There were two stanzas in particular which the young actress chanted rather than sang:
Je croyais encore l'invoquer:
Vers moi soudain elle s'avance,
Et du doigt semble en indiquer
Une Ville inconnue, immense.
Un seul mot rompit le silence:
Paris! Et puis elle ajouta,
Comme en reponse à ma prière:
Vas y seule, à pied—car c'est là
Que tu pourras sauver ton père.
Jules Janin tells us how—"Some years afterwards, one winter evening, Rachel, then very ill, was lying on the sofa in her entresol of the Chaussée D'Antin; the rain was beating outside, the thunder rolling, the wind blowing. The guests in the darkened room were sitting silent, everyone depressed by the sadness of the young actress, over whom the shadow of death had even then fallen. Suddenly, with her deep yet sonorous voice, she began singing this couplet, and made them shiver by the expression she gave to the words—
Une ville inconnue, immense,
Paris! . . .
Vas y seule—à pied—car c'est là
Que tu pourras sauver ton père.
Her voice died away in a sob, and she burst into tears."
Poor, eloquent, unhappy Rachel, with her passionate heart and erratic genius! It was the Marseillaise of her past misery and approaching death that she sang that evening. Unaided and on foot she had wandered to the scene of her triumph, to the goal of her fame, and felt the prize turning to dust and ashes in her hand.
Already in the Vendéene the young actress showed that strict attention to all details of dress and appearance that distinguished her during her artistic career.
