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diff --git a/old/66954-0.txt b/old/66954-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e5c48f5..0000000 --- a/old/66954-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,18203 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Memories of my life, by Sarah Bernhardt - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Memories of my life - Being my Personal, Professional, and Social Recollections as - Woman and Artist - -Author: Sarah Bernhardt - -Release Date: December 16, 2021 [eBook #66954] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEMORIES OF MY LIFE *** - - - - - MEMORIES OF MY LIFE - - -[Illustration: SARAH BERNHARDT AS _GISMONDA_, FROM A PAINTING BY -CHARTRAN.] - - - - - MEMORIES OF MY LIFE -_Being my Personal, Professional, and Social Recollections as Woman and - Artist_ - - - _By_ - SARAH BERNHARDT - -[Illustration] - - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - NEW YORK MCMVII - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - - - _Published October, 1907_ - - - - - CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER I - MY AUNTS - PAGE - - My mother and her sisters—The “mask of butter”—The beauty of my - mother—Away with my nurse—Life in a _concierge’s_ lodge—My - aunt comes for me—An accident—I must go to school—Off for - Auteuil—Mme. Fressard and her boarding school—I am left - alone—Life at the _pension_—My schoolmates—Back to Aunt - Rosine—My father and Rossini—My disagreeable Aunt Faure—My - delightful Uncle Faure 1–16 - - - CHAPTER II - I BEGIN MY CONVENT LIFE - Grandchamps Convent—My terror of the cloister—The lovely Mother - Superior—The dormitory—The garden—Farewell to my father—My - new schoolmates—Compulsory soup—The despised and the beloved - Sister—Pets and playthings—I rescue a playmate—Preparations - for the archbishop’s visit—The play in which I was not given - a part—My failure as a costumer—How I got a - part—Monseigneur’s arrival—The performance—The tragedy of - Monseigneur Sibour—My father dies—I am baptized and confirmed 17–38 - - - CHAPTER III - A PRANK AND ITS RESULTS - In the Pyrénées—Goat-herding and vacation joys—Back to the - convent—The Croizettes—A soldier in the convent—How I shocked - the nuns—“The Angel Raphael” and César—A night of horror—I - leave the convent forever—My ambition 39–47 - - - CHAPTER IV - IN FAMILY COUNCIL ASSEMBLED - A fateful day—Day-dreams and music lessons—The woes of making - my toilet—The assembling of the family—The obnoxious - notary—The council—My religious aspirations—My hopes are - quenched—The Duc de Morny’s advice—My memory of Rachel—My - fate is decided—The views of the family—I am introduced to - the theater—My first play and its strange effect upon me 48–60 - - - CHAPTER V - I RECITE “THE TWO PIGEONS” - Plans for my career—The director of the _Conservatoire_—I study - for the examination—The rules of M. Meydieu—Learning - _Aricie_—The examination day—Dressing for the ordeal—I recite - a fable—The result—How I announced it—The family rejoices 61–74 - - - CHAPTER VI - I DECLINE MATRIMONY AND WED ART - The awakening of a will—An offer of marriage—I am forced to - condemn a gentleman to death—I win a prize—I go for an - engagement—The embarrassment of having a naughty small - sister—I lose the engagement—I find encouragement in M. - Doucet—My lessons—Fencing and elocution—Tribulations with a - coiffeur—I enter a competition—The prize I did not win—My - rival—Legends that defy history—An humiliating homecoming—The - offer of another engagement—An interview at the Théâtre - Français and its happy outcome—My aunt has a celebration 75–97 - - - CHAPTER VII - I MAKE MY DÉBUT AND EXIT - My first rôle—The first rehearsal—Troubles with the - costumer—The arraying of _Iphigénie_—The make-up shop—The - approach of the first night—I suffer the horrors of stage - fright—“_Quand-même_”—The début—New rôles—The disastrous - results of taking my sister to a ceremony—The arrogance of a - manager—I am cheated of a part and cancel my engagement 98–110 - - - CHAPTER VIII - CASTLES IN SPAIN - Broken plans—I receive a new offer—I interview the manager of - the Gymnase—I make a new engagement—An idiotic rôle in an - imbecile play—I determine to kill myself—The allurement of - Spain distracts me—I follow my star—Sardou and my letter of - resignation—Marseilles and the sea—At Alicante—The night - intruder—Gala days at Madrid—Back to Paris—My mother’s - illness—I settle down by myself 111–123 - - - CHAPTER IX - I RETURN TO THE STAGE - Fate drives me back to the theater—New fields at the Porte - Saint Martin—The disadvantages of being thin—New prospects—An - appointment and a contract—A death and another début—Success - at the Odéon—I appear as the chorus—Happy days—George - Sand—The disciples of Victor Hugo disapprove of Dumas’s - “Kean”—I succeed in spite of a hideous costume—François - Coppée and “Le Passant”—The triumph of “Le Passant”—Our - summons to the Tuileries—A rehearsal before imperial - spectators—Empress Eugénie’s feet—Fêted by an Emperor and a - Queen 124–145 - - - CHAPTER X - IN FIRE AND WAR - My student adorers—I meet with some curious criticism—Gloomy - presentiments—My apartments are burned—Saving my - grandmother—Ruin and devastation—My benefit—Patti sings for - me—My new home—Discomfort and worry—The delayed insuring—Kind - words from friends—An insulting proposition—Evil days—Rumors - of war—The nineteenth of July—I am taken from Paris—War - news—Success of the German arms—I return to Paris under - difficulties—I come across a relative—Into the siege 146–164 - - - CHAPTER XI - I ESTABLISH MY WAR HOSPITAL - Paris in war times—My _ambulance_ at the Odéon—The changes - brought by war—Getting supplies—The Prefect’s coat—The lady - of the Palais de l’Industrie—Provisions for my hospital—My - hospital staff—Heroines of the siege—Cowards and - heroes—Christmas 165–177 - - - CHAPTER XII - MORE HOSPITAL DAYS - Sufferings from cold and hunger—Struggles for food and fuel—The - bombardment of the city—The ravages of fighting—The - wounded—The _ambulance_ is fired upon—The bargaining of the - children—Toto—The inventor of balloons—The burial of the - _maigrotte_—I receive news from my family—The horrors of - night-time—My fowls—The end of the siege 178–194 - - - CHAPTER XIII - A WARTIME JOURNEY - I find a companion for my flight from Paris—We start on our - journey—Trouble at the city gates—Unwelcome acquaintances—The - young cripple—A tedious railway trip—A German inn—Crowded out - of a hotel—We find shelter—Some wounded admirers and a dead - adorer—The cry of the woman—We start on again 195–206 - - - CHAPTER XIV - HOMBOURG AND RETURN - At the station—German insolence—The crowd in the railway - carriage—The surgeon major who was bound to smoke—We are - wrecked—A dismal prospect—A dreary search for shelter—The - wheelwright’s colt—Expensive hospitality—I turn cook—Crossing - a battlefield by night—The robbers of the dead—The capture of - a thief—Rest at Cateau—Confusion at Cologne—German - kindness—How I make myself sleep—We arrive at Hombourg and - start back again for Paris—Home again 207–226 - - - CHAPTER XV - THE COMMUNE AND VICTOR HUGO - Paris after the war—Gambetta, Rochefort, and Paul de - Rémusat—One man’s delicacy of mind—A cowardly Prefect of - Police and his revenge—The Commune—Captain O’Connor—Paris in - ruins—Back to the theater—“Jean-Marie”—My success grows—My - mistaken opinion of Victor Hugo—The queen and her - valet—Victor Hugo improvises—Victor Hugo’s - kindness—Rehearsals of “Ruy Blas”—A Parisian first night and - what it meant to me—Victor Hugo’s homage 227–240 - - - CHAPTER XVI - I LEAVE THE ODÉON - The night of the triumph—A talk with the “Master”—A forgotten - luncheon—How I feel when I receive a letter—Overtures from - the Comédie Française—Managerial interference—Perrin of the - Comédie—I sign a new contract—I lose a lawsuit—Victor Hugo’s - supper—The death of M. Chilly—Mamma Lambquin’s premonitions 241–253 - - - CHAPTER XVII - I RETURN TO THE COMÉDIE FRANÇAISE - My happy memories of the Odéon—I return to an old - battle-ground—A _Marquise_ who was too stout—M. Sarcey’s - account of my début—The reason I was frightened—What happened - to my mother—A strange distribution of rôles—My growing - popularity and my delight in playing jokes—Sophie Croizette - as a rival—I turn my energies to sculpture—The clash of the - “Croizettists” and the “Bernhardtists”—A fight for the - moon—Success in “Le Sphinx”—A childish freak of - temperament—_Zaïre_ triumphs—I learn something useful about - my acting 254–267 - - - CHAPTER XVIII - A HOLIDAY AND NEW SUCCESSES - A period of sculpturing—My success in making busts—My coffin—A - superfluous hearse—A holiday in Bretagne—The delights of the - shore—Painting in the country—“L’Enfer du Plogoff”—Into the - abyss—“The eyes of the shipwrecked ones”—“Sarah Bernhardt’s - chair”—The fête of Racine—I play the rôle of _Phedre_—A - tangle of authors and an actress—Unforeseen success—My new - hôtel 268–282 - - - CHAPTER XIX - BUSY DAYS - Alexandre Dumas, _fils_—A quarrel and a reconciliation—The - partisans stir up more trouble—“L’Etrangère”—The grandmother - of the sea—More sculpturing—A long search for a model—The - missing hands and feet—Criticism of my group—Appeasing the - god of the _bourgeois_—Luncheon with Victor - Hugo—“Hernani”—The tear of Victor Hugo 283–293 - - - CHAPTER XX - A BALLOON ASCENSION - “The Young Girl and Death”—How my energetic versatility aroused - indignation—I accept an invitation to go ballooning—A trip - through the clouds—Dinner among the stars—The - descent—Vachère—The journey back to Paris—A storm of - criticism—I send in my resignation and then withdraw it—A - trip to the south—A sale in the open—A ridiculous Othello—Mr. - Jarrett, _impresario_—I agree to do independent acting in - London—More trouble with the Committee—The _Times_ makes an - announcement—The end of disputes 294–307 - - - CHAPTER XXI - MY LONDON DÉBUT - Our ridiculous preparations for departure—“La Quenelle,” who - adored me, and his life-preserver—A carpet of flowers—We find - the Prince of Wales has departed—My welcome and the - journalists—Visitors—Hortense Damian and her “_Chic_ - commandments”—My shortcomings as a recipient of - kindnesses—London hospitality—Rotten Row and the Avenue des - Acacias—My first experience as a _traqueuse_—Trying my - voice—My fright—My début—What the critics thought of me 308–321 - - - CHAPTER XXII - MY STAY IN ENGLAND - I overtax my strength—Outwitting the doctor—The effect of a - dose of opium—A lapse of memory and the talk it - caused—Dumas’s judgment of his own plays—I exhibit my - statues—Mr. Gladstone and “Phedre”—The success of my - exhibition—A jaunt to Liverpool—I hunt for lions—My new - pets—My homecoming creates a sensation—A Bedlam in Chester - Square—How I suffered from the press—The tranquil lady—The - company opens a campaign against me—My letter to M. Wolff—I - hesitate on the brink of leaving the Comédie 322–337 - - - CHAPTER XXIII - I AGAIN LEAVE THE COMÉDIE FRANÇAISE - The cruelties of publicity—My first interview with a reporter—A - victim of caricaturists—Perrin tells me my faults—An - anonymous threat—My reappearance in Paris—An intoxicating - triumph—The discourtesy of actors—Coquelin, Mounet-Sully, - Bartet, Réjane, and Duse—Trying times—“L’Aventurière”—An - unjust attack—I send in my resignation—Cruel slanders—Mr. - Jarrett offers a new proposition—I prepare for an American - tour—The sad story of my costume for “Phedre”—The Comédie - brings suit against me—The financial record of my London - performances—Another visit to London—I overcome the critics 338–354 - - - CHAPTER XXIV - PREPARATIONS FOR AMERICA - Coquelin deserts me—The charm of London—Brussels and - Copenhagen—A Danish triumph—A visit to Elsinore—I am - decorated by the King—An international supper with - international complications—The fickleness of Fame—My - farewell reception at Paris—Duquesnel proves himself my - friend—A triumphant tour of France—I sign a contract with the - “Vaudeville”—I leave Paris 355–367 - - - CHAPTER XXV - MY ARRIVAL IN AMERICA - The gnome-haunted ship—I embark on - _L’Amérique_—Homesickness—The widow of President Lincoln—A - snowstorm in mid-ocean—The steerage passengers—A child is - born in the steerage—What if the emigrants should - mutiny?—Precautions in case of shipwreck—The Promised Land of - the emigrants—My fête day—The harbor of the New World—How I - was welcomed—A fatiguing reception—Rest under compulsion—The - kind of man Mr. Jarrett was—Another reception—The silly - questions of the reporters—Press agents and slander 368–385 - - - CHAPTER XXVI - NEW YORK AND BOSTON - I go to Booth’s Theater for the first rehearsal—The crowd at - the stage door—The customs officers come to examine my - trunks—The treatment of my costumes—The Brooklyn Bridge—I - settle with the Board of Customs—I make my first appearance - in “Adrienne Lecouvreur”—I am serenaded—“La Dame aux - Camélias”—My sister impersonates me—The journey to Menlo - Park—I am entertained in fairyland by Mr. Edison—Mr. Edison - and Napoleon I.—We start for Boston—Boston women—An - extraordinary personage—My apartments—A curious experience - with a whale 386–401 - - - CHAPTER XXVII - I VISIT MONTREAL - “Hernani” in Boston—Feminine intellectuality—The whale follows - me to New Haven—Attentions from the showman—I start for - Canada—My entry into Montreal—A cordial welcome—A greeting - from a poet—I cause a sensation by fainting—My rescuer and - his tragedy—The Bishop of Montreal condemns me—Ottawa and the - Iroquois—The Montreal students—An adventure on the ice 402–414 - - - CHAPTER XXVIII - MY TOUR OF THE WESTERN STATES - Springfield and Springfield audiences—I inspect Colt - guns—Baltimore—Philadelphia and Chicago—A pleasant sojourn—A - visit to the slaughtering house—Another bishop condemns - me—St. Louis—The fish without eyes—My jewels are exhibited—It - nearly results in a tragedy—The attempted robbery—The man who - would have robbed me 415–427 - - - CHAPTER XXIX - FROM THE GULF TO CANADA AGAIN - Cincinnati and then South—Crossing the Mississippi in - flood-time—A brave engineer—The charm of New Orleans—The - horrors of the flood—The hairdresser and the serpents—A - strange reception at Mobile—“La Dame aux Camélias” under - scenic difficulties—A round of smaller towns—Blocked by the - snow—A snow ball fight—Pittsburg and a former friend—A long - ride—A mistaken reporter 428–440 - - - CHAPTER XXX - END OF MY AMERICAN TOUR - An outing at Niagara Falls—An icy excursion—I am presented with - a miniature of the Falls—Vanity brings me to ridicule—A - foolhardy escapade—A memorable performance at New York—I - embark for home—The last of the whale man—A stowaway—The trip - home—A glorious reception at Hâvre—A performance for the life - savers—A turning-point 441–456 - - - - - LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - - FACING PAGE - - Sarah Bernhardt as _Gismonda_, from a Painting by - Chartran _Frontispiece_ - - Rear View of Grandchamps Convent, Versailles 20 - - Sarah Bernhardt and Her Mother 36 - - Le Conservatoire National de Musique et de Déclamation, - Paris 80 - - Sarah Bernhardt in the Hands of her Coiffeur 86 - - Sarah Bernhardt when She Left the Conservatory 94 - - Sarah Bernhardt at the Time of Her Début in “Les Femmes - Savantes” 104 - - Sarah Bernhardt in “François le Champi” 134 - - An Early Portrait of Sarah Bernhardt 170 - - Sarah Bernhardt in Riding Habit 232 - - Skull in Madame Bernhardt’s Library, with Autograph - Verses by Victor Hugo 248 - - “Ophelia”—Sculpture by Sarah Bernhardt 258 - - Sarah Bernhardt in Her Coffin 270 - - Sarah Bernhardt Painting, 1878–9 280 - - Sarah Bernhardt at Work on Her “Mêdée” 288 - - Sarah Bernhardt, Portrait by Parrott, 1875—in the - Comédie Française, Paris 296 - - Sarah Bernhardt, Portrait by Clairin 304 - - Sarah Bernhardt, from an Oil Painting by Mlle. Louise - Abbéma 332 - - Sarah Bernhardt as the _Duc de Richelieu_ 338 - - Sarah Bernhardt, 1879 346 - - The Celebrated Portrait of Sarah Bernhardt, Painted by - Jules Bastien-Lepage 352 - - Mme. Sarah Bernhardt and Members of Her Company Out - Shooting 362 - - Bust of Victorien Sardou by Sarah Bernhardt 366 - - Sarah Bernhardt in Travelling Costume, 1880 378 - - Sarah Bernhardt at Home, by Walter Spindler 390 - - Sarah Bernhardt as _Doña Sol_ in “Hernani” 402 - - Corner in Sarah Bernhardt’s Paris Home, Showing Painting - by Chartran 410 - - Library in Madame Bernhardt’s House, Paris 420 - - Corner in Sarah Bernhardt’s Library, Showing Madame - Bernhardt’s Writing Table on the Left 426 - - Théâtre Sarah Bernhardt, Paris 436 - - _Foyer_ in Madame Bernhardt’s Theater, Paris 442 - - Sarah Bernhardt in “L’Aiglon”—Painting by G. Clairin 450 - - - - - MEMORIES OF MY LIFE - - - - - CHAPTER I - MY AUNTS - - -My mother was fond of traveling: she would go from Spain to England, -from London to Paris, from Paris to Berlin, and from there to -Christiania; then she would come back, embrace me, and set out again for -Holland, her native country. She used to send my nurse clothing for -herself and cakes for me. To one of my aunts she would write: “Look -after little Sarah; I shall return in a month’s time.” A month later she -would write to another of her sisters: “Go and see the child at her -nurse’s; I shall be back in a couple of weeks.” - -My mother’s age was nineteen; I was three years old, and my two aunts -were seventeen and twenty years of age; another aunt was fifteen, and -the eldest was twenty-eight, but the latter lived at Martinique, and was -the mother of six children. My grandmother was blind, my grandfather -dead, and my father had been in China for the last two years. I have no -idea why he had gone there. - -My youthful aunts were always promising to come to see me, but rarely -kept their word. My nurse hailed from Brittany and lived near Quimperle -in a little white house with a low thatched roof, on which wild -gilly-flowers grew. That was the first flower which charmed my eyes as a -child, and I have loved it ever since. Its leaves are heavy and -sad-looking, and its petals are made of the setting sun. - -Brittany is a long way off, even in our present epoch of velocity of -travel. In those days it was the end of the world. Fortunately, my nurse -was, it appears, a good, kind woman, and as her own child had died, she -had only me to love. But she loved after the manner of poor people—when -she had time. - -One day, as her husband was ill, she went into the field to help gather -in potatoes. The over-damp soil was rotting them, and there was no time -to be lost. She left me in charge of her husband, who was lying on his -Breton bed suffering from a bad attack of lumbago. The good woman had -placed me in my high chair, and had been careful to put in the wooden -peg which supported the narrow tray for my toys. She threw a fagot in -the grate, and said to me in Breton language: (until the age of four I -only understood Breton) “Be a good girl, Milk Blossom.” That was my only -name at the time. When she had gone, I tried to withdraw the wooden peg -which she had taken so much trouble to put in place. Finally, I -succeeded in pushing aside the little rampart. I wanted to reach the -ground, but poor little me, I fell into the fire which was burning -joyfully. - -The screams of my foster father, who could not move, brought in some -neighbors. I was thrown, all smoking, into a large pail of fresh milk. -My aunts were informed of what had happened; they communicated the news -to my mother, and, for the next four days, that quiet part of the -country was plowed by stagecoaches that arrived in rapid succession. My -aunts came from all parts of the world, and my mother, in the greatest -alarm, hastened from Brussels with Baron Larrey, one of her friends, who -was a young doctor just beginning to acquire celebrity, and a house -surgeon whom Baron Larrey had brought with him. I have been told since -that nothing was more painful to witness and yet so charming, as my -mother’s despair. The doctor approved of the “mask of butter,” which was -changed every two hours. - -Dear Baron Larrey! I often saw him afterwards, and now and again we -shall meet him in the pages of my Memoirs. He used to tell me in such -charming fashion how those kind folk loved Milk Blossom. And he could -never refrain from laughing at the thought of that butter. There was -butter everywhere, he used to say: on the bedsteads, on the cupboards, -on the chairs, on the tables, hanging up on nails in bladders. All the -neighbors used to bring butter to make masks for Milk Blossom. - -Mother, admirably beautiful, looked like a Madonna, with her golden hair -and her eyes fringed with such long lashes that they made a shadow on -her cheeks when she lowered her eyes. She distributed money on all -sides. She would have given her golden hair, her slender white fingers, -her tiny feet, her life itself, in order to save her child. And she was -as sincere in her despair and her love as in her unconscious -forgetfulness. Baron Larrey returned to Paris, leaving my mother, Aunt -Rosine, and the surgeon with me. Forty-two days later, mother took the -nurse, the foster father, and me back in triumph to Paris, and installed -us in a little house at Neuilly, on the banks of the Seine. I had not -even a scar, it appears. My skin was rather too bright a pink, but that -was all. My mother, happy and trustful once more, began to travel again, -leaving me in care of my aunts. - -Two years were spent in the little garden at Neuilly, which was full of -horrible dahlias growing close together and colored like wooden balls. -My aunts never came there. My mother used to send money, bonbons, and -toys. The foster father died and my nurse married a _concierge_, who -used to open the door at 65, rue de Provence. - -Not knowing where to find my mother, and not being able to write, my -nurse, without telling any of my friends, took me with her to her new -abode. - -The change delighted me. I was five years old at the time, and I -remember the day as if it were yesterday. My nurse’s abode was just over -the doorway of the house, and the window was framed in the heavy and -monumental door. From outside, I thought it was beautiful, and I began -to clap my hands on reaching the house. It was toward five o’clock in -the evening, in the month of November, when everything looks gray. I was -put to bed and no doubt I went to sleep at once, for there end my -recollections of that day. - -The next morning there was terrible grief in store for me. There was no -window in the little room in which I slept, and I began to cry, and -escaped from the arms of my nurse, who was dressing me, so that I could -go into the adjoining room. I ran to the round window, which was an -immense “bull’s eye” above the doorway. I pressed my stubborn brow -against the glass and began to scream with rage on seeing no trees, no -boxwood, no leaves falling, nothing, nothing, but stone, cold, gray, -ugly stone, and panes of glass opposite me. - -“I want to go away,” I screamed. “I don’t want to stay here! It is all -black, black! It is ugly! I want to see the ceiling of the street!” and -I burst into tears. My poor nurse took me up in her arms and, folding me -in a rug, took me down into the courtyard. - -“Lift up your head, Milk Blossom, and look! See, there is the ceiling of -the street!” - -It comforted me somewhat to see that there was some sky in this ugly -place, but my little soul was very sad. I could not eat, and I grew pale -and became anæmic, and I should certainly have died of consumption if it -had not been for a mere chance, a most unexpected incident. One day I -was playing in the courtyard with a little girl named Titine, who lived -on the second floor and whose face or real name I cannot recall, when I -saw my nurse’s husband walking across the courtyard with two ladies, one -of whom was most fashionably attired. I could only see their backs, but -the voice of the fashionably attired lady caused my heart to stop -beating. My poor little body trembled with nervous excitement. - -“Do any of the windows look on to the courtyard?” she asked. - -“Yes, madame, those four,” he replied, pointing to four open ones on the -first floor. - -The lady turned to look at them, and I uttered a cry of joy. - -“Aunt Rosine! Aunt Rosine!” I exclaimed, clinging to the skirts of the -pretty visitor. I buried my face in her furs, stamping, sobbing, -laughing, and tearing her wide, lace sleeves in my frenzy of delight. -She took me in her arms and tried to calm me, and questioning the -_concierge_ she stammered out to her friend: - -“I can’t understand what it all means! This is little Sarah! My sister -Youle’s child!” - -The noise I made had attracted attention, and people opened their -windows. My aunt decided to take refuge in the _concierge’s_ lodge, in -order to come to an explanation. My poor nurse told her about all that -had taken place, her husband’s death, and her second marriage. I do not -remember what she said to excuse herself. I clung to my aunt, who was -deliciously perfumed, and I would not let her go. She promised to come -the following day to fetch me, but I did not want to stay any longer in -that dark place. I asked to start at once with my nurse. My aunt stroked -my hair gently, and spoke to her friend in a language I did not -understand. She tried, in vain, to explain something to me, I do not -know what it was, but I insisted that I wanted to go away with her at -once. In a gentle, tender, caressing voice, but without any real -affection, she said all kinds of pretty things, stroked me with her -gloved hands, patted my frock, which was turned up, and made any amount -of charming, frivolous little gestures, but all without any real -feeling. She then went away, at her friend’s entreaty, after emptying -her purse in my nurse’s hands. I rushed toward the door, but the husband -of my nurse, who had opened it for her, now closed it again. My nurse -was crying, and, taking me in her arms, she opened the window, saying to -me: “Don’t cry, Milk Blossom, look at your pretty aunt; she will come -back again, and then you can go away with her.” Great tears rolled down -her calm, round, handsome face. I could see nothing but the dark, black -hole which remained there immutable behind me, and in a fit of despair, -I rushed out to my aunt who was just getting into a carriage. After that -I knew nothing more; everything seemed dark; there was a noise in the -distance. I could hear voices far, far away. I had managed to escape -from my poor nurse, and had fallen down on the pavement in front of my -aunt. I had broken my arm in two places, and injured my left kneecap. I -only came to myself again a few hours later, to find that I was in a -beautiful, wide bed which smelled very nice. It stood in the middle of a -large room, with two lovely windows, which made me very joyful, for I -could see the ceiling of the street through them. - -My mother, who had been sent for immediately, came to take care of me, -and I saw the rest of my family, my aunts and my cousins. My poor little -brain could not understand why all these people should suddenly be so -fond of me, when I had passed so many days and nights only cared for by -one single person. As I was weakly, and my bones small and friable, I -was two years recovering from this terrible fall, and during that time -was nearly always carried about. I will pass over these two years of my -life, which have left me only a vague memory of being petted, and of a -chronic state of torpor. - -One day my mother took me on her knees, and said to me: “You are a big -girl now, and you must learn to read and write.” I was then seven years -old, and could neither read, write, nor count, as I had been five years -with the old nurse, and two years ill. “You must go to school,” -continued my mother, playing with my curly hair, “like a big girl.” - -I did not know what all this meant, and I asked what a school was. - -“It’s a place where there are many little girls,” replied my mother. - -“Are they ill?” I asked. - -“Oh, no! They are quite well, as you are now, and they play together, -and are very gay and happy.” - -I jumped about in delight, and gave free vent to my joy, but on seeing -tears in my mother’s eyes, I flung myself in her arms. - -“But what about you, mamma?” I asked. “You will be all alone, and you -won’t have any little girl.” - -She bent down to me and said: - -“God has told me that he will send me some flowers, and a little baby.” - -My delight was more and more boisterous. - -“Then I shall have a little brother?” I exclaimed, “or else a little -sister? Oh, no, I don’t want that, I don’t like little sisters!” - -Mamma kissed me very affectionately, and then I was dressed, I remember, -in a blue, corded velvet frock, of which I was very proud. Arrayed thus -in all my splendor, I waited impatiently for Aunt Rosine’s carriage, -which was to take us to Auteuil. - -It was about three when she arrived. The housemaid had gone on about an -hour before, and I had watched with delight my little trunk and my toys -being packed into the carriage. The maid climbed up and took the seat by -the driver, in spite of my mother protesting at first against this. When -my aunt’s magnificent equipage arrived, mamma was the first to get in, -slowly and calmly. I got in slowly, too, giving myself airs, because the -_concierge_ and some of the shopkeepers were watching. My aunt then -sprang in lightly, but by no means calmly, after giving her orders in -English to the stiff, ridiculous-looking coachman, and handing him a -paper on which the address was written. Another carriage followed ours, -in which three men were seated: Régie L——, a friend of my father’s, -General de P—— and an artist named Fleury, I think, whose pictures of -horses and sporting subjects were very much in vogue just then. - -I heard on the way that these gentlemen were going to arrange about a -little dinner near Auteuil, to console mamma for her great trouble in -being separated from me. Some other guests were to be there to meet -them. I did not pay very much attention to what my mother and my aunt -said to each other. Sometimes when they spoke of me they talked either -English or German, and smiled at me affectionately. The long drive was -greatly appreciated by me, for with my face pressed against the window, -and my eyes wide open, I gazed out eagerly at the gray, muddy road, with -its ugly houses on each side, and its bare trees. I thought it was all -very beautiful, because it kept changing. - -The carriage stopped at 18, Rue Boileau, Auteuil. On the iron gate was a -long, dark signboard, with gold letters. I looked up at it, and mamma -said: “You will be able to read that soon, I hope.” My aunt whispered to -me, “Boarding School, Madame Fressard,” and, very promptly, I said to -mamma: “It says ‘Boarding School, Madame Fressard.’” - -Mamma, my aunt, and the three gentlemen laughed heartily at my -assurance, and we entered the house. Mme. Fressard came forward to meet -us, and I liked her at once. She was of medium height, rather stout, -with a small waist, and her hair turning gray, _en Sévigné_. She had -beautiful, large eyes, rather like George Sand’s, very white teeth which -showed up all the more as her complexion was rather tawny. She looked -healthy, spoke kindly, her hands were plump and her fingers long. She -took my hand gently in hers and half-kneeling so that her face was level -with mine, she said in a musical voice: “You won’t be afraid of me, will -you, little girl?” I did not answer, but my face flushed as red as a -coxcomb. She asked me several questions, but I refused to reply. They -all gathered round me—“Speak, child—come, Sarah, be a good girl—oh, the -naughty little child!” - -It was all in vain. I remained perfectly mute. The customary round was -then made, to the bedrooms, the dining-hall, the class-rooms, and the -usual exaggerated compliments were paid. “How beautifully it is all -kept! How spotlessly clean everything is!” and a hundred stupidities of -this kind about the comfort of these prisons for children. My mother -went aside with Mme. Fressard, and I clung to her knees so that she -could not walk. “This is the doctor’s prescription,” she said, and then -followed a long list of things that were to be done for me. - -Mme. Fressard smiled rather ironically. - -“You know, madame,” she said to my mother, “we shall not be able to curl -her hair like that.” - -“And you certainly will not be able to uncurl it,” replied my mother, -stroking my head with her gloved hands. “It’s a regular wig, and they -must never attempt to comb it until it has been well brushed. They could -not possibly get the knots out otherwise, and it would hurt her too -much. What do you give the children at four o’clock?” she asked, -changing the subject. - -“Oh, a slice of bread and just what the parents leave for them.” - -“There are twelve pots of different kinds of jam,” said my mother, “but -she must have jam one day and chocolate another, as she has not a good -appetite, and requires change of food. I have brought six pounds of -chocolate.” Mme. Fressard smiled in a good-natured, but rather ironical -way. She picked up a packet of the chocolate, and looked at the mark. - -“Ah! from Marquis! What a spoiled little girl it is!” She patted my -cheek with her white fingers, and then, as her eyes fell on a large jar, -she looked surprised. - -“That’s cold cream,” said my mother. “I make it myself, and I should -like my little girl’s face and hands to be rubbed with it every night -when she goes to bed.” - -“But——” began Mme. Fressard. - -“Oh, I’ll pay double laundry expenses for the sheets,” interrupted my -mother, impatiently. Ah, my poor mother, I remember quite well that my -sheets were changed once a month, like those of the other pupils! - -The farewell moment came at last, and everyone gathered round mamma, and -finally carried her off, after a great deal of kissing, and with all -kinds of consoling words: “It will be so good for her—it is just what -she needs—you’ll find her quite changed when you see her again, etc.” - -The General, who was very fond of me, picked me up in his arms and -tossed me in the air. - -“You little chit,” he said; “they are putting you to the barracks, and -you’ll have to mind your pace!” - -I pulled his long mustache, and he said, winking, and looking in the -direction of Mme. Fressard, who had a slight mustache: “You mustn’t do -that to a lady, you