Chapter II: Part 2

Her delivery is still the same musical jeremiad as before. All her
tirades are given with the same plaintive, sing-song intonation.
When the action quickens the sound rises to a higher key, but the
melody remains unaltered. This constant recitative gives way in the
strong passages to breathless cries, painful to hear. Her outbursts
are those of a breaking voice. They positively wound the ear.

According to Auguste Vitu, in the _Figaro_, her interpretation was fair, and no more. M. Sarcey, however, observed that it was only justice to admit that she had made something out of nothing. In the afternoon preceding the _première_, she had been elected a full member, or _sociétaire_, of the company, together with her comrade Laroche. Her antagonists had laid down their arms! In the evening the astonished critics beheld all the lady members of the company vigorously applauding the new _sociétaire_!

On April 27, 1875 came the revival of Emile Augier’s _Gabrielle_, in which Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt appeared with Coquelin. She was reproached with making the character allotted to her into an ideal, poetic, and romantic woman, quite in opposition to the author’s conception. She re-studied the part, and in December of the same year she created quite another Gabrielle. M. Sarcey, who went to see her, was astonished to observe that she had effected a complete transformation.

When the Salon opened, Sarah Bernhardt gave her rivals another unpleasant surprise by exhibiting busts of Emile de Girardin and Busnach. Her new departure excited a great sensation. It was impossible to set a foot behind the scenes of any Paris theatre without being assailed by such questions as--

“Have you seen the busts? What do you think of them? Are they really very good?”

Portraits of Mlle. Bernhardt were exhibited at the Salon by Clairin and Louise Abbéma. The latter painted her sitter in a black cashmere bodice with an iron-grey skirt, black _guipure_ chemisette, black hat and black feathers--the costume worn by her as Mrs. Clarkson in _L’Etrangère_. M. Clairin’s Sarah Bernhardt was in a white cashmere _peignoir_, trimmed with white feathers, and with lace ruffles at the sleeves and neck; black satin slippers, sky-blue stockings, and a large feather screen: the actress lying on a cerise velvet divan, with a many-coloured cushion under her head.

Sarah Bernhardt was now a full-blown Parisian celebrity, and her fame was destined to go on increasing. Curiosity began to be felt concerning even the most insignificant details of her daily life. This public curiosity stimulated her, as an independent and original person, to brave the gossip of the city and its _bourgeois_ hypocrisy. All sorts of more or less true tales of her eccentricities were told about this time. She was constantly haunted by ideas of death, her frail organization being, no doubt, still incomplete. From time to time she fainted on the stage, and her unruly imagination promptly led her to expect the most direful consequences, but her extraordinary elasticity of temperament soon supplied her with renewed strength and vitality, and the complete prostration of to-day was always followed on the morrow by the most sanguine anticipations. One day she caused herself to be measured for a coffin, and had it brought to her house. This coffin, which she courageously keeps at the foot of the bed, is made of pear-wood. The only ornament consists of the artiste’s initials S. B., with the motto _Quand-même_! The inside is lined with white satin, and is provided with a mattress, bolster, and cushions--a bed fit for the most charming of coquettes. But for the spectacle of the lid, always ready to be screwed down, any one would readily lie on this pleasant, perfumed couch. Unfortunately, the lid is a stern reality. There is something else to note. Inspired by a strange but poetical fancy, Mme. Sarah Bernhardt has lined the bottom of the coffin with her most cherished souvenirs. Love-letters and faded bouquets are there, huddled together pell-mell, awaiting her coming--waiting to remind her, in the silence of the tomb, of the sad or happy hours in which she knew them.

The _première_ of _L’Etrangère_ (May 25, 1876) was exclusively a personal success for her. The newspapers spoke severely of M. Dumas’ work--

If Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt, said M. Sarcey, had not thrown the
glamour of her gestures and diction over the silly sentimentality
of Mrs. Clarkson, the public would have burst out laughing. The
piece is simply bad melodrama of the Ambigu type.

Her health was still far from robust, and during a performance of _L’Etrangère_ (May 25, 1876) a painful incident occurred. Before the curtain rose M. Got had asked the indulgence of the public for Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt, who was indisposed. The request was far from unnecessary, for as soon as the young artiste appeared on the stage it was evident that she was in great pain. The performance followed its course, but in the middle of her long tirade in the third act, Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt suddenly turned pale, threw up her arms, and fell to the floor. Indescribable excitement arose amongst the audience. The curtain was promptly lowered, and the most alarming rumours were in circulation, when M. Got came forward and made a reassuring speech, adding, however, that Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt was far too ill to permit of her reappearing. Mlle. Lloyd, who had been immediately informed, took the vacant place, and the performance proceeded, but the anxiety among actors and public was so great that when the curtain fell general depression prevailed. Inquiries were made at midnight, and it was ascertained that the patient was a little better, but that absolute rest was necessary, and that the doctor had forbidden her even to speak.

Her illness led to a rumour that she was about to retire into a convent. Paragraphs, of which the following is a specimen, began to appear in the newspapers--

It is said that an artiste of the Comédie Française was recently
driven by private sorrows to take refuge in the sweets of monastic
solitude. It appears, however, that after two days’ retirement the
comedienne in question came to the conclusion that she was not yet
ripe for the cloister. She bade farewell to the bare walls of the
convent and returned to the theatre, much to the disgust of her
fellow-actresses, who realized only too well that she was steadily
growing not only into a star but into a planet. You see, M. Sarcey,
people can’t do without you!!! (_Figaro_, July 9, 1876).

