810

After this farewell performance, while waiting for her carriage, she sat down, like a playful child, on a trunk in a corner of the greenroom, amidst a group of friends, and amused them by reading, in the strongest of French accents, a poetical translation of the Ode into EnAmidst all her fun, however, she coughglish. ed constantly, and her hand betrayed, through her glove, a raging fever.

She bade ous associations than on any grace of interpre- | first part of the play, and the picture of Charlotte tation she might have conferred upon it, and Corday in the latter portion of it. that it might to a certain extent be pronounced farewell to the New York public in M. de Troby the severer standards of criticism a meretri- briand's effective "Ode to America," beginning cious performance. But, added she, in a tone with the words, now invested with a sadly om"Ne venez pas m'a-t-on dit, et of apology which those that were so carried inous import: away by this hymn may deem uncalled for, she moi je suis venue."-(Come not, they said; but I am here.) had yielded in consequence of the repeated solicitations of the public, and of her brotherwho had assured her it would greatly enhance the receipts a consideration, she would not deny, to which she was not indifferent, and which was quite in harmony with the object of her visit to this country. But while yielding to the general request, she desired to convince the public that her greatest achievements were connected with the classic drama, and thereon A few days afterward Rachel left for the mainly she wished to rest her fame. For this reason, she felt somewhat piqued, in her artistic South. At Charleston she was prevailed upon pride, on finding that the Marseillaise had drawn to perform, for a single time, in Adrienne Letogether the largest audience she had yet com- couvreur, little suspecting that, in this performThence she went to Hamanded-hundreds being turned away and the ance, she was bidding an eternal farewell to her tickets rising to an extravagant premium. There- professional career. upon, like a great artist, she resolved to have a vana, where she continued too ill to fulfill her enThe performances of the even-gagements. Losing all hope here of regaining great revenge. ing comprised Les Horaces and La Marseillaise; her health, she finally disbanded her army, and, she would play both parts as well as she could, like Napoleon after the disastrous campaign of but all the fire of her soul, all the strength of Moscow, leaving her troupe to find their way her intellect, all the charm of her person, she home as best they could, she suddenly reapwas determined to concentrate upon her person-peared in New York, unannounced, and with ation of the classic part, Camille'; so that the public, who had come to bestow their enthusiasm on La Marseillaise, should go away awarding the palm to Camille. She succeeded thoroughly in her design. And thus the classic Roman maiden took her revenge upon the modern Goddess of War.

It was during this visit, if I remember correctly, that Rachel made the only allusion I ever heard her make to her lost sister Rebecca, of whom she spoke in terms of admiration as well as great affection.

About the twentieth of October she made that fatal visit to Boston, where, after having contracted a severe cold in the cars, she fatigued herself beyond her strength by playing every night. She brought back large profits and delightful impressions, saying she had rarely elicited in any country such enthusiasm as was awarded there to her performance of Virginie, in Virginius. But she brought back also a hacking cough, which, in spite of her physicians, she continued with strange carelessness to neglect, attaching no importance to it.

Her last performances in New York were giv-
en at Niblo's; it was, perhaps, her most success-
ful engagement in this city. It was here she
played, for the only time, Dumas's admirable
drama of Mademoiselle de Belle Isle, one of her
most pleasing parts, and one in which she ap-
She expressed
peared unusually beautiful.
great satisfaction at being told that she resem-
bled, in this play, the celebrated picture of the
Princesse de Lamballes; adding that the resem-
blance had never been detected before, although
she had taken the picture for her model in the

and BroadThe sky was

She had left a no escort except her bonne. tropical sun to exchange it, in five days, for a Lapland sky-the thermometer ranging, the The ground was day she landed here and for a fortnight after, in the neighborhood of zero. covered with nearly a foot of snow, way was alive with sleigh-bells. of the deepest blue, perfectly clear, and the atmosphere intensely exhilarating. The contrast with the languid climate of Cuba, the treacherous effect of the bracing cold, and the merry aspect of the city, produced a wonderful effect on her spirits. She imagined herself perfectly cured, and was exuberant with hope-declaring, amidst her incessant coughing, that she had not felt so well for years, and that she would like to remain here always. The sleigh-bells gave her great pleasure to hear, and reawakened the welcome memories of her proud triumphs in the Strange infatuation of this land of the Czar. malady-making its victims welcome as a blessing that which to them is deadly poison!

