My friend, who from being accustomed to play the parts of kings and nobles, had acquired habits of reckless prodigality, handed her a two-sous piece. I followed his example. The child disappeared and returned almost immediately, bearing a paper horn of fried potatoes, temptingly hot and brown. She offered the "horn" to my friend and myself, and this was the only time I ever partook of a meal with Mademoiselle Rachel.
In 1836 Saint Aulaire applied to the then director of the Comédie Française, Jouslin de la Salle, on behalf of his pupil "La petite Diablesse," as he called her. Jouslin gives the following account of the interview:—
Saint Aulaire entered my office one morning and spoke with extreme animation about a poor Jewish girl, whom he described to me as the ideal of tragedy, and the only person capable of recalling the chefs d'ouvres of our tragic repertory. It was Rachel for whom the professor demanded an audience, which I granted on the spot. Mademoiselle Mars, myself, and Mademoiselle Anaïs were the only persons present. Saint Aulaire recited with the débutante, who was then very small. She had selected Hermione in Andromaque and Mariette in the Dépit Amoureux. She commenced with the latter, in which she showed no remarkable talent; but she had hardly finished in Andromaque the ironical passage "The Farewell to Orestes" than we uttered exclamations of surprise. For a very long time we had not heard the verses declaimed with so much precision or such energy. The performance over, Mademoiselle Mars kissed the young girl (who was quite moved by the success she had just achieved) and evinced great interest in her. Upon the remark that she was very short for the parts of queens and great heroines, the characters she had decided on playing, Mars reminded us that Mademoiselle Maillet, the great tragic actress, was still shorter. "Besides," she added, "it is a good fault, the child will grow."
What a scene for a picture! Mars—the beautiful and successful Mars—who had reigned a queen for so long, and who still retained a great deal of the grace and beauty that enchanted the France of the latter end of the preceding century, and the pale dark-faced Jewess, with the eyes of flame, who was destined to take the sceptre that was dropping from the elder woman's grasp. The result of this audience was that
