and Inchbalds were paid by the net receipts
of the third, ninth, and twentieth nights, as
might be agreed on between them and the
manager; at the present time an author is
paid either by a sum of money at once, or by
an amount spread over a certain number of
nights; and in all cases the power of ceasing
to present the play is in the hands of the
management. If the sum be three hundred
pounds, spread over thirty nights, should the
run be so long, it is clear that the theatre
must produce ten pounds a night above its
usual receipts, in order to secure the author
his payment. But in Paris the case was
different. The manager and the actors had
nothing to do with the price of the play, or
the number of nights it might run. A rescript
of the king in 1757 transferred the entire
direction of the Theatre to the First Gentlemen
of the Chamber. They were to legislate
as well as govern; and, in a short time, a
code of laws was published by which the
interests, rights, and duties, of all parties were
clearly defined.

A play, in five acts, was paid every night
ninth part of the clear receipts; in three
acts, a twelfth; and in one act, an eighteenth.
The clear receipts were the amount in the
theatre, exclusive of one fourth which went
to the poor and the hospitals, the nightly
expenses of the house, and the payment of such
supernumeraries—soldiers, citizens, nobles,
and others—as were required in the drama.

If, however, it happened that any two nights
consecutively, or any three nights in the
course of its run, the clear receipts fell below
twelve hundred francs, the property in the
piece escheated to the company.

But here there seems a great oversight in
the First Gentlemen of the Chamber. There
was no check-taker appointed to see what the
receipts were; and differences must often
have arisen from the want of an officer of the
kind. In the case of our friend the Sieur
Lonvay, there arose a tremendous conflict
between the accounts. The comedians sent
in a bill, making so many deductions for
ordinary and extraordinary expenses, inclusive
of gilded Lacedaemonian shields, that the
unhappy author, on the first four nights' balance
sheet, was brought in a debtor of one hundred
and one francs, eight sous.

He discovered an omission in the comedians'
summary, which turned the tables on them
with a vengeance. They had given no credit
for the private boxes, which, though taken by
the year, clearly, in law and equity, ought
to be counted at their proportionate value
each night. This not only squared the account,
but brought in the Sieur Lonvay a creditor
to the extent of seven hundred and nineteen
francs, ten sous. This also raised the nightly
receipts above the fatal sum of twelve
hundred francs each representation; and a
lawsuit seems to have been entered into, that
in all likelihood lasted longer than his twelve
years' siege of the stage, to determine to
which of the contending parties the play of
"Alcidonis" belonged.

Let us dip into the green-room of the
Français in 1770, and see how an author was
received, and the ordeal he had (and, we
believe, still has) to pass. The forty-sixth
clause of the theatrical code provides that
the stage manager shall furnish each actor
and actress with three beans; one white,
for approval, one black, for rejection, and
one coloured, for acceptance with alterations.
"When each performer, in order of
seniority, shall have discussed the merits of
the play, or made such suggestions as the
reading has given rise to, the decision shall be
taken by ballot, and the result communicated
to the author.

"If any changes have been proposed they
shall be explained to the author by the stage
manager.

"If the author submits to these
recommendations, he can demand a second reading
under the same regulations as the former;
and the decision will be given at once by a
white or black bean.

"After this, if the play is accepted, the
Comedians must fix a day for bringing it out,
and keep to their agreement on pain of a
severe fine."

A dreadful trial had our poor friend the
Sieur Lonvay to go through. Imagine him
present at the reading—the object of intense
dissatisfaction to the whole assembly, listening
to the disparaging remarks of the young
lover, and the second old man, and the blackeyed
chambermaid, and the first Tragédienne.
Think how he listened to the rattle of the
beans as they fell like lumps of ice into the
box. Then, after all this agony, remember
his four nights of doubtful success; his fifth
of indubitable failure; his years of wrangle
about the money; his lawsuit for all his
days—and wonder, not at the decadence of the
stage, but that any human being has the
supernatural courage to compose a play!

CHINA WITH A FLAW IN IT.

THE case of Pien-tih (Celestial Virtue)
versus Yih-chu, Emperor of China, which is
at present being argued in the central land,
may be decided in a way that will affect very
much the interests of European nations. The
plot of a drama that is now being performed
in Asia, the story of a formidable effort to
subvert the Tartar dynasty, and place a pure
Chinese upon the throne of China, should be
well known to the English, since Britannia
takes a large part in the play. Britannia
has just now engagements as a leading actress
in more Asiatic performances than one;
although the theatre of which we are just
now about to speak, is one upon whose stage
she is not known to be at present acting.
Two hundred and ten years ago, a
superstitious, weak man, the last emperor of the
Chinese dynasty of Ming, wrote upon paper