Chamberss Edinburgh Journal, No. 439 | Page 5

have the whole management on their
shoulders, and are pressing my return; and Lemercier is only waiting
for me to read to us a sort of Richard the Third.'
'Nevertheless, you dine with me to-morrow. One day longer will not
matter to them, and is a great matter to me. I suspect Lemercier's
Richard the Third is cold enough to keep a little longer. I am to have
my friend Girodet with me; so dine with us you must. It will make me
grow young again, man, and bring back the happy meetings at
Moliker's, near the gate of the Louvre.'
The illustrious exile accompanied this sentence with another of his
grim smiles. The actor was deeply moved by it, for in that bitter smile
he read how the artist pined for his country. 'I will stay with you, I will
stay with you, dear David!' now eagerly cried Talma. 'For your sake, I
will desert my post, and steal a holiday from my Paris friends; but it
can only be on condition that you, too, will make a little sacrifice for
me, and come this evening to see me in Leonidas.'

'Well, I don't care if I do,' answered the painter, whom the sight of one
friend, and the expectation of seeing another, had made quite a different
being from the David of the morning. 'Here goes for Leonidas; but,
remember, I give you fair warning--I shall go to sleep. I have scarcely
ever been in a theatre that I did not take a sound nap.'
'But when Talma plays, plaudits will keep you awake, M. David,' said
the courtly M. Lesec; and this seasonable compliment obtained for him
a smile, and an invitation for the next day, so flattering to his vanity
that, even at the risk of compromising himself with the Prince of
Orange, he unhesitatingly accepted.
That evening, between six and seven o'clock, the old French painter, a
Baron of the Empire, entered the theatre in full dress, and with a new
red ribbon in his button-hole; but, as if shrinking from notice, he took
his seat at the back of the stage-box, reserved for him by his friend
Talma, with M. Lesec by his side, prouder, more elated, more frizzled
and befrilled, than if he had been appointed first-commissioner of
finance. But notwithstanding all the care of the modest artist to
preserve his incognito, it was soon whispered through the theatre that
he was one of the audience; and it was not long before he was pointed
out, when instantly the whole house stood up respectfully, and repeated
cheers echoed from pit to vaulted roof. The prince himself was among
the first to offer this tribute to the illustrious exile, who, confused,
agitated, and scarcely able to restrain his tears, bowed to the audience
rather awkwardly, as he whispered to M. Lesec: 'So, then, I am still
remembered. I thought no one at Brussels cared whether I was dead or
alive.'
Soon Talma appeared as Leonidas; and in his turn engrossed every eye,
every thought of that vast assembly. A triple round of applause hailed
every speech uttered by the generous Spartan. The painter of the
Sabines, of Brutus, of the Horatii, of the Coronation, seemed to heed
neither the noisy acclamations nor the deep silence that succeeded each
other. Mute, motionless, transfixed, he heard not the plaudits: it was not
Talma he saw, not Talma he was listening to. He was at Thermopylæ
by the side of Leonidas himself; ready to die with him and his three

hundred heroes. Never had he been so deeply moved. He had talked of
sleep, but he was as much alive, as eager, as animated, as if he were an
actual sharer in the heroic devotedness that was the subject of the
drama. For some moments after the curtain fell, he seemed equally
absorbed; it was not till he was out of the theatre, and in the street, that
he recovered sufficiently to speak; and then it was only to repeat every
five minutes: 'What a noble talent it is! What a power he has had over
me!'
A night of tranquil sleep, and dreams of bright happy days, closed an
evening of such agreeable excitement to the poor exile; and so cheering
was its effect upon him, that he was up the next morning before day,
and his old servant, to her surprise, saw her usually gloomy and taciturn
master looking almost gay while charging her to have breakfast ready,
and to be sure that dinner was in every way befitting the honoured
guests he expected.
'And are you going out, sir, and so early?' exclaimed the old woman;
now, for the first time, perceiving that her master had his hat on and his
cane in his hand.
'Yes,