uncultured audience, and her genius never suffered from the deteriorating effects of acting to them. It seemed to soar above and beyond all exterior influences. As soon as she appeared, the sense of grandeur was imparted to the piece; although acted on a tumble-down country stage, with no scenery, and miserable adjuncts, the impression of stately colonnades and luxurious Eastern palaces was produced on the mind of the listener. Abroad, when acting not even in the language of her audience, her pantomimic power was so great that she asserted her influence over them directly, never degrading her art to their level, but raising them to hers.
These wanderings, however, through the provinces and all over Europe, laid the seeds in her already overtaxed constitution of that disease which in America burst forth at last, consuming what little strength she had left. She travelled in a carriage of her own, which was fitted up after the manner of a stage-coach; the coupé was occupied by Rachel herself, and here she had a bed set up for her numerous night journeys. It would have been impossible for her to fulfil all the numerous engagements she undertook without travelling by night, but the most ridiculous stories were circulated in Paris respecting these journeyings. At Dragnignau, it was said, Fleuret, who played the part of Theseus, worn-out with fatigue, fell asleep while listening to the celebrated narrative of his son's death. A vigorous kick was required to rouse him in time to exclaim, "A mon fils, cher espoir, que je suis ravi."
Only the most severe indisposition was accepted as an excuse for exemption from service. On one occasion, a member of the company was obliged to apply the
