ly for France in the year 1855. There she seems to
have been a great success, particularly in the part of Myrrha; classical
without being cold, artistic without being academic, she brought to the
interpretation of the character of Alfieri's great heroine the colour-
element of passion, the form-element of style. Jules Janin was loud in
his praises, the Emperor begged Ristori to join the troupe of the Comedie
Francaise, and Rachel, with the strange narrow jealousy of her nature,
trembled for her laurels. Myrrha was followed by Marie Stuart, and Marie
Stuart by Medea. In the latter part Madame Ristori excited the greatest
enthusiasm. Ary Scheffer designed her costumes for her; and the Niobe
that stands in the Uffizzi Gallery at Florence, suggested to Madame
Ristori her famous pose in the scene with the children. She would not
consent, however, to remain in France, and we find her subsequently
playing in almost every country in the world from Egypt to Mexico, from
Denmark to Honolulu. Her representations of classical plays seem to have
been always immensely admired. When she played at Athens, the King
offered to arrange for a performance in the beautiful old theatre of
Dionysos, and during her tour in Portugal she produced Medea before the
University of Coimbra. Her description of the latter engagement is
extremely interesting. On her arrival at the University, she was
received by the entire body of the undergraduates, who still wear a
costume almost mediaeval in character. Some of them came on the stage in
the course of the play as the handmaidens of Creusa, hiding their black
beards beneath heavy veils, and as soon as they had finished their parts
they took their places gravely among the audience, to Madame Ristori's
horror, still in their Greek dress, but with their veils thrown back, and
smoking long cigars. 'Ce n'est pas la premiere fois,' she says, 'que
j'ai du empecher, par un effort de volonte, la tragedie de se terminer en
farce.' Very interesting, also, is her account of the production of
Montanelli's Camma, and she tells an amusing story of the arrest of the
author by the French police on the charge of murder, in consequence of a
telegram she sent to him in which the words 'body of the victim'
occurred. Indeed, the whole book is full of cleverly written stories,
and admirable criticisms on dramatic art. I have quoted from the French
version, which happens to be the one that lies before me, but whethe