know!” - -My aunt laughed heartily, and my mother gave a little stifled laugh, and -the whole troop went off in a regular whirlwind of rustling skirts and -farewells, while I was taken away to the cage where I was to be -imprisoned. - -I spent two years at the _pension_. I was taught reading, writing, and -reckoning. I also learned a hundred new games. I learned to sing -rondeaus and to embroider handkerchiefs for my mother. I was relatively -happy there, as we always went out somewhere on Thursdays and Sundays, -and this gave me the sensation of liberty. The very ground in the street -seemed to me quite different from the ground of the large garden -belonging to the _pension_. Besides, there were little festivities at -Mme. Fressard’s which used to send me into raptures. Mlle. Stella Colas, -who had just made her début at the Théâtre Français, came sometimes on -Thursdays and recited poetry to us. I could never sleep a wink the night -before, and in the morning I used to comb my hair carefully and get -ready, my heart beating fast with excitement, in order to listen to -something I did not understand at all, but which, nevertheless, left me -spellbound. Then, too, there was quite a legend attached to this pretty -girl. She had flung herself almost under the horses’ feet as the Emperor -was driving along, in order to attract his attention and obtain the -pardon of her brother who had conspired against his sovereign. - -Mlle. Stella Colas had a sister at Mme. Fressard’s, and this sister, -Clothilde, is now the wife of M. Pierre Merlon, Under-Secretary of State -in the Treasury Department. Stella was slight and fair, with blue eyes -that were rather hard, but expressive. She had a deep voice and when -this pale, fragile girl began to recite “Athalie’s Dream” it thrilled me -through and through. How many times, seated on my child’s bed, did I -practice saying in a low voice: “_Tremble, fille digne de moi._” I used -to twist my head in my shoulders, swell out my cheeks and commence: - -“_Tremble—trem-ble—trem-em-em—ble——_” - -But it always ended badly and I would begin again very quietly in a -stifled voice and then unconsciously speak louder, and my companions, -roused by the noise, were amused at my attempts and roared with -laughter. I would then rush about to the right and left, giving them -kicks and blows which they returned with interest. - -Mme. Fressard’s adopted daughter, Mlle. Caroline—whom I chanced to meet -a long time after, married to the celebrated artist, Yvon—would then -appear on the scene, angry and implacable, and would give us all kinds -of punishments for the following day. As for me, I used to get locked up -for three days. That was followed by my being detained on the first day -we were allowed out. And, in addition, I would receive five strokes with -a ruler on my fingers. Ah! those ruler blows of Mlle. Caroline’s! I -reproached her about them when I met her again twenty-five years later. -She used to make us put all our fingers round the thumb and hold our -hands out straight near to her and then, bang came her wide, ebony -ruler. She used to give us a cruelly hard, dry blow which made the tears -spurt to our eyes. I took a dislike to Mlle. Caroline. She was -beautiful, but with the kind of beauty I did not care for. She had a -very white complexion and very black hair which she wore in waved -bandeaux. When I saw her a long time afterwards, one of my relatives -brought her to my house and said: “I am sure you will not recognize this -lady and yet you know her very well.” - -I was leaning against the large mantelpiece in the hall and I saw this -tall woman, still beautiful, but rather provincial-looking, coming -through the first drawing-room. As she descended the three steps into -the hall, the light fell on her protruding forehead, framed on each side -with the hard, waved bandeaux. - -“Mlle. Caroline!” I exclaimed, and with a furtive, childish movement, I -hid my two hands behind my back. I never saw her again, for the grudge I -had owed her from my childhood must have been apparent under my -politeness as hostess. - -As I said before, I was not unhappy at Mme. Fressard’s, and it seemed -quite natural to me that I should stay there until I was quite grown up. -My uncle, Felix Faure, who at present has entered the Carthusian -monastery, had stipulated that his wife, my mother’s sister, should -often take me out. He had a very fine country place at Neuilly with a -stream running through the grounds, and I used to fish there for hours -together, with my two cousins, a boy and girl. - -These two years of my life passed peacefully, without any other events -than my terrible fits of temper, which upset the whole _pension_ and -always left me in the sick-room for two or three days. These outbursts -of temper were like attacks of madness. - -One day Aunt Rosine arrived suddenly, to take me away altogether. My -father had written giving orders as to where I was to be placed, and -these orders were imperative. My mother was traveling, so she had sent -word to my aunt, who had hurried off at once, between two dances, to -carry out the instructions she had received. - -The idea that I was to be ordered about, without any regard to my own -wishes or inclinations, put me into an indescribable rage. I rolled -about on the ground, uttering the most heartrending cries. I yelled out -all kinds of reproaches, blaming my mother, my aunts, and Mme. Fressard -for not finding some way to keep me with her. The struggle lasted two -hours, and, while I was being dressed, I escaped twice into the garden -and attempted to climb the trees, and to throw myself into the pond, in -which there was more mud than water. - -Finally, when I was completely exhausted and subdued, I was taken off, -sobbing, in my aunt’s carriage. - -I stayed three days at her house, as I was so feverish that my life was -said to be in danger. - -My father used to come to the house of my Aunt Rosine, who was then -living at 6 Rue de la Chaussée d’Antin. He was on friendly terms with -Rossini, who lived at No. 4 in the same street. He often brought him in, -and Rossini made me laugh with his clever stories and comic grimaces. My -father was as “handsome as a god,” and I used to look at him with pride. -I did not know him well, as I saw him so rarely, but I loved him for his -seductive voice and his slow, gentle gestures. He commanded a certain -respect and I noticed that even my exuberant aunt calmed down in his -presence. - -I recovered, and Dr. Monod, who was attending me, said that I could now -be moved without any fear of ill effects. We had been waiting for my -mother, but she was ill at Haarlem. My aunt offered to accompany us if -my father would take me to the convent, but he refused, and I can hear -him now with his gentle voice, saying: - -“No, her mother will take her to the convent. I have written to the -Faures and the child is to stay there a fortnight.” - -My aunt was about to protest, but my father replied: “It’s quieter -there, my dear Rosine, and the child needs tranquillity more than -anything else.” - -I went that very evening to my Aunt Faure’s. I did not care much for -her, as she was cold and affected, but I adored my uncle. He was so -gentle and so calm, and there was an infinite charm in his smile. His -son was as turbulent as I was myself, adventurous and rather -hare-brained, so that we always liked being together. His sister, an -adorable Greuze-like girl, was reserved and always afraid of soiling her -frocks, and even her pinafores. The poor child married Baron Cerise and -died during her confinement, in the very flower of youth and beauty, -because her timidity, her reserve and narrow education had made her -refuse to see a doctor when the intervention of a medical man was -absolutely necessary. I was very fond of her, and her death was a great -grief to me. At present, I never see the faintest ray of moonlight -without its evoking a pale vision of her. - -I stayed three weeks at my uncle’s, roaming about with my cousin and -spending hours lying down flat, fishing for crayfish in the little -stream that ran through the park. This park was immense and surrounded -by a wide ditch. How many times I used to have bets with my cousins that -I would jump that ditch! The bet was sometimes three sheets of paper, or -five pins, or perhaps my two pancakes, for we used to have pancakes -every Tuesday. And after the bet I jumped, more often than not falling -into the ditch and splashing about in the green water, screaming because -I was afraid of the frogs, and yelling with terror when my cousins -pretended to rush away. - -When I returned to the house my aunt was always watching anxiously at -the top of the stone steps for our arrival. What a lecture I had and -what a cold look! - -“Go upstairs and change your clothes, mademoiselle,” she would say, “and -thou stay in your room. Your dinner will be sent to you there without -any dessert.” - -As I passed the big glass in the hall I would catch sight of myself, -looking like a rotten tree stump, and see my cousin making signs that he -would bring me some dessert, by putting his hand to his mouth. - -His sister used to go to his mother who fondled her and seemed to say: -“Thank Heaven you are not like that little Bohemian!” This was my aunt’s -stinging epithet for me in moments of anger. I used to go up to my room -with a heavy heart, thoroughly ashamed and vexed, vowing to myself that -I would never again jump the ditch, but on reaching my room I would find -the gardener’s daughter there—a big, awkward, merry girl who used to -wait on me. - -“Oh, how comic mademoiselle looks like that!” she would say, laughing so -heartily that I was proud of looking comic and decided that when I -jumped the ditch again I would get weeds and mud all over me. When I had -undressed and washed I used to put on a flannel gown and wait in my room -until my dinner came. Soup was sent up and then meat, bread, and water. -I detested meat then, just as I do now, and threw it out of the window, -after cutting off the fat, which I put on the rim of my plate, as my -aunt used to come up unexpectedly. - -“Have you eaten your dinner, mademoiselle?” she would ask. - -“Yes, aunt,” I replied. - -“Are you still hungry?” - -“No, aunt.” - -“Write out ‘Our Father’ and the ‘Creed’ three times, you little -heathen.” This was because I had not been baptized. A quarter of an hour -later my uncle would come upstairs. - -“Have you had enough dinner?” he would ask. - -“Yes, uncle,” I replied. - -“Did you eat your meat?” - -“No, I threw it out of the window. I don’t like meat.” - -“You told your aunt an untruth, then.” - -“No, she asked me if I had eaten my dinner and I answered that I had, -but I did not say that I had eaten my meat.” - -“What punishment has she given you?” - -“I am to write out ‘Our Father’ and the ‘Creed’ three times before going -to bed.” - -“Do you know them by heart?” - -“No, not very well. I make mistakes always.” - -And the adorable man would then dictate to me “Our Father” and the -“Creed” and I would copy it in the most devout way, as he used to -dictate with deep feeling and emotion. He was religious, very religious -indeed, this uncle of mine, and after the death of my aunt he became a -Carthusian monk. At the present moment, ill and aged as he is, and bent -with pain, I know he is digging his own grave, weak with the weight of -the spade, imploring God to take him, and thinking sometimes of me, his -little Bohemian. Ah, the dear, good man, it is to him that I owe all -that is best in me! I love him devotedly and have the greatest respect -for him. How many times in the difficult phases of my life I have -thought of him and consulted his ideas, for I never saw him again, as my -aunt quarreled purposely with my mother and me. He was always fond of -me, though, and has told his friends to assure me of this. Occasionally, -too, he has sent me his advice, which has always been very -straightforward and full of intelligence and common sense. Recently I -went to the country where the Carthusians have taken refuge. A friend of -mine went to see my uncle, and I wept on hearing the words he had -dictated to be repeated to me. - -To return to my story: after my uncle’s visit, Marie, the gardener’s -daughter, came to my room, looking quite indifferent but with her -pockets stuffed with apples, biscuits, raisins, and nuts. My cousin had -sent me some dessert, but she, the good-hearted girl, had cleared all -the dessert dishes. I told her to sit down and crack the nuts and I -would eat them when I had finished my “Lord’s Prayer” and “Creed.” She -sat down on the floor, so that she could hide everything quickly under -the table, in case my aunt returned. But my aunt seldom came again, as -she and her daughter used to spend their evenings at the piano while my -uncle taught his son mathematics. - -Finally my mother wrote to say that she was coming. There was great -excitement in my uncle’s house, and my little trunk was packed in -readiness. The Grandchamps Convent, which I was about to enter, had a -prescribed uniform, and my cousin, who loved sewing, marked all my -things with the initials S. B. in red cotton. My uncle gave me a silver -spoon, fork, and goblet and these were all marked 32, which was the -number under which I was registered there. Marie gave me a thick woolen -muffler in different shades of violet, which she had been knitting for -me in secret the last few days. My aunt put round my neck a little -scapulary which had been blessed, and when my mother and father arrived -everything was ready. A farewell dinner was given to which two of my -mother’s friends, Aunt Rosine, and four other members of the family were -invited. - -I felt very important. I was neither sad nor gay, but had just this -feeling of importance which was quite enough for me. Everyone at table -talked about me. My uncle kept stroking my hair and my cousin from her -end of the table threw me kisses. Suddenly my father’s musical voice -made me turn toward him. - -“Listen to me, Sarah,” he said; “if you are very good at the convent I -will come in four years and fetch you away, and you shall travel with me -and see some beautiful countries.” - -“Oh, I will be good!” I exclaimed. “I’ll be as good as Aunt Henriette!” - -This was my Aunt Faure. Everybody smiled. - -After dinner, the weather being very fine, we all went out to stroll in -the park. My father took me with him and talked to me very seriously. He -told me things that were sad which I had never heard before. I -understood, although I was so young, and my eyes filled with tears. He -was sitting on an old bench and I was on his knee with my head resting -on his shoulder. I listened to all he said and cried silently, my -childish mind disturbed by his words. Poor father! I was never, never to -see him again. - - - - - CHAPTER II - I BEGIN MY CONVENT LIFE - - -I did not sleep well that night and the following morning, at eight -o’clock, we started by diligence for Versailles. I can see Marie now, in -tears, great big girl as she was. All the members of the family were -assembled at the top of the stone steps. There was my little trunk and -then a wooden case of games which my mother had brought, and a kite that -my cousin had made, which he gave me at the last moment just as the -carriage was starting. I can still see the large white house, which -seemed to get smaller and smaller the farther we drove away from it. I -stood up, with my father holding me and waved his blue silk muffler -which I had taken from his neck. After this I sat down in the carriage -and fell asleep, only rousing up again when we were at the heavy-looking -door of the Grandchamps Convent. I rubbed my eyes and tried to collect -my thoughts. I then jumped down from the diligence and looked at -everything around me. The paving stones of the street were round and -small, with grass growing everywhere. There was a wall and then a great -gateway surmounted by a cross, and nothing behind it, nothing whatever -to be seen. To the left there was a house and to the right the Sartory -barracks. Not a sound to be heard, not a footfall, not even an echo. - -“Oh, mamma!” I exclaimed, “is it inside there I am to go? Oh, no, I -would rather go back to Mme. Fressard’s.” - -My mother shrugged her shoulders and pointed to my father, thus -explaining that she was not responsible for this step. I rushed to him, -and while ringing the bell, he took me by the hand. The door opened, and -he led me gently in, followed by my mother and Aunt Rosine. - -The courtyard was large and dreary-looking, but there were buildings to -be seen, and windows from which children’s faces were gazing curiously -at us. My father said something to the nun who came forward, and she -took us into the parlor. This was large, with a polished floor, and was -divided by an enormous black grating which ran the whole length of the -room. There were benches covered with red velvet by the wall and a few -chairs and armchairs near the grating. On the walls were the portraits -of Pius IX., a full-length one of St. Augustine, and one of Henri V. My -teeth chattered, for it seemed to me that I remembered reading in some -book the description of a prison and that it was just like this. I -looked at my father and at my mother and began to distrust them. I had -so often heard that I was ungovernable, that I needed an iron hand to -rule me, and that I was the devil incarnate in a child. My Aunt Faure -had so often repeated: “That child will come to a bad end, she has such -mad ideas, etc., etc.” - -“Papa, papa,” I suddenly cried out, seized with terror, “I won’t go to -prison. This is a prison I am sure. I am frightened; oh, I am so -frightened!” - -On the other side of the grating a door had just opened, and I stopped -to see who was coming. A little round, short woman made her appearance -and came up to the grating. Her black veil was lowered as far as her -mouth, so that I could see scarcely anything of her face. She recognized -my father, whom she had probably seen before when matters were being -arranged. She opened the door in the grating and we all went through to -the other side of the room. On seeing me pale and my terrified eyes full -of tears, she gently took my hand in hers, and turning her back to my -father raised her veil. I then saw the sweetest and merriest face -imaginable, with large, childlike blue eyes, a turn-up nose, a laughing -mouth with full lips and beautiful, strong, white teeth. She looked so -kind, so energetic, and so gay that I flung myself at once into her -arms. It was Mother Ste. Sophie, the Superior of the Grandchamps -Convent. - -“Ah, we are friends now, you see!” she said to my father, lowering her -veil again. What secret instinct could have told this woman, who was not -coquettish, who had no looking-glass and never troubled about beauty, -that her face was fascinating and that her bright smile could enliven -the gloom of the convent? - -“We will now go and visit the house,” she said. - -We at once started, she and my father each holding one of my hands. Two -other nuns accompanied us, one of whom was the mother-prefect, a tall, -cold woman with thin lips, and Sister Séraphine, who was as white and -supple as a spray of lily of the valley. We started by entering the -building and came first to the large class-room in which all the pupils -met on Thursdays at the lectures, which were nearly always given by -Mother Ste. Sophie. Most of them did needle-work all day long, tapestry, -embroidery, etc., and others decalcomania. - -The room was very large and on St. Catherine’s Day and other holidays we -used to dance there. It was in this room, too, that once a year the -Mother Superior gave to each of the Sisters the sou which represented -her annual income. The walls were adorned with religious engravings and -with a few oil paintings done by the pupils. The place of honor, though, -belonged to St. Augustine. A magnificent large engraving depicted the -conversion of this saint, and, oh, how often I have looked at that -engraving! St. Augustine has certainly caused me very much emotion and -greatly disturbed my childish heart. Mamma admired the cleanliness of -the refectory. She asked to see which would be my seat at table, and -when this was shown to her she objected strongly to my having that -place. - -“No,” she said, “the child has not a strong chest and she would always -be in a draught. I will not let her sit there.” - -My father agreed with my mother and insisted on a change being made. It -was therefore decided that I should sit at the end of the room, and the -promise given was faithfully kept. - -When mamma saw the wide staircase leading to the dormitories she was -aghast. It was very, very wide and the steps were low and easy to mount, -but there were so many of them before one reached the first floor. For a -few seconds mamma hesitated and stood there gazing at them, her arms -hanging down in despair. - -“Stay down here, Youle,” said my aunt, “and I will go up.” - -“No, no,” replied my mother in a sorrowful voice. “I must see where the -child is to sleep; she is so delicate.” - -My father helped her, and indeed almost carried her up, and we then went -into one of the immense dormitories. It was very much like the dormitory -at Mme. Fressard’s, but a great deal larger and there was a tiled floor -without any carpet. - -“Oh, this is quite impossible!” exclaimed mamma, “the child cannot sleep -here; it is too cold; it would kill her.” - -The Mother Superior, Ste. Sophie, gave my mother a chair and tried to -soothe her. She was pale, for her heart was already very much affected. - -“We will put your little girl in this dormitory, madame,” she said, -opening a door that led into a room with eight beds. The floor was of -polished wood and this room, adjoining the infirmary, was the one in -which delicate or convalescent children slept. Mamma was reassured on -seeing this, and we then went down and inspected the grounds. There were -three woods, the Little Wood, the Middle Wood, and the Big Wood, and -then there was an orchard that stretched along as far as the eye could -see. In this orchard was the building where the poor children lived. -They were taught gratis by the nuns, and every week they helped with the -laundry for the convent. - -The sight of these immense woods with swings, hammocks, and a gymnasium -delighted me, for I thought I should be able to roam about at pleasure -there. Mother Ste. Sophie explained to us that the Little Wood was -reserved for the older pupils and the Middle Wood for the little ones, -while the Big Wood was for the whole convent on holidays. Then after -telling us about the collecting of the chestnuts and the gathering of -the acacia, Mother Ste. Sophie informed us that every child could have a -small garden and that sometimes two or three of them had a larger one -between them. - -[Illustration: REAR VIEW OF GRANDCHAMPS CONVENT, VERSAILLES.] - -“Oh, can I have a garden of my own!” I exclaimed, “a garden all to -myself?” - -“Yes,” replied my mother, “one of your own.” - -The Mother Superior called the gardener, Père Larcher, the only man, -with the exception of the almoner, who was on the convent staff. - -“Père Larcher,” said the kind woman, “here is a little girl who wants a -beautiful garden. Find a nice place for it.” - -“Very good, Reverend Mother,” answered the honest fellow, and I saw my -father slip a coin into his hand, for which the man thanked him in an -embarrassed way. - -It was getting late and we had to separate. I remember quite well that I -did not feel any grief, as I was thinking of nothing but my garden. The -convent no longer seemed to me like a prison but like Paradise. I kissed -my mother and my aunt. Papa drew me to him and held me a moment in a -close embrace. When I looked at him I saw that his eyes were full of -tears. I did not feel at all inclined to cry, and I gave him a hearty -kiss and whispered: “I am going to be very, very good and work well, so -that I can go with you at the end of four years.” I then went toward my -mother, who was giving Mother Ste. Sophie the same instructions she had -given to Mme. Fressard about “cold cream, chocolate, jam, etc.” Mother -Ste. Sophie wrote down all these instructions, and it is only fair to -say that she carried them out afterwards most scrupulously. - -When my parents had gone I felt inclined to cry, but the Mother Superior -took me by the hand, and leading me to the Second Wood, showed me where -my garden would be. That was quite enough to distract my thoughts, for -we found Père Larcher there marking out my piece of ground in a corner -of the wood. There was a young birch tree against the wall. The corner -was formed by the joining of two walls, one of which bounded the railway -line of the left bank of the river which cuts the Sartory Woods in two. -The other wall was that of the cemetery. All the woods of the convent -were part of the beautiful Sartory Forest. - -They had all given me money, my father, my mother, and my aunt. I had -altogether about forty or fifty francs, and I wanted to give all to Père -Larcher for buying seed. The Mother Superior smiled and sent for the -Mother Treasurer and Mother Ste. Appoline. I had to hand all my money -over to the former, with the exception of twenty sous which she left me, -saying: “When that is all gone, little girl, come and get some more from -me.” - -Mère Ste. Appoline, who taught botany, then asked me what kind of -flowers I wanted. What kind of flowers! Why I wanted every sort that -grew. She at once proceeded to give me a botany lesson, by explaining -that all flowers did not grow at the same season. She then asked the -Mother Treasurer for some of my money, which she gave to Père Larcher, -telling him to buy me a spade, a rake, a hoe, and a watering-can, some -seeds and a few plants, the names of which she wrote down for him. I was -delighted, and I then went with Mother Ste. Sophie to the refectory to -have dinner. On entering the immense room I stood still for a second, -amazed and confused. More than a hundred girls were assembled there, -standing up for the benediction to be pronounced. When the Mother -Superior appeared, everyone bowed respectfully, and then all eyes were -turned on me. Mother Ste. Sophie took me to the seat which had been -chosen for me at the end of the room and then returned to the middle of -the refectory. She stood still, made the sign of the cross, and in an -audible voice pronounced the benediction. As she left the room, everyone -bowed again and I then found myself alone, quite alone in this cage of -little wild animals. I was seated between two little girls of from ten -to twelve years old, both as dusky as two young moles. They were twins -from Jamaica, and their names were Dolores and Pepa Cardanos. They had -been in the convent only two months and appeared to be as timid as I -was. The dinner was composed of soup, made of everything, and of veal -with haricot beans. I detested soup and I have always had a horror of -veal. I turned my plate over when the soup was handed round, but the nun -who waited on us turned it up again and poured the hot soup in, -regardless of scalding me. - -“You must drink your soup,” whispered my right-hand neighbor, whose name -was Pepa. - -“I don’t like that sort and I don’t want any,” I said aloud. The -inspectress was passing by just at that moment. - -“You must drink your soup, mademoiselle,” she said. - -“No, I don’t like that sort of soup,” I answered. - -She smiled and said in a gentle voice: - -“We must like everything. I shall be coming round again soon. Be a good -girl and take your soup.” - -I was getting into a rage, but Dolores gave me her empty plate and drank -the soup for me. When the inspectress came round again she expressed her -satisfaction. I was furious and put my tongue out, and this made all the -table laugh. She turned round, and the pupil who sat at the end of the -table and was appointed to watch over us, because she was the eldest, -said to her in a low voice: - -“It’s the new girl making grimaces.” - -The inspectress moved away again, and when the veal was served my -portion found its way to the plate of my neighbor, Dolores. I wanted to -keep the haricot beans though, and we almost came to a quarrel over -them. She gave way finally, but with the veal she dragged away a few -beans which I tried to keep on my plate. - -An hour later we had evening prayers and afterwards all went up to bed. -My bed was placed against the wall, in which there was a niche for the -statue of the Virgin Mary. A lamp was always kept burning in this niche, -and the oil for it was provided by the children who had been ill and -were grateful for their recovery. Two tiny flower-pots were placed at -the foot of the little statue. The pots were of terra cotta and the -flowers of paper. I made paper flowers very well, and I at once decided -that I would make all the flowers for the Virgin Mary. I fell asleep to -dream of garlands of flowers, of haricot beans, and of distant -countries, for the twins from Jamaica had made an impression on my mind. - -The awakening was cruel. I was not accustomed to get up so early. -Daylight was scarcely visible through the opaque windowpanes. I grumbled -as I dressed, for we were allowed only a quarter of an hour and it -always took me a good half hour to comb my hair. Sister Marie, seeing -that I was not ready, came toward me, and before I knew what she was -going to do, snatched the comb violently out of my hand. - -“Come, come,” she said, “you must not dawdle like this.” She then -planted the comb in my mop of hair and tore out a handful of it. Pain -and anger at seeing myself treated in this way threw me immediately into -one of my fits of rage which always terrified those who witnessed them. -I flung myself upon the unfortunate Sister and with feet, teeth, hands, -elbows, head and, indeed, all my poor little body I hit, thumped, and at -the same time yelled. All the pupils, all the Sisters, and indeed -everyone came running to see what was the matter. The Sisters made the -sign of the cross but did not venture to approach me. The Mother Prefect -threw some holy water over me to exorcise the evil spirit. Finally the -Mother Superior arrived on the scene. My father had told her of my fits -of wild fury, which were my only serious fault, and my state of health -was quite as much responsible for them as the violence of my -disposition. She approached me. I was still clutching Sister Marie, but -was exhausted by this struggle with the poor woman, who although tall -and strong, only tried to ward off my blows without retaliating, -endeavoring to hold first my feet, and then my hands. - -I looked up on hearing Mother Ste. Sophie’s voice. My eyes were bathed -in tears, but nevertheless I saw such an expression of pity on her sweet -face that without altogether letting go I ceased fighting for a second, -and trembling and ashamed, said very quickly: - -“She commenced it, she snatched the comb out of my hand like a wicked -woman, and tore out my hair. She was rough and hurt me. She is a wicked, -wicked woman.” I then burst into sobs and my hands loosed their hold. -The next thing I knew was that I found myself lying on my little bed -with Mother Ste. Sophie’s hand on my forehead and her kind, deep voice -lecturing me gently. All the others had gone and I was quite alone with -her and the Holy Virgin in the niche. From that day forth Mother Ste. -Sophie had an immense influence over me. Every morning I went to her, -and Sister Marie, whose forgiveness I had been obliged to ask before the -whole convent, combed my hair out in her presence. Seated on a little -stool I listened to the book that the Mother Superior read to me or to -the instructive story she told me. - -Ah, what an adorable woman she was, and how I love to recall her to my -memory! I adored her as a little child adores the being who has entirely -won its heart, without knowing, without reasoning, without even being -aware that it was so, but I was simply under the spell of an infinite -fascination. Since then, though, I have understood and admired her, -realizing how unique and radiant a soul was imprisoned under the -thick-set exterior and happy face of that holy woman, I have loved her -for all that she awakened within me of nobleness. I love her for the -letters which she wrote to me, letters that I often read over and over -again. I love her, also, because imperfect as I am, it seems to me that -I should have been one hundred times more so, had I not known and loved -that pure creature. Once only did I see her severe and feel that she was -suddenly angry. In the little room used as a parlor, leading into her -cell, there was a portrait of a young man, whose handsome face was -stamped with a certain nobility. - -“Is that the Emperor?” I asked her. - -“No,” she answered, turning quickly toward me, “it is the King, it is -Henri V.” - -It was only later on that I understood the meaning of her emotion. All -the convent was royalist, and Henri V. was their recognized sovereign. -They all had the most utter contempt for Napoleon III., and on the day -when the Prince Imperial was baptized there was no distribution of -bonbons for us, and we were not allowed the holiday that was accorded to -all the colleges, boarding schools, and convents. Politics were a dead -letter to me and I was happy at the convent, thanks to Mother Ste. -Sophie. - -Then, too, I was a favorite with my schoolfellows, who frequently did my -compositions for me. I did not care for any studies except geography and -drawing. Arithmetic drove me wild, spelling plagued my life out, and I -thoroughly despised the piano. I was very timid and quite lost my head -when questioned unexpectedly. - -I had a passion for animals of all kinds. I used to carry about with me -in small cardboard boxes, or cages that I manufactured myself, adders, -with which the woods were full, crickets, that I found on the leaves of -the tiger lilies, and lizards. The latter nearly always had their tails -broken, as in order to see if they were eating, I used to lift the lid -of the box a little. On seeing this the lizards rushed to the opening. I -would shut the box very quickly, red with surprise at such assurance, -when, crack! in a twinkling, either at the right or left, there was -nearly always a tail caught. This used to grieve me for hours, and while -one of the Sisters was explaining to us, by figures on the blackboard, -the metric system, I was