tenderness and sweetness that were possibly foreign to her character,
and with a general fascination and good intention which a contemporary
might not have discovered.

It has made her the ideal of unfortunate womanhood. For it seemed that
a fate so tragic deserved a fame so fair. Perhaps the weakness which
Mary had, and which Lady Jane Grey had not, have been the very reasons
why the unfortunate, unhappy Queen Mary is dearer to our human
sympathies than the unfortunate Lady Jane. Perhaps because it was a
woman who pursued her, the instinct of men has sought to restore, by
the canonization of Mary, the womanly ideal injured by Elizabeth.

But, whatever be the reason, there is no question that we judge Mary
Queen of Scots more by the imagination than by historical rigor; and
it is Mary, as the mind insists upon having her, that Rachel
represents. She conspires with the imagination to complete the ideal
of Mary. It is a story told in sad music to which we listen; it is a
mournful panorama, unfolding itself scene by scene, upon which we
gaze. Lost in soft melancholy, the figures of the drama move before us
as in a tragic dream. But after seeing Rachel's Mary we can see no
other. If we meet her in history or romance, it is always that figure,
those pensive eyes, forecasting a fearful doom, that voice whose music
is cast in a hopeless minor. It is thus that dramatic genius creates,
and poetry disputes with history.

Jules Janin says that Rachel is best in those parts of this play where
the anger of the Queen is more prominent than the grief of the woman.

This is true to a certain extent. It was not difficult to see that the
fierceness was more natural than the tenderness to the woman Rachel,