Her cough continued to grow worse until she was absolutely ordered to leave by her physiShe took her departure for Europe in cian. the steamer Fulton; and so weak was she then that she had almost to be carried aboard, and many of her admiring friends who had come to see her off had a melancholy presentiment that they were bidding her adieu for the last time.

The sea-voyage was of great benefit to her; and so much did she recuperate, that, on arriving in France, she found herself so nearly well as to be afraid to see any of her friends and acquaintances, lest people should say that her American expedition had been a failure, and

the malady only a ruse de guerre. Accordingly, on her arrival at her hotel in Paris, she gave orders to admit no one. The crowd that rushed to see her she thus describes in a letter written shortly after her arrival out:

"The day after my arrival, the papers having announced my return to Paris, all my friends and acquaintances, and curious people of every kind, came rushing to my door, and my servant made himself hoarse by replying to all inquiries that I had gone into the country."

rival, Ristori, with an earnestness and intensity of interest which showed how much she had been stung at the disparaging comparisons made between them. She discussed her merits with wonderful tact and fairness; but it was evident that she longed, if it had only been possible, for a contest face to face with her, in order that the world might do her justice.

My last interview with Rachel was at Ems, where I stopped for a day or two while on a Rhine tour, in August of the same year. Her malady had made great progress, and she was now forbidden all excitement, and even conver

In this same letter she repeats the hope of soon returning to America, and states that she is on the look-out for that most impossible person-sation. One might as well forbid fire not to emit some one to make a good French translation of "Lady Macbeth," in order that she might master it prior to her return to the United States.

heat as expect tranquillity from such a nature. She was too ill and too weak to leave her room, except for special occasions, and was allowed to receive but a very few friends. Ems, as every traveler knows, is the favorite resort of the Russian nobility, a class in whom Rachel always inspired the most devoted admiration. When it became known that she had arrived, the de

when, after being perfectly secluded for a fortnight, she finally appeared at the window, it produced a great sensation. Among those who had come thither to try the virtue of the waters was a Russian Princess, in the last stages of consumption, a lovely being in the flower of her youth-scarcely nineteen-with a face fair as an angel's, dreamy blue eyes, and auburn hair, and of that refined, transparent style of beauty which one is apt to associate with American women. She had heard of Rachel's arrival, and of her illness. The similarity of their complaints at once touched her sympathies, and this, added to her admiration for Rachel's genius, inspired her with an intense yearning to know her. Being too weak to walk, they rolled her chair every day beneath Rachel's window (which opened on the grounds of the Kursaal) at the hour when the latter was in the habit of appearing there. But she was not satisfied with merely seeing her, she wanted to know Rachel. And so strong did this feeling become-so repeatedly was it pressed, day after day-that the husband of the Russian lady had finally to seek Rachel, and, after explaining the circumstances, referring to the extreme illness of the beautiful sufferer, and making excuses for his request, to ask the gifted tragédienne to call on his wife. Rachel, pleased with the romantic aspect of the affair, readily gave her assent. The admiration proved mutual.

In the month of July following, while on a visit to Paris, I was lounging one night in the foyer of the Théâtre Français, when a servant approached asking the ouvreuse if she had found a shawl which Mademoiselle Rachel had forgot-sire to see her rose almost to enthusiasm; and ten in her loge the night before. On inquiry, I learned that Rachel had reached Paris the previous day, on her way to Ems, whither she was ordered by her physicians to drink the waters; and, according to her invariable custom on coming to town, she had immediately gone to her favorite theatre. Anxious to see her, I called the next day at her hotel, Rue Trudon, No. 4, a spacious and elegant abode, fitted up with great comfort, luxury, and taste, containing many valuable specimens of art, as well as some beautiful testimonials presented to her in the course of her professional ovations. Though her door was closed to visitors, an exception was made in favor of me as an American; for she was rejoiced to see any one who could recall her derniers beaux jours sur la scène. She was in full dinner-dress-a beautiful blue silk, fresh from the dress-maker's; in fact, the modiste was giving it the dernier coup d'épingles as we came in. She was going to the Champs Elysées, to dine en petit comité at Monsieur Emile Girardin's. She appeared as well as I had ever known her, both in point of beauty and health, and I thought she had fairly recovered from her American misfortunes. Although it was the Fourth of July she complained of the cold, and presently ringing the bell for pine-knots, she stooped down in her rich toilet and kindled the fire herself, refusing to be aided. It was a rare sight to see the great Phèdre, who had inspired terror in the hearts of so many multitudes, bending over the hearth with her graceful form attired in this elegant costume, and, with bellows in hand, kindling a wood-fire on a Fourth of July morning; and all for the grace of the thing, as the house was full of unoccupied servants within call. It was like Cinderella returning to the kitchen-hearth in her ball-dress before the clock strikes twelve. Rachel again expressed her warm attachment to this country, longed to return to us soon, but feared she could never play again, as her voice seemed hopelessly gone. She spoke of her great