wondering, with my lizard’s tail in my hand, -how I could fasten it on again. I had some death-watches in a little -box, and five spiders in a cage that Père Larcher had made for me with -some wire netting. I used, very cruelly, to give flies to my spiders and -they, fat and well-fed, would spin their webs. Very often during -recreation a whole group of us, ten or twelve little girls, would stand -round, with a cage on a bench or tree stump, and watch the wonderful -work of these little creatures. If one of my schoolfellows cut herself I -used to go quickly to her, feeling very proud and important: “Come at -once,” I would say, “I have some fresh spider-web and I will wrap your -finger in it.” Provided with a little thin stick I would take the web -and wrap it round the wounded finger. “And now, my lady spiders,” I -would say, “you must begin your work again,” and, active and minute, -mesdames, the spiders, began their spinning once more. - -I was looked upon as a little authority and was made umpire in questions -that had to be decided. I used to receive orders for fashionable -trousseaux, made of paper, for dolls. It was quite an easy thing for me -in those days to make long ermine cloaks with fur tippets and muff, and -this filled my little playfellows with admiration. I charged for my -trousseaux, according to their importance, two pencils, five -_tête-de-mort_ nibs, or a couple of sheets of white paper. In short, I -became a personality, and that sufficed for my childish pride. I did not -learn anything and I received no distinctions. My name was only once on -the honor list, and that was not as a studious pupil but for a -courageous deed. I had fished a little girl out of the big pool. She had -fallen in while trying to catch frogs. The pool was in the large orchard -on the poor children’s side of the grounds. As a punishment for some -misdeed, which I do not remember, I had been sent away for two days -among the poor children. This was supposed to be a punishment and I -delighted in it. In the first place I was looked upon by them as a -“young lady.” Then I used to give the day pupils a few sous to bring me, -on the sly, a little moist sugar. During recreation I heard some -heartrending shrieks and, rushing to the pool from whence they came, I -saw a little girl immersed in it. I jumped into the water without -reflecting. There was so much mud that we both sank in it. The little -girl was only four years old and so small that she kept disappearing. I -was over ten at that time. I do not know how I managed to rescue her, -but I dragged her out of the water with her mouth, nose, ears, and eyes -all filled with mud. I was told afterwards that it was a long time -before she was restored to consciousness. As for me, I was carried away -with my teeth chattering, nervous and half fainting. I was very feverish -afterwards and Mother Ste. Sophie herself sat up with me. I overheard -her words to the doctor: - -“This child,” she said, “is one of the best we have here. She will be -perfect when once she has received the Holy Chrism.” - -This speech made such an impression on me that, from that day forth, -mysticism had a great hold on me. I had a very vivid imagination and was -extremely sensitive, and the Christian legend took possession of me, -heart and soul. The Son of God became the object of my worship and the -Mother of the Seven Sorrows, my ideal. - -An event, very simple in itself, was destined to disturb the silence of -our secluded life and to attach me more than ever to my convent, where I -wanted to remain forever. - -The Archbishop of Paris, Monseigneur Sibour, was paying a round of -visits to some of the communities and ours was among the chosen ones. -The news was told us by Mother Ste. Alexis, the senior, who was so tall, -so thin, and so old that I never looked upon her as a human being, or as -a living being. It always seemed to me as though she were stuffed and as -though she moved by machinery. She frightened me and I never consented -to go near to her until after her death. - -We were all assembled in the large room which we used on Thursdays. -Mother Ste. Alexis, supported by two lay Sisters, stood on the little -platform and, in a voice that sounded far, far off, announced to us the -approaching visit of monseigneur. He was to come on Ste. Catherine’s -Day, just a fortnight after the speech of the Reverend Mother. - -Our peaceful convent was thenceforth like a beehive in which a hornet -had entered. Our lesson hours were curtailed, so that we might have time -to make festoons of roses and lilies. The wide, tall armchair of carved -wood was uncushioned, so that it might be varnished and polished. We -made lamp shades covered with crystalline. The grass was pulled up in -the courtyard ... and I cannot tell what was not done in honor of this -visitor. - -Two days after the announcement made by Mother Ste. Alexis the programme -of the _fête_ was read to us by Mother Ste. Sophie. The youngest of the -nuns was to read a few words of welcome to monseigneur. This was the -delightful Sister Séraphine. After that Marie Buguet was to play a -pianoforte solo by Henri Herz. Marie de Lacour was to sing a song by -Louise Puget, and then a little play in three scenes was to be given, -entitled, “Toby Recovering His Eyesight.” It had been written by Mother -Thérèse. I have now before me the little manuscript, all yellow with age -and torn, and I can only just make out the sense of it and a few of the -phrases. - -The little play was read to us by Mother Ste. Thérèse one Thursday, in -the large assembly room. We were all in tears at the end, and Mother -Ste. Thérèse was obliged to make a great effort in order to avoid -committing, if only for a second, the sin of pride. - -Scene I. _Toby’s_ farewell to his blind father. He vows to bring back to -him the ten talents lent to _Gabelus_, one of his relatives. Scene II. -_Toby_, asleep on the banks of the Tiber, is being watched over by the -_Angel Raphael_. Struggle with a monster fish which had attacked _Toby_ -while he slept. When the fish is killed the angel advises _Toby_ to take -its heart, its liver, and its gall, and to preserve these religiously. -Scene III. _Toby’s_ return to his blind father. The angel tells him to -rub the old man’s eyes with the entrails of the fish. The father’s -eyesight is restored, and when _Toby_ begs the _Angel Raphael_ to accept -some reward the latter makes himself known, and in a song to the glory -of God, vanishes to heaven. - -I wondered anxiously what part I should take in this religious comedy, -for, considering that I was now treated as a little personage, I had no -doubt but that some rôle would be distributed to me. The very thought of -it made me tremble beforehand, and I kept saying to myself: “Oh, no, I -could never say anything aloud!” I began to get quite nervous, my hands -became quite cold, my heart beat furiously, and my temples throbbed. I -did not approach, but remained sulkily seated on my stool when Mother -Ste. Thérèse said in her calm voice: - -“Young ladies, please pay attention, and listen for your names for the -different parts: - - Old Toby Eugénie Charmel - Young Toby Amelie Pluche - Gabelus Renée d’Arville - The Angel Raphael Louise Buguet - Toby’s mother Eulalie Lacroix - Toby’s sister Virginie Depaul” - -I had been listening, although pretending not to, and I was stupefied, -amazed, and furious. Mother Ste. Thérèse then added: “Here are your -manuscripts, young ladies,” and a manuscript of the little play was -handed to each pupil chosen to take part in it. - -Louise Buguet was my favorite playmate, and I went up to her and asked -her to let me see her manuscript, which I read again enthusiastically. - -“You’ll hear me rehearse, when I have learned it, won’t you?” she asked, -and I answered: - -“Yes, certainly.” - -“Oh, how frightened I shall be!” she said. - -She had been chosen for the angel, I suppose, because she was as pale -and sweet as a moonbeam. She had a soft, timid voice, and sometimes we -used to make her cry, as she was so pretty then. The tears used to flow -limpid and pearl-like from her gray, questioning eyes. - -She began at once to learn her part, and I was like a shepherd’s dog -going from one to another among the chosen ones. I had really nothing to -do with it, but I wanted to be “in it.” The Mother Superior passed by, -and as we all courtesied to her she patted my cheek. - -“We thought of you, little girl,” she said, “but you are so timid when -you are asked anything.” - -“Oh, that’s when it is history or arithmetic!” I said. “This is not the -same thing, and I should not have been afraid.” - -She smiled distrustfully and moved on. - -There were rehearsals during the next week. I asked to be allowed to -take the part of the monster, as I wanted to have some rôle in the play, -at any cost. It was decided, though, that César, the convent dog, should -be the fish monster. - -A competition was opened for the fish costume. I went to an endless -amount of trouble, cutting out scales from cardboard that I had painted, -and sewing them together afterward. I made some enormous gills, which -were to be glued on to César. My costume was not chosen; it was passed -over for that of a stupid, big girl, whose name I cannot remember. She -had made a huge tail of kid and a mask with big eyes and gills, but -there were no scales, and we should have to see César’s shaggy coat. I -nevertheless turned my attention to Louise Buguet’s costume, and worked -at it with two of the lay Sisters, Sister Ste. Cécile and Sister Ste. -Jeanne, who had charge of the linen room. - -At the rehearsals not a word could be extorted from the Angel Raphael. -She stood there stupefied, on the little platform, tears dimming her -beautiful eyes. She brought the whole play to a standstill, and kept -appealing to me in a weeping voice. I prompted her, and getting up, -rushed to her, kissed her, and whispered her whole speech to her. I was -beginning to be “in it” myself, at last. - -Finally, two days before the great solemnity, there was a dress -rehearsal. The angel looked lovely, but immediately on entering, he sank -down on a bench sobbing out in an imploring voice: - -“Oh, no, I shall never be able to do it, never!” - -“Quite true, she never will be able to,” sighed Mother Ste. Sophie. - -Forgetting for the moment my little friend’s grief, and wild with joy, -pride, and assurance, I ran up to the platform and bounded on to the -form on which the _Angel Raphael_ had sunk down weeping. - -“Oh, Mother, I know her part, shall I take her place for the rehearsal?” - -“Yes, yes,” exclaimed voices from all sides. - -“Oh, yes, you know it so well,” said Louise Buguet, and she wanted to -put her band on my head. - -“No, let me rehearse as I am, first,” I answered. - -They began the second scene again and I came in carrying a long branch -of willow. - -“Fear nothing, Toby,” I commenced. “I will be your guide. I will remove -from your path all thorns and stones.... You are overwhelmed with -fatigue. Lie down and rest, for I will watch over you.” - -Thereupon _Toby_, worn out, lay down by the side of a strip of blue -muslin, about five yards of which, stretched out and winding about, -represented the Tiber. - -I then continued by a prayer to God while _Toby_ fell asleep. César next -appeared as the monster fish and the audience trembled with fear. César -had been well taught by the gardener, Père Larcher, and he advanced -slowly from under the blue muslin. He was wearing his mask, representing -the head of a fish. Two enormous nutshells for his eyes had been painted -white, and a hole pierced through them, so that the dog could see. The -mask was fastened with wire to his collar, which also supported two -gills as large as palm leaves. César, sniffing the ground, snorted and -growled and then leaped wildly on to _Toby_, who with his cudgel, slew -the monster at one blow. The dog fell on his back with his four paws in -the air, and then rolled over on his side, pretending to be dead. - -There was wild delight in the house, and the audience clapped and -stamped. The younger pupils stood up on their stools and shouted: “Good -César! Clever César! Oh, good dog, good dog!” The Sisters, touched by -the efforts of the guardian of the convent, shook their heads with -emotion. As for me, I quite forgot that I was the _Angel Raphael_, and I -stooped down and stroked César affectionately. “Ah, how well he has -acted his part!” I said, kissing him and taking one paw and then the -other in my hand, while the dog, motionless, continued to be dead. - -The little bell was rung to call us to order. I stood up again, and -accompanied by the piano, we burst into a hymn of praise, a duet to the -glory of God, who had just saved _Toby_ from the fearful monster. - -After this the little green serge curtain was drawn and I was -surrounded, petted, and praised. Mother Ste. Sophie came up onto the -platform and kissed me affectionately. As to Louise Buguet, she was now -joyful again and her angelic face beamed. - -“Oh, how well you knew the part!” she said. “And then, too, everyone can -hear what you say. Oh, thank you so much!” She kissed me and I hugged -her with all my might—at last I was in it! - -The third scene began. The action took place in _Father Toby’s_ house. -_Gabelus_, the _Angel_, and young _Toby_ were holding the entrails of -the fish in their hands and looking at them. The _Angel_ explained how -they must be used for rubbing the blind father’s eyes. I felt rather -sick, for I was holding in my hand a skate’s liver, and the heart and -gizzard of a fowl. I had never touched such things before and every now -and then the sick feeling made me heave, and the tears came into my -eyes. - -Finally, the blind father came in, led by _Toby’s_ sister. _Gabelus_ -knelt down before the old man and gave him the ten silver talents, -telling him in a long recital, of _Toby’s_ exploits in Media. After this -_Toby_ advanced, embraced his father and then rubbed his eyes with the -skate’s liver. - -Eugénie Charmel made a grimace, but after wiping her eyes she exclaimed: - -“I can see, I can see. O God of goodness, God of mercy, I can see, I can -see!” - -She came forward with outstretched arms, her eyes open, in an ecstatic -attitude, and the whole little assembly, so simple-minded and loving, -wept. - -All the actors except old _Toby_ and the _Angel_ sank on their knees and -gave praise to God, and at the close of this thanksgiving the public, -moved by religious sentiment and discipline, repeated, Amen! - -_Toby’s_ mother then approached the _Angel_ and said: - -“Oh, noble stranger, take up your abode from henceforth with us; you -shall be our guest, our son, our brother!” - -I then advanced, and in a long speech of at least thirty lines, made -known that I was the messenger of God, that I was the _Angel Raphael_. I -then gathered up quickly the pale blue tarlatan, which was being -concealed for a final effect, and veiled myself in cloudy tissue which -was intended to simulate my flight heavenward. The little green serge -curtain was then closed on this apotheosis. - - -Finally the solemn day arrived. I was so feverish with expectation that -I could not sleep the last three nights. The dressing bell was rung for -us earlier than usual, but I was already up and trying to smooth my -rebellious hair, which I brushed with a wet brush by way of making it -behave better. - -Monseigneur was to arrive at eleven o’clock in the morning. We therefore -lunched at ten and were then drawn up in the principal courtyard. Only -Mother Ste. Alexis, the eldest of the nuns, was in the front and Mother -Ste. Sophie just behind her. The almoner was a little distance away from -the two Superiors. Then came the other nuns, and behind them the girls, -and then all the little children. The lay Sisters and the servants were -also there. We were all dressed in white with the respective colors of -our various classes. - -The bell rang out a peal. The large carriage entered the first -courtyard. The gate of the principal courtyard was then opened and -Monseigneur appeared on the carriage steps, which the footman lowered -for him. Mother Ste. Alexis advanced, and bending down, kissed the -episcopal ring. Mother Ste. Sophie, the Superior, who was younger, knelt -down to kiss the ring. The signal was then given to us and we all knelt -to receive the benediction of Monseigneur. When we looked up again the -big gate was closed and Monseigneur had disappeared, conducted by the -Mother Superior. Mother Ste. Alexis was exhausted, and went back to her -cell. - -In obedience to the signal given we all rose from our knees. We then -went to the chapel where a short mass was celebrated, after which we had -an hour’s recreation. The concert was to commence at half past one. The -recreation hour was devoted to preparing the large room and to getting -ready to appear before Monseigneur. I wore the _Angel’s_ long robe with -a blue sash round my waist, and two paper wings fastened on with narrow -blue straps, that crossed over each other in front. Round my head was a -band of gold braid, fastening behind. I kept mumbling my “part” (for in -those days we did not know the word “rôle”). We are more used to the -theater at present, but at the convent we always said “part,” and years -afterwards I was surprised, the first time I played in England, to hear -a young English girl say: “Oh, what a fine part you had in ‘Hernani.’” - -The room looked beautiful, oh, so beautiful! There were festoons of -green leaves, with paper flowers at intervals, everywhere. Then there -were little lusters hung about with gold cord. A wide piece of red -velvet carpet was laid down from the door to Monseigneur’s armchair, -upon which were two cushions of red velvet with gold fringe. - -I thought all these horrors very fine, very beautiful! - -The concert began and it seemed to me that everything went very well. -Monseigneur, however, could not help smiling at the sight of César, and -it was he who led the applause when the dog died. It was César, in fact, -who had the greatest success, but we were nevertheless sent for to -appear before Monseigneur Sibour. He was certainly the kindest and most -charming of prelates and on this occasion he gave to each of us a -consecrated medal. - -When my turn came he took my hand in his and said: - -“It is you, my child, who are not baptized, is it not?” - -“Yes, Reverend Father, yes, Monseigneur,” I replied in confusion. - -“She is to be baptized this spring,” said the Mother Superior. “Her -father is coming back specially from a very distant country.” - -She and Monseigneur then said a few words to each other in a very low -voice. - -“Very well, if I can, I will come again for the ceremony,” said the -archbishop aloud. - -I was trembling with emotion and pride as I kissed the old man’s ring -and then ran away to the dormitory, and cried for a long time. I was -found there, later on, fast asleep from exhaustion. - -From that day forth I was a better child, more studious and less -violent. In my fits of anger I was calmed by the mention of Monseigneur -Sibour’s name, and reminded of his promise to come for my baptism. - -Alas! I was not destined to have that great joy. One morning in January, -when we were all assembled in the chapel for mass, I was surprised, and -had a foreboding of coming evil, when I saw the Abbé Lethurgi go up into -the pulpit before commencing the mass. He was very pale, and I turned -instinctively to look at the Mother Superior. She was seated in her -regular place. The almoner then began, in a voice broken with emotion, -to tell us of the murder of Monseigneur Sibour. - -Murdered! A thrill of horror went through us and a hundred stifled -cries, forming one great sob, drowned for an instant the priest’s voice. -Murdered! The word seemed to sting me personally even more than the -others. Had I not been, for one instant, the favorite of the kind old -man! It was as though the murderer, Verger, had struck at me, too, in my -grateful love for the prelate, in my little fame of which he had now -robbed me. I burst into sobs, and the organ accompanying the prayer for -the dead increased my grief, which became so intense that I fainted. It -was from this moment that I was taken with an ardent love for mysticism. -It was fortified by the religious exercises, the dramatic effort of our -worship and the gentle encouragement, both fervent and sincere, of those -who were educating me. They were very fond of me and I adored them so -that even now the very memory of them, fascinating and restful as it is, -thrills me with affection. - -The time appointed for my baptism drew near, and I grew more and more -excitable. My nervous attacks were more and more frequent, fits of tears -for no reason at all, and fits of terror without any cause. Everything -seemed to take strange proportions, as far as I was concerned. One day -one of my little friends dropped a doll that I had lent her (for I -played with dolls until I was over thirteen). I began to tremble all -over, as I adored that doll, which had been given to me by my father. - -“You have broken my doll’s head, you naughty girl!” I exclaimed. “You -have hurt my father!” - -I would not eat anything afterwards, and in the night I woke up in a -great perspiration, with haggard eyes, sobbing: - -“Papa is dead! Papa is dead!” - -Three days later my mother came. She asked to see me in the parlor, and -making me stand in front of her, she said: - -“My poor little girl, I have something to tell you that will cause you -great sorrow. Papa is dead.” - -“I know,” I said, “I know,” and the expression in my eyes, my mother -frequently told me afterwards, was such that she trembled a long time -for my reason. - -[Illustration: SARAH BERNHARDT AND HER MOTHER.] - -I was very sad and not at all well. I refused to learn anything except -the catechism and Scripture, and I wanted to be a nun. - -My mother begged to have my two sisters baptized with me; Jeanne, who -was then six years old, and Régina, who was not three, but who had been -taken as a boarder at the convent, with the idea that her presence might -cheer me a little. - -I was isolated for a week before my baptism and for a week afterwards, -as I was to be confirmed the week after my baptism. - -My mother, Aunt Rosine Berendt, and Aunt Henriette Faure, my godfather, -Regis Lavallée, M. Lesprin, Jeanne’s godfather, and General Polès, -Régina’s godfather, the godmothers of my two sisters, and my various -cousins all came and revolutionized the convent. My mother and my aunts -were in fashionable mourning attire. Aunt Rosine had put a spray of -lilac in her bonnet “to enliven her mourning,” as she said. It was a -strange expression, but I have certainly heard it since used by other -people besides her. - -I had never before felt so far away from all these people who had come -there on my account. I adored my mother, but with a touching and fervent -desire to leave her, never to see her again, to sacrifice her to God. As -to the others I did not see them. I was very grave and rather moody. A -short time previously a nun had taken the veil at the convent and I -could think of nothing else. - -This baptismal ceremony was the prelude to my dream. I could see myself -like the novice who had just been admitted as a nun. I pictured myself -lying down on the ground, covered over with a heavy, black cloth, with -its white cross, and four massive candlesticks placed at the four -corners of the cloth. And I planned to die under this cloth. How I was -to do this I did not know. I did not think of killing myself, as I knew -that would be a crime. But I made up my mind to die like this, and my -ideas galloped along so that I saw in my imagination the horror of the -Sisters and heard the cries of the pupils and was delighted at the -emotion which I had caused. - -After the baptismal ceremony my mother wished to take me away with her. -She had rented a small house with a garden in the Boulevard de la Reine, -at Versailles, for my holidays, and she had decorated it with flowers -for this fête day, as she wanted to celebrate the baptism of her three -children. She was very gently told that, as I was to be confirmed in a -week’s time, I was not to be isolated until then. My mother cried, and I -can remember now, to my sorrow, that it did not make me sad to see her -tears, but quite the contrary. - -When everyone had gone and I went into the little cell, in which I had -been living for the last week and was to live for another week, I fell -on my knees in a state of exaltation and offered up to God my mother’s -sorrow. - -“You saw, O Lord God, that mamma cried and that it did not affect me.” -Poor child that I was, I imagined in my wild exaggeration of everything -that what was expected from me was the renunciation of all affection, -devotion, and pity. - -The following day, Mother Ste. Sophie lectured me gently about my wrong -comprehension of religious duties, and she told me that when once I was -confirmed she should give me a fortnight’s holiday, to go and make my -mother forget her sorrow and disappointment. - -My confirmation took place with the same pompous ceremonial. All the -pupils, dressed in white, carried wax tapers. For the whole week I had -refused to eat. I was pale and had grown thinner and my eyes looked -larger from my perpetual transports, for I went to extremes in -everything. - -Baron Larrey, who came with my mother to my confirmation, begged for me -to have a month’s holiday to recruit, and this was accorded. - -Accordingly we started, my mother, Mme. Guérard, her son Ernest, my -sister Jeanne and I, for Cauterets in the Pyrénées. - -The movement, the packing of the trunks, parcels, and packages, the -railway, the diligence, the scenery, the crowds, and the general -disturbance cured me and my nerves and my mysticism. I clapped my hands, -laughed aloud, flung myself on mamma and nearly stifled her with kisses. -I sang hymns at the top of my voice, I was hungry and thirsty, so I ate, -drank, and in a word, lived. - - - - - CHAPTER III - A PRANK AND ITS RESULTS - - -Cauterets at that time was not what it is now. It was an abominable but -charming little hole of a place with plenty of verdure, very few houses, -and a great many huts belonging to the mountain people. There were -plenty of donkeys to be hired that took us up the mountains by -extraordinary paths. I adore the sea and the plain, but I care neither -for mountains nor for forests. Mountains seem to crush me, and forests -to stifle me. I must, at any cost, have the horizon stretching out as -far as the eye can see, and skies to dream about. - -I wanted to go up the mountains, so that they should lose their crushing -effect. And consequently we went up always higher and higher. Mamma used -to stay at home with her sweet friend Mme. Guérard. She used to read -novels while Mme. Guérard embroidered. They would sit there together -without speaking, each dreaming her own dream, seeing it fade away and -beginning it over again. The old servant Marguerite was the only -domestic mamma had brought with her, and she used to accompany us, and -was always gay and daring. She always knew how to make the men laugh -with speeches, the sense and crudeness of which I did not understand -until much later. She was the life of the party always. As she had been -with us from the time we were born, she was very familiar, and sometimes -objectionably so. I would not let her have her own way with me, though, -and I used to answer her back in the most cutting manner. She would take -her revenge in the evening by giving us a dish of sweets for dinner that -I did not like. - -I began to look better for the change, and although still very -religious, my mysticism was growing calmer. As I could not exist, -however, without a passion of some kind I began to get very fond of the -goats, and I asked mamma quite seriously whether I might become a -goat-herd. - -“I would rather you were that than a nun,” she replied, and then she -added: “We will talk about it later on.” - -Every day I brought down with me from the mountain another little kid, -and we already had seven when my mother interfered and put a stop to my -zeal. - -Finally it was time to return to the convent. My holiday was over and I -was quite well again. I was to go back to work once more. I accepted the -situation willingly to the great surprise of mamma, who loved traveling, -but detested the actual moving from one place to another. - -I was delighted at the idea of the repacking of the parcels and trunks, -of being seated in things that moved along, of seeing again all the -villages, towns, people, and trees that changed all the time. I wanted -to take my goats with me but my mother very positively refused. - -“You are mad,” she exclaimed, “seven goats in a train and in a carriage! -Where could you put them? No, a hundred times no!” - -She finally consented to my taking two of them and a blackbird that one -of the mountaineers had given me. - -And so we returned to the convent. I was received there with such -sincere joy that I felt very happy again immediately. I was allowed to -keep my two goats there and to have them out at playtime. We had great -fun with them; they used to bunt us and we used to bunt them, and we -laughed, frolicked, and were very foolish. And yet I was nearly fourteen -at this time, but very puny and childish. - -I stayed at the convent another ten months without learning anything -more. The idea of becoming a nun always haunted me, but I was no longer -a mystic. - -My godfather looked upon me as the greatest dunce. I worked, though, -during the holidays and I used to have lessons with Sophie Croizette who -lived near to our country house. This gave a slight impetus to me in my -studies, but it was only slight. Sophie was very gay, and what we liked -best was to go to the Museum where her sister Pauline, who was later on -to become Mme. Carolus Duran, was copying pictures by the great masters. - -Pauline was as cold and calm as Sophie was charming, talkative, and -noisy. Pauline Croizette was beautiful, but I liked Sophie better; she -was more gracious and pretty. Mme. Croizette, their mother, always -seemed sad and resigned. She had given up her career very early. She had -been a dancer at the Opera in St. Petersburg and had been very much -adored and flattered and spoiled. I fancy it was the birth of Sophie -that had compelled her to leave the stage. Her money then had been -injudiciously invested and she had been ruined. She was very -distinguished-looking, her face had a kind expression, there was an -infinite melancholy about her and people were instinctively drawn toward -her. Mamma had made her acquaintance while listening to the music in the -park at Versailles, and for some time we saw a great deal of her. - -Sophie and I had some fine games in that magnificent park. Our greatest -joy, though, was to go to Mme. Masson’s in the Rue de la Gare. Mme. -Masson had a curiosity shop. Her daughter Cécile was a perfect little -beauty. We three used to delight in changing the tickets on the vases, -snuffboxes, fans, and jewels, and then, when poor M. Masson came back -with a rich customer—for Masson, the antiquary, enjoyed a world-wide -reputation—Sophie and I used to hide so that we should see his fury. -Cécile, with an innocent air, would be helping her mother and glancing -slyly at us from time to time. - -The whirl of life separated me brusquely from all these people whom I -loved, and an incident, trivial in itself, caused me to leave the -convent earlier than my mother wished. - -It was a fête day and we had two hours for recreation. We were marching -in procession along the wall which skirts the railway on the left bank -of the Seine and as we were burying my pet lizard we were chanting the -“De Profundis.” About twenty of my little playfellows were following me, -when suddenly a soldier’s cap fell at my feet. - -“What’s that?” called out one of the girls. - -“A soldier’s cap.” - -“Did it come from over the wall?” - -“Yes, yes.... Listen, there’s a quarrel going on!” - -We were suddenly silent, listening with all our ears. - -“Don’t be stupid! It’s idiotic!” - -“It’s the Grandchamps Convent!” - -“How am I to get my cap back?” - -These were the words we overheard and then, as a soldier suddenly -appeared astride our wall, there were shrieks from the terrified -children and angry exclamations from the nuns. - -In a second we were all about twenty yards away from the wall, like a -group of frightened sparrows flying off to land a little farther away, -inquisitive and very much on the alert. “Have you seen my cap, young -ladies?” called out the unfortunate soldier in a beseeching tone. - -“No, no!” I cried, hiding it behind my back. - -“Oh, no!” echoed the other girls with peals of laughter, and in the most -tormenting, insolent, jeering way we continued shouting “No!” “No!” -running backward all the time in reply to the Sisters who, veiled and -hidden behind the trees, were in despair. - -We were only a few yards from the huge gymnasium. I climbed up -breathless at full speed and reached the wide plank at the top. When -there, I unfastened the rope ladder, but as I could not get the wooden -ladder up to me by which I had mounted, I unfastened the rings and -banged it down so that it broke, making a great noise. I then stood up -wickedly triumphant on the plank, calling out: “Here it is—your cap, but -you won’t get it now!” I put it on my head and walked up and down, as no -one could get to me there. I suppose my first idea had just been to have -a little fun, but the girls had laughed and clapped, and my strength had -held out better than I had hoped, so that my head was turned, and -nothing could stop me then. - -The young soldier was furious. He jumped down from the wall and rushed -in my direction, pushing the girls out of his way. The Sisters, beside -themselves, ran to the house calling for help. The chaplain, the Mother -Superior, Père Larcher and everyone else came running out. I believe the -soldier swore like a trooper, and it was really quite excusable. Mother -Ste. Sophie, from below, besought me to come down and to give up the -cap. The soldier tried to get up to me by means of the trapeze, but on -seeing this I quickly drew up the knotted rope. - -His useless efforts delighted all the pupils, whom the Sisters had in -vain tried to send away. Finally the Sister who was doorkeeper sounded -the alarm bell, and five minutes later the