To witness what these metamorphosed little creatures perform, is really to witness a miracle.  Every thing they do is in consonance with a well-devised and well-executed plot.  The whole is in harmony.  They perform characters of different classes; sometimes allegorical, as praeternatural beings—­sometimes real, as rustics at one moment, and courtiers at another—­but whether as fairies, or attendants upon goddesses—­and whether the dance be formal or frolicksome—­whether in groups of many, or in a pas de deux, or pas seul—­they perform with surprising accuracy and effect.  The principal performer, who had really been the little match girl above described, and who might have just turned her sixteenth year—­would not have disgraced the boards of the Paris opera—­at a moment, even, when Albert and Bigotini were engaged upon them.  I never witnessed any thing more brilliant and more perfect than she was in all her evolutions and pirouettes.  Nor are the lads behind hand in mettle and vigorous movement.  One boy, about fourteen, almost divided the plaudits of the house with the fair nymph just mentioned—­who, during the evening, had equally shone as a goddess, a queen, a fairy, and a columbine.  The emperor of Austria, who is an excellent good man—­and has really the moral welfare of his people at heart—­was at first a little fearful about the effect of this early metamorphosis of his subjects into actors and actresses; but he learnt, upon careful enquiry, that these children, when placed out in the world—­as they generally are before seventeen, unless they absolutely prefer the profession in which they have been engaged—­generally turn out to be worthy and good members of society.  Their salaries are fixed and moderate, and thus superfluous wealth does not lead them into temptation.

On the conclusion of the preceding piece, the stage was entirely filled by the whole juvenile Corps Dramatique—­perhaps amounting to about one hundred and twenty in number.  They were divided into classes, according to size, dress, and talent.  After a succession of rapid evolutions, the whole group moved gently to the sound of soft music, while masses of purple tinted clouds descended, and alighted about them.  Some were received into the clouds—­which were then lifted up—­and displayed groups of the smallest children upon their very summits, united by wreaths of roses; while the larger children remained below.  The entire front of the stage, up to the very top, was occupied by the most extraordinary and most imposing sight I ever beheld—­and as the clouds carried the whole of the children upwards, the curtain fell, and the piece concluded.  On its conclusion, the audience were in a perfect frenzy of applause, and demanded the author to come forward and receive the meed of their admiration.  He quickly obeyed their summons—­and I was surprised, when I saw him, at the youthfulness of his appearance, the homeliness of his dress, and the simplicity of his manners.  He thrice bowed to the audience, laying his hand the same number of times upon his heart.  I am quite sure that, if he were to come to London, and institute the same kind of exhibition, he would entirely fill Drury Lane or Covent Garden—­as I saw the Schauspielhause filled—­with parents and children from top to bottom.