"The present not being the season for theatricals in London, I have had but scanty opportunities of judging of the merits of the performers. I have seen Liston and Farren, however, both distinguished for their talents, and both deservedly admired. Yet I have seen nothing to alter the opinion which you know I have long entertained, that Henry Placide is the best actor on the stage in his own diversified range.
"I am very often solicited to perform during my sojourn abroad, but to all such requests my answer is invariably in the negative. I tell my friends here, as I told those at home before leaving, that my object in visiting Europe was not professional. Thanks to my countrymen! they have obviated the necessity of my going on such a tour.
"James Sheridan Knowles has come back, and I was at 'Old Drury' when he reappeared. His reception was very warm and hearty, and after the play (The Wife) he was called out, when he addressed the audience in a few words expressive of his thanks for their cordial greeting, and took occasion to advert, in very glowing terms, evidently prompted by sincere feeling, to the kindness he had experienced in America. He termed our country 'the bright land beyond the seas,' and our country-people 'his brothers and sisters.' His acknowledgments of gratitude were received by a full house with acclamations."
During the passage of the steamer William Jolliffe from London to Hamburg, Forrest evidently found no little amusement in studying the peculiarities of his fellow-passengers. He writes thus, for example: "Almost always when travelling in a public conveyance, if you notice, you will observe some one who tries to attract attention by standing out in relievo from the rest. Actuated by such a low ambition was an overgrown, unwieldy, almost spherical lady, dubbed on the way-bill honorable, and said to be the wife of a member of Parliament. This dame passée strove to ape the manners of a girl of sixteen, and occasionally, in a fit of would-be-young-again, gave her huge frame a motion on the promenade-deck that looked for all the world like the wallowing of a great sea-turtle in shallow water. She was of Spanish descent, and seemed delighted to show off her mastery of this foreign tongue, to the astonishment of the wonder-wounded Dutchmen, who, attracted by her bright-red mantle trimmed with ermine, and amazed at her knowledge of the strange tongue, gazed upon her with a sort of stupid reverence."
At Hamburg he attended a performance of Schiller's "Don Carlos," in the great Stadt Theatre. "The building is very commodious, but badly lighted by a single lustre depending from the dome. The play began at half-past six and ended at eleven, and, as it seemed to me, was but indifferently well represented. During these four and a half hours the people paid the closest attention and showed no sign of uneasiness. How an American audience would have shuffled!"
In Hamburg Forrest had his first experience of a Russian bath. His own description of this is interesting, as the delight in baths of all kinds was a growing passion with him even to the very last.
"Having reduced myself to nudity, a signal was given from an adjoining apartment, like the theatrical noises which attend the splitting of the charmed rock in the 'Forty Thieves.' A door now was opened upon the side, a blanket thrown over my shoulders, and I was told in German to go in. I obeyed. This was a small room, where the thermometer rose to about one hundred. Here the blanket was taken from my shoulders, and a door beyond opened, and in stalked a naked man, who motioned me to follow him. I did so. I passed the portal, and was immediately enveloped in steam and heat up at least to a hundred and ten of Fahrenheit. This chamber was of oval shape, and had on one side three or four shelves of wood, rising one above the other, on the first of which I was told to sit down. After striving to breathe here for five or six minutes, I was invited to sit upon the next, and after a certain time to the next, and so on until I reached the last, near the ceiling, where the heat must have been at least a hundred and twenty. By this time the perspiration became profuse, and poured off in torrents. The attendant now told me to descend to the third shelf; and then he commenced rubbing and whipping me with fragrant twigs. Then I was rubbed with soap, then told to stand in the centre of the floor, when in a moment I was deluged with a shower of cold water, which seemed to realize to me the refreshing thought of the poison-fevered monarch who wished his kingdom's rivers might flow through his burning bosom. My probation was now nearly over,—three-quarters of an hour at least in this steaming purgatory. I returned to the first apartment, where I was laid, almost exhausted, upon a couch, and covered with at least a dozen blankets. Again the perspiration broke out upon me, and a boy stood by to wipe the huge drops from my face and brow. One by one the blankets were removed, and I was rubbed dry with white towels. Then I dressed myself, paid for the bath, about a dollar, and something to the boys. As I walked into the street, the atmosphere never before seemed so pure. Every breath was like a delicious draught. At every step I felt returning strength, and in about a half an hour a bottle of hock and a dozen oysters made Richard wholly himself again."
At St. Petersburg Forrest found much to interest him, especially the tomb of Peter the Great, the numerous relics and specimens of his handiwork so carefully preserved, and the magnificent equestrian statue by Falconet, erected in his honor by Catherine. While crossing a bridge that spans the Neva, he one day observed a covered boat gliding beneath, manned by half a dozen soldiers. On inquiry, he learned that the boat contained some Polish noblemen who had been condemned to slavery and chains for the crime of loving liberty and their country too well. He describes a visit to the Palace of the Hermitage, where there was a fine collection of paintings, among them one ascribed to Jules Romain,—a very curious representation of the creation of woman. "Adam is asleep, like a melodramatic hero just fallen into a reverie, with his head resting on his right hand, quite in an attitude. The Deity, as usual, is given as an infirm old man dressed in azure, and is pointing to the side of our primeval parent, out of which mother Eve seems to slide like a thief from his hiding-place!"
Moscow he found still more attractive and imposing, with its long, romantic story, and the sublime tragedy of its conflagration in the presence of the terror-struck army of Napoleon. A single extract from his diary will suffice: "Went to the Kremlin. Passed the Holy Gate with my hat on, unconscious of the sacred precincts until a boor of a Russian grunted at my ear and with violent gestures motioned toward my head. It then struck me this must be the Holy Gate, through which none dare pass without being uncovered. But, as I did not like to be browbeaten into respect for their 'brazen images,' I passed on sans cérémonie and without molestation. I walked to the terrace which overlooks the gardens and the river, and looked down upon the magnificent city, with her gorgeous palaces, her innumerable cupolas and domes, dazzling amid the bright sunbeams with azure and gold. I stood by the ancient residence of the Tsars, the scene of so much history; and as I glanced over the immense assemblage of stately structures spread far and wide across the vast plain below, all beaming with as much freshness as if by the voice of magic they had just been called into existence, my eyes drank in more delight than they ever had before in looking upon a city, save only when in early life, after an absence of years from my native place, I revisited my home. The spectacle which Moscow presented was at the same time novel and sublime. Its varied architecture was at once Oriental, Gothic, and Classic, the delicate towering minarets of the East and the beauteous majesty of the Grecian blending with the