strong and happy for the whole of my journey. This evening I give my fourth representation in London; by the 8th I shall have given the six evenings I promised.
I hope, dear Alexander, that while your little mother goes to gather laurels and dollars in America you will gather your laurels in the approaching examination. Think of the happiness it will be, whenever I receive a good report of you. Gabriel is still too young for much study, but his turn, I hope, will come.
Grandmamma returns to Paris as soon as we have embarked for America. She will bring you the latest news, and will give you both two tender kisses from me,
who loves you both with all her heart.
She wrote to her mother an account of the journey out. She said her health was good in spite of pains in her chest:—"The ache in my side has even disappeared for the present. I have certainly felt other pains in my back and chest; but I must never forget that my chest was always a weak one."
Her very insistance, however, on her happiness and well-being is a little suspicious:—
I should be ungrateful, indeed, did I feel the least regret at leaving the children that I adore, and a mother whom I love with all my heart. No, no! Mademoiselle, go this tour (cette gentille tournée), and then you will be able to say you have earned your daily bread. White people must do some work since "niggers" refuse it. What nonsense I am writing: but it is only to prove, dear mother, that you must not conjure up either black or blue devils. I am well. And young America only will grow older from the emotions our fine old tragedies will arouse in her.
Léon de Beauvallet, one of the troupe whom Rachel took with her, has written an account of this "Odysée," as he calls it, of French tragedy in America; it is brimful of fun, rattle-headed nonsense, and astounding caricature, but greatly offended the Americans of the day.
