We went in the evening to one of the Theatres to hear an Improvvisatrice. She was a young and pretty girl of seventeen. The subjects had been written by the audience on slips of paper, and put into an urn, to be drawn out as occasion required. She recited three poems. The subject of the first was, the Sacrifice of Iphigenia;—the next, the Cestus of Venus;—and the last, Sappho presents a wreath of flowers to Phaon, was rendered more difficult by supplying her with the final words of each stanza, which she was to fill up with sense and rhymes. The final words, which were given by the audience, were all to end in ore;—some one suggested sartore—as a puzzling word for the conclusion of the last stanza; and if one might judge from the laughter and applause of the audience, for I confess I could not follow her, she brought it in with a very ingenious turn.

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 Upon the whole, it was a wonderful performance; for though I could not catch all she said, one might judge of the merit of such a performance by the effect produced upon the audience. Besides, though words may add a great deal, they are not absolutely necessary to the expression of sentiment; the language of gestures, and features, and tones, is universal, and by the aid of these, it was easy to follow the story of Iphigenia perfectly.

 After the subject of a poem was proposed, she walked about the stage for about ten minutes, and then burst out with all the seeming fervour of inspiration, chanting her stanzas in a recitative tone, accompanied by music.