gone over in a body to the beautiful Italian. They describe her
triumphs precisely as they described Rachel's. The old ecstasies are
burnished up for the new occasion. In a country like ours, where there
is no theatre, and where the dramatic differences only creep into an
advertisement, such an excitement as Paris feels, from such a cause
and at such a time, is simply incredible. It is, possibly, as real and
dignified an excitement as that which New York experienced upon the
decease of the late lamented William Poole.

There are various explanations of this fall of Rachel, without
resorting to the theory of superior genius in Ristori. Undoubtedly
Paris loves novelty, and has been impatient of the disdainful sway of
Rachel. Her reputed avarice and want of courtesy and generosity, her
total failure to charm as a woman while she fascinated as an artist,
have, naturally enough, after many years, fatigued the patience and
disappointed the humane sympathies of a public whose mere curiosity
had been long satisfied. Rachel seemed only more Parisian than Paris.

But when over the Alps came Ristori, lovely as a woman and eminent as
an artist, then there was a new person who could make Paris weep at
her greatness upon the stage, and her goodness away from it; who, in
the plenitude of her first success, could shame the reported avarice
of her fallen rival by offers of the sincerest generosity. When
Ristori came, who seemed to have a virtue for every vice of Rachel,
Paris, with one accord, hurried with hymns and incense to the new
divinity. We regard it as a homage to the woman no less than a tribute
to the artist. We regard it as saying to Rachel that if, being humane
and lovely, she chose, from pride, to rule by scornful superiority,
she has greatly erred; or if, being really unlovely, she has held this
crown only by her genius, she has yet to see human nature justify