soldiers from the Sartory -Barracks arrived, thinking that a fire had broken out. When the officer -in command was told what was the matter, he sent back his men and asked -to see the Mother Superior. He was brought to Mother Ste. Sophie, whom -he found at the foot of the gymnasium, crying with shame and impotence. -He ordered the soldier to return immediately to the barracks. He obeyed -after clenching his fist at me, but on looking up he could not help -laughing. His cap came down to my eyes and was only kept back by my -ears, which were bent, to prevent it from covering my face. - -I was furious and wildly excited with the turn my joke had taken. - -“There it is—your cap!” I called out, and flung it violently over the -wall which skirted the gymnasium and formed the boundary to the -cemetery. - -“Oh, the young plague!” muttered the officer, and then, apologizing to -the nuns, he saluted them and went away accompanied by Père Larcher. - -As for me I felt like a fox after having its tail cut. I refused to come -down immediately. - -“I shall come down when everyone has gone away,” I announced. All the -girls received punishments and I was left alone. The sun set and the -silence then terrified me, looking as I did out on the cemetery. The -dark trees took mournful or threatening shapes. The moisture from the -wood fell like a mantle over my shoulders and seemed to get heavier -every moment. I felt abandoned by everyone and I began to cry. I was -angry with myself, with the soldier, with Mother Ste. Sophie, with the -pupils who had excited me by their laughter, with the officer who had -humiliated me, and with the Sister who had sounded the alarm bell. - -Then I began to think about getting down the rope ladder, which I had -pulled up on the plank. Very clumsily, trembling with fear at the least -sound, listening eagerly all the time, and with eyes looking to the -right and left, I was a long time unhooking it, being very much afraid. -Finally, I managed to unroll it, and I was just about to put my foot on -the first rung when the barking of César alarmed me. He was tearing -along from the wood. The sight of the dark figure on the gymnasium -appeared to the faithful dog to bode no good. He was furious and began -to scratch the thick wooden uprights. - -“Why, César, don’t you know your friend?” I said very gently. He growled -in reply and in a louder voice I said: - -“Fie, César, bad César, you ought to be ashamed! Fancy barking at your -friend!” He now began to howl and I was seized with terror. I pulled the -ladder up again and sat down at the top. César lay down at the bottom of -the gymnasium, his tail straight out, his ears pricked up, his coat -bristling, growling in a sullen way. I appealed to the Holy Virgin to -help me. I prayed fervently, vowed to say three _Aves_, three _Credos_, -and three _Paters_ as well every day. - -When I was a little calmer I called out in a subdued voice: “César! my -dear César, my beautiful César! You know I am the _Angel Raphael_!” - -Ah, much César cared for him! He considered my presence, quite alone, at -so late an hour, in the garden and on the gymnasium, quite -incomprehensible. Why was I not in the refectory? - -Poor César, he went on growling, and I was getting very hungry and began -to think things were most unjust. It was true that I had been to blame -for taking the soldier’s cap, but after all he had begun it all. Why had -he thrown his cap over the wall? My imagination now came to my aid, and -in the end I began to look upon myself as a martyr. I had been left to -the dog, and he would eat me. I was terrified at the dead people behind -me, and everyone knew I was very nervous. My chest, too, was delicate, -and there I was exposed to the biting cold with no protection whatever. -I began to think about Mother Ste. Sophie, who evidently no longer cared -for me, as she was deserting me so cruelly. I lay with my face downward -on the plank, and gave myself up to the wildest despair, calling my -mother, my father, and Mother Ste. Sophie, sobbing, wishing I could die -there and then; between my sobs I suddenly heard my name pronounced by a -gentle voice. I got up, and peering through the gloom, caught a glimpse -of my beloved Mother Ste. Sophie. She was there, the dear saint, and had -never left her rebellious child. Concealed behind the statue of St. -Augustine, she had been praying while awaiting the end of this crisis, -which in her simplicity she had believed might prove fatal to my reason -and perhaps to my salvation. She had sent everyone away and remained -there alone and she, too, had not dined. I came down and threw myself -repentant and wretched into her motherly arms. She did not say a word to -me about the horrible incident, but took me quickly back to the convent. -I was all damp, with the icy evening dew, my cheeks were feverish, and -my hands and feet frozen. - -I had an attack of pleurisy after this and was twenty-three days between -life and death. Mother Ste. Sophie never left me an instant. The sweet -Mother blamed herself for my illness, declaring as she beat her breast -that she had left me outside too long. - -“It’s my fault! It’s my fault!” she kept exclaiming. - -My Aunt Faure came to see me nearly every day. My mother was in Scotland -and came back by short stages. My Aunt Rosine was at Baden-Baden and was -ruining the whole family. “I am coming back,” she kept writing from time -to time, when she wrote to ask how I was. Dr. D’Espagne and Dr. Monod, -who had been called in for a consultation, did not think there was any -hope. Baron Larrey, who was very fond of me, came often. He had a -certain influence over me and I willingly obeyed him. My mother arrived -a short time before my convalescence and did not leave me again. As soon -as I could be moved she took me to Paris, promising to send me back to -the convent as soon as I was quite well. - -It was forever, though, that I had left my dear convent, but it was not -forever that I left Mother Ste. Sophie. I seemed to take something of -her away with me. For a long time she made part of my life and even -to-day, when she has been dead for years, the recollection of her brings -back to me the simple thoughts of former days and makes the flowers of -youth to bloom again. - -Life for me now began in earnest. Cloister existence is one of unbroken -sameness for all. There may be a hundred or a thousand individuals -there, but everyone lives a life which is the same and the only one for -all. The rumor of the outside world dies away at the heavy cloister -gate. The sole ambition is to sing more loudly than the others at -Vespers, to take a little more of the form, to be at the end of the -table, to be on the list of honor. When I was told that I was not to go -back to the convent, it was to me as though I was to be thrown into the -sea when I could not swim. - -I besought my godfather to let me go back. The dowry left to me by my -father was ample enough for the dowry of a nun. I wanted to take the -veil. - -“Very well,” replied my godfather, “you can take the veil in two years’ -time, but not before. In the mean time learn all that you do not yet -know, and that means everything, from the governess your mother has -chosen for you.” - -That very day an elderly, unmarried lady with soft, gray, gentle eyes -came and took possession of my life, my mind, and my conscience for -eight hours every day. Her name was Mlle. De Brabender and she had -educated a grand duchess in Russia. She had a sweet voice, an enormous -sandy mustache, a grotesque nose, but a way of walking, of expressing -herself, and of bowing which simply commanded all deference. She lived -at the convent in Rue Notre Dame des Champs, and this was why in spite -of my mother’s entreaties she refused to come and live with us. - -She soon won my affection and I learned quite easily with her everything -that she wanted me to learn. I worked eagerly, for my dream was to -return to the convent, not as a pupil but as a teaching Sister. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - IN FAMILY COUNCIL ASSEMBLED - - -I arose one September morning, my heart leaping with some remote joy. It -was eight o’clock. I pressed my forehead against the windowpanes and -gazed out, looking at I know not what. I had been roused with a start in -the midst of some fine dream, and I had rushed toward the light in the -hope of finding in the infinite space of the gray sky the luminous point -that would explain my anxious and blissful expectation. Expectation of -what? I could not have answered that question then, any more than I can -now, after much reflection. I was on the eve of my fifteenth birthday -and I was in a state of expectation as to the future of my life. That -particular morning seemed to me to be the precursor of a new era. I was -not mistaken, for on that September day my fate was settled for me. - -Hypnotized by what was taking place in my mind, I remained with my -forehead pressed against the windowpane, gazing, through the halo of -vapor formed by my breath, at houses, palaces, carriages, jewels, and -pearls passing along in front of me. Oh, what a number of pearls there -were! There were princes and kings, too; yes, I could even see kings! -Oh, how fast one’s imagination travels, and its enemy, reason, always -allows it to roam on alone! In my fancy, I proudly rejected the princes, -I rejected the kings, refused the pearls and the palaces, and declared -that I was going to be a nun, for in the infinite gray sky I had caught -a glimpse of the convent of Grandchamps, of my white bedroom, and of the -small lamp that swung to and fro above the little Virgin all decorated -with flowers. The king offered me a throne, but I preferred the throne -of our Mother Superior, and I entertained a vague ambition to occupy it -some far-off day in the distant future; the king was heartbroken, and -dying of despair. Yes, _mon Dieu_! I preferred to the pearls that were -offered me by princes the pearls of the rosary I was telling with my -fingers, and no costume could compete in my mind with the black _barège_ -veil that fell like a soft shadow over the snowy white cambric that -encircled the beloved faces of the nuns of Grandchamps. - -I do not know how long I had been dreaming thus when I heard my mother’s -voice asking our old servant, Marguerite, if I were awake. With one -bound I was back in bed, and I buried my face under the sheet. Mamma -half opened the door very gently and I pretended to wake up. - -“How lazy you are to-day!” she said. - -I kissed her and answered in a coaxing tone: - -“It is Thursday and I have no music lesson.” - -“And are you glad?” she asked. - -“Oh, yes,” I replied promptly. - -My mother frowned; she adored music, and I hated the piano. She was so -fond of music, that although she was then about thirty, she took lessons -herself in order to encourage me to practice. What horrible torture it -was! I used, very wickedly, to do my utmost to set my mother and my -music mistress at variance. They were both of them as shortsighted as -possible. When my mother had practiced a new piece three or four days -she knew it by heart, and played it fairly well, to the astonishment of -Mlle. Clarisse, my insufferable old teacher, who held the music in her -hand and read every note with her nose nearly touching the page. One day -I heard with joy a quarrel beginning between mamma and this disagreeable -Mlle. Clarisse. - -“There, that’s a quaver!” - -“No, there’s no quaver!” - -“This is a flat!” - -“No, you forget the sharp! How absurd you are, mademoiselle,” added my -mother, perfectly furious. - -A few minutes later my mother went to her room and Mlle. Clarisse -departed, muttering as she left. - -As for me, I was choking with laughter in my bedroom, for one of my -cousins, who was a good musician, had helped me to add sharps, flats, -and quavers, and we had done it with such care that even a trained eye -would have had difficulty in discerning the fraud immediately. As Mile. -Clarisse had been sent off, I had no lesson that day. Mamma gazed at me -a long time with her mysterious eyes, the most beautiful eyes I have -ever seen in my life, and then she said, speaking very slowly: - -“After luncheon there is to be a family council.” - -I felt myself turning pale. - -“All right,” I answered, “what frock am I to put on, mamma?” I said this -merely for the sake of saying something, and to keep myself from crying. - -“Put your blue silk on, you look more staid in that.” - -Just at this moment, my sister Jeanne opened the door boisterously and -with a burst of laughter jumped on my bed and slipping under the sheets -called out: “I’m there!” - -Marguerite had followed her into the room, panting and scolding. The -child had escaped from her just as she was about to bathe her and had -announced that she was going into my bed. Jeanne’s mirth at this moment, -which I felt was a very serious one for me, made me burst out crying and -sobbing. My mother, not understanding the reason of this grief, shrugged -her shoulders, told Marguerite to fetch Jeanne’s slippers, and taking -the little bare feet in her hands, kissed them tenderly. - -I sobbed more bitterly than ever. It was very evident that mamma loved -my sister more than me, and this preference, which did not trouble me -ordinarily, hurt me sorely now. - -Mamma went away quite out of patience with me. I fell asleep, in order -to forget, and was roused by Marguerite who helped me to dress, as -otherwise I should have been late for luncheon. The guests that day were -Aunt Rosine, Mlle. De Brabender, my governess, a charming creature whom -I have always regretted, my godfather, and the Duc de Morny, a great -friend of my godfather and of my mother. The luncheon was a mournful -meal for me, as I was thinking all the time about the family council. -Mlle. De Brabender, in her gentle way, and with her affectionate words, -insisted on my eating. My sister burst out laughing when she looked at -me. - -“Your eyes are as little as that,” she said, putting her small thumb on -the tip of her forefinger, “and it serves you right, because you’ve been -crying, and mamma doesn’t like anyone to cry—do you, mamma?” - -“What have you been crying about?” asked the Duc de Morny. - -I did not answer in spite of the friendly nudge Mlle. De Brabender gave -me with her sharp elbow. The Duc de Morny always awed me a little. He -was gentle and kind but he was a great quiz. I knew, too, that he -occupied a high place at court, and that my family considered his -friendship a great honor. - -“Because I told her that after luncheon there was to be a family council -on her behalf,” said my mother, speaking slowly. “At times it seems to -me that she is quite idiotic. She quite disheartens me.” - -“Come, come!” exclaimed my godfather, and Aunt Rosine said something in -English to the Duc de Morny which made him smile shrewdly under his fine -mustache. Mlle. De Brabender scolded me in a low voice, and her -scoldings were like words from heaven. When at last luncheon was over, -mamma told me, as she passed, to pour the coffee. Marguerite helped me -to arrange the cups and I went into the drawing-room. Maître G——, the -notary from Hâvre, whom I detested, was already there. He represented -the family of my father, who had died at Pisa in a way which had never -been explained, but which seemed mysterious. My childish hatred was -instinctive and I learned later on that this man had been my father’s -bitter enemy. He was very, very ugly, this notary; his whole face seemed -to have moved up higher. It was as though he had been hanging by his -hair for a long time, and his eyes, his mouth, his cheeks, and his nose -had got into the habit of trying to reach the back of his head. He ought -to have had a joyful expression, as so many of his features turned up, -but instead of this his face was smooth and sinister-looking. He had red -hair planted on his head like couch grass and on his nose he wore a pair -of gold-rimmed spectacles. Oh, the horrible man! What a torturing -nightmare the very memory of him is, for he was the evil genius of my -father, and his hatred now pursued me. My poor grandmother, since the -death of my father, never went out, but spent her time mourning the loss -of her beloved son who had died so young. She had absolute faith in this -man, who, besides, was the executor of my father’s will. He had the -control of the money that my dear father had left me. I was not to touch -it until the day of my marriage, but my mother was to use the interest -for my education. - -My uncle Félix Faure was also there. Seated near the fireplace, buried -in an armchair, M. Meydieu pulled out his watch in a querulous way. He -was an old friend of the family, and he always called me “_ma fille_,” -which annoyed me greatly, as did his familiarity. He considered me -stupid, and when I handed him his coffee, he said in a jeering tone: - -“And is it for you, _ma fille_, that so many honest people have been -hindered in their work? We have plenty of other things to attend to, I -can assure you, than to discuss the fate of a little brat like you. Ah, -if it had been her sister, there would have been no difficulty!” and -with his benumbed fingers he patted Jeanne’s head as she remained on the -floor plaiting the fringe of the sofa upon which he was seated. - -When the coffee was taken, the cups carried away, and my sister also, -there was a short silence. The Duc de Morny rose to take his leave, but -my mother begged him to stay. “You will be able to advise us,” she -urged, and the duke took his seat again near my aunt with whom it seemed -to me he was carrying on a slight flirtation. - -Mamma had moved nearer to the window, her embroidery frame in front of -her, and her beautiful, clear-cut profile showing to advantage against -the light. She looked as though she had nothing to do with what was -about to be discussed. The hideous notary was standing up by the -chimney-piece, and my uncle had drawn me near to him. My godfather Régis -seemed to be the exact counterpart of M. Meydieu. They both of them had -the same _bourgeois_ mind and were equally stubborn and obstinate. They -were both devoted to whist and good wine, and they both agreed that I -was thin enough for a scarecrow. - -The door opened and a pale, dark-haired woman entered, a most -poetical-looking and charming creature. It was Mme. Guérard, “the lady -of the upstairs flat,” as Marguerite always called her. My mother had -made friends with her in rather a patronizing way certainly, but Mme. -Guérard was devoted to me and endured the little slights to which she -was treated, very patiently, for my sake. She was tall and slender as a -lath, very compliant and demure. She had come down without a hat; she -was wearing an indoor gown of indienne with a design of little brown -leaves. - -M. Meydieu muttered something, I did not catch what. The abominable -notary made a very curt bow to Mme. Guérard. The Duc de Morny was very -gracious, for the newcomer was so pretty. My godfather merely bent his -head, as Mme. Guérard was nothing to him. Aunt Rosine glanced at her -from head to foot. Mlle. De Brabender shook hands cordially with her, -for Mme. Guérard was fond of me. My uncle, Félix Faure, gave her a -chair, and asked her to sit down, and then inquired in a kindly way -about her husband, a savant, with whom my uncle collaborated sometimes -for his book, “The Life of St. Louis.” - -Mamma had merely glanced across the room without raising her head, for -Mme. Guérard did not prefer my sister to me. - -“Well, as we have come here on account of this child,” said my -godfather, “we must begin and discuss what is to be done with her.” - -I began to tremble and drew closer to Mlle. De Brabender, and to “_ma -petite dame_,” as I had always called Mme. Guérard from my infancy. They -each took my hand by way of encouraging me. - -“Yes,” continued M. Meydieu, with a laugh, “it appears you want to be a -nun.” - -“Ah, indeed?” said the Duc de Morny to Aunt Rosine. - -“Sh....” she retorted with a laugh. Mamma sighed and held her wools up -close to her eyes to match them. - -“You have to be rich, though, to enter a convent,” grunted the Hâvre -notary, “and you have not a sou.” - -I leaned toward Mlle. De Brabender, and whispered: “I have the money -that papa left.” - -The horrid man overheard. - -“Your father left some money to get you married,” he said. - -“Well, then, I’ll marry the _Bon Dieu_,” I answered, and my voice was -quite resolute now. I turned very red, and for the second time in my -life I felt a desire and a strong inclination to fight for myself. I had -no more fear, as everyone had gone too far and provoked me too much. I -slipped away from my two kind friends, and advanced toward the other -group. - -“I will be a nun, I will!” I exclaimed. “I know that papa left me some -money so that I should be married, and I know that the nuns marry the -Saviour. Mamma says she does not care; it is all the same to her, so -that it won’t be vexing her at all, and they love me better at the -convent than you do here!” - -“My dear child,” said my uncle, drawing me toward him, “your religious -vocation appears to me to be more a wish to love.” - -“And to be loved,” murmured Mme. Guérard, in a very low voice. - -Everyone glanced at mamma, who shrugged her shoulders slightly. It -seemed to me as though the glance they all gave her was a reproachful -one, and I felt a pang of remorse at once. I went across to her, and -throwing my arms round her neck said: - -“You don’t mind my being a nun, do you? It won’t make you unhappy, will -it?” - -Mamma stroked my hair, of which she was very proud. - -“Yes, it would make me unhappy. You know very well that after your -sister, I love you better than anyone else in the world.” - -She said this very slowly in a gentle voice. It was like the sound of a -little waterfall as it flows down, babbling and clear, from the -mountain, dragging with it the gravel, and gradually increasing in -volume, with the thawed snow, until it sweeps along rocks and trees in -its course. This was the effect my mother’s clear, drawling voice had -upon me at that moment. I rushed back impulsively to the others, who -were all speechless at this unexpected and spontaneous burst of -confidence. I went from one to the other, explaining my decision, and -giving reasons which were certainly no reasons at all. I did my utmost -to get someone to support me in the matter. Finally the Duc de Morny was -bored, and rose to go. - -“Do you know what you ought to do with this child?” he said. “You ought -to send her to the _Conservatoire_.” He then patted my cheek, kissed my -aunt’s hand, and bowed to all the others. As he bent over my mother’s -hand, I heard him say to her: “You would have made a bad diplomatist, -but take my advice, and send her to the _Conservatoire_.” - -He then took his departure and I gazed at everyone in perfect anguish. - -The _Conservatoire_! What was it? What did it mean? - -I went up to my governess, Mlle. De Brabender. Her lips were firmly -pressed together, and she looked shocked, just as she did sometimes when -my godfather told some story that she did not approve of, at table. My -uncle, Félix Faure, was looking at the floor in an absent-minded way; -the notary had a spiteful look in his eyes, my aunt was holding forth in -a very excited manner, and M. Meydieu kept shaking his head and -muttering: “Perhaps ... yes.... Who knows?... Hum ... hum...!” Mme. -Guérard was very pale and sad, and she looked at me with infinite -tenderness. - -What could be this _Conservatoire_? The word uttered so carelessly -seemed to have entirely disturbed the equanimity of all present. Each -one of them seemed to me to have a different impression about it, but -none looked pleased. Suddenly in the midst of the general embarrassment -my godfather exclaimed brutally: - -“She is too thin to make an actress.” - -“I won’t be an actress!” I exclaimed. - -“You don’t know what an actress is,” said my aunt. - -“Oh, yes, I do. Rachel is an actress!” - -“You know Rachel?” asked mamma, getting up. - -“Oh, yes, she came to the convent once, to see little Adèle Sarony. She -went all over the convent and into the garden, and she had to sit down -because she could not get her breath. They fetched her something to -bring her round, and she was so pale, oh, so pale! I was very sorry for -her and Sister Appoline told me that what she did was killing her, for -she was an actress, and so I won’t be an actress, I won’t.” - -I had said all this in a breath, with my cheeks on fire and my voice -hard. - -I remembered all that Sister Appoline had told me, and Mother Ste. -Sophie, too. I remembered, also, that when Rachel had gone out of the -garden, looking very pale, and holding a lady’s arm for support, a -little girl had put her tongue out at her. I did not want people to put -out their tongues at me when I was grown up. - -_Conservatoire!_ That word alarmed me. The duke had wanted me to be an -actress and he had now gone away so that I could not talk things over -with him. He went away smiling and tranquil, after caressing me in the -usual friendly way. He had gone—caring little about the scraggy child -whose future had been discussed. - -“Send her to the _Conservatoire_!” - -That sentence uttered so carelessly had come like a bomb into my life. -I, the dreamy child, who that morning was ready to repulse princes and -kings; I, whose trembling fingers had that morning told over chaplets of -dreams, who only a few hours ago had felt my heart beating with emotion -hitherto unknown to me; I, who had got up expecting some great event to -take place, was to see everything disappear, thanks to that phrase as -heavy as lead and as deadly as a bullet: “Send her to the -_Conservatoire_!” - -And I divined that this phrase was to be the signpost of my life. All -those people had gathered together at the turning of the crossroads. -“Send her to the _Conservatoire_!” I wanted to be a nun and this was -considered absurd, idiotic, unreasonable. “Send her to the -_Conservatoire_” had opened out a field for discussion, the horizon of -the future. My uncle, Félix Faure, and Mlle. Brabender were the only -ones against this idea. They tried in vain to make my mother understand -that with the hundred thousand francs that my father had left me I might -marry. But my mother had replied that I had declared I had a horror of -marriage, and that I should wait until I was of age to go into a -convent. - -“Under these conditions,” she said, “Sarah will never have her father’s -money.” - -“No, certainly not,” put in the notary. - -“Then,” continued my mother, “she would enter the convent as a servant -and I will not have that! My money is an annuity, so that I cannot leave -anything to my children. I, therefore, want them to have a career of -their own.” My mother was now exhausted with so much talking and lay -back in an armchair. I got very much excited and my mother asked me to -go away. - -Mlle. Brabender and Mme. Guérard were arguing in a low voice, and I -thought of the aristocratic man who had just left us. I was very angry -with him, for this idea of the _Conservatoire_ was his. - -Mlle. Brabender tried to console me. Mme. Guérard said that this career -had its advantages. Mlle. Brabender considered that the convent would -have a great fascination for so dreamy a nature as mine. The latter was -very religious and a great churchgoer; “_ma petite dame_,” was a pagan -in the purest acceptation of that word, and yet the two women got on -very well together, thanks to their affectionate devotion to me. - -Mme. Guérard adored the proud rebelliousness of my nature, my pretty -face, and the slenderness of my figure; Mlle. De Brabender was touched -by my delicate health. She endeavored to comfort me when I was jealous -for not being loved as much as my sister, but what she liked best about -me was my voice. She always declared that my voice was modulated for -prayers and my delight in the convent appeared to her quite natural. She -loved me with a gentle, pious affection, and Mme. Guérard loved me with -bursts of paganism. These two women, whose memory is still dear to me, -shared me between them and made the best of my good qualities and my -faults. I certainly owe to both of them this study of myself and the -vision I have of myself. - -The day was destined to end in the strangest of fashions. Mme. Guérard -had gone back to her apartment upstairs and I was lying on a little -straw armchair which was the most ornamental piece of furniture in my -room. I felt very drowsy and was holding Mlle. De Brabender’s hand in -mine, when the door opened and my aunt entered, followed by my mother. I -can see them now, my aunt in her dress of puce silk trimmed with fur, -her brown velvet hat tied under her chin with long, wide strings, and -mamma, who had taken off her dress and put on a white woolen dressing -gown. She always detested keeping on her dress in the house, and I -understood by her change of costume that everyone else had gone, and -that my aunt was ready to leave. I got up from my armchair, but mamma -made me sit down again. - -“Rest yourself thoroughly,” she said, “for we are going to take you to -the theater this evening, to the Français.” I felt sure that this was -just a bait and I would not show any sign of pleasure, although in my -heart I was delighted at the idea of going to the Français. The only -theater I knew anything of was the Robert Houdin, to which I was taken -sometimes with my sister, and I fancy that it was for her benefit we -went as I was really too old to care for that kind of performance. - -“Will you come with us?” mamma said, turning to Mlle. De Brabender. - -“Willingly, madame,” replied this dear creature. “I will go home and -change my dress.” - -My aunt laughed at my sullen looks. - -“Little fraud,” she said, as she went away, “you are hiding your -delight. Ah, well, you will see some actresses to-night!” - -“Is Rachel going to act?” I asked. - -“Oh, no, she is ill.” - -My aunt kissed me and went away, saying she would see me again later on, -and my mother followed her out of the room. Mlle. De Brabender then -hurriedly prepared to leave me. She had to go home to dress and to tell -them that she would not be in until quite late, for, in her convent, -special permission had to be obtained when one wished to be out later -than ten at night. When I was alone I swung myself backward and forward -in my armchair which, by the way, was anything but a rocking-chair. I -began to think, and for the first time in my life my critical -comprehension came to my aid. And so all these serious people had been -inconvenienced, the notary fetched from Hâvre, my uncle dragged away -from working at his book, the old bachelor, M. Meydieu, disturbed in his -habits and customs, my godfather kept away from the Stock Exchange, and -that aristocratic and skeptical Duc de Morny cramped up for two hours in -the midst of our bourgeois surroundings, and all to end in this -decision: “_She shall be taken to the theater!