the eye. In all great cities, quite as
much as in villages, there is a topic which for the moment occupies
everybody, and which cannot be escaped, whether you enter a
drawing-room, pick up a newspaper or rush into the street: the chief
difference is, that in the great cities it changes oftener--"every
fortnight here," says Sainte-Beuve of Paris. The history of many a nine
days' wonder may be gathered from the _Chroniques_: we can mark the
first effect of occurrences startling at the time, some of which are now
wholly forgotten, while others have become historical; we witness the
appearance of new divinities who have since found their pedestals,
niches or obscure corners. Among these was Ponsard, chiefly known in
this country, to those who remember Mademoiselle Rachel's brief,
gleaming transit, as the author of _Horace et Lydie_, a light, bright,
graceful piece based upon Horace's "Donec gratus eram tibi."

M. Ponsard, who was from the south of France, arrived in Paris in 1843
with a tragedy called _Lucrece_, which had been in his pocket for three
years. It was read first at the house of the actor Bocage before a
party of artists, actors and men of letters such as Paris alone can
bring together. The litterateurs gave their opinion with caution and an
oracular ambiguity which did not commit them too much: Gautier, on being
asked how he liked it, replied, "It did not put me to sleep;" but the
sculptor Preault, not having a literary reputation at stake, declared
that if there were a "Roman prize" for tragedy (as there is for music
and the fine arts, entitling the fortunate competitor to four years'
travel and study in classic lands at the expense of the government) the
author would set out on the morrow for the Eternal City. The play was
read again a week or two afterward in the drawing-room of the Comtesse
d'Agoult, the beautiful, gifted, reckless friend of Lizst's youth, and
mother of the wife of Von Bulow and Wagner. The success was complete.
Sainte-Beuve was again present; and Lamartine was among the audience
full of admiration: the poor young poet could not nerve himself to come.
The play was read by Bocage, who took the principal part, that of
Brutus, when it was brought out at the Odeon. The chaste Lucretia was
played by Madame Dorval, whose strength lay in parts of a different
kind, and who announced her new character to a friend with the comment,
"I only play women of virtue now-a-days." Reports of the new tragedy,