None the less Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt continued to work. On September 27, _Rome Vaincue_, by M. Parodi, was brought out, and this time she obtained a brilliant and unmistakable success. Not a single discordant note was heard in the chorus of praise. M. Auguste Vitu wrote--

Draped like an antique statue, her head crowned with long white
curls under her matron’s veil, Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt made Posthumia
one of her finest creations. No other living actress could have
rendered this character with so much nobility, grandeur, and true
feeling. The genuine tears shed by her audience must have shown her
how deeply she had touched their hearts and minds.

M. Sarcey was quite poetical--

When Parodi came to chat with me about the rehearsals then going
on, he said--“I never imagined how much there was in the part until
I heard Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt play it. She puts into it all the
life it has. I cannot recognize my own verses when they fall from
her lips.” I have indeed rarely seen anything so perfectly fine,
especially as regards the last act. She was no longer a comedienne,
but human nature itself, interpreted by a marvellous intelligence,
a soul full of fire, and the most harmonious and melodious voice
that ever delighted human ears. She acts with her whole heart
and soul. She is a marvellous, incomparable artiste, one of the
_élite_, or, in a word, a genius.

She appeared in _Hernani_ on November 21, 1877, with considerable success. She was now unmistakably the spoilt child of the public. She had vanquished almost all her adversaries, and practically every theatre-goer was an admirer of her talent. She realized this and profited by it. Nevertheless she had her moments of humility and self-effacement. She wrote as follows to her manager on New Year’s Day, 1878--

My dear Monsieur Perrin, I have begun the year badly. I caught
cold this morning when coming back from the cemetery, and I am far
from well. I should have liked to tell you this evening of all the
grateful affection I feel for you. If you could only understand how
entirely I am yours! But all that is difficult for me to express.
I owe everything to you. The good points I have, you brought out.
I tried to become a little somebody, and you determined that it
should be so. Blessings on that determination of yours, and my
loving greetings to you! My illness depresses me, and I have little
hope of completing the year just begun. Monsieur Perrin, I love you
very much.

SARAH BERNHARDT.

Her celebrity was unmistakably shown by the wild stories which began to be told about her. She was said to have thrown a live kitten on to a fire; to have poisoned with her own fair hands two monkeys which had ceased to please her; to have cut off a dog’s head with a view to solving the question whether life continues after decapitation; the skeleton in her bedroom was all that remained of one of her victims, etc. As a matter of fact, she was then keeping two Russian greyhounds, a poodle, a bulldog, a terrier, a leveret, a parrot, three cats, and several birds. Afterwards she kept lions! Could a woman who was so fond of animals torture them as she was said to have done?

At Bressant’s benefit performance, February 27, 1878, she played two acts from Jean Aicard’s _Othello_ with M. Mounet-Sully, who failed completely. M. Sarcey says--

As for Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt, she simply rescued the piece. Her
attitude in the death-agony, her head and arms hanging over
the side of the bed, was so fine, graceful, and tragic, that
enthusiastic applause came from every part of the house.

M. Auguste Vitu summed up his opinion as follows--

Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt was very fine as Desdemona. It is one of her
best creations. I say nothing of M. Mounet-Sully, whose efforts
were not a success.

On April 2 she appeared for the first time as Alcmène in _Amphitryon_. No notice was taken of this in the newspapers. She again played in _Zaïre_ (May 30), and _Le Sphinx_ (October 28), with continued success. In the meantime she made several ascents in Giffard’s captive balloon at the Exhibition, to the great scandal of the Boulevards. An article published by Albert Millaud in the _Figaro_ gives a very good idea of the spirit of gossip then prevailing. Sarah Bernhardt replied to his article in the following letter--

Your kind references to the artiste induce me to write in defence
of the woman. Those who persist in dinning me into the ears of the
public are clever enemies of mine. It is excessively annoying not
to be able to do anything without being accused of eccentricity. I
love balloon ascents, but now I dare not indulge in them. I have
never skinned dogs or burnt cats alive. My hair is not dyed, and
my face has a sufficiently corpse-like pallor to absolve me from
the suspicion of painting. I am told that my thinness is eccentric,
but what am I to do? I should much prefer to be one of those happy
people who are neither too fat nor too thin. My illnesses are
said to attract too much attention, but they come without warning
and strike me down wherever I may happen to be, and if people
are there, so much the worse. I am reproached with trying to do
everything: acting, sculpture, and painting; but these things
amuse me, and bring me money to spend as best pleases me. Such are
my crimes. You have taken my part, perhaps without intending to
do so, but none the less I thank you heartily. As you applauded
the artiste, I did not like to think that the woman might seem so
unpleasant a contrast; and then it is such a pleasure to complain!
Thanks for your kindness, Monsieur Millaud.

SARAH BERNHARDT.

Some little time afterwards she published an account of her ballooning experiences in an amusing little book entitled, _In the Clouds_; _Impressions of a Chair_, with some very pretty illustrations by Clairin. The simple and unstudied gaiety of this book brought it into great favour. Of course she was accused of another attempt to advertise herself, and her literary efforts were riddled with epigrams, but she was beginning to be accustomed to this kind of thing. Several newspapers asked her to write for them. The _Globe_ requested her to supply the 1879 Salon critique, and another journal suggested that she should write an article on England, in which country she was about to perform. “How in the world,” exclaimed Albert Millaud, with mingled astonishment and alarm, “can such a frail creature, made up of poetry and grace, accomplish such labours?”

On February 7, 1879, she played Monime in _Mithridate_ for the first time. The whole success of the performance fell to her. “If ever a part suited Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt,” said M. Sarcey, “Monime is that part.” “Had it been written expressly for her, it could not have fitted her better,” exclaimed M. Auguste Vitu. Even the unappeasable Paul de Saint-Victor had to give way.

