Page:The Galaxy, Volume 6.djvu/270

246 was called "Fanchon, the Cricket," and was a translation from a German play, which, in turn, was a dramatization from George Sand's famous idyl of the loves and trials of rustic lovers.

During that same engagement, the play was put in rehearsal and produced, the author anticipating his own and the artist's future success from his stool in the orchestra. But, on the very night of its production, Camp Jackson was taken by Lyon, and there was some ugly fighting going on in the streets of St. Louis. Two German regiments, finding themselves sorely pressed, turned and fired upon their tormentors, and there was weeping that night, and for many nights after, over dead and mangled sons and fathers. The fictitious grief of Fanchon had to yield in interest to the real sorrows rife in those Missouri homes. The realities of life had suddenly become too serious to permit public attention to be devoted to the stage. Star and manager struggled bravely on, acting to empty houses for a few nights more, and then succumbed to the universal neglect, and the theatre closed.

Nevertheless, the play was a good one, and so thought author, star, and manager. When the theatre closed, the author became a soldier, and won a captain's commission under Fremont; the manager paced the stage of his dark old shell of a house, grimly surveying the tawdry scenery, the draped chandeliers and upholstery, and sighed for the "piping times of peace;" and Maggie Mitchell, left once more to struggle with fortune, wandered away through the West again, carrying the manuscript of "Fanchon" with her, and to not too fastidious audiences played the new part, thereby slowly growing to greatness.

On the 9th of June, 1862, Maggie Mitchell was in New York, lessee of Laura Keene's little theatre on Broadway, which she had especially engaged for the production of her new play. Evidently it was not held in much estimation yet, for in the issue of that morning the "Tribune" went out of its way to fling a sneer at it. But the next morning the "Tribune" told a different story; for the play had been produced, and the young actress had startled the critics by the almost miraculous power she displayed in the character of Fanchon—a power before undeveloped, unsuspected by either herself or any other person, excepting Aug. Waldauer, musician and soldier.

When Maggie Mitchell walked off the stage of Laura Keene's little theatre that beautiful summer's night, she knew she was famous and that her fortune was secure.

Joseph Jefferson went over to England a little while before that June night, carrying in his carpet-bag an old dog-eared copy of the play of "Rip Van Winkle," a dramatization of Irving's story, done by the great comedian's half-brother, Charles Burke. It was the body of the same play which Mr. Jefferson now performs. Arriving in England, he hands it to Mr. Dion Bourcicault, and requests that gentleman to "touch it up a little." That very clever dramatist, novelist, and actor, touched it up, as suggested, and has received from Joseph Jefferson, first and last, as compensation for that little bit of journey-work, eighteen thousand dollars. The result of Mr. Bourcicault's touching up, added to Mr. Jefferson's genius, made the latter one of the wealthiest actors on the stage.

Aug. Waldauer's translation, added to Maggie Mitchell's peculiar power, made her as rich as her brother artist. And, as the actress now stands triumphantly upon the stage, her fame and fortune assured, tossing back the flying masses of her hair, dancing from foot to foot in elfish joyousness, full of a singular winsomeness, and regnant with nervous passion; while boxes, pit and galleries