The generality of educated foreigners have but one way of characterizing the state of musical talent and taste in England. Our author forms no exception to the prevailing disparagement on this point. He says, that this country is the farthest from eminence in the art of any he knows; that the men, for the most part, do not comprehend or feel it; that they look upon a musician as a secondary sort of being; and that though at the opera they drawl out frequently “Brava, brava!” it is only because it is good style to do so. All this we may allow to be true; but while it must he conceded, that no people have ever or can ever attain to all that is refined in the arts, or great in the more matter-of-fact concerns of life, let us presume, that in devoting themselves to the latter field, the English have chosen the more profitable of the two, and that, without compromising their most substantial interests, they never will be supreme in the former.

But, connected with English musical taste and talent, the Count notices some circumstances which the author of “The Great Metropolis” will do well to insert in the next edition of that work, if he wishes to fortify his opinions concerning the upper classes, on the point of intellectual occupations.

“Since we are here at the Opera, I cannot resist my desire to speak to you of a certain box, deep and spacious, furnished with glasses and sofas, une bagnoire, situated close to the stage. There you may judge, not of the orchestra, you are too near it, and it is too powerful; not of the admirable voice of Rubini, for he turns his back to the box, which is placed at ten feet within the range of the foot-lights; but from this box you may judge of and admire the forms and grace of the danseuses in the ballet. It belongs to about a dozen of ‘fashionables’ of all ages, and is called the dandy’s box. During the opera it remains empty; but when the ballet begins, about eleven o’clock (the time a ‘fashionable’ rises from table on a day that Taglioni dances), these gentlemen arrive, their minds fatigued and numbed, the consequence doubtless of an epicurean dinner, seasoned by some glasses of the choicest wines. They are, however, soon aroused; the appearance of a first-rate pretty danseuse affects them in an electrical and wonderful manner. They pass suddenly from their state of elegant inertness into one of joy, then into one of admiration; from that into one of enthusiasm, which they express by a clapping of hands which rivals that of the public, whose attention it does not fail to attract. One object they have in view is thus gained; the second is, that their applauses do not escape the grateful ears of her for whom they are intended, and in the charming courtesy of thanks which she makes, a slight and graceful portion may be distinguished which is offered to her particular admirers.”

The Count’s use of the term dandy, we may be satisfied, is not undeserving of being adopted, when we learn that he has studied the natural history of that genus of animals throughout all its species and varieties. But he must explain himself.

“Do you know what a dandy is? There are at least ten different species of this animal. If you commence by the lowest, it is the city beau, to whom I have already introduced you at Mr. Jackson’s dinner, presenting an orange to a young lady, by taking up the fruit between two spoons, and extending his little fingers to have an air of delicacy, and to appear unquestionably polite: but this is a vulgarian; we must ascend the scale, passing by the ranks of this interesting class, such as the puppy, coxcomb, fop, the half-fashionable, the complete fashionable, &c. till we at last reach the exquisite, the quintescence of all coxcombry conjoined. He shall be a young man, whether noble or parvenu, it matters not, so that he be rich; he must have an air of nonchalance, and appear ennuyé with every thing. He hardly deigns to speak at all; it is too fatiguing for his delicate organs. If you have the honour of knowing him, and should meet him, he will address you, ‘Oh! how a-a-ye? am gad to see you;’ but these words will be scarcely articulated, and pronounced in a drawling tone, as if he had some impediment in his throat which prevents him from speaking: this will be all you can get out of him. He is the epitome of self-sufficiency, affectation, and impertinence: he despises every social talent, wit, and amiability, because he himself is incapable of either; for he appears only organized for putting on cravats, wearing a well-cut coat, choosing pomades, perfumes, &c.: his pride is to attend to no one but himself.”

Quoted from: “Count Edouard’s Impressions of England”. In: The Monthly Review. December 1836: 595f.