in triumph, and treated to an interminable serenade, whose performers,
according to the deposition of our friend, M. Second, relieved each
other every two hours, and kept up their harmony for a whole day and
night. Roger, of the Opera Comique, is another singer whose proper place
is at the Grand Opera, he is young, handsome, a good actor, and since
Duprez' decline, the best French tenor extant.

At Paris theatres, and especially at the opera, the next best thing to
having a good company is to have a good _claque_. Such, at least, is the
theory of the actors and managers of the present day. The more rusty the
tenor, the more wrinkled the prima donna, the greater the need of an
army of iron-fisted, brazen-visaged hirelings to get artificial
applause, and inoculate the public with their factitious enthusiasm. In
this latter respect they now rarely succeed. The device is stale, the
trick detected, and yet the practice is maintained. It takes in no one.
Even raw provincials and newly imported foreigners are up to the
stratagem before they have been a week in Paris. The press inveighs
against it; audiences, far from being duped, often remain silent when
most pleased, lest they should be confounded with the _claqueurs_. But
no manager dares to strike the first blow at this troublesome abuse.
There is a regular contractor for the opera _claque_, receiving so much
a month from each actor. Duprez has always refused to submit to this
extortion, but he is, or was, the only exception to the rule. The
contractor has an organised regiment under his orders, mustering sixty
strong. Every opera night, before the opening of the doors, they
assemble at a low coffee-house in the Rue Favart, to receive his orders
for the evening, and thence follow him to the theatre, into which they
are admitted through a private entrance. Some of them are paid for
applauding--these are the chiefs, the veteran clappers; others applaud
for a free admission, whilst a third class are content to do their best