Adelaide Ristor 
 
 AN AUTOBIOGRAPMW 
 
 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PN 2688.R59A22 
 
 Adelaide Ristori 
 
 3 1924 027 119 761 
 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 9240271 1 9761 
 
ADELAIDE RISTOKI. 
 
ATELATCT^ KISTOET. 
 
ADELAIDE EISTORI. 
 
 STUDIES AND MEMOIRS. 
 
 cr-^ i- 
 
 LONDON: 
 W. H. ALLEN & CO., 13 WATERLOO PLACE. 
 
 PALL MALL. S.W. 
 
 1888. 
 (411 Sights Seservei.) 
 
LONDON : 
 PMNTEP BY W. H. AUjEK AND CO., 13 WATERLOO PLACE, S.W. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 " Life is a journey," they say. Certainly this proverb 
 could be applied to me. My existence has been wholly 
 passed in long journeys, and I have carried on my art in 
 all countries. 
 
 Under every sky I have personated the immortal 
 heroines of immortal masterpieces, and I have seen the 
 powerful accents of human passion thrill with intense 
 emotion the most different peoples. 
 
 I have brought into this task, often very heavy, my 
 whole art conscience ; I have sought even to live the 
 actual life of the personages I represented ; I have studied 
 the manners of their times ; I have gone back to his- 
 torical sources, which enabled me to reconstitute faith- 
 fully their personality, sometimes gentle, sometimes 
 terrible, always grand. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The applause bestowed upon me has rewarded my 
 honest efforts ; but I must say again that I have experi- 
 enced the most lively pleasure when I succeeded in iden- 
 tifying myself sufficiently with the characters of the 
 tragedies which I was playing ; when I felt myself in- 
 spired by the great breath which animated them, and my 
 whole soul vibrated to the passions I was to interpret. 
 I have often left the stage, after extreme tension of 
 nerves, half dead with fatigue and emotion, but always 
 happy. 
 
 I have tried in these Memoirs of my life, and in the 
 studies of the principal parts which I have performed, to 
 express as well as I could what my feelings have been 
 during my artistic career. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. PAOB 
 
 Childhood and Debut in Italy - - . - 1 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 First Journey to France - - - - - 28 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 First Touk in Europe ; Performances at Madrid 50 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 Long Tour in Europe, and First Visit to Auebioa 70 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 Second Visit to America, and other Artistic 
 
 jouenbys 102 
 
Tiii CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. PAG. 
 
 Journey Round the Wobld ----- 109 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 Mabt Stuaet ----... 140 
 
 CHAPTER Vm. 
 Mybbha 177 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Medea 199 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 Phaedra ---.-... 225 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 Lady Macbeth 254 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 Queen Elizabeth 272 
 
ADELAIDE RISTORI. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CHILDHOOD AND DEBUT IN ITALY. 
 
 BoEN a member of aa artistic family, it was natural that 
 I should be dedicated to the dramatic art, and this being, 
 as it were, my natural destiny, it is not surprising that 
 my parents should have accustomed me to the footlights 
 even from my birth. For I was not yet three months old 
 when, a child being wanted in a little farce called The New 
 Tear's Gift, the manager availed himself of the services 
 of the latest addition to his company, and I, poor baby, 
 with my mother's consent, made my first appearance in 
 public. 
 
 The subject of the comedy was extremely simple and 
 common-place. A young lady having been forbidden by 
 her father to marry the lover to whom she was pas- 
 sionately attached, wedded him clandestinely, and in due 
 time had a son. 
 
 Not having the courage to communicate this terrible 
 
 1 
 
ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 fact to her inexorable parent, the young mother decided 
 to confide in an old man, who was a dependent of the 
 house, and who had helped her in other diflSculties. He 
 sympathised greatly with the troubles of the two delin- 
 quents, promised to assist them to obtain the paternal 
 pardon, and for that purpose decided on a singular 
 stratagem. 
 
 It was the custom then, as it is now, to give presents at 
 the beginning of the New Tear. In country districts the 
 proprietors of estates and owners of houses are considered 
 as the principal people of the neighbourhood, and their 
 tenants are in the habit of then offering to their master 
 the best of their fruits, their largest fowls, and their 
 finest eggs. So the worthy servant in the comedy deter- 
 mined to place the poor child in a large covered basket 
 among the fruit and poultry (taking, of course, every 
 precaution that it was neither crushed nor sufEocated), 
 and sent it by a peasant to his master. 
 
 The stage was duly prepared for the arrival of the 
 customary offerings. AU the family and the guests who 
 had been dining with the master of the house col- 
 lected round the basket as soon as it was brought in, 
 ready to admire its contents, and in the background 
 appeared the comic countenance of the good servant, who 
 rubbed his hands with a smiling and self-satisfied air as 
 he waited patiently for the success of his stratagem. 
 
 At last his master opened the basket. With real satis- 
 faction he began to take out and examine the various 
 gifts. First the fowls, then the eggs, then the fruit ; but 
 it seemed as though the excessive fragrance of this latter 
 
CHILDHOOD AND DEBUT IN ITALY. 3 
 
 had affected me, for before there was time to lift me from 
 the basket I began to shriek in lustj tones. Imagine 
 the amazement produced by such an appearance on the 
 stage ! 
 
 The grandfather, in his surprise, took an involuntary 
 step backward, while his good old servant, without much 
 ceremony, lifted me from the basket and placed me in his 
 arms. The spectators stood with their mouths open, the 
 husband and wife tried to justify themselves ; but my cries 
 increased so much in intensity, and gave such evident 
 proof of my good lungs, that, I was hastily carried ofE 
 to my mother's chamber, where I found what alone 
 would quiet me at that moment. 
 
 The public, of course, went into a fit of laughter, 
 especially as it seems that my voice then was so loud and 
 shrill as completely to drown the actors' words. 
 
 Whenever my mother related this incident to me — and 
 Heaven knows she never wearied of repeating it — she 
 always laughed until the tears came into her eyes. 
 
 On another occasion, when I was about three years 
 of age, a play called Bianca and Fernando, by Avelloni, 
 was put on the stage. The time was the Middle Ages, 
 and I had to take the part of the little boy belong- 
 ing to the widowed mistress of the castle, who was pas- 
 sionately beloved by a noble knight. But another great 
 personage in the neighbourhood, to whose care her dying 
 husband had confided his wife, and who possessed the 
 supreme power in that country, was also in love with the 
 lady, and desirous of gaining her hand. 
 
 There was one scene in the play in which this latter 
 
 1 * 
 
ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 nobleman, seeing himself constantly repulsed by the 
 widow, and finding she was determined to unite herself to 
 the man of her heart, cost what it might, resolved to raise 
 such a tumult as would frighten her into compliance with 
 his wishes. The partisans of both combatants were ready 
 to come to blows, when the lady thrust herself between 
 them to try and avert the conflict. Thereupon the tyrant 
 seized the child, who had been left alone for a moment, 
 and threatened to murder him tmless the mother did as 
 he desired. 
 
 Then ensued a general panic. It was in vain they tried 
 to snatch me from his arms. The cries of my poor mother 
 ascended to heaven. The tumult and noise terrified me. 
 I began to cry, to fight about in my captor's grasp, to 
 pull his beard with my little hands, and scratch his fe,ce 
 in my attempts to free myself. And with such success 
 that at last he let me slip from his arms, and I scampered 
 away as fast as my legs would carry me, screaming at the 
 top of my voice, " Mamma ! mamma ! he is hurting me ! " 
 and eluding all the efforts of the actors to catch me, 
 while they exclaimed, "Stop ! stop! It is a joke! It 
 is nothing! " 
 
 I was speedily behind the scenes, where I threw myself 
 into the arms of my mother, and clung to her in spite of 
 all the efforts of those who came in search of me to con- 
 tinue the act. Alas ! they were obliged to drop the 
 curtain amid universal laughter. 
 
 Seeing myself such a favourite with the public, although 
 a little girl, I had already acquired a good share of the 
 cunning of the stage, and, understanding that I bore an 
 
CHILDHOOD AND DEBUT IN ITALY. 
 
 important part in our little company, I had begun to take 
 the tone and airs of a grown-up woman. 
 
 I remember it was then the custom for the most fluent 
 and easy-mannered of the company to come before the 
 curtain in the interval before the last act and announce 
 the play for the following evening to the public, indi- 
 cating also which actor or actress would sustain the 
 principal character in it ; and, according to the interest 
 the public took in the player announced, there would bo 
 either a murmur of approbation or a hearty applause. 
 The members of the company crowded with curiosity to 
 the curtain to listen to this manifestation of the public. I 
 naturally had also my little ambitious curiosity, and when 
 it was announced that the little comedy ending the per- 
 formance would be the particular task of the little 
 Kistori, the public burst [into loud applause. They all 
 then came round me with jesting compliments, whilst I 
 walked ofE behind the scenes with my hands in my apron 
 pockets, shaking my head and shrugging my shoulders, 
 saying with pretended annoyance, " What a bore ! Always 
 making me act ! " while I was secretly exulting in my 
 heart. 
 
 What would those who love to prophecy the future life 
 of children from the observation of their early tendencies 
 have said of me after this last escapade just recorded? 
 Why, that the stage would have been hateful to me, that 
 I should never have been able to sustain any tragic parts 
 or endure to see a sword or dagger brandished in the air. 
 And, instead of that, I devoted myself to tragedy, and the 
 sword and dagger became the familiar weapons of my craft. 
 
6 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 When I was but four and a half years old I was already 
 made to act little farces in which I took the principal 
 character, and I should not like to be accused of im- 
 pudence if, in deference to the truth, I record in these 
 memoirs the no inconsiderable profit which my manager 
 drew from this my early appearance on the stage. 
 
 I remember that at the age of ten I was entrusted by 
 preference with the minor parts of servants, and my 
 manager made me rehearse several times such a small 
 matter as carrying in and laying down a letter, so that I 
 should not appear to do it in either too familiar or too 
 prim a manner. 
 
 At twelve I was selected for the parts of children; 
 and shortly after, my rapid growth enabling them to 
 dress me as a little woman, they entrusted me with the 
 small parts of soubrettes. They seem to have taken it 
 into their heads that, I was only adapted for that kind 
 oi role. 
 
 But at thirteen I had developed so much in person, 
 that I was occasionally allowed to play as second lady, a 
 most monstrous thing certainly, but one that could not 
 well be avoided in small companies. When I was four- 
 teen I joined the company of the famous actor and 
 manager, Moncalvo, to take the parts of young first 
 ladies, and act sometimes as prima donna, in turn with 
 another actress, and it was then that I undertook, for the 
 first time, the character of Francesca da Rimini, in the 
 play by Silvio Pellico, which I performed in the city of 
 Novara in Piedmont. 
 
 The result of my attempts was so satisfactory that 
 
CHILDSOOn AND DEBUT IN ITALY. 7 
 
 when I was sixteen, I was offered the important post of 
 permanent first lady on very advantageous terms. But 
 my excellent father, who was gifted with plenty of good 
 sense, did not allow himself to be tempted hy these offers. 
 He considered that by thus prematurely overtasking my 
 energies, I should probably lose my health, and stop my 
 progress in my art, and he therefore declined the pro- 
 posal, preferring for me the more modest part of an 
 " ingenue," which was offered me in the Eoyal Theatrical 
 Company in the service of the King of Sardinia, and 
 which then passed several months of the year at Turin. 
 This company was directed by the manager, Gaetano 
 Bazzi, the most intelligent and able manager of that day. 
 He ruled his company with a firm hand, and though 
 severe in some things, yet he succeeded in turning out 
 very good artists. 
 
 Prominent among the members of this brilliant com- 
 pany were those luminaries of the Italian stage, Vestris, 
 the Marchionni, Eomagnoli, Righetti, and many others, 
 whose names are as famous in dramatic art as are those 
 of Pasta, Malibran, Eubini, and Tamburini on the 
 operatic stage. 
 
 My engagement as " ingenue " was for four years, but 
 at the end of the first I played the parts of the leading 
 young ladies, and during the two last I was the actual 
 first lady. Thus my gradual progress step by step led to 
 this splendid result, for which I had also to thank my 
 careful education so well directed by my excellent teacher 
 the esteemed actress, Carlotta Marchionni, who vied with 
 the manager, Gaetano Bazzi, in kindness towards me. 
 
8 ADELAIDE EI8T0BI. 
 
 At that period my artistic education began in earnest. 
 Then it was I acquired that knowledge which placed 
 me in a condition to discern the qualities which make the 
 true artist. 
 
 My power of giving expression to the stronger and 
 fiercer passions gradually increased, though my natural 
 disposition led me to prefer those of a more gentle and 
 tender kind. I carefully observed and studied them, in 
 order to learn how best to blend the contrasts between 
 them into one harmonious whole ; a most minute, difiS.- 
 cult, and sometimes tedious task, but one of the greatest 
 importance and necessity. The transitions in a part in 
 which two extremely opposite passions are called into 
 play are, to it, what the chiaro oscuro is to a picture ; they 
 unite and amalgamate its various portions, and thus give 
 a truthful representation without allowing the artifice to 
 appear. 
 
 To succeed in this you must make a study of the 
 best actors, and if you are endowed by nature with 
 artistic genius you must be careful not to circumscribe 
 it by servile imitation, but rather to try and accumulate 
 rich stores of scenic erudition, which may be given out 
 to the public stamped with the hall-mark of original and 
 creative individuality. 
 
 There are some people who fancy that the accidents of 
 good birth, and an excellent education are enough to 
 enable them to tread the stage with the same ease and 
 freedom that they would enter a ball-room, and they do 
 not hesitate to appear there in the full belief that they 
 can acquit themselves as well as an actor who has grown 
 
CHILDHOOD AND DEBUT IN ITALY. 9 
 
 upon it. This is a great mistake. One of tlio principal 
 difficulties thej encounter at the very outset is that of 
 not knowing how to walk upon the stage, which by the 
 sensible incline of its construction makes the steps of a 
 novice very unsteady. 
 
 I may cite myself as an example of this dif&culty. 
 Although I had been dedicated to the theatre from my 
 earliest infancy, and instructed, day by day, with the 
 greatest care by my paternal grandmother, yet, even at 
 the age of fifteen, my movements had not acquired that 
 freedom and naturalness necessary to render me per- 
 fectly at home on the stage, and I still felt a slight 
 nervousness. 
 
 No less important is the study of elocution in order 
 to speak distinctly. 
 
 The diction ought to be clear, distinct, not too 
 Blow, well understood, in order not to fall into any 
 mannerisms, but at the same time deliberate enough 
 to allow the audience to grasp the meaning of every 
 word, and there must not be any suspicion of stam- 
 mering. 
 
 When my artistic training began, elocution was a point 
 to which the greatest importance was attached, as enabling 
 & judgment to be formed of the value of an actress. The 
 public was then a very severe critic ; in our days this 
 same public has grown less exacting, less particular, and 
 does not pride itself too much on forming an actress by 
 correcting her faults. According to my ideas the present 
 system is not just, for it is certainly not by excessive in-, 
 dulgence, or by simply considering the good qualities 
 
10 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 without attempting to correct the bad ones, that real 
 artists are made. 
 
 It is my decided conviction that no one who desires to 
 devote his life to the stage ought to begin his studies by 
 assuming parts of great importance, whether in Comedy, 
 Drama, or Tragedy. The task is too great for a beginner, 
 and may in some way damage his future, either by 
 leaving him overwhelmed with discouragement in con- 
 sequence of the difficulties he has encountered, or by 
 filling him with excessive vanity, because of the conside- 
 ration with which his attempt has been received, and 
 which will probably cause him to neglect the study 
 essential to further success. By confining himself, on 
 the contrary, to small parts, whether they are congenial 
 or not, he will render himself familiar with the stage, and 
 acquire a correct and natural way of acting ; and he may 
 rest assured that by taking pains to render these 
 correctly, he will be preparing for better things, and his 
 study will be more accurate. 
 
 But to return to my subject. In the year 1840 my 
 position as a prirrui donna was completely established, 
 and, thanks to the favour of Fortune, I saw myself 
 rapidly arrive at the summit of my ambition, struggling, 
 meanwhile, with courage against every obstacle that 
 interposed to prevent the full accomplishment of my 
 successful and very happy career. I never felt any 
 fatigue, and such was my passion for the stage, that 
 when my manager chanced to give me a quiet evening, 
 in order not to overdo my strength, and perhaps, also, a 
 little with the malicious design of making the public 
 
CHILDHOOD AND DEBUT IN ITALY. 11 
 
 miss me, I felt quite like a fish out of water. It was in 
 vain I meant to devote these leisure evenings to the 
 study of a new and difficult part. I applied myself to 
 it with the greatest ardour, but when the hour struck 
 for the play to begin I was seized with such restless- 
 ness, that nothing sufficed to calm me. I seemed 
 to hear the first chords of the orchestra, the impatient 
 murmur of the audience, the intoxicating sounds of 
 applaase. I walked up and down my room with rapid 
 steps, seeking to distract my mind ; I tried to repeat from 
 memory some of the passages in the play I had been 
 studying. It was all of no use. I could apply myself 
 to nothing; and at last I hastily entered my mother's 
 chamber, saying: 
 
 " Shall we go for an hour to the theatre ? " 
 " Well, let us go, then," she answered ; " if you cannot 
 keep away from it for one evening." 
 
 Immediately we put on our cloaks and hats, and went. 
 As soon as we reached the theatre my spirits rose, and I 
 began to think of all sorts of prjictical jokes to play upon 
 my fellow actors. I remember that on one of these occa- 
 sions they were performing Le Memorie del Diavolo, and 
 a number of masks were required in one part of the 
 Comedy. The whim seized me to appear on the stage 
 under a mask, and surprise the first actor. It was in 
 vahi they attempted to dissuade me from this childish 
 trick. Then, entering my room, to put on a domino, 
 and to cover half my face with a tiny black mask, was 
 the work of a minute ; and so dressed, I went on the 
 stage among the Figurantes. 
 
12 ADELAIBE BISTOBI. 
 
 When' midniglit struck it was necessary for us all to 
 unmask ; and what an ugly face the first actor made at 
 me, as soon as he discovered who I was ! But though I 
 had difficulty in stifling my laughter, I remained immov- 
 able, and quite undisturbed by the affair; and the 
 audience, becoming aware of the true state of the case, 
 burst into hearty applause. Then, seeing how badly my 
 companion took this little pleasantry, I withdrew from 
 sight among the crowd of silent characters that filled the 
 stage, and, hiding myself behind them, laughingly asked 
 pardon for my foUy of my good comrade, a pardon that 
 was readily granted me. 
 
 But my humour was not- always gay. Sometimes I fell 
 a victim to an inexplicable melaiicholy, which weighed 
 on my heart like lead, and fiUed my mind with dark 
 ■ thoughts. I believe that this strange inequality of 
 temperament might be entirely attributed to the excessive 
 emotion I experienced in performing my most impassioned 
 parts. Por I so entirely identified myself with the 
 •characters I represented that, in the end, my health 
 began to suffer, and one evening, when I had been acting 
 in Adrienne Lecouvreur, the curtain had scarcely fallen 
 after the last act, when the great tension of nerves, and 
 mind, and body I had undergone during that final scene 
 of passion and delirium . brought on a kind of nervous 
 attack, a.nd an affection of the brain which deprived me 
 of consciousness for a good quarter of an hour. 
 
 Sometimes, similar causes brought on a fit of spleen, 
 which quite overpowered me. On such occasions I 
 wandered by choice, in the cemetery of the city. There 
 
CHILDHOOD AND DEBUT IN ITALY. IS 
 
 I remained for long periods, reading the inscriptions on 
 the various gravestones, and I would return home full of 
 sadness, feeling as though I had myself been one of the 
 sufferers in these sad cases. Thus also it was my custom 
 when I arrived in a city hitherto unknown to me, after I 
 had visited the picture and sculpture galleries, to obtain 
 permission to inspect the lunatic asylums ; for if I did not 
 go to the cemetery, it was there that the nightmare which 
 for the moment possessed me, impelled me to wander. 
 Mad girls were those who attracted my deepest sympathy ; 
 their sad tranquil lunacy allowed me to penetrate into 
 their cells without danger of any kind, and I was able to 
 stay long with them, to gain their affection and confidence. 
 Gradually however, as years rolled on, I outgrew these 
 eccentricities ; my nerves began to acquire the temper of 
 steel ; I learned to confine my romantic ideas within 
 reasonable limits, and I applied myself with redoubled 
 energy to to the study of my art. 
 
 In consequence of the dramatic conditions existing in 
 Italy, especially in those days, it was not usual for en- 
 gagements to last longer than thirty or forty nights in 
 one city. It was an extremely rare thing for them to last 
 two months, and this constant change of public had the 
 greatest advantages. 
 
 It was not necessary to possess a very varied repertoire, 
 and the public had not time to grow accustomed to the 
 actors, to the detriment of their enthusiasm. And what 
 a power does that living and continued fascination of the 
 public exercise over an artistically creative mind ! Thus, 
 then, I had always a fresh public before me, which I 
 
14 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 moved at my will, and which, thanks to the powerful 
 magnetic influence that so readily established itseH 
 between us (and this was most essential in my case) com- 
 municated to me that electric impulse which alone forms 
 an artist, and without which every study bears the im- 
 press of mediocrity. 
 
 In this manner my early youth passed away. 
 
 My love of study never diminished. With the progress 
 of years I went on completing my education. That 
 nature had called me to art I felt within me from the 
 feverish desire which impelled me to see and study all 
 that gradually came before me in my artistic peregrina- 
 tions. Music, painting and sculpture always had for me 
 a fascinating attraction. I remember one evening at 
 Florence, fatigued by continual performances I was long- 
 ing for a day of rest, but my desire was not shared by 
 the Lessee of the Cocomero, now the Nicolini Theatre, 
 Signer Somigli, who was not disposed to put the padlock 
 on the money-box by interrupting the performances of the 
 J?ia dei Tolomei, which was having an immense run. 
 But I had a right to one day's rest. When, behold ! the 
 cunning lessee called in to his aid a brother of his who, 
 recollecting a certain lively desire of mine, which might, 
 he thoiight, serve as a bait, came to me saying : " Play to 
 morrow evening and you will get a very handsome 
 present." 
 
 " I want rest, and I don 't know what to do with your 
 present," 1 answered. 
 
 " Well," he added, " if you only knew ! Come, I know 
 you want the beautiful drawing of the facade of our 
 
CHILDHOOD AND DEBUT IN ITALY. 15 
 
 famous San Miniato al Monte, which you so much admired 
 in my sitting-room. If you consent to play to-morrow 
 you shall have it." 
 
 It is true that I had been wishing for it for some time, 
 and they, who were not ignorant of the fact, laid the trap 
 for me. I could not resist ; and so it came to pass that the 
 lessee had another full house, and that I played another 
 full evening for a drawing ! This return which my memory 
 makes to a past embracing so large a part of my existence, 
 leads me back to that time, and I feel once more the firm 
 resolution, which never failed me in youth and woman- 
 hood, to follow the sacred precepts of my illustrious 
 mistress Carlotta Marchionni. 
 
 Once upon the stage, not even for one moment did my' 
 consideration for the public ever diminish. 
 
 Whether the audience was large or small, intelligent or 
 the reverse, mattered nothing to me. The possibility that 
 it might contain one educated and cultivated person, able 
 justly to decide upon, and appreciate my artistic merit, 
 was enough to make me attend to the minutest details of 
 the part I was playing. I would not omit a single gesture, 
 a single idea. The simple familiar style of the French 
 school was then greatly in vogue, and was so much pre- 
 ferred to our way of acting, that in many actors it became 
 quite wearisome. Therefore, without entirely forsaking 
 ray habitual method, which, thank heaven, had not the 
 above-mentioned defect, I endeavoured to blend the two 
 styles together, for I felt that if progress was to be made 
 in everything, even the drama must undergo certain 
 changes. This sentiment did not, however, make me a 
 
16 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 servile imitator. Neither in drama, nor in tragedy was I 
 ever lacking in that Italian fire which is inherent among 
 us, for it is our nature to experience passion in all its 
 intensity, and not to be circumscribed in our expression 
 of it by any academic rules. Indeed, if the impetus of 
 passion is taken from an Italian "artist," — the true 
 colouring in fact — he sinks at once into a weak and in- 
 sufferable actor. 
 
 For my part, I always endeavoured to act in as natural 
 a manner as possible. The public highly approved my 
 careful study, as well as the efforts I made to render myself 
 really worthy of their favour. In short, my countrymen 
 were profuse to the utmost of their power in their 
 demonstrations of affection and approval. Their appre- 
 ciation penetrated to my inmost heart. It was delicious 
 to me to be thus understood; to feel that I could move 
 human souls at my will, and excite their gentlest as well 
 as their strongest passion. 
 
 I hope the reader will pardon me such language, 
 remembering that the actor lives upon the fame won 
 by much severe study and hard conflict ; and how 
 the mere consciousness of having attained the de- 
 sired goal is sufficient in itself to re-light the fires of 
 early enthusiasm. 
 
 When, at the age of eighteen years, I for the first time 
 acted the part of Mary Stuart, in Schiller's play, how 
 much did that great, profound, and most difficult study 
 cost me ; how hard and thorny was the road I had to 
 traverse to obtain the object of my desires! The reader 
 will be surprised when he peruses my analytical account 
 
GHILBHQOB AND DEBUT IN ITALY. 17 
 
 of that part, to find the circumstances which attended my 
 assumption of it. 
 
 The time came when my art no longer sufficed to 
 satisfy the desires of my soul. The passion I always 
 had for children was not only innate in me, but was 
 developed to an extraordinary degree ; and it seemed to 
 me that in them was to be found the realization of true 
 felicity on earth. Maternal instinct was even so strong 
 in me that I revolted from playing the parts in which it 
 was overlooked. I shall have occasion, in regard to this, 
 to relate how I had always refused to play Medea in the 
 various tragedies she had inspired, and in consequence of 
 what circumstances I at last consented to undertake 
 Legouv^'s magnificent JfetZea, because in this last tragedy 
 the mother's crime is caused by her maternal affection 
 itself. 
 
 For all that, I considered the duties of marriage incom- 
 patible with my art ; but Fate had in store for me "a 
 partner of congenial spirit, who shared my worship for 
 the fine arts, and who, far from repressing my ardour, 
 urged and stimulated me to pursue my way with increased 
 energy. 
 
 After a series of strange and romantic incidents, which 
 have been narrated by many of my biographers, I was 
 united in marriage to the Marchese Giuliano Capranica 
 Del Grillo. Many painful circumstances obliged us to be 
 frequently separated during the earlier years of our 
 wedded life. 
 
 I had the inexpressible happiness of becoming the 
 mother of four children, two of whom were cruelly torn 
 
 '2 
 
18 ADELAIDE BISTORI. 
 
 from us ty an early death. We were almost insane with 
 grief; but the two surviving children, Giorgio andBianca, 
 were destined to fill the void left in our hearts by the loss 
 of their poor brothers. We never separated from them. 
 We kept them always with us, and they were the source 
 to us of great happiness. 
 
 By degrees I began to perceive that the sweet influences 
 of maternal affection gained such hold upon me that 
 imperceptibly my enthusiasm for art diminished gradu- 
 ally in intensity, and its sway over me became less 
 powerful. 
 
 This abnormal state of mind, joined to certain secondary 
 causes, decided me to retire from the stage, as soon as 
 my three years' contract with the Royal Sardinian Com- 
 pany had expired. Chief among these reasons was the 
 fact that although the repertoire of the Company was 
 most varied, well-chosen, and rich in the productions of 
 our best and most celebrated authors, such as Alfieri, 
 Goldoni, Niccolini, Monti, Pellico, Carlo Marenco, Nota, 
 Giacometti, Perrari, Gherardi del Testa, Leopoldo 
 Marenco, son of the renowned author of Pia del Tolemei 
 Ponti, Castelvecchio, and many others all worthy of notice, 
 yet it was impossible to fight against the growing rivalry 
 of the lyric stage. The muse of melody seemed alone in 
 favour with the public. 
 
 In order to provide for the expenses of the Opera, the 
 managers, or directors, or theatrical academies spent 
 enormous' sums, and the prices of admission were, of 
 course, in proportion. A great performance was an event. 
 Everything was sacrificed to it, and it was necessary to 
 
CHILDHOOD AND iJUBUT IN ITALY. 19 
 
 make herculean efforts to prevent poor dramatic art from 
 being left altogether in the background. 
 
 During the early years of my career the preference of 
 the public for the works of French writers, which were 
 at the height of fashion then, was such that, in order to 
 be certain of a full audience for several consecutive even- 
 ings, it was enough to announce a play of Scribe, Legouv^, 
 Melsville, Dumas, &c. in the bills. It was not that the 
 productions of our native genius had no chance of finding 
 favour with the public, who appreciated their literary 
 merit, the spontaneity of the dialogue, and the purity of 
 the language. But, with very few exceptions, all the 
 applause was reserved for French pieces. 
 
 Besides, it should be remembered that the censorship 
 then exercised in Austria and the Papal States had a 
 great share in the decay of our native productions. Thus 
 patriotic subjects were absolutely forbidden. Morality 
 was expressed in the most fantastic way. In consequence 
 our native dramas were reduced to a mass of absurdities 
 when they escaped being utterly silly and without any 
 interest whatever. 
 
 I will give a few examples of the absurd changes made 
 by the ecclesiastical censorship in these years. 
 
 It was forbidden to an actor to utter the name of God, or 
 to use the words Angel or Devil. Actors were forbidden 
 to take on the stage the names of Gregory while Gregory 
 XVI. was Pontiff, and of John and Pius during the 
 pontificate of John Mastai, Pius IX. The word "father- 
 land " {patria) was likewise prohibited as a blasphemy ! 
 
 One day a certain play was submitted to the Censor, in 
 
 2 * 
 
20 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 which the principal character, who was dumb, returned to 
 his native land after a long exile. The book of the piece 
 contained certain directions which were to be reproduced 
 in dumb show. Among them was the following : " Here 
 the actor must convey to his audience the joy he feels in 
 once more seeing his own country." Well, actually the 
 word patria (fatherland) was erased by the Censor, and 
 paese (country) substituted, as though the change of 
 words could be indicated to the public by gestures ! 
 
 On another occasion, when Macbeth was given at Rome, 
 and one of the three witches says in the second scene of 
 the first act : 
 
 " Here I have a pilot's thitmb, 
 Wrecked as homeward he did come," 
 
 the Censor cancelled the lines. 
 
 " Why ? " asked the manager of the company. 
 
 " Because," was the answer, " the public will probably 
 find an allusion in them to the vessel of St. Peter, which 
 is in danger of being submerged by the wickedness of the 
 times." 
 
 What can be said in defence of such absurdities ? 
 
 Nor did the operas fare any better than the plays. In 
 Verdi's Luisa Miller the following words occur in the 
 tenor's beautiful song : 
 
 " Ed ella in snono angelico 
 Amo te, sol, dioea." 
 
 Unfortunately the expression suono angelica (angelic 
 note) offended the Censor's delicate sensibility, and he 
 
CHILDHOOD AND DEBUT IN ITALY. 21 
 
 substituted swono armonico (harmonious note). This so 
 excited the hilarity of the public, that a wit amused him- 
 self by writiag under the name of the Via di Porta 
 Angelica — a street near St. Peter's — the words, Via di 
 Porta Armonica. 
 
 When Bellini's Norma was to be giren in Eome, the 
 Censor would only allow it with the following stipula- 
 tions : First, that the opera was to be called The Forest of 
 Irminsul, to avoid using the word "Norma" — literally 
 "guide " in Italian — which constantly occurs in books of 
 devotion; then, that Norma's sons were to become her 
 brothers ; further, that she was condemned to death for 
 having shown favour to the enemy ; and that in the 
 famous finale, where she is about to mount the funeral 
 pyre, instead of committing her children to the care of 
 her father Oroveso, it is he whom she must recommend to 
 the Druids. 
 
 In Verona the memory is still green of that Veronese, 
 and Imperial Censor, who, in a piece of poetry which was 
 to be recited, changed the words " Beautiful sky of Italy " 
 into " Beautiful sky of Lombardy Venetia ! " Can any- 
 thing exceed this ? How could the Italian stage prosper 
 amidst such a state of things ? How could it move the 
 public to enthusiasm ? And, wanting prosperity and en- 
 thusiasm, it was a body without a soul. 
 
 I felt, as it were, paralyzed under the insupportable 
 yoke which restrained my movements and suppressed 
 half the words. And it was not enough to know that 
 the public had for me a sincere and unalterable affec- 
 tion, a constant and lively sympathy. I was by this time 
 
22 ADELAIDE BISTOEI. 
 
 accustomed to,ideiitify myself with the personage I repre- 
 sented, to live for those few hours the artistic life of the 
 work by me interpreted, and when this was either mis- 
 understood or ruthlessly mutilated, no longer raised up 
 the same enthusiasm, nor drew forth those electric cur- 
 rents which thrill and carry away the artist. I felt 
 myself falling from the sublime height of my aspirations. 
 The applause lavished on me personally seemed cold, and 
 left in my heart a kind of encroaching sadness. 
 
 Thus it was that at Turin, at the epoch above men- 
 tioned, in 1855, I suddenly made up my mind to retire 
 fi'om the stage. It seemed to me that, in the quiet of 
 domestic life, I should realise my most golden dreams. 
 
 But these discouragements, these projects, were of 
 short duration. That the sacred fire was not totally 
 extinguished within me was proved by my after journeys 
 round the world. 
 
 But, at the same time, one idea incessantly occupied 
 my mind. This was to vindicate, before leaving the 
 stage, the artistic worth of my country in foreign lands, 
 to show that, in spite of all, Italy was not the land of 
 the dead. But how was I to do this ? All of a sudden 
 I made up my mind to go to Prance. 
 
23 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 FIRST JOURNEY TO FRANCE. 
 
 I WAS aware that an Italian Company, directed by tiie 
 well-known actors Carolina Internari and Luigi Taddei, 
 had been in Paris in 1830, and that their experiences 
 were anything but encouraging. But the speculation was 
 rendered so unfortunate by many exceptional circum- 
 stances. The revolution of July had ruined them. 
 Their patroness, the Duchess de Berry, had had to fly 
 with Charles X., and the poor Italian players had been 
 reduced to such straits that .a benefit performance had 
 to be given to raise the funds for their return journey. 
 
 But in 1855 circumstances looked much more pro- 
 pitious. Prance was in a flourishing condition ; the great 
 Exhibition had attracted many strangers to Paris. It was 
 a well-known thing that the Italian emigrants, the 
 greater part of whom did honour to our country, had 
 met with the warmest of welcomes in Prance. The 
 Venetians gathered round Manin as round the banner of 
 their future redeemer, were a subject of constant admi- 
 
24 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 ration. And not less an object of interest were all the 
 other Italian exiles. Everything seemed to promiBe 
 success to my attempt. 
 
 I spoke about it to my husband, who approved of it. 
 We thought that the Eoyal Sardinian Theatrical Company 
 would worthily uphold the dignity of Italian art. 
 
 The chief members of the company at that time were 
 the now famous Ernesto Eossi, G-aetano Gattinelli, Bel- 
 lotti Bon, Mesdames Cuttini, Mancini, and Eighetti, 
 Boccomini, Gleck, and many others. It was far from my 
 desire to attempt to vie with the French actors, who have 
 no rivals in the perfection of their acting in Comedy, but 
 I was anxious to show those people who cried up the 
 merits of French players to the detriment of those of our 
 nation, that, in a certain measure, we could compete 
 with the French on the Field of Comedy, and equal them, 
 at least, in Drama and Tragedy ; that in Italy we still 
 knew what was true art, and could express it in a worthy 
 and dignified manner. 
 
 I expounded these views to my eminent and intimate 
 friend, the Commendatore Alessandro Malvano, on whose 
 clear intelligence and judgment I felt I could rely. He 
 thought my project excellent. Encouraged by his ap- 
 proval, I went at once to Eighetti, our manager. He was 
 thunderstruck when he heard me, called my ideas chi- 
 merical, and ended by opposing the realisation of my 
 plan in every point. He set himself to enumerate all the 
 risks to be encountered, the most possible losses, and 
 probable want of artistic success. But here Malvano 
 interfered, declaring himself to be so firmly persuaded of 
 
FIB8T JOVBNEY TO FRANCE. 25 
 
 the good result of the affair, that he was willing to 
 assume the entire responsibility. 
 
 " The loss shall be mine ; the gain yours," he concluded. 
 These words of Malvano made our Manager a little more 
 favourably disposed towards my proposal. I then sug- 
 gested to him that, as I wanted to have a share in the 
 profits (in case there should be any), besides my regular 
 salary, I was also prepared, in case of loss, to share it 
 with him. At last I succeeded to persuade him, and the 
 matter was finally arranged. 
 
 The necessary negotiations were concluded; our de- 
 parture was fixed for the 1st of May 1865, while the 
 22nd of May was named as the date of our first appear- 
 ance, and the repertoire was chosen. 
 
 Our chief care was to select such pieces as should allow 
 no room for comparison with the French actors ; for we 
 knew that Tragedy was the field in which we could best 
 measure ourselves with them, and in Italian dramas we 
 feared no rivals. 
 
 So we chose for the first evening, Silvio Pellico's 
 tragedy of Franeesca da Bimini, and a one-act comedy 
 by the Eoman author Giraud, called the Oelosi fortunati. 
 In this latter piece I took the part of a young wife very 
 much in love with, and extremely jealous of, her husband. 
 It seemed to us that this transition from Tragedy to 
 Comedy ought to make an impression upon the French 
 public. 
 
 Before setting out on my journey I provided myself 
 with several introductory letters ; among the rest, with 
 some for the famous critic Jules Janin, and our lamented 
 
26 AUELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 Pierangelo Fiorentino, who afterwards so greatly assisted 
 our interests. We left Italy with hearts full of hope. 
 Our journey was pleasant and successful. We traversed 
 the superb and picturesque road for the first time, and 
 our admiration was excited by its grand Alpine scenery. 
 
 A small party of friends accompanied us on our journey, 
 whose enthusiasm for the dramatic art, and hereditary 
 ties of friendship with the Eoyal Sardinian Theatrical 
 Company, had induced them to share our doubts and 
 fears, and be witnesses of the triumph they hoped was in 
 store for us at Paris. They undertook this journey with 
 the greatest delight. 
 
 We reached Paris towards evening, and I found my 
 apartment ready prepared for me. It was on the second 
 floor of No 36, Eue Eichelieu, near the fountain to 
 Moliere. 
 
 Every time since that I have passed before this house, 
 the sight of it has awakened the tenderest recollections 
 within me. 
 
 The members of the company found quarters in two 
 modest hotels situated near the Italian Theatre. My 
 husband, and I, and our friends lost no time in turning 
 out to see the much-talked-of Boulevards. 
 
 We sat outside the Caf^ Veron. I cannot express the 
 mingled impression of wonder and terror which overcame 
 me in the midst of this crowd, where not a single word of 
 my native language reached my ear. I seemed to under- 
 stand for the first time the boldness of my enterprise. 
 The idea of having hoped, even for a single moment, that 
 I, a stranger, should be appreciated by this public, un- 
 
FIB8T JOUBNUY TO FBANCK 27 
 
 acquainted with the reputation which I might have gained 
 on the other side of the Alps, appeared to me decidedly 
 absurd. My imagination began to work ; an unspeakable 
 discouragement took possession of me, and I went home 
 a prey to profound sadness. 
 
 We returned home without speaking a single word. I 
 dared not hint at the doubts which oppressed me, either 
 to my husband or friends, and, as it may be easily imagined, 
 I passed a most restless and agitated night. During the 
 following days, however, the more material occupations of 
 preparing for our first performance somewhat distracted 
 my mind, and the assurances of friends who had been 
 living for some time as exiles in Paris, further encouraged 
 me. Alas! the grater number of these will never read 
 my memoirs. Manin, Montanelli, Musolino, Carini, then 
 Director of the Bevue Franco-Italienne, later on, a general 
 in our army, — Dall' Ongaro, Ballanti, Pierangelo Flo- 
 rentine, Dr. Maestri, Federioi, Tofioli eminent colleague 
 of Tommaseo, Sirtori, are no more ! The reader must 
 allow me to lay on their graves the wreath of friendship. 
 We were very anxious, in common with our young friends 
 from Turin, to be present at some French theatrical per- 
 formance. Above all, we desired to see the great tragedian, 
 Eachel, who had filled the world with her fame. 
 
 To our great disappointment, we were told that she was 
 not acting in Paris just then, having taken her forma 
 farewell previous to repairing to the United States, and 
 that the public were very angry with her on this account. 
 
 Not being able, therefore, to see Eachel, the chief object 
 of our curiosity, we limited our desires to attending a 
 
28 ABELAIBE BISTOBL 
 
 play at the Comedie Fraii9aise so highly renowned for 
 the pei-fection of its acting and its mise-en-scene, considered 
 the first in Europe. 
 
 Wo had no time to lose. Our representations were to 
 begin on the 22nd, aud it was already the 17th. Seeing 
 announced in the bills, that Mile. Augustine Brohan, 
 especially known for her talent and vivacity in comedy, 
 was to play that very evening in one of her favourite 
 pieces, Le Caprice, by Alfred Musset, we were all most 
 anxious to go and hear her. 
 
 Being quite taken up with our own approaching per- 
 formance we had not given a thought as to the probable 
 necessity of taking tickets beforehand, and presented 
 ourselves at the ticket office only a little before the 
 beginning of the play. 
 
 " A box, if you please," demanded one of our party. 
 
 " A box ? " answered the office-keeper ; " for what day ? " 
 
 " For this evening." 
 
 "For this evening!" replied the astonished official; 
 "you should have thought about it long ago!" But 
 apparently our evident disappointment awakened his com- 
 passion, for he generously offered us tickets for the gallery. 
 
 My husband hesitated. Our young friends, with their 
 habitual good humour, were quite ready to accept. For 
 my part I was not much flattered at the idea of such an 
 entry into the house of Moliere, but we had no choice. 
 "We deliberated a moment and then ascended laughingly 
 the five flights to install ourselves triumphantly among 
 the gods ! 
 
 From our exalted situation we could applaud freely and 
 
FIBST JOVBNEY TO FBANGE. 29 
 
 enthusiastically. The exquisite acting of Mdlle. Augustine 
 Brohan gave us all great pleasure, and I never forgot it. 
 
 Before commencing my performances I delivered my 
 letter of introduction to M. Jules Janin, and as he was 
 a great friend of Rachel's I ventured to ask him 
 a favour I ardently desired, namely, to make me per- 
 sonally known to such a celebrity, and at the same time, 
 as a sister in her art to ask her support in my difficult 
 experiment. 
 
 Eachel was at her country house. I determined to 
 write to her, but was dissuaded by M. Janin and others, 
 who assured me that she was daily expected back in the 
 city ; that they would invite me to meet her, and thus I 
 should have every opportunity of speaking to her. 
 
 I took their advice, but my impatience to be acquainted 
 with her was such that I did not cease to importune M. 
 Janin to allow me to write to her. And they succeeded 
 also in dissuading me from this intention. Given, the 
 nervous, impressionable temper of Mdlle. Eachel, such a 
 step on my part would effect a result diametrically oppo- 
 site to that purposed by me. To write without the pre- 
 vious formality of a presentation, would be almost to treat 
 as an equal one who justly believed herself to hold an 
 exceptional and privileged position. It might appear 
 like a forcing of her will, or as giving her a lesson of 
 courtesy in doing that which the laws of hospitality 
 ought to have suggested to her as the mistress of the 
 house towards a stranger who was crossing her threshold. 
 I yielded to these arguments, although they appeared to 
 me too subtle and far-fetched. But I had good reason 
 
30 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 afterwards to repent of my pliability. I was cruelly 
 punished for consenting for the first time not to act 
 according to my own instinct. 
 
 On the appointed evening the series of our representa. 
 tions began with the play already decided upon. The 
 impression produced ou the French public was very satis- 
 factory for our amour propre. The press was entirely 
 favourable, and .we had the approbation of the greater 
 number of the most renowned critics. The famous scene 
 in the third act, in which Paolo and Prancesca each in 
 turn reveal their love,- excited much applause, and her 
 death, although lacking in remarkable effects or great 
 diflSculties, inspired Alexandre Dumas with an article 
 most flattering to me. 
 
 The impartial critics of journalism, prominent among 
 whom were Alexandre Dumas^afterwards my great 
 friend — Theophile Gautier, Pierangelo Fiorentino, Jules 
 Janin, Jules de Premoray, Paul de St. Victor, Leon 
 Grozlan, M^ry, Theodore Anne, and many others, also 
 gave us kindly notice. Some few who were devoted to 
 Eachel, timidly and half inaudibly granted me some 
 aptitude for acting tragedy, and in particular those very 
 special dispositions which the great French actress pos- 
 sessed in a lesser degree, and of which she made less 
 account — for example, the faculty of touching the tender 
 and compassionate feelings. But they absolutely denied 
 in me the force, the energy, the vigour necessary for 
 interpreting successfully [the violentjpassions proper to the 
 tragic poem, in fact, those qualities which had most 
 largely contributed to the triumph of Eachel and to her 
 
FIBST JOVENET TO FBANCE. 31 
 
 fame ; they denied me tliat too classic elasticity of move- 
 ment and posture, that " step of a goddess " which the 
 great actress possessed in a supreme degree when she 
 crossed the stage draped in peplum. 
 
 I might have bowed my head to this judgment, and 
 believed that nature and study had refused me those very 
 gifts for which the indulgence and affection of my 
 countrymen had most frequently lavished applause and 
 praise upon me. But the sentence thus hastily pro- 
 nounced appeared to me questionable. To speat of 
 energy, force, -violence, in relation to the gentle pathetic 
 character of Francesca da Bimini was an absurdity which 
 revealed the deliberate purpose of making naughty com- 
 parisons at whatsoever cost ; and to make them un- 
 hesitatingly without giving time for consideration or 
 comparison, or for the public to manifest freely their 
 own opinion. Thus, if I had been self-conceited, that 
 condemnation would have served rather to awaken my 
 pride than to arouse in me the honest sentiment of 
 dif&dence. 
 
 But pride was not, in truth, my besetting sin, and this 
 early opposition alarmed me at least in so far as I per- 
 ceived how ill my real intentions in appearing upon the 
 Parisian stage were interpreted by some. 
 
 " I never had the presumption," I said to my most 
 intimate friends and most severe critics, " to come to 
 Paris to compete with your sublime artist. My aim is a 
 more modest one ; and, permit me to add, a more generous 
 one. I wish to show that in Italy also the dramatic art, 
 once our boast and our glory, still exists, and is cultivated 
 
32 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 with afEection and passion. As for me, personally, let 
 them criticise me with the utmost severity ; but before 
 pronouncing judgment upon me, let them wait at least 
 until I have given proof, in all the various parts of my 
 repertory, of the full measure of my powers. And if 
 they persist — as they have a right to do — in making 
 comparisons I do not desire, but which it is impossible for 
 me to avoid, let them show their impartiality and clear- 
 ness of judgment by delaying their sentence until they 
 have seen me in some part which may give them reason- 
 able ground for such a verdict. 
 
 Thus, for example, Myrrha may be compared with 
 Phcedra (a minute comparison of them is given in two of 
 the chief analytical studies in these pages). 
 
 Our third performance on the 26th of May included 
 the Ourioso Accidente and La Locandiera, by Goldoni. 
 These plays were well received, though comedy in a 
 foreign language is most difficalt to understand. 
 
 It was then proposed to give the Myrrha of Alfieri, 
 without, however (from want of sufficient time), those 
 special announcements that generally excite the curiosity 
 of the public in all countries ; yet the theatre was more 
 crowded than on the preceding evening, and the entire 
 press assisted at the representation. This tragedy, 
 written in pure and severe Italian style, and with 
 many distinctly Greek forms, gave me an opportunity of 
 showing my artistic feeling, the profound psychological 
 study I had bestowed on the part, and the ability of our 
 Italian school to unite national spontaneity to Greek 
 plasticity, detaching itself entirely from academical con- 
 
FIRST JOURNEY TO FRANCE. 33 
 
 Tentionalisms, not because academical conTentionalisms 
 are devoid of everything praiseworthy, but because we 
 argue that in the whirl and fury of the passions, it is 
 not possible to give full attention to the greater or 
 lesser elevation of the arms, or hands. Provided the 
 gestures are noble and not discordant with the sentiments 
 expressed, the actor must be left to his own impulse. 
 Constraint and conventionalism, in my opinion, obscure 
 the truth. 
 
 One of the living examples of this realistic school, and 
 one also of its brightest ornaments, is my illustrious com- 
 panion in art, Tommaso Salvini, with whom I had the 
 good fortune to share the labours of the stage for several 
 years, as I also shared them with Ernesto Kossi. Salvini 
 was, and is, justly admired ; for his rare dramatic quali- 
 ties have nothing conventional about them, but are 
 characterised by ,that spontaneity which is the truest 
 and most convincing revelation of art. 
 
 The richness of pose, of which Salvini makes use, is in 
 him a natural gift, brought to perfection by his close study 
 of nature which the teachings of no school could have 
 produced or fostered in him. In a word Tommaso Salvini 
 is to me the living incarnation of Italian inspiration. 
 
 But to return to MyrrJia. I must say that the success 
 of this tragedy surpassed all our expectations. After the 
 fourth act — a most majestic conception of the great 
 author's — the audience seemed almost beside itself with 
 delight. 
 
 The Foyer was crowded with the most distinguished 
 persons in literature and art. Alexandre Dumas kissed 
 
 3 
 
34 ADELAIDE BISTOEI. 
 
 my mantle and my hands ; Janin, Legouvl, Henry 
 Martin, Scribe, Theophile Grautier, and many dramatic 
 artists (I do not spealc of the enthusiasm of my com- 
 patriots, because it was indescribable) could not find 
 words to express their emotion. During the fifth act, 
 where the great scene occurs between Myrrha and her 
 father, which Ernesto Eossi gave with a talent that 
 was unique rather than rare, the public never ceased to 
 applaud. The success of this tragedy at Paris more 
 than compensated me for the immense trouble which the 
 interpretation of such a very difi&cult character did cost 
 me in order to succeed in representing it suitably. Prom 
 the analysis of this play, given in the second part of this 
 volume, the reader will be able to judge how difficult 
 and intricate had been my task. 
 
 That evening, those who had not shown themselves 
 very favourable to us after hearing Francesca da Bimini, 
 were constrained to share in the common approval. In 
 order to afford an opportunity to the other clever mem- 
 bers of the company to display their powers, it was 
 necessary to bring forward pieces more especially suited 
 to them. So, on the 31st of May, the Burhero Benefico, 
 by Goldoni, was played, followed by the Niente di Male, 
 by F. A. Bon. On the 2nd of June, La Suonatrice 
 d'Arpa, by David Chiossoni, and Mio Gugino, by Angelo 
 BrofEerio, were given. 
 
 On the day when the Burbero Benefico was performed 
 I learnt, to my surprise, that Rachel had not only re- 
 turned from the country, but had bespoken a box for 
 that evening at the theatre. I was extremely annoyed 
 
FIB8T JOVBHEY TO FBANOE. 35 
 
 a.t this. If, after all the noise aroused by the papers, it 
 was the intention of the great French actress to come and 
 judge for herself, she had made a bad selection of the 
 piece which was to furnish her with the elements for 
 estimating me. 
 
 The Burbero Benefico is certainly one of Goldoni's best 
 comedies, but in it the part of the first actress is abso- 
 lutely sacrificed and left in the shade in order to throw 
 into fuller relief the very original personality of the prin- 
 cipal character. I could not, in the Burbero Benefico, 
 display my artistic qualities, such as they were, nor put 
 forth to the full extent my dramatic powers in repre- 
 senting the creation of a great poet, with the needful 
 amount of truth and dignity due to an historical per- 
 sonage. Rachel's resolve again placed me in another 
 dilemma. She having, unknown to me, and without even 
 mentioning it to our mutual friends, sent to take a box 
 at our theatre, plainly showed her determination to keep 
 aloof from me, and almost to remain incognito. Could 
 I — ought I to come forward and present myself to her ; 
 offer her a box, and thus, not only prevent her from 
 effecting her design, but further, in a certain way, have 
 the air of depriving her of her full liberty of judging me 
 in her own fashion ? . 
 
 It was, at the same time, a question of delicacy 
 and propriety mingled with a question of artistic amour 
 jpropre. If I was to have invited Bachel to one of my 
 performances, I should frankly have preferred for her to 
 judge me in Myrrha, Francesca da Bimini, or Mary 
 Stuart; but I did not wish either to appear proud in 
 
 3 * 
 
36 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 abstaining from entering into relations with her, or 
 importunate in meeting her half way and forcing her to 
 be civil to me while she seemed rather to avoid me, or at 
 least first form her opinion of me as actress before 
 receiving me as a guest. 
 
 I spoke of it to the Janins, who, not knowing anything 
 precisely, dissuaded me from making any move, advising 
 me rather to wait for the opportunity of a repetition of 
 MyrrJia to send Eachel a box with a card of invitation 
 from me. Meantime they offered to plan a meeting 
 between us at their house on the excuse of a dinnei*. 
 
 But this meeting never took place ; whether the 
 Janins forgot to arrange the dinner, or — as it seems to 
 me more likely — Eachel declined to accept the invitation, 
 I never heard more of it. 
 
 Meanwhile, we were not too well satisfied with the 
 pecuniary result of our speculation, and Signor Eighetti, 
 my manager, did not spare me his lamentations and 
 reproaches, and roundly asserted that I should be 
 responsible for his forthcoming ruin. 
 
 We busied ourselves in trying to find some way of 
 escape from the present very gloomy outlook. Our 
 friends tried to reassure us, to encourage us, and boldly 
 asserted that if we were fortunate enough to follow up 
 the great success we had achieved with Myrrha, we should 
 easily carry the public along with us. 
 
 On Tuesday, June 5th, we repeated Myrrha. After the 
 enthusiastic criticisms on the previous performance in 
 the newspapers, people came in crowds to see it, and our 
 success surpassed every acticipalion. Indeed, from that 
 
FIBST JOUBNET TO FBANOK 37 
 
 •evening Myrrha was all the rage. Our artistic and 
 financial success was assured. The tragedy was repeated 
 until it had to be removed to make way for Mary Stuart. 
 
 The Press was as unanimous in its verdict as the 
 Public. But I regretted that in praising me a certain 
 bitterness was mingled against Bachel. There was no 
 -doubt that this most significant change in the attitude of 
 the Press had been brought about in some degree by the 
 accusation that she had responded with ingratitude to the 
 great affection the public had always shown her, adoring 
 her as a Muse, and as its special favourite. Whether the 
 ■accusation was right or wrong I could not judge, but, as 
 matters were in such a state, it was certainly not expedient 
 for me to invite her to come and hear me. Had I done so, 
 it might have been supposed that I wanted her to be a 
 witness of my triumph. I blushed at the mere thought ! 
 And I abstained from offering any such invitation, and in 
 this had the approval of my friends, Janin, Ary-Scheffer, 
 and others, whose advice I sought. 
 