_” I do not know what part -my uncle had taken in this burlesque plan, but I doubt whether it was to -his taste. All the same, I was glad to go to the theater; it made me -feel more important. That morning on waking up I was quite a child, and -now events had taken place which had transformed me into a young girl. I -had been discussed by everyone, and I had expressed my wishes, without -any result, certainly, but all the same I had expressed them, and now it -was deemed necessary to humor and indulge me in order to win me over. -They could not force me into agreeing to what they wanted me to do; my -consent was necessary, and I felt so joyful and so proud about it that I -was quite touched and almost ready to yield. However, I said to myself -that it would be better to hold my own and let them ask me again. - -After dinner we all squeezed into a cab—mamma, my godfather, Mlle. De -Brabender, and I. My godfather made me a present of some white gloves. - -On mounting the steps at the Théâtre Français I trod on a lady’s dress. -She turned round and called me a “stupid child.” I moved back hastily -and came into collision with a very stout old gentleman who gave me a -rough push forward. - -When once we were all installed in a box facing the stage, mamma and I -in the first row with Mlle. De Brabender behind me, I felt more -reassured. I was close against the partition of the box, and I could -feel Mlle. De Brabender’s sharp knees through the velvet of my chair. -This gave me confidence, and I leaned against the back of the chair, -purposely to feel the support of those two knees. - -When the curtain slowly rose, I thought I should have fainted. It was as -though the curtain of my future life were being raised. Those -columns—“Britannicus” was being played—were to be my palaces, the -friezes above were to be my skies, and those boards were to bend under -my frail weight. I heard nothing of “Britannicus,” for I was far, far -away, at Grandchamps in my dormitory there. - -“Well, what do you think of it?” asked my godfather, when the curtain -fell. I did not answer and he laid his hand on my head and turned my -face round toward him. I was crying, big tears rolling slowly down my -cheeks, those tears that come without any sobs and without any hope of -ever ceasing. - -My godfather shrugged his shoulders, and getting up, left the box, -banging the door after him. Mamma, losing all patience with me, -proceeded to review the house through her opera glass, Mlle. De -Brabender passed me her handkerchief; my own had fallen down and I had -not the courage to pick it up. - - * * * * * - -The curtain had been raised for the second piece, “Amphytrion,” and I -made an effort to listen, for the sake of pleasing my governess, who was -so gentle and conciliating. I can only remember one thing, and that is -that _Alcinène_ seemed to me to be so unhappy that I burst into loud -sobs, and that the whole house, very much amused, looked at our box. My -mother, deeply annoyed, took me out, and Mlle. De Brabender went with -us. My godfather was furious, and muttered: “She ought to be shut up in -a convent and left there! Good Heavens, what a little idiot the child -is!” - -This was the début of my artistic life! - - - - - CHAPTER V - I RECITE “THE TWO PIGEONS” - - -I was beginning to think, though, of my new career. Books were sent to -me from everywhere: Racine, Corneille, Molière, Casimir Delavigne.... I -opened them, but as I did not understand them at all, I quickly closed -them again, and read my little La Fontaine, which I loved passionately. -I knew all his fables, and one of my delights was to make a bet with my -godfather or with M. Meydieu, our learned and tiresome friend. I used to -bet that they would not recognize all the fables, if I began with the -last verse and went backward to the first one, and I often won the bet. - -A line from my aunt arrived one day, telling my mother that M. Auber, -who was then Director of the _Conservatoire_, was expecting us the next -day at nine in the morning. I was about to put my foot in the stirrup. -My mother sent me with Mme. Guérard. M. Auber received us very affably, -as the Duc de Morny had spoken to him of me. I was very much impressed -by him, with his refined face and white hair, his ivory complexion and -magnificent black eyes, his fragile and distinguished look, his -melodious voice and the celebrity of his name. I scarcely dared answer -his questions. He spoke to me very gently, and told me to sit down. - -“You are very fond of the stage?” he began. - -“Oh, no, monsieur!” I answered. - -This unexpected reply amazed him. He looked at Mme. Guérard from under -his heavy eyelids, and she at once said: - -“No, she does not care for the stage, but she does not want to marry, -and consequently she will have no money, as her father left her a -hundred thousand francs, which she can only have on her wedding-day. Her -mother, therefore, wants her to have some profession, for Mme. Bernhardt -only has an annuity, a fairly good one, but it is only an annuity, and -so she will not be able to leave her daughters anything. On that account -she wants Sarah to become independent. Sarah would like to enter a -convent.” - -“But that is not an independent career, my child,” said M. Auber, -slowly. “How old is she?” he asked. - -“Fourteen and a half,” replied Mme. Guérard. - -“No,” I exclaimed, “I am nearly fifteen.” - -The kind old man smiled. - -“In twenty years from now,” he said, “you will insist less about the -exact figures,” and, evidently thinking the visit had lasted long -enough, he rose. - -“It appears,” he said to Mme. Guérard, “that this little girl’s mother -is very beautiful?” - -“Oh, very beautiful!” she replied. - -“You will please express my regret to her that I have not seen her, and -my thanks for having so thoughtfully sent you.” He thereupon kissed Mme. -Guérard’s hand, and she colored slightly. - -This conversation remained engraved on my mind. I remember every word of -it, every movement and every gesture of M. Auber’s, for this little man, -so charming and so gentle, held my future in his transparent-looking -hand. He opened the door for us and, touching me on my shoulder, said: - -“Come, courage, little girl. Believe me, you will thank your mother some -day for driving you to it. Don’t look so sad; life is well worth -beginning, seriously, but gayly.” - -I stammered out a few words of thanks, and, just as I was making my -exit, a fine-looking woman knocked against me. She was heavy and -extremely bustling, though, and M. Auber bent his head toward me and -said quietly: - -“Above all things don’t let yourself get stout like this singer. -Stoutness is the enemy of a woman and of an _artiste_.” - -The manservant was now holding the door open for us, and, as M. Auber -returned to his visitor, I heard him say: - -“Well, ... most ideal of women....” - -I went away rather astounded, and did not say a word in the carriage. -Mme. Guérard told my mother about our interview, but the latter did not -even let her finish, and only said: “Good, good; thank you.” - -The examination was to take place a month after this visit. The -difficulty was to choose a piece for the examination. My mother did not -know any theatrical people. My godfather advised me to learn “Phèdre,” -but Mlle. De Brabender objected, as she thought it a little offensive, -and refused to help me if I chose that. M. Meydieu, our old friend, -wanted me to work at _Chimène_, in “Le Cid,” but first he declared that -I clenched my teeth too much for it. It was quite true that I did not -make the O open enough, and did not roll the R sufficiently, either. He -wrote a little notebook for me, which I am copying exactly, as my poor, -dear Guérard kept religiously everything concerning me, and she gave me, -later on, a quantity of papers which are very useful now. - -The following are my old friend’s instructions: - - “Every morning instead of do ... re ... mi ... practice te ... de ... - de ... in order to learn to vibrate.... - - “Before breakfast repeat forty times over: - Un-très-gros-rat-dans-un-très-gros-trou—in order to vibrate the R. - - “Before dinner repeat forty times: Combien ces six saucisses-ci? C’est - six sous, ces six saucisses-ci. Six sous ces six saucisses-ci? Six - sous ceux-ci, six sous ceux-ci, six sous ceux-là; six sous ces six - saucisses-ci!—in order to learn not to whizz the S. - - “At night when going to bed repeat twenty times: Didon, dina dit-on du - dos d’un dodu dindon.... And twenty times: Le plus petit papa petit - pipi petit popo petit pupu.... Open the mouth square for the D, and - pout for the P....” - -He gave this piece of work quite seriously to Mlle. De Brabender, who -quite seriously wanted me to practice it. My governess was charming, and -I was very fond of her, but I could not help yelling with laughter when, -after making me go through the “te ... de ... de” exercise, which went -fairly well, and then the “très-gros-rat,” etc., she started on the -_saucisses_ (sausages). Ah, no, that was a cacophony of hisses in her -toothless mouth, enough to make all the dogs in Paris howl! And when she -began with the “Didon” ... accompanied by the “plus petit papa,” I -thought my dear governess was losing her reason. She half closed her -eyes, her face was red, her mustache bristled up, she put on a -sententious, hurried manner, her mouth widened out and looked like the -slit in a money box, or else it was creased up into a little ring, and -she purred and hissed and chirped without ceasing. I flung myself -exhausted into my wicker-work chair, choking with laughter, and great -tears poured from my eyes. I stamped on the floor, flung my arms out -right and left until they were useless, and rocked myself backward and -forward, screaming with laughter. - -My mother, attracted by the noise I was making, half opened the door. -Mlle. De Brabender explained to her very gravely that she was showing me -M. Meydieu’s method. My mother expostulated with me, but I would not -listen to anything, as I was nearly beside myself with laughter. She -then took Mlle. De Brabender away and left me alone, for she feared that -I would finish with hysterics. When once I was by myself, I began to -calm down. I closed my eyes and thought of my convent again. The “te ... -de ... de” got mixed up in my enervated brain with the “Our Father,” -which I used to have to repeat some days fifteen or twenty times as a -punishment. Finally, I came to myself again, got up, and, after bathing -my face in cold water, went to my mother, whom I found playing whist -with my governess and godfather. I kissed Mlle. De Brabender, and she -returned my kiss with such indulgent kindness that I felt quite -embarrassed by it. - -Ten days passed by and I did none of M. Meydieu’s exercises, except the -“te ... de ... de” at the piano. My mother came and woke me every -morning for this, and it drove me wild. My godfather made me learn -“Aricie,” but I understood nothing of what he told me about the verses. -He considered, and explained to me, that poetry must be said with an -intonation, and that the value must only be put on the rhyme. His -theories were boring to listen to and impossible to execute. Then I -could not understand _Aricie’s_ character, for it did not seem to me -that she loved _Hippolyte_ at all, and she appeared to me to be a -scheming flirt. My godfather explained to me that in olden times this -was the way people loved each other, and when I remarked that _Phèdre_ -appeared to love in a better way than that, he took me by the chin, and -said: - -“Just look at this naughty child. She is pretending not to understand, -and would like us to explain to her....” - -This was simply idiotic. I did not understand, and had not asked -anything, but this man had a _bourgeois_ mind, and was sly and lewd. He -did not like me because I was thin, but he was interested in me because -I was going to be an actress. That word evoked for him the weak side of -our art. He did not see the beauty, the nobleness of it, nor yet its -beneficial power. - -I could not fathom all this at that time, but I did not feel at ease -with this man, whom I had seen from my childhood, and who was almost -like a father to me. I did not want to continue learning “Aricie.” In -the first place, I could not talk about it with my governess, as she -would not discuss the piece at all. - -I then learned the “Ecole des Femmes,” and Mlle. De Brabender explained -_Agnes_ to me. The dear, good lady did not see much in it, for the whole -story appeared to her of childlike simplicity, and when I said the -lines: “He has taken from me, he has taken from me the ribbon you gave -me,” she smiled in all confidence when Meydieu and my godfather laughed -heartily. - -Finally the examination day arrived. Everyone had given me advice, but -no one any really helpful counsel. It had not occurred to anyone that I -ought to have had a professional to prepare me for my examination. I got -up in the morning with a heavy heart and an anxious mind. My mother had -had a black silk dress made for me. It was slightly low-necked, and was -finished with a gathered bertha. The frock was rather short, and showed -my drawers. These were trimmed with embroidery, and came down to my -brown kid boots. A white guimpe emerged from my black bodice and was -fastened round my throat, which was too slender. My hair was parted on -my forehead, and then fell as it liked, for it was not held by pins or -ribbons. I wore a large straw hat, although the season was rather -advanced. Everyone came to inspect my dress, and I was turned round and -round twenty times at least. I had to make my courtesy for everyone to -see. Finally I seemed to give general satisfaction. My _petite dame_ -came downstairs, with her grave husband, and kissed me. She was deeply -affected. Our old Marguerite made me sit down, and put before me a cup -of cold beef tea, which she had simmered so carefully for a long time -that it was then a delicious jelly, and I swallowed it in a second. I -was in a great hurry to start. On rising from my chair I moved so -brusquely that my dress caught on an invisible splinter of wood, and was -torn. My mother turned to a visitor who had arrived about five minutes -before, and had remained in contemplative admiration ever since. - -“There,” she said to him in a vexed tone, “that is a proof of what I -told you. All your silks tear with the slightest movement.” - -“Oh, no,” replied our visitor quickly, “I told you that this one was not -well ‘dressed,’ and let you have it at a low price on that account.” - -The man who spoke was the most extraordinary individual imaginable. I do -not mean as regards his appearance, as he was like a not too ugly young -Jew. He was shy and a Dutchman; never violent, but tenacious. I had -known him from my childhood. His father, who was a friend of my -grandfather’s on my mother’s side, was a rich tradesman, and the father -of a tribe of children. He gave each of his sons a small sum of money, -and sent them all out to make their fortune where they liked. Jacques, -the one of whom I am speaking, came to Paris. He had commenced by -selling Passover cakes, and, as a boy, had often brought me some of them -to the convent, together with the dainties that my mother sent me. Later -on, my surprise was great on seeing him offer my mother rolls of -oilcloth such as is used for tablecloths for early breakfast. I remember -one of those cloths, the border of which was formed of medallions -representing the French kings. It was from that oilcloth that I learned -my history best. For the last month he had owned quite an elegant -vehicle, and he sold “silks that were not well dressed.” At present he -is one of the leading jewelers of Paris. - -The slit in my dress was soon mended and, knowing now that the silk was -not well dressed, I treated it with respect. Finally we started—Mlle. De -Brabender, Mme. Guérard, and I in a carriage that was only intended for -two persons, and I was glad that it was so small, for I was close to two -people who were fond of me, and my silk frock was spread carefully over -their knees. - -When I entered the waiting room that leads into the recital hall of the -_Conservatoire_, there were about twenty young men and about thirty -girls there. All these girls were accompanied by their mother, father, -aunt, brother, or sister. There was an odor of pomade and vanilla that -made me feel sick. - -When we were shown into this room, I felt that everyone was looking at -me, and I blushed to the back of my head. Mme. Guérard drew me gently -along, and I turned to take Mlle. De Brabender’s hand. She came shyly -forward, blushing more, and still more confused than I was. Everyone -looked at her, and I saw the girls nudge each other and nod in her -direction. One of them suddenly got up and moved across to her mother. - -“Oh, mercy, look at that old sight!” she said. - -My poor governess felt most uncomfortable, and I was furious. I thought -she was a thousand times nicer than all those fat, dressed-up, -common-looking mothers. Certainly she was different from other people in -her appearance, for Mlle. De Brabender was wearing a salmon-colored -dress, an Indian shawl drawn tightly across her shoulders, and fastened -with a very large cameo brooch. Her bonnet was trimmed with ruches so -close together that it looked like a nun’s headgear. She certainly was -not at all like these dreadful people in whose society we found -ourselves, and among whom there were not more than ten exceptions to the -rule. The young men were standing in compact groups near the windows. -They were laughing and, I suspect, making remarks in doubtful taste. - -The heavy, red baize door opened, and a girl with a red face and a young -man perfectly scarlet came back after acting their scene. They each went -to their respective friends and then chattered away, finding fault with -each other. A name was called out—Mlle. Dica Petit—and I saw a tall, -fair, distinguished-looking girl move forward without any embarrassment. -She stopped on her way to kiss a pretty woman, stout, with a -pink-and-white complexion, and very much dressed up. - -“Don’t be afraid, mother dear,” she said, and then she added a few words -in Dutch before disappearing, followed by a young man and a very thin -girl who were to give her her cues. - -This was explained to me by Leautaud, who called over the names of the -pupils and took down the names of those who were to act and those who -were to give the cues. I knew nothing of all this, and wondered who was -to give me the cues for _Agnes_. He mentioned several young men, but I -interrupted him. - -“Oh, no,” I said, “I will not ask anyone. I do not know any of them, and -I will not ask.” - -“Well, then, what will you recite, mademoiselle?” asked Leautaud, with -the most _outré_ accent possible. - -“I will recite a fable,” I replied. - -He burst out laughing as he wrote down my name and the title, “Deux -Pigeons,” which I gave him. I heard him still laughing under his heavy -mustache as he continued his round. He then went back into the -_Conservatoire_, and I began to get feverish with excitement, so that -Mme. Guérard was anxious about me, as my health, unfortunately, was very -delicate. She made me sit down, and then she put a few drops of _eau de -Cologne_ behind my ears. - -“There, that will teach you to wink like that!” were the words I -suddenly heard, and a girl with the prettiest face imaginable had her -ears boxed soundly. Nathalie Mauvoy’s mother was correcting her -daughter. I sprang up, trembling with fright and indignation, and was as -angry as a young turkey cock. I wanted to go and box the horrible -woman’s ears in return, and then to kiss the pretty girl who had been -insulted in this way, but I was held back firmly by my two guardians. - -Dica Petit now returned, and this caused a diversion in the waiting -room. She was radiant and quite satisfied with herself. Oh, very well -satisfied, indeed! Her father held out a little flask to her in which -was some kind of cordial, and I should have liked some of it, too, for -my mouth was dry and burning. Her mother then put a little woolen square -over her chest before fastening her coat for her, and then all three of -them went away. Several other girls and young men were called before my -turn came. - -Finally, the call of my name made me jump as a sardine does when pursued -by a big fish. I tossed my head to shake my hair back, and my _petite -dame_ stroked my “badly dressed” silk. Mlle. De Brabender reminded me -about the O and the A, the R, the P, and the T, and I then went alone -into the hall. I had never been alone an hour in my life. As a little -child I was always clinging to the skirts of my nurse; at the convent I -was always with one of my friends or one of the Sisters; at home either -with Mlle. De Brabender or Mme. Guérard, or if they were not there, in -the kitchen with Marguerite. And now, there I was alone in that -strange-looking room, with a platform at the end, a large table in the -middle, and, seated round this table, men who either grumbled, growled, -or jeered. There was only one woman present, and she had a loud voice. -She was holding an eyeglass, and, as I entered, she dropped it and -looked at me through her opera glass. I felt everyone’s gaze on my back -as I climbed up the few steps to the platform. Leautaud bent forward and -whispered: - -“Make your bow and commence, and then stop when the chairman rings.” - -I looked at the chairman, and saw that it was M. Auber. I had forgotten -that he was Director of the _Conservatoire_, just as I had forgotten -everything else. I at once made my bow, and began: - - “Deux pigeons s’aimaient d’amour tendre - L’un d’eux s’ennuyant....” - -A low, grumbling sound was heard, and then a ventriloquist muttered: - -“It isn’t an elocution class here. What an idea to come here reciting -fables!” - -It was Beauvallet, the thundering tragedian of the Comédie Française. I -stopped short, my heart beating wildly. - -“Go on, my child,” said a man with silvery hair. This was Provost. - -“Yes, it won’t be as long as a scene from a play,” exclaimed Augustine -Brohan, the one woman present. - -I began again: - - “Deux pigeons s’aimaient d’amour tendre - L’un d’eux s’ennuyant au logis....” - -“Louder, my child, louder,” said a little man with curly white hair, in -a kindly tone. This was Samson. I stopped again, confused and -frightened, seized suddenly with such a foolish fit of nervousness that -I could have shouted or howled. Samson saw this, and said to me: “Come, -come, we are not ogres!” He had just been talking in a low voice with -Auber. - -“Come, now, begin again,” he said, “and speak up.” - -“Ah, no,” put in Augustine Brohan, “if she is to begin again, it will be -longer than a scene!” This speech made all the table laugh, and that -gave me time to recover myself. I thought all these people unkind to -laugh like this at the expense of a poor, little, trembling creature who -had been delivered over to them, bound hand and foot. - -I felt, without exactly defining it, a slight contempt for these -pitiless judges. Since then I have very often thought of that trial of -mine, and I have come to the conclusion that individuals who are kind, -intelligent, and compassionate become less estimable when they are -together. The feeling of personal irresponsibility encourages their evil -instincts, and the fear of ridicule chases away their good ones. - -When I had recovered my will power I began my fable again, determined -not to mind what happened. My voice was more liquid on account of -emotion, and the desire to make myself heard caused it to be more -resonant. There was silence, and before I had finished my fable the -little bell rang. I bowed, and came down the few steps from the platform -thoroughly exhausted. M. Auber stopped me as I was passing by the table. - -“Well, little girl,” he said, “that was very good indeed. M. Provost and -M. Beauvallet both want you in their class.” - -I recoiled slightly when he told me which was M. Beauvallet, for he was -the “ventriloquist” who had given me such a fright. - -“Well, which of these two gentlemen should you prefer?” he asked. - -I did not utter a word, but pointed to M. Provost. - -“Ah, well, that’s all right! Get your handkerchief out, my poor -Beauvallet, and I shall intrust this child to you, my dear Provost.” - -It was only at that moment that I comprehended, and, wild with joy, I -exclaimed: - -“Then I have passed?” - -“Yes, you have passed, and there is only one thing I regret, and that is -that such a pretty voice should not be for music.” - -I did not hear anything else, for I was beside myself with joy. I did -not stay to thank anyone, but bounded to the door. - -“_Ma petite dame!_ Mademoiselle! I have passed!” I exclaimed, and when -they shook hands and asked me no end of questions I could only reply: - -“Oh, it’s quite true—I have passed, I have passed!” - -I was surrounded and questioned. - -“How do you know that you have passed? No one knows beforehand.” - -“Yes, yes, I know, though. M. Auber told me. I am to go into M. -Provost’s class. M. Beauvallet wanted me, but his voice is too loud for -me!” - -A disagreeable girl exclaimed: “Can’t you stop that? And so they all -want you!” - -A pretty girl, who was too dark, though, for my taste, came nearer and -asked me gently what I had recited. - -“The fable of the ‘Two Pigeons,’” I replied. - -She was surprised, and so was everyone; while, as for me, I was wildly -delighted to surprise them all. I tossed my hat on my head, shook my -frock out, and dragging my two friends along, ran away dancing. They -wanted to take me to the confectioner’s to have something, but I -refused. We got into a cab, and I should have liked to push that cab -along myself. I fancied I saw the words “I have passed” written up over -all the shops. When, on account of the crowded streets, the cab had to -stand, it seemed to me that the people stared at me, and I caught myself -tossing my head as though telling them all that it was quite true I had -passed my examination. I never thought any more about the convent, and -only experienced a feeling of pride at having succeeded in my first -venturesome enterprise. Venturesome, but the success had depended only -on me. It seemed to me as though the cabman would never arrive at 265 -Rue St. Honoré. I kept putting my head out of the window and saying: -“Faster, cabby; faster, please!” At last we reached the house, and I -sprang out of the cab and hurried along to tell the good news to my -mother. On the way I was stopped by the daughter of the hall porter. She -was a staymaker, and worked in a little room on the top floor of the -house, the window of which was opposite our dining-room where I used to -do my lessons with my governess, so that I could not help seeing her -ruddy, wide-awake face constantly. I had never spoken to her, but I knew -who she was. - -“Well, Mlle. Sarah, are you satisfied?” she called out. - -“Oh, yes, I have passed,” I answered, and I could not resist stopping a -minute in order to enjoy the astonishment of the hall-porter family. I -then hurried on, but on reaching the courtyard came to a dead stand, -anger and grief taking possession of me, for there I beheld my _petite -dame_, her two hands forming a trumpet, her head thrown back, shouting -to my mother who was leaning out of the window: “Yes, yes, she has -passed!” I gave her a thump with my clenched hand and began to cry with -rage, for I had prepared a little story for my mother, ending up with -the joyful surprise. I had intended putting on a very sad look on -arriving at the door, and pretending to be broken-hearted and ashamed. I -felt sure she would say: “Oh, I am not surprised, my poor child, you are -so foolish!” and then I should have thrown my arms round her neck and -said: “It isn’t true, it isn’t true; I have passed!” I had pictured to -myself her face brightening up, and then old Marguerite and my godfather -laughing heartily, and my sisters dancing with joy, and here was Mme. -Guérard sounding her trumpet and spoiling all my effects that I had -prepared so well. - -I must say that the kind woman continued as long as she lived (that is -the greater part of my life) spoiling all my effects. It was all in vain -that I made scenes; she could not help herself. Whenever I told a good -story and wanted it to be very effective, she would invariably burst -into fits of laughter before the end of it. If I started on a story with -a very lamentable ending, which was to be a surprise, she would sigh, -roll her eyes, and murmur: “Oh, dear! oh, dear!” so that I always missed -the effect I was counting on. Still more often, when anything was being -guessed and I asked people for the answer, she would reply before anyone -else, as she was always in my confidence, and I had perhaps told her the -answer a second before. All this used to exasperate me to such a degree -that, before beginning a story or a game, I used to ask her to go out of -the room, and she would get up and go, laughing at the idea of the -blunder she would make if there. - -Furious, then, on this occasion, and abusing Mme. Guérard, I went -upstairs to my mother, whom I found at the open door. She kissed me -affectionately, and on seeing my sulky face asked if I was not -satisfied. - -“Yes,” I replied, “but I am furious with Guérard. Be nice, mamma, and -pretend you don’t know. Shut the door, and I will ring.” - -She did this, and I rang the bell. Marguerite opened the door, and my -mother came and pretended to be astonished. My sisters, too, arrived, -and my godfather and my aunt. When I kissed my mother, exclaiming, “I -have passed!” everyone shouted with joy, and I was gay again. I had made -my effect anyhow. It was “the career” taking possession of me unawares. - -My sister Régina, whom the Sisters would not have in the convent and so -had sent home, began to dance a jig. She had learned this in the country -when she had been put out to nurse, and upon every occasion she danced -it, finishing always with this couplet: - - My little dear, rejoice, - Everything is for you.... - -Nothing could be more comic than this chubby child with her serious air. -Régina never laughed, and only a suspicion of a smile ever played over -her thin lips and over her mouth, which was too small. Nothing could be -more comic than to see her, looking grave and rough, dancing the jig. -She was funnier than ever that day, as she was excited by the general -joy. She was four years old, and nothing ever embarrassed her. She was -both timid and bold. She detested society and people generally, but if -made to go in the dining-room she embarrassed people by her crude -remarks, which were most odd, by her rough answers and her kicks and -blows. She was a terrible child, with silvery hair, dark complexion, -blue eyes too large for her face, and thick lashes which made a shadow -on her cheeks when she lowered the lids, and joined her eyebrows when -her eyes were open. She would be four or five hours sometimes without -uttering a word, without answering any question she was asked, and then -she would jump up from her little chair, begin to sing as loud as she -could, and dance the jig. On this day she was in a good temper, for she -kissed me affectionately and opened her thin lips to smile. My sister -Jeanne kissed me, and made me tell her about my examination. My -godfather gave me a hundred francs, and M. Meydieu, who had just arrived -to find out the result, promised to take me the next day to -Barbédienne’s to choose a clock for my room, as that was one of my -dreams. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - I DECLINE MATRIMONY AND WED ART - - -The great change began in me from that day. For rather a long time, -indeed, my soul remained childlike, but my mind discerned life more -distinctly. I felt the need of creating a personality for myself. That -was the first awakening of my will. I wanted to be some one. Mlle. De -Brabender declared to me that this was pride. It seemed to me that it -was not quite that, but I could not then define what the sentiment was -which imposed this wish on me. I did not understand until a few months -later why I wished to be some one. - -A friend of my godfather’s made me an offer of marriage. This man was a -rich tanner, and very kind, but so dark and with such long hair and such -a beard that he disgusted me. I refused him, and my godfather then asked -to speak to me alone. He made me sit down in my mother’s boudoir, and -said to me: - -“My poor child, it is pure folly to refuse M. B——. He has sixty thousand -francs a year and expectations.” - -It was the first time I had heard this use of the word, and when the -meaning was explained to me I wondered if that was the right thing to -say on such an occasion. - -“Why, yes,” replied my godfather, “you are idiotic with your romantic -ideas. Marriage is a business affair, and must be considered as such. -Your future father and mother-in-law will have to die, just as we shall, -and it is by no means disagreeable to know that they will leave two -million francs to their son, and consequently to you, if you marry him.” - -“I shall not marry him, though.” - -“Why?” - -“Because I do not love him.” - -“But you never love your husband before—” replied my practical adviser. -“You can love him after.” - -“After what?” - -“Ask your mother. But listen to me now, for it is not a question of -that. You must marry. Your mother has a small income which your father -left her, but this income comes from the profits of the manufactory -which belongs to your grandmother, and she cannot bear your mother, who -will therefore lose that income, and then have nothing and three -children on her hands. It is that accursed lawyer who is arranging all -this. The whys and wherefores would take too long to explain. Your -father managed his business affairs very badly. You must marry, -therefore, if not for your own sake, for the sake of your mother and -sisters. You can then give your mother the hundred thousand francs your -father left you, which no one else can touch. M. B—— will allow you -three hundred thousand francs. I have arranged everything, so that you -can give this to your mother if you like, and with four hundred thousand -francs she will be able to live very well.” - -I cried and sobbed, and asked to have time to think it over. I found my -mother in the dining-room. - -“Has your godfather told you?” she asked gently, in rather a timid way. - -“Yes, mother; yes, he has told me. Let me think it over, will you?” I -said, sobbing, as I kissed her neck lingeringly. - -I then locked myself in my bedroom, and, for the first time for many -days, I regretted the separation from my convent. All my childhood rose -up before me, and I cried more and more, and felt so unhappy that I -wished I could die. Gradually, however, I began to get calm again and -realized what had happened, and what my godfather’s words meant. Most -decidedly I did not want to marry this man. Since I had been at the -_Conservatoire_, I had learned a few things vaguely, very vaguely, for I -was never alone, but I understood enough to make me not want to marry -without being in love. I was, however, destined to be attacked in a -quarter from which I should not have expected it. Mme. Guérard asked me -to go up to her room to see the embroidery she was doing on a frame for -my mother’s birthday. - -My astonishment was great to find M. B—— there. He begged me to change -my mind. He made me very wretched, for he pleaded with tears in his -eyes. - -“Do you want a larger marriage settlement?” he asked. “I would make it -five hundred thousand francs.” - -But it was not that at all, and I said in a very low voice: - -“I do not love you, monsieur.” - -“If you do not marry me, mademoiselle,” he said, “I shall die of grief.” - -I looked at him and repeated to myself the words, “die of grief.” I was -embarrassed and desperate, but at the same time delighted, for he loved -me just as a man does in a play. Phrases that I had read or heard came -to my mind vaguely, and I repeated them without any real conviction, and -then left him without the slightest coquetry. - -M. B—— did not die. He is still living, and has a very important -financial position. He is much nicer now than when he was so black, for -at present he is quite white. - - -I had just passed my first examination with remarkable success, -particularly in tragedy. M. Provost, my professor, had not wanted me to -compete in “Zaïre,” but I had insisted. I thought that scene with -_Zaïre_ and her brother _Nivestan_ very fine, and it suited me. But when -_Zaïre_, overwhelmed with her brother’s reproaches, falls on her knees -at his feet, Provost wanted me to say the words, “Strike, I tell you! I -love him!” with violence, and I wanted to say them gently, perfectly -resigned to a death that was almost certain. I argued about it for a -long time with my professor, and finally I appeared to give in to him -during the lesson. But on the day of the competition I fell on my knees -before _Nerestan_ with a sob so real, my arms outstretched, offering my -heart so full of love to the deadly blow that I expected, and I murmured -with such tenderness, “Strike, I tell you! I love him!” that the whole -house burst into applause and demanded it twice over. - -The second prize for tragedy was awarded me, to the great -dissatisfaction of the public, as it was thought that I ought to have -had the first prize. And yet it was only just that I should have the -second, on account of my age and the short time I had been studying. I -had a first _accessit_ for comedy in “La Fausse Agnes,” and Sarcey wrote -an article about it. - -I felt, therefore, that I had the right to refuse M. B——. My future lay -open before me, and consequently my mother would not be in want if she -should lose her present income. A few days later, M. Régnier, professor -at the _Conservatoire_ and secretary