manner, and ready wit. When introduced to Chateaubriand, the venerable poet said to her in a melancholy tone, "How sad it is to think, Mademoiselle, that such as you should be born as we are about to die." "Sir," she replied, "there are some who never die."
On one of these literary afternoons, which were of frequent occurrence at the Abbaye aux Bois, Rachel had been requested by Madame Recamier to recite the celebrated scene from Corneille's Polyeucte.
Mon époux, en mourant, m'a laissé ses lumières;
Son sang, dont tes bourreaux viennent de me couvrir
M'a dessillé les yeux, et me les vient d'ouvrir:
Je vois, je sais, je crois!
As she spoke the lines, the Archbishop of was announced.
"Monseigneur," said Madame Recamier, slightly embarrassed, "allow me to present Mademoiselle Rachel, who was good enough to recite some verses of Polyeucte for our benefit."
"I should be sorry to interrupt Corneille's poetry by my prose; pray continue," said His Eminence.
Unwilling, as a Jewess, to speak the words "Je vois, je sais, je crois" before a Christian prelate, Rachel replied, diffidently, "If Monseigneur will allow me, I should prefer to recite some verses of Racine's Esther."
When the young girl had finished, the Archbishop addressed her in terms of the highest praise.
"We priests," he added, "are not often allowed the pleasure of meeting great artistes. Twice, however, in my life I have had that privilege. At Florence I heard Madame Malibran sing in a drawing-room, and I now owe to our hostess the pleasure of hearing Mademoiselle Rachel. To recite as I heard you when I entered, you must have felt deeply the pathos of the situation."
