Page:The Galaxy, Volume 6.djvu/269



LITTLE girl, curiously ragged and unkempt, bounding through an open window in the side-scene—her voice not especially sweet or musical, yet rarely modulated, clear, and decided; her utterance lightning quick, and every movement, gesture, pose, electric with energy; her laugh a wild, careless, jubilant, child's laugh, resonant, ringing, and perfectly natural—such is the familiar apparition of the actress Maggie Mitchell, at the opening of her famous play of "Fanchon."

Previous to the late rebellion, Miss Mitchell had been a favorite actress with some New York audiences, and was extremely popular in Southern and Western theatres. To the play-goers of New Orleans, she was known as the "Star of the South," and at Pittsburg as the "Pet of the West"—at least these were the titles she herself had placed upon the bills, and which she liked to see there in very large type indeed. She had youth, a certain piquancy and abandon which served in place of beauty, a curiously child-like voice and manner, both capable of expressing joy or melancholy; add to these great vivacity and a sprightly enjoyment of her work, and you have a fair résumé of her dramatic abilities. As an actress, she gave no especial marks of excellence, was neither forcible nor original, and the characters in which she appeared were often better played by others, and did not belong to the highest standards of the drama. She generally appeared in conjunction with Mr. Sam. Glenn, an indifferent actor of a single part, that of a stupid Dutchman in the farce of "The Double Bedded Room."

For a good many years, she led a precarious, nomadic life, wandering about from town to town, mainly up and down the Ohio and Mississippi rivers, and finding her greatest profit in the South.

In 1860, there was a gentleman in St. Louis named Aug. Waldauer, leading the orchestra at the theatre, and chief promoter and conductor of all the musical festivals in that Germanic city. He had been liberally educated in one of the best of the German universities, and his mind was deeply imbued with the spirit of the drama and the music of his native country. He sat on his perch in the orchestra night after night, watching the vivacious little actress, fancying there was more in her than she knew; that she was capable of better things than she had thus far shown. He said nothing to her or to any one about his fancy, but went home one night resolving to make the little lady's fortune, and to write her name up among the real stars in the dramatic sky. He worked very hard and earnestly at his self-appointed task, and was kept pretty busy between his morning and evening duties at the theatre and his musical societies.

When she appeared in St. Louis in the May of 1861, his work was done. He asked permission to read a new play to her. It was read and approved. It