The _rôle_, he wrote, is within the scope of her talents, and is
exactly adapted to her voice. She has all the required uniformity
of tone and touching sweetness, relieved by one or two outbursts
of offended dignity and quietly ironical smiles. She obtained
well-merited applause.

_Ruy Blas_ was reproduced on April 4. According to M. Claretie it would be impossible to have a more exquisite impersonation of any poetical creation, or a better rendering of all the emotions of the character. Emile Zola, who was then theatrical critic on the _Voltaire_, wrote--“_Ruy Blas_ was played to perfection at the Comédie Française. Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt is exquisite.” M. Auguste Vitu gave his opinion in these terms--

Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt did not play the Queen better last night than
she did at the Odéon in 1872, for the simple reason that she was
then perfection itself. Yesterday’s applause and calls before the
curtain must have convinced her that she was quite as charming as
she was six years ago.

The _Figaro_ descriptive writer tells us--

Everybody was attacked by stage fright, and Sarah was far from
being any better than her _confrères_. In the second act, she
trembled to such an extent that when she tried to take her
attendant Casilda by the chin she could only indicate the act
by a gesture. “For goodness’ sake,” whispered Mlle. Baretta,
“don’t tremble like that; you’ll frighten me horribly.” Back in
her dressing-room, Sarah began to weep copiously, but this time
with joy. Victor Hugo remained only a short time in the front
of the house. Between the first and second acts he paid a visit
to Sarah before her turn came. Before the fifth act Sarah came
to the poet for a little of the encouragement he knows so well
how to administer, and which always gives her so much ardour and
confidence.

Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt had now been nearly seven years at the Comédie Française, and those who knew her were beginning to feel surprise at the length of her stay. The same year, 1879, was to witness several events leading up to her final flight in search of independence and freedom of movement. Mr. Mayer engaged the Comédie Française troupe for a series of performances to be given at the Gaiety Theatre, London, in June. Sarah was to play in _L’Etrangère_, _Phèdre_, _Le Sphinx_, _Hernani_, _Andromaque_, and _Zaïre_. The company left for London on June 1. Next day _Phèdre_ was played, and _L’Etrangère_ on the 3rd. Sarah was somewhat coldly received at first, but British iciness soon melted beneath the tragedienne’s fire. On the 9th, M. Sarcey felt justified in writing--“The English can adore two idols at the same time, and they are now devoted to Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt.”

On the first evening she insisted on playing the second act of _Phèdre_ as an interlude. Just as her turn was coming, she was seized by one of those “blue funks” by which actors are sometimes liable to be paralyzed. She fell down in a state of collapse; her hands and feet became icy cold, and she had to be rubbed vigorously for ten minutes to put a little life into her. She was half carried on to the stage. As was only to be expected, she attacked her words badly, went on worse, and failed completely. The audience, however, noticed nothing, and applauded her frantically. She was “called,” and was enthusiastically cheered as she stood leaning on the arm of M. Mounet-Sully, without whose support she must have fallen, half dead as she was.

But now things began to go wrong. _L’Etrangère_ had been announced for a Saturday _matinée_, and _Hernani_ for the evening. Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt was in both pieces, but her parts were not very tiring ones. Like Doña Sol, Mrs. Clarkson has only one act calling for real exertion. Moreover, Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt had not played at all since her appearance in _Zaïre_, and she had had time to rest. As a matter of fact--and this was the principal grievance of the Comédie against her--she did not rest. She had, for instance, performed _Le Passant_ and the second act of _Phèdre_ on the Friday night at a private house, before an aristocratic audience. When the time came for her to go to the theatre, she sent her maid to say that she was tired and could not perform. The effect may easily be imagined. Every seat was taken, the Saturday performances being always the best attended. It was feared that the public would take the announcement, which would have to be made, as a gross breach of politeness. How was it possible to organize another performance at such short notice? If only she had let them know in the morning! There was, however, no escape. Coquelin, whose turn it was to make the announcements for the week, went before the curtain. In a few well-chosen words he explained what had occurred, asked the audience to excuse the Comédie Française, and wound up by announcing that there would be no performance. A great commotion followed, and several hisses were heard--a very rare occurrence in a good English theatre. Chance brought an addition to the strength of the company in the shape of an actor who happened to call at the theatre for his letters. Some one pointed out that it would now be possible to play _Tartuffe_, and Coquelin was called upon to make another proclamation. But Coquelin was too disconcerted to do anything of the kind. “I should be a perfect weathercock,” he exclaimed. “I really can’t go on and say the exact opposite of what I said five minutes before. Let Got go!” Got was the _doyen_ and sage of the company, the last resource in desperate emergencies. He went forward and delivered a little speech to the effect that _Tartuffe_ would be performed for those who liked to remain, and that their money would be returned. As for those who desired to see _L’Etrangère_, their tickets would be available for a special _matinée_, which would be given on the Wednesday following.

Here was a pretty kettle of fish! M. Sarcey, who had, as usual, accompanied the Comédie Française troupe, observed--

Another affair of this kind would be more than enough to make the
Comédie Française unpopular in England. Those persons who, through
caprice or a desire to show off, or, to put it differently, through
a mistaken estimate of their own physical powers, place their
_confrères_ in such difficulties, are greatly to blame, and they
may be sure that a day will come when they will have to atone for
such conduct. Spoilt children are amusing until some friend of the
family wants to know at what time they are put to bed.