 Meanwhile the intimates of Sachel, alarmed at the 
 magnitude of my success, made every effort to neutralise 
 it fearing it might eclipse the brightness of the great 
 .actress's crown. 
 
 When, through an unexpected return of Eachel to the 
 -Stage, I had the privilege of seeing her on the evening of 
 June 6th in the character of Camilla in the Horatii, I was 
 still more confirmed in that conviction. A box was kindly 
 Bent me for this play through the courtesy of M. Arsene 
 Houssaye,at that time Director of the Comedie Frangaise, 
 an his name and that of the whole Company, to be present 
 
38 ADELAIDE BI8T0BL 
 
 at that solemn performance which coincided with the 
 anniversary of Corneille. The moment Kachel appeared 
 on the stage I understood the potency of her fascination. 
 I seemed to behold before me a Roman statue : her bearing^ 
 was majestic ; her step royal ; the draping of her mantle^ 
 the folds of her tunic, everything was studied with 
 wonderful artistic talent. 
 
 Perhaps critique might have been able to find a little- 
 fault with the unchanging arrangement of the folds, which 
 never fell out of order. 
 
 As a woman, it was easy for me to understand the reason 
 for that arrangement : Sachel was extremely thin, and used 
 every pains to conceal it. But with what marvellous 
 skill she did so ! She knew thoroughly how to modulate- 
 her voice — at times it was magical. At the wondrous 
 culminating point of the imprecation flung at Eome 
 and the Bomans, such accents of hate and fury rushed 
 from her heart that the whole audience shuddered at 
 them. 
 
 I had ratified without hesitation the enthusiasm, the 
 judgment borne by all Europe to the eminent qualities- 
 which won Eachel her glorious renown. She had not only 
 the genius of the stage, enthusiasm, mobility of feature,^ 
 variety and nobleness of pose, — she was able to incarnate 
 herself in her role, and keep it up from the beginning to- 
 the end of the piece without neglecting the smallest de- 
 tail ; giving all her great effects skilfully, and the most 
 minute scrupulously. Now it is in fulfilling these require- 
 ments, and on this sole condition, that one can be pro- 
 claimed a great artist. 
 
FIB8T JOURNEY TO FRANCE. 39 
 
 I heard and saw only her, and I paid her the tribute of 
 the most frantic applause ! How fullj I appreciated the 
 judgment of the critics when they ascertained that there 
 were no such points of contrast between us two, which, 
 could be used to our mutual injuiy. She was the tragic 
 genius of France, and we followed two widely different 
 paths. We had two different modes of expression ; she 
 could excite the greatest enlhusiasn in her transports, so 
 beautiful was her diction, so statuesque her pose. In the 
 most passionate situation, however, her expression was 
 regulated by the rules inposed by the traditional French 
 school, yet the power of her voice, the fascination of her 
 look were such, that she compelled admiration and 
 applause. We, on the contrary, do not believe that in 
 culminating moments of passion this self-possession is 
 possible. When a person is overtaken by unexpected 
 sorrow, or sudden joy, is it not the natural instinct to 
 move the hand to the head, and as a necessary consequence 
 must not the hair be disarranged ? 
 
 The Italian school of acting, then, holds that one of the 
 chief objects of the stage is to represent nature in a living 
 and truthful manner. 
 
 After all, what most troubled me, was the knowledge 
 that these numerous and faithful admirers of Eachel 
 had influenced her against me ; that whatever efforts my 
 friends and her acquaintances made to draw us together, 
 in accordance with my intense desire, none seemed likely 
 to succeed. 
 
 Unfortunately, in these cases, there are always zealous 
 people, so-called friends, who are ready to foment dis- 
 
40 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 agreements by a variety of injurious misrepresentations. 
 It was a pleasure to these to impress upon Eachel's mind 
 that I had spoken disrespectfully of her. Others, again, 
 came and reported to me that Kachel, in a fit of artistic 
 jealousy, had used malicious expressions concerning me. 
 They tried to make me believe that, desirous to be present 
 at a performance of Myrrha, and yet anxious to escape 
 recognition, and avoid the observations and comments of 
 the curious, she seated herself closely muffled up at the 
 back of a box ; that after the fourth act, which contains 
 some of my most important scenes, and in the midst of 
 the public applause, she, not being able any longer to 
 control herself, tore to pieces the book of words she 
 held in her hand, and, exclaiming, " Gette femme me fait 
 mal ; je n'en peux plus ! " left the theatre, in spite of all the 
 persuasions of those who were with her. I never believed 
 such gossip and I should have wished to hint to the friends 
 of the great artist the way to calm her proving to her 
 that her immense merit placed her above the instability 
 of public opinion, and that in spite of the reality of my 
 success this could in no way diminish the power of her 
 genius. 
 
 My performances excited increasing interest and enthu- 
 siasm, and I became a great favourite with the public. The 
 burst of applause which saluted my appearance on the 
 stage was not so grateful to me as the deep silence which 
 followed upon it. How much that silence of the 
 audience is fertile of inspiration, how it penetrates in 
 the soul of the artist, how the creative fire which exists 
 in art transports and transforms him ! When it was my 
 
FIB8T JOURNEY TO FRANCE. 41 
 
 ^od fortune to represent subjects of supreme importance 
 before an audience who worshipped art with true devo- 
 tion, and were ready and able to identify themselves 
 with the passions reproduced upon the stage — to count, as 
 I may say, the heart-throbs of the character which moved 
 them, by their own — all this intoxicated me, made me 
 feel as though I were endowed with superhuman powers ; 
 enabled me by a sudden inspiration to improvise effects 
 which I had never studied, but which were truer and 
 more vigorous than those I had before conceived ; while 
 above and beyond all was a predominating feeling of 
 legitimate pride at knowing that there yet lay dormant 
 within me unrevealed and fertile germs of art. 
 
 Mary Stimrt, by Schiller, translated into splendid 
 Italian verses by Andrea Maffei, was the last of my most 
 successful performances in Paris. This tragedy was 
 played alternately with Pia de' Tolomei, but I cannot say 
 that the latter excited as much enthusiasm in the French 
 public as Myrrha and Mary Stuart, although I remember 
 that it was successful in producing a considerable im- 
 pression ; for the adventures of the unfortunate Sienese 
 lady were so thrilling and pitiful that they diverted the 
 attention from the more emotional parts of the play. It 
 was, however, received with much interest by literary men, 
 because the subject is one immortalised by Dante, by 
 ■whose verses the tragedy is inspired. 
 
 Our renowned tragic author. Carlo Marenco, has cer- 
 tainly known how to raise the action in the last act to 
 the highest grade of sentiment, and so to arrange that 
 ihe most terrible final idea of the play embraces in 
 
42 ADELAIDE BISTOBl. 
 
 itself, in one grand emotion, all the development of thfr 
 subject. 
 
 The critics have been severe in analysing the pre- 
 ceding acts, but there is no doubt that this last act was 
 enough to be obliged to give the tribute of a tear to her 
 who said : 
 
 Ricordati di me, che son la Pia 
 Siena mi fe, disfecemi Maremma. 
 
 I made a special study of the death of Pia, in the fifth 
 act, as I desired to reproduce faithfully the dying agony 
 and the last gasps for life of a young woman imprisoned 
 by order of an unjustly cruel husband, in the pestiferous- 
 Maremma Marshes. This end caused me serious thought. 
 But how to represent upon the stage with perfect truth,, 
 in fuU realism, as it would now be said, the mournful 
 picture of a slow agony, without having recourse to the 
 imagination ? 
 
 While thus irresolute, a really extraordinary chance 
 caused me to witness the last moments of a poor girl 
 who was dying of pernieiosa (violent malaria fever).. 
 This afQicting scene made such a deep impression upon 
 my memory, that although I succeeded in faithfully re- 
 producing that heartrending close, identifying myself, so- 
 to say, with the dying victim, I was depressed at every 
 representation with the vividness of that painful re- 
 membrance. 
 
 At this point it might be said that the Italian drama, 
 had entered into Parisian habits. The partizans of 
 Eiachel were inconsolable. The attacks against me con- 
 
FIEST JOURNEY TO FBANGE. 43 
 
 tinued incessantly. It was then, to my great surprise, 
 that I one day received from some of them an invitation 
 to supper, where I was at last to meet the great artist in 
 the house of a literary man — a bachelor. My husband, 
 after having read the list of guests, did not think him- 
 self justified in allowing me to accept the invitation 
 given in this way. We found a plausible pretext for 
 excusing ourselves. 
 
 Time went on, and I was no longer thinking of the 
 possibility of a meeting with Eachel, when one morning 
 Mdme. Ode, the famous dressmaker of the Empress 
 Eugenie, was announced to me. She had to speak to 
 me on a subject of importance. I fancied it was about 
 some dresses of mine, but she said immediately : 
 
 " Tou know, certainly, how much Mdlle. Eachel has been 
 hurt by the attacks of which she is the victim, and to 
 which you served as a pretext. But you do not know, 
 perhaps, that there has been an attempt to embitter her 
 against you by reporting that you did not speak of 
 her with the consideration which she rightly believes her 
 due." 
 
 " It is not true ! " I answered sharply, " and I hope 
 Mdlle. Hachel has not given any more credence to those 
 mischievous insinuations, than I did when I heard 
 reported some very unkind criticisms she was said to 
 hare uttered about me ! I went to hear her in the 
 Horaiii, and I expressed all the enthusiasm she aroused 
 in me. I commissioned some intimate friends to make 
 known to her my admiration, as well as my keen 
 desire to meet her; but all their attempts to bring 
 
4A ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 us together were fruitless. Let us say no more 
 about it." 
 
 "Aad if I were to tell you, Madame, that Mdlle. 
 Eachel has made known to me her wish to see you ? " 
 
 "If that is true, let her come to me, then, and I 
 will receive her as such a celebrity is entitled to be 
 received." 
 
 But, as Mdme. Ode seemed not willing to take in the 
 sense of my proposal, but, on the contrary, made me to 
 understand that the first advances should come from me, 
 I thought it best to answer : 
 
 " I do not think I ought now to renew the expression 
 of my desire to know her, which was communicated to 
 her by my friends on my arrival in Paris, when I was 
 most anxious to obtain the support of the great actress 
 in the serious undertaking I had embarked in — ^now it is 
 too late ! " 
 
 " But if Mdlle. Kachel were to send you a box to hear 
 her, would you accept it ? " 
 
 " With delight ! and I would give up any engagement 
 I might have already, in order not to deprive myself of 
 such a treat." 
 
 So the next day I received a letter, enclosing a box- 
 ticket for the Comedie Francaise, on which was written 
 " A Madame Ristori, sa camarade Rachel " — a letter 
 which I have carefully preserved. 
 
 I was in my place on the evening mentioned before 
 the play began. It was Phcedre. Not only was I 
 most anxious to see Bachel in this masterpiece of 
 Bacine's, but it was also one of the favourite parts of my 
 
FIBST JOUBNEY TO FBANGE. 45 
 
 own rq)ertoire, and had been the object of most serious 
 stndj with me. 
 
 Although I perceived that the spectators were in- 
 terested in the manifestations of my approval, yet I did 
 not lavish it upon everything Rachel did. I found her 
 person statuesque, and her first entrance on the stage 
 magnificent, but the prostration she showed seemed to 
 me excessive ; all the more so because she neglected to 
 make clearly apparent how greatly this prostration was 
 due only to moral depression, which disappears when its 
 cause is removed, allowing the physical powers to resume 
 their full vigour. 
 
 Grand and powerful was the scene in the second act 
 with Hippolyte, in which she reveals her passion ; but T 
 found, contrary to her habitual acting, too much realism 
 in the impetuosity of its execution. In the fourth act 
 Bachel was really sublime, and the admiration and irre- 
 sistible emotions she excited in me were so great that I 
 was most powerfully moved, and yet, hearty as was my 
 applause, I felt it but half expressed the enthusiasm 
 which possessed me. When the curtain fell, in the 
 fulness of my enthusiasm I wrote hurriedly on one of my 
 visiting-cards a few words, which I sent to Eachel in her 
 dressing-room. The sending of this card was the last 
 intercourse I ever had with her. 
 
 Towards the end of my stay in Paris, I received 
 repeated and most pressing offers to dedicate myself 
 exclusively to the French theatre, but nothing would ever 
 have induced me to renounce my Italian career. To all 
 such proposals I gave an unqualified refusal, aUegingj as 
 
46 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 a pretext, the great difficulty of acquiring the necessary 
 purity of language and perfection of accent. 
 
 It was then that the minister Fould repeated a similar 
 request in the name of the Emperor offering me a year's 
 sojourn in Paids at the expense of the State, in order 
 that I might qualify myself, under the best masters, for 
 occupying the post which Eachel was going to leave 
 free at the Comedie Fran9aise. I held firm in declining 
 the honour offered me, not without thanking the Minister 
 and adding that I thought the great actress would not be 
 able to do without the applause of her public, and that this 
 would be always glad to see her again on the stage. How- 
 ever, my refusal in no way prejudiced me with M. 
 Pould, who with much courtesy granted me the favour 1 
 requested him, in allowing me for three consecutive years 
 the use of the Salle Ventadour for the purpose of giving 
 a series of Italian dramatic representations. Thus I not 
 only had the great satisfaction of succeeding in my 
 •original design, which was to render our art esteemed in 
 foreign countries, but I went beyond it in opening up a 
 new field for the exercise of Italian artistic ability, not 
 •only in Europe, but, as will afterwards be seen, in America 
 as well, where it did honour to our country. 
 
 It was with much regret that I left Paris, where I had 
 had the good fortune to become acquainted with the men 
 and women most celebrated in literature and art. I may 
 especially mention Lamartine, George Sand, Guizot, 
 Mignet, Henri Martin, Ary Sheffler, Halevy, Janin, 
 Legouv^, Scribe, Patin, Theophile Gautier, Sarcey, Eduard 
 Plouvier, Eeigner, Samson, Eoqueplan, Theodore Anne, 
 
FIBST JOURNEY TO FRANCE. 47 
 
 Mdlle. Georges, Madame Allan, Augustine and Madeleine 
 3rohan, besides many others whom it would take too 
 Jong to enumerate. I had to say " Good-bye " to all 
 these — to bid farewell to the excellent Alexandre Dumas, 
 ■who used to come to us daily, when we had the benefit of 
 his inexhaustible wit and humour. How many hours we 
 ^pent together ! It was indeed delightful to hear him 
 tell story after story, with his prodigious eloquence. He 
 would tell us anecdotes of travel, and events in his own 
 life, reminiscences of past days which he has scattered 
 throughout his books. We were only too charmed to 
 listen to him, and took good care never to interrupt him. 
 It seems to me that I hear him still when he related that, 
 in the early days of his admiration for me, one evening 
 as he came out from a representation of Myrrha, and 
 was striding along the Passage Choiseul, he met a great 
 friend of his. 
 
 " What do you think of her ? " he asked. 
 
 "Of whom?" 
 
 " Of Histori. Have you not been at the theatre ? " 
 
 " I have never heard her." 
 
 " And are you not ashamed of yourself to say so ? " 
 And with this he crushed his friend with an avalanche of 
 eulogistic epithets upon me. " I will never speak to you 
 .again if you do not go to see her ! " 
 
 A few days after, meeting his friend again at the 
 corner of the Eue de Berlin with his head still full of the 
 .same subject — 
 
 " Well, what play have you seen her in ? " 
 
 "Let me alone; one has not always six francs in 
 
48 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 one's pocket, nor am I reduced to the condition of a 
 claqueur." 
 
 " Then you would rather I lent you six francs ? " 
 
 " No, thank you. I will go when I can." 
 
 " You can return me the money at your convenience." 
 
 " But no, no, no." 
 
 Then Dumas, who would not let him aloue, persisted r 
 "I am determined you shall go and see Kistori." He 
 drew his purse out of his pocket. " Look here," he said, 
 " I shall lay the six francs down here ; if you won't have 
 them, the first comer may." And he laid the money on a 
 street-bourne, such as were still standing in Paris at the 
 time. 
 
 "Do pray leave me in peace," replied the friend ; and 
 both of them went away in opposite directions. 
 
 Meanwhile the six francs remained where Dumas had 
 placed them ; but the friend had hardly turned the corner 
 of the street when he stopped, saying to himself, " But 
 when all is said and done, six francs are not a fortune. 
 I can return them to him. And if I leave the money 
 there someone would be sure to come by and say, ' Some 
 fool has placed this here ; let me take it ; ' " and, sup- 
 ported by this logical conclusion, he turned back. To his 
 intense surprise, when he reached the spot he came upon 
 Dumas face to face, who in his turn had concluded that 
 if his fool of a friend would not have his money he had 
 better take it back himself. Thus meeting each other 
 they burst into a fit of laughter, and the obstinate friend 
 promised that he would certainly come and see me. 
 Dumas always laughed immoderately when he related 
 
FIB8T JOVBNET TO FRANCE. 49 
 
 this adventure, which he declared he would by-and-bye 
 write under the title of The Two Millionaires. 
 
 Another day Dumas boasted at our house that he could 
 cook and season maccarmii alia Napoletana as well as an 
 Italian cook, and when he heard our exclamations of in- 
 credulity he dared us to put his skill to the test. 
 
 We were then living at the Hotel de Bade, Boulevard 
 des Italiens, which was filled with foreigners. The report 
 spread in the hotel of what Dumas was going to do. the 
 windows were full of people watching the author of the 
 Trois Mousquetaires, arrayed in white jacket and apron, 
 a cook's cap to match on his curly head, a saucepan in 
 hand, and his jovial face showing at the moment that he 
 had quite forgotten the triumphs obtained by the adven- 
 tures of Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, in his eagerness to 
 achieve successfully the dressing of a dish of macdtroni. 
 
 With this pleasant reminiscence I conclude the narra- 
 tive of our first sojourn in Prance. I was heartily sorry 
 to leave this country after having received there, I may 
 venture to say, the baptism of fame. The French had 
 proved to me that for them there is no foreign boundary 
 in the domains of art, and I shall ever preserve in the 
 depths of my heart a sentiment of deep gratitude for the 
 generous reception they gave the stranger. 
 
50 ADELAIDE RISTOBI. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Mr FIEST TOUE IN EUROPE. 
 
 Afteewabds we went into Belgium, not without having 
 given some representations on the journey through the 
 north of Prance ; then we proceeded to Dresden and 
 Berlin, obtaining a great success everywhere. 
 
 In November I returned to my own dear country, and 
 there finished my original contract, giving various repre- 
 sentations at Milan and Turin, and then making a brief 
 stay at Verona, Udine, and Trieste, on my way to Vienna. 
 
 When they saw me again, the Italian public did not 
 know how to thank me sufficiently for having rendered 
 Italian art known and esteemed in foreign lands. 
 
 I was invited to Vienna to give twelve performances at 
 the Karnthnarthor, the old Imperial Theatre. 
 
 My first appearance in the Austrian capital took place 
 on the 4th February 1856. Alfieri's Myrrha was my first 
 performance, and I could not possibly have wished for a 
 more enthusiastic welcome than that which I received 
 ■from the Viennese public. 
 
MY FIBhT TOUB IN JEUBOPK 51 
 
 The theatre was crowded at every one of my perform- 
 ances, and I was frequently honoured by the presence of 
 the Court. In preparing for the first representation of 
 Mary Stuart I experienced the greatest agitation, for I 
 knew what comparisons I had to sustain, and what 
 publicity and importance attached to that evening. My 
 nerves were shaken, and a certain agitation took posses- 
 sion of me. 
 
 At my customary hour I repaired to the theatre, and 
 went to my dressing-room in the perfect possession of all 
 my usual health, and with scarcely-concealed nervousness 
 I began to dress. The excessive heat of the stoves, of 
 which the theatre was full, began to tell upon me ; the 
 blood mounted to my head, and affected my voice. My 
 heart beat fast in fear of some serious consequences ; by 
 degrees my voice grew husky until I almost lost it 
 entirely ! I was in despair ! Without hesitation or re- 
 flection I threw up the window, which looked upon a 
 bastion of the city, and heedless of the cold usual to the 
 season — ^it was now the 17th of February — or of the 
 possible evil consequences such an imprudence might 
 entail upon me, I unfastened the body of my dress and I 
 exposed myself to that icy temperature, hoping that the 
 reaction it would produce within me would be sufficient 
 to restore my voice and enable me to undertake my part 
 in the tragedy. 
 
 The doctor, surprising me at the window, asked me if 
 I bad lost my senses. 
 
 " My voice. Doctor ! " I cried. " Eor mercy's sake give 
 me back my voice ! " 
 
 4 * 
 
62 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 He replied that if I had the courage to use a Tery 
 strong gargle which had been employed advantageously 
 in similar cases by famous vocalists, he could restore me 
 at least as much voice as would enable me to go through 
 the play. 
 
 " Give me poison if it will do any good ! " I cried. I 
 knew that the remedy suggested was not poison, but it 
 did taste quite bad enough to have been such. 
 
 I did not, indeed, fully recover my voice, but an 
 announcement was made to the audience, asking them to 
 excuse any deficiency on my part in the representation of 
 Mary Stuart, and I was more successful than I could have 
 hoped. 
 
 This anecdote will serve to show how great was my 
 consideration for the public, and what a strong hold the 
 feeling of duty had upon me. 
 
 Indeed, I cannot describe the influence the public 
 exercised over me. Since childhood, a sentiment of 
 mingled respect and awe towards my audience had been 
 inculcated in me, and the feeling had grown with my 
 growth. I made it a special study, therefore, to allow no 
 unforeseen circumstances to disconcert me, so that the 
 public should not be disappointed on account of the per- 
 formance not being as good as we could make it. And I 
 was called upon to put one of these fundamental maxims 
 into use, on one of the evenings when I appeared as Jvdith 
 in the Biblical tragedy written expressly for me by my 
 friend and favourite author, the lamented Paolo Giacometti. 
 
 In the culminating scene of the play, when I have cut 
 ofE the head-of Holophernes, his favourite slave Azraele, 
 
MY FIBST TOTJB IN EUBOPE. 53 
 
 discovering the murder of her lover, hurls herself in her 
 fury upon me, and I seize hold of her and throw her to 
 the ground, thus terminating the act with great effect. A 
 very short time before she ought to have made her entry, 
 they informed me from the wings, with much perturbation, 
 that the actress had been seized with convulsions, and 
 would not be able to finish the act. I replied in an 
 instant, " One of you put on her dress, throw a veil over 
 your head, and come to me. " My order was obeyed with 
 the rapidity of lightning ; but the poor girl who assumed 
 the part did not know how to move, nor how to speak, as 
 she had no idea of the words she ought to say ! 
 
 But I was not dismayed. I induced her to advance 
 towards me as though to kill me, when I seized her, and 
 there and then extemporised a kind of little dialogue. 
 May I be forgiven those verses I The public never noticed 
 the little ruse, and they were not disappointed, and the 
 result was completely successful. 
 
 In my performances of Medea, I was frequently obliged 
 to meet an unforeseen emergency, and show presence of 
 mind. Often when travelling in foreign countries having 
 only to give one representation of Medea — and having one 
 single child available in the company, the second, who 
 had not to speak, had to be provided by the property- 
 man. Generally I had to instruct him by gestures, as 
 we did not understand one another. Once it happened 
 that one of these poor little wretches, not being accus- 
 tomed to the stage, grew frightened from the moment I 
 appeared on the mountain carrying him in my arms. 
 When he heard the applause with which I was received, 
 
64 ADELAIDE BI8T0BL 
 
 and saw for the first time the foot-lights aad the 
 crowded pit, he began to cry and struggle, and endeavour 
 to escape from my hold. I had to make a great efEort to- 
 keep my head cool enough to commence my own part 
 and prevent myself falling down the mountain, while at 
 the same time I tried to make my prisoner understand 
 by my caresses that he had nothing to fear from me, and 
 that somewhat quieted him. Frequently his mother, or 
 sister, or father, was obliged to stand all the time at the 
 wings making signs, and whispering comforting words in 
 order to assure him he was in no danger. 
 
 But a worse thing than this once happened to me, at 
 the end of the tragedy, at the most thrilling point, when,, 
 assailed by the Corinthians, I fled desperately across the 
 stage, dragging my children with me by either hand, 
 mingling my screams with those of the populace, and 
 ending by throwing the two little ones on the steps of 
 the altar of Saturn, where I feigned to kill them. While 
 concealing them by my person — I remained immovable 
 as a statue — one of the murdered youngsters began to 
 howl, and in its fright suddenly got up and ran behind 
 the scenes before I could do anything to prevent him. 
 And just to think that the public was to imagine that I 
 had murdered him ! Although the audience was deeply 
 impressed by the tragic action of this scene, yet it -was 
 impossible to avoid a hearty laugh at the sight of the 
 dead child running away. 
 
 In April 1856, I returned to Paris. As had been 
 arranged the year before with M. Legouvd, steps were 
 taken at once to put Medea on the stage as quicklv as 
 
MY FIRST TOUB IN EUEOPE. 55 
 
 possible. In the analytical study of this tragedy — one 
 of six which I have chosen from my repertoire, and which 
 follows in the second part of this volume — the reader 
 will find a minute account of the circumstances which 
 led to my acceptance of the part, and of the events 
 which preceded the appearance of the work, and the 
 gratifying result of our labours on the night of the 
 8th April. 
 
 Medea ran for nineteen evenings, and it might have 
 gone on for a greater number, if I had not been obliged 
 to alternate it with those dramas in which I had appeared 
 the year before. 
 
 From Paris we went to London. I gave my first per- 
 formance in the elegant Lyceum Theatre on the 4th June 
 1866, selecting Medea as the opening piece. The English 
 public were so greatly prejudiced in my favour by the 
 French, German, and Belgian newspapers, that they 
 gave me the warmest welcome, and came in crowds to 
 hear me, showing me the most flattering signs of sym- 
 pathy and esteem. 
 
 Many of the most distinguished literary men in 
 England were surprised that! had not added Macbeth — 
 in my opinion the greatest work of Shakespeare — to my 
 repertoire. I urged that a foreign, travelling company, 
 could not undertake such a play, because of the want of 
 scenery, and of the necessary number of actors. I was 
 answered that in England, at that period, it was often 
 found necessary to adapt such works, not only to the 
 capacity and numbers of the actors, but also to the state 
 and requirements of the audience, who were not able to 
 
66 ADELAIDE EISTOBl. 
 
 criticise justly the times, the places, and the con- 
 ditions under which Shakespeare's dramatic genius was 
 developed. 
 
 I objected to this, as it seemed to me a sacrilege to 
 adapt and mutilate tho work of the greatest English 
 poet. We Italians would not venture to touch a single 
 line of our classics. 
 
 They assured me that it was done without scruple, in 
 order to render it comprehensible to all intelligences. 
 To say the truth, their argument was not illogical, and 
 finally, as they proposed to assume the onus of the under- 
 taking, I accepted, and ' on my return to London, in 
 June 1857, Macbeth, arranged and adapted for my com- 
 pany by Mr. Clark, was produced at Covent Garden. 
 The capital Italian translation was by Giulio Carcano. 
 Mr. Harris put it on the stage according to English 
 traditions. The part of Lady Macbeth, which after- 
 wards became one of my especial favourites, occupied 
 me greatly, for I knew that serious comparisons would 
 be drawn. 
 
 The remembrance of the marvellous representation of 
 Lady Macbeth by Mrs. Siddons, and the traditional 
 criticisms of the press, would, as it seemed to me, be cer- 
 tain to render the public very severe and hard to please. 
 However, I devoted all my skill and knowledge to dis- 
 covering and elucidating the exact meaning of the author, 
 and it appeared to the English that I succeeded in 
 identifying myself with this type of perfidy and crafty 
 cunning, far beyond their expectations. 
 
 The drama was repeated several evenings, producing a 
 
MY FIBST TOUB IN EUBOPE. 57 
 
 deep impression on the. audience, especially in the great 
 «leep-walking scene. So fully, indeed, did I enter into 
 the spirit of the part, that during the whole of the act 
 my pupils remained immovable in their sockets, until the 
 tears came into my eyes. And it is from this forced 
 immobility that I date the commencement of my 
 weakened eye-sight. 
 
 What it ;cost me to discover the proper intonation of 
 voice, the true expression of face, in this culminating 
 scene, and, indeed, I may say, throughout my interpre- 
 tation of this diabolical personage's character, I have told 
 in one of the analytical studies already mentioned, and 
 which will follow hereafter. 
 
 I went to Warsaw for the first time in November 1856. 
 .1 may say that my acting in that city was most bril- 
 liantly successful; but justice requires me to add that 
 this result was facilitated by the remarkable appreciation 
 shown me, on my first appearance, by the elegant and 
 courteous ladies of the Polish society. I was made the 
 object of endless and delicate attentions, and especially 
 on the part of the Governor, Prince GortschakofE, and the 
 Princess his wife ; and this hearty welcome induced me 
 to return thither in the following year. 
 
 In the beginning of 1859 I went for the first time to 
 Naples in order to perform at the Fondo, the very 
 elegant royal theatre, and on the evening of the 14th 
 January, I commenced a short series of representations 
 with Medea. How kindly and enthusiastic I found my 
 audience it is more easy to imagine than describe. Little 
 by little there grew up between us that wonderful 
 
58 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 magnetic current of sympathy whicli always nerved me to 
 double my efforts to deserve their favour. 
 
 It was with much difficulty that I obtained the neces- 
 sary permission from the Bourbon Censor to play the 
 Phcedra of Hacine. I was certain that however much 
 mutilated, there would be still quite enough beauty 
 enshrined in the work to produce a very great impression 
 and ensure its success. But the result surpassed my 
 expectation. In the short space of fifteen performances^ 
 I was constrained to repeat Phaedra five times, an 
 unusual event at that date. The last of these was 
 destined for my benefit, and on the morning in question 
 there was not a place to be had in the theatre. For 
 want of a sufficient number of boxes many ladies of high 
 rank had to be content with stalls. A cantata was spe- 
 cially composed in my honour, and I might have been in 
 a garden, so great. was the quantity of flowers showered 
 upon me. The reader may judge how such an ovation 
 was likely to excite me, and what an impulse it would 
 give to the inspiration of the artiste. But with all my 
 pleasant remembrances of the occasion is associated one 
 anything but delightful. 
 
 During the mas;nificent scene in the fourth act, when 
 her tit of jealous fury causes Phaedra to fall into a^ 
 state almost amounting to delirium, I so lost myself 
 in my part, that instead of starting back, crying^ 
 " Even in martyrs the soul lives ! " I advanced un- 
 consciously towards the foot-lights and fell on them. 
 The audience rose with a loud cry ; and I should 
 probably have been badly burnt had it not been for 
 
MY FIBST TOUB IN EUROPE. 5& 
 
 the presence of mind of a young gentleman who occu- 
 pied a seat close to the stage. He, seeing that the 
 actress who played the part of the confidante, Enone, 
 remained stupidly immorable from terror, gave me a 
 sharp push backwards, thus saving me from a terrible 
 accident. But his efforts did not entirely succeed in 
 averting all the bad consequences of my fall. The elbow 
 of my right arm broke one of the glasses covering the 
 footlights, and when I regained my feet I saw that I had 
 sustained a serious wound. Much worse might have 
 happened to me however. If the theatre had been 
 lighted with gas instead of oil — as it was before my 
 arrival in Naples — the gas having been suppressed in 
 every public building in consequence of an explosion 
 which had occurred in a man-of-war, and which was 
 suspected of being the result of some political plot — ^I 
 should probably have been burnt to death. 
 
 The stage was immediately invaded by a crowd 
 anxious to know how I was. Among the first was the 
 Count Siracusa, brother of the King Ferdinand, bringing 
 the Court doctor. When my arm was dressed they 
 began to say that I owed that deplorable accident to the 
 presence in the theatre of a celebrated jettatore. Count 
 Siracusa, who also believed in the evil-eye, unfastened 
 from his hreloques a falcon's claw set in gold, and gave 
 it to me, saying : " I killed this bird myself ; wear it in 
 future against the evil-eye." I have always kept this 
 little keepsake. 
 
 I was taken to my hotel, and during two months I 
 carried my arm in a sling. This, however, did not pre- 
 
60 ADELAIDE RI8T0BL 
 
 vent me from fulfilling my engagements, and I acted 
 with' my bandaged arm, taking care to moderate the 
 energy of my movements. After a short time it healed 
 ■entirely, but I still retain traces of the unfortunate acci- 
 •dent in a large scar on my arm. 
 
 I went to Madrid the same year to give a series of 
 performances in the theatre of the Zarzuela, and com- 
 menced on the 16th of September with Legouv^s Medea. 
 'The theatre was crammed, and the reception given to me 
 was very enthusiastic. We gave our usual series of per- 
 formances, and the success was greater and greater every 
 night. Queen Isabella came to the theatre every night. 
 
 On the 21st I had to repeat Medea. I shall never 
 forget that evening, marked by an event which left 
 an indelible remembrance in my heart. 
 
 I went to the theatre at my usual hour. The actors' 
 dressing-rooms opened out of a most beautiful sitting- 
 room, and here I remained while my maid prepared my 
 ■costume, talking with my companions and some habitues, 
 <t7&c the many magnificent and interesting historical 
 things we had seen during the last few days, and dis- 
 ■cussing the. traditional customs of that superb country, 
 which greatly surprise those who make acquaintance 
 "with them for the first time. 
 
 " For instance," said I, " what was the meaning of 
 that little bell which was rung along the street to-day by 
 ■one of the members of a confraternity ? " 
 
 I was answered that it was to collect alms for the soul 
 ■of a man condemned to death, I y name Nicholas Chapado, 
 whose sentence was to be carried into effect next day. 
 
MT FIBST TOUB IN EUBOPE. 61 
 
 The unhappy creature was a soldier, who, in a fit of 
 anger, had drawn his sword against his sergeant in 
 revenge for a blow the latter had given him. Besides, 
 I was told that his poor sister — ignorant of what 
 had happened^ — being by chance in a shop hard by, 
 seeing the brother of the company of San Giovanni 
 decoUato, who collected the alms, inquired who it was 
 that was to be shot. When she heard her brother's 
 name she fell to the ground in a swoon. 
 
 This history touched me to the heart. 
 
 "My God! " I exclaimed, "while we are here full of 
 gaiety, and expecting applause and success, that miserable 
 man is counting the moments he has yet to live ! " 
 
 I tried in vain to forget this gloomy picture, while I 
 was obliged to think of my costume. 
 
 Soon afterwards two people asked to speak with me. My 
 husband told them that I was dressing, and, therefore, it 
 was impossible to see me. When they found persistence 
 was useless, they told my husband that their business 
 was about poor Chapado, whose life they were trying to 
 save. My husband came to me, saying: 
 
 "Do you know there is a man condemned to death 
 to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Yes," I answered. 
 
 "Well, these people think his life is in your hands." 
 
 I changed colour, and in much agitation I asked him if 
 he was in earnest. 
 
 " Quite," he said. " A deputation came to tell me so 
 just now. It will return in a few minutes. The un- 
 fortunate soldier is an excellent youth ; he can point to a 
 
€2 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 •career of eleven years of irreproachable conduct in his 
 favour. He is the victim of a sudden fit of passion, for 
 his sergeant, who hated him, struck him unjustly in the 
 presence of his companions. Chapado only put his hand 
 to the hilt of his sword, but that was enough for him to 
 be condemned to death. The life of this man depends 
 on the Queen. They say that she is very fond of you, 
 and if you ask her to grant you his life, she will not 
 refuse, although she has already declined to see a 
 deputation of students." 
 
 " The Queen will think me a mad-woman if I make 
 any such request ! " I answered in the greatest dismay. 
 " How should I be any more successful than those who 
 have already supplicated in vain? No, I should never 
 dare! never." 
 
 Just then the friends of the condemned man returned, 
 and repeated all that I already knew. I was over- 
 come, and could not say a single word, so great was 
 my agitation at the idea that they were depending on my 
 intercession. At last, however, I promised to try. But 
 then, suddenly I found myself face to face with a diflS- 
 culty. G-eneral Narvaez, Duke of Valencia, and President 
 of the Council of Ministers, was generally hated for his 
 excessive severity and harshness, and in consequence of 
 this I was advised to make my application direct to the 
 Queen, without any intermediary." 
 
 " No," I answered, " I am acquainted with the General, 
 and have found him to be a frank, amiable, true, and 
 distinguished man ; I shall address myself directly to 
 him in the first instance, as I should not take such 
 
MT FIB8T TOUR IN EVBOPE. 63 
 
 a step without first mforming him. I have always 
 «triveii to keep to the straight path, and have found that 
 it answers." 
 
 " But you will throw away the life of this poor 
 •creature," they urged. 
 
 " Well, is he not already lost ? The worst that can 
 happen will be that I shall not he able to save him. Is 
 ■not tha.t the truth ? Leave me to follow my own 
 instinct." And I dismissed them ; and they left me, 
 shrugging their shoulders and shaking their heads, and 
 perfectly confident of my ill-success. 
 
 Fortunately, the President of the Council was in the 
 theatre. I sent to ask him to honour me with his com- 
 pany for a few minutes. Narvaez, who was always 
 courteous, did not keep me waiting. He came, attended 
 by his aide-de-camp, but I begged the latter to stop out- 
 side with my husband, while I invited the General into 
 my dressing-room. I was alone with him. My voice, 
 -which betrayed the emotion under which I was suffering, 
 my whole appearance, struck the Duke. 
 
 " General," I began, " you have often told me that so 
 •great is the admiration you honour me with, that you 
 would scarcely refuse me anything. Pardon ! pardon, 
 then, for this poor soldier. I am a stranger in Madrid, 
 but, from the interest taken in this young man by the 
 inhabitants, I am sure he merits it. I was advised to go 
 direct to the Queen with , my petition without troubling 
 you. I am aware that by your well-proved fidelity to her 
 person, and by your wise counsels, which have averted 
 «o many dangers from the State, you have won Her 
 
64 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 Majesty's special esteem and regard ; and I am convinced 
 that a few efficacious words from you would do more 
 than anything to make her listen to my petition." 
 
 " My good lady, " replied the G-eneral, " it is impossible. 
 I am sorry, but it is necessary to give an example. Our 
 revolutions always begin with the army ; a similar thing 
 occurred a short time ago, you see the result of it. The 
 entire municipality besieged the Queen just now to ask 
 the same favour, and I advised her to be firm in not con- 
 ceding it. The discipline is slackened, clemency in this 
 case would be dangerous. We must give an example." 
 
 But I did not lose heart; I persisted in my request with 
 all the enthusiasm which gives such eloquence to speech. 
 The General began to yield ; I recommenced my attacks. 
 An internal conflict was visible on his face. My tears 
 accomplished the victory, and, taking my hand: "Ahf 
 Madame," he said, " how can I resist your entreaties t 
 If the Queen consents, I bow to her decision. Now 
 listen ! Ask an audience of Her Majesty, which wiU be 
 immediately granted. Tou will be received between the 
 acts. Throw yourself at her knees, and plead the canse 
 of this wretched man with the eloquence with which you 
 have pleaded it with me. The Queen likes you. She will 
 be perplexed — she will answer that the President of the 
 Council would not agree to it. Then let me be called ; 
 I will hasten to obey the summons ; and — ^you may hope." 
 
 These words so overjoyed me that I could not control 
 myself sufficiently to reply. I could only wring his hand, 
 and set myself to follow his advice. 
 
 The General had hardly left me before my friends 
 
PEBF0BMANGE8 AT MABBID. 65 
 
 crowded round me full of questions. " What has he said ? 
 Has he consented? Has he refused ? " " Gently, gently," 
 I cried, "for pity's sake, leave me, leave me. I can tell 
 you nothing; you must wait." 
 
 Immediately after the first act the Queen granted me 
 the desired audience, and, accompanied by one of my 
 managers, Signor Barbieri, a distinguished composer, I 
 repaired to the Eoyal box. I was begged to wait a few 
 minutes in the ante-chamber that led to it. Suddenly I 
 heard a confused murmur of voices, of weeping. An 
 of&cer of the Eoyal household, enemy of Narvaez, had 
 made use of his position at Court to introduce Chapado's 
 sister into the Eoyal box without previously informing 
 the Queen, and it was her sobs and cries we heard im- 
 ploring pardon. The door opened, the poor supplicant 
 was carried out fainting. Narvaez, not understanding 
 anything of the delay of his expected summons to the . 
 Eoyal box, just entered the waiting-room at the moment 
 they brought me into Her Majesty's presence. I found 
 her lying on a sofa hardly recovered from the emotion 
 she had just experienced in her delicate condition. It 
 was just a few weeks before the birth of Alphonso XII. 
 The ministers were round her. 
 
 " How happy I am to see you, dear Madame ! I was 
 greatly in need of changing the sad current of my 
 thoughts," she said • to me, holding out her hand 
 graciously. I kissed her hand, and, without hesitating 
 an instant, I threw myself at her feet, crying " Pardon, 
 pardon, Madame, for Chapado ! Let your Majesty be 
 touched by my supplication, and pardon a faithful subject 
 
 5 
 
66 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 led away by a moment of forgetfulness at a punish- 
 ment he considered an insult. He is a good soldier who 
 will die for your Majesty. If my poor merits have 
 availed to excite your Majesty's interest and favour, 
 grant me this petition, which I make with uplifted hands.' 
 
 " Calm yourself, Madame," said the Queen, without 
 being able to dissemble her emotion. " I would like to 
 pardon him — but the President of the Council assures me 
 
 that " 
 
 Forgetting all etiquette, and without heeding that I 
 was interrupting Her Majesty, I exclaimed : 
 
 " Only deign to give utterance once more to your 
 clement intentions, and the Marshal, whose humane 
 sentiments I am acquainted with, will not persist in his 
 severity ! " 
 
 Upon this Narvaez, who had followed me, bowed before 
 his Sovereign without a word. The Queen, then pressing 
 my hand, raised me to my feet, saying : 
 
 " Yes, yes, we will grant your petition." 
 
 Hearing the noise by which the audience had begun to 
 express their displeasure at the long delay between the 
 acts, I hastened to take my leave of Her Majesty, witt a 
 heart overflowing with contentment. 
 
 " Ah ! what two different tragedies are being played to- 
 night," she said to me ; then, desiring a pen to be brought, 
 she signed the necessary pardon, and an Adjutant ran 
 at once to communicate the news to the poor penitent, 
 who was already receiving the last ministrations of his 
 Church. 
 
 The news having spread of my intercession with the 
 
PEBFOBMAN0E8 AT MADRID. 67 
 
 SoTereign, a breathless crowd awaited me at the foot of 
 the stairs, down which I flew rather than ran, crying, 
 " He is pardoned ! he is pardoned ! " When I reappeared 
 upon the stage I was greeted with a burst of acclamation 
 and applause ! In the enthusiasm of the moment the 
 name of the Queen was confounded with my own. I 
 intimated by my gestures that it was she alone who 
 deserved their thanks ; while the Queen, graciously pointing 
 to me, cried from her box : 
 
 " No ! no ! it is she, it is she ! " 
 
 In a word, I owe to Isabella II. one of the most memor- 
 able evenings of my life ; and the pen used to sign the 
 pardon of a brave and honest man, which was given to 
 me by Her Majesty, will be always treasured by my 
 children as a token of the great joy their mother then 
 experienced. 
 
 But, although the life of this soldier had been granted 
 me, yet, in order not entirely to violate military law, it 
 was necessary that he should undergo punishment. He 
 was therefore condemned to imprisonment for life at 
 Alcala. The sentence was severe, but it was a mere 
 nothing to the loss of life. Notwithstanding, when the 
 Prince of Asturias was born, I implored a commutation 
 of the penalty and obtained it ; his term of detention 
 was shortened to six years. 
 
 It was during one of my later visits to Madrid that I 
 desired to make the acquaintance of this unfortunate 
 man ; for the letters he had written to me, without having 
 ever seen me, revealed a man of excellent heart, full of 
 honour and the liveliest gratitude. I asked permission 
 
 6 * 
 
68 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 to visit him in his prison, which was a short distance 
 from Madrid. This the Governor readily accorded 
 to me. 
 
 When I arrived there, accompanied by my husband and 
 one of my old friends, I was ushered into a room which 
 served as a visitors' parlour. Presently Nicholas Chapado 
 made his appearance, dressed in convict garb. He stood 
 with his head bent down, grasping his cap convulsively 
 in his hands. But so great was his emotion that at first 
 he was not able to speak. He could only throw himself 
 at my feet, and kiss my garments in a transport of joy. 
 
 Everyone present was touched. I cannot repeat all 
 the expressions of gratitude he at last used towards me, 
 and which stirred me to my heart. I learnt afterwards 
 that his irreproachable conduct had gained him the 
 esteem of his superiors as well as of his companions in 
 misfortune ; that, being promoted to superintend a gang 
 of labourers, he won their affection and secured their 
 obedience, and that the sergeant, who had been the 
 cause of his misfortune, having fallen dangerously ill 
 and being at the point of death, had sent for him to ask 
 his pardon for the great injustice he had done him — a 
 pardon which Chapado had not hesitated a moment to 
 grant. 
 
 I promised to put in motion every means I could think 
 of to secure his immediate and complete liberation. As 
 soon as the news of my visit to this place of punishment 
 spread, all its occupants were eager to see me, and when 
 I descended the staircase, with the Governor on one side 
 and Chapado on the other, they knelt while I passed. 
 
PEBF0BMAN0E8 AT MADBID. 69 
 
 respectfully uncovering their heads. I cannot express 
 the profound emotion which their presence caused me, or 
 tell fully how this moving scene made my eyes fill with 
 tears. 
 
 Having finally obtained Ohapado's full pardon, every 
 time that I revisited Madrid he would hasten to see me ; 
 and when I furnished him with means to attend my 
 performances, I could not wish for a more energetic 
 claqueur. Between the acts, and even above the applause 
 of the public, he could be heard justifying his transports 
 of delight by saying : " But don't you remember that she 
 saved my life ! that I was already in the chapel receiving 
 the last sacraments of the Church ! That it was she 
 asked and obtained my pardon from Queen Isabella! 
 That I love her more than a mother ! That I would 
 gladly give my life for her ! " and he would end these 
 fervent expressions of gratitude by again clapping his 
 hands frantically, and crying, " Long live Eistori ! long 
 live Eistori ! " at the top of his voice, until the people 
 round him were inclined to think he must be mad. 
 
 All the letters I received from him began with these 
 words, " Mi Madre gvMrida." They are of a remarkable 
 style, as written by a common soldier, and all of almost 
 Oriental imagery. Chapado at present keeps a fruit- 
 shop in Madrid. 
 
70 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 LONG TOUR IN EUEOPE, AND FIEST VISIT 
 TO AMERICA. 
 
 Aptee having visited Vienna, Pesth, and'Italy, in April 
 of the same year, I returned to Paris. Each time I 
 reappeared there, it was my study to provide some new 
 work for presentation to my intelligent French audience. 
 During the preceding year, my friend Montanelli, a man 
 full of talent, who passed his life modestly in exile 
 because of the prominent part he had taken in the 
 political affairs of our country, in order to secure her 
 freedom, had proposed to write me a tragedy in three 
 acts, on a most thrilling subject, taken from Plutarch,, 
 under the name of Gamma. The plot was somewhat as fol- 
 lows : A priestess of Diana, famous for her beauty, had' 
 married the Tetrarch Sinato. Sinoro, prince of Galatea,, 
 caused Sinato to die by treachery, in order that he might 
 espouse his widow, of whom he was much enamoured. 
 Gamma having discovered him to be the assassin, feigned 
 to surrender herself to his wishes, and went with him to- 
 
TOUB IN EUROPE— VISIT TO AMERICA. 71 
 
 the Temple to celebrate the marriage rites. These con- 
 cluded by the bride and bridegroom drinking succes- 
 sively out of the same cup. 
 
 As priestess, it was Gamma's duty to prepare the 
 nuptial draught, and she contrived to mix poison 
 with it. 
 
 The first to put it to his lips was the unsuspicious 
 Sinoro, who died in terrible agony from spasms induced 
 by the poison after the revelation by Camma of his pre- 
 meditated guilt. Indifferent to life, Camma also drank, 
 and expired rejoicing, according to her religion, in the 
 prospect of a speedy reunion with her beloved Sinato 
 in the Elysian fields. 
 
 A propos of her death, my friend sent me his work 
 piece by piece, as it was finished, in order to have my 
 opinion upon it. I found that the death scene was too 
 prolonged ; that he made me talk too much. Full of 
 this idea, I wanted to communicate it to Montanelli as 
 speedily as possible, and I therefore sent him a telegram, 
 which ran as follows : 
 
 " Tou forget that I am in a hurry to die, and that in 
 the presence of the corpse of the victim with whom I 
 have divided the poison I ought not to go on talking for 
 ever." 
 
 Anyone can imagine how such a telegram, addressed to 
 a person of note in connection with the political events of 
 the day, and necessarily under espionage, would amaze 
 the telegraph clerk, who at once sent it to the Ministry ; 
 and what a ridiculous figure he would make afterwards ! 
 
 It was on the evening of the 23rd April 1857, that I 
 
72 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 made my first appearance in this tragedy, whicli obtained 
 a great success. 
 
 In the year 1858 I again went to Prance, England, 
 Austria, Germany, and Italy. In June, 1859, I signed a 
 contract with the principal theatres of Holland, and I 
 began my performances at Amsterdam on the 21st. 
 
 As I was aware that the Dutch were reputed a phleg- 
 matic people, not easily roused, I did not expect a very 
 warm welcome. What, then, was my amazement to see 
 the frigidity of my audience melt lite snow under a 
 summer sun, and to be received by them with an enthu- 
 siasm equal to that of any southern nation. It is such 
 unexpected and spontaneous demonstrations which stimu- 
 late the actress, and give an impetus to art. And my 
 surprise had no limits when I heard that it was intended 
 to organize a fete in my honour, which the newspapers, 
 in speaking of it beforehand, called " an Art Festival." 
 
 More than twenty thousand people of all classes took 
 part in the solemnity. There was a great number of 
 operative, artistic, and learned associations present, all 
 preceded by their respective banners. About 9 o'clock 
 one evening this enormous crowd began to defile 
 under my windows, calling loudly for me. They had 
 thousands of torches and Bengal fires, combining 
 the Dutch and Italian colours. It was a scene of real 
 enchantment. But the crowding and pushing were 
 not without serious consequences ; several persons were 
 precipitated into the canals, but happily, were rescued. 
 In short, the spectacle can be more easily imagined 
 than described. In order to give some idea of it, I will 
 
TOVB IN EUBOPE— VISIT TO AMERICA. 73 
 
 only say that I was told the King made this remark 
 about it : 
 
 " It is too little for a revolution, and too much for a 
 demonstration." 
 
 Leaving Amsterdam, I proceeded to make a tour of 
 this industrious country, visiting its principal cities, and 
 receiving everywhere the most cordial and flattering 
 welcome. At the Hague I was the object of. the kindest 
 attentions, bestowed on me by the late Queen Sophia, 
 that cultivated patroness of the arts. She continued her 
 manifestations of interest in me until her death, and 
 gave me repeated proofs of it every time I met with her. 
 His Majesty the King also honoured me several times 
 with his presence, and the last time I chanced to see him, 
 at Wiesbaden, he proved the continuance of his esteem 
 by presenting me with the grand gold medal, instituted 
 in Holland to distinguish those who have deserved well 
 of art. It is not strange, therefore, that I eagerly 
 accepted an offer to revisit Holland. I returned there 
 the following year, full of the remembrances which I 
 have thus succinctly narrated. I will not describe this 
 second journey lest I should repeat myself, but I cannot 
 refrain from mentioning another monster demonstration 
 which was specially distinguished both in the way it was 
 ■conceived and carried out; and, in order that its true 
 spirit may be better understood, I delight to mention 
 that this period of my artistic life (1860) coincided with 
 the warlike feats of arms which were then attracting the 
 notice of the civilized world towards Italy. 
 
 I was to arrive at Utrecht, and the scholarly youth of 
 
74 ABELAIBE BI8T0BI. 
 
 that city, interested and fascinated by the marvellous 
 prestige of Victor Emmanuel and Garibaldi, desired to 
 welcome me — an Italian artiste — with the enthusiasm 
 with which they saluted a new era for our country. The 
 entire population, together with the youthful and intelli- 
 gent students of that University, assembled to meet me 
 at the station. An open carriage awaited me, drawn by 
 four horses. It was a solemn progress, and to this day I 
 can recall the satisfaction I experienced, for I fuUy 
 understood that this homage was not paid to me per- 
 sonally, but rather to Italy. 
 
 The procession began to move. My carriage, in which 
 I sat with my family, was preceded by an advance-guard 
 on horseback. Part of this select escort rode on either 
 side and followed me ; and thus I passed through the 
 principal streets of the city on my way to the hotel, 
 amidst an immense crowd. 
 
 I appeared on the stage the same evening and received 
 a perfect ovation from my audience. When the play 
 was over, I was treated to one of those torchlight 
 serenades which are always so picturesque, especially in 
 northern countries. 
 
 The remembrance of this episode, which I should have 
 liked to describe more minutely, is perpetuated by 
 accurate engravings, and I shall always tenderly cherish 
 the first copy that was presented to me. 
 
 Early in October 1859, I went to Portugal, where I 
 divided a course of twenty-four performances between 
 Lisbon and Oporto. What an enchanting country it is ! 
 And what delightful recollections I retain of my different 
 
TOJIB IN EVBOPE— VISIT TO AMERICA. 75 
 
 visits there ! How can my futile pen ever express the 
 impression which I felt at the sight of that magnificent 
 panorama of Lisbon seen from the sea ! 
 
 What an appreciative Maecenas towards artists was the 
 lamented King Ferdinand! To me especially he was 
 always courteous and kiadly, and to this day I preserve 
 a drawing in water-colours he graciously painted for my 
 album. Every time I revisited Lisbon I met with the 
 same constant appreciation from the public, and the 
 same consideration from the father-King. I was last in 
 Portugal in 1878, and was delighted to receive the same 
 welcome from the public, while the Eoyal family, of 
 which Pia of Savoy is the principal ornament, gave me 
 many manifestations of sympathy. 
 
 I must not omit to mention a very original perfor- 
 mance, of which I retain a most pleasant remembrance, 
 and which I gave in the February of the following year 
 as I passed through Coimbra. As is well known, Coimbra 
 is the seat of the principal Portuguese University, in 
 which there is a most charming theatre destined for 
 the amusement of the students ; and only on rare occa- 
 sions actors, who have obtained favour with the Lisbon 
 public, on leaving there, are requested to appear upon 
 the stage of this theatre. The Head of the University 
 asked me to perform Medea. I assented with pleasure, 
 as I was glad to perform before an audience, the mascu- 
 line character of which had struck me the year before 
 when I passed through the city. I had been at the same 
 time greatly impressed by the picturesqueness of their 
 costume. 
 
