temperament of virtue. She was naturally religious, firm, temperate, and judicious; and if not a genius, she certainly had incomparable talent. Her dresses were studies from all that history and art could do for the drama; she redeemed the honor of the Italian stage, and opened the door for Salvini, the greatest Othello and Hamlet and Samson that the world has seen.
She made a very large fortune and left her children rich. What a fortune to inherit the memory of such a mother! A woman who could not be moved from her sublime pedestal of devotion to art, to duty, to religion; who could pass through all the temptations of youth, beauty, celebrity, and triumph utterly unscathed! She was nobly patriotic, true to her friend Cavour, kindhearted and philanthropic to a degree. It is hard to say which to admire the most: the talent of the actress, making famous the woman, or the character of the woman, giving depth, solidity, and enduring strength to the fame of the actress.
I cannot leave this celebrated memory without referring to her Queen Elizabeth, The play gave us forty years of that stormy life. Ristori, coming on as a young girl, the pretty auburn - haired princess, adroitly grew ten years older at every decade by putting on more clothes, more jewels, and more paint and whitewash, until the lion woman, sinking down to die on the stage, was the old Elizabeth who shook the dying countess for having deceived her about Leicester's ring. It was a superb study. I cannot forget her startling scream as she heard of the success of Francis Drake and the destruction of the Spanish Armada. "Drak!" said she, throwing out a long forefinger, as if she would touch the absent commander and give him the accolade. It seemed that "Drak" could hear that cry; it had in it