The whole of the French Press rose in wrath. M. Albert Wolff, in the _Figaro_, was particularly aggressive. He raked up all the old grievances against the actress, and accused her of having gone about in male attire, and having organized an exhibition of her sculpture and paintings in London. Sarah sent him the following reply by telegraph--

_London, June 28._

MONSIEUR ALBERT WOLFF, _Figaro_ Office.

Do you really believe these insane stories, Monsieur Wolff? Who
could have given you such information? In spite of all the infamous
slanders that must have been poured into your ear, I still think
you a friend with a little kindness for me. I give you my word
of honour that I have never worn man’s clothes here in London; I
did not even bring my suit with me. I absolutely deny the story.
I went once, and only once, to the little exhibition I organized,
and that was the day on which admission was by invitation only.
Consequently it is false to say that a single shilling was paid
on purpose for any one to see me. It is true that I give private
performances, but you are aware that I am one of the worst paid
_sociétaires_ of the Comédie Française, and I am entitled to make
up the difference. That I am exhibiting sixteen pictures and eight
pieces of sculpture is perfectly true, but as I brought them here
to sell them I must let them be seen. With regard to the respect
due to the House of Molière, my dear M. Wolff, I maintain that I
uphold it better than anybody, because I am incapable of inventing
such slanders on one of its standard-bearers. If the silly stories
told about me have wearied the Parisians and decided them, as you
lead me to fear, to give me a bad reception, I will not expose any
one to the possibility of having to commit an act of cowardice, and
I will hand in my resignation. If the London public is incensed
against me by the rumours in circulation, and has decided to change
its kindness into hostility, I hope the Comédie will allow me to
leave England at once, so that the company may not experience the
pain of seeing one of their number hooted and hissed. I send you
this letter by telegraph--a piece of extravagance justified by the
importance I attach to public opinion. I beg you, my dear Monsieur
Wolff, to accord my letter at least as much consideration as you
have given to the calumnies circulated by my enemies.

With a friendly hand-shake, I am, etc.,
SARAH BERNHARDT.

She then handed her formal resignation to Got, the _doyen_ of the Comédie Française. Her colleagues, who fully understood how greatly she contributed to the success of the company, insisted on her withdrawing her resignation, made her a _sociétaire_ with a full share in the profits, promised her two months’ holiday every year, and, in short, concealed the iron hand of interest under the velvet glove of amiability. Emile Zola took up his vigorous pen and treated M. Albert Wolff’s hypocritical arguments with scant ceremony--

One of the principal grievances against her is that she has not
confined herself to dramatic art, but has also taken up sculpture,
painting, and what not. This is too absurd! Not content with
calling her thin and treating her as a lunatic, people want to
decide how she is to use her spare time! She might as well be in
prison. As a matter of fact she is not actually denied the right to
practise painting and sculpture, but she is calmly told that she
must not exhibit her works. This pretension is simply unmitigated
rubbish. We had better pass a law at once to forbid the plurality
of talents. And Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt’s style is considered to have
so much individuality that she has been accused of passing off
other people’s work as her own!

M. Sarcey indulged in a species of funeral oration--

Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt has given in her resignation. The Comédie
will lose a charming actress in her, and will have to temporarily
abandon certain pieces which it will be almost impossible to
perform without her. These pieces, however, are not many. Mlle.
Bernhardt is a heavenly lyre, but she has only two or three
strings. I regret that we must do without her, but, as we know, no
one is indispensable. Actors come and go and their places are soon
filled up, however exceptional their talents may be. No actress,
however great, can walk off with the House of Molière sticking to
the soles of her boots. It will be interesting to see how Mlle.
Bernhardt will succeed when she follows an _impresario_ and tries
her powers on uneducated audiences ignorant of our language. But,
after all, these melancholy reflections are perhaps uncalled for.
The matter may still be put right. Who knows?

The matter was, in fact, put right, but only temporarily. The Théâtre Français re-opened its doors on August 2nd, with _Les Femmes Savantes_ and _Le Malade Imaginaire_. At midnight the curtain rose for the well-known ceremony carried out on such occasions. All the artists of the Comédie came forward, two by two, according to the time-honoured custom, bowed to the public, and took their seats. Loud, continued, and hearty applause burst forth from every part of the house when Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt came slowly forward to the footlights. It was her formal reconciliation with the Paris public. “We are all delighted about it,” said M. Sarcey, “and we hope the ‘row’ will be a lesson to all concerned.”

All’s well that ends well; but unfortunately in this case the end had not been reached. The year 1880 witnessed a great event in Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt’s life: the severance of her connection with the Comédie Française. On April 17th, _L’Aventurière_, by Emile Augier, was revived, Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt taking the difficult part of Clorinde. The newspapers gave her full credit for her usual ability and charm, but qualified their praise to an unmistakable extent. M. Sarcey wrote in the _Temps_--

Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt’s costume hardly struck me as suitable. She
came on the stage with a head-dress exactly like a nightcap. Her
comprehension of the part was still more unsatisfactory. It is
difficult to understand what she intended to make of the character.
Her Clorinde was absolutely colourless.

In the _Moniteur Universal_, Paul de Saint-Victor devoted several columns of scathing and even savage criticism to an attack on Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt. Knowing her hold on the public, she might have ignored this hostility, but her cup of bitterness was filled to overflowing by M. Auguste Vitu, who, though a courteous and moderate critic, wrote as follows in the _Figaro_--

During the last two acts, the new Clorinde indulged in uncalled-for
exaggerations. She not merely forced a voice which is pleasing only
when used in moderation, but she managed her body and arms in a
style which would do very well for Virginie in _L’Assommoir_, but
is out of place at the Comédie Française.

