."

"Well, then," he rejoined; "let me be present at the rehearsal tomorrow."

"We are so little prepared as yet, that I can only venture to ask my friends." "That is one reason more for my repeating the request."

"And," I said, "I am delighted you have repeated it on these terms." He shook my hand, and the hour was fixed for the following day.

He was exact to his appointment: we walked for a few minutes about the stage before the rehearsal commenced. He spoke gravely, yet pleasantly and cleverly; but it was easy to perceive that it needed an effort to keep up the conversation, and that he was pre-occupied with other thoughts. Our goddesses of the dance and of song began to arrive one after another. Several times I perceived him tremble, and once his agitation was so great that he had to support himself on the side scenes. I began to suspect he was a rejected lover of one of our Clios or Terpsichores - a suspicion which his extreme handsomeness and his "style" altogether rendered by no means probable; and in reality I was mistaken. He spoke to no onewent near no one-and, moreover, no one knew who he was.

The rehearsal began. I looked for him in the orchestra among the amateurs he was not there; and though the body of the house was somewhat dark, I thought I saw him in the front box which he had gazed on so constantly the night before. I was anxious to make sure of this; and at the end of the rehearsal, after the admirable trio of the fifth act, I ascended to the second tier. Meyerbeer, who had something to say to me, accompanied me. We arrived at the box, of which the door was half open, and saw the unknown with his head resting on his hands. At our approach he turned quickly round and rose up-his pale face was covered with tears! Meyerbeer was overjoyed, and, without saying a word, shook his hand most kindly, as if to thank him. The unknown, trying to conceal his embarrassment, muttered some words of compliment in such a vague and unconnected manner, that we saw he had not listened to the performance; and that for two hours he had been thinking of any thing rather than the music. Meyerbeer whispered to me in despair" The wretch has not heard a note!"

We all three descended the stairs; and, crossing the large and beautiful court which leads to the Rue Grange Bateliere, the unknown bowed to M. Sausseret, who at that time had the letting of the seats.

I went to M. Sausseret "You know that handsome young fellow who has just left me?"

"M. Arthur-Rue du Helder-No. 9. I know nothing more he has engaged a box on the second tier for this winter."

"He was there this moment," I said.

"Then he seems to use it in the morning only, for he never goes near it at night. The box is always empty."

And in fact the whole week the door was never opened the box remained deserted.

The first appearance of Robert was now near, and on such occasions a poor devil of an author is overwhelmed with applications for boxes and tickets. You may imagine what time he has to attend to his play, and to the changes and curtailments that may be required. He has to answer letters and claims that pour in upon him from all quarters, and it is invariably the ladies who are most exacting on such nights. "You were to have got me two boxes, and I have only got one. "You promised me No. 10, next to the General's, and they have sent me No. 15, next to Madame D-, whom I detest, and who casts me into the shade with her diamonds." - A first night is a time when you get into scrapes with your best friends, who, perhaps, overlook it in a few days if your piece "takes," but who nurse their indignation a long time if you are damned; so that you are punished both by them and the public at the same time. Misfortunes never come alone. Well, then, on the morning of the first night of Robert, I had promised a box to some ladies; but the manager took it away from me to give it to a journalist! I complained. He replied, "'Tis for a journalist-you understand?-a journalist who hates you; but who has promised thanks to my politeness in giving him your box to speak favourably of the mu

sic."

It was impossible to resist an argument like this; and the box was given up. But where was I to bestow my fair friends, whose wrath was a much more serious matter to me than that of the journalist? - I luckily remembered my unknown acquaintance, and went to his residence; his room was very simple and unostentatious, particularly for a man who had a box at the Opera.

"Will you give it up to me-you will get me out of an awkward predicament?"

His trouble seemed to increase every moment he could not refuse me; and at last, as if making a great effort to command himself, he said, "I agree, but upon one condition, that you put nobody into that box but men.'

دو

"Impossible, my dear sir, I ask it expressly to accommodate some ladies."

He was silent for a while; "And among those ladies," he said, "is there any one you love?"

"Undoubtedly," I replied.

" Then take the box," he said, "for I leave Paris to-day."

I made a movement expressive of interest and curiosity, and he seemed to divine my thoughts; for he took me by the hand, and said, "You no doubt perceive that certain fond and sad remembrances attach themselves to that box. I can communicate them to no one. Of what use is it to complain when one is miserable and hopeless -and when it is all by his own fault?"

That night the first representation of Robert took place, and my friend Meyerbeer achieved a triumph which resounded all through Europe. Since that time many other events, literary and political,- many other successes, and many failures have occurred. I saw no more of M. Ar thur-I thought of him no more-I had forgotten him.

A night or two ago I found myself once more in the orchestra, at the right side of the Opera. It was not now to see Robert- it was to see the Huguenots five years had passed

away.

"You come late," said one of my friends, a professor of civil law, who has as much "esprit" at night as erudition in the morning.

"And you are very wrong in so doing," added a little man dressed in NO. CCXCV. VOL. XLVII.

"Sold it three months ago-I am rich-I am a widower-I am sixty years old-I have been twenty years married, and thirty years a notary-I think I am entitled to a little enjoyment."

"And he has now been a subscriber to the Opera for eight days," said the professor of civil law.

"Ay, to be sure; I like to laugh; I like comedy, and so I have bought an admission here."

"And why not at the Français ?" "Oh! not half so amusing as hereone sees and hears the most extraordinary things in the world. These gentlemen know every thing-there is not a box of which they do not know the history."

:

"Indeed!" I cried, and mechanically turned towards the box on the second tier, which had so excited my curiosity some years before. What was my amazement! That night it was empty as before; and the only empty one in the whole house!

I was delighted to have a history to tell, and in a few words related all that I have now told you. I was listened to with attention: my friends were lost in conjecture-the professor tried to recall some ancient recollections the little notary smiled maliciously.

"Well, gentlemen," I said to them, "which of you (who know every thing) can unriddle this enigma for us? who can tell us the story of that mysterious box?"

They were all silent, even the professor, who passed his hand over his brow as if to refresh his recollection of some anecdote, and would probably have finished by inventing one appropriate to the occasion, if the notary had given him time.

66

Who will tell you that story? " he exclaimed, with an air of triumph, "who but I?-I know the whole particulars."

"You, M. Baraton?"
"To be sure."

"Go on then-go on," and we all

drew near to listen.

"Go on, M. Baraton."

"Well, then," said the little notary,

2 R