of the Comédie Française, came to -ask my mother whether she would allow me to play in a piece of his at -the Vaudeville. The piece was “Germaine,” and the managers would give me -twenty-five francs for each performance. I was amazed at the sum! Seven -hundred and fifty francs a month for my first appearance! I was wild -with joy. I besought my mother to accept the offer made by the -Vaudeville, and she told me to do as I liked in the matter. - -I asked M. Camille Doucet, director of the Beaux-Arts, to allow me to -recite something to him, and, as my mother always refused to accompany -me, Mme. Guérard went with me. My little sister, Régina, begged me to -take her, and very unwisely I consented. We had not been in the -director’s office more than five minutes before my sister, who was only -six years old, began to climb on the furniture. She jumped on a stool, -and finally sat down on the floor, pulling the paper basket, which was -under the desk, toward her, and proceeded to spread all the torn papers -which it contained about the room. On seeing this, Camille Doucet mildly -observed that she was not a very good little girl. My sister, with her -head in the basket, answered in her husky voice: - -“If you bother me, monsieur, I shall tell everyone that you are there to -give out holy water that is poison—my aunt says so.” - -My face turned purple with shame, and I stammered out: - -“Please do not believe that, M. Doucet, my little sister is telling an -untruth.” - -Régina sprang to her feet and, clenching her fists, rushed at me like a -little fury: - -“Aunt Rosine never said that?” she exclaimed. “You are telling the -untruth ... why, she said it to M. De Morny, and he answered....” - -I had forgotten this, and I have forgotten what the Duc de Morny -answered, but, beside myself with anger, I put my hand over my sister’s -mouth and took her quickly away. She howled like a wildcat, and we -rushed like a hurricane through the waiting room which was full of -people. I then gave way to one of those violent fits of temper to which -I had been subject in my childhood. I sprang into the first cab that -passed the door, and, when once in the cab, struck my sister with such -fury that Mme. Guérard was alarmed, and protected her with her own body, -receiving all the blows I gave with my head, arms, and feet, for in my -anger, rage, and shame I flung myself about to right and left. My rage -was all the more profound from the fact that I was very fond of Camille -Doucet. He was gentle and charming, affable and kind-hearted. He had -refused my aunt something she had asked for, and, unaccustomed to being -refused anything, she had a spite against him. This had nothing to do -with me, though, and I wondered what Camille Doucet would think. And -then, too, I had not asked him about the Vaudeville. - -All my fine dreams had come to nothing. And it was this little monster, -who looked as fair and as white as a seraph, who had just shattered my -hopes. Huddled up in the cab, an expression of fear on her self-willed -face, and her thin lips compressed, she was gazing at me under her long -lashes with half-closed eyes. On reaching home I told my mother all that -had happened, and she declared that my little sister should have no -dessert for two days. Régina was greedy, but her pride was greater than -her greediness. She turned round on her little heels and, dancing her -jig, began to sing, “My little stomach isn’ at all glad,” until I wanted -to rush at her and shake her. - -A few days later, during my lessons, I was told that the Ministry -refused to allow me to act at the Vaudeville. - -M. Régnier told me how sorry he was, but he added in kindly tone: - -“Oh, but, my dear child, the _Conservatoire_ thinks a lot of you! -Therefore you need not worry too much.” - -“I am sure that Camille Doucet is at the bottom of it,” I said. - -“No, he certainly is not,” answered M. Régnier, “Camille Doucet was our -warmest advocate, but the Ministry will not, upon any account, hear of -anything that might be detrimental to your début next year.” - -I at once felt most grateful to Camille Doucet for his kindness in -bearing no ill-will after my little sister’s stupid behavior. I began to -work again with the greatest zeal, and did not miss a single lesson. -Every morning I went to the _Conservatoire_ with my governess. We -started early, as I preferred walking to taking the omnibus, and I kept -the franc which my mother gave me every morning, part of which was for -the omnibus and part for cakes. We were to walk home always, but every -other day we took a cab with the two francs I had saved for this -purpose. My mother never knew about this little scheme, but it was not -without remorse that my kind Brabender consented to be my accomplice. - -As I said before, I did not miss a lesson, and I even went to the -deportment class, at which poor old M. Elie, duly curled, powdered, and -adorned with lace frills, presided. This was the most amusing lesson -imaginable. Very few of us attended this class, and M. Elie avenged -himself on us for the abstention of the others. At every lesson each one -of us was called forward. He addressed us by the familiar term of -_thou_, and considered us as his property. There were only five or six -of us, but we each had to mount the stage. He always stood up with his -little black stick in his hand. No one knew why he should have this -stick. - -[Illustration: LE CONSERVATOIRE NATIONAL DE MUSIQUE ET DE DECLAMATION, -PARIS.] - -“Now, young ladies,” he would say, “the body thrown back, the head up, -on tiptoes—that’s it—perfect. One, two, three, march.” - -And we marched along on tiptoes with heads up and eyelids drawn over our -eyes as we tried to look down in order to see where we were walking. We -marched along like this with all the stateliness and solemnity of -camels! He then taught us to make our exit with indifference, dignity, -or fury, and it was amusing to see us going toward the doors either with -a lagging step or in an animated or hurried way, according to the mood -in which we were supposed to be. Then we heard: “Enough! _Go!_ Not a -word!” for M. Elie would not allow us to murmur a single word. -“Everything,” he used to say, “is in the look, the gesture, the -attitude!” Then there was what he called “_l’assiette_,” which meant the -way to sit down in a dignified manner, to let oneself fall into a seat -wearily, or the “_assiette_,” which meant: “I am listening, monsieur; -say what you wish.” Ah, that was distractingly complicated, that way of -sitting down! We had to put everything into it: the desire to know what -was going to be said to us, the fear of hearing it, the determination to -go away, the will to stay. Oh, the tears that this “_assiette_” cost me! -Poor old M. Elie! I do not bear him any ill-will, but I did my utmost -later on to forget everything he had taught me, for nothing could have -been more useless than those deportment lessons. Every human being moves -about according to his or her proportions. Women who are too tall take -long strides, those who stoop walk like the Eastern women; stout women -walk like ducks, short-legged ones trot; very small women skip along, -and the gawky ones walk like cranes. Nothing can be done for them, and -the deportment class has very wisely been abolished. The gesture must -depict the thought, and it is harmonious or stupid, according to whether -the _artiste_ is intelligent or null. For the theater one needs long -arms; it is better to have them too long than too short. An _artiste_ -with short arms can never, never make a fine gesture. It was all in vain -that poor Elie told us this or that. We were always stupid and awkward, -while he was always comic; oh, so comic, poor old man! - -I also took fencing lessons. Aunt Rosine put this idea into my mother’s -head. I had a lesson once a week from the famous Pons. Oh, what a -terrible man he was! Brutal, rude, and always teasing, he was an -incomparable fencing master, but he disliked giving lessons to “brats” -like us, as he called us. He was not rich, though, and I believe, but am -not sure of it, that this class had been organized for him by a -distinguished patron of his. He always kept his hat on, and this -horrified Mlle. De Brabender. He smoked his cigar, too, all the time, -and this made his pupils cough, as they were already out of breath from -the fencing exercise. What torture those lessons were! He brought with -him sometimes friends of his who delighted in our awkwardness. This gave -rise to a scandal, as one day one of these gay spectators made a most -violent remark about one of the pupils named Châtelain, and the latter -turned round quickly and gave him a blow in the face. A skirmish -immediately occurred, and Pons, on endeavoring to intervene, received a -blow or two himself. This made a great stir, and from that day forth -visitors were not allowed to be present at the lesson. I persuaded my -mother to let me discontinue attending this class, and this was a great -relief to me. - -I very much preferred Régnier’s lessons to any others. He was gentle, -had nice manners, and taught us to be natural in what we recited, but I -certainly owe all that I know to the variety of instruction which I had, -and which I followed up in the most devoted way. - -Provost taught a broad style, with diction somewhat pompous but -sustained. He especially emphasized freedom of gesture and inflection. -Beauvallet, in my opinion, did not teach anything that was good. He had -a deep, effective voice, but that he could not give to anyone. It was an -admirable instrument, but it did not give him any talent. He was awkward -in his gestures, his arms were too short, and his face common. I -detested him as a professor. - -Samson was just the opposite. His voice was not strong, but piercing. He -had a certain acquired distinction, but was very correct. His method was -simplicity. Provost emphasized breadth; Samson exactitude, and he was -very particular about the finals. He would not allow us to drop the -voice at the end of the phrase. Coquelin, who is one of Régnier’s -pupils, I believe, has a great deal of Samson’s style, although he has -retained the essentials of his first master’s teaching. As for me, I -remember my three professors, Régnier, Provost, and Samson, as though I -had heard them only yesterday. - -The year passed by without any great change in my life, but two months -before my second examination I had the misfortune to have to change my -professor. Provost was taken ill, and I went in to Samson’s class. He -counted very much on me, but he was authoritative and persistent. He -gave me two very bad parts in two very bad pieces: _Hortense_, in -“L’Ecole des Vieillards,” by Casimir Delavigne, for comedy, and “La -Fille du Cid,” for tragedy. This piece was also by Casimir Delavigne. I -did not feel at all in my element in these two rôles, both of which were -written in hard, emphatic language. - -The examination day arrived, and I did not look at all nice. My mother -had insisted on my having my hair done up by her hairdresser, and I had -cried and sobbed on seeing this “Figaro” make partings all over my head -in order to separate my rebellious mane. Idiot that he was, he had -suggested this style to my mother, and my head was in his stupid hands -for more than an hour and a half, for he never before had to deal with a -mane like mine. He kept mopping his forehead every five minutes, and -muttering: “What hair! Good heavens! it is horrible—just like tow! It -might be the hair of a white negress!” Turning to my mother, he -suggested that my head should be entirely shaved, and the hair then -trained as it grew again. “I will think about it,” replied my mother in -an absent-minded way. I turned my head so abruptly to look at her when -she said this that the curling irons burned my forehead. The man was -using the irons to _uncurl_ my hair. He considered that it curled -naturally in such a disordered style that he must get the natural curl -out of it and then wave it, as this would be more becoming to the face. - -“Mademoiselle’s hair is stopped in its growth by this extreme curliness. -All the Tangiers girls and negresses have hair like this. As -mademoiselle is going on the stage, she would look better if she had -hair like madame,” he said, bowing with respectful admiration to my -mother, who certainly had the most beautiful hair imaginable. It was -fair and so long that, when standing up, she could tread on it and not -bend her head. It is only fair to say, though, that my mother was very -short. - -Finally, I was out of the hands of this wretched man, and was nearly -dead with fright after an hour and a half’s brushing, combing, curling, -hairpinning, with my head turned from left to right and from right to -left. I was completely disfigured at the end of it all, and did not -recognize myself. My hair was drawn tightly back from my temples, my -ears were very visible and stood out, looking positively improper in -their nakedness, while on the top of my head was a parcel of little -sausages arranged near each other to imitate the ancient diadem. - -I was perfectly hideous. My forehead, of which I caught a glimpse under -the golden mass of my hair, seemed to me immense, implacable. I did not -recognize my eyes, accustomed as I was to see them veiled by the shadow -of my hair. My head seemed to weigh two or three pounds. I was -accustomed to do my hair as I still do, with two hairpins, and this man -had put five or six packets in it. All this was heavy for my poor head. - -I was late, and so I had to dress very quickly. I cried with anger, and -my eyes grew smaller, my nose larger, and my veins swelled. But it was -the climax when I had to put my hat on. It would not go on the pile of -sausages, and my mother wrapped my head up in a lace scarf and hurried -me to the door. - -On arriving at the _Conservatoire_, I hurried with my _petite dame_ to -the waiting room, while my mother went direct to the hall. When once I -was in the waiting room I tore off the lace, and, seated on a bench, -after relating the Odyssey of my hairdressing, I gave my head up to my -companions. All of them adored and envied my hair, because it was so -soft and light and golden. All of them took pity on my sorrow, and were -touched by my ugliness. Their mothers, however, were spluttering in -their own fat with joy. - -The girls began to take out my hairpins, and one of them, Marie Lloyd, -whom I liked best, took my head in her hands and kissed it -affectionately. - -“Oh, your beautiful hair, what have they done to it!” she exclaimed, -pulling out the last of the hairpins. This sympathy made me once more -burst into tears. - -Finally, I stood up triumphant, without any hairpins and without any -sausages. But my poor hair was heavy with the beef marrow the wretched -man had put on it, and it was full of the partings he had made for the -creation of the sausages. It fell now in mournful-looking, greasy flakes -around my face. I shook my head for five minutes in mad rage. I then -succeeded in making the hair more loose, and I put it up as well as I -could with a couple of hairpins. - -The competition had commenced, and I was the tenth to be called. I could -not remember what I had to say. Mme. Guérard moistened my temples with -cold water, and Mlle. De Brabender, who had only just arrived, did not -recognize me, and was looking about for me everywhere. She had broken -her leg nearly three months ago, and had to support herself on a crutch, -but she had wished to come. - -Mme. Guérard was just beginning to tell her about the drama of the hair -when my name echoed through the room. “Mlle. Chara Bernhardt!” It was -Leautaud, who later on was prompter at the Comédie Française, and who -had a strong Auvergne accent. “Mlle. Chara Bernhardt!” I heard again, -and I then sprang up without an idea in my mind and without uttering a -word. I looked round for the pupil who was to give me my answers, and -together we made our entry. - -I was surprised at the sound of my voice, which I did not recognize. I -had cried so much that it had affected my voice, and I spoke through my -nose. - -I heard a woman’s voice say: - -“Poor child, she ought not to have been allowed to compete; she has an -atrocious cold, her nose is running, and her face is swollen.” - -I finished my scene, made my bow, and went away in the midst of very -feeble and spiritless applause. I walked like a somnambulist, and on -reaching Mme. Guérard and Mlle. De Brabender fainted away in their arms. -Some one went to the hall in search of a doctor, and the rumor that “the -little Bernhardt had fainted” reached my mother. She was sitting far -back in a box bored to death. - -When I came to myself again, I opened my eyes and saw my mother’s pretty -face, with tears hanging on her long lashes. I laid my head against hers -and cried quietly, but this time the tears were refreshing, not salt -ones that burned my eyelids. - -I stood up, shook out my dress, and looked at myself in the greenish -mirror. I was certainly less ugly now, for my face was rested, my hair -was once more soft and light, and altogether there was a general -improvement in my appearance. - -The tragedy competition was over, and the prizes had been awarded. I had -no recompense at all, but my last year’s second prize had been -mentioned. I felt confused, but it did not cause me any disappointment, -as I had quite expected things to be like this. Several persons had -protested in my favor. Camille Doucet, who was a member of the jury, had -argued a long time for me to have a first prize in spite of my bad -recitation. He said that my examination reports ought to be taken into -account, and they were excellent; and then, too, I had the best class -reports. Nothing, however, could overcome the bad effect produced that -day by my nasal voice, my swollen face, and my heavy flakes of hair. -After half an hour’s interval, during which I drank a glass of port wine -and ate cakes, the signal was given for the comedy competition. I was -down as the fourteenth for this, so that I had ample time to recover. My -fighting instinct now began to take possession of me, and a sense of -injustice made me feel rebellious. I had not deserved my prize that day, -but it seemed to me that I ought to have received it nevertheless. - -[Illustration: SARAH BERNHARDT IN THE HANDS OF HER COIFFEUR.] - -I made up my mind that I would have the first prize for comedy, and with -the exaggeration that I have always put into everything, I began to get -excited, and I said to myself that if I did not have the first prize I -must give up the idea of the stage as a career. My love of mysticism and -weakness for the convent came back to me more strongly than ever. - -“Yes,” I said to myself, “I will go back to the convent, but only if I -do not get the first prize”; and then the most foolish, illogical strike -imaginable was waged in my weak, girl’s brain. I felt a genuine vocation -for the convent when distressed about losing the prize, and a genuine -vocation for the theater when I was hopeful about winning the prize. - -With a very natural partiality I discovered in myself the gift of -absolute self-sacrifice, renunciation, and devotion of every -kind—qualities which would win for me easily the post of Mother Superior -in the Grandchamps Convent. Then with the most indulgent generosity I -attributed to myself all the necessary gifts for the fulfillment of my -other dream, namely, to become the first, the most celebrated, and the -most envied of actresses. I counted on my fingers all my qualities: -gracefulness, charm, distinction, beauty, mystery, piquancy. Oh, yes, I -found I had all these, and when my reason and my honesty raised any -doubt or suggested a “but” to this fabulous inventory of my qualities, -my combative and paradoxical _ego_ at once found a plain decisive answer -which admitted of no further argument. - -It was under these special conditions and in this frame of mind that I -went on to the stage when my turn came. The choice of my rôle for this -competition was a very stupid one. I had to represent a married woman -who was reasonable and given to reasoning, and I was a mere child, and -looked much younger than I was. In spite of this, I was very brilliant; -I argued well, was very gay, and had immense success. I was transfigured -with joy and wildly excited, so sure I felt of a first prize. - -I never doubted for a moment that it would be awarded to me unanimously. -When the competition was over, the committee met to discuss the awards, -and in the meantime I asked for something to eat. A cutlet was brought -from the pastry cook patronized by the _Conservatoire_, and I devoured -it, to the great joy of Mme. Guérard and Mlle. De Brabender, for I -detested meat, and always refused to eat it. - -The members of the committee at last went to their places in the state -box, and there was silence in the hall. The young men were called first -on to the stage. There was no first prize awarded to them. Parfouru’s -name was called for the second prize for comedy. Parfouru is known -to-day as M. Paul Porel, director of the Vaudeville Theater, and -Réjane’s husband. After this came the turn for the girls. - -I was in the doorway, ready to rush up to the stage. The words “first -prize for comedy” were uttered, and I made a step forward, pushing aside -a girl who was a head taller than I was. “First prize for comedy awarded -unanimously to Mlle. Marie Lloyd.” The tall girl I had pushed aside now -went forward, slender and beaming, toward the stage. - -There were a few muttered protests, but her beauty, her distinction, and -her modest charm won the day with everyone, and Marie Lloyd was cheered. -She passed me on her return, and kissed me affectionately. We were great -friends, and I liked her very, much, but I considered her a nonentity as -a pupil. I do not remember whether she had received any prize the -previous year, but certainly no one expected her to have one now, and I -was simply petrified. - -“Second prize for comedy: Mlle. Bernhardt.” - -I had not heard this, and was pushed forward by my companions. On -reaching the stage I bowed, and all the time I could see hundreds of -Marie Lloyds dancing before me. Some of them were making grimaces, -others were throwing me kisses—some were fanning themselves and others -bowing. They were very tall, all these Marie Lloyds—too tall for the -ceiling, and they walked over the heads of all the people and came -toward me, crushing me, stifling me, so that I could not breathe. My -face, it seems, was whiter than my dress. - -On returning to the green room, I sat down without uttering a word and -looked at Marie Lloyd, who was being made much of, and who was greatly -complimented by everyone. She was wearing a pale blue tarlatan dress, -with a bunch of forget-me-nots in the bodice and another in her black -hair. She was very tall, and her delicate, white shoulders emerged -modestly from her dress, which was cut very low, as for her this did not -matter. Her refined face, with its somewhat proud expression, was -charming and very beautiful. Although very young, she had more womanly -charm than all of us. Her large brown eyes had a certain play in them, -her little round mouth gave a smile which was full of mischief, and the -nostrils of her wonderfully cut nose dilated. The oval of her beautiful -face was intercepted by two little pearly, transparent ears of the most -exquisite shape. She had a long, flexible white neck, and the pose of -her head was charming. It was a beauty prize that the jury had -conscientiously awarded to Marie Lloyd. She had come on the stage gay -and fascinating, in her rôle of _Célimène_, and in spite of the monotony -of her delivery, the carelessness of her elocution, the impersonality of -her acting, she had carried off all the votes because she was the very -personification of _Célimène_, that coquette of twenty years of age who -was unconsciously so cruel. She had realized for everyone the ideal -dreamed of by Molière. - -All these thoughts shaped themselves later on in my brain, and this -first lesson, which was so painful at the time, was of great service to -me in my career. I never forgot Marie Lloyd’s prize, and every time that -I had to create a rôle, the physical body of the character always -appeared before me dressed, with her hair done, walking, bowing, sitting -down, getting up. But this was only a vision which lasted a second, for -my mind always thought of the soul governing this personage. When -listening to an author reading his work, I tried to define the intention -of his idea, endeavoring to identify myself with that intention. I have -never played an author false with regard to his idea, and I have always -tried to represent the personage according to history, whenever it is a -historical personage, and when it is an invention, according to the -author. - -I have sometimes tried to compel the public to return to the truth, and -to destroy the legendary side of certain personages whom history, thanks -to its documents, now represents to us as they were in reality; but the -public never followed me. I soon realized that legend remains victorious -in spite of history, and this is perhaps a good thing for the mind of -the crowd. Jesus, Joan of Arc, Shakespeare, the Virgin Mary, Mahomet, -and Napoleon I have all entered into legend. - -It is impossible now for our brain to picture Jesus and the Virgin Mary -accomplishing humiliating human functions. They lived the life that we -are living. Death chilled their sacred limbs, and it is not without -rebellion and grief that we accept this fact. We start off in pursuit of -them in an ethereal heaven, in the infinite of our dreams. We cast down -all the dross of humanity in order to let them, clothed in the ideal, be -seated on a throne of love. We do not like Joan of Arc to be the rustic, -bold, peasant woman, repulsing violently the old soldier who wants to -joke with her, sitting astride her big steed like a man, laughing -readily at the coarse jokes of the soldiers, submitting to the lewd -promiscuities of the barbarous epoch in which she lived, and having, on -that account, all the more merit in remaining a most heroic maiden. - -We do not care for such useless truths. In the legend she is a fragile -woman guided by a divine soul. Her girl’s arm which holds the heavy -banner is sustained by an invisible angel. In her childish eyes there is -something from another world, and it is from this that all the warriors -get their strength and courage. It is thus that we wish it to be, and so -the legend remains triumphant. - -But to return to the _Conservatoire_. Nearly all the pupils had gone -away, and I remained quiet and embarrassed on my bench. Marie Lloyd came -and sat down by me. - -“Are you unhappy?” she asked. - -“Yes,” I answered. “I wanted the first prize, and you have it. It is -unjust.” - -“I do not know whether it is just or not,” answered Marie Lloyd, “but I -assure you that it is not my fault.” - -I could not help laughing at this. - -“Shall I come home with you to luncheon?” she asked, and her beautiful -eyes grew moist and beseeching. She was an orphan and unhappy, and on -this day of triumph she felt the need of a family. My heart began to -melt with pity and affection. I threw my arms round her neck, and we all -four went away together—Marie Lloyd, Mme. Guérard, Mlle. De Brabender, -and I. My mother had sent me word that she had gone on home. - -In the cab my “don’t-care” character won the day once more, and we -chatted gayly about one and another of the people we had seen during the -morning. “Oh, how ridiculous such and such a person was!” “Did you see -her mother’s bonnet?” “And old Estebenet, did you see his white gloves? -He must have stolen them from some policeman!” And hereupon we laughed -like idiots, and then began again. “And that poor Châtelain had had his -hair curled!” said Marie Lloyd. “Did you see his head?” - -I did not laugh any more, though, for this reminded me of how my own -hair had been uncurled, and that it was thanks to that I had not won the -first prize for tragedy. - -On reaching home we found my mother, my aunt, my godfather, our old -friend Meydieu, Mme. Guérard’s husband, and my sister Jeanne with her -hair all curled. This gave me a pang, for she had straight hair, and it -had been curled to make her prettier, although she was charming without -that, and the curl had been taken out of my hair, so that I had looked -uglier. - -My mother spoke to Marie Lloyd with that charming and distinguished -indifference peculiar to her. My godfather made a great fuss over her, -for success was everything to this _bourgeois_. He had seen my young -friend a hundred times before, and had not been struck by her beauty, -nor yet touched by her poverty, but on this particular day he assured us -that he had for a long time predicted Marie Lloyd’s triumph. He then -came to me, put his two hands on my shoulders, and held me facing him. - -“Well, you were a failure,” he said. “Why persist now in going in for -the theater? You are thin and small, your face is rather nice close to, -but ugly in the distance, and your voice does not carry!” - -“Yes, my dear girl,” put in M. Meydieu, “your godfather is right. You -had better marry the flour man who proposed, or that imbecile of a -Spanish tanner who lost his brainless head for the sake of your pretty -eyes. You will never do anything on the stage! You’d better marry!” - -M. Guérard came and shook hands with me. He was a man of nearly sixty -years of age, and Mme. Guérard was under thirty. He was melancholy, -gentle, and shy; he had been awarded the distinction of the Legion of -Honor, and he wore a long, shabby frock coat, had aristocratic gestures, -and was private secretary to M. De la Tour Desmoulins, a deputy very -much in favor. M. Guérard was a well of science, and I owe a great deal -to his kindness. - -Jeanne whispered to me: - -“Sister’s godfather said when he came in that you looked as ugly as -possible.” Jeanne always spoke of my godfather in this way. I pushed her -away, and we sat down to table. All through the meal my one wish was to -go back to the convent. I did not eat much, and directly after luncheon -was so tired that I had to go to bed. - -When once I was alone in my room between the sheets, with tired limbs, -my head heavy and my heart oppressed with keeping back my sighs, I tried -to consider my wretched situation, but sleep, the great restorer, came -to the rescue and I was very soon slumbering peacefully. When I awoke I -could not collect my thoughts at first. I wondered what time it was, and -looked at my watch. It was just ten, and I had been asleep since three -o’clock in the afternoon. I listened for a few minutes, but everything -was silent in the house. On a table near my bed was a small tray on -which was a cup of chocolate and a cake. A sheet of writing paper was -placed upright against the cup. I trembled as I took it up, for I never -received any letters. With great difficulty, by my night light, I -managed to read the following words, written by Mme. Guérard: - - “When you had gone to sleep the Duc de Morny sent word to your mother - that Camille Doucet had just assured him that you were to be engaged - for the Comédie Française. Do not worry any more, therefore, my dear - child, but have faith in the future. Your _petite dame_.” - -I pinched myself to make sure that I was really awake. I got up and -rushed to the window. I looked out, and the sky was black. Yes, it was -black to everyone else, but starry to me. The stars were shining, and I -looked for my own special one, and chose the largest and brightest. - -I went back toward my bed and amused myself with jumping on to it, -holding my feet together. Each time I missed I laughed like a lunatic. I -then drank my chocolate, and nearly choked myself devouring my cake. - -Standing up on my bolster, I then made a long speech to the Virgin Mary -at the head of my bed. I adored the Virgin Mary, and I explained to her -my reasons for not being able to take the veil, in spite of my vocation. -I tried to charm and persuade her, and I kissed her very gently on her -foot, which was crushing the serpent. Then in the obscurity of the room -I looked for my mother’s portrait. I could scarcely see this, but I -threw kisses to it. I then took up the letter again from my _petite -dame_ and went to sleep with it in my mind. I do not remember what my -dreams were that memorable night. - -The next day everyone was very kind to me. My godfather, who arrived -early, nodded his head in a contented way. - -“She must have some fresh air,” he said. “I will pay for a landau.” The -drive seemed to me delicious, for I could dream to my heart’s content, -as my mother disliked talking when in a carriage. - -Two days later, our old servant, Marguerite, breathless with excitement, -brought me a letter. On the corner of the envelope there was a wide -stamp around which stood the magic words: “Comédie Française.” I glanced -at my mother and she nodded, as a sign that I might open the letter, -after blaming Marguerite for giving me a letter before obtaining her -permission to do so. - -“It is for to-morrow, to-morrow!” I exclaimed. “I am to go there -to-morrow, look—read it!” - -My sisters came rushing to me and seized my hands. I danced round with -them singing, “It is to-morrow, it’s to-morrow.” My youngest sister was -eight years old, but I was only six that day. I went upstairs to the -flat on the top floor to tell Mme. Guérard. She was just soaping her -children’s white frocks and pinafores. She took my face in her hands and -kissed me affectionately. Her two hands were covered with a soapy lather -and left a snowy patch on each side of my head. I rushed downstairs -again in that condition, and went noisily into the drawing-room. My -godfather, M. Meydieu, my aunt, and my mother were just commencing -whist. I kissed each of them, leaving a little lather on their faces, at -which I laughed heartily. But I was allowed to do anything that day, for -I had become a personage. - -The next day, Tuesday, I was to go to the Théâtre Français at one -o’clock to see M. Thierry, who was then director. - -What was I to wear? That was the great question. My mother had sent for -the milliner, who had arrived with various hats. I chose a white one -trimmed with pale blue, a white _bavolet_ and blue strings. Aunt Rosine -had sent one of her dresses for me, for my mother thought all