understood by the kings and emperors, with whom he carried on negotiations upon a footing of perfect equality.  It was a great treat to see him seated in his box at San Carlo, opposite that of the King of Naples, on the evening of a new opera; with grave and impartial aspect, now turning his face to the actors, then to the audience.  If a singer went wrong, Barbaja was the first to crush him with a severity worthy of Brutus.  His ’Can de Dio!’ was shouted out in a voice that made the theatre shake and the poor actor tremble.  If, on the other hand, the public disapproved without reason, Barbaja would start up in his box and address the audience. ‘Figli d’una racca!’ ’Will you hold your tongues?  You don’t deserve good singers.’  If by chance the King himself omitted to applaud at the right time, Barbaja would shrug his shoulders and go grumbling out of his box.

“With all his peculiarities, he it was who formed and brought forward Lablache, Tamburini, Rubini, Donzelli, Colbran, Pasta, Fodor, Donizetti, Bellini, and the great Rossini himself, whose masterpieces were composed for Barbaja.  It is impossible to form an idea of the amount of entreaties, stratagems, and even violence, expended by the impresario to make Rossini work.  I will give an example of it, which is highly characteristic both of the manager and of the greatest and happiest, but most insouciant and idle, musical genius that ever drew breath under the bright sky of Italy.”

We are sorry to tantalize our readers, but we have not space for the story that follows.  It relates to the opera of Othello, which was composed by Rossini in an incredibly short time, whilst a prisoner in an apartment of Barbaja’s house.  For nearly six months had the composer been living vith the manager, entertaining his friends at his well-spread table, drinking his choicest wines, and occupying his best rooms—­all this under promise of producing a new opera within the half-year, a promise which he showed little disposition to fulfil.  Barbaja was in a fever of anxiety, and finding remonstrance unavailing, had recourse to stratagem.  One morning, when Rossini was about to start on a party of pleasure, he found his doors secured outside; and, on putting his head out of the window, was informed by Barbaja that he must remain captive until his ransom was paid.  The ransom, of course, was the opera.

Rossini subsequently revenges himself on his tyrant in a very piquant manner; and, finally, the morning after Othello has been performed with triumphant success, he starts for Bologna, taking with him, as travelling companion, the prima donna of the San Carlo theatre, Signora Colbran, whom he had privately married.  All this is related very amusingly by M. Dumas, but at too great length for our limits.