er with
some boon companions in rather doubtful female society. In the middle
of his drinking-song the palace is blown up. There is a loud crash; the
stage grows dark; hall, supper-table, and revellers all disappear; and
the curtain comes down slowly on moonlight shining over some ruins, and
the open country beyond. A splendid climax! Again, the third act of
Robert le Diable is magnificently dramatic. Bertram, the Evil One in
person, leads Robert to a deserted convent whose nuns, having broken
the most important of their vows, have all been put to death. The
curtain goes up on the dim cloisters of the convent, the
cloister-garth, visible through the Gothic arches of the arcade, bathed
in bright moonlight beyond. Bertram begins his incantations, recalling
the erring nuns from the dead. Very slowly the tombs in the cloister
open, and dim grey figures, barely visible in the darkness, creep
silently out from the graves. Bertram waves his arms over the
cloister-garth, and there, too, the tombs gape apart, and more shadowy
spectres emerge. Soon the stage is full of these faint grey spectral
forms. Bertram lifts his arms. The wicked nuns throw off their grey
wrappers, and appear glittering in scarlet and gold; the stage blazes
with light, and the ballet, the famous "Pas de Fascination," begins.
When really well done, this scene is tremendously impressive.

I once heard in Paris, Levasseur, the French counterpart of our own
Corney Grain, giving a skit on Robert le Diable, illustrating various
stage conventions. Levasseur, seated at his piano, and keeping up an
incessant ripple of melody, talked something like this, in French, of
course:--

"The stage represents Isabelle's bedroom. As is usual with stage
bedrooms, Isabelle's bower is about the size of an average cathedral.
It is very sparsely furnished, but near the footlights is a large gilt
couch, on which Isabelle is lying fast asleep. Robert enters on tip-toe
very very gently, so as not to disturb his beloved, and sings in a
voice that you could hear two miles off, 'Isa-belle!' dropping a full
octave on the last note. Isabelle half awakes, and murmurs, 'I do
believe I heard something. I feel so nervous!' Robert advances a yard,
and sings again, if anything rather louder, 'Isa-belle!' Isabelle says:
'Really, my nerves do play me such tricks! I can't help fancying that
there is some one in the room, and I am so terribly afraid of burglars.
Perhaps it is only a mouse.' Robert