e part, as well
as Berlioz, who was to direct a symphony of his own composition. At
the rehearsal, the looks of Berlioz followed Miss Smithson with such
an intent stare, that she said to some one, "Who is that man whose eyes
bode me no good?" This was the first occasion of their personal meeting,
and it may be fancied that Berlioz followed up the introduction with his
accustomed vehemence and pertinacity, though without immediate effect,
for Miss Smithson was more inclined to fear than to love him.

The young directress soon found out that the rage for Shakespeare, which
had swept the public mind under the influence of the romanticism led by
Victor Hugo, Dumas, Theophile Gautier, Balzac, and others, was spurious.
The wave had been frothing but shallow, and it ebbed away, leaving the
English actress and her enterprise gasping for life. With no deeper
tap-root than the Gallic love of novelty and the infectious enthusiasm
of a few men of great genius, the Shakespearean mania had a short
life, and Frenchmen shrugged their shoulders over their own folly, in
temporarily preferring the English barbarian to Racine, Corneille, and
Moliere. The letters of Berlioz, in which he scourges the fickleness
of his countrymen in returning again to their "false gods," are
masterpieces of pointed invective.

Miss Smithson was speedily involved in great pecuniary difficulty, and,
to add to her misfortunes, she fell down stairs and broke her leg,
thus precluding her own appearance on the stage. Affairs were in this
desperate condition, when Berlioz came to the fore with a delicate and
manly chivalry worthy of the highest praise. He offered to pay Miss
Smithson's debts, though a poor man himself, and to marry her without
delay. The ceremony took place immediately, and thus commenced a
connection which hampered and retarded Berlioz's career, as well as
caused him no little personal unhappiness. He speedily discovered that
his wife was a woman of fretful, imperious temper, jealous of mere
shadows (though Berlioz was a man to give her substantial cause), and
totally lacking in sympathy writh his high-art ideals.

When Mme. Berlioz recovered, it was to find herself unable longer to
act, as her leg was stiff and her movements unsuited to the exigencies
of the stage. Poor Berlioz was crushed by the weight of the obligations
he had assumed, and, as the years went on, the peevish plaints of an
invalid wife, who had lost her beauty and power of charm