This was more than Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt could bear. She sat down and wrote the following letter to M. Perrin--

MONSIEUR L’ADMINISTRATEUR,

You made me play before I was ready. You gave me only eight stage
rehearsals, and there were only three full rehearsals of the piece.
I could not make up my mind to appear under such conditions, but
you insisted upon it. What I foresaw has come to pass, and the
result of the performance has even gone beyond what I expected. One
critic actually charges me with playing Virginie in _L’Assommoir_
instead of Doña Clorinde in _L’Aventurière_! I appeal to Zola and
Emile Augier. This is my first failure at the Comédie Française,
and it shall be my last. I warned you at the dress rehearsal,
but you took no notice. I now keep my word. When you receive
this letter I shall have left Paris. Be good enough, Monsieur
l’Administrateur, to accept my resignation as from this moment, and
to believe me, etc.,

SARAH BERNHARDT.

_April 18, 1880._

Immediately after writing this letter Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt took the train to Havre, and ran to earth at Sainte-Adresse. A terrible uproar followed. The entire Press, the Comédie, the author of the unlucky play, and the public assailed the fugitive with showers of violent invective and cutting sarcasm. The _sociétaires_ of the Comédie were hastily summoned to a meeting, and they decided to take legal proceedings with a view to obtaining--

(1) The exclusion of Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt from all rights as a
_sociétaire_ of the Comédie Française.

(2) The confiscation of her proportion of the reserve fund,
amounting to over forty thousand francs.

(3) Three hundred thousand francs damages.

The critics were unanimously against her. Paul de Saint-Victor opened all the flood-gates of his controversial invective. M. Sarcey indulged in prophecy, and delivered himself of the following oracular saying--“She had better not try to deceive herself. _Her success will not be lasting. She is not one of those artistes who can bear the whole weight of a piece on their own shoulders, and who require no assistance to hold the public attention._”

M. Emile Augier, who had expected great things from the revival of his play, was much annoyed by the defection of the principal exponent. He wrote M. Perrin a letter in which he attempted to conceal his irritation under the mask of irony--

She was as well prepared as she could be. I go further, and say she
played quite as well as usual, with all her defects and all her
good qualities, with which art has nothing to do. Moreover, she
obtained as much applause as ever from an adoring public. What,
then, was the cause of the trouble? The Press indulged in some
uncomplimentary remarks, and Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt does not like
this kind of thing. With whom does the fault lie? Evidently with
messieurs the critics, who have hitherto treated her as a spoilt
child. Are these ungrateful Athenians beginning to tire of her
success, and to think it unjustified?

M. Emile Zola, whose devotion to the cause of generosity and courage does not date from yesterday, was almost the only journalist to take Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt’s part, or rather to point out the faults on both sides, and to make the voice of wisdom heard amid this outburst of passion. He reminded Sarah that “it is sometimes an honour to be attacked.” Whilst Emile Zola, and also Emile de Girardin, lifted up their voices for peace and reconciliation, Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt in her retirement at Sainte-Adresse enthusiastically proclaimed her joy at what she called her deliverance. “Do you know how much I earned?” she asked a representative of the _Gaulois_. “Barely thirty thousand francs a year. That may be all very well for people who intend to remain on the stage until they are fifty or sixty years old, but in twenty years’ time shall I still be in this world? I have always had a horror of growing old on the stage, and I don’t mean to do it.” Her feeling was in fact so strong on this point that she incontinently adopted an heroic resolution--to leave the stage! It had already caused her too much suffering, she said, and she was quite decided not to die on it. She thus announced the result of her cogitations to the representative of the _Gaulois_--

“Yes, it’s all settled. I have learnt painting and sculpture, and I intend to live by that. My sales bring me in thirty thousand francs a year. My brush and chisel will make me a second existence, much calmer and more profitable than the first.”

Observing her guest’s astonishment, she added, gravely, “with a sad smile which rendered doubt impossible”--

“I came to this decision when I made up my mind to leave the Comédie Française.”

Gradually the storm subsided, and the affair began to be forgotten. The only allusions made to it were when some other artiste took up one of Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt’s parts. The _Figaro_, for instance, amiably remarked--

M. Emile Augier last night assured Mlle. Croizette, who was playing
Sarah Bernhardt’s _rôle_ in _L’Aventurière_, that this was the
first time he had known any artiste form an intelligent conception
of the character of Clorinde.

According to M. Sarcey--

Mlle. Bartet has begun to appear as the Queen in _Ruy Blas_, the
part formerly taken by Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt. Mlle. Bartet is
meeting with considerable success.

It was a very neat way of saying to the fugitive--

“You see after all, you are not indispensable.”

Here is another specimen of the kind remarks which the newspapers took a keen joy in circulating. It was reported that Sarah had said, “I shall never forgive Victor Hugo for letting Mlle. Bartet play the Queen in _Ruy Blas_,” to which the poet had retorted that Mlle. Bartet played the part so well that her name deserved to be indissolubly connected with it in future.