In the evening a concert was given at the Kursaal, at which Rachel was present. At the close of the performances the Prince of Prussia, Herz the pianist, and others came up to present their respects to her. She received them with great dignity and grace, and so equal was she in her bearing to all that a stranger could certainly not have detected from her manner which was the pianist and which the Prince. Indeed I felt half inclined, on being asked the question, to answer in the language of the liberal proprietor of the portraits of General Wash

ington and the Duke of Wellington, "Which- | I regret deeply not having a copy of these inever you please." teresting letters, which I would willingly have remained a day longer at Ems to transcribe, had I been authorized so to do.

From this scene of brightness I reluctantly rose and bade farewell to Rachel for the last time. Passing thence into the street, I found myself in the midst of utter darkness, not a light to be seen any where, a dense pall of black clouds overhead, frequent thunder, and at every turn flashes of fierce lightning-a gloomy and dismal scene-all the gloomier from its contrast to the brightness I had just left. But it was not an unfit occasion on which to break away from the Goddess of Tragedy, in whom, too, as

From the concert room I followed Rachel to her hotel. Excited and gratified at her interview with the Russian Princess in the afternoon, refreshed with her concert in the evening (being the first time she had been allowed to leave her room for weeks), she seemed to be in a state of exhilaration, and was, without exaggeration, more brilliant and more fascinating than I had yet seen her. So little did she betray of those fiery passions which underlay her nature, and which were the key to her wonderfully magnetic powers on the stage, that any one seeing her only on this, and indeed on most occasions in private life, would have un-in this checkered evening, in-doors and out, so questionably adopted the conclusion to which Rachel herself clung so strongly in early life, when she insisted that Comedy and not Tragedy was her vocation.

many contrasts, so many shades of light and darkness, were so mysteriously blended. With her darker shades it was not my lot to be personally acquainted; and, therefore, with me, in

unite in saying, let the good alone survive.

heroic, and most intellectual instincts of our nature. She was a Priestess of the Beautiful, offering up incense on its altars, and converting multitudes to its creed; and, if the truly beautiful be but an emanation from the truly good, if it be true that every strong sensation of beauty but leaves the soul purer and more exalted, then, surely, Rachel has not lived in vain.

A FEW IDLE WORDS.

Much has been said of Rachel's offers of mar-clination and memory can, with the best grace, riage; but I question whether any more interesting chapter could be found on the subject Rachel had a mission to perform which few than the one she revealed on this occasion, are called upon to fulfill. She had gifts rare in and to which thus far I have seen only an in- all ages and in all countries. She had a mind direct allusion made in print on this side the exquisitely alive to the perceptions of the beauwater. It is, however, a matter sufficiently tiful, and a wondrous power in her genius to well known to the French public to justify re- transfer and awaken these perceptions in others. ferring to it here. A distinguished man of let- The emotions which she was engaged in arousters, of world-wide fame, and withal an accom-ing were mainly addressed to the noblest, most plished man of the world, too blasé to have any remnant of romance, and of too much tact to pretend to it, had resolved to propose a fusion between his talent and her genius, between his devotion and her fascinations, and especially between his ill-supplied extravagance and her well-supplied opulence. With this view, instead of proceeding to Ems, as the devoted lovers of other lands would naturally be expected to do, he sits down calmly in Paris, and proceeds to lay siege to the lady through the agency of pen and paper, in a manner very much resembling the first move in those games of chess in which one party sits in London and the other in Paris. But his move is a model of esprit, and will certainly be produced by some future Disraeli in a later edition of the Curiosities of Literature. Sentiment is not pretended to, ambition is not allowed to be suspected, and wit, wit, has therefore to do all-to fascinate and to persuade-to serve as a substitute for feeling and as a mask for ambition. To a woman of ordinary understanding this letter might have proved fatal; but to Rachel it was as transparent as glass, and was only a stimulant for her counter-wit, and she therefore welcomed it as giving her an opportunity of inditing a reply in which the skill of the pen and the tact of the woman would have the most exacting chance of The development. She wrote, and he rejoined— and so admirable did she think his letters, and