76 ADELAIDE BISTOBL 
 
 When I was received by the whole of the students 
 with their Eectors and Professors at their head, the 
 picturesque costume of those young men reminded me 
 of a moyen age picture. The students wear a sort 
 of tail coat buttoned to the throat, short trousers, and 
 a stand-up white collar ; on the head a cap shaped 
 like the one Dante wears in his portraits. A large 
 cloak covers the whole person. This dress, entirely 
 of black, acts as a kind of frame to the face and 
 emphasises all its colouring; and their beard, usually 
 long and thick, gives additional prominence to their 
 very dark eyes.* 
 
 As I have already said, T was to represent Medea, the 
 mise en scene of which presented some difficulties which 
 seemed to me hard to overcome. One of the fundamental 
 statutes of the University forbids the appearance of any 
 females as supernumeraries. How, then, was the scene 
 with the Canephorae to be arranged ? They were in- 
 dispensable; but, behold! the students proposed an 
 expedient worthy of their lively imaginations. They 
 offered to array themselves as young maidens and enact 
 the followers of Creusa. The proposal seemed to me all 
 the more absurd because of their thick beards, but there 
 
 * King Don Dinez founded at Lisbon, in 1288, a school tor the 
 study of general soieuce. This study included faculties of art, of 
 canonical and civil law, and of medicine. In 1 290 Pope Nicholas IV. 
 confirmed his foundation. In 1306 the King transferred the College 
 to Ooimbra, and constituted it a University, similar to those existingr 
 in other parts of Europe. 
 
TOUB IN EUBOFE— VISIT TO AMEBICA. 77 
 
 was no help for it ; and all I could do was to recommend 
 them to hide theif faces in the best possible way. 
 
 When I arrived at the theatre for the performance, I 
 was solemnly received by the Professors and students. I 
 found that these most polite young men had prepared 
 me a dressing-room, which for elegance and good taste 
 could rival with the most elaborate and perfumed 
 boudoir. 
 
 But I must pass on to the performance. The theatre 
 was crowded ; but I must confess my mind was pre- 
 occupied with the little arrangement for the Canephorae 
 already mentioned. I was not at all sure that in its most 
 touching scenes the tragedy might not be turned into a 
 farce ! Fortunately this did not happen, though for one 
 instant I feared my apprehensions might be well founded. 
 In order to accustom myself to this most original set of 
 supernumeraries, I had made them pass in review before 
 me prior to commencing the performance. But, alas ! 
 during one of the most important situations of the first 
 act, I chanced to cast my eye on a box close to the stage. 
 And what did I see ? Some of the Canephorae, who just 
 before had been sent by Creusa to pray in the Temple of 
 Diana, smoking, with the utmost indifference, long 
 Havannah cigars ! How could I help laughing ? How 
 could I continue my part ? Tried and experienced actress 
 as I was, I could not withstand the effects of this ridi- 
 culous and unexpected sight. It was only by the greatest 
 effort that I maintaiiied my self-control, and I was forced 
 to send and ask these new kind of Canephorae to be kind 
 enough to withdraw from the front of the box. 
 
78 ADELAIDE EI8T0BI. 
 
 Of my return to France from Portugal^ through 
 Belgium, I have the most agreeable reminiscences of 
 a visit — unfortunately, too short — -which I made to 
 Hanover. The Eoyal Family gave me and my family 
 innumerable proofs of the most affectionate benevolence. 
 King George was not only interesting for the courageous 
 patience with which he bore his blindness from the age 
 of sixteen ; he was, besides, a brilliant talker, well versed 
 in art. The welcome we received in the Eoyal home, 
 where a beloved mother ruled with a gentle hand, holds 
 a high place in my dearest recollections. 
 
 From Hanover I went to Paris. This was in April 
 1860. On the evening of the 21st, the annual perfor- 
 mance for the benefit of Racine's grand-daughter, MdUe. 
 Trochu, took place at the Comedie Pran9aise. On this 
 occasion they endeavoured to make the entertainment as 
 varied as possible, and thus it was that it came into the 
 head of my good friend Legouve to try and persuade 
 me, not only to appear in the fourth act of Phaedra, 
 but to recite, in French, a poem he had written for 
 the occasion. Although ready to take part in Italian in 
 that charitable purpose, the reader may imagine I met 
 his second proposal with a decided and energetic nega- 
 tive; for I was fully aware of the great difficulties I 
 should have to encounter both in the pronunciation of a 
 foreign language, the nervous excitement in which I 
 should find myself, and the critical character of the 
 important and severe audience which frequented the 
 Comedie Franfaise. Besides all this, I knew that in 
 accordance with the traditional custom, I should be sur- 
 
TOUB IN EUBOPE— VISIT TO AMERICA. 79 
 
 rounded by all the players attached to the theatre during 
 my French recitation. 
 
 But Legouve was not to be refused so easily. He per- 
 suaded me to recitej then and there, in a room to our- 
 selves, some verses which he had been repeating to me in 
 his excellent diction. To please him, I consented, and 
 Legouv^ was so well satisfied with my attempt, that 
 opening the door of the room where we were, he cried 
 laughingly, at the top of his voice, to some friends who 
 were waiting my decision : " La Patrie est sauvee ! La 
 Patrie est sauvee ! " 
 
 Encouraged by these demonstrations on the part of 
 my friend, I set myself in good earnest to study his 
 composition. Atidaces fortuna juvat ! I may say that my 
 difficult task was successfully accomplished. 
 
 The public received me like une enfant gates de la 
 Maison de Moliere ; but what gratified me still more was 
 the warm approval of my most illustrious comrades for 
 the time being. 
 
 The following was the programme for that evening : — 
 
 Athaliah. 
 
 The Fonrth Act of Phcedra, performed by Mdme. Ristori. 
 
 A Tribute to Bacine, by M. Amedee Roland. 
 
 Verses by M. Legouv^, recited by Mdme. Ristori. 
 
 Les Paideurs. 
 
 This successful experiment was the cause of an even 
 more difficult and important effort. 
 
 Legouv^ would not relinquish his desire of seeing me 
 perform in French, and to persuade me he employed all 
 his eloquence. He knew my deep gratitude to the French, 
 
80 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. k 
 
 to the Emperor, and to the brave army who had just 
 made its triumphal entry into Paris from the victorious 
 fields of Magenta and Solferino. Already more than 
 once I had expressed my wish to thank the French public 
 who had opened wide to me the road of all Europe. 
 
 "Here you have the opportunity," he said to me. 
 " The efforts you are going to make will be the proof of 
 your feeling. Nobody could intei-pret it differently." 
 
 He gained his cause. Once again I yielded to the 
 force of eloquence. I considered, also, that I would 
 satisfy the lively desire of the Parisian public to see me 
 in such a difficult task as acting in their language. I 
 consented to essay the drama, in four acts, which Legouve 
 had expressly composed for me, and in which I was to 
 figure as an Italian, who, thanks to the considerate and 
 delicate thoughtfulness of the author, might properly be 
 expected to speak with a slightly foreign accent. When 
 I was told the subject I was greatly pleased with it. 
 
 Beatrix, a young actress of considerable reputation, 
 invited to pass from Court to Court, and from salon to 
 salon, ends by meeting a young prince, who falls madly 
 in love with her, and determines to marry her in spite of 
 the difference in their position. She secretly returns the 
 prince's affection, but, knowing that such union would 
 be a cause of much sorrow to her lover's mother, of whose 
 kindness she had been frequently the object, would not 
 think of causing unhappiness in the family of her 
 benefactress. Beatrix, not wishing to deceive, and not 
 having the strength to resist, disappeared. I liked this 
 part, as I felt interested in the sufferings and the heroism 
 
TOUB IN EUBOPE— VISIT TO AMERICA. 81 
 
 of this young actress Beatrix. I was ready to set to 
 work at once ; and to facilitate the execution of our plan, 
 Legouve proposed to accompany me in a journey I was 
 about to make along the Rhine. 
 
 It was one continuous rehearsal from morning till 
 night. He availed himself of every spare moment to 
 train me in my part, and to conquer the difficulties I 
 had in the pronunciation, and displayed infinite art in 
 teaching me to soften down the rolling of the Italian r, 
 which, pronounced close, as by us, is such an element of 
 expression and energy in our language, but which is so 
 little accordant with the smoothness of the Trench one. 
 The final syllable of the imperfect tense was also another 
 subject of our studies. These were quite finished by the 
 time our peregrinations were over, and we were thus 
 enabled to make arrangements for the performance of 
 Beatrix at the Od^on in the following March. On leaving 
 Paris, I made another tour in Holland, went up the 
 Ehine, and visited Livonica and Courtrand. 
 
 In December of the same year (1860) I went to St. 
 Petersburg, where I returned in November 1861. I was 
 at Moscow in February 1861 and February 1862. 
 
 I retain the most pleasant recollections of this period 
 of my life. St. Petersburg with its many attractions will 
 always remain impressed upon my mind, and I shall never 
 forget the welcome I received from the public. Although 
 the Court, being in mourning for a member of the Imperial 
 family, could not attend the theatre, yet the Emperor 
 Alexander II. and the Empress desired to see me, and I 
 was therefore invited to spend an evening at the Winter 
 
 6 
 
82 ADELAIDE BISTi 
 
 Palace. I recited the third act of Mary Stuart before 
 their Majesties. Nothing could exceed the graciousness 
 with which I was received. But how enthusiastic the in- 
 habitants of the North can be, I was better able to judge 
 from my welcome at Moscow. 
 
 It is true that the youthful element predominates in 
 that ancient city, attracted there by the celebrity of its 
 TJniversity. Here, as in Holland, the students dis- 
 tinguished themselves by their enthusiasm, but in rather 
 a different manner, and I greatly prize, and carefully 
 preserve as an object of the highest moral value, the 
 present which they made me of a gold bracelet set with 
 amethysts, symbolising the globe, on which reposed a 
 glittering star — the star of Art. 
 
 University students, even in Eussia, are not over- 
 burdened with riches ! For this reason, therefore, I cherish 
 all the more the token of sympathy and affection they 
 offered me. 
 
 On the morning of my departure the students, in a 
 body, awaited me at the station. Hardly had I arrived 
 when they clustered round me, and, as though by enchant- 
 ment, I found myself transported to my compartment ! 
 My family followed me as well as they could. Up to the 
 moment of starting, my carriage was turned into a 
 manufactory of autographs. Hundreds of times I had to 
 sign my name on bits of paper, pocket-books, fragments of 
 paper. The whistle of the engine gave the signal of de- 
 parture, and the train moved off amidst the most 
 clamorous demonstrations. 
 
 Such remembrances are most touching, and I wish the 
 
TOUB IN EUROPE— VISIT TO AMERICA. 83 
 
 same heritage of heart and affection to the actresses who 
 shall come after me. 
 
 From Moscow I went to Paris, as I had to begin the 
 rehearsals of Beatrix. Little by little, as these went on, 
 the love for my part grew stronger in me. I identified 
 myself so thoroughly with the personage I had seen 
 created and developed under my very eyes, that on the 
 day of the first representation — March 25th, 1861 — it 
 seemed to me as if I were simply appearing in one of 
 my customary parts, and the thought of the public did 
 not trouble me at all. I felt quite sure that they 
 would appreciate my most audacious attempt, accepting 
 it as a tribute of Italian gratitude, and this thought 
 was my salvation. Indeed, I felt so perfectly sure of 
 myself, and so calm, that I remember I replied with a 
 hearty laugh to the exhortations of my comrades who, 
 just before I presented myself on the stage, entreated 
 me to take courage, to have no fear ! But when I 
 actually went on, our old adage recurred involuntarily 
 "to my mind — " It is one thing to talk of death ; and 
 ■quite another thing to die." 
 
 However accustomed I was to the public of the 
 principal cities of Europe, I felt some dismay at the sight 
 of the crowd which filled the Od^on that evening. The 
 unanimous applause with which I was greeted alarmed 
 rather than encouraged me ! Thinking how much was 
 ■expected of me, I had to summon all the force of my 
 strong will to my aid, to overcome that momentary 
 hesitation. But I succeeded, and I repeated that part for 
 forty nights. And while on this subject, I may mention 
 
 6 * 
 
84 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 that Beatrix met with the greateat success throughout 
 the French provinces, as also in Holland and other 
 countries. Some years later I gave it again in Paris for 
 twenty consecutive evenings at the Vaudeville. 
 
 I travelled to Berlin, for the third time, in Marcli of the 
 same year (1862), performing for six evenings in the 
 Theatre Eoyal. The Imperial family were prodigal of 
 their affection, and the excellent Emperor William, then 
 King of Prussia, crowned his favours by conferring on me 
 the Order of Civic Merit. 
 
 Prom Berlin I was invited to give three performances 
 at the Grand Ducal Theatre in Weimar. On this occasion 
 I was most kindly received by tie Grand Duke and Grand 
 Duchess, and I spent one evening at Court, when I was 
 enabled to judge of the culture of this accomplished 
 Prince, for he then repeated to me, from memory, many 
 passages of Dante, which he had translated fluently ; and 
 on future occasions when I was brought into contact 
 with him, I found that he understood and could speak 
 our language most admirably. 
 
 Amid all my pleasant recollections of the kindness I 
 received from the German Court, I especially remember 
 that to the King of Prussia I owe the honour of 
 becoming acquainted with Meyerbeer. 
 
 It was near the King's birthday, and I was in Weimar 
 for a brief series of representations, when the Grand Duke, 
 who, as everyone knows, is brother to the Queen Augusta 
 of Prussia, requested me, in her name, to go to Berlin 
 unknown to the King, and per^rm J Gelosi Fortunati. A 
 beautiful and elegant little theatre was privately got ready 
 
TOUB IN EUBOPE— VISIT TO AMEBICA. 86 
 
 in one of the apartments of the Imperial residence. The 
 King was highly delighted, with this affectionate surprise 
 prepared by his Consort. The little play went off 
 brilliantly, and after the performance supper was served 
 at small tables scattered about the room. It was then 
 'that the King presented Meyerbeer to me, appointing him 
 my cavalier for the rest of the evening. What a recom- 
 pence for the fatigue of my journey ! and Meyerbeer, 
 who was most agreeable, had no difficulty in making 
 his conversation interesting to me. The next day he 
 came to see me with his two daughters, and we spent a 
 pleasant hour, talking of art and of Italy. 
 
 During the remainder of 1862, and up to December 
 1864, 1 revisited, several times, cities where I had already 
 given performances, making long stays in my own dear 
 country, especially in Sicily, whence, in September 18.64, 
 I embarked for Alexandria, in Egypt. 
 
 In the land of the Pharaohs I had an opportunity of 
 judging how art affected different nations. The en- 
 thusiasm manifested for me by the society of Alexandria, 
 the most cosmopolitan of the world, left nothing to 
 desire. On the evening of my benefit I was overwhelmed 
 with demonstrations of esteem and kindness, especially 
 from the Italian colony. In response to repeated in- 
 vitations, I next went to Cairo, where I appeared at 
 a temporary theatre, the old one having been burnt 
 down. 
 
 The 2nd of December of 1864, saw me in Smyrna. 
 The voyage was long and most unfortunate. We had 
 taken passage in a steamer belonging to the Austrian 
 
86 ADELAIDE RI8T0BI. 
 
 Lloyd's, called The Empress. As soon as we left Alex- 
 andria we found the sea very tempestuous, and when 
 we neared the Colossus of Rhodes, the holler was found 
 to he damaged. For forty-eight hours we lay at the 
 mercy of the wind and the waves. The captain and the 
 officers vied with one another in bravery. Our signals of 
 distress, though constantly repeated, were in vain, and 
 we suffered very much physically and mentally. We 
 fancied that every wave that beat against the ship would 
 be our destruction ; but, by a merciful Providence, and 
 thanks to the immense efforts made by the officers, the 
 damage to the machinery was repaired somehow, and 
 we slowly returned to Alexandria. 
 
 Tet, exhausted as I was by all I had undergone, I felt 
 obliged to re-embark in another vessel of the same line — 
 the Archduchess Charlotte — a few days after. 
 
 I do not exaggerate when I say that I had a fierce 
 struggle between my inclinations and my duty, before — 
 in my condition of mental and physical suffering — I 
 could decide on this step. But I may say that through- 
 out my artistic life I have always succeeded, at whatever 
 cost, in fulfilling my engagements. 
 
 I gave one performance of Medea at Smyrna, on my 
 way to Constantinople, but at the latter city I was only 
 able to give thirty, partly in consequence of the unfor- 
 tunate voyage, and partly because of my great desire to 
 arrive quickly at Athens. Tet, although my stay at 
 Constantinople was short, it is full of pleasing remem- 
 brances to me. 
 
 T reached Athens on the 19th of January 1856. I 
 
TOUB IN EVBOPE— VISIT TO AMERICA. 87 
 
 could only give five performaiices. I had hardly arrived 
 at the Pirasns than I was already impatient to visit the 
 Acropolis, and I satisfied this great longing of mine 
 the day after my first public appearance, having for my 
 cicerone the renowned archaeologist and diplomatist, 
 Eaugabey, now Minister at Berlin. My learned guide 
 revived for me the world of Ancient Greece with all its 
 classic charms. What a boon for me to find in these 
 sublime marbles all the noble attitudes which I had 
 sought so ardently to reproduce before the public. I 
 was in ecstasy before such wonders. Standing before 
 the Caryatides I studied the Grecian drapery in order 
 to reproduce at the first opportunity every detail of 
 those wondrous folds. Mr. Kaugabdy had almost to 
 drag me away by force from that matchless bas-relief 
 of the Victoria Aetere, the graceful attitude of which I 
 have still before my eyes. 
 
 The Temple of Theseus made a profound impression on 
 me, as did also the theatre of Bacchus. What enchant- 
 ment it was to see the dazzling rays of sunshine light up 
 the summits of those imposing mountains, Hymethus, 
 Penteticon, and Parnassus, which surround the Acro- 
 polis. What a panorama ! What magnificent and sur- 
 prising effects ! How my heart beat- at finding myself in 
 the midst of those ruins which recall the history of so 
 many centuries, and are such eloquent testimony to 
 the truly beautiful in art which Greece gave to Borne ; 
 or, I might say, to the entire world. 
 
 I tore myself away with difficulty from that sublime 
 contemplation which had absorbed me, and increased my 
 
88 ADELAIDE BISTORT. 
 
 love of art. Alas ! how often art is sacrificed to the 
 necessity of the moment! and just then I had to expe- 
 rience this hard truth. Unfortunately, a previous agree- 
 ment which I could not break, rendered me unable to 
 comply with the courteous request of King George, who, 
 seeing the enthusiasm manifested by his people (some of 
 whom had made incredible sacrifices to attend my per- 
 formances), tried to induce me to take part in a grand 
 representation which should revive, in the nineteenth 
 century, the costumes and stage-effects of ancient Greek 
 tragedy, as far as was consistent with the exigencies of 
 the modern theatre. It was to be a daylight performance 
 in the theatre of Bacchus, where all Greece would 
 assemble. That classic enclosure should be put into the 
 best possible condition for the entertainment by the 
 Athenian architects. 
 
 How can I describe my disappointment at having to 
 refuse this tempting proposal made me by His Majesty ? 
 For myself, I was only too delighted at the idea of 
 appearing upon the stage of that ancient theatre in 
 classic Greece ; of reviving for a moment the art of 
 Sophocles and Aeschylus; reposing, in spirit, in the 
 majesty of Olympus ! It would have been a memorable 
 event in my life. But, unhappily, the prose of that 
 wretched contract overpowered the poetical enchantment 
 I would fain have shared. 
 
 Good-bye, poetry; good-bye, dear Athens; good-bye, 
 my amiable guide. I was bound to appear at a fixed 
 date in Paris, where I was to play at the Lyric Theatre in 
 French, in a drama by M. Legouve, called Les deux 
 
TOUB IN ETJBOPE— VISIT TO AMERICA. 89 
 
 Beines. What could we say to the cruel play of destiny ? 
 On my return voyage we touched at Messina, and there I 
 found a telegram from M. Legouv^, informing me that, 
 in consequence of some political complications with the 
 Holy See, Napoleon III. had prohibited Les deux Beines. 
 
 And to think that it was for this contract that I had 
 deprived myself of an unspeakable pleasure ! 
 
 We divided between Naples, Leghorn, Florence, Milan, 
 and Turin, the time we were to have spent in Paris. 
 
 I returned to this metropolis towards the end of April 
 1865, in order to fulfil my engagement to play Beatrix at 
 the Vaudeville. Just at that time Florence was solemnly 
 celebrating the sixth centenary of Dante. Most of the 
 intellectual world had heen invited to honour the divine 
 poet. 
 
 The Syndic was most urgent that I should go there to 
 •contribute, with Tommaso Salvini and Ernesto Eossi, in 
 composing an artistic programme worthy of the occasion, 
 andi also to take part in the grand procession formed by 
 representatives of Arts and Science, who, walking through 
 the city to Piazza Santa Croce, were to be present at the 
 unveiling of the statue of Dante. I was delighted to 
 accept this flattering invitation ; to associate myself with 
 those two masters in art was for me a fortunate chance. 
 Our meeting suggested the idea of making us play 
 Francesea da Bimini together in the Cocomero (now 
 Nicolini) Theatre, for a charity. Paolo was taken by 
 Ernesto Eossi ; Salvini played Lanciotto, of which part 
 he made a surprising creation, I was Francesea. We 
 vied with each other in passion and zeal, and new 
 
90 ADELAIDE EISTOBI. 
 
 effects sprang forth as if by enchantment. Eossi 
 showed well that he belonged to that school which has 
 no masters, in the strict sense of the word, but which 
 acts from the impulse of a superior genius. Educated in 
 the precepts of Gustavo Modena equally with Salvini, 
 Ernesto Eossi could never have become a celebrity with- 
 out a special disposition and imposing talent. 
 
 The evening was an artistic fete, and to commemorate 
 it a marble tablet was placed in the interior of the 
 theatre. This was an event which I rejoice to have taken 
 part in, and which I desire to record in order to pay a 
 fresh tribute of affection and esteem to my two illus- 
 trious companions. 
 
 After having paid the honour due to the great poet 
 and to my country, I hastened to return to Paris in order 
 to resume the rehearsals for Beatrix, which was given on 
 the 22nd of May, my good Parisian public receiving me 
 with the same expression of esteem as in the past years. 
 From that epoch Up to the end of July 1866, 1 travelled 
 to Italy, Austria, Holland, Prance, and Belgium. 
 
 My health was always remarkably good, although^ 
 unfortunately, I was never able to accustom myself to 
 the sea. During my many wanderings I acquired a 
 robustness of constitution that nothing could shake, and 
 this, in its turn, developed in me an untiring energy 
 which enabled me to guide and direct all our movements 
 with the resolution and authority of a general at the head 
 of his army. Everyone obeyed me ; and this obedience 
 I gained by the exercise of the strictest impartiality, for 
 I was always ready to censure or correct those who failed 
 
TOVB IN EUBOPE— VISIT TO AMEBIGA. 91 
 
 to discharge their proper obligations, and to bestow 
 praise without distinction upon those who merited it, 
 while at the same time I treated all with kindness and 
 courteousness. 
 
 As a rule, I found the members of my company willing 
 to submit gracefully to my authority ; if any seemed 
 inclined to assert themselves too loudly, the firmness 
 of my demeanour speedily put them in their proper 
 place. 
 
 Everything relating to the artistic management rested 
 entirely in my hands. I gave all orders, made all 
 arrangements, and occupied myself with all those great and 
 small details which anyone who knows the stage will fully 
 understand, and which are so essential to the success of 
 a performance. A special administration had charge of 
 the business department. But I am proud to say that my 
 husband was the soul of every enterprise. Since I am 
 speaking of him my heart inspires me to state that he 
 never ceased to exercise over me, during my whole career, 
 a constantly benevolent influence. It was he who kept 
 up my courage when I hesitated before the difficulties I 
 met with; he showed me the fame I should acquire, 
 and pointed out to me the end I was to reach ; facilitating 
 everything in the course before me. Without him I 
 should never have dared to attempt carrying the banner 
 of Italian Art round the world. 
 
 My hesitation at that moment was excusable, however, 
 because my aged mother's infirm health was just then 
 preoccupying me more than anything else, and I was 
 tormented with the idea that I might lose her during my 
 
92 ABELAIBE BI8T0BI. 
 
 absence. And thus it was. She died several years after- 
 wards while I was on the way to Eio de Janeiro. Ten 
 years before I had also the grief of not being present to 
 close my father's eyes in Florence, being at the time at 
 Wiesbaden. 
 
 But to resume the thread of my narrative. I may say 
 that I took the greatest pains to make myself noted as an 
 example of punctuality. Throughout my long journeys, I 
 met with some hardships. If any of my party grew faint- 
 hearted, or feared to follow me, I tried to spur them on by 
 my example. I was always the first to encounter any 
 difficulties that might lie in the way. It happened to me 
 once, in February 1872, as I was travelling between 
 Moscow and Dunaburg, to have to cross, at night and on 
 foot, a long bridge near Kowna, which had suffered such 
 damage from the severity of the season, that it had to be 
 rebuilt. When we reached it, the workmen were still busy, 
 lighted by flickering torches. The torrent beneath it, 
 swollen by heavy rains and the quickly melting snow, was 
 frightful to look at, and to add to its horror, we heard 
 that that very morning an unfortunate workman had 
 fallen in and been drowned. 
 
 When my actors were told this, and saw how unsafe 
 was the passage across the bridge, as it was encumbered 
 with planks and beams of wood, they resolutely refused 
 attempting to go any farther. Time pressed, for the 
 train was waiting at the little statiou upon the opposite 
 bank. If we remained there all night, we should have to 
 do without any shelter. I was persuaded, from the 
 representations made to me by the superintendent of the 
 
TOVB IN EUROPE— VISIT TO AMERICA. 93 
 
 workmen, that there was no real danger if the passage was 
 undertaken with caution. So, merrily and with some 
 laughter at my craven-hearted companions, I walked 
 across the long bridge, accompanied by my family, from 
 whom, indeed, I was never divided. -At this sight the 
 entire company, huddled together like a flock of sheep, 
 followed me slowly, stumbling and tripping as they came 
 across the bridge, and I was able to reach Dunaburg at 
 the hour fixed for our first performance. 
 
 In the beginning of September 1866, 1 visited, for the 
 first time, the United States, where I remained until the 
 17th of May of the following year. Great was my im- 
 patience to reach that country and to be the first to carry 
 my own language into the noble land of Washington, 
 where, in the midst of a feverish devotion to industry 
 and commerce, the arts and sciences still held a pro- 
 minent place. 
 
 I commenced at the Lyric Theatre in New York, 
 on the 20th of September, with Medea. I could not have 
 wished for a warmer welcome than that which there 
 greeted me. 
 
 Prom this epoch date friendships which neither time 
 nor distance have cooled, and, writing these lines, I send 
 an affectionate greeting to those who still remember me 
 beyond the Ocean. 
 
 Leaving New Tork, I was summoned to all the cities 
 large and small, of the States. But I shall never attempt 
 here descriptions which have been written so often by 
 master hands. In order not to repeat myself, I pass over 
 the very warm receptions I received everywhere. The 
 
94 ADELAIDE BI8T0BL 
 
 Americans were the first to introduce a most useful 
 custom in the department of dramatic art which Europe 
 was rather slow in following ; I mean the weekly morning 
 performances, which with us were only exceptions. It 
 allowed women and young girls to be present at the 
 play without interfering with their duties and studies, 
 or exposing them to the fatigue of late hours. 
 
 In iTorth America there are invariably two weekly 
 morning performances ; Saturday and another day. The 
 passing stars appear on these days in a house wholly 
 filled by the fair sex. Their applause is naturally less 
 noisy and more modest, but the bravos are always given 
 with much intelligence and at the right moment. The 
 young girls came in such crowds to my performances that 
 I was often obliged to order the removal of the wings to 
 make room for them even on the stage. I tried to 
 measure my play in such a manner that my neighbours 
 should not lose a single movement. My efforts were 
 recompensed by the grateful expression on those young 
 and pretty faces. 
 
 Giacometti's Elizabeth was a particular favourite with 
 the Americans, from its fine scenic effects, and they came 
 in ci'owds whenever I played it. 
 
 I visited an immense number of cities, but it would 
 detain me too long to enumerate their names or describe 
 them. The result was far beyond my expectations. I can 
 say that I left hardly any city or town of the United 
 States unvisited. 
 
 "We left the United States, as I have said, in May, and 
 returned thither on the 18th of October in the same 
 
TOUB IN EUBOPE— VISIT TO AMEBIGA. 95 
 
 year, beginning a new series of performances. My second 
 journey across the Atlantic, in the steamer Europa, com- 
 menced in such stormy weather, that, when we had 
 been a few days out, one of the deck stewards was swept 
 overboard by a huge wave, and drowned. This unfortunate 
 man had a wife and children at Marseilles, who were de- 
 pendent on his earnings. It was a case that excited the 
 sympathy of all the passengers, and a project was im- 
 mediately set on foot to give an entertainment on behalf 
 of the bereaved family. The Captain lent himself to it 
 with all eagerness, and spared no pains to transform the 
 dining-room into an elegant little theatre. The stage 
 was marked off by a row of lights, which represented 
 footlights. 
 
 I had the good fortune to find myself in company with 
 the renowned singer Mdme. La Grange, and, as I had my 
 own troupe with me, we were able to provide an attractive 
 programme. La Grange was to sing three of her 
 favourite pieces ; and I had to perform the scene between 
 Mary Stuart and Elizabeth, in Scribe's tragedy : besides, 
 a French gentleman offered to contribute with some 
 singing. 
 
 By this time the weather had somewhat moderated, 
 so that we hoped that the next evening, which was 
 fixed for the entertainment, would be sufficiently fine 
 for us not to suffer any inconvenience. But our hopes 
 were not realised, and on the following morning the 
 waves began to rise, and the wind increased in strength. 
 The ship soon began to jump about and our faces 
 lengthened considerably. I commenced to ask myself 
 
96 ADELAIDE BI8T0BL 
 
 how I was going to act in this state of things. Towards 
 evening, however, they mended a little, so that it was 
 possible to begin at the hour fixed upon. I came upon the 
 stage determined to triumph over the elements ! In the 
 best of spirits I began the beautiful invocation of Mary 
 Stuart's to the clouds ; but the real clouds, alas ! began to 
 gather once more in the sky, and the sea to rise ! At the 
 entrance of Elizabeth, I became quite giddy — I staggered 
 — my throat grew dry and parched — -I felt the breaking out 
 of the cold perspiration that heralds sea-sickness. I hardly 
 knew what I was doing ! The actor who was playing the 
 part of Talbot, fearing that I should never be able to hold 
 out, ran for a smelling-bottle, and made me smell it at 
 every opportunity. By means of this expedient I managed 
 to reach the end of the scene, being upheld by Anna 
 whenever I seemed likely to fall ! As soon as I was free, 
 I ran at once on deck, and threw myself into the arm- 
 chair. There I awaited Mdme. La Grange, my companion 
 in misfortune, to hear how she had managed to get 
 through her part. 
 
 But from the place where I had taken shelter, I could 
 hear the audience shouting with laughter at that poor 
 French amateur, singing, with sepulchral voice, " Richard 
 est mort, Richard est mart." 
 
 This fete of charity had a still more amusing episode 
 next day. A passenger who had complained energetically 
 to the Captain for abandoning the care of the ship while 
 that entertainment was going on in the salon, frightened 
 at the always increasing waves, put on his safety belt and 
 passed the whole night on deck. This most courageous 
 
TOVB, IN EUROPE— VISIT TO AMERICA. 97 
 
 gentleman shot furious glances at us, innocent causes of 
 his imaginary danger. 
 
 In my second visit to the United States I made an 
 excursion to Havannah, in January 1868. This terrestrial 
 paradise remains in my memory as an enchanting picture. 
 But here, also, I am forestalled by so many painters of 
 this tropical nature, and of this life so bewitching in its 
 Oriental indolence, that I dare not endeayour to describe 
 them. Once more a hearty greeting to the Havannese, 
 who filled our theatre every evening, and never ceased to 
 applaud me. 
 
 On my benefit evening with Camma, and a little 
 comedy, Gib che place alia prima attrice, where, at one 
 point, disguised as Jeanne d'Arc, I recited the well- 
 known adieux of Schiller, admirably translated by our 
 lamented Maffei, the rush for places was enormous, all 
 the boxes and numbered places having been secured many 
 days previously. From 2 o'clock in the afternoon the 
 Cazuela, which is the gallery reserved for ladies, was 
 quite filled; and so afraid were they of not finding 
 room, that they had their dinner served there. 
 
 On my return to the hotel an attempt was made t» 
 take the horses from my carriage, but this I strenuously 
 opposed. I could not, however, prevent many young 
 men from perching themselves on the axle of the wheels, 
 and on the spokes, at the risk of falling under them, 
 And climbing beside the coachman. I was literally buried 
 under bouquets ! I am often haunted by the magic spec- 
 tacle of this tropical night when, beneath a sky sparkling 
 with stars, I passedlike a' queen,4n the midst of this 
 
 7 
 
ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 enthusiastic crowd, between two rows of volantes,* from 
 which the elegant occupants in ball-dresses kissed their 
 hands to me, while the negro coachmen could scarcely 
 hold their horses, frightened by the flaming torches. 
 Of the thousand and one nights which I have passed 
 d la belle etoile, in returning from the theatres, that was 
 the most memorable. 
 
 After I left the United States, in September 1868, 1 
 made another tour of nine months in Italy. We per- 
 formed the very popular drama of Paolo Giacometti — 
 Marie Antoinette — which had been so well received in the 
 United States, but not before given in Italy. My liking 
 for the subject, and my old friendship for the author, 
 made me take a singular interest in its execution. I 
 bestowed as much care on the style of the costumes as 
 on the accessories. It was given at the Theatre Brunetti 
 at Bologna. 
 
 My love of truth in art led me to visit the cell in the 
 eonciergerie, which was the last abode of the unhappy 
 Queen, at the time when I was studying this part. I 
 vividly recollect the sad impression it produced upon 
 .me, so much that I could with my imagination see the 
 resigned martyr, and feel myself a partaker of her 
 terrible sufferings. 
 
 I had wished to produce this tragedy in Italy before 
 an intelligent public, capable of appreciating its grand 
 situations. Circumstances having brought me to Bologna, 
 
 A kind of open carriage. 
 
TOUB IN EUROPE— VISIT TO AMERICA. 99 
 
 for twelve performances, I settled to put Marie An- 
 ioinette on the stage on the evening of the 9th of November. 
 
 Many difficulties had to be overcome before I could 
 -obtain the consent of the authorities to its representa- 
 tion. When they were informed of the subject, they 
 suspected, before they read it, that the tragedy would 
 prove a most decided apotheosis of democracy. Then the 
 republican party, persuaded that they would find in it a 
 glorification of the French Eepublic, and suspicious of the 
 attitude of the Government, made a great noise about 
 its production ; but finally, thanks to the intervention of 
 influential personages, who were convinced that I should 
 never sanction anything to disturb public order, the 
 interdict upon it was revoked. 
 
 All in good time came the longed-for evening, Novem- 
 ber the 3rd. The number of guards was increased, and 
 a piquet of cavalry added — ^precautions exaggerated, 
 perhaps. 
 
 The public assembled in crowds ; and, as the action of 
 the piece developed itself, the ultra-Liberals discovered 
 that there was nothing in favour of the Bevolution, and 
 of their !Badical opinions, and that, on the contrary, it 
 utterly condemned that crime. It was, instead, the despe- 
 rate case of this unfortunate royal family that impressed 
 the greater part of the audience, and excited its sympathy 
 even to tears. But this did not please the Badical frac- 
 tion of it. At the close of the second act there were 
 very decided expressions of disapproval, and these in- 
 creased so greatly in the third act as entirely to drown 
 the piece. 
 
 7 • 
 
100 ADELAIDE BISTORT. 
 
 The Questor, who was in the stage hox, grew pale with 
 alarm, fearing the outburst of some disorder. Poor 
 Giacometti wiped his forehead, making despairing signs 
 from the wings ! On my part, impatient at the difficul- 
 ties to be overcome, and indignant to see that a small 
 minority tried to substitute their own evil passions for 
 the tender emotions which up to that time had filled the 
 greater number of the audience, I drew near the wing 
 where the author was leaning ready to faint. " Come, 
 speak to the public ; you are a well-known Liberal. 
 They will listen to you ! " But Giacometti dared not. 
 The situation grew more precarious. It was necessary 
 for us to take some decisive step. I could contain myself 
 no longer. Seized by one of my impulses of impatience 
 I rose resolutely, advanced to the footlights, and signed 
 that I wished to speak. In an instant general silence 
 prevailed. Master of the situation, I addressed the 
 audience as follows : — 
 
 " Gentlemen ! In presenting to Italy this work of 
 our illustrious compatriot, I believed I was acting wisely 
 in selecting for its first critics the public of Bologna, 
 noted everywhere for its intelligence and politeness. I 
 would not wish anyone to applaud what they do not 
 approve ; but in order to criticise rightly it is necessary 
 at all events to listen without bias of party spirit. In 
 this case much inconvenience has been caused to peaceable 
 citizens, who came to the theatre for amusement and not 
 for conflict." 
 
 My determined words gained me general applause, and 
 impressed the authors of the disturbance. When the 
 
TOUB IN EUROPE— VISIT TO AMERICA. 101 
 
 curtain fell, I was called before it several times, and I 
 appeared holding poor G-iacometti, trembling in his excite- 
 ment, tightly by the hand. 
 
 The Questor, together with the other authorities, came 
 to offer their thanks and congratulate me on the courage I 
 had shown, as though I had saved the country. 
 
 From this moment success was assured ; and so popular 
 did the work become, that as I walked along the streets 
 the women pointed me out to their companions with the 
 exclamation — "Look! look! there is Marie Antoinette ! " 
 
 But certain newspapers by no means abstained from 
 polemics. The tortures inflicted by the cobbler Simon on 
 the unhappy Dauphin were falsified, or at least exag- 
 gerated ! The sufferings, the humiliations, the martyrdom 
 of the unfortunate royal family were stigmatised as 
 poetical compositions ! But at last good sense and 
 historical accuracy triumphed over fanaticism, and Marie 
 Antoinette was received everywhere with the greatest 
 enthusiasm. 
 
102 ADELAIDE BI8TQBI. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SECOND VISIT TO AMEKICA, AND OTHES ARTISTIC 
 JOURNEYS. 
 
 I liEPT Italy in the beginning of June 1869, for Rio- 
 Janeiro, and on the 20th opened at the Mmnineuse 
 Theatre with Medea. 
 
 Although the strong desire to see me which existed 
 among the Brazilians had drawn great crowds to the 
 Theatre, among whom were their Majesties the Emperor 
 and Empress, and the Imperial Princess, yet, to my amaze- 
 ment, when I presented myself on the mountain height 
 with my two children, not a sound of applause greeted 
 me ! My reception was in fact icily cold. This extraodinary 
 and unusual welcome almost stunned me for a moment, 
 for the courteous manner in which the Brazilian public 
 generally received artistes was well known from those who 
 had experienced it. 
 
 But suddenly, at the first scenic effect, their coldness 
 melted away ! It was when Medea, in answer to her 
 children's entreaties for bread, uttered the agonizing 
 words — 
 
 " Gladly would I empty my veins to the last drop. 
 And aay, Herp, drink your nourishment from my blood: ' 
 
SECOND VISIT TO AMERICA. 103 
 
 This invocation uttered with trembling lips, and coming 
 straight from the heart, excited a frantic applause, and 
 raised demonstrations which are the baptism of success. 
 It rose to a paroxysm when Medea, turning to Creusa, 
 tells her that were she to find her rival she would spring 
 upon her like a leopard, tearing its prey limb from limb. 
 
 How overwhelmed I was with honours and distinctions 
 by the Brazilians and their sovereign ! He honoured me 
 with a friendship of which I am proud. Neither time 
 nor distance have diminished my remembrance of it. 
 Keceived at Court with my family, I cannot describe the 
 kindness and graciousness I met in that Imperial family. I 
 had many opportunities of admiring the culture and deep 
 knowledge of the Emperor, who is versed in the literature 
 of all languages, and is beloved by his subjects for the 
 rectitude of his principles and his justice. Well may 
 they be grateful to him, for his only aim in life is their 
 well-being. The principal cause of his various journeys 
 in Europe is the ardent desire that his country may enjoy 
 the benefit of the latest progress made in science and art, 
 in order to make his people great and prosperous. 
 
 I sailed for Buenos Ayres, carrying away the most 
 agreeable recollections of my last evening at Eio, where, 
 after the performance, I was accompanied to my pretty 
 little villa in the suburbs by thousands of torches, and 
 bands of music playing national airs ; the streets through 
 which I passed being strewn with flowers, while the 
 Bengal lights gave us every now and then glimpses of the 
 wonderful Bay of Eio de Janeiro. 
 
 On the 10th of September I performed at Buenos 
 
104 ADELAIDE BISTORT. 
 
 Ayres. Fresli joys awaited me in that pleasant laud, 
 where the numerous Italian colony, who there, as in 
 every distant region, honour the mother country, gave 
 ■me a truly royal welcome, almost as though they were 
 jealous of that offered me by the people of the Argentine 
 Kepublic. 
 
 I then went to Monte Video until the 26th October, 
 obtaining there the same results, and returned to Italy 
 by way of Eio Janeiro, where the echoes of my first 
 appearance there were not yet silent. 
 
 In September 1871, 1 revisited the Danubian Princi- 
 palities, Bucharest, G-alaby, Bracla, Jassy. Prom this last 
 place we had a most disastrous journey to Eussia. Means 
 of transport were scarce and most difficult to find. We 
 had to traverse uncultivated steppes utterly devoid of 
 roads, except such as might be called natural footpaths. 
 We hired all sorts of vehicles ; they were only similar in 
 one respect, they were all open. They even wanted the 
 necessary means of sitting safely. We managed the best 
 way we could, and when we started on our journey we 
 had very much the appearance of a caravan of emigrants ! 
 The horses attached to the first carriage, which was mine, 
 had large bells fastened to their harness, so that in the 
 darkness of the night they might serve as guide for 
 the others. We were so jolted about in the ruts of the 
 uneven roads, that we had to hold tightly to the sides 
 lest we should be shaken out of the carriages. The road, 
 indeed, looked like a frozen sea ! It was the middle of 
 October ; the night was extremely cold, and though we 
 were wr3,pped to the ohin in rugs and cloaks, of which we 
 
ABTI8TIG JOURNEYS. 105 
 
 <arried a good supply, yet, as our vehicles were open, we 
 •sufEered very severely from the temperature. 
 
 Early in the morning our drivers, without consulting 
 us, halted right in the middle of a plain, and commenced 
 to give the horses a feed of hay and oats. There was no 
 dwelling-place in sight ; so the luxury of a caf^ or re- 
 freshment-room was not to be thought of. We resigned 
 ourselves patiently to imitate the example of this 
 patriarchal simplicity, and eat our breakfast in the open 
 air ! Seated on the ground, upon a rug, we set to work 
 upon the provisions we had fortunately brought with us. 
 The originality of the meal, the enormous appetites the 
 cold of the night had given us, the fresh country air, 
 and the merriment produced by the unusual spectacle, 
 all combined to render that repast a most enjoyable one. 
 
 We reached Kischeneff on the 20th, and went to the best 
 hotel in the place. What happiness after our nomadic 
 «xpedition ! Taking possession of our rooms in order to 
 enjoy well-deserved repose, we became aware of the 
 microscopic comforts upon which we had congratulated 
 •ourselves. Our beds were provided only with one single 
 sheet. All the servants had gone to bed ; we had to ring 
 a regular alarm for these absolute necessaries. They in- 
 formed us, without any circumlocution, that if we wanted 
 more sheets we should have to pay for them. 
 
 Having got what we wanted, we were sleeping at last, 
 when we were roused in the depths of the night by the 
 <!ries of a woman resounding through the whole house, 
 and they attracted us all to our doors ;. the bells were 
 again set in motion, and the servants ran from all sides. 
 
106 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 They told us that all this hubbub was caused by a 
 Colonel's wife, to whom her amiable husband was ad- 
 ministering correction, of which she would have probably 
 to preserve unpleasant remembrances ! 
 
 The cries continued. Full of pity and indignation we- 
 sent the most vigorous of our party to the assistance of 
 the unfortunate woman ; his loud knocks at her door 
 
 were followed by silence when, behold ! we see the 
 
 victim make her appearance in the corridor in very light 
 attire, angry, and calling out with stentorian voice r 
 " What do you want ? Mind your own affairs ! My 
 husband may beat me if he likes ! " To which the least 
 excited amongst us responded with a calmness which still 
 makes me laugh : " Well, Madame, if this treatment is 
 good for you, at least bear it without making such a 
 noise ! As for us, we want to sleep ! " And so we re- 
 turned to our beds. 
 
 From KischenefE I went to Odessa, and thence tO' 
 KiefE. Towards the end of 1872, after stopping at Berlin 
 and Weimar, and making a tour through Belgium, I took 
 up my winter quarters at Eiome, in order to obtain the- 
 repose necessary after so many long journeys and the 
 fatigues of the stage. And here I may say, that I only 
 visited the Danubian Principalities, Turkey, and Q-reece 
 once, but I was in the other parts of the world twice, and 
 even oftener, choosing always Paris or Rome as the places 
 where I enjoyed the short rest I was able to obtain. 
 
 In 1873 I revisited London for the fourth time. 
 Having no new works to produce, and weary of playing 
 always the same things, I felt the necessity of in-vigo- 
 
AETI8TIG JOURNEYS. \07 
 
 rating my mental powers by eome strong emotion ; in 
 short, of undertaking some difficult task which had never- 
 yet been essayed by an Italian actress. 
 
 One day I fancied I had discovered what would satisfy 
 this aspiration of my restless spirit. The admiration- 
 which I had always felt for the works of Shakespere, 
 and especially for his Lady Macbeth, made me conceive 
 the idea of rendering in its original language the grand 
 sleep-walking scene which is one of the most gigantic- 
 conceptions of this mighty poet. 
 
 I was impelled to essay this task by the strong desire 
 I had to acknowledge, as well as I could, the affection 
 and constant interest which the most intelligent public of ' 
 the great metropolis of the United Kingdom had always- 
 shown me. But how was I to succeed in it ? This was the 
 question my wavering mind was always putting to itself. 
 
 I consulted one of my amiable acquaintances, Mrs.. 
 Ward, mother of the distinguished actress, Genevieve 
 Ward. She not only encouraged me to put my idea into 
 practice, but offered to help me in learning the scene. 
 
 I retained some small reminiscences of English studies 
 made when I was a child, but there is no idiom so 
 difficult to pronounce as the English, and the number of 
 years which had passed since I had attempted it rendered 
 me diffident, although at the same time I felt greatly 
 attracted by such an arduous task. Thanks to my special 
 natural facility for foreign languages, I was able, after 
 fifteen days of indefatigable study, to undertake thfr 
 ordeal; but as I had no wish to risk a failure, I pro- 
 ceeded -with the utmost caution. 
 
108 ABELAIBH BI8T0BI. 
 
 I decided to invite the theatrical critics of the most 
 important journals of the city to my house, without 
 telling them why I desired their company. They all very 
 courteously accepted my invitation, and I then unfolded 
 my project, and the idea with which it had inspired me. 
 I begged them to hear me, and frankly and honestly give 
 me their opinion upon my performance, assuring them 
 that I should not be at all offended if it were unfavour- 
 able. 
 
 I then went through the scene I had been studying, 
 ■with which they expressed themselves extremely satisfied. 
 They only corrected me in two words, and they entreated 
 me to announce my audacious attempt to the public. 
 
 But when the evening came for the representation, 
 -and the moment for that important scene approached, I 
 felt my heart sink. But the kindly reception given me 
 by the audience as soon as I appeared, greatly assisted 
 me in regaining my composure. The fortunate result 
 of my experiment was ample compensation for all my 
 anxieties. 
 
 My desires, however, increased with my success. I 
 aspired to yet higher flights. In a word, I aimed at no 
 less than performing the entire part of Lady Macbeth m 
 English ; but the idea seemed rash, so that I dismissed 
 for the time the tempting thought. 
 
109 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 JOURNEY BOUND THE WORLD. 
 
 In May 1874, 1 began, with my husband, a journey round 
 the world, having as companions our children and an old 
 friend, General G-alletti, who was a very pleasant fellow- 
 traveller for us. 
 
 The order of our course was as follows — Bordeaux, Eio 
 de Janeiro, Buenos Ayres, Montevideo, Valparaiso, San- 
 tiago, Lima, Vera Cruz, Mexico, Puebla, United States,. 
 San Francisco, the Sandwich Islands, New Zealand,. 
 Sydney, Melbourne, Adelaide, Ceylon, Aden, Suez, Alex- 
 andria in Egypt, Brindisi, Some. 
 
 After making a beginning to our tour, as I have said, 
 at Rio Janeiro, Buenos Ayres, and Montevideo, we em- 
 barked on board the splendid English steamer Britannia, 
 on the 15th of July^ for Valparaiso. We passed through 
 the famous Straits of Magellan, having Patagonia on one 
 side, and on the other Terra del Fuego. I will not delay 
 my narrative to indulge in any long description of the 
 emotion I experienced as I contemplated for the first 
 time the view that nature had spread before me. I will 
 only say that the delicious' weather we enjoyed, conitrajy 
 
110 ABELAIBE BISTOBI. 
 
 to the prognostications made before our departure, per- 
 mitted us all to remain on deck and strain our eyes in 
 the effort to be the first to discover some point of view, 
 or some object which had for us the charm of novelty. 
 And we had not long to wait. See ! yonder advances a 
 pirogue, making for our vessel. It contains a family of 
 Fatagonians, extremely tall in stature, with straight 
 countenances, and long thick hair, rough and coarse as a 
 horse's mane. Their wide mouths, huge cheek bones, 
 and very white and prominent long teeth, reminded me 
 of my old acquaintances the redskins, whom I had met 
 many times during my journeys through California. I 
 aeem to see again those very tall Fatagonians, with 
 nothing on but a blanket of guanaco skin. 
 
 They made signs that they wanted tobacco and some- 
 thing to eat ; and, in order to satisfy them, we begged 
 the captain to slacken speed, as it was usual to do in 
 this place and in such a case ; but for some reason, which 
 I do not now remember, he refused. The natives, dis- 
 appointed in their expectations, expressed their indigna- 
 tion by unmistakable signs of anger, and I may say that 
 the little I heard of their language was not harmonious. 
 We were thirty-six hours in traversing the Straits, and 
 when we issued from them at Cape Filar we found the 
 sea so rough that it was with difficulty we could keep our 
 feet. 
 
 I had lashed myself to the great ring which secured 
 the port-hole just above my berth, when the sea struck 
 the side of the vessel with such violence that both I and 
 my bed were thrown to the ground, and there I remained 
 
JOVBNEY BOUND THE WORLB. Ill 
 
 suspended by the arm still lashed to the ring. I was too 
 ill to extricate myself alone from that inconTenient posi- 
 tion. The persons who ran to he]p me stumbled also, 
 thns offering a curious spectacle. In this way we began 
 -our acquaintance with the Pacific Ocean. 
 
 At Valparaiso, on the 1st of August, I gave my first 
 performance, opening with my favourite tragedy of 
 Medea, the invariable success of which had caused me to 
 select it on this occasion. 
 
 I remained two months in that- city, Santiago, and 
 -Quillota. Not less than in other places was the favour 
 with which I was distinguished by that public. The 
 18th of October I was at Lima, the beautiful capital of 
 'Peru. There, as usual, I began with Medea. I found an 
 uudience, intelligent, easily roused, and profuse in mani- 
 :fe8tations of courtesy towards me. 
 
 But we hardly escaped being witnesses of a civil war. 
 I was far from foreseeing that amongst the few passen- 
 rgers taken on board the Britannia in passing Punta 
 Arenas, just in the middle of the Straits of Magellan, 
 there should be one who two months afterwards would 
 -disturb our quiet sojourn at Lima. This personage was 
 rather short in stature, but of bold aspect, rather silent, 
 -and his rough manners did not prepossess us in his 
 favour ; also the gossip which circulated about him in 
 our little floating colony was not such as to inspire us 
 with the desire of improving our acquaintance with him. 
 It was said that Senor had been head of a vast con- 
 spiracy tending to overturn the President of the Peruvian 
 JEepublic. The plot was nothing less than to blow up 
 
112 ADELAIDE EI8T0BI. 
 
 the whole train which was carrying the President and the 
 Ministers to the inauguration of a new line of railway. 
 Eightly or wrongly, the individual in question was 
 accused of being the instigator of this terrible crime, 
 and he was exiled. This dangerous fellow-traveller 
 landed at Coronel, the first Chilian port our st«amer 
 touched. We had arrived at Valparaiso when the news 
 spread that, joined by a certain number of partisans,, 
 he had hired a mercantile clipper and hoisted sail for an 
 unknown destination. 
 
 Our pleasant stay at Valparaiso and Santiago had 
 
 caused us to forget the name and deeds of Senor r 
 
 but, arriving at Lima, it came to our notice that he had 
 disembarked on the Peruvian coast and was carrying on 
 a guerilla warfare at the head of a little army against the 
 troops of the Peruvian Government, which, accustomed 
 to these vicissitudes, were not greatly affected thereby. 
 Bevolutions and counter-revolutions follow upon each 
 other in this blessed country where the so ardently- 
 desired post of President generally costs the life of the- 
 ambitious candidate who achieves it ; such, at least, was 
 usually the case up to 1874. 
 
 Besides the papers, which gave us every morning 
 news of the war, we possessed a living gazette in the 
 person of a native servant whom we had engaged to assist 
 our own domestics. Although his business was only to- 
 market and go messages, he had pompously arrogated to- 
 himself the title of majordomo ; and it was impossible 
 to. make hinii croSs the street door. At every news un- 
 favourable to the. Presidential party, the majordomo. 
 
JOURNEY EOUNB THE WOULD. 113 
 
 affected a tragic tone and we were treated to his lamenta- 
 tions. 
 
 At first we could not understand why he should pre- 
 fer to remain shut up within doors ; but one day, our own 
 servant forcing him to go out, he provided himself with 
 a sword-stick, with which, he said, he would know how to 
 defend himself, although he was not certainly a man 
 ready to strike ! 
 
 " How ? " said the other. " Tou have to go to market, 
 and not to fight." 
 
 " Why, don't you know," he answered, " the danger 
 which threatens us at every corner of the street ? The 
 Grovernment wants soldiers, takes them by force ; and if 
 they lay hands upon me, I am lost." 
 