Exactly a month after her sensational resignation, Sarah Bernhardt went to London, not, as might have been supposed, to sell some of her works of art, but to give a series of performances with Mlles. Lalb and Jeanne Bernhardt, and MM. Dieudonné and Berton. She met with considerable success, especially in _Adrienne Lecouvreur_, _Froufrou_, and _Rome Vaincue_. While she was tasting the joys of this apotheosis, she was by no means forgotten in the city she had abandoned. On the 18th June, the First Chamber of the Civil Tribunal resounded for three mortal hours with her name, and in spite of all the skill of her counsel, Maître Barboux, the Court ordered her to pay the Comédie Française 100,000 francs damages, and to forfeit all right to her share (about 44,000 francs) of the reserve fund. Her flight thus turned out to be an expensive affair. There was nothing for it but to pay, and this was the beginning of the peregrinations destined to spread Sarah’s fame beyond the seas. In August we find her travelling through Sweden, Norway, and Denmark. One of those numerous incidents which have caused incorrigible patriotism to be numbered among Sarah’s virtues, occurred at Copenhagen. In the course of a _fête_ given in her honour, the German Minister, Baron Magnus, proposed the health of _la belle France_. Sarah Bernhardt immediately interposed with--

“I beg your pardon, Baron, but you mean the whole of France, don’t you?”

The German Minister found himself in so awkward a predicament that he promptly left the room, and it was supposed that he had discovered an allusion to Alsace-Lorraine in Sarah’s remark.

She returned to Paris, but left again almost immediately. On the 10th September she was at Nantes, and afterwards she appeared at Bordeaux, Toulouse, Lyons, and Geneva. She excited wild enthusiasm everywhere. Medals bearing her image and superscription, Sarah Bernhardt bracelets and collars, photographs and biographies were sold in the streets. At Lyons, the Khedive’s son unsuccessfully offered £80 for a stage-box. The Old World soon ceased to afford sufficient scope for her activity. On the 16th October, 1880, she realized a long-cherished desire, and sailed from Havre to America on a tour, under Mr. Abbey’s management. She took with her all her company, her servants, and twenty-eight trunks containing innumerable dresses and particularly one which she was to wear in _La Dame aux Camélias_. This wonderful toilette had cost £480, and fifty work-girls, so the story ran, had toiled for a whole month to embroider the camellias on the mantle. Mr. Abbey had promised the actress a small fortune: £100 for every performance, plus half the receipts above £480. Sarah extended her journey to nearly every part of the States. From the date of her _début_ at New York, on 10th November, she was incessantly on the move. She appeared at Boston, Hartford, Montreal, Baltimore, Philadelphia, Chicago, St. Louis, Cincinnati, etc. Her _répertoire_ included _Adrienne Lecouvreur_, _Froufrou_, _Hernani_, _Phèdre_, _Le Passant_, and _La Dame aux Camélias_. She became the proprietor of a tame alligator, who soon succumbed to the champagne diet she inflicted on him. At length, on the 16th May, 1881, she landed in triumph at Havre, and was greeted by a cohort of friends from Paris, and by a crowd estimated, somewhat rashly perhaps, by the _Figaro_, at 50,000 persons. She had earned £36,800 in one hundred and sixty-six performances. Out of this sum she handed £4000 over to her agent, Jarrett, and £16,000 to her legal representatives in Paris. Her travelling expenses amounted to about £8000, so that after paying all her debts she was left with a balance of £8800. She brought back from America not only this respectable sum, but something else: the remembrance of great ovations, unprecedented triumphs, and adventures in which she invariably preserved her dignity. One day she happened to enter a Protestant church and heard the minister denounce her as an “imp of darkness, a female demon sent from the modern Babylon to corrupt the New World.” Before the day was over, the clergyman received this note--

MY DEAR CONFRÈRE,

Why attack me so violently? Actors ought not to be hard on one
another.

SARAH BERNHARDT.

On her return to France, she treated her compatriots to such a surprise as only a _grand seigneur_ could have conceived. She was urged by a charitable association at Havre to give a performance in aid of the funds, and two days after landing she performed _La Dame aux Camélias_--the same play which had been applauded all over the world for a year before under the name of _Camille_, but which she had never yet performed in France. When she appeared as Marguerite Gauthier, on the 18th of May, 1881, before the Havre public and many of her Paris friends, including Halanzier, Lapommeraye, Clairin, Busnach, Abbéma, and many others, her reception was a perfect triumph. And yet Dumas had said of the part, “It is not made for her!”

After her long journey it might have been supposed that she would rest on her laurels for a time, but she did nothing of the kind. In June she was in London, and arrangements were soon in progress for a long European tour, to commence in October. Before that date she accomplished another French tour under the management of M. Félix Duquesnel, who undertook to give her £2800 for thirty-five performances of _Hernani_ and _La Dame aux Camélias_, between August 27th and October 4th, with Paul Mounet as Hernani and Angelo as Armand Duval. M. Duquesnel was the same manager who, years before, paid her six pounds per month out of his own pocket at the Odéon. He was now getting his money back, with interest. Her French tour completed, she started again, almost without waiting to take breath, on her great European expedition, under the management of Mr. Jarrett, who had accompanied her to America. She visited Russia, Spain, Austria, Holland, Belgium, Italy, Denmark, Sweden, and Norway: the whole of Europe, in fact, except Germany, that country being expressly omitted from the contract. She opened her tour at the Mint Theatre, Brussels, the King of the Belgians making a hasty return to the capital from his country seat in the Ardennes to see her. At Vienna she organized an exhibition of her works of art. She next entered Russia, and reached Moscow on the 10th December. The last sentence of the following telegram published in the newspapers gives a fair idea of the sensation she excited--

Moscow, December 10.--Sarah Bernhardt is extremely hoarse and
cannot perform this evening. General consternation prevails.

Her success, however, was not unmixed. She was known to be of Jewish origin, and the Russian fanatics did not omit to remind her of it. At Odessa she was pelted with stones, and at Kieff she was insulted. But these things were mere trifles. At St. Petersburg her coming created as much excitement as if it had been an event of national importance. The prices charged for the series of twelve performances are significant.