so satisfied was she with her share in the correspondence, that she could not resist reading them aloud. Of course she declined to enter into the treaty of alliance; and his acknowledgment of the refusal was deliciously French.

These letters say so;

So, I must believe that I loved you once!
And here is your picture-how you have changed!
It was long ago.

The
And with these treasures a few idle words,
That you need not recall.

gloss is worn from this lock of black hair;
You can have them all,

What

a child I was when you met me first!
Was I handsome then?

I think you remember the very night,
It was half past ten,

And tired of the wine;

When you came up stairs, so tired of the men,
You said you loved lilies (my dress was white),

And hated to dine.

dowagers nodded behind their fans;
I played an old song;
You told an old tale, I thought it was new,
"Did you think so long?"

True, I had read the Arabian Nights,
And Amadis de Gaul;
But I never had found a modern knight
In our books at the Hall.

You tore your hand with the thorns of the

That looped up my sleeve,

And a drop of red blood fell on my arm-
"Did it make you grieve?"

That drop of your blood set mine on fire;
But you sipped your tea

rose | ing already for one of our Virginians, who has come to grief in America; surely we can not kill off the other in England? No, no. Heroes are not dispatched with such hurry and violence unless there is a cogent reason for making away with them. Were a gentleman to perish every time a horse came down with him, not only the hero, but the author of this chronicle would

With a nonchalant air, and balanced the spoon,
And balanced poor me,

In the scale with my stocks, and farms, and mines. have gone under ground; whereas the former is

Did it tremble at all?

LE

THE VIRGINIANS.

BY W. M. THACKERAY.

CHAPTER XXI.

SAMARITANS.

but sprawling outside it, and will be brought to life again as soon as he has been carried into the house where Madame de Bernstein's servants have rung the bell.

And to convince you that at least this youngest of the Virginians is still alive, here is an authentic copy of a letter from the lady into whose house he was taken after his fall from Mr. Will's brute of a broken-kneed horse, and in whom he appears to have found a kind friend.

TO MRS. ESMOND WARRINGTON, OF CASTLE-
WOOD,

AT HER HOUSE AT RICHMOND, IN VIRGINIA.

IF Mrs. Esmond Warrington of Virginia can call to mind twenty-three years ago, when Miss Rachel Esmond was at Kensington Boarding School, she may perhaps remember Miss Molly EST any tender-hearted reader should be in Benson, her class-mate, who has forgotten all alarm for Mr. Harry Warrington's safety, the little quarrels which they used to have toand fancy that his broken-kneed horse had car-gether (in which Miss Molly was very often in ried him altogether out of this life and history, let us set her mind easy at the beginning of this chapter, by assuring her that nothing very serious has happened. How can we afford to kill off our heroes when they are scarcely out of their teens, and we have not reached the age of manhood of the story? We are in mourn

the wrong), and only remembers the generous, high-spirited, sprightly Miss Esmond, the Princess Pocahontas, to whom so many of our schoolfellows paid court.

Dear Madam! I can never forget that you were dear Rachel once upon a time as I was your dearest Molly. Though we parted not very good friends when you went home to Virginia, yet you know how fond we once were. I still, Rachel, have the gold étui your papa gave me when he came to our speech-day at Kensington, and we two performed the quarrel of Brutus and Cassius out of Shakspeare; and 'twas only yesterday morning I was dreaming that we were both called up to say our lesson before the awful Miss Hardwood, and that I did not know it, and that as usual Miss Rachel Esmond went above me. How well remembered those old days are! How young we grow as we think of them! I remember our walks and our exercises, our good. King and Queen as they walked in Kens

VOL. XVI.-No. 96.-3F