 And such was the case, as we were able to certify shortly 
 afterwards. A sergeant with two soldiers stood at every 
 turning, taking conscript every man of the people he 
 met ; and, in case of resistance, he threw the lasso over 
 him, in the same way as they use it to catch wild horses 
 in the plains of Mexico. 
 
 Meantime Senor and his adherents advanced to- 
 wards the capital. One fine morning the President started 
 at the head of the whole Lima garrison to go and fight 
 the enemy so dreaded by the great majority of the 
 country, and only left the police to guard the capital. 
 Of the whole population, we were the only persons 
 astonished at what was happening, the inhabitants being 
 long accustomed to similar events. One evening we had 
 returned from a most interesting excursion along the 
 grand railway line undertaken by Meigs, whiot leads 
 
114 ADELAIDE ElSTOBl. 
 
 from Oraya across the Andes to connect Peru with the 
 river Amazon. In a few hours we had reached a height 
 of 14,000 feet, crossing zones of the most varied vege- 
 tation, meeting with numerous flocks of llamas, some- 
 times free, sometimes used as beasts of hurden. We 
 were all assembled at table, relating to a Peruvian friend 
 who was dining with us the impressions of the day, when 
 suddenly cries of " Sierra Puerta, sieiTa puerta ! "* were 
 heard in the street. A terrified woman rushed into our 
 patiof screaming : " Jesus ! Maria ! la revolucion ! " 
 
 Our valiant Majordomo, more alarmed even than the 
 woman, hastened to the street-door, which he closed pre- 
 cipitately and secured with bar and bolts. Curiosity 
 impelled us to the windows, from whence we saw our 
 neighbours, in hot haste, using the same precautions, 
 yhe shots we heard at a little distance caused us pru- 
 dently to draw in our heads. 
 
 " What is the meaning of all this ? " we asked our 
 guest, who, without showing the slightest discomposure, 
 informed us : 
 
 f It is only a Sierra Puerta. Every time the President 
 is forced to leave the city with the garrison to repress a 
 revolutionary movement, it rarely happens that they 
 \yho remain at home do not come to blows in the city 
 itself., The police being too few in number to inaintain 
 order, are commanded to patrol the streets before return- 
 ing to the barracks crying ' Sierra puerta ! ' Every in- 
 
 * Shnt the door, shiit the door. 
 t Court or yard. 
 
JOUBNEY BOUND THE WOBLB. 115 
 
 habitant shuts the house-door and secures it as best he 
 can, and patiently awaits the event. In the streets one 
 might run the risk of a shot ; but the houses are never 
 invaded, and we may go on with our dinner." 
 
 This sublime indifference in no way modified our 
 curiosity, and, despite his advice, we did not leave the 
 windows. Nothing more was seen or heard, and the 
 distant shots ceased. Soon after the doors were cautiously 
 re-opened, the inhabitants re-appeared, and presently the 
 police-guards again showed themselves in the streets, 
 spreading reassuring tidings. It had been only a false 
 alarm ; the telegraph announced a great victory of the 
 President over the rebels. " All 's well that ends well," 
 says Shakespeare. We opened the doors, laughing at the 
 tragi-comic interruption, and resumed our places at table. 
 
 In this capital the ladies are as beautiful as they are 
 amiable. Many pages would not suffice to register all 
 the affectionate remembrances which crowd upon my 
 mind while I am writing. 
 
 On the 28th November we left Callao, the port of Lima, 
 which is hardly a quarter of an hour distant, and we em- 
 barked on board the Oroja, surrounded by our new and 
 charming friends, who had largely contributed to enliven 
 our short visit to their country. 
 
 The voyage from Peru to Panama was most enchant- 
 ing. The sea, always smooth, allowed even the worst 
 sailors amongst us to stay on deck, reclining on our sea- 
 chairs, following the flights of pelicans and albatross 
 which traced long white and grey lines on the deep blue 
 
 8 * 
 
11(5 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 of the sky. We passed, almost touching them, th& 
 Islands of Lejos and the arid rooks of the Sylla de 
 Prysta. But the scene quickly changes, and we see 
 islands of fantastic vegetation, where all the rich fruits 
 of the tropics grow wild. 
 
 The Isthmus of Panama is a terrestrial paradise : it is 
 the ideal Eden of the poets ! 
 
 Its flora is most varied and gigantic, and at once de- 
 lights and bewilders the observer. The sky is azure, and 
 much more diaphanous and vaporous than ours. There 
 are sunrises and sunsets which are so many idylls of 
 nature. 
 
 At Panama we left the Oroja, and in a few hours the 
 railway took us from one ocean to another, across a 
 marvellously beautiful country, which leaves an impres- 
 sion on the memory like a fairy tale. The high tempera- 
 ture, however, and the heavy unwholesome atmosphere, 
 caused us to experience a feeling of relief when we again 
 left terra firma and set foot on the Saxonia, a German 
 steamer, which carried us to the pretty town of St. 
 Thomas, after a short stay at Cura9ao. 
 
 On the 16th December we took passage in an English 
 company's steamer for Mexico. On the 25th, after 
 touching at Havannah, behold us again on board the 
 Ebro, gliding placidly upon the shining mirror of the 
 Mexican Gulf. 
 
 Each of us, going up on deck in the morning, feels a 
 soft and, at the same time, melancholy emotion, and smile 
 as we shake hands with our travelling companions. "We 
 are by this time no longer strangers to each other. Dis- 
 
JOURNEY BOUND THE WOBLB. 117 
 
 likes, if there were any, vanish — a common tie unites us ; 
 •every one sighs and longs for something. It is Christ- 
 mas, and many a thousand leagues divide us from our 
 homes and friends. The thoughts, which on such a day 
 fly away like swallows beneath that sparkling sky, are 
 mutually understood ; they bear an electric current from 
 our hearts to those who are far away. 
 
 Our floating palace is in gala to-day, and since yester- 
 day evening the dining-room no longer wears its every- 
 day appearance; the pictures on the walls disappear 
 beneath the wreaths of holly brought from England ; 
 broad ribbons running along the cornice bear white pla- 
 cards with " Happy Christmas " in capital letters. Gar- 
 lands of flowers hang from the ceiling ; the table from 
 -early morning has assumed gigantic dimensions, our 
 captain having delicately thought of suppressing dis- 
 tractions on this occasion, and inviting both second and 
 first class passengers to march in file past the monu- 
 mental plum pudding mixed iq the kitchen on board. 
 
 At 7 we are all standing in our places, and the captain, 
 having said a short prayer, salutes us all, as we sit down, 
 with these words : " A happy Christmas to you all, ladies 
 and gentlemen." 
 
 Dinner over, we go on deck again, where artificial fire- 
 works are ready. Nothing can be imagined more fantas- 
 tic than those streaming rockets and that golden shower 
 on a beautiful tropical night in that silver-flashing sea, 
 upon which our ship ploughed a luminous furrow. 
 ■" Hurrah ! " burst forth the sailors in stentorian voices, 
 adding the name of each country represented on board 
 
118 ADELAIDE EISTOBI. 
 
 — formidable hurrahs flung into the air in the im- 
 mense ocean solitudes, having found an echo in our 
 hearts. 
 
 After the artificial fireworks a dance was improvised 
 for the sailors and the steerage passengers, the captain 
 opening the ball. The orchestra, composed of a hand- 
 organ and a trombone — an orginal and certainly novel 
 combination — was situated near. An enormous bunch of 
 mistletoe was hung from a rope above the deck, and we 
 sat all round enjoying the gaiety of these good people, 
 and sharing in their laughter every time that the dancers 
 passed beneath the fatal plant, when, according to the 
 old English custom, the gentleman has the right to steal 
 a kiss from his partner. 
 
 By midnight silence and stillness once more reigned on 
 board. As for us, we still remained awhile on deck in 
 ecstatic contemplation of the beautiful sky where every 
 star seemed to smile and shed its rays on us. 
 
 I could not make up my mind to return to my cabia. 
 More than ever on this Christmas night I felt my heart 
 full of deep gratitude towards God who had protected 
 me and mine in our long voyage across the seas, and who 
 was granting me this feeling of rest, tranquUlity and 
 hope for the work still lying before me. The ship's beU 
 ringing 2 o'clock caused me to rise from my seat. A 
 sailor passed near me : " A happy Christmas to you and 
 your dear ones," I said, unable to resist the impulse of 
 speaking to him the words with which our good quarter- 
 master had received me on deck that morning. 
 
 ***** 
 
JOURNEY BOUND THE WOBLD. 119 
 
 We touched St. Thomas, Porto Eico, and Vera Cruz. 
 Here I was received in a way which I cannot pass with- 
 out mention. The municipality welcomed me officially, 
 and provided me with lodgings and everything I required, 
 In fact, I may say that I was the guest of the entire 
 population, who presented me with flowers and poetry. 
 I commenced my performances in the city of Mexico on 
 the 31st December. I will only observe that here also I 
 was treated with the greatest consideration. 
 
 On this my second visit to Vera Cruz, I was still 
 more greatly struck with the lugubrious aspect of the 
 city. Not by accident did Cortes call it the "True 
 Cross," in memory of so many comrades fallen victims to 
 the Black Vomit and Yellow Fever, which prevail there 
 almost continually. I confess that my apprehensions 
 only ceased when we set foot on the French steamer 
 Ville de Brest, which was to bear us to New York. 
 
 It was the 17th of February. From the preceding 
 evening, however, to our dread of the climate was added 
 the prospect of a most dif&cult start, since a strong north 
 wind (frequent and alarming on those shores) was hourly 
 increasing in violence. In fact, next morning the sight 
 of the terribly angry sea amply justified our fears. The 
 actors and part of our baggage were embarked early in 
 the morning. But the sea grew rougher every minute, 
 and when the time came to go on board, and we were on 
 the pier, the boatmen, showing us the high and tem- 
 pestuous waves which were dashing against the rocky 
 shore, refused to row us to the Ville de Brest, which was 
 dancing like a nutshell in the middle of the roadstead. 
 
120 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 Entreaties were of no avail, and it was only when we had 
 gradually reached the ofEer of twenty dollars for each 
 boat that they summoned up suf5.cient courage to venture 
 upon that passage of three quarters of an hour. They 
 were eternal, such was the trepidation to which we were 
 a prey lest the boats should capsize at any moment. 
 
 With a sigh of relief we scrambled up the ladder of 
 the steamer as well as our drenched and consequently 
 heavy garments permitted us. The captain had been so 
 polite as to delay his departure for more than an hour, 
 an unusual thing for a postal steamer. A large part of 
 our luggage could not be embarked, the boatmen abso- 
 lutely refusing to venture with a heavy load through 
 such a sea. We were forced to resign ourselves to leave 
 it there until the next postal steamer the following week, 
 trusting in our good star to find at New York what was 
 indispensable ; for, according to my engagements, I could 
 not delay the first performances. At last we were off, 
 and while the first rotations of the screw by degrees in- 
 creased the distance between us and the Mexican land, 
 which was disappearing in a grey and melancholy veil, 
 one hundred and fifty sisters of charity, expelled by the 
 Government, kneeling on deck, spite of the rolling 
 vessel, the impetuous wind, and the spray of the waves, 
 sang in a solemn hymn farewell to their homes, friends, 
 and country, where those holy women were no longer 
 to expend the treasures of their charity. We were 
 deeply moved at that pathetic picture, representing 
 so many humble sacrifices, so much constant self-denial 
 towards a most sublime ideal ; and I saw not far from 
 
JOUBNET BOUND THE WOBLB. 121 
 
 me a sailor wipe away a tear with his rough and homy 
 band. 
 
 ****** 
 
 The passage from Havannah to New York, where the 
 Ville de Brest left us, was as rough as the rest of our 
 voyage ; and we were very glad to land once more. But, 
 according to the proverb, '' Troubles never cease," I had 
 no sooner landed than I began to feel the want of the 
 luggage left behind. The New York theatres had not 
 any large wardrobes, and many articles essential to our 
 performances were missing from our trunks. 
 
 This state of things lasted for a month, and every time 
 I went on the stage, arrayed in the makeshift attire I 
 had been forced to assume in the place of my carefully- 
 studied historical costumes, I felt almost unable to 
 identify myself with my part. Thus, for exainple, the 
 scantiness of my mantle constrained all my movements. 
 The meagre accessories embarrassed me. At last, when 
 these difficulties were at an end, I had my own belongings 
 about me once more. 
 
 From the 27th of February until our departure for 
 Sydney we remained in the United States, being every- 
 where received with kindness and most flattering evi- 
 dences of sympathy. My artistic tour ended at San 
 Francisco, where I embarked for Australia. Unfortu- 
 nately, our last days in the United States were marked 
 by a very sad incident. 
 
 My brother Csesar, who was my constant companion, 
 lost his wife after giving birth to her first child. It was 
 impossible to abandon this poor little creature to the 
 
122 ADELAIDE BISTOBL 
 
 hands of an American nurse. The distance, the difficulty 
 of communication, alike forbade it. What was to be 
 done ? An idea was suggested' which we immediately 
 seized. We njusfc get a she-goat, which would provide 
 the baby with nourishment until we reached Sydney. 
 When the day of embarkation came, the small four- ' 
 legged nurse was the object of all our care. But, unfor- 
 tunately, the sea was not equally well disposed towards 
 her. 
 
 Our departure from San Francisco was fixed for the 
 21st June 1875 . We had taken places on board the City 
 of Melbourne, and had been told by the captain, Mr. 
 Brown, that she would leave at twelve o'clock, while the 
 agents on shore informed me later that it would not be 
 until two in the afternoon. Everything was ready 
 betimes. Trunks and cases, large .and small, bags and 
 baskets, were duly sent to the ship. As there was then 
 only one departure a month from San Francisco to 
 Australia we were very careful to be ready in time, in 
 order not to risk being left behind. Therefore at noon, 
 I and my daughter and the servants, went down to the 
 quay, from which we were distant twenty minutes, while 
 my husband and son were to call at the post office, and 
 then join us on the pier. I found a crowd of people 
 waiting to wish me " God speed " ; but from the way 
 they waved their handkerchiefs, as we approached, I saw 
 at once that something had happened ; and, in fact, they 
 were beckoning to me to make haste, for the ship was 
 already raising her anchor, as the hour fixed by the 
 captain for her departure had passed. 
 
JOVBNEY BOUND THE WORLD. 123 
 
 Imagine what my feelings were. I called out to know 
 if my husband and son had arrived, and when I heard 
 they had not, I resolutely refused to embark without 
 them. The, captain, annoyed by my refusal, ordered the 
 engines to be set going. My actors' united entreaties 
 were powerless to move him ; he was at that moment a 
 regular ogre. My anxiety may be better imagined than 
 described. 
 
 Presently my husband and son arrived, breathless with 
 their haste, for they had been informed of what had hap- 
 pened. But the captain, perhaps to punish us, had only 
 made a pretended start, convinced, as he was, that my 
 tardiness was due either to negligence or caprice. When 
 we saw the steamer put back again we felt indescribably 
 relieved. Assisted by my friends and acquaintances we 
 flung our small belongings hastily on board, and threw 
 ourselves into the first chairs offered us, overcome by the 
 emotions we had experienced. But I was soon so much 
 affected by the movement of the sea that I was obliged 
 to retire to my cabin. Indeed, as soon as we left the 
 harbour we were all Jiors de combat. 
 
 My brother, no longer able to look after the poor baby, 
 came without hesitation to the state room I shared with 
 my daughter. He deposited the little bundle in our 
 ^rms, and hurried off to his berth. The juvenile traveller 
 began to scream and fidget. My sufferings rendered me 
 quite unable to look after it. An actress of the company, 
 who had kindly taken charge of this poor little creature, 
 hastened to our assistance. She put it in a cot in the 
 ladies' cabin. But a few days afterwards our troubles 
 
124 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 increased ; the interesting goat, who had most satis- 
 feictorily performed her duties as nurse, in her turn 
 became affected by the sea, and lost her milk. The 
 reader will understand how critical the situation then 
 grew ; everybody on board was interested in our case ; 
 one ran to fetch some condensed milk, another brought 
 some farinaceous food, which, he assured us, we should 
 find an excellent substitute. To hear them talk, each 
 seemed an experienced family man. We placed our- 
 selves in the hand of Providence and let them try. 
 Thank God ! the baby throve under this strange nursing, 
 and was fat, ruddy, and handsome when we reached 
 Sydney. 
 
 But to return to our journey. I gave the captain the 
 ■cold shoulder for several days : but, seeing how skilfully 
 he managed his ship, and noticing the particular interest 
 he took in me and my family, I ended by condoning his 
 rough manners, and we became capital friends. 
 
 The 29th we reached Honolulu in the Sandwich Islands, 
 where we made a halt of twenty-four hours. The Italian 
 Consul, good M. Schaefos, came to receive us on board and 
 conducted us to a charming hotel with verandahs buried 
 in verdure — Dutch neatness, combined with tropical vegeta- 
 tion. We were enchanted, and ready to follow our guide 
 through the ravishing country which surrounded the city. 
 Scarcely in the hotel and our toilette made, we saw M. 
 Schaefos come back with an invitation in English from Elng 
 Ealakaua to breakfast at the palace. We were delighted 
 at the prospect of seeing this insular king in the midst 
 of a court we expected to find grotesque in primitive cos- 
 
JOURNEY BOUND TEE WOBLD. 125 
 
 tume, all the women we had met in the town and country- 
 being merely clothed in a tunic of many-coloured print, 
 their heads crowned with flowers almost always yellow, 
 and galloping astride on ponies, laughing continually 
 among themselves. A.s to the men, the same costume 
 and the same childish gaiety. The Hawaians are so 
 happy as to be convinced that we are not here below to 
 bore ourselves. The court which reigns over these philo- 
 sophers muHt be very amusing. 
 
 Always accompanied by our amiable consul, we made 
 our entry into a beautiful garden where two aides-de- 
 camp awaited us, handsome fair youths tightly girt in 
 European uniforms faced with silver. They ushered us 
 into the very simple vestibule of the house, all on the 
 ground floor. The doors of the salon opened before us j 
 two lacqueys, in sty-blue livery and irreproachable silver 
 lace, held both doors open, and we walked into a vast 
 room, the walls of which were covered with the portraits 
 of all the sovereigns of the civilized world. Our beloved 
 King Victor Emanuel smiled down upon us from his 
 frame, seeming to bid us welcome. Our hopes of witness- 
 ing a savage court receded into dim distance, and when 
 King Kalakaua advanced, graciously holding out his hand 
 to me, I understood how definitely and completely our 
 expectations were cheated. 
 
 The king, above middle height and whose face scarcely 
 indicated the native colour, wore an English coat and 
 whiskers. His pleasing countenance and simple manner 
 conveyed the impression of a perfect gentleman. 
 
 No more illusions. The king spoke the purest English, 
 
126 ABELAIBE BI8T0BI. 
 
 and one of his first questions was to ask whether we liked 
 the valse " A deux ou a trois temps." 
 
 Lunch was served, and we took our places at a table 
 resplendent with silver and Sevres china. To excuse the 
 Queen's absence, His Majesty condescended to tell me 
 " She is in the woods," and this was the only note which 
 could recall us to the local tone. The repast was charm- 
 ing and the conversation interesting; the more so as, 
 besides our consul, we had amongst the guests Judge 
 Allen, our amiable travelling companion from San Fran- 
 cisco. 
 
 After lunch the king offered me his arm for a turn in 
 the garden, where there was a pavilion in which a very 
 tolerable band was playing. With quite European gal- 
 lantry they went through our national Italian airs. 
 
 We should have remained a long time if the king had 
 not been engaged to attend a concert given en 'passant by 
 our fellow-passenger, Mdme. Murzka, to the court and 
 the city. We had scarcely time to change our dress and 
 make our appearance in the great hall, slightly orna- 
 mented, which serves for the public amusements of 
 Honolulu. 
 
 We were hardly in our places when the king entered 
 with the Queen — " returned from the woods " — on his 
 arm. Love of truth obliges me to state that the august 
 consort recalled more vividly than her husband Captain 
 Cook's descriptions ; and her ladies of honour did not 
 disgrace the picture. The tone was decidedly accentuated. 
 The Queen wore a low-necked gown and train of black 
 silk, with the sky-blue scarf of some order. The king, 
 
JOURNEY BOUND THE WORLD. 127 
 
 dressed in a black suit, with polished boots, sat in his 
 gilt arm-chair playing continually with his cane. De- 
 cidedly there are no more savages — at Honolulu. 
 
 At last, at midnight, after a comfortable supper at the 
 hotel, we had gone again on board and retired to our 
 cabins, when several knocks at my door caused me to 
 open it and find myself in the presence of one of the blue 
 aides-de-camp who had received us in the morning in the 
 royal garden. He held in his hands a mysterious parcel 
 wrapped in a vast red handkerchief, the ends of which 
 he placed in my hands. It was a present from His 
 Majesty, who had recollected the good opinion I had 
 expressed about the fruit served at lunch. Between two 
 4seremoya I found, as visiting-card, the portrait of Kala- 
 kaua II., with his autograph signature. 
 
 We left next day, and all the way to New Zealand had 
 to contend against very bad weather. The small size of 
 our vessel (only 800 tons) made this extremely trying, and 
 for two days the sea was so rough as to make our captain 
 rather anxious. 
 
 After a trying voyage of twenty-one days we reached 
 Auckland, where we landed and spent a whole day. To 
 walk without staggering, to sit at a table covered with a 
 white cloth (a tint totally unknown on that ship-board), 
 to have fresh and appetising food, to dine peaceably with- 
 out fidgeting oneself as to whether there was a cloud on 
 the horizon or the wind was increasing, was such a satis- 
 faction that it made us forget the discomfort and troubles 
 endured. 
 
 The following morning we continued our voyage to 
 
128 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 Sydney, and entered that magnificent bay four day* 
 after. 
 
 On the evening of the 21st of July I made my first 
 appearance at Sydney, which I left vfith great regret 
 after a month of continual ovations. On the delicious 
 hills of Port Jackson I have friends to whom I here 
 renew the expression of my lively gratitude. 
 
 From Sydney I went to Melbourne, where I acted for 
 thirty-four nights, with the same success as at Sydney,, 
 whither I returned on the 11th of October to take my 
 farewell. Adelaide was to be our last halting place in 
 this charming country. I closed my series of 212 per- 
 formances on the 14th of December with the tragedy of 
 Mary Stitart. During this artistic tour I traversed 35,283 
 miles of sea and 8,365 of land. (I kept the figures out of 
 curiosity.) I spent 170 days upon the water, and seven- 
 teen days eight hours in railway trains. In a word, I 
 left Eome on the 15th of April 1874, and returned there 
 by way of India and Brindisi on the 14th of January 
 1876, after an absence of twenty months and nineteen 
 days. 
 
 After all, I must confess that although I brought back 
 the pleasantest memories with me, yet I was delighted 
 with the pro.spect of repose — repose which I fondly 
 imagined would be permanent, but which was, in fact, 
 interrupted again and again ! To taste the joy of re- 
 turning to one's country, to revisit one's home — to find 
 oneself again among relations and friends — to enjoy 
 absolute freedom, a pleasure of which one had been long 
 deprived, to be able to render aid to those less fortunate 
 
JOURNEY BOUND THE WOBLD. 139 
 
 than oneself by appearing at pei'formanceB or concerts — 
 were, aa it seemed to me, excellent reasons to confirm me 
 in mj determination to retire from the stage. 
 
 But that art fever, against which there is no striving, 
 led me to give up once again that tranquillity so much 
 longed for. 
 
 In short, on the 2nd of October 1878, 1 started once 
 more for a tour through Spain and Portugal. 
 
 I visited Denmark on the 4th of October of the same 
 jeax, where I was so well satisfied with my reception that 
 I returned again in the following November. From 
 Copenhagen I travelled to Sweden, and opened on the 
 14th October with Medea, at that picturesque city of 
 Stockholm, which has been aptly called " The Venice of 
 the North." 
 
 Of what heights of enthusiasm did I not find the 
 Swedes capable ! With what a noble and lofty intellect 
 Eing Oscar is endowed. Among the many foreign lan- 
 guages with which he is familiar, I soon found that it 
 pleased him best to converse with me in my own. I re- 
 ceived many proofs of his sympathy, chief among them 
 being the following. For my last performance I gave 
 EHmibeth, Queen of England. His Majesty and the Oourt 
 were present. When the play was over, the King, accom- 
 panied by his sons, came to my dressing-room, and, after 
 having expressed his great satisfaction in the most 
 courteous and flattering manner, he presented to me, with 
 his own hand, a goldm decoration, bearing on one side the 
 device. Uteris el Art3ms, and on the reverse His Majesty's 
 effigy, surmounted by a royal crown in diamonds. 
 
130. ADELAIDE EISTOBI. 
 
 An accident, wUcli might have been fatal, happened 
 during my brief sojourn in Sweden and Norway. The 
 students of Upsala addressed me urgent entreaties to 
 give them a performance in that great University. After 
 repeated refusals I ended by yielding to the temptation 
 of playing before that young and ardent public, and, at 
 the risk of undertaking fatigues beyond my strength, I 
 gave up the sole day of rest left me between two per- 
 formances ; being engaged to play at Stockholm the 24th 
 and 26th. 
 
 It was indispensable to travel at night and take a 
 special train. The country through which we had to 
 pass is intersected by broad and deep canals accessible to 
 large vessels. Eevolving bridges, the working of which 
 is entrusted to a pointsman, alternately give passage to 
 trains and ships. Hurrying away from Stockholm after 
 the performance, stunned by the acclamations of the 
 crowd who followed me to the station, I got into the train 
 with my husband and my nephew, Giovanni Tessero. I 
 had gone asleep immediately in my excellent sleeping- 
 carriage, when, towards one o'clock in the morning, I 
 was awakened by a violent shock and repeated alarm 
 signals. The train had stopped suddenly. We were told 
 we had just escaped, as it were miraculously, from a great 
 danger ! The telegram which was to give warning of the 
 passage of our train, containing only the cypher 12|, 
 was understood by the pointsman for half-past twelve 
 noon ; consequently we were not expected, and the abyss 
 was yawning at only a few yards' distance in front of us, 
 and in a few seconds we should have been precipitated 
 
JOURNEY ROUND THE WORLD. 131 
 
 into it, had not the engine-driver, whether from precau- 
 tion or presentiment, slackened speed and stopped the 
 train. 
 
 My nephew, Tessero, who had gathered these details, 
 repeated them to us, shuddering at the peril so narrowly 
 escaped. Meantime the pointsman was sleeping placidly, 
 and not thinking of making the passage possible for us, 
 so that we remained motionless for some time. But a 
 ■comrade of his, upon whom Morpheus had not so 
 liberally strewn his poppies, hearing the signals, closed 
 the bridge and the train could continue the journey. 
 
 The following day the innumerable telegrams of con- 
 gratulation I received were a new proof of the affection 
 entertained by that people for me. I heard from our 
 kind minister, Comte de la Tour, that the morning after 
 we left the report spread in Stockholm that the train had 
 fallen into the river. 
 
 But in contrast with this dismal recollection I chronicle 
 another very cheerful one. 
 
 Those delicious Swedish airs are still sounding in my 
 ears, which the youths of Upsala sang below the balcony 
 where the Governor courteously placed me as we came 
 from the supper he had given in my honour. It was a 
 real art festival. The following morning at six, at the 
 moment of leaving Upsala to return to Stockholm, we 
 found those wonderful student choristers in the waiting- 
 room expecting me. They received us singing a lively 
 song, which was followed by several others, growing 
 gradually more melancholy. When we got into our 
 ■carriage those fine young fellows ranged themselves on 
 
132 ADELAIDE BI8T0BL 
 
 the platform opposite us; iaud scarcely did the engine 
 begin to whistle than they intoned ihe national ditty 
 called the NecJcers Polka, -which Ambrose Thomas has so 
 ably interwoven with the many jewels comprised in the 
 death-scene of Ophelia in Hamlet. The snow was falling 
 in thick flakes — the train began to move slowly — we 
 could not leave the open windows until those sad har- 
 monies had gradually died away upon the ear. 
 
 I returned to these beautiful countries in October and 
 November 1880. Coming southwards the same year, for 
 the first time during my long career I acted at Munich in 
 Bavaria, giving four performances, which I have pleasure 
 in remembering, because I had from the G-erman aetor» 
 more than elsewhere fraternal welcome. 
 
 At the end of 1880 I resolved to undertake no further 
 engagements, but I speedily discovered, however, that 
 such inaction suited ill with the energy of my tempera- 
 ment. For an actress may be compared to the soldier j 
 the one desires the excitement and conflict of the stage, 
 the other cannot resign himself to the monotony of 
 peace ! 
 
 And so, one day, the vague idea, which for seven years 
 I had been cherishing in secret, came uppermost in my 
 mind once more. Quietly and silently I resumed the 
 occupation, so agreeable to me, of studying English. 
 
 I gave myself to it with ardour. In proportion as my 
 lessons progressed to the satisfaction of my excellent 
 mistress, Miss Clayton, so grew up within me the deter- 
 mination to succeed at every cost. Unfortunately the 
 necessities of summer travelling, and of many other 
 
JOUBNUY BOUND THE WOBLD. 133 
 
 things, interrupted mj beloved studies for six months of 
 the year. Bendered impatient by these delays, I re- 
 solved to aim at nothing less than acquiring that facility 
 and clearness of pronunciation which the stage requires, 
 without troubling to perfect myself in the phrases used 
 in conversation. 
 
 And, thanks to my tenacity of purpose, I succeeded. 
 But what did not this minute and persevering study cost 
 me. Was Demosthenes, with his pebbles in his mouth, 
 on the sea-shore, more energetic than I in my study ? In 
 order to vanquish the greatest of my difficulties, that of 
 pronunciation of the language, I invented a method 
 which I think I may call somewhat ingenious. By the 
 aid of ascending and descending lines, I was enabled to 
 tell on which syllable of a word the voice should be 
 raised, or lowered, or dropped. Thanks to other lines, 
 which were either concave or convex, I learnt whether 
 any syllable should be pronounced in a deep or sonorous 
 tone. Assisted by certain French diphthongs, I succeeded 
 in obtaining one of the special and most distinct English 
 sounds, very foreign to a Latin throat ; sometimes I added 
 to the French diphthong another vowel sound, the value of 
 which in our language corresponds to that of the French 
 diphthongs eu, aou, and thus I gradually succeeded in 
 obtaining the desired result, and acquiring that euphony 
 so necessary to every language. 
 
 Such were the devices to which my pertinacious deter- 
 mination to succeed brought me ! 
 
 Encouraged and animated by the opinion of competent 
 judges, I was at last enabled to present myself upon the 
 
134 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 stage of Drury Lane on the 3rd of July 1882, to play the 
 entire part of Lady Macheth. 
 
 I need not say what agitation and anxiety I went 
 through that evening. The happy result alone could 
 banish my trepidation. My friends came from all sides 
 in my dressing-room to congratulate me on my success ; 
 they had the frankness to tell me, what I knew very 
 well, that I had not been able to get rid entirely of the 
 Italian intonation, but they kindly added that the melody 
 of our language gave a pretty originality to my repro- 
 duction. 
 
 After several repetitions of Macbeth, I undertook the 
 part of Elizabeth, Queen of England. 
 
 At my first appearance, although the public were 
 extremely courteous to me, I was by no means equally 
 well satisfied with myself ! I had been accustomed for 
 many years to the same Italian actors, who understood 
 exactly the interpretation I gave to every scene, and every 
 point in my by-play. It was a very different thing to 
 find myself surrounded by persons ignorant of my mode 
 of acting, and having little in common with me. For a 
 moment I felt my courage evaporate. But the obligation 
 of duty undertaken reanimated and encouraged me. I 
 endeavoured neither to see nor hear, and succeeded in 
 bringing the play to a conclusion more satisfactorily than 
 I could have dared to hope for. In subsequent per- 
 formances everything went better. 
 
 I made a tour through several of the English counties 
 with these two dramas in September, October, and 
 November, with the best results. 
 
JOUBWEY BOUND THE WOBLD. 135 
 
 During the winter of 1883, which I spent quietly in 
 Borne, I had the pleasure of assisting at several per- 
 formances undertaken in the cause of charity. 
 
 In the second half of the same year I revisited Eng- 
 land, adding Mary Stuart and Marie Antoinette to my 
 former repertoire. During my long stay there I had 
 signed a contract for a long tour in North America, in 
 order to reproduce before the Anglo-Saxon public across 
 the ocean what I had just accomplished in the United 
 Kingdom. I was en passant at Paris, waiting the hour 
 of embarking on the St. Germain, which was to leave 
 Havre the 18th October, when I was asked to take part 
 in a performance to be given in the Theatre des Nations, for 
 the benefit of the cholera victims, by the Comedie Fran- 
 Quise and some distinguished singers who were also at the 
 moment in Paris. My luggage was packed up or gone ; 
 I had no Italian actor with me capable of supporting 
 me ; but I accepted readily, because the purpose was for 
 the relief at the same time of both French and Italian 
 distress. My brother, Caesar, who had come to Paris to 
 see me off, agreed to support me along with a lady 
 amateur, who was very willing to become an actress for a 
 charity evening. 
 
 I was thus enabled in a few hours to put on the 
 stage the sleep-walking scene of Lady Macbeth, which 
 requires three characters. I added to my contribution 
 the fifth canto of Dante's Inferno. 
 
 For many years I had not felt French hearts thrilling 
 before me, and before leaving Europe I felt a real happi- 
 ness in finding myself once again in communion with 
 
186 ABBLALDE RI8T0RI. 
 
 Hat good and dew pablic, who had given me mj fiist 
 joys oat of Italy, A few hoon afterwards I was on 
 bowd the Si. Gtrmain, earrjing with me, to cheer me 
 dmiiig the hmg passage, the fnendlj articles at the whole 
 French press, which thanked me for mj last gieetiiig to 
 France. 
 
 For the fomtii time I arriTed in tiie United States 
 under the h^piest aospioes, and h^an from PhiladfJphia 
 a tour of seren months, which ended on the 4th day of 
 May 1886. Bat before retaining to my own e uunti y, I 
 had tiie pleasore of acting Matidk with Edwin. Booth, 
 the Talma of the United States. I was only able to gire 
 one performance in New York, on tiie eTening of the 7th 
 of May, at the Academy of Moa^ and cme at Phi]adet|diia; 
 bat they were troly grand artistic festivals, and ike 
 pablic flocked to them in crowds. ISieae aatis&etoiy 
 resoha incited the manager of the permanent company at 
 the Thalia Theatre, New York, to beg me to act in 
 Schiller's Meuy Stmari, <m the 12th, with his "tzoape," 
 I speaking TSngTigti and th^ German. 
 
 At first it seemed to me too extraordinazj an idea. I 
 didnotknowawordofth^langaage,Tet atthe same time 
 I most confess this strange proposal had a certain &8ei^ 
 nation for me. I reflected that by paying the doaest 
 attention to the expression of my compuiions' feces, with 
 a by-play in accordance with the situation when I was not 
 speaking, I mi^t be able to come ereditaUy oat of the 
 ocdeaL So, after some slight hesitaticHi, I accepted the 
 <^er. 
 
 Daring the solitary rehearsal I was able to have with 
 
JOURNEY BOUND THE WORLD. 137 
 
 them, I was careful to have the words immediately pre- 
 ceding my parts repeated very distinctly, accustoming 
 my ears gradually to their sound. By this means every- 
 thing went on correctly. The performance was a success ; 
 best of all, the greater part of the audience were per- 
 suaded that I was acquainted with the German language, 
 and complimented me upon it. 
 
 The 23rd of March 1885, we disembarked at South- 
 ampton from the German Lloyd's splendid steamer 
 Eulda, happy after all to see our old Europe once more, 
 and come to the end of the seven months' journey, 
 during which space we had visited sixty-two cities of the 
 New World. 
 
 We should never have been able to traverse such im- 
 mense distances in so short a time if the industrial genius 
 which presides in America over all the locomotive enter- 
 prises had not come to our assistance. There is a com- 
 pany in the United States (which that of the wagon lite 
 begins to imitate with us), which has for its object to let 
 ear apartmentshj the week or the month, which can be 
 attached successively to trains for all destinations. (They 
 are often used for pleasure excursions.) The necessity 
 ifor lodging at inferior hotels at small towns is thus 
 avoided ; one is not obliged to open trunks at every 
 stopping place; one can live as if at home, or as con- 
 veniently as if on board a yacht. This habit of locomo- 
 tion is so much a part of American life that everything 
 is organized at the stations for the provisioning every 
 morning and at any occasional pause in the journey. 
 
 It was on leaving Philadelphia we took possession of 
 
138 ADELAIDE EI8T0BI. 
 
 our ambulating house. In the space of only 66 feet (Eng- 
 lish) we had ante-room, salon, two bed-rooms, with 
 respective dressing-rooms, two rooms for servants,, 
 kitchen, pantry ; and, besides all this, there were a tind 
 of iron cellars under the carriage, where the provisions 
 were kept. Our sitting-room was particularly comfort- 
 able ; the hangings were furnished with Mezzari of Genoa. 
 We had a piano, bookcase, etageres filled with all sorts of 
 things, photographs, maps, and even hot-house plants,, 
 which accompanied us into the coldest regions. 
 
 We had hired our yacht on wheels for five months. 
 We were often in motion for fifteen days in succession 
 without being aware of the distance traversed ; and 
 when in the large cities we left it for the hotels, it 
 was carefully kept in a shed in charge of two negroes- 
 appointed specially for that purpose by the Company. 
 
 Not without regret we left behind us in America that 
 pretty habitation, thanks to which we had made, without 
 fatigue, so long a journey. 
 
 Such are the principal events of my artistic life which 
 my heart, guided by my memory, has dictated ; and if in 
 evoking my recollections I have been obliged to reawaken 
 the praises bestowed upon me, it is because they arfr 
 identified with each other, and above all because I ex- 
 perience a legitimate pride in recording them, attributing- 
 them in great measure to the homage paid so splendidly 
 by the public, beyond the Alps and beyond the sea, to- 
 Italian art. 
 
 My readers will perceive that I have put on one side 
 all pride of authorship, every pretension to style, and 
 
JOURNEY ROUND THE WORLD. 139 
 
 left on these memoirs the impression of that spontaneity 
 which has all my life characterized my actions and my 
 thoughts. 
 
 I do not pretend to posthumous fame with this book, 
 which, from the depth of my retreat, I send forth to the 
 judgment of the public ; but as I cherish the hope that 
 the vicissitudes of a life commenced so modestly, and the 
 course I have accomplished, may serve for emulation and 
 example to the young, who, having a serious vocation 
 for the theatrical art, desire to face its difficulties and 
 hardships. 
 
 One duty alone remains to me, that of reaching out a 
 friendly hand to my faithful companions in arms ; to 
 those who followed me across both worlds, and to those 
 who have helped and contributed to our victories. 
 
140 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 CHAPTEK VII. 
 
 MABY STUART. 
 
 -&.S the object of this work is a pui'ely artistic one, and 
 as, therefore, it does not come within its scope to discuss 
 the various and most contradictory opinions which have 
 been held by so many celebrated authors during the last 
 three centuries about the guilt or innocence of the unfor- 
 tunate Mary Stuart, I will only say that, for my own 
 part, I was so convinced she had been the victim of un- 
 deserved cruelty and persecution, that I had no difficulty 
 in forming my idea of her character. All the facts which 
 a close study of her history brought to my knowledge 
 confirmed me in the conviction I had always felt, that 
 Mary Stuart was the victim of her own extraordinary 
 beauty, her own personal fascination, and her fervent 
 Boman Catholicism. That she was guilty of some indis- 
 cretions, which would probably have passed unnoticed in 
 another woman, I do not attempt to deny ; but they were 
 certainly made the most of by those whose interest it 
 was to ruin the unfortunate queen. Her enemies failed 
 
MABY STUABT. 141 
 
 to take into account either her youth or the circumstances 
 of the times in which she lived, and her jureaile frivolities 
 have served as a foundation for many serious charges 
 which have been brought against her. Her girlish im- 
 prudences have been painted in the darkest colours. It 
 is my firm belief that the gravest of these charges— such^ 
 for example, as her connivance at the murder of her hus- 
 band — were embellished and distorted and magnified by 
 her enemies to suit their own purposes and compass her 
 destruction. 
 
 Everyone knows how, in order that Mary might have 
 no chance of defeating their machinations, she was kept 
 a close prisoner for nineteen years, during which time 
 she endeavoured repeatedly, by means of letter-s, appeals^ 
 and petitions, to obtain an opportunity of justifying^ 
 herself before Elizabeth and the English Parliament, and 
 di^roving the accusations made against her. But all 
 her efforts were useless ; and, surely, in their failure may 
 be found a proof that her persecutors feared to grant 
 her request, lest she should succeed in convincing every- 
 one of her innocence. 
 
 And what chance had she of exposing the conspiracy 
 against her, when her voice was silenced in a prison, when 
 all assistance was denied her, when every effort she made 
 only involved her more deeply in the maze of intrigue ; 
 when nineteen out of her forty-four years of life were 
 passed in humiliating and miserable confinement. 
 
 The testimony of many historians proves that the con- 
 duct of this unhappy princess, from her infancy up to 
 the death of Damley, was without reproach. I fail to 
 
142 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 see, therefore, how srtch a woman as Maiy Stoart, genile, 
 cnltiTated, fascinating, and endowed with the most esti- 
 mable qualities, conld, in a moment, leare the paths of 
 virtae for those of vice, conld so completely forget herself 
 as to commit crimes worthy only of the most depraved 
 nature. Yet this is what her i-nhnTnaTi persecutors wonld 
 have ns believe. 
 
 The real reason of all her snfierings was that, from 
 infancy upwards, she had been gnilty of three great and 
 unpardonable sins. She was the legitimate qneen, she 
 was a devoted Boman Catholic, and she was the most 
 beantifnl woman of her centaiy. 
 
 These considerations, however, only sufficed to increase 
 my sympathy with the unfortunate Queen, and I devoted 
 all my abilities to a close study of her character, seeking 
 to bring ont in strong relief the nobiUty of her disposi- 
 tion, the dignity of the outraged sovereign, the sufferings 
 of the oppressed victim, and the resignation of the 
 martyr. 
 
 I was helped in this attempt by the care with which I 
 had studied the historical period during which she lived, 
 and by the investigations I had already made while pre- 
 paring the part of Elizabeth. And it is my profound 
 conviction that no generous, impartial, and sympadietic 
 mind can fail to be touched by the sad story of poor 
 Mary Stuart, who was an ornament to her sex, and who 
 was driven to the scaffold by the mad jealousy of her 
 rival, and by a long-continued course of cruel persecution. 
 ****** 
 
 Before entering upon any analysis of my acting in tihe 
 
MARY STUABT. 143 
 
 ■character of Maiy Stuart, I think it may interest the 
 reader to give a short accottat of the circumstances which 
 £r8t led me to undertake this most important part. 
 
 Pew persons would believe that the representation of 
 -the heroine in such a celebrated and world-renowned 
 tragedy as this of SchiUer's could have been confided to a 
 girl of eighteen, who then, for the first time, assumed 
 the part of prima donna (first lady), this Italian term not 
 being confined to the principal singer in the opera, but 
 also meaning first actress. But in Italy such is often 
 ■the case. A manager (capocomico) engages an actress 
 whom he considers suitable both in appearance and 
 talent for the leading parts without considering her age. 
 
 When my engagement with the Boyal Sardinian Com- 
 pany ended, I joined that of Eomoaldo Mascherpa in the 
 .service of the Duchess of Farma, as first actress. 
 
 Now, although my four years' experience with the 
 £oyal Sardinian Company had made me quite at home 
 upon the stage, yet the parts allotted to me had always 
 been such as were suited to my years. When my 
 :&ther arranged for me to join Mascherpa he never 
 ■dreamed that a travelling company would attempt 
 tragedy, or that I should have any responsibilities 
 beyond my years. Instead of this, however, the eapo- 
 ■comico at once assigned me the most difficult and impor- 
 tant parts, which would have generally been played by a 
 much older and more experienced actress. My manager 
 was an excellent old man, but his artistic abilities were 
 •of the most ordinary kind. He knew he was quite 
 within his rights in giving me these parts if he chose to 
 
144 ADELAIBE BISTOBI. 
 
 to do so ; and, as for me, I was simply expected to play 
 them. 
 
 He began to entrust me with the most important, and 
 some of these I had not even seen acted. My teacher, Car- 
 lotta Marchionni, of the Eoyal Sardinian Company, having 
 either given them up owing to advancing years, or never 
 played them ; so that I had not even the advantage of 
 her example to aid my inexperience. I first began fe> 
 study the part of Mary Stuart in Trent. I was in despair. 
 I felt certain I should fail; and neither my growing 
 favour with the public, which I attributed entirely to my 
 youth and personal appearance, nor the assurances of my 
 friends and relatives, sufficed to encourage me. But as 
 there could be no question of not fulfilling my obliga- 
 tions, I recommended myself to the protection of all the 
 saints and angels, and applied myself resolutely not only 
 to master Andrea MafEei's beautiful verses, but also to 
 make myself well acquainted with the history of the 
 unfortunate Queen and of her times. But for this I had 
 scarcely any time, as I had also to superintend the pre- 
 paration of my costume. I had, indeed, played some 
 minor parts in tragedy while I was with the Eoyal Sar- 
 dinian Company, but none approaching to this in impor- 
 tance. It was thought that I had a natural aptitude for 
 such parts, but still required both experience and prac- 
 tice to make me perfect. I had no idea that I should 
 begin with an undertaking of such magnitude. 
 
 I need not say that T never closed my eyes the night 
 before my first performance. I was in a fever ! I felt I 
 should fail ! The public would be unfavourable. The 
 
MABY STUART. 145 
 
 eyes which I knew would be- fixed upon me seemed to my 
 excited imagination knives piercing my heart. When I 
 dozed for an instant my dreams were worse than my 
 waking thoughts. Alas ! a thousand voices seemed to be 
 whispering in my ear : — " You will never succeed ; the 
 curtain will fall in the midst of a dead silence, and not a 
 single friendly hand will applaud you ! " My hea«'t beat 
 violently, a cold perspiration covered my forehead. 
 
 When my dear mother came at last to rouse me from 
 these uneasy slumbers, the light of the sun dissipated at 
 once the kind of incubus which had haunted me during 
 the darkness. 
 
 The evening I had so much dreaded at last arrived ! 
 The public knew my trepidation, and the efforts I had 
 made, and were leniently disposed towards me. From 
 my first entrance upon the stage the audience perceived 
 the care with which I had studied that character — a study 
 which according to the Italian custom at that time, espe- 
 cially in the travelling companies, was done in a hurry. 
 The appropriate costume, the historical head-gear, my 
 slender figure, the oval shape and pallor of my face 
 — the latter due, in great part, to the agitation from 
 which I was suffering — my fair hair, and, in fact, my 
 entire appearance, which recalled many of the traits of 
 the unfortunate Mary, immediately gained me the sym- 
 pathy of my audience, and a burst of spontaneous 
 applause at once encouraged me and assured me of their 
 indulgence. 
 
 I played as well as I could, and at the close of the 
 third act, which is the culminating point of the play, I 
 
 10 
 
146 ADELAIDE BISTORI. 
 
 was called before the curtain several times, and greeted 
 with the most flattering acclamations from all sides of 
 the house. It seemed to me that I had conquered the 
 world, and I had not a- doubt that my Capocomico would 
 be equally proud of me, and would lose no time in con- 
 gratulating me, and expressing his great satisfaction at 
 the result of the experiment. 
 
 Judge then of my chagrin when, upon my asking him 
 with girlish vanity : " I hope you are content now, are 
 you not ? " the good old man shrugged his shoulders, 
 raised his eyebrows, and with a provoking smile of pitying 
 indulgence answered me : " Believe me, my d^r little 
 one, you have a marked turn for comedy, bui, as for 
 tragedy! — don't be offended with me for saying it — 
 it is not for you, and I advise you to abandon it 
 entirely." 
 
 It is true enough that I was fond of comedy ; but, in 
 after years, I think I may venture to say that I was 
 credited with some success in tragedy also. 
 
 These words from my Capocomico cc*mpletely para- 
 lysed me. 
 
 Certainly, I did not then interpret the part as further 
 study and ripened experience enabled me afterwards to 
 do ; of course, being aware of what the l>ublic expected 
 of me, I thenceforward set to work to anaflyse most care- 
 fully and minutely every situation in the; play connected 
 with Queen Mary; and the great sympat|iy and pity with 
 which her sad history 'filled me notwithstanding my 
 youth, spurred me on in my investigation into every 
 detail of her unhappy life. 
 
MART 8TUABT. 147 
 
 I quickly grew to understand, also, what an important 
 part the expression of my face, my carriage, and my de- 
 meanour must play in the representation of Mary Stuart. 
 The public ought immediately to understand what they 
 are called upon to judge. I felt that I must frame my 
 countenance to resemble that of a woman in whom much 
 suffering and many persecutions had not been able to 
 extinguish the strength of mind that enabled her to bear 
 the afflictions which beset her through .life, yet who, 
 withal, never forgot the dignity due to her rank; nor 
 lost the faith which enabled her to bear so heroically 
 the hand of God in the heavy afflictions of her later 
 days. 
 
 It was, therefore, with an air of patience and resig- 
 nation that I listened while my faithful Anna Kennedy 
 told me how Paulet had rudely forced open my strong 
 box, and rifled it of the papers, jewels, and even the 
 crown of France, which Mary had carefully preserved a,s 
 precious memorials of her past grandeur. And I an- 
 swered her without a moment's discomposure, as though 
 to prove that earthly vanities now counted for nothing 
 with me — 
 
 " Compose yourself, my Amia I and believe me, 
 'Tis not these baubles which can make a Queen: 
 Basely indeed they may behave to ns, 
 But they cannot debase ns. I have learnt 
 To use myself to many a change in England; 
 I can support this too. " 
 
 Then, turning to Paulet, but still maintaining my calm 
 and dignified demeanour, I addressed him in similar 
 
 10 * 
 
148 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 terms ; while I met with angelic patience the scarcely 
 concealed indignation of Anna at seeing me thus treated 
 by my rough jailor. 
 
 I Tentnred, however, in accordance with my own deep 
 conviction, though contrary to that of Schiller, to lay 
 little emphasis on the lines in which the poet makes 
 Mary accase herself of complicity in the murder of 
 Damley, as it is evident that Schiller was led into this 
 belief by the historians Hume and Buchanan, who were- 
 Mary's avowed enemies. 
 
 In the scene between the Queen and Mortimer I showed 
 how, amidst all my troubles, a gleam of hope did now and 
 then spring up in my heart ; and my eyes brightened at 
 the possibility of my liberation. But as I glanced round, 
 my apartment, the sight of the grim walls which en- 
 circled me, and the remembrance of my miserable state^ 
 quenched the feeble spark before it had well begun to 
 bum. To Mortimer I laid bare my whole heart, for I 
 saw in him a ministering angel sent by God for my 
 deliverance. Very different, however, was my de- 
 meanour when I was visited by the perfidious Cecil, 
 Lord Burleigh, thie Minister and evil counsellor of 
 Elizabeth, 
 
 When he appeared, followed by Paulet, to announce 
 my sentence, I summoned all my royal dignity to my aid, 
 in order to confound and humiliate my persecutors^ 
 Hearing myself accused by Burleigh in most insolent 
 tones of being an accomplice in the conspiracy of Babing- 
 ton, and of rebellion against the laws of England, I 
 assumed all the haughtiness of an offended Queen, of 
 
MABY STUABT. 149 
 
 a, calumniated woman, of an oppressed stranger, and 
 replied — 
 
 " Eyeryone who stands arraigned of crime 
 Shall plead before a jury of his equals. 
 Who is my equal in this high commission ? 
 Kings only are my equals ! " 
 
 Burleigh went on to argue that I had already heard 
 "the accusations brought against me in a court of justice, 
 Ihat I lived under English skies, and breathed English 
 air ; that I was protected by English laws, and ought 
 therefore to respect the decrees of my judges. But I 
 suddenly turned upon him with a frown, and replied in a 
 mocking voice — , 
 
 " Sir, I breathe 
 The air within an English prison wall. 
 Is that to live in England : to enjoy 
 Protection from its laws ? I scarcely know. 
 And never have I pledged my faith to keep them. 
 I am no member of this realm ; I am 
 An independent, and a foreign Queen." 
 
 Continuing in the same tone, I refuted, one by one, 
 the false and subtle accusations which he made against 
 me. But seeing at last how useless were all my efforts at 
 ■exculpation, and convinced that it was in vain to adduce 
 any proof of my innocence, when might was evidently to 
 take the place of right, I ended in a voice which, despite 
 all my efforts, betrayed some of the emotion I felt — 
 
 " 'Tis well, my lord ; let her then use her power ; 
 Let her destroy me : let me bleed that she 
 May live secure : but let her then confess 
 That she hath exercised her power alone, 
 And not contaminate the name of justice.'* 
 
150 ADELAIDU BI8T0BI. 
 
 But here the feeling of bitterness which I could no 
 longer restrain made itself manifest in the inflection I 
 gave to the folio-wing words — 
 
 *' Let her not borrow, from the laws, the sword 
 To rid her of her hated enemy ; 
 Let her not clothe, in this religions garb. 
 The bloody daring of licentions might. 
 Let not these juggling tricks deceive the world." 
 
 Here, giving full and free vent to my indignation, I 
 turned with an expression of contempt upon those who 
 were so eager to humiliate my royal powers, saying — 
 
 " Though she may murder me she cannot judge. 
 Let her no longer striTe to join the fmits 
 Of vice with virtue's fair and angel show. 
 But what she is in truth, that let her dare 
 To show herself in face of all the world." 
 
 And, with a glance of unutterable scorn at Burleigh, I 
 hurriedly quitted the stage. 
 
 The author has introduced this scene most appro- 
 priately, in order to give an idea of the tension of mind 
 of which Mary Stuart was the victim ; and interpreting 
 the execution from this point of view, I followed, with 
 look and accent, the growth of the intricate web that was 
 being spun around me. 
 
 The third act plainly shows how a most noble and 
 elevated soul, full of religious enthusiasm and resigna- 
 tion, may yet be goaded beyond the limits of human 
 endurance by the insolence and malice of persecutors. 
 
