t, and now there seems to be no limit to
the capacity of such artists for earning money by the exercise of
their talents. Five and six performances a week are the normal
number now expected from great European stars, or rather those
which great European stars expect to give and to be paid for. Their
health is one invariable sacrifice to this over-work, and their
artistic excellence a still more grievous one. It has been asked
why artists invariably return to Europe comparatively coarse and
vulgar in the style of their performances, and the result is
attributed to the want of refined taste and critical judgment of
the American audiences--in my opinion very unjustly, for if want of
knowledge and nice perception in the public induces carelessness
and indifference in performers, the grasping greed of gain and
incessant over-exertion, mental and physical, for the sake of
satisfying it, is a far more certain cause of artistic
deterioration. During Madame Ristori's last visit to America, I
went to see a morning performance of "Elizabeta d'Inglterra" by
her. Arriving at the theater half an hour before the time announced
for the performance, I found notices affixed to the entrances,
stating that the beginning was unavoidably delayed by Madame
Ristori's non-arrival. The crowd of expectant spectators occupied
their seats and bore this prolonged postponement with
American--_i.e._, unrivaled--patience, good-temper, and civility.
We were encouraged by two or three pieces of information from some
official personage, who from the stage assured us that the moment
Madame Ristori arrived (she was coming by railroad from Baltimore)
the play should begin. Then came a telegram, she was coming; then
an announcement, she was come; and driving from the terminus
straight to the theater, tired and harassed herself with the delay,
she dressed herself and appeared before her audience, went through
a part of extraordinary length and difficulty and exertion--almost,
indeed, a monologue--including the intolerable fatigue and hurry of
four or five entire changes of costume, and as the curtain dropped
rushed off to disrobe and catch a train to New York, where she was
to act the next morning, if not the evening, of that same day. I
had seen Madame Ristori in this part in England, and