_Roubles_ £ _s._ _d._
Pit boxes 120 = 13 0 0
Dress circle boxes (front seats) 150 = 16 5 0
Dress circle (centre box) 180 = 19 10 0
Dress circle front row 72 = 7 15 0
Dress circle 2nd and 3rd rows 60 = 6 10 0
Upper boxes (front) 150 = 16 5 0

Her success was prodigious. Not content with raining flowers on the stage, ladies in the audience jumped over the partition separating them from the pit, so that they could approach the great artiste as closely as possible. She would have received many costly presents had she not made it known that she would accept nothing but flowers. At length she tore herself away from her enthusiastic admirers, to whom she had appeared in _La Princesse Georges_, _Rome Vaincue_, _Hernani_, _Jean Marie_, and _La Dame aux Camélias_. From St. Petersburg she went to Warsaw, and thence to Genoa, where she was seized with one of those sudden attacks which had recurred rather too frequently for some time past. In the middle of the second act of _La Dame aux Camélias_ she collapsed into a chair with blood pouring from her mouth. The performance was stopped, but on the following day the indefatigable woman was _en route_ again. After playing at Bâle and Lausanne, she gave a series of six performances, beginning on the 16th of February at Lyons, where she appeared in _Les Faux Ménages_, by Pailleron. Then she returned to Italy, receiving £240 for each appearance, and meeting with enthusiastic applause everywhere. She left Italy, and suddenly Paris was struck dumb by the following extraordinary and totally unexpected announcement, published by the newspapers on the 8th April--

London.--At eight o’clock this (Tuesday) morning, April 4th, at the
Greek Consulate, Sarah Bernhardt was married to her fellow-actor
_Daria_, who recently took Angelo’s place in her troupe. The news
may appear improbable, seeing that Sarah was at Naples last Friday,
and even performed that evening; but it is none the less a fact
that she left Naples on the following morning, ostensibly for Nice,
took the train on to Paris, and thence to Boulogne, crossed to
Folkestone, and finally reached London, accompanied by M. Damala.

Marriage was, in fact, the only eccentricity Sarah had not yet perpetrated, but she was now enabled to make up for lost time with the kind assistance of M. Damala, an actor by choice, but formerly an _attaché_ in the Greek diplomatic service. The newly-married couple began the first quarter of their honeymoon by immediately taking the train for Marseilles, whence they started by special steamer on April 5th for Spain, to continue the tour. They returned to Marseilles on May 5th, and performed at Grenoble, Geneva, Rouen, and Brussels. On the 26th, a benefit performance was given at Paris for the widow of M. Chéret, and Sarah Bernhardt and her husband played _La Dame aux Camélias_ for the first time in the French capital. The performance, a triumphal success, brought in 59,051 francs (£2362).

Her wanderings soon began again. London, Brighton, Blackpool, Manchester, and Scotland saw the wonderful artiste. In the meantime it was announced that she had made arrangements for a four months’ tour in America, and that she and her husband were to be paid £40,000 for fifty performances. Then it became known that after so many wanderings Sarah was to return to Paris and appear in a new play, _Fédora_, by M. Sardou, at the Vaudeville. She had been promised £40 a night for a minimum of a hundred performances. The _première_ on December, 12, 1882, met, with considerable success, but while the perfomances were proceeding the financial difficulties with which the artiste had long been struggling were revealed to the public. She had spent money very freely, and omitted to balance her income and expenditure. She carried out all sorts of wild schemes, such as that of buying the Ambigu theatre for her son Maurice, then seventeen years of age. The affair turned out a very expensive one, and in February 1883, big placards posted on the walls of Paris announced that Mme. Sarah Bernhardt-Damala’s diamonds and jewellery were to be sold by auction on the 8th, 9th, and 10th, at the Hôtel des Ventes. The announcement created a great sensation, much to the vendor’s advantage, the sale producing no less than £7128. Actresses such as Mme. Marie Magnier, Marthe Devoyo, and Julia de Cléry, well-known _demi-mondaines_, collectors, and boulevardiers, competed for the wonders of Sarah’s jewel-case. The importance of the sale may be estimated by the following lots, and the prices at which they were knocked down--

Very handsome single necklace thickly set with rose £
diamonds and enriched with brilliants 960
Bracelet, 573 pearls in nine rows 321
Bracelet 302
Brooch 150

After the withdrawal of _Fédora_ from the Vaudeville, Sarah Bernhardt took the play on tour, but it proved only moderately popular in Belgium and Holland. The intrepid Sarah now made up her mind to a brief period of repose, but she was none the less kept before the Paris public. On April 28, 1883, she appeared with Mme. Réjane, M. Saint Germain, M. Daubray, and M. Guyon, at the Trocadéro, in a two-act pantomime by M. Richepin, entitled _Pierrot Assassin_. Early in September the papers published mysterious paragraphs announcing the return of M. Damala to Paris, and the agreement of the pair to separate. The public was not previously aware of M. Damala’s absence, or of any disagreement in the household. The initiated, however, knew that the honeymoon was a short one, that discord had made its appearance only a few months after the sensational marriage in London, and that M. Damala had been obliged to make up his mind to exile--in Tunis, it was said. The separation did not seem to be a great affliction to Sarah. At the very beginning of the season she was in arms and eager for the fray. On September 17, 1883, in company with Marais, she revived _Froufrou_, which she had never before performed in Paris. This was at the Porte St. Martin theatre, which had been bought by her under the name of her son, M. Maurice Bernhardt, in partnership with M. Derembourg. The success of the piece was considerable, though not absolutely complete. Nevertheless _Froufrou_ ran for ninety-nine nights. Immediately afterwards (December 20) she brought out _Nana Sahib_, a seven-act drama in verse by M. Jean Richepin. Her own success was very great, though, as usual, it was not unanimously admitted; but the piece itself was a failure, in spite of the fact that the author himself replaced M. Marais a week after the _première_. _Nana Sahib_ is connected in theatrical history with another souvenir. The night before its production, Mme. Sarah Bernhardt was the central figure in a terrific scandal. Accompanied by her son Maurice and M. Jean Richepin, she made her way into the rooms occupied by Mme. Marie Colombier, turned all the furniture topsy-turvy, smashed the ornaments, and finally set upon the lady of the house and horsewhipped her in a frenzy of rage. The reason for this conduct was not far to seek. Mme. Marie Colombier had just published an abominably offensive book, the title of which, _Sarah Barnum_, showed clearly enough against whom it was directed. The affair created a great uproar, but no one ventured to blame the insulted actress for taking the law into her own hands.