 Followed by my faithful Anna, I entered the pleasant 
 park with a quick step, intoxicated by the freshness of 
 
MABT STUABT. 151 
 
 the air, which nob only chased the pallor from my cheek 
 but gave my enfeebled body fresh vigour. Identifying 
 myself with the situation, and endeavouring to draw on 
 the spectator to share in the same emotion, I made 
 evident the delight which momentarily possessed me, 
 and which afforded such a painful contrast to the terrible 
 sufEerings to which Mary Stuart was subjected at that 
 time ; and to prove the reasonableness and truth of this 
 interpretation, it will be enough to follow me carefully in 
 the declamation of the next lines — 
 
 " Freedom retnms I let me enjoy it. 
 Freedom invites me I O let me employ it. 
 Skimming with winged step light o'er the lea ; 
 Have I escaped from this mansion of monrning t 
 Holds me no more the sad dungeon of care ! 
 Let me with joy and eagerness burning, 
 Brink in the free, the celestial air 1 
 Thanks to these friendly trees, that hide from me 
 My prison walls, and flatter my illusion 1 
 Happy I now may dream myself, and free ; 
 Why wake me from my dreams so sweet confusion ? 
 The extended vault of heaven around me lies, 
 Free and unfettered range my wandering eyes 
 O'er space's vast immeasurable sea I 
 From where yon misty mountains rise on high, 
 I can my empire's boundaries explore. 
 And those light clouds which, steering southward, fly. 
 Seek the mild clime of France's genial shore. 
 Fast fleeting clouds ; ye meteors that fly ; 
 Could I but sail with you through the sky I 
 Tenderly greet the dear land of my youth 1 
 Here I am captive ! Oppressed by my foes. 
 No other than you can carry my woes. 
 Free thro' the ether your pathway is seen, 
 Te own not the power of this tyrant Queen." 
 
152 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 But this joyous abandonment of ^oul speedily gave 
 place to the most terrible emotions. Hearing of the 
 interview so unexpectedly accorded me by Elizabeth 
 (although entirely invented by Schiller, forming the 
 culminating point of this act), an instant I trembled 
 from head to foot. I would fain have fled away from the 
 dreaded ordeal. Nothing can better describe my state 
 than the following lines, with which I answered the 
 affectionate entreaties of Talbot, who tried every argu- 
 ment he could think of to induce me to meet my rival — 
 
 " For years I Ve waited, and prepared myself ; 
 For this I Ve studied, weigh'd and written down 
 Each word within the tablet of my memory, 
 That was to touch, and move her to compassion. 
 Forgotten suddenly, effaced is all, 
 And nothing lives within me at this moment, 
 But the fierce burning feeling of my wrongs, 
 My heart is turned to direst hate against her ; 
 All gentle thoughts, all sweet forgiving words. 
 Are gone, and round me stand with grisly mien 
 The fiends of hell, and shake their snaky locks ! " 
 
 Then, touched by the persuasive words and affectionate 
 advice of Talbot, that I should have an interview with 
 Elizabeth; with a more tranquil mind, but in tones of 
 the deepest sadness, I said — 
 
 " Oh ! this can never, never come to good 1 " 
 
 The fear lest Burleigh, her bitter enemy, should ac- 
 company Elizabeth on her visit to Fotheringay added 
 greatly to Mary's perturbation. When she heard from 
 Talbot that Leicester alone would attend his sovereign. 
 
MABY 8TUABT. 153 
 
 «he could not refrain from a cry of joy, whicli was in- 
 istantly checked by tlie faithful Anna, but passed unheeded 
 by Talbot, intently watching for the arrival of Elizabeth. 
 "When I caught a glimpse of her I retired in terror to the 
 back of the stage, seeking to hide myself among the trees 
 ^nd shrubs while intently watching the expression of her 
 countenance. 
 
 After this, hearing the words which Elizabeth in her 
 ■egregious vanity addressed to her suite with the evident 
 intention that they should reach my ears, and impress me 
 — her unfortunate prisoner — with the adoration she was 
 Tield in by her people, I murmured in a voice of the 
 -deepest sadness — 
 
 " Oh God t from out these features speaks no heart ! " 
 
 Meanwhile Anna and Talbot, with the most supplica- 
 ting gestures, sought to encourage me to approach and 
 prostrate myself before Elizabeth. At first I visibly 
 aresisted all their entreaties, but at last consented, though 
 with an evident effort, and turned with faltering steps 
 "towards the Queen. I had now made up my mind to 
 kneel before her, though I let it be seen how greatly the 
 sense of my own dignity caused me to rebel against such 
 A humiliation. But before my knees touched the ground, 
 my whole nature seemed to revolt against such an act. I 
 started back in an attitude which said more plainly than 
 words, " I cannot do it," and turned to take refuge in 
 the arms of my attendant Anna. She, however, sank on 
 her knees before me, and besought me by my holy re- 
 ligion, and by the overwhelming force of circumstances, 
 
154 ADELAIDE BI8T0BL 
 
 not to persist in my refusal. At last, overcome by her 
 entreaties, I raised her tenderly from the ground ; and, 
 intimating by my gesture the tremendous sacrifice I made 
 in consenting to her request, with a deep sigh I ex- 
 claim — ' 
 
 " Well 1 be it sol To this I will submit." 
 
 Then, with an intonation of voice suitable to the words, 
 I spoke the following lines — 
 
 " Farewell high thoughts, and pride of noble mind ! 
 I will forget my dignity, and all 
 My Bufferings ; I will fall before her feet 
 Who hath reduced me to this wretchedness." 
 
 While I uttered the words I lifted my eyes to heaven 
 and pressed to my lips the crucifix I wore attached to a 
 rosary at my side, as though offering to God the sacrifice 
 I was about to make of my own personal dignity. Then, 
 pausing for a moment, as if in rapt meditation, to invoke 
 God to grant me that strength and courage of which I 
 stood so much in need, I addressed Elizabeth in a firm 
 voice — 
 
 " The God of heav'n decides for you, my sister, 
 Your happy brows are now with triumph crowned." 
 
 Here I stopped for an instant, expressing by my 
 marked hesitation how grave a matter it was for me to 
 add, by my abasement, to my haughty sister's pride. 
 Then, as if by a sudden inspiration, I knelt before her 
 and cried out impetuously — 
 
 " I worship Him who to His height has raised you." 
 
MAST STUART. 155 
 
 It is clear that in this most felicitous passage the 
 author wanted to show the public that it is not before her, 
 but before the Supreme Being, that Mary humiliates 
 herself. After a short pause, and in a supplicating tone 
 of voice, I continued — 
 
 " But in your turn be merciful, my sister ; 
 Let me not lie before you thus disgraced ; 
 Stretch f ortli your hand, your royal hand, to raise 
 Tour sister from her deep distress." 
 
 At an authoritative yet condescending sign from Eliza- 
 beth I rose, sighing heavily. Then, in a resigned, sub- 
 missive tone I went on to reply to the charges made 
 against me. I enumerated the various acts of injustice 
 from which I had suffered ; and I called God to witness 
 that in spite of myself I was constrained to accuse her 
 of complicity in them. I pointed out that she had treated 
 me neither fairly nor honourably ; that, although I was 
 her equal in rank, she had, in defiance of the rights of 
 nations and of the laws of hospitality, taken no notice of 
 the assistance asked from her, but had shut me up in a 
 living tomb, deprived me of my friends and servants, and 
 filled up the measure of her insults by dragging me 
 before her arrogant tribunals. Here a gesture of resent- 
 ment from Elizabeth recalled me to myself. I changed 
 my tone entirely, for I realised how I had been involun- 
 tarily carried away by my feelings, and I added — 
 
 " No more of this ; 
 Now stand we face to face ; now, sister, speak : 
 Name bnt my crime, I 'U fully satisfy you,"^ 
 
156 ADELAIDE BI8T0BL 
 
 To which the inhuman Elizabeth made answer — 
 
 " Aocnse not fate 1 your own deceitful heart 
 It was, the wild ambition of yonr house ; 
 As yet no enmities had passed between ns, 
 When yonr imperious uncle, the proud priest. 
 Whose shameless hand grasps at all crowns, attacked me 
 With unprovok'd hostility, and taught 
 Yon, but too docile, to assume my arms, 
 To vest yourself with my imperial title." 
 
 Dismayed at hearing the tone of contempt with which 
 ^Elizabeth spoke of the Pontiff (Pius V.), and at finding 
 herself charged with faults she had never committed, and 
 •conspiracies in which she had never engaged, Maiy raised 
 ier eyes to heaven, exclaiming — 
 
 " I 'm in the hand of God ! " 
 
 and then addressed Elizabeth : — 
 
 " But you never will, 
 Exert so cruelly the power it gives you." 
 
 ■To which Elizabeth replied in an arrogant tone — 
 " Who shall prevent me ! " 
 
 I omitted no opportunity throughout this scene of 
 showing the torture I was undergoing from Elizabeth's 
 injurious treatment. Now I implored, by a gesture, the 
 aid of Heaven; now I sought comfort from Talbot by 
 a look which entreated him to become the judge of 
 the iniquitious provocation I was enduring from my 
 rival. I was on the point of putting my anger into 
 
MABY STUABT. 167 
 
 words, when she said to me with all the venom of a 
 serpent — 
 
 " Force is my only surety: no alliance 
 Can be conclnded with a race of vipers." 
 
 At this I tottered as though I was about to fall. Both 
 Anna and Talbot ran forward to support me. I thanked 
 them affectionately with expressive gestures, and signed 
 them to retire as the moment of my weakness was past. 
 But, convinced by the harsh, haughty, and insolent tone- 
 Elizabeth employed, that she never would acknowledge- 
 either my innocence or my legitimate rights, which I now 
 saw I should be compelled to renounce for ever, I turned 
 my head slowly away from her, with a fixed, penetrating- 
 look, accompanied by a slightly ironical smile which 
 seemed to say : " Tou are -vilely abusing the power,, 
 which superior strength has given you over your unarmed 
 prisoner." 
 
 Then a sudden impulse of revolt against my evil 
 destiny led me to question heaven, with an expression of 
 surpassing bitterness, whether I had really deserved such 
 misfortunes ? But the religious sentiment within me 
 came to my aid. I besought pardon of the Supreme 
 Being for my momentary rebellion against His -will, and 
 I inclined my head in meek submission, like a creature 
 who recognizes the immutability of Providence, and 
 accepts the martyrdom which is to be its lot. 
 
 And entering fully into the conception of the poet who 
 has anatomized the character of this unhappy creature, I 
 interpreted the rapid passage from resentment to pathos. 
 
158 ADELAIDE EI8T0BI. 
 
 as thongh the humble intonation of the words were the 
 expression of a, flieeting hope that she might be able to 
 move her rival to pity. And, therefore, it was with a 
 tone of the deepest affection I nttered the apostrophe, 
 " Oh ! sister ! " in the hope that I shonld excite some 
 sympathy in her heart. But as, according to the ia- 
 tention of the poet ajid the exigencies of history, the 
 character of Elizabeth is not to be moved by Mary's 
 affectionate entreaties, the Queen, with a contemptuous 
 look, fixes her icy glance upon her victim, whereupon the 
 latter breaks forth — 
 
 " Sole your realm in peace : 
 I give up every claim to these domains — 
 Alas I the pinions of my soul are lam'd; 
 Greatness entices me no more : yonr point 
 Is gained; I am bnt Mary's shadow now — 
 Hy noble spirit is at last broke down 
 By long captivity: you. Ve done vonr worst 
 On me ; yon have destroyed me in my bloom ! 
 Now end yonr work my sister ; — speak at length 
 The word which to prononnce has brought you hither ; 
 For I will ne 'er believe that you are come. 
 To mock unfeelingly yonr hapless victim. 
 Pronounce this word: say ' Maiy, you are free : 
 Tou have felt my power — ^leam now 
 To honour too my generosity — ' 
 
 Sister, not for all these islands' wealth. 
 For all the realms encircled by the deep 
 Could I before you stand inexorable 
 In mien, as you now show yourself to me." 
 
 And I burst into a flood of tears. These just and tem- 
 perate words, &r from convincing Elizabeth, only aroused 
 her ire and increased the aversion she had always felt for 
 
MABY STTJABT. 159 
 
 Mary. Without consideration for the rank and humilia- 
 tion of her rival, she reviled her unrestrainedly with 
 ferocious satisfaction. Beminding her of her lost prestige, 
 
 she asks her — 
 
 " Are all yonr schemes ran 
 Out ? No more assassins on the road 7 
 Will none attempt for yon again 
 The sad adTentnrons aehievement ? " 
 
 She taunted her with her vanished beauty and fascina- 
 tion, and ended her insults by saying in a tone of con- 
 tempt — 
 
 " None is ambitions of the dang'rons honour 
 Of being yonr fonrth hnsband : you destroy 
 Tour wooers like yonr husbands." 
 
 At such a base outrage my face betrayed all the fury I 
 felt. I all but hurled myself upon the speaker, crying : 
 " Sister ! sister ! " but Talbot and Anna ran to me and 
 held me back, while they did all in their power to calm 
 my emotion. With a superhuman effort at self-control, I 
 hurriedly, and with convulsive grasp, seized the crucifix 
 hanging at my side and pressed it to my heart, ex- 
 claiming — 
 
 ' ' Grant me forbearance, all ye pow'rs of heaven ! " 
 
 It was the predominance of the religious sentiment 
 which came in as if unexpectedly to change the situation. 
 To make the contrast still more vivid, Elizabeth contem- 
 plated me with sovereign disdain, deriding Leicester for 
 having constantly declared that no one could look on 
 Mary Stuart without being fascinated by her, and that 
 no other woman on earth was her equal in beauty. Then, 
 
160 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 as if to exceed all her other insults, she said with an^ 
 insolent smile — 
 
 " She who to all is common, may with ease 
 Become the common object of applause I " 
 
 At this all restraint became impossible. "This is too- 
 much ! " I cried in my anger. Elizabeth heard me with- 
 a diabolical sneer, and interrupted me — 
 
 " Ton show ns now indeed 
 Tonr real face 1 Till now 'twas but the mask ! " 
 
 I attempted to answer her, but wrath choked my utter- 
 ance ; my face was distorted, my whole body trembled^ 
 At length, with difiBculty, and in a half -suffocated, brokeit 
 voice, I began to speak — 
 
 " My sins were hnman and my yonth the cause; 
 Superior force betray'd me. Never have I 
 Denied, or to conceal it sought." 
 
 Then beginning to recover myself, and showing that 1 
 woidd give vent to the rancour so long pent up in my 
 breast, eager to give insult for insult to her who had so- 
 grossly outraged me before everybody, I went on — 
 
 " Of me the worst is known, and I can say, 
 That I am better than the fame I bear." 
 
 Then, advancing towards the Queen, I cried in accents o£ 
 fury — 
 
 " But woe to you I when in the years to come, 
 
 The world shall rend from you the robe of honour. 
 With which your arch-hypocrisy hath veiled 
 The secret raging flames of lawless lust." 
 
MABY STUART. 161 
 
 And my paroxysm of rage reached its height while, with 
 flashing eyes, I hurled at her the lines — 
 
 " Virtue was not your portion from your mother 
 Well know we the foul cause that brought the head 
 Of Anna Boleyn to the fatal block 1 " 
 
 When the words had passed my lips I stood im- 
 movable for a moment, looking at Elizabeth with a 
 glance that seemed almost to scorch her, and showing by 
 my attitude what joy I felt in having thus in my turn 
 humiliated my enemy. Elizabeth, mortally wounded at 
 my insults, was to glare at me with eyes of savage 
 hatred, Leicester and Paulet to run towards her en- 
 deavouring to pacify her, while Talbot and Anna hurried 
 to me in mortal terror. The formerj whose age and 
 faithful devotion for so many years gave him the right to 
 speak, began to remonstrate with me — 
 
 ' Is this the moderation, the submission of my Lady I " 
 
 To which, now quite beside myself, I answered — 
 
 " Moderation! I've supported 
 What human nature can support. Farewell, 
 Lamb-hearted resignation, passiye patience, 
 Fly to thy native heaven ; burst at length 
 Thy bonds, come forward from thy dreary cave, 
 In all thy fury, long suppressed rancour I 
 And thou, who to the anger'd basilisk 
 Impart'st the murd'rous glance, oh 1 arm my tongue 
 With poison'd darts I " 
 
 Meanwhile her courtiers gathered round Elizabeth, 
 persuading her to depart ; while I, after meditating in. 
 my own mind what still more terrible insult I could fling 
 
 11 
 
162 ADELAIDE BISTOKI. 
 
 at her, suddenly faced round upon the English Queen 
 and in utter recklessness exclaimed — 
 
 " The English throne is snllied by a bastard, 
 The noble Britons by a juggler fool'd. 
 If right prevailed, yon now would in the dust 
 Before me lie, for I am yOur rightful King." 
 
 At this last excess I stood in a menacing attitude 
 looking at her. Elizabeth freed herself from the grasp 
 of Paulet and Leicester and endeavoured to spring upon 
 me ; but, with all the authority of a haughty sovereign, 
 I waved her back and signed to her imperiously to leave, 
 which Elizabeth at last did, in a towering passion, her 
 courtiers having to drag her away, as it were, almost by 
 force. I watched her departing footsteps and felt that I 
 had vanquished her. Seizing Anna's hand in a transport 
 of joy at having thus obtained my revenge, and coming 
 forward to the front of the stage, I, still in great excite- 
 ment, exclaimed — 
 
 " Within her heart she carries death. I know it. 
 At last now I am once more happy, Anna, 
 I have degraded her in Leicester's eyes ! " 
 
 This idea seemed to intoxicate me, and with fierce 
 satisfaction I added — 
 
 ' •' Oh I After years of sorrow and abasement 
 I 've felt one hour of triumph, and revenge 1 " 
 
 And I left the stage in an agitated manner, followed by 
 Anna. 
 
 From all the observations I have made, the reader will 
 perceive that in the third Act, which forms an important 
 
MABY 8TUABT. 163 
 
 part of the drama, I aimed above all else to set in full 
 relief the great contrast between the widely different 
 characters of the two cousins, who were rivals at the 
 same time : one being unfortunate, while the other was 
 omnipotent, and already fixed in the cruel intention of 
 making Mary Stuart her victim. 
 
 In order the better to realise the justice of this inter- 
 pretation it may be useful to recall what has already been 
 observed, namely, that the meeting between the two 
 queens was boldly introduced by the author, precisely 
 that it might give him an opportunity of profiting by 
 the certain effect of the contrast, and of bringing to light 
 the stateliness and haughtiness of Mary Stuart, who knew 
 and felt herself to be a queen. 
 
 As for me, I was careful not to forget to give sufficient 
 prominence to the religious sentiment, which was an 
 essential manifestation that could not separate itself from 
 the troubled and agitated soul of woman. 
 
 As it is known that Mary does not appear in the fourth 
 Act, I pass on to the fifth. 
 
 But before beginning my analysis, I wish to give my 
 reasons for disregarding Schiller's instructions about her 
 dress in this act. Many different accounts have come 
 down to us of the attire in which she appeared on the 
 day of her execution, most of which seem to me purely 
 imaginary. Thus, for example, she has been sent to the 
 scaffold by some authorities di'essed entirely in red. 
 Others have arrayed her in royal robes. Schiller repre- 
 sents her as wearing a rich white gown, a crown on her 
 head, and a long black veil. Now, it seems to me this 
 
 11 * 
 
164 ABELAIBE BISTOBL 
 
 latter costume must be incorrect for two reasons. First, 
 because it is scarcely likely that a woman who had been 
 made prisoner in the flower of her age, when all the im- 
 pressions of grief are most profound, and who had passed 
 from a throne to a dungeon, a martyr to Faith, could 
 — after nineteen years of captivity and sorrow which had 
 undermined her strength until she was obliged to ask 
 support from Melville when she tried to mount the- 
 scaffold, because her knees, swollen by the damps of sa 
 many unhealthy prisons, refused to carry her — ^have re- 
 tained so much vanity as to try and produce an effect 
 upon the minds of those who saw her for the last time. 
 Secondly, Mary could not have arrayed herself in this 
 manner without the consent of Elizabeth. Is it likely 
 that the latter would have allowed her rival the means 
 of displaying those undoubted charms which had done 
 more than anything else to excite her feelings against 
 her, even supposing . Mary had made such a request. 
 And these convictions took root in me from the first 
 days in which I began to study and guess at the difScult 
 personality of Mary Stuart. 
 
 In fact, from the time of my first appearance in the 
 character of this unfortunate queen, I had adopted the 
 costume which seemed to me most strictly historical. By 
 a very fortunate chance I found myself in London in 
 1857, the year in which the ArchsBological Institution 
 had a grand exhibition of all the relics that could be 
 obtained of the unhappy Mary Stuart. This exhibition 
 was under the patronage of the Prince Consort. I was 
 able to visit it. There were to be found many precious 
 
MABY 8TUABT. 165 
 
 ■objects whicli had belonged to poor Mary up to the last 
 hour of her life, and which had been preserved in old 
 Scottish Catholic families devoted to the hapless queen. 
 Among many other things I especially admired the white 
 and blue enamel rosary which she wore (but which I, to 
 produce a better scenic efEect, had made entirely in gold), 
 and the veil that covered her head when she ascended the 
 scaffold, which was a tissue of threads of gold and white 
 silk, bordered all round with a narrow white lace, and 
 having the royal arms in each of its four corners. 
 
 Among all the innumerable pictures which represented 
 her in such different ways — one, whose authenticity is 
 imdoubted, because it was executed a few days after 
 Mary's death, struck me most forcibly, and I can see it 
 ■still with my mind's eye. It represented her execution at 
 Potheringay Castle, and is attributed to the painter 
 My tens. She is standing, dressed in a robe of black 
 stamped velvet, surmounted by a short surcoat without 
 •sleeves, according to the fashion of the time. A white 
 ruff encircles her neck. On her head she has a whiti 
 •coif, shaped like the cap which now bears her name, and 
 a veil, also white like that which I have described above, 
 oovered her entirely from head to foot. A small ivory 
 crucifix hangs round her neck, and two thin chains hold 
 the two ends of the sweoat together across her breast. 
 
 In one word, this was the ideal costume I had already 
 imagined for the part, except that I substituted a black 
 <coif and veil for the white ones, in the belief that by so 
 •doing I should give additional efEect to the scene. 
 
 Mary, as represented in this wonderful picture, has in 
 
166 ADELAIBE EISTOBI. 
 
 her hand a crucifix, at the bottom of which is a skull. 
 The Queen, with outstretched arms, holds the sacred 
 image propped upon the table, on the cover of which in 
 the front part the artist has represented the tremendous 
 scene of her execution. In this latter picture Mary is 
 shown kneeling on the scaffold. Her upper garments 
 have been removed, and allow her boddice of silk damask 
 to become visible ; and it was the colour of this which 
 probably gave rise to the fantastic accounts I had heard 
 of her apparel. A thin streak of blood trickled from her 
 neck, which had already received the executioner's first 
 blow. His axe was uplifted in readiness for a second 
 stroke. Several noble Lords and other personages are 
 present at the execution ; and in the background her 
 attendants, the three faithful Maries, in deepest black. 
 Three Latin inscriptions complete the picture. The first, 
 in the right and upper corner, runs thus — 
 
 ** Reginam serenlssimam regum filiam iLSorem et matrem, astan- 
 tibus commissariis et ministris R. Eliz. — oamifex secmi percntit atque 
 uuo et altero iotu trucnlenter sanciatae tertio caput abscindit." 
 
 Which may be translated — 
 
 " The executioner with one or two blows of his axe, smites the 
 most noble Queen, the daughter, wife, and mother of kings — ^in the 
 presence of the ministers and commissioners of Queen Elizabeth; 
 and, after cruelly wounding her, with a third stroke strikes off her 
 head." 
 
 The second inscription, below the figure of the execu- 
 tioner, is as follows — 
 
 " Maria Scotiae Regina Angliae et Hibernlae vere princeps et haeres. 
 legitima Jacobi magnae Britanniae Regis mater, quam suorum haeresi 
 vexatam, rebellione oppressam, refugii causa verbo Eliz. Beginae et 
 
MABY STUART. 167 
 
 cognatae inizam in Angliam, an° 1568 descendentem 19 annos captiyam 
 perfidia detinnit : milleqae calunmiis Senatus Angliae sententia haereei 
 instigante neci traditnr ac 12 calend. Mart. 1587 a servili carnifice 
 obtninoatur, an° aetat regniq. 45." 
 
 Or in English — 
 
 "Mary, Queen of Scotland, the true and legitimate heir to the 
 throne of England and Ireland, mother of James, King of Great 
 Britain, who, vexed by the heresy, and oppressed by the rebellion of 
 her subjects, took refuge in England in the year 1568, confiding in the 
 word of Queen Elizabeth, her cousin, was kept a prisoner by her 
 perfidious relative for nineteen years, and, after undergoing much 
 calumniation, was cruelly sentenced by the English Parliament, which 
 was provoked by her heresy, and was put to death by the hand of the 
 common executioner on the 18th February 1587, in the 4:5th year of 
 her age and reign." 
 
 The third inscription was beneath the figure of Mary — 
 
 " Sic funestum ascendit tabulatum Eegina quondam Galliarum et 
 gcotiae florentissimae, invicto eed pio animo tiraunldem exprobat et 
 perfidiam, Pidem catholicam profitetur Komanae Ecclesiae semper 
 fuisse et esse filiam plane palamq. testatur." 
 
 Or in English — 
 
 " Thus ascended the terrible scaffold, she, who was Queen of 
 Prance, and of flourishing Scotland; and with an invincible, yet 
 pious soul, she reproved tyranny and perfidy, confessed the Catholic 
 faith, and openly professed that she was, as she had ever been, a 
 devoted daughter of the Roman Church." 
 
 Eeturning to my acting, I must ohserve first of all 
 that the change which takes place between the third and 
 fifth Act must always greatly strike the audience. The 
 dignity of my carriage was the only sign of royalty 
 remaining to me. Every trace of the sufferings which 
 had tormented the Queen and embittered her existence 
 
168 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 had disappeared. I expressed my wishes and commu- 
 nicated my orders with the sweetness and serenity of a 
 martyr ; so that when I presented myself to my attendants 
 at the threshold of my chamber, they were impressed 
 with as much admiration and reverence as though they 
 had seen an angel. 
 
 A long black veil covered me from head to foot. In 
 my hand I held a crucifix and a packet sealed with black 
 seals, which contained my last will and testament. When 
 I saw the sorrow of my servants, whom I gently reproved, 
 saying that they ought rather to exult in the prospect of 
 my speedy deliverance, a smile was on my face, and I 
 added that I regarded death as a friend. When I recog- 
 nised my faithful Melville among the crowd, I felt as 
 though he had been specially sent by heaven to console 
 my last hours ; for now, at all events, a true and unpre- 
 judiced account of the way in which I ended my life 
 would be given to the world. All the directions I gave 
 were characterised by sweetness and affection. But 
 feeling my courage failing, and being unwilling to pro- 
 long this sad scene any longer, I at length said in a 
 resolute voice — 
 
 " Come, 
 Come all, and now receive my last farewell." 
 
 All knelt about me. The sight, however, of those 
 mournful faces, of those arms outstretched towards me, 
 filled me with deep emotion, and, extending my hands 
 above their kneeling figures, I exclaimed — 
 
 " I hare been 
 Much hated, yet have been much beloved." 
 
MABY STUABT. 169 
 
 Then I released myself from them, and took a last 
 sad and lingering farewell of each of these faithful 
 hearts. 
 
 Henceforth I belonged not to the world. Every senti- 
 ment, every passion, was changed and transformed. My 
 only remaining regret was that I could not enjoy the 
 ministrations of a priest of my own faith — 
 
 " A priest of my religion is denied me, 
 And I disdain to take the sacrament, 
 The holy, heav'nly nourishment, from priests 
 Of a false faith ; I die in the belief 
 Of my own Church, for that alone can save." 
 
 It was, therefore, with transports of ineffable joy that 
 I discovered, in Melville himself, an angel sent by God 
 to absolve me from my sins, and give me his benediction. 
 With a cautious glance around to see that no one was 
 likely to disturb me, I took the crucifix, which hung 
 from my girdle, and with great compunction knelt before 
 Melville, and began my confession in an austere voice. 
 With words which plainly showed my sincerity, I accused 
 myself of having nourished a deep hatred against my 
 enemies, of having meditated revenge, and of having felt 
 utterly unable to pardon her who had so fearfully in- 
 jured me. But where I was wanting in spontaneity was 
 when Melville asked me if there were no other errors 
 which lay heavy on my heart ; I replied — 
 
 " A bloody crime of ancient date, indeed, 
 And long ago confessed ; yet with new terrors 
 It now attacks me ; black and grisly, steps 
 Across my path, and shuts the gates of heav'n ; 
 
170 ADELAIDE BI8T0EI. 
 
 By my oonniTanoe fell the King, my husband ; 
 I gave my hand and heart to a seducer — 
 By rigid penance I have made atonement ; 
 Tet in my soul the worm is gnawing still." 
 
 I always disbelieved many of the accusations brought 
 against Mary by her numerous and powerful enemies^ 
 and I make this observation once more to prove that 
 there was nothing artificial about me. Thus, it was 
 utterly impossible for me to represent a situation which 
 I did not fully comprehend, and could not clearly pic- 
 ture to my own mind. For this reason, I could never 
 enter thoroughly into the spirit of the confession 
 which the author puts into the mouth of the unfortu- 
 nate Queen; for, in my own miud, I was firmly per- 
 suaded of the falsity of the charges brought against 
 Mary Stuart. 
 
 Even on the scaffold Mary protested her innocence ; 
 was it likely she would lie when she was so soon 
 to appear before the Supreme Judge? And it seems 
 to me that the fact of her not being allowed to 
 justify herself publicly before Parliament, as was her 
 undoubted right, is an evident proof that those 
 authors are correct who have refused to see in the 
 aspersions cast upon her anything beyond calumny and 
 lies. 
 
 During that part of the confession where Melville, 
 after having heard from Mary that she was free from all 
 other sin, taxes her in austere tones with having been 
 accessory to the conspiracy of Paris and Babington to 
 murder Elizabeth, I maintained a serene front, and the 
 
MABY STUABT. 171 
 
 calm and tranquil air proceeding from an easy conscience. 
 After a short pause, I said — 
 
 " I am prepared to meet eternity ; 
 Within the narrow limits of an hour 
 I shall appear before my Judge's throne ; 
 But, I repeat it, my oonfession's ended." 
 
 Melville, still not wholly satisfied, besought me not to- 
 delude myself with vain words, if, indeed, I had in any 
 way been implicated in such a grave fault ; but again I 
 protested my innocence, although I did not try to hide- 
 the fact that I had held communication with various 
 Princes in the hope of " inducing them to aid in libera- 
 ting me from the prison " to which I had been condemned 
 by my persecutors. 
 
 ' ' Thou mount'st then, satisfied 
 Of thy own innocence, the fatal scaffold ? " 
 
 asked Melville. 
 
 " God suffers me in mercy to atone 
 By undeserved death, my youth's transgressions," 
 
 I answered, alluding to the death of Darnley. 
 
 In spite of the tears that filled my eyes, the light of 
 truth shone so plainly in them, and their expression was 
 so full of faith in Celestial Justice as to give additional 
 sublimity to the emotion of Melville, who absolved me 
 vrith the most Christian words ; and when his invocation 
 to God was ended, placed his hand on my head and 
 blessed me. I still kneeling with my crucifix clasped in 
 my hand, my face upraised, and a smile of perfect faith 
 
172 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 upon my lips, expressed by my attitude that I, even then, 
 saw the heavens open before me, and realised the 
 blessings so shortly to be mine. 
 
 After a few minutes passed in this kind of religious 
 ecstasy, Anna appeared, greeted Melville most respect- 
 fully, and whispered a few words in his ear. He then 
 raised me to my feet with a deep sigh ; but my eyes still 
 remained fixed on that luminous spot, through which my 
 ■excited imagination led me to believe I had gained a 
 glimpse of Heaven. 
 
 Melville addressed me sadly — 
 
 " A pajnfnl cotiflict is in store for thee ; 
 Feel'st thou within thee strength enough to smother 
 Each impulse of malignity and hate ? " 
 
 To which I replied in a flexible, harmonious voice — 
 
 " I fear not a relapse. I have to God 
 Devoted both my hatred and my love." 
 
 On hearing the arrival of Burleigh and Leicester, the 
 man once destined to be my husband, I did not alter 
 the expression of my face in the least degree, and 
 -only returned to the thought of my misery when Cecil 
 said — 
 
 " I come, my Lady Stuart, to receive 
 Yonr last commands and wishes." 
 
 And here, absorbed entirely in the thought of God, I 
 thanked him with imperturbable calm ; presenting some 
 petitions for my friends and attendants, and for the 
 repose of my body. Finally, I gave a message of fare- 
 
MARY STUABT. 17» 
 
 well to Queen Elizabeth. But when Burleigh proceeded 
 to ask the following question — 
 
 " You still refuse assistance from the Dean ? " 
 
 I replied in a firm and decided tone — 
 
 " My Lord, I Ve made my peace with my God " ; 
 
 and I emphasised the words " my God," as if to- 
 show that my faith had been the constant guide of 
 my life. 
 
 I then begged pardon of Paulet for having been the- 
 involuntary cause of his nephew Mortimer's death, but 
 was interrupted by a cry of horror from my attendants. 
 I turned hastily. The great door at the back of the 
 stage had been opened, and at the sight of the execu- 
 tioner, the scafEold, and the guards with lighted torches,, 
 my gestures betrayed a natural weakness. I tottered 
 back, my eyes closed involuntaiily ; Melville supported 
 me, and seized the crucifix which was falling from my 
 hand. But presently my senses returned ; I murmured 
 in a faint voice — 
 
 " Yes, my hour is come ! 
 The Sheriff comes to lead me to my fate ! 
 And part we must. Farewell. 
 You, my worthy Sir, and my dear faithful Anna 
 Shall attend me in my last moment." 
 
 And, leaning on Melville and my servant, I advanced with 
 uncertain steps towards the scafEold. Burleigh, eager to 
 deny Mary this last consolation, interposed to prevent 
 her friends accompanying her farther, on the ground that 
 
174 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 he had no orders authorising him to permit this indul- 
 gence. To which Mary replied she was certain her royal 
 sister would never permit her person to be profaned by 
 the rough hands of the executioner ; and she undertook 
 that Anna's sobbing grief should not impede the execu- 
 tioner. Paulet joined his entreaties to those of the 
 Queen, and Burleigh at last granted the favour. 
 
 From this time my face became transformed, and, 
 looking upwards, I exclaimed, with the deepest religious 
 fervour — 
 
 " I now 
 Have notliing in this world to wish for more. 
 My God ! My Comforter ! My blest Redeemer ! 
 As once Thy arms were stretched upon the cross, 
 Let them be now extended to receive me." 
 
 I spoke these lines slowly, clasping my hands together 
 «n my breast. Melville held up my crucifix before me 
 while he guided my trembling steps. Suddenly I per- 
 ceived Leicester standing rather in the background ; and 
 at sight of him I was seized with violent emotion. AH 
 my sad, terrible past rushed upon me once more. I 
 tottered, and, unable to help myself, fell into the arms of 
 the Earl, who stepped hurriedly forward to catch me. 
 When I had regained my senses, I addressed him in 
 feeble and trembling tones — 
 
 " Yon keep your word, my Lord of Leicester ; for 
 You promised me your arm to lead me forth 
 From prison, and yon lend it to me now." 
 
 Seeing the great confusion of Leicester at these words, 
 
MABY 8TUABT. 175 
 
 Trhich were uttered in a tone at once of resignation and 
 mild rebuke, I continued — 
 
 " Farewell, my Lord, and, if you can, be happy! 
 To woo two Queens has been yonr darling aim. 
 You have disdain'd a tender, loving heart, 
 Betray'd it, in the hope to win a proud one. " 
 
 I had arranged that the Earl should show himself 
 •deeply moved at these accents. He was to turn to me with 
 entreating gesture as if to exculpate himself, in order to 
 give greater force to the following words which, with an 
 almost prophetic expression, I pronounced — 
 
 ' ' Kneel at the feet of Queen Elizabeth ! 
 May your reward not prove yonr punishment." 
 
 At this recall to earthly things, Melville, full of 
 ■Christian fervour and in attitude of rebuke, pushes me 
 "to the front of the stage, holding the cross before 
 my eyes; the bell tolls, the drums beat; we form 
 a tableau ; I pressing the crucifix I wore to my lips. 
 He says — 
 
 "Desire only to appear in the presence of Him who will shortly 
 become your Judge, purified by your repeated victory over all earthly 
 passions." 
 
 Profoundly moved, I raised myself, and again leaning 
 on my confessor, still holding before my eyes the symbol 
 of redemption, I turned slowly towards the back of the 
 stage. At last I reached the steps leading to the scaffold ; 
 here, Melville still at my side, still uplifting the cross, I 
 turn once more, and by a gesture intimate to my weeping 
 
176 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 attendants I would pray Heaven for them. I stretched 
 ont mj hands towards them in an attitude of benediction. 
 Then, embracing the cross, I waved a last farewell to 
 them aJl, and descended the interior staircase, followed by 
 the executioner. 
 
177 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MTREHA. 
 
 Anyone who is familiar with, the dramatic literature of 
 our great authors, wiU easUy understand that among all 
 the tragedies produced by the immortal Alfieri, that of 
 Myrrha is founded upon the most dif&cult and extra- 
 ordinary subject of any which he has treated. And, in 
 fact, to place upon the stage the spectacle of a daughter 
 powerfully enamoured of her own father, and assailed 
 from time to time by impulses of fierce jealousy against 
 her own mother, is undoubtedly a monstrous thing. But 
 it will assuredly not be reckoned so unbecoming, or in- 
 compatible with public morality, when it is remembered 
 that this passion was inspired by an irresistible fate. 
 Alfieri tells us that Cecris, Myrrha's mother, having 
 boasted of the beauty of her daughter as superior to that 
 of Venus herself, the offended goddess took her revenge 
 by filliag the heart of Myrrha with an incestuous passion. 
 And thanks to his master hand, which has never had its 
 
 12 
 
178 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 equal, Alfieri has succeeded in making the representation 
 of it not merely bearable, but even affecting. 
 
 In truth, the sight of the incessant and most painful 
 conflict raging in a pure soul filled by such a terrible 
 passion, a passion which causes remorse, shame, and 
 scarcely-understood desires, and the enormity of which 
 its victim herself can measure by the horror it causes 
 her, must move the spectators to a feeling of compassion, 
 and Alfieri has expressed this opinion at the close of his 
 tragedy. 
 
 But if it was a difficult task for the author to treat 
 such a subject so as to render it acceptable upon the 
 stage, what must have been the burden of responsibility 
 upon the actress who undertook to interpret it, and 
 render it admissible, or even tolerable? Therefore, I 
 may frankly say that this was the only character I studied 
 during my artistic career, in the interpretation of which 
 I was not at once successful, and it was the only one 
 whose immense difficulty seemed to paralyse my intel- 
 lectual powers. 
 
 For it appeared to me impossible adequately to depict 
 the startling contrasts which succeeded one another 
 without pause in the soul of this unhappy woman, who 
 was vainly struggling against her destiny, and her living 
 martyrdom. 
 
 How could it be shown that all that was guilty in her 
 was not hers, but that hers rather was the virtue, the 
 strength, with which she fought against the evil passion 
 that filled her heart, fought against it even to taking her 
 own life? How, step by step, could the overwhelming 
 
MYBBHA. 179 
 
 fury of that fatal sentiment be developed, and its incom- 
 prehended impulses and terrible results be set forth in 
 their due proportions ? 
 
 Prom the early age of fourteen, when, thanks to my 
 natural and precocious development, I was able to under- 
 take the principal part in Francesca da Bimini, up to the 
 last day of my artistic studies, I was gifted with a great 
 facility of imitation, which helped me to identify myself 
 with my subject, and made me successful in every part. 
 But in this of Myrrha I was dismayed by the many 
 obstacles I encountered, and if any conceit had been 
 likely to spring up within me, it would have been effec- 
 tually annihilated, for during a considerable time it 
 seemed to me the diflBculties I encountered would surpass 
 my ability to overcome them. 
 
 It was in 1848 that the unexpected change of Govern- 
 ment made it possible to put upon the stage works 
 hitherto prohibited by the Papal Censor, and my Capo- 
 comico immediately conceived the idea of bringing out 
 Myrrha, which was one of these prohibited plays. 
 
 It was just before the birth of the eldest of my four 
 children, and it seemed to me most inappropriate for me, 
 in my condition, to undertake the part of a young girl of 
 twenty, the victim of such an unnatural passion. I, 
 therefore, opposed the project as much as I could, but 
 without success, for my Impresarii, Domeniconi, and 
 Gaetano Coltellini, naturally counted on this play for 
 filling the theatre. In my quality of dependant, I could 
 not refuse my services, and, like my other companions in 
 art, I was forced to consent. 
 
 12 • 
 
180 ABELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 In four days I learnt the part of Myrrha, -which con- 
 tains about 370 lines ! 
 
 How was it possible for me thoroughly to study and 
 enter into the meaning of even a quarter of such a task, 
 or to identify myself with such a recondite character? 
 There was barely time to commit the worda of my part 
 to memory, as everyone will know who is acquainted 
 with Alfieri's verses, and with his involved form of ex- 
 pression. The result was what might have been expected, 
 haJf a failure ; and I was so annoyed that I declared 
 nothing shoiild induce me ever to appear a^ain in this 
 tragedy. It was not until 1852 that wiser counsels 
 induced me to change my mind. Then our celebrated 
 prima donna, and my very dear friend, Carolina Intemari, 
 who displayed towards me the affection of a mother, and 
 who was devoted to tragic art, speaking to me one day 
 about Myrrha, began to reprove me sharply for my 
 cowardice in not having again attempted the character. 
 When I persisted in my refusal, she offered me an induce- 
 ment of which I could never have dreamed. Such was 
 her love for her art, and for the beautiful, that although 
 she had always taken the principal part in the play and 
 had been received in it with the greatest enthusiasm, yet 
 if I would only consent once more to assume the part of 
 Myrrha, she herself would play that of the Nurse 
 Euryclea, one of considerable importance certainly, but 
 still one usually assigned to the second lady of the com- 
 pany. I was vanquished by her generous proposal, my 
 objections ceased, and I resumed my study of Myrrha. 
 But what a study ! I meditated on every line, I analysed 
 
MYBBHA. 181 
 
 each word, I studied every look, until, at last, I began 
 to fancy I saw somewhat how this exceptional character 
 should be interpreted. This study, in its complete and 
 its many details, was successful, and was received with 
 all the favour which was then bestowed on grand tragic 
 art, and the manifestation of which by the Italian 
 public differed widely from the convulsive aspiration of 
 the present day, and it found an appreciative audience 
 which showed inexpressible delight, often amounting 
 almost to delirium, in witnessing these trragic repre- 
 sentations. 
 
 Towards the close of 1852, after three months of hard 
 work, I presented myself upon the stage of the Theatre 
 Uiccolini, at Florence — then the Cocomero — to undergo 
 my ordeaL The fact of having that living incarnation of 
 tragedy, Carolina Intemari, to support me in my effort, 
 gave me such impulsive energy, such fire and enthusiasm 
 — my soul was so keenly alive to the influence of that 
 beautiful charmer — that the very magnetism of her pre- 
 sence made the blood to leap in my veins, my imagination 
 carried me, as it were, out of myself, and enabled me to 
 identify myself entirely with the miserable vicissitudes 
 of Myrrha. 
 
 Thus it came to pass that I made this tragedy entirely 
 my own — ^mine exclusively — and it was this which, when I 
 played it at the Theatre Ventadour, in Paris, in 1855, pro- 
 cured me the favour of the public, and of the French press, 
 and afterwards that of the other nations. 
 
 If the incestuous love of Myrrha was repugnant, its 
 repugnance was somewhat covered by the stress which 
 
182 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 was laid upon her own. innate chastity, and I had so 
 coloured my interpretation of her character with this 
 nobler sentiment, as to bring out all its recondite and 
 hidden beauties. My chief care was to prove to the 
 public, that although the subject appeared immoral, it 
 was not really so in action. If, in the old mythological fable, 
 Myrrha is presented as wholly odious and despicable, in 
 Alfieri's tragedy the woman's passion is always domi- 
 nated by the natural chastity of the young maiden, and, 
 indeed I heard several mothers remark, to my great 
 satisfaction, " that they had not seen anything that could 
 ofEend their daughters' modesty." 
 
 I will here recount a curious little anecdote in support 
 of my assertion. A young lady who had just returned 
 home from the theatre, greatly impressed by all she had 
 seen, was talking over various points in the tragedy with 
 her parents and friends, and she said : " But why was thi» 
 Myrrha so strange, so dissatisfied ? sometimes she will be 
 married, sometimes she won't : her parents are always of 
 her mind. She herself fixes the day of her marriage, then she 
 talks of putting it off, she tries to forget what just before 
 she so ardently desired, and behold ! when the wedding 
 is to take place, she, in an agony of anguish and fury, re- 
 fuses her husband, reproaches her mother, and ends the 
 tragedy by killing herself, after saying to her father, 
 ' Ah ! thou would' st see that father recoil with horror if 
 he knew it, Cinyras.' Whatever was the matter with 
 her ? " Then the father of this young girl, whose penetra- 
 tion equalled his own, and who found himself rather at a> 
 loss for an answer, replied, with a wisdom worthy of him. 
 
MTBBHA. 183 
 
 " that the poor thing had probably been bitten by the 
 tarantula." * 
 
 And indeed, a person whose intelligence is not very 
 acute, may be excused for being somewhat bewildered by 
 the sudden and sharp contrasts of feeling in the tragedy. 
 
 In the first scene that Myrrha has with Pereus, her in- 
 tended husband, I used every effort in my power to con. 
 ceal the struggle that was raging within me, and to hide 
 the real cause of my anguish, and of the aversion I felt 
 towards every man but my father. But here and there, 
 as it were, my weakness prevails over my resolution for an 
 instant, and, as was evidently the author's intention, I let 
 drop a word or two which gave some hint of the conflict 
 through which I was passing. 
 
 Thus, for example, when Pereus says — 
 
 " Now thou dost not disdain to be mine ? 
 No more to repent ? no more to delay ? " 
 
 Myrrha, who feels her courage is deserting her, 
 answers : 
 
 " No. This is the day, and to day I will be thy bride, but to- 
 morrow let our saUs be given to the winds, and let us leave for ever 
 these shores at our back. " 
 
 Pbketis. — " What do I hear ? What sudden contradiction is in thy 
 words? It is pain to thee to leave thy native land, thy revered 
 parents, and yet would'st thou depart thus for ever ? " 
 
 Mtkeha. — " I would abandon them for ever — and die of grief." 
 
 These passages are also a proof of the inflexible resolu- 
 
 * The tarantula ia a venomous spider found in some parts of Italy, 
 whose bite is said to be fatal. — Translator. 
 
184 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 tion of Myrrha, who, though, certain she will die if 
 separated from her father, yet prefers that separation to a 
 prolonged residence near him. 
 
 I find it indispensable to touch as briefly as may be 
 possible on certain ideas, certain passages difficult of ex- 
 pression, in order to enable the reader to form a better 
 judgment of my interpretation of them. Thus, in the 
 third act, when Myrrha is invited by her parents to con- 
 fide in them, at the beginning, I advanced towards my 
 mother with a firm step, as though my martyrdom were 
 suspended for a moment, and coming opposite to her in 
 an affectionate manner, I so contrived that the presence 
 of my father was hid from my eyes. Cecris, in advancing 
 to meet me, said— 
 
 " Ah ! beloved child ! come to ns — come ! " 
 
 But as she spoke the words " Come to us," I became 
 aware that my father was also before me, and, stopping 
 as one struck by a sudden ague, gave my mother occasion 
 for the second " Come," as though she would ask " Why 
 do you hesitate?" her question being followed by my 
 words, spoken in an aside — 
 
 " Heavens J What do I see ? my father also ! " 
 
 In answer to the affectionate exhortations of Cinyras, and 
 the caresses of my mother, I allowed the public to guess 
 the mental torture I was undergoing, by saying in another 
 aside — 
 
 " Are there torments in the world to equal mine ? " 
 
 And when, pressed by my father, and persistently en- 
 
MYBBHA. 185 
 
 treated by my mother, I saw no way of escape without 
 betraying my guilty passion, I could control my feelings 
 no longer, it seemed to me that my heart must break. 
 
 After a superhuman effort not to betray myself, I mur- 
 mured resolutely in an aside — 
 
 " Oh ! Myrrha ! this is thy last effort 1 soul, take courage ! " 
 
 And as the father, seeing the miserable condition of 
 his child, and the suffering which oppressed her, said, in 
 a tone of decision and authority — 
 
 "No 1 It -wonld not be right. Thou dost not love Pereus, and it is 
 unwillingly thou -would'st give thyself to him," 
 
 I exclaimed, with the cry of a soul which sees its last 
 <5hance of escape from the fearful passion that is con- 
 suming it cut off — 
 
 ' Ah ! do not tear him from me — rather give me instant death i" 
 
 After a moment's pause, as though to regain my self- 
 control, and excuse my vacillating state of mind, I con- 
 tinued — 
 
 " It is true, perhaps, that I do not love him as he loves me, and that 
 I am not well assured of it myself. Believe me, he has my esteem, 
 and that no man in the world could have my hand if he did not have 
 it. I hope he will be dear to my heart as he ought to be. Chaste and 
 faithful always I would live for him, and joy rekindle in my bosom. 
 Some day, perhaps, life will return to me sweet and happy. If, at 
 present, I do not love him as he merits, the fault is not in me — ^I, who 
 abhor myself, have chosen him — I choose him again. I only wish and 
 ask for him as a husband. This choice you have consented to with 
 ]oy, let all be completed then, as I wish, and as yon have wished. 
 Since I triumph over my grief, so let it be with yonj when I am 
 happier I will go to the nuptials quickly, and you will be happier 
 some day." 
 
186 ADELAIDE EI8T0BI. 
 
 Identifying myself with the poet's ideal, I labotired to 
 reprodace the wonderful strength of wUl with which this 
 unhappy girl repulsed her father's caresses, and adduced 
 &Ilacions reasons as the unhappy cause of her mysterious 
 sorrow, at one moment directing bitter imprecations 
 against the cruel enemy who had wrought her such woe, 
 while at another, feigning a calm she did not feel, a hope 
 she was tax from experiencing, aU the time showing to the 
 public, by occasional hints, her firm decision to die, if it 
 were necessary, rather than Uve near the object of her 
 shameful love. And who would not be moved to pity for 
 the unfortunate maiden who had thus become the sport of 
 such an adverse destiny, and whose soul was lacerated by 
 such a gmlty passion ! 
 
 I was very careful not to meet my father's eyes, while 
 at the same time I did not neglect any opportunity of 
 showing the audience, by my expression, what jealous 
 anger I felt at seeing my mother the object of his tender- 
 ness. 
 
 One of these occasions, of which I availed myself, was 
 when Cinyras, after hearing the reasons his daughter 
 adduces for the necessity of her separation from her 
 parents, turns sadly to his wife, ' and says, as he embraces 
 her — 
 
 ■' AtiiI thon, dear wife, standest there in sflent grief. Consentest 
 thoa to her Trish ? " 
 
 At this sight I made a hasty movement as though I 
 would rush forward and hinder the embrace, then, seized 
 with a sudden shivering, and bashf ulness, I gathered my 
 
MJBBSA. 187 
 
 mantle about my person, and fled to the back of the 
 stage. Afterwards I took leave of my parents in these 
 ■words — 
 
 " I will withdraw to my room for a moment. I wish to go to the 
 altar with dry eyes and with a smooth forehead to greet my spouse." 
 
 I exchanged an affectionate embrace with my mother, 
 but when my father drew near and attempted to clasp me 
 to his heart, in order to avoid his caress, I bent before 
 him in an attitude of simulated respect, allowing the 
 terror with which I shrank from him to be plainly seen. 
 Then, a prey to the most evident agitation, I rushed from 
 the stage. 
 
 In the beginning of the fourth act the author repre- 
 sents Myrrha so calm, serene, and smiling as to make 
 Nurse Euryclea say — 
 
 " It is a cruel joy thou showest now in leaving us." 
 
 And this joy appears as though it might be the natural 
 consequence of the satisfaction experienced by Myrrha, 
 in the belief that she has triumphed over all the obstacles 
 which might prevent her departure, and has in this way 
 freed herself from the fatal influence exercised over her. 
 In a tranquil and sensible tone she says to Pereus — 
 
 "Yes, dear spouse, for that is the name I now wish to call thee, 
 if ever I had an intense wish, it is to depart with thee at the dawn 
 to-morrow. Oh ! I desire it. I wish to be alone with thee. I wish 
 no longer to see one of these objects, the witness of my tears, and 
 their cause, perhaps. To cross new seas, to visit another kingdom, 
 to breathe an air strange and pure, and to have thee for a protector 
 at my aide, a husband like thee, full of joy and love, such are my 
 wishes, and all this will bring me back to what I once enjoyed. I 
 
188 ABELAIBE BI8T0BI. 
 
 truBt I shall be less troublesome to tbee. Thou must have some 
 compassion for my state. My grief, if not spoken of by thee, will 
 not long have root. Do thou not speak to me of the paternal king- 
 dom, and of my deserted and disconsolate parents, nor of anything 
 remind me that once was mine. Speak not their name. This alone 
 will be the remedy to stay for ever the fountain of my tears." 
 
 From this it may be gathered that when Mjrrha is not 
 in the actual presence of her father, she is able to conquer 
 her internal strife, and to obtain the mastery over her 
 passion. But, on the appearance of Cinyras, in order to 
 bring out more strikingly the contrast between the fol- 
 lowing supreme situation and the instantaneous effect 
 which the sight of my father produced on my heart, I 
 was successful in showing by incontestable evidence the 
 icy coldness which ran through my veins, my hair which 
 stood on end — in one word, the deep and invincible per- 
 turbation that had seized me. The public, comprehend- 
 ing, identified itself at once (as the wave of involuntary 
 emotion let me plainly see) with the sentiments of this 
 situation, which is one of the most moving in the 
 tragedy. 
 
 The first returning symptoms of Myrrha's passion are 
 manifested when the priest intones the opening verses of 
 the nuptial hymn. Then her face assumes the pallor of 
 death, her limbs tremble. The only one to perceive it is 
 the nurse, who approaches her in terror, and asks — 
 
 " Daughter what is this ? Thou tremblest ! Heaven!" 
 
 To which Myrrha replies, still shaking and shivering — 
 
 " Silence, silence ! " 
 
 EuHTCLEA — 
 
 "iButyet " 
 
MYBREA. 189 
 
 Mtebha (resolutely and with authority) — 
 
 "No ! it is not tme. I tremble not "— 
 
 whilst burning tears run from her eyes. And this is 
 one of the most magnificent passages in this act. 
 
 I remember what immense labour and fatigue it cost 
 me to arrive at the most exact interpretation of the 
 mental torment which her mother's persistent demands 
 as to the cause of her sorrow inflicted upon Myrrha, and 
 that this was aggravated by the struggle caused by her 
 irrevocable determination to consummate her marriage, 
 even at the cost of her life. These two true and power- 
 ful situations are admirably expressed in the following 
 words. 
 
 Ceckis. — "But why is this? Why changes thy face? Alas! 
 thou dost vacillate, and trembling, canst scarcely stand." 
 
 Mtbrha. — "Ah! for pity's sake, my mother, do not shake my 
 constancy by thy words. I know not of my face, but my heart, my 
 mind remains firm and immovable." 
 
 Meanwhile, the priest continues repeating the third 
 strophe of the nuptial hymn — 
 
 " Let pure Faith and Concord, eternal and divine. 
 Make in the bosoms of these two their shrine, 
 And always in vain the fatal Alecto 
 With the horriblf Furies 
 Released, moves her dismal nuptial torches 
 Before the strong pure heart 
 Of the honoured bride who transcends all praise, 
 While the Furies rage in vain 
 And fatal discord from their path departs." 
 
 While the hymn goes on, Myrrha's breast heaves with 
 
190 ADELAIDE BI8T0BL 
 
 the violence of her effort to repress any outward mani- 
 festation of the tempest that rages within her. But at 
 the words — 
 
 " While all the Furies rage In vain 
 And fatal discord from their path departs," 
 
 it seems to me that she must have reached the crowning 
 point of her desperation. 
 
 The anger which possesses her can no longer be held 
 hack ; the passion, which is consuming her like a poisonous 
 serpent, bursts all bounds, and incites her to exclaim, 
 half mad with rage — 
 
 " What say you ? Already in my heart all the Furies have fearful 
 possession. Behold with whips of vipers, and with dismal torches 
 the mad Furies stand. See, these torches are what these nuptials 
 merit. " 
 
 Here I became entirely transfigured, as though seized 
 with delirium, and, after a short pause, continued in a 
 terrified manner — 
 
 ' ' But what is this ? The hynans ceased ? Who holds me to his 
 breast ? Where am I ? What said I ? Am I already married ? 
 wretchedness ! " 
 
 As I spoke these words I suddenly turned round, and 
 found myself face to face with my father, who, with 
 folded arms, gazed at me threateningly. 
 
 Struck by this sight I felt the blood curdle in my 
 veins, and, losing all my courage, with the cry — 
 
 " miseiy I " 
 
 I let myself fall to the ground as though struck by 
 lightning. 
 
MYBBHA. 191 
 
 Little by little my mother and nurse succeeded in 
 bringing me back to life again, though I was slow in 
 entirely recovering my scattered senses. It was the 
 magnetic effect of my father's voice that finally recalled 
 me to myself, and, as I listened confusedly to his austere 
 and menacing words, I replied in a weak and scarcely 
 intelligible voice — 
 
 "It is true. Cinyras, be thou inexorable with me. I ask nothing 
 else. I ■wish no more. He alone can terminate all the sufferings of 
 lis unworthy, nnhappy daughter. Into my breast strike that venge- 
 ful sword hanging at thy girdle. Thou gavest to me this miserable 
 life. Take it from me. Behold, it is the last boon for which I will 
 supplicate. Ah, think! If thou standest still, and with thine own 
 right hand dost not kill me, thou wilt compel me to die by mine own 
 and no other." 
 
 How plainly Alfieri shows in this and other places that 
 Myrrha is powerless to conquer her love, and that death 
 alone can bring her rest and peace ! 
 
 At the last words I fainted once more, so that I did 
 not perceive I was being supported by my father, before 
 he left me. 
 
 In the two following scenes Myrrha comes slowly to 
 herself, and, remaining alone with her mother, there is a 
 long interchange of sentiments of pity, of anguish, and 
 of remorse, and finally of jealous rage, at seeing her 
 hated rival continually at her side, and of knowing that 
 she alone possesses the affection of Cinyras, and enjoys 
 his tenderest caresses. Thus, when Cecris says — 
 
 " Rather I would always from this hour watch over thy life " ; 
 
192 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 Myrrha, beside herself with passion, interrupts her 
 cruelly — 
 
 " Thon watch my life ? Must I at every moment, mnst I see thee ? 
 Thou always to be before my eyes ! Ah ! first, I wish that these my 
 eyes were sepulchred in eternal darkness ; with my own hand I myself 
 would wish to tear them^ from my brow." 
 
 And when Cecris adds — 
 
 "O heaven! What do I hear? Thou makest me to shudder! 
 Thou hatest me, then ? " 
 
 with savage desperation her daughter answers — 
 
 "Thou first, only, and everlasting mournful cause of my every 
 misery " 
 
 But, quickly the sight of my weeping mother recalled 
 me to myself, and showed me what terrible words must 
 have issued from my lips, as by some irresistible force. 
 I was ashamed of having been led into such excesses. 
 My natural goodness of heart triumphed, and blushing 
 at the remembrance that I had treated my mother so 
 cruelly in my paroxysm of jealous fury, and that I had 
 so addressed her, I besought her to kill me. Oppressed as 
 I was by the terrible conflict of emotions, I felt my 
 strength gradually forsaking me, and allowed myself to 
 be led gently towards my apartment by my mother, 
 exchanging caresses and kisses with her. 
 
 In the fifth act the desolate Cinyras, aware of the 
 death of the unfortunate Pereus, determines to put an 
 end to the anxious life he leads, and, at every risk, to 
 have a clear explanation with Myrrha, and speak to her 
 
MTBBHA. 193 
 
 with the decision and authority of a father. She ad- 
 vances towards him. 
 
 The words which Alfieri has put into the mouth of 
 Cinyras, before Myrrha shows herself to the public, 
 clearly indicate what is her state of mind — 
 
 ' • Alas ! XoTv she approaches with slow and reluctant steps ! It 
 seems as if, in coming to me. she comes to die before my face." 
 
 I presented myself, arrayed in a most simple Greek 
 dress of the finest white wool, with my hair plainly 
 arranged, an ashy paleness on my face, my eyes fixed, 
 my looks bent on the ground, my steps tottering and 
 uncertain. 
 
 My whole appearance at once made the spectators 
 aware of the terrible conflict that raged within me, and 
 prepared them for the inevitable catastrophe. At the 
 sight of my father I remained as if petrified, and with 
 head bent awaited my condemnation. 
 
 The remarks which Cinyras addresses to Myrrha with 
 a view to discover the cause of her sufferings, show his 
 conviction that it is really the flame of love which con- 
 sumes her, but that it is a low passion, unworthy of 
 her, else she would not have so carefully hidden it 
 from all around her, or allowed it so to fasten upon her 
 heart. a 
 
 Without speaking a word, by negations, by interrupted 
 and hardly expressed monosyllables, by gestures ex- 
 pressive of my grief, and by my unutterable anguish, I 
 produced a by-play which formed, as it were, a dialogue 
 with my father. 
 
 13 
 
194 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 Thus, when Cinyras says, 
 
 " Bnt who is worthy of thy heart if he could not have it — ^the 
 incomparable, the constant and impassioned lover, Pereus ? " 
 
 I do arranged that he, in addressing these words towards 
 the side where he supposed Pereus might be, should turn 
 himself quite in that direction, and I, by an involuntary 
 impulse, intoxicated with love at the sound of that 
 pitiful voice, with my arm outstretched towards my father, 
 clearly implied that he alone was worthy of my affection. 
 But when Cinyras suddenly faced me again, I lowered 
 my gaze, and started back, terrified lest I should be 
 surprised in that attitude. Then, seeing that I had been 
 on the point of betraying myself, and feeling I had no 
 longer the strength to parry his arguments, I whispered 
 to myself, unheard by him, but in a deep, measured 
 tone, full of bitterness — 
 
 " death — death, that I so much invoke, wilt thou always be 
 ■deaf to my grief ? " 
 
 But every attempt at escape was in vain, my repeated 
 denials were unavailing, every falsehood I uttered in my 
 endeavour to avoid submitting to the absolute determina- 
 tion of Cinyras that I should reveal my secret to him, 
 proved futUe, until I interrupted him at last with the 
 bitter cry of a stricken soul, and exclaimed — 
 
 "0 heaven! I love — yesl since thou forcest me to tell it — I love 
 desperately, and in vain," 
 
 Then, as if I hoped that this confession would prove 
 
MYBBHA. 195 
 
 sufficient, I entreadhed myself behind mj firm resolution 
 to say no more, adding promptly — 
 
 ' ' But who may be the object thon canst never, and no one else can 
 know. He is ignorant of it himself, and I, too, deny it to myself." 
 
 My father made me a short answer, in which he pro- 
 tested that he would save his daughter at every cost, and 
 seeing that I should not be able much longer to stave off 
 my sad confession, I burst forth with energy, and almost 
 beside myself — 
 
 "Save? What is thy thonght ? These self-same words hasten my 
 death. Leave me, ah ! leave me, for pity's sake, that I may for ever 
 quickly drag myself from thee." 
 
 And I resolutely turned to fly. But my father's loving 
 voice exclaiming — 
 
 " My daughter, only beloved one, what sayest thon? Ah! come to 
 thy father's arms " — 
 
 chained me to the spot. Overpowered by the violence 
 of my love, it seemed as though some invincible influence 
 attracted me towards him. In my passionate rapture I 
 threw myself into his arms, but, the moment he touched 
 me, I started back full of horror, and repulsed him 
 from me. 
 
 When, at last, no hope of escape remained, when, 
 there was no possibility that Myrrha could longer conceal 
 the impious flame which was consuming her, in accor- 
 dance with the intention of the author, who by a worthy 
 inspiration of genius finds means to tell all in a single 
 paraphrase, while saying nothing, I said, with a great 
 
 13 * 
 
196 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 effort, slowly and in a low voice, as though I feared for 
 the very air to hear me — 
 
 " Oh ! thou TToiddest see that father recoil with horror if he knew 
 it, Cinyras." 
 
 And after pronouncing that name as if my whole soul 
 were in the word, I remained immovable for an instant, 
 with my eyes fixed upon him, awaiting his answer. 
 
 But Myrrha's hour of torture is not yet over, for 
 Cinyras, who has not understood the true meaning of 
 the words he heard, threatens to remove his love from 
 her altogether, and to abandon her to her own devices, 
 if she will not reveal the tei riLle mystery that is con- 
 suming her. At this threat, Myrrha, not being able to 
 endure the thought of abandonment by her father, loses 
 every vestige of self-control, and, remembering the 
 mother who will live for ever happily at his side, gives 
 full vent to her jealous fury, exclaiming — 
 
 " Ohl my happy mother 1 at least it will be granted to her to die 
 
 at thy side." 
 
 The accent, the gesture, the look full of passionate 
 love, enlighten Cinyras at once as to the true meaning 
 of these sacrilegious words, and he retreats with horror 
 from his daughter. Then Myrrha, overwhelmed by her 
 infamy, and seeing no other way of escape from her 
 dishonour, seizes with lightning speed the sword which 
 hangs at her father's side, and plunges it into her heart, 
 saying — 
 
 " My hand at least has been as quick as my tongue," 
 
 and falls to the ground. 
 
MYBEHA. 197 
 
 Supported in the arms of my nurse, when I heard 
 Cinyras in the act of revealing the guilty secret to his 
 consort, I endeavoured to raise myself, and with piteous 
 gestures implored him not to proceed, and to spare me 
 the condemnation which must attend the knowledge of 
 my fault. But my prayers were unavailing and I fell 
 back once more on the bosom of my nurse. Left alone 
 with her, and on the point of death, I spoke my last 
 words in a feeble voice, and accents of reproof — 
 
 " When I asked thee for a steel, then thou shouldest have given it 
 me, Enryolea. I then should have died innocent, now I die wiclted " ; 
 
 and I fell back, dead, upon the ground. 
 
 I hope by this analytical study of my most difficult 
 character to make the reader understand what immense 
 efforts it required to enable me fully to enter into Alfieri's 
 intentions, which evidently were to show how an impure 
 passion conceived by an innocent soul, may be rendered 
 capable of exciting a feeling of true pity on behalf of the 
 miserable maiden who is the victim of the wrath of 
 Venus. 
 
 In order to show how great were the repentance and 
 remorse of Myrrha, Ovid makes her say — 
 
 " Oh, gods! If ye are aocesaible to the voice of penitence, I have 
 deserved the most heavy punishment, and am ready to endure it. But 
 that I may not offend the looks of the living remaining upon earth, 
 nor those of the shadows which people the regions of death, exclude 
 me, I pray, from both worlds, and by a metamorphosis divide me at 
 once from the living and the dead." 
 
 The gods listened favourably to this request, and Myrrha's last 
 petitions were granted. She was still speaking when the earth began 
 
198 ADELAIDE BI8T0BL 
 
 to corer her feet and roots issned forth from her toe-nails to serve as 
 a snpport to the trunk which commenced to form. Her bones turned 
 into solid wood, keeping the marrow ; her blood changed into sap, her 
 arms into long branches, her fingers into smaller twigs, and her skin 
 into rough bark. The visible evidences of her shame were hidden 
 among the springing boughs, which had already reached her breasts 
 and would soon encircle her neck. Myrrha, far from opposing the 
 encroachments of the wood, welcomed it gladly and pressed down her 
 face among the spreading foliage. Although with her body she had 
 lost her former senses, yet she wept continually. Warm tears still 
 flow from this tree, and these tears have great virtue. 
 
 The perfume which is distilled from it bears the name of Myrrha, 
 and shall be celebrated throughout all future centuries. 
 
 Est tales exorsa preces : " O, si qua patetis 
 Kumina confessis, merni, nee triste recuso 
 Supplicium. Sed, ne violem vivosque superstes 
 Mortnaque extinctos ambobus pellite regnis 
 Mutateeque mihi vitamqne necemque negate. 
 Numen confessis aliquod patet. Ultima certe 
 Vota suos habnere deos. Nam crura loquentis 
 Terra supervenit, ruptosque obliqua per ungues 
 Porrigitur radix, longi firmamina trunci, 
 Ossaque robur argunt, mediaque manente medulla, 
 Sanguis it in succos, in magnos brachia ramos. 
 In parvos digitos, duratur cortice pellis. 
 Ilaque gravem crescens uterum perstrinserat arbor 
 Pectoraqne obmerat, collumque operire parabat 
 Non tulit ilia moram venientique obvia ligno 
 Subsedit, mersitque suos in cortice vultus 
 Quae, quanqnam amisit veteres cum corpore sensus 
 Flet tamen et tepidu manant ex arbore guttae 
 Est honor et lacrymis ; stillataque cortice Jlyrra 
 Nomen herile tenet, nnlliqne tacebitur aevo." 
 
199 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MEDEA. 
 
 Without making any attempt to trace the legend of 
 Medea from remote antiquity, I slialL confine myself 
 simply to time present, and merely say that the subject 
 was dramatised abont 1810 by the distinguished Italian, 
 Giovanni Battista Niccolini. But although there were, 
 here and there in the tragedy, some flashes of genius, 
 althoT^h the style was modelled upon that of the ancient 
 Greet plays, and passages were found which had been 
 taken from Euripides and Seneca ; yet it lacked those 
 scenic effects which appeal so directly to the audience, 
 and, as the dialogue was besides somewhat prolix, it was 
 not represented so frequently as other plays by the same 
 renowned author. 
 
 Another version of the tragedy was published shortly 
 afterwards by the Duca della Yalle, and as this was more 
 concise and the scenic effects equally well preserved, 
 although perhaps at the expense of the stately dignity of 
 the Greek, the play became most popular, and there was 
 not a first actress of any repute who did not essay it, nor 
 
200 ADELAIDE RISTOBI. 
 
 a capocomico who did not endeavour to put it on the 
 stage. 
 
 But I had always refused to accept the part, for nature 
 had developed the maternal instinct in me to a very large 
 degree, and I instinctively revolted from the idea of a 
 woman who, by her own hand, and with deliberate design, 
 could murder her children. Even on the stage I would 
 not portray such a monster. And although my capo- 
 comico did his utmost to overcome my scruples, I was not 
 to be persuaded out of my aversion. 
 
 When I arrived in France, as I have already said, in 
 1855, the disputes between the famous M. Legouv^ and 
 that genius of French tragedy, Rachel, were still recent. 
 One day, after I had given a few representations at the 
 Salle Ventadour, by which I was fortunate enough to gain 
 the full sympathy of the Parisian public, my maid came 
 to announce that two gentlemen desired to see me. I 
 was still at dinner, for dramatic artistes are obliged to 
 keep early hours, but I desired them to be admitted. 
 
 " I am M. Scribe," said one. 
 
 " And I M. Legouv^," added the other. 
 
 Who does not know these two names in Italy? 
 Scribe's name is almost a household word there, and his 
 plays of Adrienne Lecouvreur, Luisa de Liguerolles, &c., 
 &c., formed an important and attractive part of my 
 repertoire. 
 
 When, therefore, I found myself in the presence of so 
 much talent, I felt much confused, although I was at the 
 same time delighted to have made the acquaintance of 
 two such representatives of French dramatic art. A gay 
 
MEDEA. 201 
 
 and lively conversation speedily commenced, in the course 
 ■of which I mentioned some of their works in which I had 
 appeared, especially those of Scribe ; and I was finally 
 prevailed upon, by the courteous entreaties of both 
 visitors, to recite certain lines from Adrienne Lecouvreur, 
 which they were naturally polite enough to say gave them 
 the fullest satisfaction. We got no farther during this 
 visit ; but a few days after M. Legouv^ came again, when 
 the following dialogue took place : — 
 
 M. Legouv^ : " Why, Madame, do you not undertake 
 my Medea?" 
 
 "For a very good reason, my dear Sir," I replied. "I 
 have always been so fond of children in general that even 
 while I was yet quite young, when I saw a pretty baby with 
 its sweet little face, chubby cheeks, and fair curly hair, 
 either carried by its nurse or led by the hand, I rushed 
 to kiss it, without saying either " With your leave," or 
 " By your leave," or caring a whit for the black looks 
 bestowed on me by its attendant. Ton can imagine from 
 this the intense affection I feel for my own children, and 
 
 ■ even upon the stage I could not bring myself fictitiously to 
 Mil those confided to me by the author ! Now, in Italy, 
 we have a Medea who is a favourite character with the 
 
 ■ eapocomici, and actresses are only too glad to add her to 
 their repertoire ; but, as for me, however good the actress 
 might be who played the part, I would never go to see 
 her." 
 
 M. Legouve : " Ah well ! my Medea murders her children 
 in such a way that the audience is left to guess who does 
 the deed, and do not actually see her do it." 
 
202 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 " Pardon me, M. Legouvd, but you will never persuade^ 
 me that the horror inspired by the mere idea of such a 
 crime being committed by the heroine of the play would 
 not prejudice the public against her." 
 
 M. Legouve: "No, it does not, I assure you. Will 
 you do me the favour and read my Medea for yourself,, 
 and you will then see with your own eyes the truth of my 
 assertion." 
 
 " So be it, then, for I would not seem discourteous 
 after your extreme politeness to me. But I hope you 
 will not be offended if I warn you that it will never bfr 
 possible for me to admit your work into my r^ertoire." 
 
 Without being in the slightest degree amazed at my 
 frankness, M. Legouvd took his leave in these words : 
 
 " Tes, yes, only read it, and we will talk about it after- 
 wards," 
 
 The next day, simply that I might not be accused of 
 breaking my word, I devoted my half-hour of leisure, 
 while my maid brushed my hair, to read the play. I did 
 it, however, in the belief that I was wasting my time, for- 
 it seemed to me quite impossible that the author should 
 have been able to avoid the final catastrophe. Thus I 
 was by no means disposed to form a favourable judgment 
 of the work. 
 
 It is, therefore, more easy to imagine than to describe 
 my surprise when I discovered I was so much interested 
 that I found myself indulging in such gestures and such 
 exclamations that my astonished maid cried out : " Good 
 heavens, Signora! what is the matter? I cannot dress- 
 your hair." 
 
MEDEA. 203: 
 
 " Go on, go on," I answered, " it is nothing. Do not 
 mind me." 
 
 When I had finished the first act, which I found far 
 superior to any other play on the same subject that I had 
 seen, I exclaimed : 
 
 " Oh ! it is beautiful ! What magnificent situations !' 
 How could Bachel have refused to undertake such a 
 splendid part ? I cannot understand it." 
 
 My interest increased after the second act. I waited 
 the climax with the utmost anxiety. I longed to see how 
 my author would manage the murder of the children, 
 by their mother's own hands without either making her 
 actually do the deed, or arousing the horror of the 
 audience. Words fail me to express the enthusiasm 
 which the reading of the whole tragedy inspired in me.. 
 Suffice it to say that M. Legouv^ found means to repre- 
 sent the murder to my sense as both just and necessary. 
 
 The Corinthians had determined to seize the children 
 and murder Medea, in revenge for the death of the 
 wretched Creusa, whom Medea had killed in a moment 
 of savage jealousy. What course remained open to the 
 persecuted mother ? Should she yield, and abandon her 
 sons to Jason, certain that they would be brought up in 
 hatred of her. No, her whole soul revolted against such 
 an idea. To face the infuriated mob, which had 
 gathered against her, would only be to court death for 
 herself, without saving her children ; and in this frightful 
 dilemma, she is seized by an overwhelming impulse her- 
 self to destroy her offspring. Indeed, no other course is 
 open to her, possessed as she is by the Furies, and there- 
 
204 ADELAIDE BI8T0BL 
 
 fore, quick as lightning, she plunges her dagger into those 
 innocent breasts. M. Legouve had told me the truth, and 
 he had in this way succeeded iiL softening the horror of 
 this dreadful deed. 
 
 As she became aware of the roar of the advancing 
 •crowd, Medea looked about her for a way of escape, but 
 on every side hearing the cries of men thirsting for her 
 blood, and seeing that her children were W the point of 
 being torn from her, she leaped with one bound on the 
 altar of Saturn. The crowd poured in from every corner 
 of the stage, completely surrounding her, and their sudden 
 exclamations of horror made JAre spectators aware of the 
 terrible deed.- 
 
 When I reached this point, my admiration of the 
 masterly treatment quite overpowered me. I let the book 
 drop from my hands, and henceforth experienced the most 
 ardent desire to attempt the part. 
 
 The next time I saw M. Legouve I could hardly 
 lefrain from throwing myself on his neck with 
 delight. 
 
 " Yes, yes," I cried. " I shall be overjoyed to act your 
 Medea, and we will arrange the last scene in such a way 
 as to conceal the death of the children from the public. 
 Without losing time, let us consider who shall translate 
 your verses into Italian. Fortunately there were then 
 among the Italian colony in Paris, many most eminent 
 literary men, whom love of their country had driven into 
 exile. Among these Montanelli seemed, upon considera- 
 tion, the best fitted for the task, and he willingly accepted 
 it.. Our heroic compatriot, Daniel Manin, and many 
 
MEBEA. 205^ 
 
 others, approved the choice ; and it was decided that the- 
 play should be ready for the ensuing season. 
 
 When I returned to Paris in the spring of 1856, eleven 
 days were spent in arduous rehearsals, and in hastening 
 the final preparations for the performance. People were 
 already talking about it. I thought of nothing — dreamed 
 of nothing — but Medea. The choice of my costume also 
 greatly occupied my mind ; for all my researches had not 
 enabled me to fix on anything I considered altogether 
 suitable. At last the famous painter, Ary Schef ster, whom 
 I had the good fortune to know intimately, and whose 
 esteem and friendship I was proud to possess — volunteered 
 his aid. He designed my costume down to its most 
 minute details, and really succeeded admirably, excepting 
 being rather embarrassed by the large size of my mantle, 
 which, though necessary at my first appearance on the 
 stage, interfered somewhat with the various attitudes and 
 gestures I had imagined. By simple and natural move- 
 ment, he had arranged that I was to make the large and 
 artistically disposed folds fall behind my shoulders ; to 
 carry this out successfully was my care. 
 
 The 8th of April was fixed for the first representation, 
 and I, who by a natural instinct would never have any- 
 thing deferred when it had been once arranged, was 
 determined that all should be ready for that evening — 
 and ready it was. In those days a theatrical novelty 
 excited the greatest and most eager curiosity. Both the 
 French and Italian play-goers were in a state of excite- 
 ment. The French were desirous to see and judge 
 whether Mdlle. Rachel had really been wrong to refuse the 
 
206 ABELAIBE BI8T0BI. 
 
 part, after having not only approved, accepted and studied 
 it, but also after having shown her artistic interest in it 
 many times, and having complimented the author on the 
 way he had conceived and carried out the part. The 
 Italians invested my experiment with an almost national 
 importance, and the excitement among them was con- 
 sequently immense. All those who sympathised with our 
 nation, or who were intimate with our principal exiles, 
 shared in their eagerness. Among these I will only 
 mention Alexandre Dumas, Jules Janin, and my very dear 
 friends M. and Madame Planat de la Faye.* 
 
 Before the play began many persons came into my 
 •dressing-room to offer me their best wishes for my 
 success. Among them was Ary Schefster, who desired to 
 see the effect of my costume, and decide whether I had 
 been able to arrange the folds of my large mantle so as 
 not to incommode me, while producing the effect he 
 desired. I showed him my ingenious device for carrying 
 ■out both purposes ; and when the explanation was over, 
 he hastened away to join his family, so that he might not 
 lose one word of the play. 
 
 The SaUe Ventadour was crammed with a large and 
 most fashionable audience. Madame de la Valliere, 
 daughter of the eminent M. Legouv^ was almost over- 
 
 * These latter were on most intimate and affectionate terms with 
 Daniel Manin, whose sad exile and death they solaced and comforted 
 liy their deep attachment. Madame Planat wrote his life in two 
 volumes, from the most authentic docmnents, and in acknowledgment 
 of her work, and of her great lore for Italy, the city of Venice con- 
 ferred on her the honour of citizenship." 
 
MEBEA. 207 
 
 powered by her emotions. The author, who knew that he 
 had a high stake in the success of the evening, in con- 
 sequence of the notoriety caused the year before by the 
 £achel incident, could not, with all his efforts, disguise 
 his anxiety, which he betrayed by his minute attention to 
 ■every stage detail, although he did it with the air of one 
 who was watching over the interests of a friend. 
 
 As for me ! — well ! in spite of the interest everyone 
 ^showed in me, my hands were like ice, and I did nothing 
 but rub them together with a constant and rapid move- 
 ment, while I said to those who stood nearest me — " There 
 seems to be a very great draught from the roof this 
 evening ; I am so cold, I am shivering all over." 
 
 The curtain rose, — a most flattering murmur announced 
 the attention and sympathy of the public. The magnifi- 
 cent lines of Orpheus (Signor Boccomini) were followed 
 by prolonged applause. Oh ! how these early manifesta- 
 tions of pleasure on the part of the audience, give heart 
 and courage to the actors who have yet to present them- 
 selves ! 
 
 At last the moment of my appearance arrived, and I 
 stood already prepared on the platform of the shaking 
 piece which represented the base of the mountain I was 
 slowly and with difficulty to ascend. I carried my little 
 Melanthe in my arms, while his tiny head rested on my 
 shoulder, and the part of my ample mantle, which was 
 •afterwards to hang behind my back, and the arrange- 
 ment of which had so pre-occupied Ary Schefster, now 
 covered half my head and almost the whole of my 
 child's, I had placed the other boy, Lycaon, at my left 
 
208 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 side, making him put one hand within my girdle, as he 
 leant against me in an attitude of utter exhaustion. 
 
 The songs of the Canephorae, who accompanied Creusa 
 to the temple, preceded my entrance. When they caught 
 sight of me the spectators hurst into loud and prolonged 
 applause, which only ceased when I began to speak. 
 Arrived at the summit of the mountain, I stood for a 
 moment in the attitude of a woman utterly exhausted. 
 I was indebted for this "pose," and for many others in 
 my studies of tragedy, to the famous group of the 
 Niobe, which occupies the Sala della Niobe in the 
 famous TJffizi Gallery at Florence. 
 
 When I began to speak, my mournful and subdued 
 tone of voice was such as to show that my prostration 
 of body arose not merely from the toil and privations 
 encountered during a long and arduous journey through 
 valleys and over steeps, but also from the misery of 
 witnessing the sufferings of my famishing children. 
 Alas ! what could I offer them but my blood ! This 
 state of mind Legouv^ describes in the most moving and 
 affecting manner. 
 
 Poor little Melanthe, who had sunk down quite worn 
 out beside his brother on the steps of the statue of 
 Diana, says in pitiful tones — 
 
 " Mother, I iiui weary." 
 
 Medea. — "Darling, you break my heart I no roof have we to shelter 
 us. This bare rock must be your pillow to-day." 
 
 Ltcaon. — " Mother, I am hungry." 
 
 At these heart-breaking words, I assumed an attitude 
 
MEDEA. 209 
 
 of despair as though asking myself, "What can I do 
 to help them ? " Then, almost beside myself, I exclaimed : 
 
 " Why cannot I open my veins to their last drop and bid them 
 partake, and from my blood draw the nourishment they need ? " 
 
 This tone of prostration continued through the 
 greater part of the act. But when I began to recount 
 the sufferings I had endured through my lost love, 
 then, like the drooping plants -which are revived by the 
 beneficent dew, I too regained my vigour ; and during the 
 magnificent scene with Creusa, in which, step by step, 
 I revealed the grief that was gnawing at my heart, 
 dreading that while I was wandering about in my 
 wretchedness, seeking some trace of my beloved who 
 had left me, I should find him living happy in the arms 
 of some rival — my whole appearance became trans- 
 formed, my limbs worked convulsively, my eyes blazed, 
 my mouth seemed to breathe forth poison ; and when 
 Creusa asked me what I would do to Jason and his 
 afSanced bride if I came upon them, I answered with 
 the aspect of a fury, looking at her with malevolent 
 eyes, whiie I seized her hand and drew her to the front 
 of the stage — 
 
 " What does the leopard in the forest depths, when pouncing on 
 his prey with hideous roar ? He bears it to his den, and tears the 
 bloody carcase limb from limb." 
 
 As I uttered these last words I assumed the air of a 
 wild beast gloating over his victim, while, with my hands, 
 I made as though I were indeed dismembering my prey, 
 my whole expression and attitude being calculated to 
 excite the utmost dread and horror, 
 
 14 
 
210 ADFLAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 This posture, ferocious as it was, seemed to me 
 strictly logical, and in accordance not merely with the 
 disposition of Medea, but with that of every woman of 
 strong character capable of extremes either in love or 
 hate. And this conviction tended to make me a just 
 judge, and served me as a pattern in the frequent tran- 
 sitions of the part. Thus, by profound study, I succeeded 
 in developing this double passion as the author had 
 imagined it, without departing from the truth. 
 
 But the scene changed with the unexpected appear- 
 ance of Orpheus. At the assurance he gave me that 
 Jason was still alive, my features lighted up with a 
 passionate joy ; but when I further discovered in Creusa 
 the woman who was my rival, and heard her rashly defy 
 my anger with the words — 
 
 " Hold I respect the hero who has plighted his faith to me " ; 
 
 I replied with a stern look — 
 
 "Ton love him?" 
 and Creusa said — 
 
 " Yes, I love him, and to-morrow the high priest will hail him as 
 my husband. " 
 
 Like a lioness who is determined her prey shall not 
 escape her, I exclaimed in a mocking voice — 
 
 " Ton will marry him? Wo shall see." 
 
 I extended my right hand towards her with a resolute 
 air, as though daring her to defy me, and stood thus 
 until the curtain fell. 
 
 This first act was received with the greatest enthu- 
 
MEDEA. 211 
 
 «iasiu, and I was called for several times by the excited 
 audience. The Foyer (green-room), as it is named by the 
 actors, was crowded with people. Admirers were profuse 
 in their compliments, friends wrung my hand with emo- 
 tion too deep for words. Others gathered round me in 
 silence, unable to speak their sentiments. M. Legouv€ 
 and I were indeed the hero and heroine of the hour. 
 All united in expressing their astonishment at the 
 wonderful way in which each part [had been studied 
 and each detail carried out after such a small number 
 of rehearsals. This would probably not have been so 
 much a matter of surprise in Italy, where theatrical 
 conditions are much less florid than among other nations, 
 and where it is essential to attract the public by the pro- 
 duction of constant novelties, and therefore but little 
 time can be given. In France on the contrary, the 
 necessary preparations sometimes occupy six months. 
 
 The second act abounds in fine situations and mar- 
 vellous scenic effects, which offer the actress a large 
 scope for the display of her dramatic capacity. Chief 
 among the former is the scene between Medea and Jason. 
 When Jason reproaches himself with having involun- 
 tarily condemned his children to a life of toil and 
 privation, and dreading to know that they should be 
 exposed to further shame and suffering, tells her that he 
 will do all in his power to rescue them from such a fate, 
 provided their mother sacrifice herself for them, I 
 eagerly ask — 
 
 "How?" 
 Jasoh. — " By breaking our maniage tie 1 " 
 
 14 
 
212 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 I am £or the moment stunned by such a proposal. 
 lUien with a great efEort at self-control, I add, with 
 scarcely repressed irony — 
 
 " Ha ! you -will repudiate me 1 " 
 
 and already the tempest his words had awakened within 
 me made my eyes flash. I will not stop here to enume- 
 rate, even briefly, the thousand suggestions and question- 
 ings that passed between us in the few lines preceding 
 those in which I answered his arguments with the 
 sarcastic words beginning — "I have foreseen all," and 
 gave place to the accents of hatred and revenge in 
 keeping with Medea's indomitable temper, and which 
 must breathe in every word of mine during the progress 
 of the scene. And now I gave full vent to the fury that 
 raged within me, which I had hitherto restrained in some 
 degree. Weakness, passionate affection, were both for- 
 gotten in the just resentment of an outraged, humiliated 
 soul, injured in its tenderest and strongest feelings, and 
 all my fury burst forth as I answered him — 
 
 "Yea! Lacerate my heart with thy base treachery, discard mo 
 and elect another in my place. I Can understand it, such crimes are 
 of thy race. But to speak of thy children, to feign anxiety for their 
 welfare while thy heart is busy with adulterous plans, to mingle their 
 innocence with thy guilty thoughts, and shield thy infamy beneath 
 the name of fatherl This exceeds all bearing — ^this thrills me with 
 horror." 
 
 After my absolute refusal to consent to the rupture of 
 our marriage tie, and ascertaining from his cruel and 
 insulting words that he defied my auger, and that all 
 aifection for me had died ndthin him, in spite" of myself 
 
MEDEA. 213. 
 
 I r«smiuned strangely agitated. My deepest grief, however, 
 was ■when, weary of my reproaches, and caring little for 
 my refusal, Jason informed me that the very next day I 
 should be banished the country, and Creusa would become 
 his wife, while the winds that drove me from his shores 
 would waft me the strains of their wedding hymn. 
 These menaces seemed to petrify me. My love changed 
 to the deepest hatred. Like a torrent of burning lava I 
 poured forth the words — 
 
 " Blood ! Blood ! Oh for something t7heTe\nth to wrmg, to lacerate 
 his heart I something atrocious — fearftd — ^hideous — some pimish- 
 ment unknown to homan nature, bnt equal, ii it be possible, to my 
 hatred." 
 
 And like a wounded wild animal, I paced round and 
 round the st^e, as though seeking for some new and 
 terrible mode of vengeance. Even the voices of my 
 ohildren, who ran towards me, calling me by the endear- 
 ing name of mother, could not calm my fury ; for when 
 they appealed to me with the words, " Hear thy sons ! " 
 I replied vehemently — 
 
 •' The children of Jason are no sons of mine ! " 
 
 Ltcaon : '• Dost thon love ns no longer ? " 
 
 " No p answered in bitter accents], accursed race ! hence ! — all, all 
 I hate, bnt ye far more than all ! Because ye spring from him ; be- 
 cause to b'Tii I owe ye, him whom ye both resemble." 
 
 Then, beholding Hie forlorn air of the poor little inno- 
 cent ones, I cried — 
 
 " Oh, Jason, inlt thon pursue me with thy semblance and thy 
 «ons!" 
 
2U ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 And the affection whicli reigned all-powerful within me 
 awoke once more ; deeply touched, I continued — 
 
 " Thy children ! no, no, — mine ! " 
 
 I stretched ont my arms towards them in a transport 
 of maternal affection, and they at once rushed into my 
 embrace. I threw myself upon a seat, took the youngest 
 on my knee, and pressed the other with rapture to my 
 heart ; thus forming a group which produced the greatest 
 effect npon the audience. My true mother's lore over- 
 flowed in my next words — 
 
 " I whose I0T6 for you haa known no bonnds, I who in this wide 
 world have nought but you; I hate you? I send you from me? 
 Wretch that I am I What are you to Jason, you unfortunate children 
 of Medea I I should have broken my own heart, but not touched his I 
 Does he know anything of you ? His heart is filled with one idea, one 
 name, one love, — Crensa 1 " 
 
 As I uttered this name all my firece jealousy once more 
 awoke within me. The children, terrified at the change, 
 shrank from my embrace. Left alone, the sole idea of 
 vengeance possessed me. I would destroy my rival. I 
 would stab her, for — 
 
 "The heart then serves as guide to the blow, my arm would grudgft 
 tp leave its work to poison." 
 
 I pulled a dagger from beneath my peplum, and at 
 sight of it exclaimed with savage exultation : " Oh joy ! " 
 Then in a deep voice and cautious tone I continued — 
 
 "At night, gliding stealthily along the sombre walls, I will enter^ 
 spectre-like, the room where she sleeps, and when I see her prostrat* 
 on her downy couch, and at my mercy, I will brandish on high my 
 avenging weapon and plunge it in her bosom to seek out her souL 
 
MEDEA. 215 
 
 When she opens her eyes she will see me ! At her death-cry the 
 palace will awaken. Lover, friends, and parents will rush in horror- 
 stricken, and behold Medea standing, avenged, over Greusa's lifeless 
 corpse ! " 
 
 While I uttered these last words I drew myself up in 
 such a manner as to appear of gigantic size, holding mj 
 dagger tightly clasped aloft, so that men might well 
 have been thunderstruck at my aspect. 
 
 At the unexpected appearance of Creusa, the idea of 
 instantly carrying out my revenge came like a lightning 
 flash into my mind, and filled me with a savage joy, but 
 I rapidly hid myself behicid a column in order to choose 
 a propitious moment to fall upon her. As I followed 
 Creusa with the intention of surprising her, we suddenly 
 came upon one another face to face. The unhappy girl 
 was looking for me, with the generous intention of warn- 
 ing me that an excited crowd was besieging the palace 
 and thirsting for my blood — 
 
 " 'Tis thee these angry crowds pursue. Let them but cross the 
 threshold, and thou art lost ! I come " 
 
 Medea: "For what?" 
 
 Oeebsa : " To save thee ! " 
 
 This answer disarmed Medea's wrath, who, with a 
 quick return of the instincts of her royal race, repeated in 
 astonishment — 
 
 " Thou to save me ! — save me 1 " 
 
 When I had spoken, I suddenly became conscious that 
 I was still grasping my dagger, and, ashamed of myself, 
 I hastened to hide it in silence. 
 
216 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 Then followed a short scene with Crensa, in which I 
 prayed and besought her, in accents full of anguish, to 
 leave me the man who was all the world to me ; but at 
 her repeated refusal my hatred returned in tenfold force. 
 I rose up, ready to spring upon her, when Creonte, 
 alarmed by his daughter's cry, came, in terrified haste, to 
 her rescue, followed by a crowd of people. In the last 
 scene, while my children cling closely t^o my side lest they 
 should be dragged from me by the infuriated mob who 
 carried stones in their hands, ready to cast at me, Orpheus 
 suddenly appeared, and addressed the raging multitude 
 in an authoritative voice — 
 
 " Let him who loves not his own sons, be the first to tear these 
 children from their mother ! " 
 
 At sight of him the people, awestruck, stood aside, let- 
 ting the stones fall from their hands. Creonte, Jason, and 
 Creusa felt in their turn the irresistible fascination of the 
 divine poet. Eeassured by the words of Orpheus who 
 promised me a safe escape, I wrapped both my sons in 
 my mantle, and, certain that all would now be well, 
 retreated slowly, murmuring to myself — 
 
 " At last I have found my revenge." 
 
 I need not insist upon the effect all these situations 
 produced on the public. 
 
 The stage was arranged in a truly artistic manner for 
 my appearance in the third act. On the side to the left 
 of the spectator, a large curtain, draped in the Greek 
 style, indicated the entrance to a room, which was reached 
 
MEBEA. 217 
 
 by a short flight of steps. When the drop scene rose 
 Jason was discovered listening impatiently to the admo- 
 nitions of Orpheus. 
 
 Creusa comes on the scene unexpectedly, leading his 
 children in either hand, and delighted by their caresses. 
 It is quite a domestic group, and gives opportunity for 
 the expression of many tender sentiments towards the 
 children on the part of Creusa, who desires to adopt them 
 both as her own. Jason full of thgse glad prospects 
 withdraws, followed by his dear ones and by the gloomy 
 Orpheus. At this instant I show myself on the thres- 
 hold of my chamber. I descend the first step with one 
 foot, and, raising in my right hand the heavy curtain, I 
 remain in the shadow of it, a cold obsei-ver of this new 
 proof of Jason's treachery. 
 
 In the short monologue that follows, I confirm myself 
 all the more in my thoughts of vengeance, and only wait 
 the fall of night to fly with my children while the palace 
 is full of the jocund guests who are celebrating the 
 auspicious wedding of Creusa! These last words I 
 pronounce in the sarcastic tone of one who has prepared 
 quite a different close to the festivities. Here Orpheus 
 returns, bringing an order from Creonte. He tells me 
 that among the answers he had received from the oracle 
 was one warning that the presence of Medea at the 
 maiiiage would be fatal to the bride ; and he ordered 
 me to depart instantly, but without ray children. Such 
 a decree pierces Medea's heart, for her maternal love is 
 stronger than her hate, and she entreats Orpheus to 
 intercede for her with the king that he will restore her 
 
218 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 sons to her. In the following scene everything conduces 
 to show the strain of humanity existing in this woman 
 who is subjected to such severe trials, and this study 
 served to prove how difiScult it is to give a correct repre- 
 sentation of such a strange personality, and to bring 
 out in their true analogies the constantly opposing and 
 contrasting passions by which she is incessantly torn. 
 
 Finding all my prayers and entreaties vain, I humbled 
 myself so far, at last, as to beseech the inflexible Jason 
 to allow me to depart with my sons ; but hearing that he 
 would only consent for one to accompany me, I turned 
 with the most moving expression of countenance towards 
 Creusa, the king, and Jason, and besought them again 
 with reiterated prayers, to grant my request. But the 
 decision was irrevocable. Then, seeing myself abandoned 
 even by my children, who were clinging to Creusa in 
 dread lest they should have to go with me — deaf to 
 every word of comfort that was addressed to me, I im- 
 plored to be left alone, a prey to my grief. Presently 
 I discovered that my children were gone, and with a 
 breaking heart I cried — 
 
 " My sons ! my sous I " 
 
 and fell, as though deprived of my senses, on the steps 
 of the altar erected to Saturn. After a short pause, I 
 commenced the following powerful monologue : — 
 
 " Alone 1 Alone in the world I Father, husband, children! all are 
 gonel Thou weepest, Medea, thou 1 . . ." 
 
 But a feeling of shame succeeded that of despair. I 
 
MEDEA. 219 
 
 blushed as I saw mj hands glistening with the tears that 
 had fallen from my brimming eyes, and I exclaimed — 
 
 " And Jason ? He triumphs ! Yes ! thanks to me his every wish 
 is fnlfilled. Our nnion was a burden to him. I hare dissolved it. 
 He asked for my sons, and I have surrendered them to him I My 
 own hand has given him to his beloved one 1 " 
 
 Then, step by step, I went over the wrongs I had 
 
 endured, until stung by the remembrance that I had 
 
 myself — 
 
 " Unconsciously aided and assisted Jason in the accomplishment of 
 his happiness," 
 
 my fury broke forth once more, and while I said the 
 words — 
 
 " My own hand has given," &c. 
 
 I leaped to my feet, and shook my head resolutely as 
 though to free myself from the load of shame which 
 seemed as if it would crush me. But the picture my 
 imagination drew of the transports of Jason and his 
 bride, were too much for me ; I shouted — 
 
 "Oh, ye infernal _gods! Help me! help me 1 Blood! tears I 
 groans ! The avenging steel ! All these I crave 1 " 
 
 At this point I decided to exterminate them all — 
 
 "As yet I scarce know what I do. But I am resolved some 
 hideous crime, throughout this terrified land shall shroud me with a 
 veil of horror, stained with blood ! — that of Jason, Creusa, her father, 
 my own children — " 
 
 But the recollection of those dear ones suffices somewhat 
 to calm my fury, and I began to be horror-stricken at the 
 idea of killing them with my own hand. However, as I 
 
220 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 reflected that sucli a blow would overwhelm Jason, with 
 eternal sorrow, I crushed back the cry of my better 
 nature ; giving to the following verses all the force of the 
 madness I no longer feared — 
 
 " Let me die, provided only that Jason's grief be sempiternal, — 
 that my fell deed create for him immmerable tortures, and that the 
 infernal deities of my own land do claim biTti for their natural prey ! 
 Oh, thou pale god of gloomy Tanris ! " 
 
 And here turning towards the statue of Saturn, I burst 
 out impetuously — 
 
 " Thou, Saturn, above all others, whose worship doth delight in 
 infant slaughter, — ^hear me 1 Thy terrible altars love the blood of 
 children sacrificed by their mothers' hands! This dread offering 
 thou shalt have from me ! But, in return, I claim thee as an accom- 
 plice ! Fix then an undying vulture into Jason's breast, which shall 
 gnaw his heart eternally. Increase his love for Creusa ; for then her 
 loss vrill cause him tenfold grief. Grant him even goodness and a 
 parent's heart, that, wandering and outcast, he may live a prey to 
 sorrow, and die as desperate as I shall die ! " 
 
 At this moment my children reappear, led by Creusa's 
 nurse; I stayed my wild words when I saw them, 
 terrified at my scarcely uttered oath. I commanded 
 them to avoid me letet I should be forced to sacrifice 
 them to the implacable deity. But, hearing that Jason 
 awaits them at the altar, as though to make them wit- 
 nesses of his perfidy, every feeling of pity vanished, and 
 I was again a prey to my mad fury, and ordered them 
 to approach me. I arranged that after the words — 
 
 " Thou hast rightly said 1 Time presses, — ^the hour is at hand ! 
 Let them draw near. No 1 no thought of pity shall move me I father 
 iind sons struck by the selfsame blow must both " 
 
MEDHA. 221 
 
 Melanthe and Lycaon should throw themselves before 
 me, grasping my knees with their tender hands, and 
 raising their eyes to me in pitiful supplication ; I am 
 moved by their touch ; I let fall the arm lifted to strike 
 them ; my voice softened, my hands as they dropped 
 encountered theirs, and that contact produced such a 
 sentiment of affection in my soul, that I forgot my 
 thoughts of vengeance, and, deeply moved, I exclaimed 
 in a voice overflowing with tenderness : — 
 
 " Their hands I their little hands ! I feel their touch ! I hesitate ; 
 my heart fails me — in spite of myself my lips incline to theirs. Ah I 
 the struggle is too hard 1 " 
 
 Stooping to kiss them, but recollecting the oath 
 I had just before sworn to Saturn, I turned to his 
 altar, as though imploring the deity to grant me one 
 brief moment of joy before I dealt the fatal blow. 
 Contemplating my sons, the maternal sentiment awoke 
 once more in all its strength within me ! After brief 
 struggle I burst into tears, and cried out like one 
 intoxicated : — 
 
 " No, the effort is too great. Hence ye black designs ? I have 
 found my children ! " 
 
 Thus saying, I fell on my knees between them, covering 
 them with kisses, and pressing them with transport to 
 my heart. At this moment Orpheus hastened towards 
 ine, urging me to seek safety in flight with my sons. I 
 Welcomed his proposal eagerly, when suddenly a distant 
 and confused murmur of voices stayed our steps. A 
 maid-servant, dishevelled and in tears, ran in to announce 
 
222 ADELAIDE BI8T0BL 
 
 that Creusa was dying, murdered by a poisoned veil. 
 Distractedly I cried out — 
 
 " Tes ! mine ! the one I gave her ! " 
 
 When Orpheus in a fury exclaimed — 
 
 " Wretch, let thy sons be torn from thee I " 
 ' ' Never 1 " 
 
 I replied ; and, seizing little Melanthe, I held him under 
 my arm, while with the other I dragged Lycaon. I tried 
 to escape, hurrying precipitately to the right side of the 
 stage, but the noise of the infuriated mob drove me back 
 in terrified haste to the other. In vain I sought safety in 
 every direction. The cries of " Death ! death ! " which 
 resounded throughout the palace, forced me to try some 
 other way. At that moment the mob broke in on every 
 side, like an overwhelming torrent, seeking to tear my 
 children from me in accordance with the king's command, 
 who urged them on with the cry — 
 
 " Seize them 1 to death with her ! " 
 
 I exclaimed desperately — 
 
 " Never ! you shall not have them ! " 
 
 and I made one bound to the altar of Saturn, dragging 
 my children after me. The furious crowd surrounded 
 me, closing me in on every side ; when, suddenly a cry 
 of horror burst from every throat, which told that the 
 awful sacrifice had been consummated. The people fell 
 back from such a sight, and let the audience see Medea 
 with her murdered sons lying behind her at Saturn's 
 
MEDEA. 223 
 
 feet; her eyes sternly set, her face stony, her whole 
 attitude befitting that of a statue of remorse. 
 
 After a brief interval of general horror, the voice of 
 Jason was heard crying — 
 
 ' ' Leave me, by my hand mnst she perish 1 " 
 Oepheus : " Approach not ! " 
 Jason: " The children 1 " 
 
 "Slain!" 
 
 answered the afflicted Creonte. Jason now hurried in, 
 asking desperately — 
 
 " Murdered ? Who, who has murdered them ? " 
 "Thoul" 
 
 exclaimed Medea, drawing herself up in an imposing and 
 ferocious attitude, and extending her arm towards Jason, 
 like an image of an inexorable Destiny ! 
 And here the curt^ain feU. 
 
 I applied myself to the study of this subject with 
 irresistible transport of volition. So that I may say 
 that I played and considered Medea as the study in 
 which I delighted most, and which induced me to have 
 recourse to all the resources of Art. 
 
 To use a common phrase, I considered this tragedy my 
 Cheval de Bataille. I studied deeply the contrast between 
 two passions which, if they are not common, are not even 
 extraordinary. Jealousy and Hatred ; and from the one 
 and the other necessarily deriving itself. Revenge. It 
 
224 ADELAIDE BI8T0BL 
 
 was a study exemplarily philosopliical, finding its origin 
 and explanation in the tenderness of the human soul. I 
 have endeavoured to express it in the best manner I was 
 able. Eetuming to the past, and feeling myself live again 
 in the impressions of those hours, it seems to me I have 
 understood it as I ought and as I could. 
 
225 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 PHAEDEA. 
 
 It is worthy of notice that Eacine, in composing his 
 magnificent tragedy of Phaedra, was indebted, for some 
 of the most truthful and beautiful parts of it, to dramas 
 already produced by those great masters of tragic com- 
 posftion, Seneca and Euripides. Both their tragedies, 
 however, were called Hippolytus (after the hero instead 
 of the heroine of the piece) . 
 
 This is what Eacine says in the preface to his Phaedra -. — 
 
 " Qnoique j'aie stiivie nne route nn peu differente de celle de cet 
 anteoT [speaking of Euripides] pour la condnite de I'action, je n'ai 
 pas laisse d'enrichir ma piece de tout oe qui m'a paru eclatant dans la 
 sienne." * 
 
 * " Although I haTe followed rather a different plan for the de- 
 velopment of the action to that chosen by this author, yet I have not 
 hesitated to enrich my piece by adding all that seemed to me most 
 excellent in his." 
 
 15 
 
226 ADELAIDE RI8T0BL 
 
 And in fact, he, among others, found the scene between 
 Phaedra and her nurse CEnone, so full of truth and 
 pathetic seutiment, that he imitated it very closely when 
 he introduced Phaedra in the first act. 
 
 Euripides, however, represents her as resolute to die, 
 because she cannot vanquish, with chastity, 
 
 " ttat guilty and impure love." 
 
 The means imagined by Eacine completely to alter the 
 character of the action at the close of the first act are 
 masterly, and quite original. He makes her attendant 
 Panope announce to the Queen the reported death of 
 Theseus at the very moment when the former, over- 
 whelmed with remorse for her illegitimate passion, and 
 certain that she can never satisfy the impure flame which 
 renders her odious to herself, has decided to allow herself 
 to die of weakness. 
 
 Like a flash of lightning, the joyful news penetrates to 
 her heart, for in this event she sees a way of escape out 
 of the difiScnlty which rendered her nefarious love hope- 
 less. 
 
 " The cards are broken which make our love a shame and a dis- 
 grace."* 
 
 The voice of conscience is silenced. The sweet hope 
 that Hippolytus, when the death of her husband becomes 
 known, will come to her, flashes across her mind like a ray 
 of sunshine amidst a furious tempest, and like a young 
 
 * " Vient de rompre les nenx 
 Qui faisaient tout le crime et ITiorrenr de nos feux." — Racine. 
 
PHAEDRA. 227 
 
 girl who for the first time hears loving lips whisper sweet 
 words into her ear, Phaedra listens to the insinuations 
 and persuasions of her nurse, swayed the while by a 
 thousand varying emotions ; and with a smile flickering 
 upon her pallid lips, she decides to save her life, sur- 
 rendering herself entirely into the hands of (Enone, 
 and pretending that it is only for the " love of her son," 
 that she renounces her firm intention to die. 
 
 Racine, by introducing this incident into his tragedy, 
 has proved himself to have fully comprehended all the 
 truth and beauty of the way in which Seneca, in the third 
 scene of the second act, makes Phaedra discover to Hippo- 
 lytus the passion she cherishes for him. 
 
 He represents first her perplexity of mind as she re- 
 solves to tell her secret, then the gradual steps by which 
 she is led to her sudden confession, and finally the horror 
 of Hippolytus as he listens to her, and his scornful dis- 
 dain. Kacine differs from Seneca, however, by placing 
 the carefully spun web of lies which (Enone prepares to 
 save her beloved and unfortunate mistress in the third 
 act ; and he substitutes a noble repulse of her attendants' 
 evil proposal, for the wicked and tacit consent which 
 Seneca mates Phaedra give to the culpable plan, against 
 the carrying out of which the older dramatist does not 
 make the Queen raise a single objection. At the same 
 time it is true that Phaedra, even in Racine, consents 
 to CEnone's proposal to accuse the innocent Hippolytus 
 of attempting an outrage upon her, but this is justi- 
 fied by the terrible position in which the author places 
 her. 
 