_Nana Sahib_ was withdrawn after thirty performances, and on January 26, 1884, Sarah Bernhardt appeared in _La Dame aux Camélias_, which thus became, as it still is, her chief resource. This revival lasted for more than a hundred nights. On May 21 it was replaced by an adaptation of _Macbeth_, by M. Jean Richepin. This ran for only a month. At the end of June Mme. Sarah Bernhardt left for a short foreign tour. Next season, in consequence of sundry stories which found their way into the papers, and particularly of an attempt to poison her, which Paris did not take seriously, she handed over the Porte St. Martin theatre to M. Duquesnel, and joined his company at that theatre. _Macbeth_ was tried again on September 11, but was withdrawn five weeks afterwards. On December 26 she played _Théodora_, one of the most undoubted successes of her career. On this point there can be no mistaking the testimony of figures. _Théodora_ ran for two hundred consecutive nights, and, when the hundredth performance was given, the piece had already earned nearly a million francs. After Paris had had enough of _Théodora_, the piece was taken to Brussels and London, where it met with renewed success. It was brought back to the Porte St. Martin on the 28th October, 1885, and was given fifty-four times before its chief exponent broke down, and was compelled, on the 21st December, to leave the stage before the performance was over. On the following day she was obliged to take to her bed, but on the 31st she was able to appear in _Marion de Lorme_, though she was still visibly suffering from overwork. On the 27th February she gave another trial to a Shakespearean adaptation--a somewhat indifferent version of _Hamlet_, by MM. Cressonnois and Samson, in which she played Ophelia. _Hamlet_ failed to attract the public any more than _Marion de Lorme_, and on the 5th April Sarah brought out _Fédora_ again. After sixteen performances she left on her annual visit to London, and thence to Liverpool, where she took the steamer for Rio de Janeiro. This was the beginning of her great American tour under the management of Messrs. Abbey and Grau. It was one prodigious triumphal progress from one end of America to the other. It lasted thirteen months, and took her through Mexico, Brazil, Chili, the United States, and Canada; The _répertoire_, an extensive one, comprised _Fédora_, _La Dame aux Camélias_, _Froufrou_, _Phèdre_, _Adrienne Lecouvreur_, _Théodora_, _Hernani_, _Le Maître de Forges_, and _Le Sphinx_, M. Philippe Garnier taking the principal male parts. In Brazil the average receipts were £720 a night. “Absurdly rich men,” says M. Jules Lemaître, “wearing black whiskers and covered with jewels, like idols, used to wait outside the stage door, and lay their handkerchiefs on the ground so that dust should not soil the feet of Phèdre or Théodora.” After her appearance as Phèdre at Rio de Janeiro she was recalled two hundred times! The twenty-five performances she gave brought in £12,800, of which she received £4000. Three performances at New York realized £5040, and twenty at Buenos Ayres, where the total number of spectators reached 80,000, produced £20,000. The Argentinos’ enthusiasm rose to such a pitch that they presented her with an estate of 13,000 acres in the Mission territory, the best part of the Argentine Republic. She was obliged to promise the generous donors that she would take advantage of her first month’s leisure to come and taste the sweets of repose amongst her own gazelles and beneath the shade of her own gardenias and diamelas!

Scene from _Théodora_. Mme. Sarah Bernhardt. Mme. Marie Laurent.
]

In the meantime, gossip, the inevitable companion of the capricious artiste, was not idle. At Rio de Janeiro the Noirmont scandal occurred. Mme. Noirmont, intermittently an actress, but better known in a certain circle of society as “la grande Marthe,” was a member of the company. What was the quarrel between the actress and her manageress? History sayeth not, but the fact remains that during a rehearsal one day Mme. Noirmont “went for” Sarah, and gave her a resounding smack, to the accompaniment of much strong language. Sarah promptly hauled Mme. Noirmont off to the nearest police-station, where a summons was duly issued against the offender. But this was not enough for Sarah, and one evening, when the curtain had only just fallen on the second act of _Adrienne Lecouvreur_, Sarah seized a horsewhip and paid off all outstanding scores. Result: a second visit to the police-station, and a second scandal. Later on, while the company was at Santiago, another story got into circulation. In April 1878 the American papers announced the marriage of Mme. Sarah Bernhardt and M. Angelo, a member of her troupe. The New York _Morning Journal_ added that the marriage was kept secret because the divorce proceedings against M. Damala were still in progress. The report was promptly denied, and Sarah sent the following telegram to the _Figaro_--

The news of my marriage with Angelo is absurd, because he is
married already, and so am I. Please contradict this mischievous
story. Thanks in advance.

SARAH BERNHARDT.