 15 * 
 
228 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 Theseus, though believed to be dead, returns, and may 
 discover at any moment her fault and her shame. Certain 
 as she is that the man she loves will not keep silent about 
 her guilty passion, Phaedra, although very shortly before 
 she had shown the greatest horror at the idea of Hippo- 
 lytus suffering for her fault, saying — 
 
 "II dare I oppress and blacken innocence ! " 
 
 " Moi, qne j'ose opprimer et noircir I'innocence ! " — Racine. 
 
 now, when she sees him approach with his father, is over- 
 whelmed with fear. Her senses almost desert her, and 
 hardly comprehending the words of CEnone, she gives a 
 hasty assent to them, as being the only way in which she 
 can save herself from the fury of her consort, and avert 
 her own dishonour. 
 
 Phaedra : " Ah ! I see Hippolytns, I see my fate written in his in- 
 solent eyes I Do what thon wilt, I abandon myself to thee. In my 
 perplexity I can do nothing for myself." * 
 
 Seneca, Euripides, and Sacine make Phaedra die in 
 three different ways, and for three different reasons. Ac- 
 cording to the first, when she learns the tragic end 
 of Hippolytus, an end caused by the false and wicked 
 accusation she brought against him in revenge for his 
 refusal to listen to her — and sees the mangled remains 
 of the miserable youth whom his father has sacrificed 
 
 ■ Ph^dra : " Ah ! je vois Hippolyte, 
 
 Dans ses yenx insolents je Tois ma perte ecrite. 
 Fais ce que tu vondras, je m'abandonne a toi ; 
 
 ■ Dans le trouble oil je suis, je ne puis rien pour moi." 
 
 Itacine 
 
PHAEDBA. 229 
 
 for her sake, she is seized -mth sudden remorse, and 
 bursts into a paroxysm of fury. She throws herself in 
 despair on to the body of Hippolytus, tearing her hair in 
 her grief, acquaints Theseus with all the enormity of her 
 fault, and with her perfidy ; and as, in her judgment, death 
 alone is a fit punishment for her misdeeds, she kills her- 
 self, with her own hand, stabbing herself with the dagger 
 she holds, and presenting it to her consort. 
 
 Euripides in his Hippolytus makes Phaedra the victim 
 of celestial vengeance, and, as such, worthy, in a sense, of 
 pity. This is augmented when Phaedra, seeing the furious 
 rage of Hippolytus, at the indecent passion felt for him 
 by his stepmother,* and revealed to him by the slave 
 CEnone, overwhelmed by shame, enraged at the knowledge 
 that Hippolytus knew of her love for him, and desirous 
 to save herself from ignominy, decides to die, and accom- 
 plishes her fatal purpose by strangling herself with a rope. 
 This climax would diminish the enormity of her guilt, 
 and render Phaedra an object of compassion, were it not 
 for the words Euripides makes Diana use to Theseus, 
 after the terrible death of Hippolytus, and from these it 
 is evident that Phaedra, before taking her own life, had 
 conceived the wicked design of preparing a written docu- 
 ment in which she accuses Hippolytus of having driven 
 her to desperation, and caused her to do this dreadful 
 deed in order to avoid being dishonoured by him. This 
 base and ignoble calumny causes her to become at once 
 
 * According to mythology, Hippolytus was a son of Thsseus, 
 hnsband oi Phaedra, by the Amazon Hippolyte. — Translator. 
 
230 ADELAIDE EI8T0BL 
 
 an object of scorn and loathing, and changes the pity that 
 would otherwise have been felt for her into disgust and 
 horror. 
 
 These are the lines which Euripides makes Diana 
 address to Theseus — 
 
 . . . Ti TciXas ToTo-Se (rvv^Sa,* 
 TfatS ov^ 6crt(os crov aTroKTeiVas, 
 ij/cvSecrv jjMdois oXa^ov iracrOei.'S 
 acfiav^ ; (jtavipa 8'eTA.Ei/ tr' aTa 
 
 * * # # * 
 
 17 8' CIS ekey)(ov [i-rj iriirg ^o/3ou/iei/J/, 
 <j>evSe'ii ypatpai Irypatj/e koi SitaXecre 
 SoXouTL crov iraiS', dW o/*(os eTrcurt are. 
 
 Eacine depicts the end of this Queen in more noble 
 fashion. Oppressed by the shame of having revealed 
 her improper passion to Hippolytus, crushed by his scorn, 
 and the horror with which he received her avowal, quail- 
 ing beneath the scrutinising glance of Theseus, feeling 
 herself guilty, and driven wild with jealousy at dis- 
 covering in Alicia her more fortunate rival, dreading 
 
 * See the Hippolytus of Euripides, lines 1286-1289 and 1310-1312. 
 An approximate English translation rnns as follows : — " Because by 
 an iniqnitons death thou hast killed thy son, wretched man, art 
 thou therefore pleased ? A false and vaguely- worded paper written 
 by thy consort hath led thee to consent to this evil deed . . . but 
 thy wife, terrified she would be convinced of his fault, wrote lying 
 words, and by her trickery persuaded thee, and led thy son to his 
 death." 
 
PHAEBBA. 231 
 
 the wi-ath of her father Minos when she should 
 descend into Avernus, assailed bj remorse for having, 
 when almost beside herself, consented to the perfidious 
 insinuation of (Enone by accusing Hippolytus of her 
 fault — Phaedra swallows one of the most potent poisons. 
 And thus, already bathed with the dews of death, 
 she drags herself before Theseus, summons all her 
 little remaining strength to her aid, and proclaims 
 the innocence of Hippolytus, her own fatal passion 
 ■which she had imputed to him, and the perfidious con- 
 sent she had given to (Enone's proposal to accuse 
 Hippolytus in her stead. She asserts that she would 
 have preferred to end her life by the dagger, but that at 
 any cost she must first confess her crime, and her remorse, 
 and therefore she has selected a slow poison. She dies a 
 lingering and agonising death, unaware of the miserable 
 end of Hippolytus. 
 
 That Phaedra was unaware of it is proved by the 
 following lines ; Panope, in Scene v, Act 5, comes breath- 
 less, to Theseus, saying — 
 
 Panope : "I am ignorant what project the Queen meditates, 
 My Lord, but I fear everything from the transport 
 
 which agitates her. 
 A mortal despair is paint on her countenance : 
 Her complexion has already the pallor of death. 
 Already driven with ignominy from her presence, 
 (Enone has cast herself into the deep sea — 
 Men know not what has driven her to this desperate act — 
 And the waters, closing over her, have hidden her for 
 ever from our eyes. " 
 
 These L's : " What do I hear ? " 
 
232 
 
 ADELAIDE BI8T0B1. 
 
 Panope : ' ' Her death has not calmed the Queen ; 
 
 Trouble seems to be growing in her uncertain soul. 
 
 Sometimes, to flatter her secret sorrow, 
 
 She takes her children, and bathes them in her tears ; 
 
 Then, suddenly, renouncing all maternal loTe, 
 
 Her hand, with horror, pushes them away from her. 
 
 With uncertain steps she drags herself irresolutely, 
 
 here and there. 
 Her wandering eyes recognise us no longer ; 
 Three times she has commenced to write, and changed 
 
 her mind. 
 Three times she has destroyed her hardly begun letter. 
 Deign to see her, my Lord, deign to succour her." * 
 
 At the close of this scene Theramenes presents her- 
 
 * Pakope : " J'ignore le projet que la reine medite, 
 
 Seigneur ; mais je crains tout du transport qui I'agite 
 
 TJn mortel desespoir sur son visage est peint ; 
 
 La paleur de la mort est deja sur son teint. 
 
 Deja de sa pre'sence avec honte chassee 
 
 Dans la profonde mer CEnone s'est lancee ; 
 
 On ne sait point d'oii part ce dessein furieux ; 
 
 Et les flots pour jamais I'ont ravie a nos yeux." 
 
 Theseus : " Qu'entends-je ? " 
 
 Panope : " Son trepas n'a point calme la reine ; 
 
 Le trouble semble croitre en son ame incertaine. 
 Quelque fois, pour flatter ses secretes douleurs, 
 EUe prend ses enfants et les baigne de pleures ; 
 Et soudain, renon9ant a I'amour matemelle, 
 Sa main avec horreur les repousse loin d'elle ; 
 EUe porte en hasard ses pas irresolus ; 
 Son oeil tout egare ne nous reeonnait plus. 
 EUe a trois fois ecrit, et, ohangeant de pensee, 
 Trois fois elle a rompu sa lettre commenc^e. 
 Daignez la voir, seigneur ; daignez la seeourir." 
 
PHAEDBA. 233 
 
 self, and narrates, amidst her tears, tlie tragic end 
 of Hippolytus, which, happened near Mycenae, where 
 his lacerated body was left. Nothing was known 
 of this terrible accident in the royal palace, there- 
 fore it is evident Phaedra did not kill herself in 
 despair at Hippolytus' death, but for the reason already 
 stated. 
 
 Perhaps some people may consider as superfluous this 
 minute comparison of the tragedies of Seneca, Euri- 
 pides, and Racine, this analysis of the various ways in 
 which they severally treat the personality of Phaedra — 
 this detailed narration of incidents in Phaedra's life, as 
 though its vicissitudes had been hitherto unknown. But 
 in the hope that my studies may contain some interest 
 for readers who have seen me on the stage, as well as 
 for those who have not had the opportunity, I have 
 thought it might be useful to give these important 
 details, for the benefit of those who might not entirely 
 remember them, in order that I might awaken within 
 them a desire to know how I had elaborated my interpre- 
 tation of the part, — a matter of which the reader who 
 has the patience to peruse the following pages, will be 
 able to judge. 
 
 After the account I have given of the immense diffi- 
 culty I encountered in my study of the personality of 
 Myrrha, by Vittoria Alfieri, it would be natural to 
 suppose that I should find that of Phaedra all the 
 easier. And this is partly true, because the contrasts 
 in the latter are less strange and difficult, but, at the 
 same time, it must not be forgotten that the interpre- 
 
234 ADELAIDE BISTOEI. 
 
 tations of these two characters have not a great deal in 
 common, although they were both victims of the revenge 
 of Venus. 
 
 It is to be noted, however, that Venus did not hate 
 Phaedra, but Hippolytus, and, in causing Phaedra to 
 conceive a powerful and incestuous passion, she selected 
 her as the only means that was available to avenge her- 
 self on Hippolytus, because 
 
 " he had called her the worst of the goddesses, because he was 
 backward to the laws of love, and because all his worship was given 
 to Diana, daughter of Jove, whom alone he adored, proclaiming her 
 ' the greatest of the gods.'" 
 
 These words Euripides puts into the mouth of Venus 
 in the first scene of his tragedy. Myrrha, likewise, was 
 the instrument of Venus' vengeance on her mother, 
 Cecris, who had imprudently 
 
 " ventured to boast that she had a daughter, whose extraordinary 
 beauty, grace, modesty, and wisdom attracted more people in Greece 
 and the East than had ever in former times been drawn to the sacred 
 worship of Venus." 
 
 The effect of such malediction launched against two such 
 different natures would of course be entirely distinct. 
 The one, a modest, chaste maiden, driven by a strange, 
 mysterious influence to conceive an execrable passion, 
 overwhelmed with horror at her own guilt, sought death 
 in order to save herself from dishonour. The other, 
 perfectly aware of the lengths to which her reprehensible 
 feeling would carry her, gave way to it without the 
 slightest effort at self-control, and put an end to her 
 
PHAEBBA. 235 
 
 existence simply because she dreaded the revelation of a 
 love which was not returned. 
 
 Myrrha died because her weak and youthful nature 
 did not possess strength enough to enable her to 
 dominate her ardent passion, of the discovery of which 
 by its object she lived in daily dread, and she killed 
 herself when, by an overpowering influence, the confession 
 of her secret was wrung from her lips. 
 
 'But Phaedra, fascinated and bewitched by the beauty 
 of Hippolytus, recognised no obstacles to the accomplish- 
 ment of her desires ; with her own lips, and by her own 
 free will, in passionate accents, and with burning looks, 
 she revealed to the object of her love the flame that 
 consumed her ; and it was the knowledge that another 
 woman was preferred to her that hastened her end, not 
 any remorse for having wrongfully accused Hippolytus 
 of her fault, and for leaving him to become the victim 
 of his father's rage. 
 
 Having thus explained on what lines I conducted my 
 psychological study of these two distinct personalities, 
 who were under the power of an equally abnormal 
 passion, and had therefore so many points in common, 
 I will now proceed to explain more especially how I 
 interpreted, studied, and represented the personality of 
 Phaedra. 
 
 !Eacine precedes the entrance of Phaedra in the first 
 act by some lines spoken by the nurse (Enone, which 
 picture the Queen in an almost dying state, and only 
 anxious once more to behold the light of day. I think it 
 necessary to quote them, in order that the reader may form 
 
236 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 a better idea of how I should be likely to appear on the 
 stage. 
 
 CEnone : " Alas! my lord ! what trouble can be equal nnto mine ? 
 The Qneen doth fast approach her fatal end ; 
 'Tis vain that night or day I leave her not, 
 She dies in my arms of a malady she hides from me. 
 Some evil influence disturbs her mind ; 
 Her grief disti-acts and tears her in her bed. 
 She longs to see the day, and her profound sorrow 
 Orders me to keep everyone away from her."* 
 
 And in fact Phaedra enters, pale and prostrate, hardly 
 able to stand, and supported by her maidens, while she 
 scarcely retains strength enough to articulate. 
 
 It was my careful study to find the exact tone of voice 
 in which a person in Phaedra's condition would be likely 
 to speak, a tone which would convey that her state of 
 exhaustion was due to m.oral, not physical causes, and 
 which could therefore be at once changed to a more 
 joyous key should any unexpected or pleasant event 
 occur. 
 
 Thus I repeated all passages expressive of weariness 
 and discomfort, in recitative fashion, using a kind of 
 doleful monotone. But when the strain of profoimd 
 
 * QiNONE : ■ ' Helas ! seigneui' ! quel trouble an mien pent etre egal ? 
 La Reine touche presque a son terme fatal. 
 En vain a I'observer jour et nuit je m'attaehe 
 Elle meurt dans mes bras d'un mal qu'elle me cache ; 
 Un desordre etemel regne dans son esprit ; 
 Son chagrin inquiet Tarrache de son lit ; 
 Elle vent voir le jour, et sa donleur profonde 
 M'ordonne toutefois d'eoarter tout le monde." 
 
PHAEDBA. 
 
 237 
 
 melanclioly was interrupted by any extraneous suggestion 
 that roused my feelings, my voice grew stronger, and 
 more impulsive, as it were in spite of myself, for a mo- 
 ment, then sank suddenly down again within my chest, 
 for lack of bodily vigour to maintain its pitch. 
 
 For example, (Enone reproaches Phaedra on account of 
 her self-abandonment to a grief which is destroying her, 
 for concealing it from everyone, and such conduct, bring- 
 ing misfortune upon her children, constrained, as they 
 will be, to submit to a foreign yoke, that of the son of an 
 Amazon, and she expresses herself thus : — 
 
 CEkone : " You offend the gods, the authors of your life ; 
 
 You betray the husband to whom you plighted your troth. 
 
 And you betray, too, your miserable children, 
 
 Whom yon precipitate into a miserable bondage. 
 
 Think that the same day that takes from them their 
 mother, 
 
 Will give hope to the son of the stranger. 
 
 To that fierce enemy of you and yours, 
 
 That child which an Amazon has can-ied in her bpsom, 
 
 That Hippolyte. 
 PaffiDBA : Oh Heavens ! 
 aSuONB : This reproach touches you ! 
 Ph^dea : Wretched woman ! what name has escaped your lips. "* 
 
 * CEnone: " Vous offensez les dieux, auteurs de votre vie ; 
 Vous trahissez I'epoux a qui la f oi vous lid ; 
 Tons trahissez, enfin, vos enfants malheureux. 
 Que vous precipitez sous nn joug rigourenx. 
 Songez qu'un mgme jour leur ravira leur mfere, 
 Et rendra esp6rance au fils de I'dtrangfere, 
 A ce fier ennemi de vous, de votre sang, 
 Ce fils qu'une Amazone a portij dans son flanc. 
 Get Hippolyte. 
 
238 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 This dialogue is an exact imitation of Euripides. 
 During the utterance of these lines I remained, at first, 
 as though I were insensible, and I paid little heed to the 
 reproaches of (Enone until she began to speak of the 
 children. But when she said to me ; 
 
 " Ton will give hope to the son of the stranger," 
 
 my body shuddered, and during the two succeeding 
 
 lines — 
 
 ' ' To that fierce enemy of yon and yours ; 
 That child which an Amazon has carried in her bosom," 
 
 my prostration ceased, my brow darkened, my whole 
 person trembled, I gasped for breath. But when I heard 
 the words, 
 
 " That Hippolyte ! " 
 
 the repetition of the fatal name drew a sudden cry of pain 
 from my agonised heart ; 
 
 " Miserable woman ! what name has escaped yonr lips ! " 
 
 I cried in my agony, and I fell back upon my chair. 
 At last, in answer to the renewed entreaties of (Enone 
 that I would reveal the cause of my anguish, I resolved to 
 speak, but my voice came with difficulty, and it only gained 
 strength again when I began to deplore, in a plaintive 
 tone, the fate of the mother and sister who were also 
 
 Phaedra : Ah Dieux ! 
 
 CEnone : Ce reproaohe vous tonche ! 
 
 PasDHA : JIalheureuse ! quel nom est sorti de ta bonche ! " 
 
PHAEDRA. 239 
 
 victims to the hatred of the implacable goddess, and to 
 the question asked in the greatest anxiety by (Enone, — 
 " Do you love ? "* 
 
 I replied in a hopeless tone, like a wild beast who has 
 received its death- wound, 
 
 ' ' / am suffering all the pangs ef love ! "f 
 
 My impetuosity reached its culminating point when, after 
 <Enone had exclaimed 
 
 " Hippolyte ! great Heaven ! " % 
 
 I answered with quick resentment — 
 
 " It is you who have named tiim ! " § 
 
 and, making a long pause, I remained standing in a 
 scornful attitude. But when the paroxsym was over my 
 recovered energies once more abandoned me, and I fell 
 back again on my chair. 
 
 After a glance round to assure myself that no one was 
 listening, I began to narrate the origin of my fatal love, 
 and the pretexts that had been invented to separate 
 Hippolytus from me, and I commenced speaking in a 
 faint, hoarse voice, in order to show the state of prostration 
 to which the preceding mental struggle had reduced me. 
 But as I continued my narrative, by degrees I grew more 
 animated, and when I began to express the ineffable 
 
 * " Aimez-Tous ? " 
 
 t " De I'amour j'ai toutes-lee fureure." 
 
 \ " Hippolyte ! grand dieux ! " 
 
 § " C'est toi qui I'a nomme ! " 
 
240 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 delight which the remembrance of the dear countenance 
 of Hippolytus brought to my heart, my own face was 
 irradiated. 
 
 " In Tain upon the altars my hand bnmt the incense ; 
 When my month uttered the name of the goddess, 
 I adored Hippolytus. I beheld him everywhere, 
 Even at the foot of the altar where I offered sacrifice, 
 I offered all to the divinity I dare not name.'"* 
 
 The appearance of my attendant, Panope, recalled me 
 to myself. I resumed my wonted dignity, gathered 
 together my wandering fancies, but at the announcement 
 she made to me of the death of Theseus, my whole 
 appearance underwent a sudden change, expressive 
 of a mixture of amazement, surprise, and ill-con- 
 cealed joy at finding how unexpectedly the obstacle 
 which interposed to prevent the completion of my 
 desires, had been removed. I controlled myself with 
 an effort, hiding my thought even from the faithful 
 (Enone. Then, when Panope had gone away, I listened to 
 the flattering words of the nurse with the complacency of 
 one who staggers beneath the weight of some unexpected 
 happiness, which he dare not allow himself to believe in, 
 lest it should vanish lite a beautiful dream. While 
 (Enone continued her discourse, endeavouring to persuade 
 me that now I might see Hippolytus without fear, and 
 
 En vain sur les autels ma main brulait I'ineens ; 
 Quand ma bouche implorait le uom de la de'esse, 
 J'adorais Hippolyte, et le voyant sans cesse, 
 Meme an pied des autels que je faisais fomer, 
 J'offrais tout a ce dien que je n'osais nommer." 
 
PHAEBBA. 241 
 
 that my passion had nothing singular about it since the 
 obstacle had been removed that made it culpable, T turned 
 my person in such a way that she could not perceive my 
 face, which I had prudence enough still further to hide 
 from view with the rich and ample veil that enveloped 
 me from head to foot. Thus I was able, by means of a 
 by-play in accordance with the feelings that agitated me, 
 to express to the public how the words of the faithful 
 nurse acted like a healing balm on my lacerated heart, 
 and brought me back once more to life and love. Then, 
 dissimulating the real reason of my change, I allowed it 
 to be guessed that consideration and afEection for my son 
 was the sole motive that decided me to cling to life, and 
 causing (Enone to precede me, I leant my right hand on 
 her shoulder, and quitted the stage with slow steps, as 
 though my limbs had not yet re-acqnired their pristine 
 vigour. 
 
 The renowned La Harpe holds that Phaedra did really 
 determine to live for the sake of her son, but such is not 
 my opinion, and the words used by her in her confession 
 of her love for Hippolytus confirm my idea, and I will 
 further prove it by arguments which must, it seems to 
 me, be admitted just. 
 
 During the second act, in the admirable scene of the 
 interview between Phaedra and Hippolytus,* I make my 
 appearance with uncertain steps, urged and encouraged 
 
 * This scene is a copy of that in the second act of Seneca's ti'a{;edy 
 of Hippolytus, adapted by Racine with inimitable art, and the greatest 
 effect. 
 
 16 
 
242 ADELAIDE BI8T0BT. 
 
 by the nurse, (Enone, to recommend my child to his care, 
 but I consider that this was simply a pretext to discover 
 the feelings of Hippolytus. Had it been otherwise, 
 Phaedra fearing, as she feared, the irresistible ascendancy 
 the man she loved possessed over her, and feeling the 
 fascination he exercised upon her senses, would have 
 avoided every occasion of meeting, lest she should betray 
 and lower herself. I was so convinced of this, that at 
 the beginning of the scene my words came slowly and 
 with difficulty from my lips, as I said — 
 
 " I come to nnite my tears to your sorrow, 
 I come to you, as to a son, to explain my trouble."* 
 
 The Italian translator of Racine's play has rendered 
 these lines as follows : — 
 
 " De' miei propri affanni, 
 Von-ei parlarti . . e . . di mio flglio. " 
 
 and the punctuation indicates, what the disjointed 
 character of the words proves, that Francesco dall' Ongaro 
 was of my opinion ; and this conclusion is confirmed by 
 the manner in which both the author and the Italian 
 translator return to the subject in the succeeding passage, 
 which in English runs thus : — 
 
 ' ' If yoti should hate me, I should not complain of it. 
 My lord ; yon have seen me strive to hurt you ; 
 But you could not read to the bottom of my heart ; 
 
 ' A vos douleurs je viens joindre mes larmes ; 
 Je vous viens pour un fils, expliquer mes larmes." 
 
PHAEDBA. 243 
 
 I have sought to offer myself to your enmity, 
 
 I would not suffer you to approach the shores which I inhabit ; 
 
 In public and in private I have declared against you, 
 
 And desired that aeas should roll between us. 
 
 I have even decreed by an express law 
 
 That no one should dare to pronounce your name before me. 
 
 If, however, by the offence Is measured the pain. 
 
 If hate alone can attract your hate, 
 
 Then, never was woman more worthy of pity, 
 
 And less worthy, my lord, of your enmity." 
 
 We give tlie Italian translation referred to above, and 
 the Prencli original, in a note.* 
 
 * Ph^dra : ' ' Nfe che tu m' odii gia t' aocusa ! Avversa 
 Sempre a te mi vedesti, e in cor, signore, 
 Leggermi in cor tu non potevi. lo stessa 
 Esca all' odio porgea, ehe uon soffersi 
 Viver con te sulla medesima terra. 
 Nemioa tua, non che segreta, aperta, 
 VoUi che il mar ci separasse : imposi 
 Che niuno osasse innanzi a me nomarti ; 
 Grave torto, lo so ; ma se la pena 
 Dee 1' offesa uguagliar, se 1' odio solo 
 Grida vendetta, non vi fa giamniai 
 Donna piil degna della tua pietade 
 E men degna, signer, delV odio tuo ! " 
 
 In the French the passage runs as follows : — 
 
 " Quand vous me hairiez, je ne m'en plaindrais pas, 
 Seigneur ; vous m'avez vue attachee a vous nuire. 
 Dans le fond de mon coeur vous ne pouviez pas lire ; 
 A v6tre inimitie' j'ai pris soin de n'offrir ; 
 Aux bords que jTiabitais je n'ai pu vous souffrir ; 
 En public, en secret contre vous declaree, 
 J'ai voulu par des mers en etre separee ; 
 
 16 * 
 
244 ADELAIDE EISTORI. 
 
 These last lines are not at all such as would be likely 
 to be spoken by a woman anxious to conceal her real 
 sentiments; they are rather the utterance of one who 
 wraps up in a circumlocution of words and phrases, with 
 a double meaning, an idea whose true significance she 
 desires to make understood. Convinced for all these 
 reasons of the justice of my interpretation, I decided to 
 speak the passage in a manner which should convey 
 unmistakably the donble entendre I felt it contained ; 
 and I accompanied these words with lightning glances, 
 which, taken in conjunction with the tone of my voice, 
 showed the effort I was putting on myself to restrain the 
 passion which was devouring me, and which I could 
 hardly refrain from manifesting openly. Later on, I 
 showed the audience by my gestures how deeply wounded 
 I was that Hippolytus had not understood me, and when 
 the latter, believing in Phaedra's repentance for the 
 hatred which she had borne to him, sought to excuse 
 her conduct by saying that every other mother would have 
 behaved in like manner to a step-son, whose love for 
 her own children made her jealous, I, feeling that the 
 passionate restraint I had laid upon myself was beginning 
 
 J'ai merne ddfeudu par une exprcsse loi 
 Qu'on osfit prononcer viitro nom dcvant moi. 
 Si pourtant h, I'offense on mesuro la peine. 
 Si la haino put soule attirev la baine, 
 Jamais femme ne fnt plus digne de pitii' 
 Et nioins digne, seigneur, de vcitre inimitiu." 
 
 Han 
 
PHAEBRA. 245 
 
 to afEect him, attempted once more to make him under- 
 stand me, by saying in a slightly impatient tone — 
 
 " Ah ! my lord, I daxe to protest that Heaven has exempted me 
 from this common law. 
 It is a very different care which trouhles and preys upon me. " * 
 
 But, as gradually the scene progressed, I was no longer 
 able to control the passion that possessed me. The 
 revelation of it burst from me suddenly, as a stream that 
 has been dammed up overflows its banks. Voice, ges- 
 tures, and accent, aU united to express the idea that I 
 was in the condition of one inebriated with love, of one 
 who cares for neither modesty, sobriety, or dignity, 
 provided only she can enjoy the forbidden and guilty 
 delight she so ardently desires. 
 
 And flippolytus scorned. Suddenly my eyes were 
 opened, and with a shudder that convulsed my whole 
 person, I recognized in his conduct the influence of the 
 terrible Eumenides. With the speed of lightning I seized 
 the sword he had dropped, after drawing it in his first 
 irresistible impulse to slay me, and turned it against my 
 own breast. At this moment CEJnone, who had been 
 listening unseen, rushed forward, threw herself upon me, 
 seized my arm, though she did not succeed in wrenching 
 the weapon from my grasp, and by main force dragged 
 me from the stage. This most perilous scene with 
 Hippolytus has great difficulty for an actress, because 
 
 * " Ah I seignem* ! que le ciel, j*ose ici Tattester, 
 De cette loi commnne a vonlu m'esempter ! 
 Qu'iin soin bien different me ti'onble et me devore. " 
 
 Racine. 
 
246 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 if she overpasses by a hairbreadth the line laid down by 
 scenic propriety, the audience would find the situation 
 repulsive, and the effect would be greatly injured. 
 
 The first scene of the third act, between Phaedra and 
 (Enone, consists only of an alternation and succession of 
 reproaches, remorse, hopes, fears, rage, iUtisions, and 
 contrary plans. 
 
 How Hippolytus has grown odious in her eyes because 
 of the humiliation he has inflicted on her ! How she 
 excuses him, and blames herself for having judged with 
 too great severity the inexperienced youth, ignorant of 
 the laws of love ! In this perplexity she devises a means 
 to retain his heart, which speedily absorbs aU her thought, 
 and she makes her faithful CEnone her messenger. But 
 when she hears from her devoted and terrified nurse that 
 Theseus is still alive, that he will shortly stand before 
 her, I assumed, with a rapid transition, the attitude of 
 one who is almost petrified by the sudden and amazing 
 news she has received. In a voice so indistinct that it is 
 little more than a murmur, I say — 
 
 " My husband is living, CEnone ! that is enough. 
 
 I have made the nnworthy confession of a love that outrages 
 
 him. 
 He lives, and I wish to know no more."* 
 
 and I repeat the words " that is enough," in a tone 
 implying " all is over for me." 
 
 ■ Mon ^poux est vivant. CEnone, c'est assez. 
 J'al fait I'indigne aveu d'un amour qui I'ontrage. 
 II vit, je ne veux pas en savoir d'a vantage." 
 
PHAEDBA. 247 
 
 From this moment the idea of seeing myself confronted 
 by my outraged consort, of not daring to meet his look 
 for very shame, began to fill me with a terror that over- 
 mastered me. I grew delirious, everything about me 
 seemed " to gain voice and words," in order to apprise 
 Theseus of my fault. 
 
 By this manifestation of total physical weakness and 
 mental aberration, I sought to account in some measure 
 for the ready consent which Phaedra gives to CEnone's 
 infernal proposal, and I succeeded in showing how op- 
 pressed I was with an immeasurable dread of the appear- 
 ance of Theseus and Hippolytus. Those better impulses 
 which had caused me instinctively to reject (Enone's 
 infamous proposal when it was first made, had now 
 deserted me. In the utter impossibility of avoiding 
 a meeting with my husband, I addressed to him the few 
 lines which tell of my profound grief, my bitter remorse, 
 as well as the shame I felt at appearing before my out- 
 raged consort, and the man who was the fatal cause of 
 my trouble. 
 
 Pull of confusion, and feeling that I had not strength 
 to utter another word, I fled precipitately. 
 
 Most masterly is the fourth act of this tragedy, in which 
 the transcendent genius of Eacine is fully revealed. He 
 has most certainly not been influenced either by Euri- 
 pides or Seneca, in the arrangement of this part of the 
 classic work. It is rather modelled on Shakespere, and 
 shows all the devious workings of a human soul, and the 
 causes and effects which have produced its disorganiza- 
 tion. 
 
248 ADELAIDE EISTOBI. 
 
 When Phaedra, repentant, and tormented by remorse, 
 comes trembling to Theseus to implore clemency for his 
 son, and perhaps also to reveal the falsity of the accusa- 
 tion made against him, it might be plainly seen from 
 my face, and from the way I spoke, what an effort and 
 struggle it had been to me to decide on this step. 
 
 I uttered my first words after I came upon the stage 
 in a supplicating tone, with my eyes fixed upon the 
 ground, because I had not the courage to meet the anger 
 of my husband when he heard the truth. 
 
 On learning from Theseus that Hippolytus " dared to 
 insult the character of Phaedra by accusing her of lying," 
 I bent down my head towards the ground, as though 
 humiliated, and confused, and desirous to conceal my 
 shame in the depths of the earth. 
 
 But when I further heard that " Aricia only was the 
 woman Hippolytus openly confessed he loved, who only 
 possessed his heart and his troth," the power of art 
 worked such a complete transformation in my appearance 
 that the spectator was overpowered by it. 
 
 I heard no more what Theseus said, I remained insensi- 
 ble to everything he preferred against his son, I under- 
 stood only the tremendous revelation he had made 
 to me. 
 
 Left alone, I gave vent, little by little to the fury I 
 had restrained until that moment. My whole being was 
 penetrated by the dreadful truth, which in an instant 
 had struck death to my heart. Then, slowly, in a tone 
 of the most bitter scorn, and a voice growing in power 
 as I proceeded, I uttered the stupendous lines in which 
 
PHAEDRA. 249 
 
 are revealed, one by one, all the torments of a wonderful 
 spirit: — 
 
 •• Hippolytas caa feel, and yet feols notliiug for me ! 
 Alicia has his heart, Arioia has his faith ! 
 Ah ! Heavens ! vrhen the inexorable ingrate 
 Armed himself against my wishes, with such a prond eye, 
 
 and hanghtr conntenance, 
 I thonght his heart vras for ever steeled against love, 
 Was equally adamant to all my sex. 
 And yet, another has conquered his andacity, 
 In his cruel eyes another has found favour." * 
 
 To the scorn which was akin to simulation, succeeded 
 an explosion of wrath, as I exclaimed — 
 
 " I am the sole object he cannot bear. ■" f 
 
 And, no longer able to restrain my impestuous rage, I 
 paced to and fro upon the stage ; then, seeing (Enone, 
 I ran precipitately towards her, to inform her of what I 
 had learnt. With savage fury I recalled one by one the 
 terrors, the burning desires, the torments I had suffered, 
 in order to show that they were all as nothing in com- 
 parison with the tremendous grief which at that moment 
 
 * '• Hippolyte est sensible, et ne sent rien poor moi ! 
 Aricie a son coenr, Aricie a s.i foix I 
 Ah I Dieux I lorsqu'h mes vffinx l^grat inexorable 
 S'armait d"un oeil si fier, d'un front si redoutable, 
 Je pensais qu"!! I'amonr son coenr ferme 
 F4t centre tout mon sexe Raiment arme. 
 XJne autre, cependant, a fleche son audace. 
 Devant ses yeux cruets une autre a trouve grace." 
 
 •f '• Je suis le senl objet qu^ ne sanrait sonffrir " 
 
250 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 racked my heart. My mind, unsettled from the burning 
 dart of jealousy that was rankling in my bosom, could 
 only see the image of my preferred rival, smiling, and 
 in sweet converse with Hippolytus ! This imaginary joy 
 seemed to kill me, the idea of the felicity of these two 
 souls was insupportable. 
 
 The thought of vengeance flashed across my mind. I 
 had already given CEnone instructions to murder Aricia, 
 when I stayed her hand, because I wished that my own 
 should do the bloody deed. I listened now only to the 
 dictates of jealousy, that venomous asp which was 
 rending my bosom. It seemed to me well to induce my 
 husband to punish my rival, by stirring up his hatred 
 against the family to which she belonged ; then for a 
 moment reverting to myself, I was constrained to medi- 
 tate on my own faults, the enormity of which had driven 
 me entirely beside myself. 
 
 Mad as I was, it seemed to me that I breathed only 
 incest — lies. I desired to dip my avenging hand in 
 innocent blood. 
 
 I saw, I discerned nothing more ; in my delirium I felt 
 myself transported to the presence of my father, Minos, 
 the great judge of lost souls in hell. Already it seemed 
 to me that the fatal urn, in which are enclosed the decrees 
 containing the punishment inflicted on the departed, fell 
 from his hands, while he strove to devise a sharper 
 punishment for me. I fancied I saw him fling himself 
 upon me to kill me, and with a bitter scream I made as 
 though he was already grasping me by the hair. I 
 writhed about in my efforts to escape his fatal grasp. 
 
PHAEDRA . 251 
 
 I pressed my hands against my head to try and avoid 
 that furious anger, and with a cry of anguish I ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Pardon ! a cruel god has betrayed thy family: 
 Recognise his vengeance in the passions of thy daughter. 
 Alas ! my sorrowful heart has gathered no fruit 
 Prom the frightful crime whose shame follows me ; 
 Pursued by evil to my latest moment, 
 I lay down my life in torment," * 
 
 and I fell fainting to the ground. 
 
 In order to increase the scenic effect, I had arranged 
 that after a long pause CEnone should fall on her knees 
 beside me, and with kindly and persuasive words raise my 
 inanimate form, until it rested partially upon her knees, 
 while I slowly, and gradually, recovered my scattered 
 senses, and broke out into reproaches against her. 
 Hearing her assert, in her anxiety to condone my fault, 
 that the gods themselves had committed it, I gradually 
 regained sufficient strength to withdraw from her, and 
 let her see with what scorn and anger I received her 
 suggestion ; but when I crossed to the other side of the 
 stage the nurse followed me, and falling at my feet, and 
 clasping my knees, entreated pardon. Then I turned 
 upon her in all my rage, and hurled at her Racine's 
 
 * " Pardonne ! un dieu cruel a perdu ta famille : 
 Beconnais sa vengeance aux fureurs de ta iille. 
 H^as ! du crime affreux dont la honte me suit 
 Jamais mon triste ccBur n'a reeueilli le fruit ; 
 Jnsqu'au dernier soupir de malheurs poursuivie, 
 Je rends dans les tourments une penible vie." 
 
262 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 celebrated invective, so justly famous in Frencli litera- 
 ture. 
 
 " Away, execrable monster! 
 Leave me, the sport of my miserable fate. 
 May a just Heaven render thee worthy payment ! 
 And may thy punishment for ever terrify 
 All those who, like thee, noui-ish by cowardly dexterity 
 The failings of weak princes, 
 
 Urging them to go the way to which their heart inclines. 
 And smoothing for them the road to crime. 
 Detestable flatterers ! Most unhappy present 
 That celestial anger can make to kings ! " * 
 
 and in a paroxysm of fury I disappeared from view. 
 
 The fifth act presents no great difficulty in its in- 
 terpretation. 
 
 Phaedra only shows herself for a moment at the end of 
 the tragedy. She is dying, supported by her attendants, 
 the victim of the poison she had swallowed to still for 
 ever the fearful pangs of remorse for the faults committed 
 through fatal blindness. 
 
 In a spent voice, I unfold to my husband my incestuous 
 passion and the false accusation brought against Hippoly- 
 
 * ■' Monstre execrable, 
 Va ; laisse-moi, le soin de men sort deplorable, 
 Pnisse le juste ciel dignement te payer ! 
 Et puisse ton supplice ii jamais effrayer 
 Tous ceux qui, comme toi, par des laches adi'esses 
 Des princes malheureux nourrissant les faiblesses, 
 Les poussant an penchant ou leur cceur est molin, 
 Et leur osent du crime aplanir le chemin. 
 Detestables flatteurs 1 pre'sent le plus funeste 
 Que pnisse faire anx rois la eolere celeste ! " 
 
PHAEDRA. 253 
 
 tus, but as the effects of the deadly draught grow more 
 potent, the words come less and less distinctly from my 
 lips. As my agony increased I was placed in my easy- 
 chair, and I breathed my last with my body half -falling 
 from the grasp of one attendant, while all the other 
 people were kneeling around me, in sign of their deep 
 grief and rererent respect. 
 
254 ADELAIDE E18T0E1. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 hADJ ilACBETH. 
 
 The study of this character presented the greatest diffi- 
 culties to me. For I saw in "Lady Macbeth, not merely 
 a woman actuated by low passions and vulgar instincts, 
 but rather a gigantic conception of perfidy, dissimulation, 
 and hypocrisy, combined by the master hand of Shake- 
 speare into a form of such magnitude that it might well 
 dismay any actress of great dramatic power. 
 
 Long and close examination led me to conclude that 
 Lady Macbeth was animated less by affection for her 
 husband than by excessive ambition to share the throne 
 which seemed within his reach. She was well aware of 
 his mental inferiority to herself, of his innate weakness 
 of character and indolence of disposition, that was not 
 to be stimulated into action, even by the thirst for power 
 which was consuming him, and she therefore made use of 
 him as a means for attaining her own ends, and took 
 advantage of the unbounded influence her strong mascu- 
 line nature and extraordinary personal fascination enabled 
 her to exercise over him, to instill into his mind the 
 
LADY MACBETH. 256 
 
 first idea of crime in the most natural way, and with the 
 most persuasive arguments. 
 
 Not that Macbeth himself was without proclivities 
 towards evil. Shakespeare plainly shows the germs of 
 ambition, and the chimerical fancies that existed in his 
 brain, and were carefully hidden from everyone, solely 
 because they seemed impossible of realisation. And his 
 real nature cannot be better described than in the first 
 soliloquy put into the mouth of Lady Macbeth, who, with 
 her profound perspicacity, had comprehended every shade 
 ■of his character. This will be brought out more fully 
 when I come to analyse the message. It would have 
 seemed easier to credit Lady Macbeth with some feelings 
 of personal tenderness for her husband, had it not been 
 that she was to share the power and dignity with him ; 
 but this being so, I maintain that it was not merely 
 amibition and love for her consort which led her to insti- 
 •gate him to evil, but also her desire to mount the throne. 
 It is Lady Macbeth all through who lures on her hesita- 
 ting husband to commit the deed from which his more 
 cowardly nature shrinks. It is she who tauntingly 
 reminds him of his oath, who reproaches him with 
 pusillanimity ; and when he still hesitates, it is she who 
 ■declares she would drag her infant from her breast, and 
 -dash its brains out, sooner than break her plighted word. 
 It is difficult to credit a woman of this kind with any of 
 the feelings of ordinary humanity. 
 
 But my own idea on the subject did not prevent the 
 ■continuing of my studies with the greatest diligence. I 
 made myself thoroughly acquainted with the play and 
 
256 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 with the interpretations given of it by the most eminent 
 artistes. I read all the literature I could obtain on the 
 subject, and my pleasure maybe imagined, when I found, 
 in The Nineteenth Century Magazine for February 1878, 
 the magnificent paper on Mrs. Siddons, and her acting 
 in the character of Lady Macbeth, by Mr. G. J. Bell, 
 Professor of Jurisprudence in the TJniTersity of Edin- 
 burgh. Amongst many other interesting passages I 
 should like to quote the following : — 
 
 Her (Lady Maobeth's) turbulent and inhuman strength, of spirit does 
 all. She turns Macbeth to her purpose, makes him her mere instru- 
 ment, guides, directs, and inspires the whole plot. Like his evil 
 genius she hurries him on in the mad career of ambition and cruelty 
 from -which his nature would hare shrunk. 
 
 Having thus shown, as I flatter myself, both by argu- 
 ments and undeniable evidence, that my interpretation of 
 the personality of Lady Macbeth is probably very similar 
 to that which Shakespeare conceived, and portrayed both 
 in his own words and by the nature of the facts, I will 
 pass on to analyse several other important points in this 
 difficult part. 
 
 Much criticism has been expended upon the way in 
 which the letter, sent by Macbeth from the camp to his 
 wife, should be read. Shakespeare represents Lady Mac- 
 beth as coming upon the stage with it in her hands, but 
 many persons consider that natural anxiety to know its 
 contents would have made her tear it open at once, with* 
 out waiting until she could read it to the audience. 
 
 Instead of which, it seems to me far from likely that 
 Shakespeare, who was as great a philosopher as he was a 
 
LADY MACBETH. 257 
 
 poet, and who possessed a marvellous insight into human 
 nature, should have availed himself of the frivolous expe- 
 dient of making Lady Macbeth read her letter aloud upon 
 the stage, simply to inform the spectators of its contents, 
 and show the intense mental struggle she must have 
 gone through prior to appearing before them. Only an 
 inexperienced writer of small inventive power and a 
 novice in his craft would have resorted to such a puerile 
 device. 
 
 It would have been far beneath the great genius who 
 passed from the sublime to the beautiful with the 
 rapidity of lightning. 
 
 The intention of the author certainly seems to have 
 been to represent Lady Macbeth as receiving the note at 
 the moment she appears upon the scene, and such a 
 representation must be most simple and natural. Pre- 
 senting herself, anxious and agitated, she makes the 
 public understand that, by means of the writing she 
 holds in her hands, she would probably be able to reveal 
 to them events which would change her whole future 
 existence and raise her to the summit of greatness, 
 provided that circumstances should conduce to the fulfil- 
 ment of the designs working in her mind. Another proof 
 that Lady Macbeth had already begun to read the letter 
 is that the first words she begins to read are : " They met 
 me in the day of success. ..." These words are not 
 likely to have been the beginning of such an important 
 letter, and it is very probable that Macbeth had begun the 
 letter by telling of the victory, and of the existence of 
 these three fatal sisters. 
 
 17 
 
258 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 I decided to read the letter straight through, and as if, 
 in coining on the stage, I had already made myself 
 acquainted with its first words, only pausing after those 
 sentences which told how recent events had actually 
 seemed to fulfil the prophecies long ago made to her. 
 Thus, when I found that the three fatal sisters had 
 vanished into thin air, after predicting Macbeth's great 
 future, and greeting him with " Hail ! King that shall 
 be ! " my expression was one of mingled awe, and super- 
 stitious amazement. Then when I finished the letter I 
 made a long pause, as though to allow time for my mind 
 to analyse each phrase wherein the supernatural powers 
 pointed out the destiny I had had prefigured to me as 
 likely to be accomplished. 
 
 But, afterwards, I remained for a moment sad and 
 doubtful, considering and fearing the weak nature of my 
 consort. Howrever, reflecting on the most salient points 
 of the message, I said : — 
 
 ' ' Glamis thou art, and Cawdor thou shalt be," 
 
 and to the last three words, " thou shalt be," I gave a 
 supernatural emphasis and expression. 
 
 I was much gratified later on, by finding from the 
 excellent article by Professor Bell, to which I have 
 already referred, that Mrs. Siddons was also accustomed 
 to declaim this passage in " a lofty, prophetic tone, as 
 though the whole future had been revealed to her soul," 
 and that she accentuated the words " thou shalt be " 
 just as I did. 
 
 This is another convincing proof that Mrs. Siddons 
 
LADY MACBETH. 269 
 
 understood equally well the importance of analysing the 
 contents of the letter, of pondering every phrase of it, 
 and of transmitting its mystic signification to the public, 
 even amidst her deep fever of ambition, and naturally 
 her expression of it would have been very different if she 
 had been aware of what the paper contained before 
 coming upon the stage. 
 
 I considered that I should be acting logically, and in 
 accordance with the spirit of the words, if, while I spoke 
 the following lines describing the character of Macbeth, 
 I imagined him already standing by my side, and I 
 therefore fixed my stern and piercing gaze upon his 
 supposed figure, as though I would wrench from him the 
 most hidden secrets of his soul, and imprint my own 
 words upon his mind in letters of fire. 
 
 " Tet do I fear thy nature ; 
 It is too full o' the milk of human kindness, 
 To catch the nearest way. Thou would'st be great ; 
 Art not without ambition, but without 
 The illness should attend it. What thou would'st highly, 
 That would'st thou holily ; would'st not play false, 
 And yet would'st wrongly win ; thou 'dst have great 
 
 Glamis, 
 That which cries, ' Thus thoil must do, if thou have it ; 
 And that which rather thou dost fear to do 
 Than wishest should be undone." 
 
 Then, to show that my pre-ocoupation had ceased, and 
 that I ardently desired the return of my husband to 
 begin and weave the web of evil arts and spells, as I 
 
 spoke the lines — 
 
 ' Hie thee hither, 
 That I may pour my spirit in thine ear, 
 
 17 * 
 
260 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 And chastise with the Talonr of my tongue 
 All that impedes thee from the golden round. 
 Which faith and metaphysical aid doth seem 
 To have thee crowned withal," — 
 
 I returned to the left side of the stage where the 
 entrance might he supposed to be (and where Macbeth 
 might be expected to enter), while, to express the cessation 
 of my reflections, I began to form in my own mind the 
 plan which the reading of the letter naturally saggested 
 to me. 
 
 The terrible soliloquy in this scene, which follows ihe 
 departure of the attendant, who has announced his 
 master's speedy arrival, reveals all the perfidy and cruelty 
 of this woman, who was neither more nor less than a 
 monster in human shape, and shows with what super- 
 natural powers she arms herself in order to succeed in 
 leading her husband to become the instrument of her 
 ambition. In one word, she is henceforth Macbeth's 
 evil genius. With him it is stiU a question of " I will," 
 or " I will not." This woman, this serpent, masters him, 
 holds him fast in her coils, and no human power will come 
 to rescue him from them. In consequence I uttered the 
 first words of this monologue in a hollow voice, with 
 bloodthirsty eyes, and with the accent of a spirit speaking 
 from out of some abyss, and, as I continued, my voice 
 grew louder and more resonant, until it changed into an 
 exaggerated cry of joy at the sight of my husband. 
 
 Throughout the foUowing scene with Macbeth I pre- 
 served a cold, dignified, and cahn demeanour, and I 
 ignored the trivial scruples with which he received my 
 
LADY MACBETH. 261 
 
 guilty suggestions, as totally unworthy of consideration, 
 confident that his weak and irresolute nature must 
 eventually succumb to my stronger one. I conceived the 
 plan of making use of by-play, at the exit of the two per- 
 sonages, to impress the overwhelming influence I exercised 
 over him, silencing any further remonstrances on his 
 part, by drawing his left arm round my waist. In this 
 attitude I took his right hand in mine, and placing the 
 first finger on my lips swore him thus to silence. Then I 
 gradually and gently pushed him behind the scenes, 
 towards which his back was now turned. All this was 
 accomplished with so much delicacy and so many magnetic 
 looks, that Macbeth had to own their fascination, and 
 yield to my wilL 
 
 The hypocrisy and feigned humility of Lady Macbeth 
 when she went out afterwards to meet King Duncan, were 
 excessive, and it was with most perfidious, yet well chosen 
 words, that she invited the good old monarch to enter the 
 Castle. In the subsequent scene with her husband, there 
 are two things which it is necessary to delineate correctly 
 and bring out in the most striking colours. First, the 
 contrast between her wicked arts, when she energetically 
 rebukes Macbeth for his cowardly fickleness in not wish- 
 ing to see himself in that place he recently so much 
 desired, because of a puerile awakening of conscience, and 
 second, the infernal skill with which she tries to persuade 
 him that the crime is easy, simple, and natural, and impos- 
 sible to be discovered. Various are the terrible passages in 
 this masterly scene ; that, when she reproaches him for 
 having left the supper table so hastily that his absence 
 
262 .ADELAIDE RI8T0BI. 
 
 might well excite comments, and he replies by imploring 
 her to forget the evil scheme, and not make him guilty of 
 the basest ingratitude, she answers : — 
 
 " Was the hope drunk 
 Wherein you dressed yonrself ? Hath it slept since ? 
 And wakes it now to look so green and pale 
 At what it did so freely ? Prom this time, 
 Such I account thy love. Art thou afraid 
 To be the same in thine own act and valour, 
 As thou art in desire ? Would'st thou have that 
 Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life. 
 And live a coward in thine own esteem ; 
 Letting / dare not, wait upon / would, 
 Like the poor oat i' the adage ? " * 
 
 Macbeth: Prythee, peace, 
 
 I dare do all that may become a man. 
 Who dares do more is none." 
 
 Lady Macbeth (terrified lest her ambitions have been 
 raised only to be disappointed), cries in fiendish tones : — 
 
 ' ' What beast was it then, 
 That made yon break this enterprise to me ? 
 When you durst do it, then you were a man ; 
 And to be more than what you were, you would 
 Be so much more the man. Nor time, nor place 
 Did then adhere, and yet you would make both : 
 They have made themselves, and that their fitness now 
 Does unmake you. I have given suck ; and know 
 How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: 
 I would, while it was smiling in my face, 
 Have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums, 
 And dashed the brains out, had I so sworn, as you 
 Have done to this ! " 
 
 * The proverb registered by Haywood in 1566, runs as follows : 
 
 " The cat would have fish, but dare not wet her feet." 
 
LABY MACBETH. 263 
 
 Here the perplexity which is Macbeth's characteristic 
 induces him to ask his consort impatiently — 
 
 " If we shonld fail ? " 
 
 to which she replies in a scornful tone — 
 
 " We fail I 
 But screw your courage to the sticking place, 
 And we '11 not fail. Hare Duncan is asleep, 
 (Whereto the rather shall his hard day's journey 
 Soundly invite him), his two chamberlains 
 Will I with wine and wassail so convinoe, 
 That memory, the warder of the brain, 
 Shall be a fnme, and the receipt of reason 
 A limbeck only : when in swinish sleep 
 Their drenched natures lie, as in a death, 
 What cannot you and I perf onn upon 
 The unguarded Duncan ? What not put upon 
 His spongy officers ; who shall bear the guilt of our great quell. " 
 
 The second act may be dismissed in a few words, as the 
 situations in it are quite clear, and arise naturally out of 
 the progress of the action, and they offer no difficulty in 
 interpretation, although embracing the dreadful vigils, 
 and fearful agony of mind endured by Lady Macbeth. It 
 is easy to understand the anxiety she felt to know the re- 
 sult of her well-laid schemes for the murder of Duncan, 
 her joy at its completion, and the agitation into which the 
 frenzy and remorse of her miserable husband would be 
 sure to throw her. The repeated and incessant knocking 
 at the gate of the Castle, which began at this precise 
 momentj would be another source of alarm, because Mac- 
 beth's state of utter prostration might draw suspicion 
 upon him, and lead to the discovery of the plans conceived 
 in her mind with so much satanic skill. 
 
264 ADELAIDE EISTOBI. 
 
 The situations in the third act are of great importance, 
 and I therefore give a most minute and careful analysis of 
 them, in order to make apparent that I had tried to seize 
 the precise meaning intended by the author. In this act, 
 which shows, more than any other, the wonderful 
 genius of Shakespeare, Lady Macbeth can give much 
 additional force, if not by words, at any rate by her 
 skilful by -play, and can increase or diminish its many 
 dramatic beauties. For example, according to my inter- 
 pretation, the entrance of the assassin who comes to 
 announce the murder of Banquo, and the attempt on the 
 life of his son Fleance, to Macbeth, and which causes him 
 to experience two such great but varying emotions, would 
 not escape the vigilant eyes of Lady Macbeth. Therefore, 
 at the sight of the assassin, who presents himself on the 
 threshold, she alone perceives him speaking in subdued 
 tones to her husband, notes the repressed movements, 
 and keeps him constantly in view. For she fears some 
 imprudence on the part of Macbeth, remembering that he 
 had told her shortly before, that a great thing would soon 
 happen, which would amaze her. 
 
 I considered that in this scene Lady Macbeth would be 
 terribly afraid lest the guests should observe this strange 
 colloquy, in such a place, and at such a moment, and 
 might conceive grave suspicions which would defeat all 
 their projects. Hence I found it necessary and opportune 
 to engage in a kind of double by-play, that is to say, 
 with an air of the greatest courtesy to take part in the 
 conversation of the guests, and the toasts they drank to 
 me, (remaining, however, always upon their seats,) while 
 
LABY MACBETH. 266 
 
 at intervals I cast furtive and timorous glances towards 
 the group made by my husband and the murderer. 
 
 At last, in order to make Macbeth aware of the danger 
 he ran of betraying himself by some imprudence, I said 
 in a clear voice, and with much ostentation of gaiety : — 
 
 ' My lord, 
 You do not give the cheer, the feast is cold 
 That is not often touched, while 'tis a making, 
 'Tis given with welcome ; to feed were best at home 
 From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony ; 
 Meeting were bare without it." 
 
 With the same by-play, but in a yet more distinct tone 
 of voice, in which an accent of reproof mingled with 
 my half serious, half facetious words, I gave another 
 warning — 
 
 •' My worthy lord, 
 Our noble friends do lack you," — 
 
 in such a way, however, that I made Macbeth alone 
 understand, by the power of my significant glances, what 
 this second appeal really meant. 
 
 This was apparently justified by my insinuations that 
 he was wanting in courtesy to his guests, and was 
 neglecting them. Afterwards, I experienced the greatest 
 agitation and dismay at the discovery of Macbeth's in- 
 comprehensible and frightful visions, seeing him on the 
 point of revealing all the secret of our crimes. Evidently, 
 in this situation, every expression used by Lady Macbeth, 
 and every effort made by her to hide the hallucinations 
 of her husband, and bring him back to himself by the 
 most bitter although subdued reproofs, required the 
 
266 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 closest study, for it is essential to remember that an 
 appearance of gaiety must be preserved upon the counte- 
 nance whenever it is turned towards the guests, in order 
 to excuse the strange demeanour of the husband on the 
 ground of an ancient malady. 
 
 At last, when the increasing frenzy of Macbeth ren- 
 dered vain every effort to restrain him, his wife was 
 obliged to dismiss her guests in an agony of fear, in 
 order to remain alone with him, and put an end to a 
 situation which had become both impossible and 
 dangerous. 
 
 Prom the moment of their departure I dated the com. 
 mencement of the mental prostration of their unhappy 
 hostess, which ended at last in total derangement. In 
 order to justify this, I found it necessary to imagine 
 some by-play which should convey an idea of her depres- 
 sion and discouragement, possessed as I was by the sad 
 conviction that it was in vain to fight against destiny, 
 which had become adverse with lightning-like rapidity. 
 I let it be seen how remorse had begun to torment me. 
 
 At the close of the act, at the moment of disappearing, 
 I showed that I experienced a feeling of pity for 
 Macbeth, rendered by my means the most miserable of 
 men, and in saying to him, 
 
 " Yon lack the season of all natures — sleep," 
 
 I took his left hand in my right, leaned against his 
 shoulder, and then, with my head now bent towards the 
 ground in an attitude of sorrowful meditation, now raised 
 to heaven with an expression of dismay, now turning 
 
LABY MACBETH. 267 
 
 towards my husband with a look full of the vivid remorse 
 that agitated my soul, I drew him gently towards our 
 room, in the same way that one would lead an exhausted 
 maniac. Then, when we reached the limits of the scene, 
 I made Macbeth, who was terrified by a fold of his mantle 
 getting between his feet, have another fearful paroxysm. 
 With a sudden rush he passed to the other side. 
 Frightened, yet forcing myself to master my own terror, I 
 could not help, in spite of my efforts, letting the public 
 see I was shaken ; but with a gentle violence, I succeeded 
 in pushing Macbeth behind the scenes, endeavouring to 
 calm him by affectionate means. 
 
 This by-play, which was in strict accordance with the 
 spirit of the scene, always produced an immense effect 
 upon my audience. 
 
 Lady Macbeth has only one short scene in the fifth act, 
 but it is one of Shakespeare's most magnificent concep- 
 tions, and tries the powers of an actress to the utter- 
 most. This woman, this colossus of physical and moral 
 force, who, by a word, had the power of conceiving and 
 bringing into execution plots hatched with such infernal 
 power that only an assembly of demons could have suc- 
 ceeded with them — behold her ! reduced to the ghost of 
 her former self by the effects of that remorse which 
 gnawed like a vulture at her heart, her reason disturbed 
 until she became so unconscious of herself as to reveal 
 her tremendous secret in her sleep. Sleep, did I say ? 
 It is rather a fever which mounts to her brain, which 
 makes her drowsy, and only the physical suffering over- 
 mastering her spirit with the record of the evil of which 
 
268 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 it is cause, controls and regulates her moyements, and 
 turns all her ideas astray. This is proved by her atten- 
 dant's words to the Doctor : — 
 
 "Since his Majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from 
 her bed, throw her nightgown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth 
 paper, fold it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, and again 
 return to bed ; yet all this while in a most fast sleep." 
 
 It cost me long and most anxious study to represent 
 this artificial and duplex manifestation, melting the 
 effects one into the other without falling into exaggera- 
 tion at every change of manner, voice, or expression of 
 my face. I came upon the scene looking like an auto- 
 maton, and dragging my feet after me as though they 
 were weighted with lead ; mechanically I placed my 
 lamp upon the table, taking care that all my movements 
 should be slow and deliberate, and thus indicate the 
 numbness of my nerve power. My eyes were wide open, 
 but fixed and glassy. They looked, and yet they saw 
 nothiag. I breathed hard and with difficulty. My 
 whole appearance, in fact, showed a state of extreme 
 nervous agitation produced by the disorganization of my 
 brain. I endeavoured by these distinct and visible 
 efEects to make the change in Lady Macbeth patent to all 
 eyes, and to show that she was suffering from a mental 
 rather than a physical malady, which had a terrible yet 
 all-sufficient cause. 
 
 When I had placed the light upon the table I advanced 
 to the front of the stage. I made as if I had discovered 
 blood still upon my hands, and, in trying to wash it ofE, 
 I used the attitude of one who holds a quantity of water 
 
LADY MACBETH. 269 
 
 in the hollow of his hands wherewith to cleanse them. I 
 was Terj careful in this movement, and repeated it in 
 several places with slight variations. After this action I 
 
 " Yet here 's a spot ! Out, damned spot, I say ! " 
 
 Then listening intently — 
 
 " One, two — why then 'tis time to do it." 
 
 And I continued, as though replying to some imaginary 
 speaker — 
 
 " Hell is murky ! Fie, my Lord, fie ! a soldier and afraid ! What 
 need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account." 
 
 Here, reverting to the real cause of my delirium, I 
 
 cried : — 
 
 " Tet who would have thought the old man to have had so much 
 blood in him ! " 
 
 and, while I spoke, I made a movement with my hands as 
 though I was struck at seeing the blood with which it 
 seemed to me they were still stained. Then my delirium 
 returned upon me — 
 
 " The Thane of Fife had a wife ! Where is she now ? ' 
 
 I began, but my attention was once more attracted to 
 my hands, and with an expression, half of anger, half of 
 sorrow, I cried : — 
 
 " What ! will these hands ne'er be clean ? " 
 
 rubbing them, as I spoke, with convulsive energy. 
 
 Then, still in my delirium, and in a sharp, angry tone, 
 I feigned to be whispering into the ear of Macbeth — 
 
 ' ' No more o' that, my Lord, no more o' that ! You mar all with 
 this starting." 
 
270 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 But once again my original idea possessed me. I 
 
 slightly sniffed my hands, and pretending to recognise 
 
 the smell of blood upon them, broke forth in my 
 
 anguish — 
 
 " Here 's the smell oi the blood still ; all the perfumes of Arabia 
 will not sweeten this little hand. Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! " 
 
 These exclamations were wrung fi-om me as though a 
 grasp of iron were laid upon my heart which would 
 hardly allow me utterance, and I remained with my head 
 thrown back, breathing with difficulty, as if overcome by 
 a profound lethargy. 
 
 During the short dialogue between the lady-in-waiting 
 and the doctor, I feigned that I was transported in my 
 delirium to the scene of the murder of Duncan, and, as 
 though the cause of my change of expression might be 
 the sight of the King's apartment, I adranced cautiously, 
 with my body bent forward towards the right-hand side 
 of the stage, where, as I imagined, the assassination had 
 taken place. I fancied I heard the hasty steps of my 
 husband, and I stood in an attitude of expectation, and 
 with straining eyes, apparently waiting his arrival to 
 assure me that the dreadful deed was accomplished. 
 Then, with a cry of joy, as though I saw him approach to 
 announce the complete fulfilment of our plans, I ex- 
 claimed, in violent agitation : — 
 
 "Wash your hands ! Put on your nightgown. Look not so pale. 
 I tell yon yet again, Banquo's buried, he cannot come out of hie 
 grave." 
 
 Throughout this scene I was careful not to forget that 
 I was a woman speaking in her disturbed sleep ; therefore. 
 
LADY MACBETH. 271 
 
 between each sentence I uttered, I drew my breath in 
 long.'half-stifled gasps, and when I came to the words — 
 
 "To bed, to bed! there's knocking at the gate. Come, come, 
 come I GiTe me yonr hand. What 's done cannot be nndon& To 
 bed, to bed, to bed ! " 
 
 I changed to a more coaxing and persuasive tone of 
 voice, as though I would obtain ready compliance. Then, 
 terrified by the knocking I fancied I heard at the castle 
 gate, and fearful of a surprise, I showed a violent emo- 
 tion, a sudden dismay. I imagined it was necessary to 
 conceal ourselves promptly iu our apartment, and turned 
 towards it, inviting Macbeth to accompany me, speaking 
 the last two words " Come, come ! " in imperative and 
 furious tones ; after which, feigning to seize his hand, I 
 showed that I would place him in safety in spite of 
 himself, and, urging him on with great difficulty, I dis- 
 appeared from the view of the audience, saying in a 
 
 choking voice: — 
 
 " To bed, to bed, to bed ! " 
 
 Here I end my analysis of a character which is one of 
 the most remarkable that has ever been conceived by a 
 human mind, and the study of which is rendered all the 
 more difficult by the singular situations in which the 
 imagination of the poet pLaces Lady Macbeth. 
 
 But, as I am assured in my own mind that I have done 
 the best that in me lay, to enter into the true character 
 of this strange personage, I confide this analysis of my 
 interpretation of it to the judgment of the critics, who, it 
 seems to me, should at least appreciate the labour and 
 study I have brought to bear upon it. 
 
272 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Q.TTEEN ELIZABETH. 
 
 It is a task of the greatest difficulty to give any adequate 
 idea of the real personality of Queen Elizabeth of Eng- 
 land upon the stage ; for, in her, r^al dignity, haughti- 
 ness, transcendant abilities, great powers of dissimulation, 
 consummate hypocrisy, and love of absolute authority 
 were strangely combined with the weaknesses and frivo- 
 lities of a woman who could condescend at times to 
 actual vulgarity. Such a character would tax the powers 
 of any actress, but more especially of one whose wide- 
 spread fame had led the critics to expect great things 
 from her. 
 
 Thus when, in 1854, I thought of adding to my 
 repertoire the part of Queen Elizabeth in the drama of 
 that name by my illustrious and much-lamented country- 
 man, Paolo Giacometti, I felt that, as a preliminary step, 
 it was necessary for me to devote all my powers t.o an 
 exhaustive study of such historical notices of her as 
 might serve to elucidate the character and disposition of 
 this celebrated Queen. 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH. 273 
 
 The result of my investigations was to convince me 
 that, although as a political personage and a Sovereign, 
 Elizabeth was endowed with such great and eminent 
 qualities as to render her famous throughout the civi- 
 lized world, and especially endear her to her own sub- 
 jects, yet, as a woman, her undoubted cruelty and 
 hypocrisy, her violent prejudices, and her unreasonable 
 fits of passion, all duly authenticated by history, might 
 well render her an object of aversion rather than admira- 
 tion. Indeed, her character is so little in accord with the 
 spirit of the present day that the reader will easily 
 understand how utterly repugnant it was to my feelings 
 to attempt the representation of such a rare and unique 
 personality as that of Queen Elizabeth. 
 
 Now it has always been a necessity of my nature that 
 anew part should not only contain some notable difficul- 
 ties to be overcome, but should also be one with which I 
 could feel myself in complete sympathy. I was therefore 
 strongly tempted to renounce my project of essaying the 
 role of the English Queen, and my reluctance grew in 
 proportion as I became acquainted with her many acts 
 of cruelty, especially in relation to Mary Stuart. But 
 my manager, who was then director of the Eoyal Thea- 
 trical Company, in the services of the King of Sarilinia, 
 waxed eloquent as he enumerated the many incon- 
 veniences which would result from my refusal. For, while 
 I had been occupied with my researches, the preparations 
 for putting the drama upon the stage had been pushed on 
 apace. Everything was therefore ready, and the public 
 were eagerly expecting the new play. 
 
 18 
 
274 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 Under these circumstances, I felt I must endeavour to 
 overcome my own personal reluctance, and so, although 
 the character of Elizabeth was so uncongenial to me as 
 to take from me all desire to interpret it, I resolved 
 to make an extra effort to enter into the spirit of the 
 part. And I had my reward, for I believe I shall not 
 err in saying that the public have always regarded this 
 as one of the most elaborate and complete studies in my 
 repertoire. 
 
 From the moment of my first appearance upon the 
 stage in this character, I endeavoured, by my bearing, ges- 
 tures, and tone of voice, to convey to my audience that they 
 were in the presence of a woman who was familiar with 
 the management of difficult affairs of State, who had 
 perfect confidence in her own judgment, and who was 
 accustomed to have her decision received as final. In 
 addition to this, I represented the Queen as a well-read 
 and well-educated woman, perfectly aware of her own 
 abilities and her unusual degree of culture, and especially 
 proud of her extensive acquaintance with foreign lan- 
 guages, as is evident from her reply to the Polish Ambas- 
 sador, who, when he was addressing her in the Latin 
 tongue, made sundry indiscretions under the belief that 
 the Queen would not understand him, and who was over- 
 whelmed with amazement when she answered him in the 
 same language. She afterwards boasted to her courtiers 
 with ill-concealed pride : " I even brushed up my old 
 Latin for him." — (Historical.) 
 
 I was also careful to show the audience, by my manner 
 at this early portion of the play that Elizabeth, in spite 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH. 275 
 
 of the real inclination she then felt for the Earl of Essex, 
 was determined by her scornful and haughty demeanour 
 to place everyone around her on a level far beneath her 
 own, when she had grounds for believing that one of her 
 subjects had dared to raise his ambition so high as to 
 aspire to her hand. 
 
 In the first act the scene is remarkable in which Gia- 
 cometti, with one of those inspirations usual to him, 
 imagined a very difficult contrast of action and at the 
 same time a trait characteristic of this great Queen, 
 offering besides an opportunity to the actress to give 
 proof of her power. 
 
 Elizabeth is engaged in dictating two letters at the 
 same time in alternate sentences, employing for the one 
 the services of her secretary Davison, and for the other 
 those of young Francis Bacon. The former is couched 
 in a tone of deep irritation, and is addressed to the Earl 
 of Leicester, who has written to inform her of the ova- 
 tion he had received in Flanders, carrying his audacity 
 so far as to ask her permission to accept the crown which 
 has been offered him by Counts Egmont, Horn, and 
 Flessing, in the name of the Low Countries. The Earl's 
 communication has been made in terms much more be- 
 fitting one monarch addressing another than a subject 
 entreating a favour from his Sovereign, and has roused 
 Elizabeth's deep resentment. 
 
 The second missive is to Judge Popham, and has its 
 origin in the following circumstances : — Although Bacon 
 was well aware that Elizabeth objected very strongly to 
 Shakespeare's latest play of Henry VIII., in which not only 
 
 18 * 
 
276 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 the Queen's father and mother, but herself also, as an 
 infant, are brought upon the stage, yet he had neverthe- 
 less, in order to extort her consent to its representation, 
 ventured to entreat the Queen on bended knee to permit 
 him to read some passages to her. With a very ill grace 
 she finally consented, and Bacon, animated by all the 
 enthusiasm which an author might feel in reading his 
 own work (and indeed there are people who believe that 
 this drama was his) proceeded to declaim certain lines 
 which foretold the grandeur, prosperity, and long life 
 of Elizabeth, the poet also lauding to the skies the 
 magnanimity and surpassing: glory of the " Virgin 
 Queen." 
 
 Bacon's stratagem fully succeeded. Hearing herself 
 thus extolled, Elizabeth seized a pen and with her own 
 hand wrote, at the foot of the manuscript, that it was her 
 good pleasure for the drama of Henry Vm. to be repre- 
 sented within fifteen days at Windsor in the Court 
 Theatre. But, hearing from Bacon that it was impossible 
 to give effect so speedily to the Queen's wishes, Shakespeare 
 himself being then in prison for debt, Elizabeth at once 
 dictated to Bacon the letter to Judge Popham, telling the 
 latter that she had consented to the play being acted, 
 and by way of reprimanding him for his want of acute- 
 ness in forbidding a piece which sang her own praises 
 so loudly, she bade Bacon add that it was her good 
 pleasure Popham himself should become liable for 
 Shakespeare's debts, a full schedule of which would be 
 sent to him by Sir Francis Bacon. The letter ended 
 thus : — " I hope another time you wiU put on your 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH. 277 
 
 spectacles in order the better to distinguish white from 
 hlack." 
 
 I dictated these letters at the same time. In the one 
 addressed to the Earl of Leicester, making use of the 
 most severe expressions of anger, declaring that " crowns 
 are not made for heads like yours — far less that of Bel- 
 gium, which has already been refused by your Sovereign." 
 I further ordered him to resign immediately the command 
 of the troops to Sir Walter Ealeigh, otherwise I would 
 have him " taken jmsoner by a regiment of cavalry." 
 
 The dictation of this letter I alternated with that to 
 Popham, which was at once, familiar, cold, authoritative, 
 and sarcastic in expression. 
 
 In the second act, there are some truly remarkable 
 scenes, and the author has found the way of delineating 
 them so well — collecting various passages in the life of 
 Elizabeth ; uniting them so skilfully with each other ; 
 making use of all the liberties of time and space allowed 
 on the stage, without, however, injuring or changing in 
 the slightest degree the regular course of the action, as 
 to make the connection appear both natural and inte- 
 resting. 
 
 I especially liked this second act, because it gave me 
 the opportunity for a little comedy, of which I was par- 
 ticularly fond at that time. Even later, it was a boon fo 
 me when, through any circumstances, I could play La 
 Locamdiera or I Gelogi Forttonati. When I speak of 
 comedy, I refer to the scene with the Earl of Essex, in 
 which, like an experienced coquette, now she seems to 
 
278 ABELAIBE BISTOBI. 
 
 understand and accept the love he cherishes for her, 
 compassionating his ill-concealed jealousy of the Earl of 
 lieicester, whom he believes his fortunate rival; now 
 suddenly assuming the tone of an offended sovereign, 
 and driving Essex from her presence, when the latter, 
 hearing the Queen boast — 
 
 " Into this royal heart no weak affection has ever entered," 
 
 sarcastically rejoins, no longer able to restrain himself — 
 " If we except the Dnke of Anjon and Admiral Seymour. 
 
 But when Essex, warned by the Queen's anger, that he 
 had gone too far, threw himself at her feet and implored 
 her pardon ; I, while assuming all the dignity of offended 
 majesty, succeeded in conveying to the audience, that in 
 my heart, I rejoiced to see these transports of jealousy. 
 And though I exclaimed with apparent disdain — 
 
 " Dar'st thou then to love thy Queen ? " 
 
 I allowed him to seize my hand and endeavour to imprint 
 a kiss upon it. But I snatched my hand away with an 
 angry gesture before the Earl could accomplish his 
 purpose ; glancing at the same time with secret admira- 
 tion at the handsome knight still kneeling before me. 
 Love and pride struggled together for the mastery in my 
 heart, until at last I felt constrained to exclaim, in as 
 playful a manner as I could assume — 
 
 ' ' Well ! Art saying thy prayers ? Rise I rise ! " 
 
 While speaking these words, my hand, which I had ex- 
 tended to indicate that I wished him to rise, touched for 
 
QVEEN ELIZABETH. 279 
 
 an instant the Earl's bent head. Encouraged bj this, he 
 sprang to his feet, seized my hand in his, and covered it 
 with kisses. Then he pressed it to his heart, exclaiming 
 in passionate accents — 
 
 " Ah ! The daughter of Henry VIII. has pressed my hand." 
 
 Upon which, disengaging myself, I retreated, and with 
 affected modesty, remarked demurely — 
 
 "If BO, it was unconsciously." 
 
 But, when I heard him murmur — 
 
 " What other woman could I love after having once seen Elizabeth." 
 
 I had much ado to hide the emotion that filled my heart. 
 I gazed at him with a look, which, all too plainly betrayed 
 my feelings towards him ; and, after some slight hesitation, 
 I drew a ring from my finger and offered it to him with 
 the solemn promise — 
 
 " If thou should'st one day lose thy Sovereign's favour or be guilty 
 of any crime, send me this ring, and I pledge thee my Royal word 
 thou shalt be pardon'd." 
 
 In the monologue which ends this scene, the author 
 still further develops and elaborates thie character of the 
 Queen. But when love appears on the point of mastering 
 her indomitable pride, her determination to retain her 
 absolute sovereignty comes to her aid. She beats down 
 the tenderer sentiments and womanly weakness with a 
 strong hand. Nay, she can even mock at the very idea of 
 yielding to what her Parliament, the Puritans, and Lord 
 
280 ADELAIDE RI8T0UI. 
 
 Wentworth liave been long urging lier to do, namely, 
 make choice of a husband. 
 
 "What : " [she exclaims, her anger rising afresh at the thought], 
 "Divide my kingdom with another! Be no longer the sole mler of 
 everybody and everything ! " 
 
 Her haughty spirit regains its self-control, and she is 
 ashamed of having been, even for a moment surprised 
 into feminine weakness. While Elizabeth is in this un- 
 propitious state of mind, her secretary Davison enters, 
 bringing a letter from Mary Stuart, as well as her death- 
 warrant for the Queen's signature. Elizabeth can hardly 
 refrain from an exclamation of pleasure at this unex- 
 pected interruption ; but she tries to hide it by hypo- 
 critically assuming a mask of pity. She glances over the 
 unhappy prisoner's letter with ill-concealed impatience, 
 and gathering from it that the Queen of Scotland, believ- 
 ing her son James to have sided with her enemies, has 
 declared the invincible Philip II., King of Spain, her 
 successor to the throne, she is seized with an access of 
 fury, and cries with a mocking smile — 
 
 " I will undertake to execute thy wiU for thee, and will send thtt 
 to the angels I " 
 
 Most cruel words, worthy only of a perverted mind. 
 
 In the scene of dissimulation between Elizabeth and 
 James VL, who has come to entreat her to spare his 
 mother's life, and who threatens her with his vengeance 
 
 she refuse to listen to his prayers, I endeavoured, by 
 the stem expression of my eyes, my set Ups, and my 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH. 281 
 
 rigid figure, to convey to the audience some idea of the 
 tempest gathering within me. But when Davison entered 
 and announced in a loud voice — 
 
 " Your Majesty, by this time the executioner has held up to the 
 •crowd the head of JIary Stuart ! " 
 
 the storm which was rising in my breast subsided ; in a 
 moment a complete change came over me, an involuntary 
 cry of joy escaped me, which was unnoticed in the general 
 consternation caused by the terrible news. 
 
 In an instant I had recovered myself, and I broke out 
 into furious invective against those who had so hastily 
 carried out the sentence, and at the same time I caused 
 my face to assume such an exaggerated expression of 
 grief and utter consternation, that even James himself 
 was constrained to exclaim — 
 
 " To Heaven I leave the task of judging if this be real or feigned I 
 
 When I was left alone with my courtiers, I continued 
 still to carry on the hollow mockery of grief. I declared 
 this terrible event had decided me to renounce the throne 
 and spend the rest of my days in penitence within the 
 walls of a convent. At the unexpected arrival of Francis 
 Drake, my thoughts instantly turned into another channel. 
 He had been sent by the Queen some time before to 
 ravage the Spanish possessions in America, and endeavour 
 to discover the designs of King Philip, but his prolonged 
 absence had led to the belief that he must either have 
 been taken prisoner or killed. 
 
 My face, my whole person underwent an instantaneous 
 
282 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 and total change. The death of Mary Stuart, my hypo- 
 critical intentions, my political feigning, all are forgotten 
 in the feverish anxiety to know the result of the mission 
 entrusted to Drake. Sir Francis informed me that a 
 " mightier fleet than the world had yet seen, had already 
 been gathered together by Spain, for the conquest of 
 England ; that this fleet when divided into two squadrons 
 occupied a space of seven miles from one extremity to the 
 other ; that the most valiant captains in the world had 
 been engaged to assist the Spaniards in their great enter- 
 prise, and that, in certain assurance of victory, the name 
 of the Invincible Armada, had been given to the assembled 
 fleet." 
 
 When I heard this, I showed that I could restrain my- 
 self no longer. With flashing eyes and like a fiery charger 
 pawing the ground at the clang of the trumpet, Elizabeth, 
 eager for glory, and anticipating a brilliant victory, feels 
 the blood of her forefathers thrill in her veins, while in 
 imagination she is already transported to the field of 
 battle. " At last, then, I have succeeded ! " she cries in a 
 voice of thunder. Therefore, when Mendoza, the Spanish 
 Ambassador, appeared in my presence, and with proud 
 mien and arrogant tone, declared war in the name of his 
 master, Philip II., I thanked him in a tone of disdain. 
 At once, like an experienced leader, with feverish ardour, 
 I gave the necessary orders to prepare for war, and I dis- 
 tributed the different commands. My spirit rose to the 
 occasion. Full of martial enthusiasm, I assured my lords 
 that — 
 
 " Yet another sword will fight for England " 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH. 283 
 
 "Which?" 
 
 asked the Ambassador, mockingly. 
 
 "That of Henry VIIL," 
 
 I answered proudly. 
 
 " And who will have the courage to wield it ? 
 
 he inquired, inexpressible scorn in his tones. 
 
 "Who? I!" 
 
 I answered, without a moment's hesitation, and springing 
 towards the trophy of Henry VIII.'s weapons which 
 decorated the hall of audience, I seized the large sword 
 my father had once used, and which was once more to 
 assure victory to England, I faced round on Mendoza and 
 thundered out the words — 
 
 "Tell Philip that Elizabeth hurls the scabbard far from her I 
 When these two nations, like gigantic athletes, shall meet on the ocean, 
 the world itself will tremble. And after the encounter, one of the 
 two — like the stone flung by a child into the water — will disappear 
 among the blood-stained waves ; either England or Spain — Elizabeth 
 or Philip ! I swear it by the King my father ! " 
 
 I stood brandishing the sword in one hand, while I laid 
 the other upon it, as in the act of taking an oath, and all 
 present drawing theirs also, and touching mine with the 
 points, repeated after me — 
 
 "We swear it " 
 The curtain falls on this tableau. 
 
 With the exception of two historical incidents, the third 
 act does not contain many scenes for Elizabeth of great 
 
284 ADELAIDE BISTORI. 
 
 artistic diflSculty. These incidents are the discovery of a 
 plot for taking her life, of which Margaret Lambrun is 
 proved to be the chief instigator, and the disgrace and 
 punishment of Essex. 
 
 In the first of these, when Margaret is brought into my 
 presence, I assumed a stern demeanour, and interrogated 
 her in an angry voice, as though I had already decided to 
 condemn her to death. But when I heard the resolute 
 tone in which she answered me — when she boldly told me 
 that she had sought to take my life in revenge for the 
 death of Mary Stuart, her beloved mistress, and of her 
 own husband, who had died of grief on account of the 
 miserable end of his Sovereign, I was deeply touched by 
 her words, and asked her what punishment she herself 
 would consider her strange confession deserved. She 
 looked me full in the face, and answered proudly, that I 
 ought to pardon her. 
 
 I cried in amazement — 
 
 •' What ! pardon thee ; and what surety have I that thon wilt not 
 agam attempt my life ? " 
 
 To which Margaret answered — 
 
 'Madam, a boon which cannot be granted without so many pre- 
 cautions is no longer a favour^ take thoii then my life ? " 
 
 This arrogant speech, this temerity, and defiant courage, 
 the like of which Elizabeth had never met with before 
 during her reign from any man, still less from any 
 woman, completely staggered her, and, after a moment's 
 hesitation she yielded to a sudden impulse of gene- 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH. 285 
 
 rosity, and, hastily, as though fearful she might repent, 
 she cried — 
 
 " Go ! get thee hence in peace ! but lose no time ! " 
 
 Throughout this scene, I considered I should best 
 express the author's meaning, if I strove, by the intona- 
 tion of my voice and the mobility of my features, to em- 
 phasize the sudden transition from severity to great and 
 generous impulse, which -was always so characteristic of 
 this great Queen. 
 
 The other striking situation is found in the reception 
 Elizabeth gives to the three conquerors of Cadiz, Lord 
 Howard, Sir Francis Drake, and the Earl of Essex. I 
 made it evident that I was animated by a desire to 
 revenge myself upon Essex, whose secret passion for Lady 
 Sarah I had discovered; and who had exceeded the 
 powers conferred upon him, openly defying my commands. 
 I therefore began my discourse, by complimenting all 
 three warriors, and thanking them in my own name, and 
 that of England, for the splendid victory they had just 
 gained over the Spanish fleet. I created Drake, Lord 
 High Admiral ; and Howard, Earl of Nottingham ; but 
 when I addressed Essex, who, like the otheris, knelt ex- 
 pectant at my feet, it was in a very different strain. I 
 began by praising his bravery in battle, and then, in a 
 soft and insinuating voice, as though I would prepare 
 him to receive an adequate reward, I continued — 
 
 " We admire your valour ; but since you have refused obedience to 
 him whom we have invested with supreme power over our forces by 
 land and sea, and have rebelled against the mandates of your Queen, 
 
286 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 we shall defer your reward, nntil we receive from you proofs of 
 obedience and submission. Rise I " 
 
 I spoke these words in an austere, harsh voice, as 
 though T desired each syllable to penetrate, like a 
 poniard, into the heart of him I addressed, humiliating 
 him before all the by-standers. The Earl remained for 
 an inptant like one petrified; then, quickly recovering 
 himself, he burst forth in no measured tones of com- 
 plaint against the injustice done him ; ending by 
 reproaching me bitterly for having distinguished Lord 
 Howard, who, as everyone knew, had won the battle 
 solely because a furious tempest had risen to aid him, 
 and dashed the Spanish vessels upon the rocks. It was 
 in vain I tried to silence the Earl. He continued his 
 angry recriminations, and gradually increased my dis- 
 pleasure, until on hearing him boast that he also was of 
 royal descent, and. in that respect my equal, my indig- 
 nation almost got the better of me. Still I managed 
 to restrain it sufficiently to interfere between the two 
 men, when Essex, scarcely knowing what he did, 
 challenged Lord Howard to meet him in single combat. 
 
 "What!" [exclaimed Esses in a sarcastic tone], "can earls and 
 dukes no longer fight in England without the special permission of 
 the Queen ? " 
 
 The taunting words stung me to fury. I lost all 
 control over myself, and flung my glove in the speaker's 
 face. 
 
 He, in his turn, completely lost his head, and, 
 exasperated by the insult he had received, deaf to 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH. 287 
 
 every consideration of prudence, and totally forgetting 
 the respect he owed his Sovereign, he broke out into 
 violent invective against her. He accuses her of having 
 blended her crown with the coronets of dukes and earls, 
 and placed the Parliament of England on a level with 
 the Divan of Mahomet, of having anmtlled all its privi- 
 leges ; and, as though this were not enough, he filled 
 up the measure of his insults to overflowing by calling 
 her — 
 
 " The Vestal of the West, who has more than once let the fire die 
 ■out on the tripod of Jove ! " 
 
 All the by-play which should accompany the few words 
 I have to speak during this culminating scene of the 
 act, as well as the tone of voice, are clearly indicated 
 by the author, and it cost me no difiSculty to understand 
 and enter into the spirit of the situation. I was always 
 most careful never to forget that I was a queen, even 
 in the midst of my fury, and that this queen was 
 Elizabeth of England. 
 
 Between the third and fourth acts several years are 
 supposed to elapse, during which, Essex, after being 
 pardoned his egregious folly, regains his Sovereign's 
 favour ; " and is sent by her as General to Ireland, in- 
 vested with full powers to repress the tumults and 
 revolts constantly arising there. But the incapacity 
 of the new commander-in-chief soon became manifest. 
 He was imprudent enough himself to raise the standard 
 of revolt against his own queen, with the result that 
 
288 ADELAIDE RISTOBI. 
 
 he was speedily arrested, and condemned to the 
 scaffold." 
 
 It is at this point of the story that the fourth act 
 begins. Elizabeth is beginning to show the weight of 
 years. The grief of finding herself obliged to adopt 
 stringent measures against the man so dear to her — 
 the only man, in fact, she ever loved — has greatly con- 
 duced to break her haughty spirit. I therefore endea- 
 voured to show in my person and make-up the physical 
 effects of age. (The queen is about sixty-eight at this 
 this time.) let, in spite of her bowed figure and wrinkled 
 face, I rendered it evident that she still possessed the 
 remains of that iuagnificent constitution and indomitable 
 will which she never entirely lost until after the death 
 of her favourite. 
 
 The fourth act opens with the signature of Lord 
 Essex's death warrant. Seeing that Lady Burleigh, 
 who was in attendance at the time, was alarmed at the 
 agitation Elizabeth betrayed, and feared it was caused 
 by illness, I endeavoured to reassure her and conceal its 
 real origin by remarking : — 
 
 " Thou art already aware, Anna, that when I have to condemn 
 anyone to death, I suffer cruel and unspeakable agonies." 
 
 But in spite of myself, the bitter truth at last escaped 
 my lips. I betrayed that I was suffering so intensely 
 because I feared lest, either through pride or obstinacy, 
 Essex might not send me the ring I had once, in a 
 moment of tenderness, given to him, with a promise 
 of pardon whenever it should be presented to me. Lady 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH. 289 
 
 Burleigh tried to comfort me by sajing that doubtless 
 the Earl was too sensible of his fault, and too fearful ot 
 further irritating his Sovereign to venture on claiming 
 her promise. Then she offered to go herself to the 
 Tower, as though entirely on her own impulse, and 
 advise Essex to confide himself to the clemency and 
 magnanimity of the Queen. Unseen by Lady Burleigh, 
 I showed the audience what a relief this proposa 
 was to me ; but, fearing that my dignity as a Sove- 
 reign must suffer if I yielded to the impulse of 
 my heart, I harshly, though with evident effort, 
 forbade Lady Burleigh to carry out her suggestion, 
 saying : 
 
 " Anna, stay ! If he be as proud as Lucifer, let him go to 
 him!" 
 
 At this moment, Burleigh entering with the death- 
 warrant of Lord Essex for the royal signature, Eliza- 
 beth cannot entirely suppress the painful emotion which 
 overcomes her in spite of herself. She orders all her 
 attendants to retire, and at the same time tells Burleigh 
 to send her Davison, the keeper of the seals. 
 
 When alone and able to give full vent to the emotions 
 uhat possessed me, with long and deep-drawn sighs, I 
 spread out the fatal parchment on the table, gazing at 
 it long and sadly, as though incredulous that only my 
 signature was needed to send the one man I had ever 
 truly loved to his death. I let the audience see the 
 conflict that was raging within me. I tried to reassure 
 myself and overcome my womanly weakness by dwelling 
 
 19 
 
290 ADELAIDE RISTOBI. 
 
 on the fact tbat this man's execution was necessary to 
 
 satisfy the demands of justice. 
 
 " Yos I lie must die," [I miuinTired,] " as bo many other conspira- 
 tors have died, — Suffolk, Parry, Babington, Lopez. — as even a Queen 
 of Scotland has died. " > 
 
 And at each broken sentence, I made a movement as 
 though to dip my pen in the ink, and sign the fatal 
 parchment, but I could not consummate the terrible deed. 
 I tried to fortify myself with specious argument ; 
 
 " Were I to pardon him, it would be but to confess my own weak- 
 ness ! I, weak ? Xcver ! 
 
 and again I seized the pen and essayed 'to write the 
 signature. But my courage once more abandoned me, 
 and with a gesture of petulant anger at my own weak- 
 ness, I dashed the pen to the ground. Then, for a 
 moment, a strange hope arose in my agonised heart. 
 
 " But if, in the face of death, [I mnrmnred,] the Earl's pride have 
 deserted him ! If, even now, he have entrusted the ring to someone ! 
 If I " 
 
 Animated by the half-uttered thought, I vehemently rang 
 the bell, and enquired whether any message bad come for 
 me from the Tower. Yain hope ! None had been re- 
 ceived, and, exhausted, I sank again on my seat, exclaiming 
 in my despair : 
 
 " Ah ! pride, pride ! To die thus with his life in his own hands." * 
 
 * The author of the drama introduces this historical incident to 
 show what an important part this ring played in the death of the 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH. 291 
 
 Then I began to complain bitterly to myself of Lady 
 Burleigh's conduct. She ought to have understood that 
 for the first time in my long reign I had wished to be 
 disobeyed. In spite of my prohibition, I should have 
 rejoiced if she had gone to the Tower. It was in vain 
 I tried to convince myself that Essex was a rebel, and, as 
 such, deserving of punishment. Then the apprehension 
 of committing an injustice made me hesitate again. 
 Kemorse began to torture me. I tossed hither and 
 thither on the waves of conscience. My imagination was 
 so excited that I even fancied I saw the spectre of Mary 
 Stuart standing before me in full noonday, just as she 
 had stood every night since her execution to trouble my 
 dreams, and make me start in terror from my bed. 
 Ketuming to myself I blushed at my childish folly, and 
 in the height of indignation and disappointment at not 
 seeing the much-wished-for ring brought me — with the 
 whole energy of my virile soul and my despised love — I 
 thought of nothing more than the reasons of State, and 
 the dignity of the Grown, and sanctioned the decision of 
 
 Earl, and how, in a, secondary degree, it also accelerated the death of 
 Elizabeth. Lally Tollendal has left it on record : " He (the Earl) lost 
 his head on the scaffold, and the grief the Queen felt at being obliged 
 to use snch severity towards a man who had been so dear to her, 
 plunged her in a profonnd melaincholy. Two years afterwards, when 
 Lady Nottingham confessed on her death-bed that the ring had been 
 entmsted to her care, bnt that, over-persuaded by her husband, she 
 had refrained from delivering it to the Queen, Elizabeth lost all con- 
 trol over herself , exclaiming, 'God may forgive yon; I never can I' 
 Henceforth she refused food and remedies for her sickness, saying 
 they were of no use to a dying woman." 
 
 19 * 
 
292 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 the judges. So once more I seized the pen, and 
 hurriedly traced the fatal sig^nature. My heart was 
 utterly broken. Davison, sent by Lord Burleigh, entered 
 at this moment to receive the -warrant. His appearance 
 startled me painfully, but I made a successful attempt to 
 hide from him the misery I knew was written on my 
 tell-tale face, and feeling I must bravely endure the 
 sacrifice im.posed on me by duty, I took up the parch- 
 ment, and slowly, with a trembling hand, held it out 
 towards the Keeper of the Seals. But as if grasping it 
 a little longer in my hand seemed to me to add a few 
 minutes to the life of Essex, I caused Davison, although 
 humbly, to try and draw it by gentle force from my 
 convulsive hold. Then he moved towards the door ; but 
 a sudden impulse of feeling made me call him back in 
 suppressed tones. He turned, as if expecting some 
 further orders ; but, recalled to a sense of my own 
 dignity, I merely told him, in as haughty a tone as I 
 could assume, to be quick and see the sentence carried 
 out. 
 
 When he was gone, and I was once more alone, I gave 
 free vent to my grief, bitterly accusing Essex of being 
 the cause of all my misery. The appearance of . the 
 Countess of Nottingham, who arrived breathless, to 
 implore pardon for the Earl, only excited me to greater 
 fury, for in her I believed I saw my rivaL On hearing 
 that her husband had forcibly taken from her the ring, 
 confided to her by Essex that she might give it to me, I 
 at first showed disbelief in her assertion, yet on her 
 swearing by the soul of her mother that her statement 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH. 293 
 
 was true, I allowed myself to be convinced. In the 
 deepest agitation, I sent a page with orders that a 
 messenger, mounted on my fleetest horse, should ride 
 for his life to the Tower, and intercept Davison before it 
 was too late. I directed that the warrant should be torn 
 into a thousand pieces, and promised a patent of nobility 
 to whoever should succeed in carrying out my wishes. 
 
 But before my messenger could well have started. 
 Lord Burleigh entered, followed by Bacon. They came, 
 to announce, with mournful looks, that the sentence was 
 already executed. For an instant I stood as though 
 petrified at their news ; then I dropped into a chair, 
 moaning in low tones — 
 
 "Dead! Dead I" 
 
 In a little while, however, I rose, and with bloodshot 
 eyes and trembling lips, began the magnificent passage 
 which Giacometti puts into Elizabeth's mouth at the 
 close of this act : — 
 
 " Dead ! But before sunset the fatal bell shall toll once more," 
 
 (alluding to the death of Nottingham, which she medi- 
 tated.) Pacing the stage in gathering excitement, I cried 
 furiously — 
 
 " I must have within my hands the Earl of Nottingham's head ! '' 
 
 Then, with a burst of desperate grief : — 
 
 " My Robert is no more I The only man I ever really loved, and I 
 have killed him 1 No one said a single word to appease my wrath ; 
 they all hated him, and yet not one of them was worthy to kiss the 
 dust raised by his charger's hoof on a day of battle ! " 
 
294 ADELAIDE RI8T0BI. 
 
 At tliis moment I became aware of the presence of 
 Sacon, who was standing somewhat aside. I ordered 
 him to come forward, and ponred forth my wrath upon 
 him, crying : 
 
 " And thon, base wretch, thou wast a nothing ; and if thou art 
 something, to him alone thon owest it. To him thou owest the 
 honours I have heaped on thee ! He who generously freed thee from 
 the shame of thy debts might have counted on thee for his defence, 
 and thon hast failed him ! It was thy sacred duty to contend for 
 his life with me — ay, even with me. Thou shouldst have pointed out 
 to me Ireland subjugated, Cadiz in flames ! Thou shouldst have torn 
 open his cuirass, counted out one by one his wounds, and offered them to 
 me as a ransom for his life ! And thon, on the contrary, infamous 
 wretch, hast preferred to guide the hand of his judges when they 
 drew up the sentence, and mine when I signed it. Cursed be thon I 
 May Cain's curse light on thee ! " 
 
 The attendants drew near to calm my fury. 
 
 " Let all retire : I do command it ! " 
 
 I cried in imperious tones. But when they obeyed me 
 and I was left alone, I — crushed with grief, shaken by 
 such tremendous emotions, and not daring to lift my 
 eyes to that Heaven whose wrath I dreaded — cast myself, 
 face downwards, upon the grouad, moaning : 
 
 " Here let me stay, alone ! Surrounded by a pool of blood — alone, 
 with my remorse — and with God ! " 
 
 Thus closes the Fourth Act. 
 
 In the Fifth Act, Elizabeth is approaching her end, 
 and, according to history, although prostrated by failing 
 strength, still her iron temperament manifested itself 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH. 295 
 
 prodigiously at times, and the fire which circulated in 
 her veins during her past years still sent forth a few 
 sparks. Thus, when I came before the audience, I let 
 them plainly see in my face and figure the ravages that 
 time and disease had made. Tet I strove carefully to 
 hide from my courtiers how much I was suffering. I 
 entered, leaning on the arm of Burleigh — a bowed and 
 decrepit old woman— still wearing, however, the robes 
 and crown of State in which I had been present at the 
 opening of Parliament. I tried, by my manner, to 
 give the audience an impression of someone in the 
 greatest nervous agitation, which had been caused by the 
 excitement of the debate I had just been hearing ; but 
 as I related the details to my attendants I manifested a 
 clearness of intellect and strength of will, well calculated 
 to surprise and deceive those who were listening to me. 
 The careless arrangement of my hair, however, the 
 wriniles and furrows on my face, the slow movement of 
 my hands, very plainly showed the audience that some 
 secret sorrow had aged me, even more than the weight 
 of years. Burleigh begged me to sit down and take 
 some needful rest. I repulsed him, angrily exclaiming : 
 
 " No, no — motion is life. I have had too much reet of late. I 
 thought I should have been stifled in my litter ! " 
 
 In truth, a strong impression had been produced on 
 my mind by the fact that, when I returned to the Palace 
 from the House of Parliament, far fewer persons than 
 usual had assembled outside to give me greeting. Tet I 
 was resolute not to let my faithful minister guess what 
 
296 ADELAIDE EISTOBI. 
 
 a blow the apathy of my subjects had been to me. So I 
 assumed a careless, indifferent air, which was anything 
 but a true index to my feelings, and, with a scrutinizing 
 look at Burleigh, said : 
 
 " Tell me, hast thou ordained that our loving subjects should 
 not congregate too densely on our way, and should not greet us with 
 shouts ? " 
 
 When Burleigh replied in the negative, I frowned, un- 
 perceived by him, and heaved a deep sigh. Then I 
 remarked, with well-acted hypocrisy : 
 
 " No ! as I know that yon, my good old Burleigh, deem me in ill- 
 health, and might have thought the sight of people crowding on my 
 passage would tire me. But I am not so ; and, if I have been, now I 
 am cured." 
 
 And in proof thereof I began to recount, with consider- 
 able vivacity, how the Parliament had been defeated in 
 its attempt to curtail the royal prerogative. 
 
 I said all this with almost childish glee, adding : 
 
 '• Well, what think you, my Lords ! " 
 
 in a tone of such entire satisfaction, that Burleigh, who 
 was before all things a courtier, hastened to applaud 
 my argument. Then I addressed Bacon, and ordered 
 him to inform William Shakespeare that it was my 
 good pleasure he should give another representation of 
 Henry VIII. (because 1 delighted to see myself figure in 
 the play as an infant in my nurses' arms). I farther 
 gave orders for the preparation of a grand fSte. Then I 
 seated myself, and asked for news. I was told that 
 appeared certain that formidable Irish chief, the Earl of 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH. 297 
 
 Tyrone, is safe under arrest ; whereupon I exclaimed 
 gaily to 1 lurleigh : 
 
 " Aha ! it seems to me that I have hrushed away many flies from 
 ithe Crown of England 1 " 
 
 Burleigh seized the opportunity to say — 
 
 " Of a surety, yonr successor will receive it brilliant and respected." 
 
 Onhearii^T these words, I drew myself up, and gazed long 
 and seal', hingly at him, for I had suspected for some 
 time past be might be carrying on a secret correspondence 
 with James VI. Burleigh, guessing what was in the 
 Queen's mind, endeavoured to explain away his words by 
 observiiiL"- — 
 
 " Before I die, I shonld like to see the succession determined on." 
 
 I affected to accept this plausible explanation, and, anxious 
 to put an end to the farce, I replied — 
 
 " Let us hear now on whom this sagacious choice of thine falls ? " 
 
 " On whom could it fall more appropriately than on the young King 
 of Scotland," 
 
 Burleii;h answered diplomatically. At this reply my 
 suppressed anger blazed forth, and I seized him by the 
 arm, crying — 
 
 " Traitor ! I awaited thee there! " 
 
 BuBLEiGH. — ' ' Burleigh traitor ? " 
 
 Elizabeth. — "Yes! for thou hast a secret correspondence with 
 James." 
 
 BuELEiGH. — " No ; but he alone, methinks, has it in his power to 
 «»Te England from civil war." 
 
ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 " Snch too is my hnmble opinion," 
 
 added Davison. 
 
 I turned upon ther.i both with righteous indignation — 
 
 " Civil war 1 Eternal civil -war 1 this is the phantasm with which ye 
 compelled me to condemn to death, Suffolk, Babington, Mary, and 
 Robert of Essex I " 
 
 But at the mention of the last dear name, I broke down 
 utterly ; grief almost suffocated me. My eyes filled with 
 tears, and, unable longer to refrain from weeping, I re- 
 peated the name of Robert amid my broken sobs. The 
 by-standers hastened to me, imploring me to be calm, 
 but their entreaties only made my anger blaze up once 
 more, and I ordered them, in peremptory tones, to leave 
 me, for their anxiety to console me increased my agita- 
 tion. Exhausted with grief and physical sufferings, I had 
 some difficulty in calming my irritation. 
 
 After a slight pause, having made certain that every 
 one had left, and being no longer obliged to dissimulate, 
 I did show how much worn out I was both in body and 
 mind. The remembrance that the death of Essex had 
 been my own doing gnaws my heart, remorse tears my 
 soul, and, longing to throw myself on my couch, I 
 dragged myself towards it with the greatest difficulty. 
 As I staggered along with bent body, and bowed head, 
 I lifted my trembling hands to my aching brow, and felt 
 the crown which still rested there, 
 
 " Ah I a heavy weight is on it," 
 I moaned, with a weary air ; 
 
 " And yet for forty-four years I have worn it, and it seemed so light 
 to me." 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH. 299 
 
 I lifted it slowly from my head, and gazed at it with deep 
 emotion. 
 
 " Who will wear it after me ? " 
 
 I questioned myself; then, pushing it suddenly away 
 from me, I added in a hanghty tone — 
 
 " I wish not to know." 
 
 But the springs of memory had been unloosed. I re- 
 turned, in thought, once more to the years of my vanished 
 glory, and began, in a voice that grew gradually weaker 
 and weaker, bitterly to bewail the past. 
 
 •' Xo one loves me now — no one tells me I ride like Alexander, walk 
 like Venus, sing and play like Orphens. No 1 When I present myself 
 to the public, they no longer greet me with cheers. This morning one 
 wonld have thought that my Utter was a bier. Am I then so very 
 old ? Certes, I have seen many years pass away, but they have left 
 no trace on me. Not a thread of silver mingles with my beautiful 
 golden hair." 
 
 I smoothed my auburn locks with girlish self-com- 
 placency, and then, with an expressive gesture, I made 
 the audience perceive that I wanted to assure myself of 
 the truth of my words. I turned to the mirror that hung 
 near, but scarcely had I seen myself reflected in it than I 
 shrank away in disgust, perceiving the deep lines that 
 furrowed my face, my dimmed eyes, my livid hollow 
 cheeks. My breathing, became laboured, my eyes dark, 
 my mind confused ; in terror I screamed for help. But a 
 momentary return of pride made me hastily stufE my 
 handkerchief into my mouth to stifle my cries. These 
 sufferings increasing, my mind began to wander. All 
 around me grew dark, out of the blackness I seemed to 
 
300 ADELAIDE BISTOBI. 
 
 see pale shadows and bleeding spectres coming toward 
 me. They drew nearer and nearer, they almost touched 
 me. Severed heads seemed rolling about my feet. To 
 escape them I curled myself up in a corner of my couch, 
 and, sinking down helplessly among my pillows, I clasped 
 my hands together, with inarticulate appeals to Heaven 
 for mercy. 
 
 After along time my senses seemed to return. Without 
 opening my eyes I feebly called to Burleigh to come and 
 help me. Hastening at the Queen's cries, he comes to 
 her, followed by James VI., who had been waiting in the 
 ante-room ; he helps her to rise without her recognizing 
 him. Soon, standing up, I perceive James ; terrified, I 
 call my guards with loud cries. All rush in and sur- 
 round me. Grasping, in vain efforts to speak, I point 
 inquiringly at James. Burleigh explained : 
 
 "The King of Scotland has journeyed to London to inquire for 
 Tour Majesty's health I " 
 
 " Bnt," [I cried] ''why bears ho in his hand his mother's head? 
 What will he do with it ? Perchance dash it in my face ! Look ! 
 Look ! " 
 
 At these words, James approached me to show me he 
 had nothing in his hands. I, alarmed, shrieking, take 
 refuge in the arms of my faithful friends, covering my 
 face with both hands, as if to repel contact with Mary's 
 head. The reassurances of my courtiers, as well as of 
 James himself, calm me. Veiling my eyes with my 
 hands, and with fearful hesitation, I looked through my 
 fingers to see if James was not lying. 
 
 By degrees I took heart ; I breathed more freely. A 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH. 301 
 
 smile flittered across my pale lips ; telling them all that 
 it had been only a dream, I finished, saying : 
 
 ' I am better I I am better ! " 
 
 At this point, Drake returned from his mission in 
 Ireland. He announced the arrest of the dreaded Earl 
 of Tyrone, and, notwithstanding her physical weakness, 
 and the terrible emotion through which she bad just 
 passed, Elizabeth uttered a cry of joy at the news. Her 
 indomitable spirit blazed up once more. She was still 
 sufficiently her old self to rejoice at the humiliation of 
 one who had sought to rob her of her throne. She 
 ordered Tyrone to instant execution, when Drake has- 
 tened to remind her that she would not probably have 
 had her formidable enemy in her power had he not given 
 himself up to justice, trusting in the clemency and mag- 
 nanimity of the queen. Touched by his words, and with 
 a sudden impuilse of generosity, I hesitated for a moment, 
 consulting Burleigh with a significant look. He re- 
 sponded by a sign that I ought to pardon my prisoner. 
 So I said to Drake, with great dignity : 
 
 " 'Tis well 1 Whoever has deemed me great shall ne'er haye cause 
 to think me less than my fame. He is pardoned." 
 
 But the Queen's last moments wei'e drawing near. 
 Her malady increased, her strength failed rapidly ; Bur- 
 leigh and his wife led her tottering back to her couch, 
 and placed her upon it in an extremity of weakness. 
 Elizabeth, feeling herself dying, consented at last to 
 name her successor. 
 
 I gave James to understand, by a look, that my choice 
 
302 ADELAIDE BI8T0BI. 
 
 perforce fell upon him, and motioned him to kneel before 
 me. Lady Burleigh handed me the crown, and with 
 trembling fingers I was about to place it on his head, 
 saying, unwillingly and with difficulty, 
 
 ■'James, kneel! I crown thee King ! " 
 
 But I spoke the words with a visible efEort, as though 
 they were rent from my inmost heart. The crowd, 
 gathered outside the palace, at a sign made by Davison 
 from the balcony, set up a great shout of — 
 
 " Long live James L, King of England ! " 
 
 Their acclamations, however, irritated me almost past 
 endurance. I cried in my pain and anger that my sub- 
 jects were fickle and ungratefuL I tore the crown from 
 James's head and, placing it once more upon my own, 
 held it there firmly with both hands, whUe I shrieked, 
 
 TJngratefnl people, I yet live ! " 
 
 But this supreme effort exhausted my small remaining 
 strength. I sank back once more on my couch with the 
 death-rattle in my throat, and with my last conscious 
 breath committed to my successor's keeping 
 
 ■' The Bible and my father's sword." 
 
 Then began the final agony, rendered all the more 
 terrible by my ever-present remembrance of the unfortu- 
 nate Essex. I fancied I saw him stand before me. I 
 stretched out my arms towards him, as though beseeching 
 him to come and give me the kiss of forgiveness ; and 
 after a brief struggle with death I sank to rest, and lay 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH. 303 
 
 with glazed eyes, surrounded by my courtiers, who in 
 awe-struck tones pronounced the words : 
 
 "She is dead! Dead! 
 
 Behold how I have endeavoured to interpret this 
 masterpiece of the lamented Giacometti.' I have studied, 
 as aforesaid, within the rigorous limits of history, that 
 «xtraordinary character of a woman and a Queen. 
 
LOSDOir : 
 
 PBIHTED Br W. H. ALLES AND CO. 13 WATBRIOO PI.