my frocks -were too childish. Oh, that dress! I shall see it all my life. It was -hideous cabbage green with black velvet put on in Grecian pattern. I -looked like a monkey in that dress. But I was obliged to wear it. -Fortunately it was covered by a mantle of black grosgrain stitched all -round with white. It was thought better for me to be dressed like a -grown-up person, and all my clothes were suitable only for a child. -Mlle. De Brabender gave me a pair of white gloves, and Mme. Guérard a -sunshade. My mother gave me a very pretty turquoise ring. - -Dressed up in this way, looking pretty in my white hat, uncomfortable in -my green dress, but comforted by my mantle, I went with Mme. Guérard to -M. Thierry’s. My aunt lent me her carriage for the occasion, as she -thought it would look better to arrive in a private carriage. Later on I -found that this arrival in my own carriage, with a footman, made a very -bad impression. What all the theater people thought, I never cared to -consider, and it seems to me that my extreme youth must really have -preserved me from all suspicion. - -[Illustration: SARAH BERNHARDT WHEN SHE LEFT THE CONSERVATORY.] - -M. Thierry received me very kindly and made a little nonsensical speech. -He then unfolded a paper, which he handed to Mme. Guérard, asking her to -look at it and then to sign it. This paper was my engagement, and my -_petite dame_ explained that she was not my mother. - -“Ah!” said M. Thierry, getting up, “then will you take it with you and -have it signed by mademoiselle’s mother?” - -He then took my hand. I felt an instinctive horror at the touch of his, -for it was flabby, and there was no life or sincerity in its grasp. I -quickly took mine away and looked at him. He was plain, with a red face, -and eyes that avoided one’s gaze. As I was going away I met Coquelin, -who, hearing I was there, had waited to see me. He had made his début a -year before with great success. - -“Well, it’s settled, then?” he said gayly. - -I showed him the engagement and shook hands with him. I went quickly -down the stairs, and just as I was leaving the theater, found myself in -the midst of a group in the doorway. - -“Are you satisfied?” asked a gentle voice, which I recognized as M. -Doucet’s. - -“Oh, yes, monsieur, thank you so much,” I answered. - -“But my dear child, I have nothing to do with it,” he said. - -“Your competition was not at all good, but nevertheless we count on -you,” put in M. Régnier, and then turning to Camille Doucet he asked: -“What do you think, your Excellency?” - -“I think that this child will be a very great _artiste_,” he replied. - -There was silence for a moment. - -“Well, you have got a turnout!” exclaimed Beauvallet rudely. He was the -first tragedian of the Comédie, and the worst-bred man in France or -anywhere else. - -“This turnout belongs to mademoiselle’s aunt,” remarked Camille Doucet, -shaking hands with me gently. - -“Oh, well, I would much rather it belonged to her than to me,” answered -the tragedian. - -I then stepped into the carriage which had caused such a sensation at -the theater, and drove away. On reaching home I took the engagement to -my mother. She signed it without reading it, and I then fully made up my -mind to be some one, _quand-même_. - -A few days after my engagement at the Comédie Française, my aunt gave a -dinner party. Among her guests were the Duc de Morny, Camille Doucet, -the Minister of the Beaux-Arts, M. De Walewski, Rossini, my mother, -Mlle. De Brabender, and I. During the evening a great many other people -came. My mother had dressed me very elegantly, and it was the first time -I had worn a really low dress. Oh, how uncomfortable I was! Everyone -paid me great attention. Rossini asked me to recite some poetry, and I -consented willingly, glad and proud to be of some little importance. I -chose Casimir Delavigne’s poem “L’âme du Purgatoire.” - -“That should be said with music as an accompaniment,” exclaimed Rossini, -when I came to an end. Everyone approved this idea, and Walewski said: - -“Mademoiselle will begin again and you could improvise an accompaniment, -_cher maître_.” - -There was great excitement, and I at once began again. Rossini -improvised the most delightful harmony, which filled me with emotion. My -tears flowed freely without my being conscious of them, and at the end -my mother kissed me, saying: “This is the first time that you have -really moved me.” - -As a matter of fact, she adored music, and it was Rossini’s -improvisation that had moved her. - -The Comte de Kératry was also present, an elegant young Hussar, who paid -me great compliments, and invited me to go and recite some poetry at his -mother’s house. - -My aunt then sang a song which was very much in vogue, and had great -success. She was coquettish and charming and just a trifle jealous of -this insignificant niece who had taken up the attention of her admirers -for a few minutes. - -When I returned home I was quite another being. I sat down, dressed as I -was, on my bed and remained for a long time deep in thought. Hitherto -all I had known of life had been through my family and my work. I had -now just had a glimpse of it through society, and I was struck by the -hypocrisy of some of the people, and the conceit of others. I began to -wonder uneasily what I should do, shy and frank as I was. I thought of -my mother. She did not do anything, though. She was indifferent to -everything. I thought of my Aunt Rosine, who, on the contrary, liked to -mix in everything. - -I remained there looking down on the ground, my head in a whirl, and -feeling very anxious, and I did not go to bed until I was thoroughly -cold. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - I MAKE MY DÉBUT AND EXIT - - -The next few days passed by without any particular events. I was working -hard at _Iphigénie_, as M. Thierry had told me I was to make my début in -this rôle. - -At the end of August I received a notice requesting me to be at the -rehearsal of _Iphigénie_. Oh, that first notice, how it made my heart -beat! I could not sleep at night, and daylight did not come quickly -enough for me. I kept getting up to look at the time. It seemed to me -that the clock had stopped. I had dozed, and I fancied it was the same -time as before. Finally, a streak of light coming through the -windowpanes was, I thought, the triumphant sun illuminating my room. I -got up at once, pulled back the curtains, and mumbled my rôle while -dressing. - -I thought of rehearsing with Mme. Devoyod, the first actress at the -Comédie Française for tragedy, with Maubant, with ... I trembled as I -thought of all this, for Mme. Devoyod was not supposed to be very -indulgent. I arrived for the rehearsal an hour before the time. The -stage manager, Davenne, smiled and asked me whether I knew my rôle. - -“Oh, yes!” I exclaimed with conviction. - -“Come and rehearse it. Would you like to?” and he took me to the stage. - -I went with him through the long corridor of busts which leads from the -_foyer_ of the _artistes_ to the stage. He told me the names of the -celebrities represented by these busts. I stood still a moment before -that of Adrienne Lecouvreur. - -“I love that _artiste_,” I said. - -“Do you know her story?” he asked. - -“Yes, I have read all that has been written about her.” - -“That’s quite right, my child,” said the worthy man. “You ought to read -all that concerns your art. I will lend you some very interesting -books.” - -He took me on toward the stage. The mysterious gloom, the scenery reared -up like fortifications, the bareness of the floor, the endless number of -weights, ropes, trees, friezes, harrows overhead, the yawning house -completely dark, the silence, broken by the creaking of the floor, and -the vaultlike chill that one felt—all this together awed me. It did not -seem to me to be part of that brilliant frame for the living _artistes_ -who every night won the applause of the house by their merriment or -their sobs. No, I felt as though I were in the tomb of dead glories, and -the stage seemed to me to be getting crowded with the illustrious ghosts -of those whom the manager had just mentioned. With my highly strung -nerves, my imagination, which was always evoking something, now saw them -advance toward me, stretching out their hands. These specters wanted to -take me away with them. I put my hands over my eyes and stood still. - -“Are you not well?” asked M. Davenne. - -“Oh, yes, thank you, it was just a little giddiness.” - -His voice had chased away the specters, and I opened my eyes and paid -attention to the worthy man’s advice. Book in hand, he explained to me -where I was to stand, and my changes of place. He was rather pleased -with my way of reciting, and he taught me a few of the traditions. At -the line: - -“_Euripide à l’autel, conduisez la victime_,” he said: “Mlle. Favart was -very effective there....” - -The _artistes_ gradually began to arrive, grumbling more or less. They -glanced at me, and then rehearsed their scenes without taking any -further notice of me at all. - -I felt inclined to cry, but I was more vexed than anything else. I heard -a few words that sounded to me coarse, used by one or another of the -_artistes_. I was not accustomed to such language, as at home everyone -was rather scrupulous, and at my aunt’s a trifle affected, while at the -convent it is unnecessary to say I had never heard a word that was out -of place. It is true that I had been through the _Conservatoire_, but I -had not associated intimately with any of the pupils, with the exception -of Marie Lloyd and Rose Baretta, the elder sister of Blanche Baretta, -who is now an associate of the Comédie Française. - -When the rehearsal was over, it was decided that there should be another -one at the same hour the following day, in the public _foyer_. - -The costume maker came in search of me, as she wanted to try on my -costume. Mlle. De Brabender, who had arrived during the rehearsal, went -up with me to the costume room. She wanted my arms to be covered, but -the costume maker told her gently that this was impossible for tragedy. - -A dress of white woolen material was tried on me. It was very ugly, and -the veil was so stiff that I refused it. A wreath of roses was tried on, -but this, too, was so ugly that I refused to wear it. - -“Well, then, mademoiselle,” said the costume maker dryly, “you will have -to get these things and pay for them yourself, as this is the costume -supplied by the Comédie.” - -“Very well,” I answered, blushing, “I will get them myself.” - -On returning home I told my mother my troubles, and, as she was always -very generous, she promptly bought me a veil of white _barège_ that fell -in beautiful, large, soft folds, and a wreath of hedge roses which, at -night, looked very soft and white. She also ordered me buskins from the -shoemaker employed by the Comédie. - -The next thing to think about was the make-up box. For this my mother -had recourse to the mother of Dica Petit, my fellow student at the -_Conservatoire_. I went with Mme. Dica Petit to M. Massin, a -manufacturer of these make-up boxes. He was the father of Léontine -Massin, another _Conservatoire_ pupil. - -We went up to the sixth floor of a house in the Rue Réamur, and on a -plain-looking door read the words: “Massin, Manufacturer of Make-up -Boxes.” I knocked and a little hunchback girl opened the door. I -recognized Léontine’s sister, as she had come several times to the -_Conservatoire_. - -“Oh,” she exclaimed, “what a surprise for us! Titine,” she then called -out, “here is Mlle. Sarah!” - -Léontine Massin came running out of the next room. She was a pretty -girl, very gentle and calm in demeanor. She threw her arms round me, -exclaiming: - -“How glad I am to see you! And so you are coming out at the Comédie. I -saw it in the paper.” - -I blushed up to my ears at the idea of being mentioned in the paper. - -“I am engaged at the Variétés,” she said, and then she talked away at -such a rate that I was bewildered. Mme. Petit did not enter into all -this, and tried in vain to separate us. She had replied by a nod and an -indifferent “Thanks” to Léontine’s inquiries about her daughter’s -health. Finally, when the young girl had finished saying all she had to -say, Mme. Petit remarked: - -“You must order your box; we have come here for that, you know.” - -“Ah! then you will find my father in his workshop at the end of the -passage, and if you are not very long I shall still be here. I am going -to rehearsal at the Variétés later on.” - -Mme. Petit was furious, for she did not like Léontine Massin. - -“Don’t wait, mademoiselle,” she said, “it will be impossible for us to -stay afterwards.” - -Léontine was annoyed, and, shrugging her shoulders, she turned her back -on my companion. She then put her hat on, kissed me, and bowing gravely -to Mme. Petit, remarked: - -“Good-by, Mme. _Gros-tas_, and I hope I shall never see you again.” She -then ran off, laughing merrily. I heard Mme. Petit mutter a few -disagreeable words in Dutch, but I did not understand the meaning of -them at the time. We then went to the workshop and found old Massin at -his workbench, planing some small planks of white wood. His hunchback -daughter kept coming in and out, humming gayly all the time. The father -was glum and harassed, and had an anxious look. As soon as we had -ordered the box we took our leave. Mme. Petit went out first and -Léontine’s sister then put her hand into mine and said quietly: - -“Father was not very polite, but it is because he is jealous. He wanted -my sister to be at the Théâtre Français.” - -I was rather disturbed by this confidence, and I had a vague idea of the -painful drama which was acting so differently on the various members of -this humble home. - -On September 1, 1862, the day I was to make my début, I was in the Rue -Duphot looking at the theatrical posters. They used to be put up then -just at the corner of the Rue Duphot and the Rue St. Honoré. On the -poster of the Comédie Française I read the words: “Début of Mlle. Sarah -Bernhardt.”... I have no idea how long I stood there, fascinated by the -letters of my name, but I remember that it seemed to me as though every -person who stopped to read the poster looked at me afterwards, and I -blushed to the very roots of my hair. - -At five o’clock I went to the theater. I had a dressing-room on the top -floor which I shared with Mlle. Coblance. This room was on the other -side of the Rue de Richelieu, in a house rented by the Comédie -Française. A small covered bridge over the street served as a passage -and means of communication for us to reach the theater. - -I was a tremendously long time dressing, and did not know whether I -looked nice or not. My _petite dame_ thought I was too pale, and Mlle. -De Brabender considered that I had too much color. My mother was to go -direct to her seat in the theater, and Aunt Rosine was away in the -country. - -When we were told that the play was about to commence I broke out into a -cold perspiration from head to foot, and felt ready to faint away. I -went downstairs trembling, tottering, and my teeth chattering. When I -arrived on the stage the curtain was being raised. That curtain, which -was raised so slowly and solemnly, was, to me, like the veil being torn -which was to let me have a glimpse of my future. A deep, gentle voice -made me turn round. It was Provost, my first professor, who had come to -encourage me. I greeted him warmly, so glad was I to see him again. -Samson was there, too; I believe that he was playing that night in one -of Molière’s comedies. The two men were very different. Provost was -tall, his silvery hair was blown about, and he had a droll face. Samson -was small, precise, dainty, his shiny white hair curled firmly and -closely round his head. Both men had been moved by the same sentiment of -protection for the poor, fragile, nervous girl, who was, nevertheless, -so full of hope. Both of them knew my zeal for work, my obstinate will, -which was always struggling for the victory over my physical weakness. -They knew that my device “_Quand-même_” had not been adopted by me -merely by chance, but that it was the outcome of a deliberate exercise -of will power on my part. My mother had told them how I had chosen this -device at the age of nine, after a formidable jump over a ditch which no -one could jump, and which my young cousin had dared me to attempt. I had -hurt my face, broken my wrist, and was in pain all over. While I was -being carried home I exclaimed furiously: “Yes, I would do it again, -_quand-même_, if anyone dared me again. And I will always do what I want -to do all my life.” In the evening of that day, my aunt, who was grieved -to see me in such pain, asked me what would give me any pleasure. My -poor little body was all bandaged, but I jumped with joy at this, and -quite consoled I whispered in a coaxing way: “I should like to have some -writing paper with a motto of my own.” - -My mother asked me rather slyly what my motto was. I did not answer for -a minute, and then, as they were all waiting quietly, I uttered such a -furious “_Quand-même_” that my Aunt Faure started back muttering, “What -a terrible child!” - -Samson and Provost reminded me of this story in order to give me -courage; but my ears were buzzing so that I could not listen to them. -Provost heard my catchword on the stage and pushed me gently forward. I -made my entry and hurried toward _Agamemnon_, my father. I did not want -to leave him again, as I felt I must have some one to hold on to. I then -rushed to my mother, _Clytemnestre_. I got through my part, and on -leaving the stage I tore up to my room and began to undress. - -Mme. Guérard was terrified, and asked me if I was mad. I had only played -in one scene and there were four more. I realized then that it would -really be dangerous to give way to my nerves. I had recourse to my own -motto, and, standing in front of the glass gazing into my own eyes, I -ordered myself to be calm and to conquer myself, and my nerves, in a -state of confusion, yielded to my brain. I got through the play, but was -very insignificant in my part. - -The next morning my mother sent for me early. She had been looking at -Sarcey’s article in _L’Opinion Nationale_, and she now read me the -following lines.... “Mlle. Bernhardt, who made her début yesterday in -the rôle of _Iphigénie_, is a tall, pretty girl with a slender figure -and a very pleasing expression, the upper part of her face is remarkably -beautiful. She holds herself well, and her enunciation is perfectly -clear. This is all that can be said for her at present.” - -“The man is an idiot,” said my mother, drawing me to her. “You were -charming.” - -She then prepared a little cup of coffee for me, and made it with cream. -I was happy, but not completely so. When my godfather arrived in the -afternoon, he exclaimed: - -“Good heavens! my poor child, what thin arms you have!” - -As a matter of fact, people had laughed, and I had heard them, when, -stretching out my arms, I had said the famous lines in which Favart had -made her famous “effect” that was now a tradition. I certainly had made -no “effect,” unless the smiles caused by my long, thin arms can be -reckoned such. - -My second appearance was in _Valérie_, when I did have some slight -success. - -My third appearance at the Comédie resulted in the following effusion -from the pen of the same Sarcey: - -[Illustration: SARAH BERNHARDT AT THE TIME OF HER DÉBUT IN “LES FEMMES -SAVANTES.”] - -_L’Opinion Nationale_, September 12th.... “The same evening ‘Les Femmes -Savantes’ was given. This was Mlle. Bernhardt’s third appearance, and -she took the rôle of _Henriette_. She was just as pretty and -insignificant in this as in that of _Junie_ (he had made a mistake, as -it was _Iphigénie_ I had played) and of _Valérie_, both of which rôles -had been entrusted to her previously. This performance was a very poor -affair, and gives rise to reflections by no means gay. That Mlle. -Bernhardt should be insignificant does not so much matter. She is a -débutante, and among the number presented to us it is only natural that -some should be failures. The pitiful part is, though, that the comedians -playing with her were not much better than she was, and they are -_Sociétaires_ of the Théâtre Français. All that they had more than their -young comrade was a greater familiarity with the boards. They are just -as Mlle. Bernhardt may be in twenty years’ time, if she stays at the -Comédie Française.” - -I did not stay there, though; for one of those nothings which change a -whole life changed mine. I had entered the Comédie expecting to remain -there always. I had heard my godfather explain to my mother all about -the various stages of my career. - -“The child will have so much during the first five years,” he said, “and -so much afterwards, and then at the end of thirty years she will have -the pension given to Associates, that is, if she ever becomes an -Associate.” He appeared to have his doubts about this. - -My sister Régina was the cause, though quite involuntarily this time, of -the drama which made me leave the Comédie. It was Molière’s anniversary, -and all the _artistes_ of the Français had to salute the bust of the -great writer, according to the tradition of the theater. It was to be my -first appearance at a “ceremony” and my little sister, on hearing me -tell about it at home, besought me to take her to it. - -My mother gave me permission to do so, and our old Marguerite was to -accompany us. All the members of the Comédie were assembled in the -_foyer_. The men and women, dressed in different costumes, all wore the -famous doctor’s cloak. The signal was given that the ceremony was about -to commence, and everyone hurried to the corridor where the busts were. -I was holding my little sister’s hand, and just in front of us was the -very fat and very solemn Mme. Nathalie. She was a _Sociétaire_ of the -Comédie, old, spiteful, and surly. - -Régina, in trying to avoid the train of Marie Roger’s cloak, stepped on -to Nathalie’s, and the latter turned round and gave the child such a -violent push that she was knocked against a column holding a bust. -Régina screamed out, and, as she turned back to me, I saw that her -pretty face was bleeding. - -“You miserable creature!” I called out to the fat woman, and, as she -turned round to reply, I slapped her in the face. She proceeded to -faint; there was a great tumult, and an uproar of indignation, approval, -stifled laughter, satisfied revenge, pity from those _artistes_ who were -mothers, for the poor child, etc. Two groups were formed, one around the -wretched Nathalie, who was still in her swoon, and the other around -little Régina. And the different aspect of these two groups was rather -strange. Around Nathalie were cold, solemn-looking men and women fanning -the fat, helpless lump with their handkerchiefs or fans. A young, but -severe-looking _Sociétaire_ was sprinkling her with drops of water. -Nathalie, on feeling this, roused up suddenly, put her hands over her -face and muttered in a far-away voice: - -“How stupid! You’ll spoil my make-up!” - -The younger men were stooping over Régina, washing her pretty face, and -the child was saying in her broken voice: - -“I did not do it on purpose, sister, I am certain I didn’t. She’s an old -cow, and she just kicked for nothing at all!” - -Régina was a fair-haired seraph who might have made the angels envious, -for she had the most ideal and poetical beauty—but her language was by -no means choice, and nothing in the world could change it. Her coarse -speech made the friendly group burst out laughing, while all the members -of the enemy’s camp shrugged their shoulders. Bressant, who was the most -charming of the comedians and a general favorite, came up to me and -said: - -“We must arrange this little matter, mademoiselle, for Nathalie’s short -arms are really very long. Between ourselves you were a trifle hasty, -but I like that, and then that child is so droll and pretty,” he added, -looking at my little sister. - -The house was stamping with impatience, for this little scene had caused -twenty minutes’ delay, and we were obliged to go on to the stage at -once. Marie Roger kissed me, saying: “You are a plucky little comrade!” -Rose Baretta drew me to her, murmuring: “How dared you do it! She is a -_Sociétaire_!” - -As for me, I was not very clear about what I had done, but my instinct -warned me that I should pay dearly for it. - -The following day I received a letter from the manager asking me to call -at the Comédie at one o’clock about a matter concerning me privately. I -had been crying all night long, more through nervous excitement than -from remorse, and I was more particularly annoyed at the idea of the -attacks I should have to endure from my own family. I did not let my -mother see the letter, for from the day that I had entered the Comédie -she had given me full liberty. I received my letters now direct, without -her supervision, and I went about alone. - -At one o’clock precisely I was shown into the manager’s office. M. -Thierry, his nose more congested than ever, and his eyes more crafty, -preached me a deadly sermon, blamed my want of discipline, absence of -respect, and scandalous conduct, and finished his pitiful harangue by -advising me to beg Mme. Nathalie’s pardon. - -“I have asked her to come,” he added, “and you must apologize to her -before three _Sociétaires_ belonging to the Committee. Is she consents -to forgive you the Committee will then consider whether to fine you or -to cancel your engagement.” - -I did not reply for a few minutes. I thought of my mother in distress, -my godfather laughing in his bourgeois way, and my Aunt Faure -triumphant, with her usual phrase: “That child is terrible!” I thought, -too, of my beloved Brabender with her hands clasped, her mustache -drooping sadly, her small eyes full of tears, so touching in their mute -supplication. I could hear my gentle, timid Mme. Guérard arguing with -everyone, so courageous she was always in her confidence in my future. - -“Well, mademoiselle?” said M. Thierry curtly. - -I looked at him without speaking and he began to get impatient. - -“I will go and ask Mme. Nathalie to come here,” he said, “and I beg you -will do your part as quickly as possible, for I have other things to -attend to than to put your blunders right.” - -“Oh, no, do not fetch Mme. Nathalie,” I said at last, “I shall not -apologize to her. I will leave. I will cancel my engagement at once.” - -He was stupefied, and his arrogance melted away in pity for the -ungovernable, willful child who was about to ruin her whole future for -the sake of a question of self-esteem. He was at once gentler and more -polite. He asked me to sit down, which he had not hitherto done, and he -sat down himself opposite to me and spoke to me gently about the -advantages of the Comédie, and of the danger that there would be for me -in leaving that illustrious theater which had done me the honor of -admitting me. He gave me a hundred other very good, wise reasons which -softened me. When he saw the effect he had made, he wanted to send for -Mme. Nathalie, but I roused up then like a little wild animal. - -“Oh, don’t let her come here, I should slap her again!” I exclaimed. - -“Well, then, I must ask your mother to come,” he said. - -“My mother would never come,” I replied. - -“Then I will go and call on her.” - -“It will be quite useless,” I persisted, “my mother has given me my -liberty, and I am quite free to lead my own life. I alone am responsible -for all that I do.” - -“Well, then, mademoiselle, I will think it over,” he said rising to show -me that the interview was at an end. I went back home determined to say -nothing to my mother, but my little sister when questioned about her -wound had told everything in her own way, exaggerating, if possible, the -brutality of Mme. Nathalie and the audacity of what I had done. Rosa -Baretta, too, had been to see me and had burst into tears, assuring my -mother that my engagement would be canceled. The whole family was very -much excited and distressed when I arrived, and when they began to argue -with me it made me still more nervous. I did not take calmly the -reproaches which one and another of them addressed to me, and I was not -at all willing to follow their advice. I went to my room and locked -myself in. - -The following day no one spoke to me and I went up to Mme. Guérard to be -comforted and consoled. - -Several days passed by and I had nothing to do at the theater. Finally, -one morning, I received a notice requesting me to be present for the -reading of a play. It was “Dolorès,” by M. De Bornier. This was the -first time I had been asked to the reading of a new piece. I was -evidently to have the creation of a rôle. All my sorrows were at once -dispersed like a cloud of butterflies. I told my mother of my joy, and -she naturally concluded that as I was asked to go to a reading, my -engagement was not to be canceled and I was not to be asked again to -apologize to Mme. Nathalie. - -I went to the theater, and to my utter surprise I received from M. -Davennes the rôle of _Dolorès_, the chief part in Bornier’s play. I knew -that Favart, who should have had this rôle, was not well, but there were -other _artistes_ for it, and I could not get over my joy and surprise. -Nevertheless, I felt somewhat uneasy. A terrible presentiment has always -warned me of any troubles about to come upon me. - -I had been rehearsing for five days when one morning, on going upstairs, -I suddenly found myself face to face with Nathalie, seated under -Gérôme’s portrait of Rachel, known as “The Red Pimento.” I did not know -whether to go downstairs again or to pass by. My hesitation was noticed -by the spiteful woman. - -“Oh, you can go by, mademoiselle,” she said. “I have forgiven you, as I -have avenged myself. The rôle that you like so much is not to be left to -you after all.” - -I went by without uttering a word. I was thunderstruck by her speech, -which I guessed would prove true. - -I did not mention this incident to anyone, but continued rehearsing. It -was on Tuesday that Nathalie had spoken to me, and on Friday I was -disappointed to hear that Davennes was not there and that there was to -be no rehearsal. Just as I was getting into my cab the hall porter ran -out to give me a letter from Davennes. The poor man had not ventured to -come himself and give me the news, which he was sure would be so painful -to me. - -He explained to me in his letter that on account of my extreme youth—the -importance of the rôle—such responsibility for such young shoulders—as -Mme. Favart had recovered from her illness, it was wiser, etc. I -finished reading the letter through blinding tears, but very soon anger -took the place of grief. I rushed back again and up to the manager’s -office. He could not see me just then, but I said I would wait. At the -end of an hour, thoroughly impatient, taking no notice of the office boy -and the secretary, who wanted to prevent my entering, I opened the door -of M. Thierry’s office and walked in. I was desperate, and all that -anger with injustice and fury with falsehood could inspire me with, I -let him have in a stream of eloquence only interrupted by my sobs. The -manager gazed at me in bewilderment. He could not conceive of such -daring and such violence in a girl so young. - -When at last, thoroughly exhausted, I sank down on an armchair, he tried -to calm me, but all in vain. - -“I will leave at once,” I said. “Give me back my engagement and I will -send you back mine.” - -Finally, tired of argument and persuasion, he called his secretary in, -gave him the necessary orders, and the latter soon brought in my -engagement. - -“Here is your mother’s signature, mademoiselle. I leave you free to -bring it me back within forty-eight hours. After that time if I do not -receive it I shall consider that you are no longer a member of the -theater. But, believe me, you are acting unwisely. Think it over within -the next forty-eight hours.” - -I did not answer but went out of his office. That very evening I sent -back to M. Thierry the engagement bearing his signature and tore up the -one with that of my mother. - -I had left Molière’s Theater and was not to re-enter it until twelve -years later. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - CASTLES IN SPAIN - - -This proceeding of mine was certainly violently decisive, and it -completely upset my home life. I was not happy from this time forth -among my own people, as I was continually being blamed for my violence. -Irritating remarks with a double meaning were constantly being made by -my aunt and my little sisters. My godfather, whom I had once for all -requested to mind his own business, no longer dared to attack me openly, -but he influenced my mother against me. There was no longer any peace -for me except at Mme. Guerard’s, and so I was constantly with her. I -enjoyed helping her in her domestic affairs. She taught me to make -cakes, chocolate, and scrambled eggs. All this gave me something else to -think about, and I soon recovered my gayety. - -One morning there was something very mysterious about my mother. She -kept looking at the clock and seemed uneasy because my godfather, who -lunched and dined with us every day, had not arrived. - -“It’s very strange,” my mother said, “for last night after whist he said -he should be with us this morning before luncheon. It’s very strange -indeed.” - -She was usually calm, but she kept coming in and out of the room, and -when Marguerite put her head in at the door to ask whether she should -serve the luncheon, my mother told her to wait. - -Finally, the bell rang, startling my mother and Jeanne. My little sister -was evidently in the secret. - -“Well, it’s settled!” exclaimed my godfather, shaking the snow from his -hat. “Here, read that, you self-willed girl.” - -He handed me a letter stamped with the words “_Théâtre du Gymnase_.” It -was from Montigny, the manager at this theater, to M. De Gerbois, a -friend of my godfather’s, whom I knew very well. The letter was very -friendly, as far as M. De Gerbois was concerned, but it finished with -the following words: “I will engage your _protégée_ in order to be -agreeable to you ... but she appears to me to have a vile temper.” - -I blushed as I read these lines and I thought my godfather was wanting -in tact, as he might have given me real delight and avoided wounding me -in this way; but he was the clumsiest-minded man that ever lived. My -mother seemed very much pleased, so that I kissed her pretty face, and -thanked my godfather. Oh, how I loved kissing that pearly face, which -was always so cool, and always slightly dewy! When I was a little child -I used to ask her to play at butterfly on my cheeks with her long -lashes, and she would put her face close to mine and open and shut her -eyes, tickling my cheeks while I lay back breathless with delight. - -The following day I went to the Gymnase. I was kept waiting for some -little time, together with about fifty other girls. M. Monval, a cynical -old man who was stage manager and almost general manager, then -interviewed us. I liked him at first, because he was like M. Guérard, -but I very soon disliked him. His way of looking at me, of speaking to -me, and of taking stock of me generally, roused my ire at once. I -answered his questions curtly and our conversation, which seemed likely -to take an aggressive turn, was cut short by the arrival of M. Montigny, -the manager. - -“Which of you is Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt?” he asked. - -I at once rose and he continued: - -“Will you come into my office, mademoiselle?” - -Montigny had been an actor, and was plump and good-humored. He appeared -to be somewhat infatuated with his own personality, with his _ego_, but -that did not matter to me. After some friendly conversation, he preached -a little to me about my outburst at the Comédie and made me a great many -promises about the rôles he should give me. He prepared my engagement -and gave it to me to take home for my mother’s signature and that of my -family. - -“I am quite free,” I said to him, “so that my own signature is all that -is required.” - -“Oh, very good!” he said, “but what nonsense to give such a self-willed -girl full liberty. Your parents did not do you a good turn by that.” - -I was just on the point of replying that what my parents chose to do did -not concern him, but I held my peace, signed the engagement, and hurried -home feeling very joyful. - -Montigny kept his word at first. He let me understudy Victoria -Lafontaine, a young _artiste_ very much in vogue just then, who had the -most delightful talent. I played in “La Maison sans Enfants,” and I took -her rôle at a moment’s notice in “Le Démon du Jeu,” a piece which had -great success. I was fairly good in both pieces, but Montigny, in spite -of my entreaties, never came to see me in them, and the spiteful stage -manager played me various tricks. I used to feel a sullen anger stirring -within me and I struggled with myself as much as possible to keep my -nerves calm. - -One evening, on leaving the theater, a notice was handed to me -requesting me to be present at the reading of a play the following day. -Montigny had promised me a good rôle, and I fell asleep that night -lulled by fairies who carried me off into the land of glory and success. -On arriving at the theater I found Blanche Pierson and Céline Montalant -already there. Two of the prettiest creatures that God has been pleased -to create, the one as fair as the rising sun, and the other as dark as a -starry night, for she was brilliant looking in spite of her black hair. -There were other women there, too, very, very pretty ones. - -The play to be read was entitled, “Un Mari qui Lance sa Femme,” and it -was by Raymond Deslandes. I listened to it without any great pleasure -and I thought it stupid. I waited anxiously to see what rôle was to be -given to me, and I discovered this only too soon. It was a certain -_Princess Dimchinka_, a frivolous, foolish, laughing individual, who was -always eating or dancing. I did not like this rôle at all. I was very -inexperienced on the stage and my timidity made me rather awkward. Then, -too, I had not worked for three years with such persistency and -conviction to create now the rôle of an idiotic woman in an imbecile -play. I was in despair, and the wildest ideas came into my head. I -wanted to give up the stage and go into business. I spoke of this to our -old family friend, Meydieu, who was so unbearable. He approved of my -idea, and wanted me to take a shop, a confectioner’s, on the Boulevard -des Italiens. This became a fixed idea with the worthy man. He loved -sweets himself, and he knew lots of recipes for kinds that were not -generally known, and which he wanted to introduce. I remember one kind -that he wanted to call “_bonbon nègre_.” It was a mixture of chocolate -and essence of coffee to be rolled into grilled licorice root. It was -like black _praline_ and was extremely good. I was very persistent in -this idea at first, and went with Meydieu to look at a shop, but when he -showed me the little flat over it where I should have to live, it upset -me so much that I gave up forever the idea of business. - -I went every day to the rehearsal of the stupid piece and was -bad-tempered all the time. Finally, the first performance took place, -and my part was neither a success nor a failure. I simply was not -noticed, and at night my mother remarked: - -“My poor child, you were ridiculous in your Russian princess rôle and I -was very much grieved!” - -I did not answer at all, but I should honestly have liked to kill -myself. I slept very badly that night and toward six in the morning I -rushed up to Mme. Guérard’s. I asked her to give me some laudanum, but -she refused. When she saw that I really wanted it, the poor, dear woman -understood my idea. - -“Well, then,” I said, “swear by your children that you will not tell -anyone what I am going to do, and then I will not kill myself.” - -A sudden idea had just come into my mind, and without weighing it, I -wanted to carry it out at once. She promised, and I then told her that I -should go at once to Spain, as I had wanted to see that country for a -long time. - -“Go to Spain!” she exclaimed. “With whom, and when?” - -“With the money I have saved,” I answered, “and this very morning. -Everyone is asleep at home. I shall go and pack my trunk and start at -once with you!” - -“No, no, I cannot go!” exclaimed Mme. Guérard, nearly beside herself. -“There is my husband to think of and, then, too, I have my children.” - -Her little girl was scarcely two years old at that time. - -“Well, then, _ma petite dame_, find me some one to go with me.” - -“I do not know anyone,” she answered, crying in her excitement. “My dear -little Sarah, give up such an idea, I beseech you.” - -But by this time it was a fixed idea with me and I was very determined -about it. I went downstairs, packed my trunk, and then returned to Mme. -Guérard’s. I had wrapped up a pewter fork in paper and this I threw -against one of the panes of glass in a skylight window opposite. The -window was opened abruptly and the sleepy, angry face of a young woman -appeared. I made a trumpet of my two hands and called out: - -“Caroline, will you start with me at once to Spain?” - -The bewildered expression on the young woman’s face showed that she had -not comprehended what I had said, but she replied at once: - -“I am coming, mademoiselle.” She then closed her window and ten minutes -later Caroline was tapping at the door. Mme. Guérard had sunk down -aghast in an armchair. M. Guérard had asked several times from his -bedroom what was going on. - -“Sarah is here,” his wife had replied; “I will tell you later on.” - -Caroline did dressmaking by the day at Mme. Guérard’s and she had -offered her services to me as lady’s maid. She was agreeable and rather -daring, and she now accepted my offer at once. But as it would not do to -arouse the suspicions of the _concierge_ it was decided that I should -take her dresses in my trunk, and that she should put her linen into a -bag that _ma petite dame_ should lend her. Poor, dear Mme. Guérard had -given in. She was quite conquered and soon began to help in my -preparations, which certainly did not take me long. The next thing was -that I did not know how to get to Spain. - -“You go through Bordeaux,” said Mme. Guérard. - -“Oh, no!” exclaimed Caroline, “my brother-in-law is a skipper and he -often goes to Spain by Marseilles.” - -I had saved nine hundred francs and Mme. Guérard lent me six hundred. It -was perfectly mad, but I felt ready to conquer the world and nothing -would have induced me to give up my plan. Then, too, it seemed to me as -though I had been wishing to see Spain for a long time. I had got it -into my head that my Fate willed it, that I must obey my star, and a -hundred other ideas, each one more foolish than the other, strengthened -me in my plan. I was destined to act in this way, I thought. - -I went downstairs again. The door was still ajar. With Caroline’s help I -carried the empty trunk up to Mme. Guérard’s, and Caroline emptied my -wardrobe and drawers and then packed the trunk. I shall never forget -that delightful moment. It seemed to me as though the world was about to -be mine. I was going to start off with a woman to wait on me. I was -about to travel alone, with no one to criticise what I decided to do. I -should see an unknown country about which I had dreamed, and I should -cross the sea. Oh, how happy I was! Twenty times I must have gone up and -down the staircase which separated our two flats. Everyone was asleep -and the flat was so constructed that not a sound of our going in and out -could reach my mother. I could go through the kitchen from my bedroom -without any difficulty. - -My trunk was at last strapped, Caroline’s valise fastened, and my little -bag crammed full. I was quite ready to start, but the fingers of the -clock had moved along by this time, and to my horror I discovered that -it was eight o’clock. Marguerite would be going down from her bedroom at -the top of the house to prepare my mother’s coffee, my chocolate, and -bread and milk for my sisters. In a fit of despair and wild -determination I kissed Mme. Guérard with such violence as almost to -stifle her and rushed once more to my room to get my little Virgin Mary -which went with me everywhere. I threw a hundred kisses to my mother’s -room, and then, with wet eyes and a joyful heart went downstairs. My -_petite dame_ had asked the man who polished the floors to take the -trunk and valise down, and Caroline had fetched a cab. I went like a -whirlwind past the _concierge’s_ door. She had her back turned toward me -and was sweeping the floor. I sprang into the cab and the driver whipped -up his horse. I was on my way to Spain. I had written an affectionate -letter to my mother begging her to forgive me and not to be grieved. I -had written a stupid letter of explanation to Montigny, the manager of -the Gymnase Theater. The letter did not explain anything though. It was -written by a child whose brain was certainly a little affected, and I -finished up with these words: “Have pity on a poor, crazy girl.” - -Sardou told me later on that he happened to be in Montigny’s office when -he received my letter. - -“I had been talking to Montigny for over an hour,” he said, “about a -piece I was going to write. The conversation was very animated, and when -the door was opened Montigny exclaimed in a fury: ‘I had given orders -that I was not to be disturbed!’ He was somewhat appeased, however, on -seeing old Monval’s troubled look and he knew there was some urgent -matter. ‘Oh, what’s happened now?’ he asked, taking the letter that the -old stage manager held out to him. On recognizing my paper, with its -gray border, he said: ‘Oh, it’s from that mad child! Is she ill?’” - -“No,” said Monval, “she has gone to Spain.” - -“She can go to the deuce!” exclaimed Montigny. “Send for Mme. Dieudonnée -to take her part. Bernhardt has a good memory, and half the rôle must be -cut. That will settle it.” - -“Any trouble for to-night?” Sardou asked Montigny. - -“Oh, nothing,” he answered. “It is that little Sarah Bernhardt who has -cleared off to Spain!” - -“That girl from the Français who boxed Nathalie’s ears?” - -“Yes.” - -“She’s rather amusing.” - -“Yes, but not for her managers,” remarked Montigny, continuing -immediately afterwards the conversation which had been interrupted. - -This is exactly as Victorien Sardou related the incident. - - -On arriving at Marseilles, Caroline went to get information about the -journey. The result was that we embarked on an abominable trading boat, -a dirty coaster smelling of oil and stale fish, a perfect horror. - -I had never been on the sea, so I fancied that all the boats were like -this and that it was no good complaining. After six days of rough sea we -landed at Alicante. Oh, that landing, how well I remember it! I had to -jump from boat to boat, from plank to plank, with the risk of falling -into the water a hundred times over, for I am naturally inclined to -dizziness and the little bridges without any rails, rope, or anything, -thrown across from one boat to another and bending under my light -weight, seemed to me like mere ropes stretched across space. - -Exhausted with fatigue and hunger I went to the first hotel recommended -to us at Alicante. Oh, what a hotel it was! The house itself was built -of stone with low arcades. Rooms on the first floor were given to me, -and certainly the owners of it had never had two ladies in their house -before. The bedroom was large, but with a low ceiling. By way of -decoration there were enormous real fish bones arranged in garlands -caught up by the heads of fish. By half shutting one’s eyes this -decoration might be taken for delicate sculpture of ancient times. - -I had a bed put up for Caroline in this sinister-looking room. We pulled -the furniture across against the doors, and I did not undress, for I -could not venture on those sheets. I was accustomed to fine sheets -perfumed with iris, for my pretty little mother, like all Dutch women, -had a mania for linen and cleanliness and she had inculcated me with -this harmless mania. - -It was about five in the morning when I opened my eyes, no doubt -instinctively, as there had been no sound to rouse me. A door, leading I -did not know where, opened, and a man looked in. I gave a shrill cry, -seized my little Virgin Mary, and waved her about, wild with terror. - -Caroline roused up with a start and courageously rushed to the window. -She threw it up screaming: “Fire! Thieves! Help.” - -The man disappeared and the house was soon invaded by the police. I -leave it to be imagined what the police of Alicante forty years ago were -like. I answered all the questions asked me by a Vice-Consul who was -Hungarian and spoke French. I had seen the man and he had a silk -handkerchief on his head. He had a beard, and on his shoulder a -_poncho_, but that was all I knew. The Hungarian Vice-Consul who, I -believe, represented France, Austria, and Hungary, asked me the color of -the brigand’s beard, silk handkerchief and _poncho_. It had been too -dark for me to distinguish the colors exactly. The worthy man was very -much annoyed at my answer. After taking down a few notes he was very -thoughtful for a moment and then gave orders for a message to be taken -to his home. It was to ask his wife to send a carriage and to prepare a -room in order to receive a young foreigner in distress. I prepared to go -with him, and after paying my bill at the hotel, we started off in the -Hungarian’s carriage, and I was welcomed by his wife with the most -touching cordiality. I drank the coffee with thick cream which she -poured for me, and, during breakfast, told her who I was, and where I -was going. She then told me in return that her father was an important -manufacturer of cloth, that he was from Bohemia, and a great friend of -my father’s. And she took me to the room that had been prepared for me, -made me go to bed, and told me that while I was asleep she would write -me some letters of introduction in Madrid. I slept for ten hours without -waking, and at six in the evening when I roused up, was thoroughly -rested in mind and body. I wanted to send a telegram to my mother, but -this was impossible, as there was no telegraph at Alicante. I wrote a -letter, therefore, to my poor, dear mother, telling her that I was in -the house of friends of my father. - -The following day I started for Madrid with a letter for the landlord of -the Hotel de la Puerta del Sol. Nice rooms were given to us and I sent -messengers with the letters from Mme. Rudcouritz. I spent a fortnight in -Madrid, and was made a great deal of and generally fêted. I went to all -the bullfights, and was infatuated with them. I had the honor of being -invited to a great _corrida_ given in honor of Victor Emmanuel who was -just then the guest of the Queen of Spain. I forgot Paris, my sorrows, -disappointments, ambitions, and everything else, and I wanted to live in -Spain. A telegram sent by Mme. Guérard made me change all my plans. My -mother was very ill, the telegram informed me. I packed my trunk and -wanted to start off at once, but when my hotel bill was paid I had not a -fraction for the railway journey. The landlord of the hotel took my two -bank notes, prepared me a basket of provisions and gave me two hundred -francs at the station, telling me that he had received orders from Mme. -Rudcouritz not to let me want for anything. She and her husband were -certainly most delightful people. - -My heart beat fast when I reached my mother’s house in Paris. My _petite -dame_ was waiting for me downstairs in the _concierge’s_ room. She was -very excited to see me looking so well and kissed me with her eyes full -of tears of joy. The _concierge_ and family poured forth their -compliments. Mme. Guérard went upstairs before me to prepare my mother, -and I waited a moment in the kitchen and was hugged by our old servant -Marguerite. My sisters both came running in. Jeanne kissed me, then -turned me round and examined me. Régina, with her hands behind her back, -leaned against the stove gazing at me furiously. - -“Well, won’t you kiss me, Régina?” I asked, stooping down to her. - -“No, don’t like you,” she answered. “You’ve went off without me. Don’t -like you now.” She turned away brusquely to avoid my kiss and knocked -her head against the stove. - -Finally, Mme. Guérard appeared again, and I went with her. Oh, how -repentant I was, and how deeply affected! I knocked gently at the door -of the room which was hung with pale blue rep. My mother looked very -white, lying in her bed. Her face was thinner, but wonderfully -beautiful. She stretched out her arms like two wings and I rushed -forward to this loving, white nest. My mother cried silently, as she -always did. Then her hands played with my hair, which she let down and -combed with her long, taper fingers. Then we asked each other a hundred -questions. I wanted to know everything, and she did, too, so that we had -the most amusing duet of words, phrases, and kisses. I found that my -mother had had a rather severe attack of pleurisy, that she was now -getting better, but was not yet well. I, therefore, took up my abode -again with her, and for the time being went back to my old bedroom. Mme. -Guérard had told me in a letter that my grandmother on my father’s side, -had at last agreed to the proposal made by my mother. My father had left -a certain sum of money which I was to have on my wedding-day. My mother, -at my request, had asked my grandmother to let me have half this sum, -and she had at last consented, saying that she should use the interest -of the other half, but that the half would still be there for me if I -changed my mind, and consented to marry. I was, therefore, quite decided -to live my life as I wished, to go away from home, and be quite -independent. I adored my mother, but our ideas were quite different. -Then, too, my godfather was perfectly odious to me, and for years and -years he had been in the habit of lunching and dining with us every day, -and of playing whist every evening. He was always hurting my feelings in -one way or another. He was an old bachelor, very rich, and with no near -relatives. He adored my mother, but she had always refused to marry him. -She had put up with him at first because he was a friend of my father. -After my father’s death she had put up with him still, because she was -then accustomed to him, until finally she quite missed him when he was -ill or traveling. But, placid as she was, my mother was positive, and -could not endure any kind of constraint. She, therefore, rebelled -against the idea of another master. She was very gentle, but determined, -and this determination of hers ended sometimes in the most violent -anger. She used then to turn very pale and violet rings would come round -her eyes, her lips would tremble, her teeth chatter, her beautiful eyes -take a fixed gaze, the words would come at intervals from her throat, -all chopped up, hissing and hoarse. After this she would faint, and the -veins of her throat then used to swell, and her hands and feet turn icy -cold. Sometimes she would be unconscious for hours, and the doctors told -us that she might die in one of these attacks so that we did all ill our -power to avoid these terrible accidents. My mother knew this and rather -took advantage of it, and, as I had inherited this tendency to fits of -rage from her, I could not and did not wish to live with her. As for me -I am not placid. I am active, and always ready for fight, and what I -want I always want immediately. I have not the gentle obstinacy peculiar -to my mother. The blood begins to boil under my temples before I have -time to control it. Time has made me wiser in this respect, but not -sufficiently so. I am aware of this and it causes me suffering. - -I did not say anything about my plans to our dear invalid, but I asked -our old friend, Meydieu, to find me a flat. The old man who had -tormented me so much during my childhood had been most kind to me ever -since my début at the Théâtre Français, and, in spite of my escapade -with Nathalie and my exploit when at the Gymnase, he was now ready to -see the best in me. When he came to see us the day after my return home, -I stayed talking with him for a time in the drawing-room and confided my -intentions to him. He quite approved and said that my intercourse with -my mother would be all the more agreeable through this separation. I -took a flat in the Rue Duphot, quite near to my mother, and Mme. Guérard -undertook to have it furnished for me. As soon as my mother was well -again I talked to her about it, and several times over induced her to -agree that it was really better I should live by myself and in my own -way. When once she had accepted the situation everything went along -satisfactorily. My sisters were present when we were talking about it. -Jeanne was close to my mother, and Régina, who had refused to speak to -me or look at me ever since my return three weeks ago, suddenly jumped -on my lap. - -“Take me with you this time,” she exclaimed suddenly. “I will kiss you -if you will.” - -I glanced at my mother, rather embarrassed. - -“Oh, take her,” she said, “for she is unbearable!” - -Régina jumped down again and began to dance a jig, muttering the rudest, -silliest things at the same time. She then nearly stifled me with -kisses, sprang on to my mother’s armchair and kissed her hair, her eyes, -her cheeks, saying: - -“You are glad I am going, aren’t you? You can give everything to your -Jenny.” - -My mother colored slightly, but as her eyes fell on Jeanne her -expression changed, and a look of unspeakable affection came over her -face. She pushed Régina gently aside, and the child went on with her -jig. - -“We two will stay together,” said my mother, leaning her head back on -Jeanne’s shoulder, and she said this quite unconscious of the full force -of her words, just in the same way as she had gazed at my sister. I was -perfectly stupefied and closed my eyes so that I should not see. I could -only hear my little sister dancing her jig and emphasizing every stamp -on the floor with the words: “And we two, as well, we two, we two!” - -It was a very painful little drama that was stirring our four hearts in -this little _bourgeois_ home, and the result of it was that I settled -down finally with my little sister in the flat in Rue Duphot. I kept -Caroline with me and engaged a cook. My _petite dame_, Mme. Guérard, was -with me nearly all day and I dined every evening with my mother. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - I RETURN TO THE STAGE - - -I was still on friendly terms with an actor from the Porte Saint Martin -Theater, who had been appointed stage manager there. Marc Fournier was -at that time manager of this theater. A piece entitled “La Biche au -Bois” was then being played. It was a fairyland story, and was having -great success. A delicious actress from the Odéon Theater, Mlle. Debay, -had been engaged for the principal rôle. She played tragedy princesses -most charmingly. I often had tickets for the Porte Saint Martin, and I -thoroughly enjoyed “La Biche au Bois.” Mme. Ulgade sang admirably in her -rôle of the young prince, and amazed me. Then, too, Marquita charmed me -with her dancing. She was delightful in her dances, which were so -animated, so characteristic, and always so full of distinction. Thanks -to old Josse I knew everyone; but to my surprise and terror, one -evening, toward five o’clock, on arriving at the theater to take our -seats, he exclaimed on seeing me: - -“Why, here is our princess, our little “Biche au Bois.” Here she is! It -is the Providence that watches over theaters who has sent her!” - -I struggled like an eel caught in a net, but it was all in vain. M. Marc -Fournier, who could be very charming, gave me to understand that I -should be doing him a veritable service and keeping up the receipts. -Josse, who guessed what my scruples were, exclaimed: - -“But, my dear child, it will still be your high art, for it is Mlle. -Debay from the Odéon Theater who is playing this rôle of _Princess_, and -Mlle. Debay is the first _artiste_ at the Odéon, and the Odéon is an -imperial theater, so that it cannot be any disgrace after your studies.” - -Marquita, who had just arrived, also persuaded me, and Mme. Ulgade was -sent for to rehearse the duos I was to sing. Yes, and I was to sing with -a veritable _artiste_, one who was considered to be the first _artiste_ -of the Opéra Comique. - -The time passed by, and Josse helped me to rehearse my rôle, which I -almost knew, as I had seen the piece often, and I had an extraordinary -memory. The minutes flew, and the half hours made up entire hours. I -kept looking at the clock, the large clock in the manager’s room, where -I was studying my rôle. Mme. Ulgade rehearsed with me. She thought my -voice was pretty, but I kept singing wrong, and she helped and -encouraged me all the time. - -I was dressed up in Mlle. Debay’s clothes, and finally the moment -arrived and the curtain was raised. Poor me! I was more dead than alive, -but my courage returned after a triple burst of applause for the couplet -which I sang on waking, in very much the same way as I should have -murmured a series of Racine’s lines. - -When the performance was over Marc Fournier offered me, through Josse, a -three years’ engagement; but I asked to be allowed to think it over. -Josse had introduced me to a dramatic author, Lambert Thiboust, a -charming man who was certainly talented, too. He thought I was just the -ideal actress for his heroine, _La Bergère d’Ivry_, but M. Faille, an -old actor who had become the manager of the Ambigu Theater, was not the -only person to consult. A certain M. De Chilly had some interest in the -theater. He had made his name in the rôle of _Rodin_ in the “Juif -Errant,” and, after marrying a rather wealthy wife, had left the stage, -and was now interested in the business side of theatrical affairs. He -had, I think, just given the Ambigu up to Faille. De Chilly was then -helping on a charming girl named Laurence Gérard. She was gentle and -very _bourgeois_, rather pretty, but without any real beauty or grace. -Faille told Lambert Thiboust that he had spoken to Laurence Gérard, but -that he was ready to do as the author wished in the matter. The only -thing he stipulated was that he should hear me before deciding. I was -willing to humor the poor fellow, who must have been as poor a manager -as he had been an _artiste_. I acted for him at the Ambigu Theater. The -stage was only lighted by the wretched _servante_, a little -transportable lamp. About a yard in front of me I could see M. Faille -balancing himself on his chair, one hand on his waistcoat and the -fingers of the other hand in his enormous nostrils. This disgusted me -horribly. Lambert Thiboust was seated near him, his handsome face -smiling, as he looked at me encouragingly. - -I was playing in “On ne Badine pas avec l’Amour,” because the play was -in prose, and I did not want to take poetry. I believe I was perfectly -charming in my rôle, and Lambert Thiboust thought so, too; but when I -had finished, poor Faille got up in a clumsy, pretentious way, said -something in a low voice to the author, and took me to his own room. - -“My child,” remarked the worthy but stupid manager, “you are not at all -suitable for the stage!” - -I resented this, but he continued: - -“Oh, no, not at all.” And, as the door then opened, he added, pointing -to the newcomer, “Here is M. De Chilly, who was also listening to you, -and he will say just the same as I say.” - -M. De Chilly nodded and shrugged his shoulders. - -“Lambert Thiboust is mad,” he remarked, “no one ever saw such a thin -shepherdess!” - -He then rang the bell and told the boy to fetch Mlle. Laurence Gérard. I -understood and, without taking leave of the two boors, I left the room. - -My heart was heavy, though, as I went back to the _foyer_, where I had -left my hat. I found Laurence Gérard there, but she was fetched away the -next moment. I was standing near her and, as I looked in the glass, I -was struck by the contrast between us. She was plump, with a wide face, -magnificent black eyes, her nose was rather _canaille_, her mouth heavy, -and there was a very ordinary look about her generally. I was fair, -slight, and frail-looking, like a reed, with a long, pale face, blue -eyes, a rather sad mouth, and a general look of distinction. This hasty -vision consoled me for my failure, and then, too, I felt that this -Faille was a nonentity, and that De Chilly was common. Five days later -Mlle. Debay was well again and took her rôle as usual. - -I was destined to meet with both of these men again later on in my life. -Chilly, soon after, as manager at the Odéon; and Faille, twenty years -later, in such a wretched situation that the tears came to my eyes when -he appeared before me and begged me to play for his benefit. - -“I beseech you,” said the poor man. “You will be the only attraction at -this performance, and I have only you to count on for the receipts.” - -I shook hands with him. I do not know whether he remembered our first -interview, but I remembered it well, and could only hope that he did -not. - -Before I would accept the engagement at the Porte Saint Martin, I wrote -to Camille Doucet. The following day I received a letter asking me to go -to the offices of the Ministry. It was not without some emotion that I -went to see this kind man. He was standing up waiting for me when I was -ushered into the room. He held out his hands to me and drew me gently -toward him. - -“Oh, what a terrible child!” he said, giving me a chair. “Come now, you -must be calmer. It will never do to waste all these admirable gifts in -voyages, escapades, and boxing people’s ears!” - -I was deeply moved by his kindness, and my eyes were full of regret as I -looked at him. - -“Now, don’t cry, my dear child, don’t cry. Let us try and find out how -we are to make up for all this folly.” - -He was quiet for a moment, and then, opening a drawer, he took out a -letter. - -“Here is something which will perhaps save us,” he said. - -It was a letter from Duquesnel, who had just been appointed manager at -the Odéon Theater, together with Chilly. - -“I am asked for some young _artistes_ to make up the Odéon company. -Well, we must attend to this.” He got up, and accompanying me to the -door, said, as I went away: “We shall succeed.” - -I went back home, and began at once to rehearse all my rôles in Racine’s -plays. I waited very anxiously for several days, consoled by Mme. -Guérard, who succeeded in restoring my confidence. Finally, I received a -letter, and went at once to the Ministry. Camille Doucet received me -with a beaming expression on his face. - -“It’s settled,” he said. “Oh, but it has not been easy, though,” he -added. “You are very young, but very celebrated already for your -headstrong character. The only thing is, I have pledged my word that you -will be as gentle as a young lamb.” - -“Yes, I will be gentle, I promise,” I replied, “if only out of -gratitude. But what am I to do?” - -“Here is a letter for Félix Duquesnel,” he replied; “he is expecting -you.” - -I thanked Camille Doucet heartily, and he then said: - -“I shall see you again less officially at your aunt’s on Thursday. I -have had an invitation this morning to dine there, so you can tell me -then what Duquesnel says.” - -It was then half past ten in the morning. I went home to put some pretty -clothes on. I chose an underskirt of canary yellow, a dress of black -silk with the skirt scalloped round, and a straw hat trimmed with corn -and black ribbon. It must have been delightfully mad looking. Arrayed in -this style, feeling very joyful and full of confidence, I went to call -on Félix Duquesnel. I waited a few moments in a little room very -artistically furnished. A young man appeared, looking very elegant. He -was smiling and altogether charming. I could not grasp the fact that -this fair-haired, gay young man would be my manager. - -After a short conversation we agreed on every point we touched. - -“Come to the Odéon at two o’clock,” said Duquesnel, by way of -leavetaking, “and I will introduce you to my partner. I ought to say it -the other way round, according to society etiquette,” he added, -laughing, “but we are talking theater.” - -He came a few steps down the staircase with me and stayed there leaning -over the balustrade to wish me good-by. - -At two o’clock precisely I was at the Odéon, and had to wait an hour. I -began to grind my teeth, and only the remembrance of my promise to -Camille Doucet prevented me from departing. - -Finally, Duquesnel appeared and took me across to the manager’s office. - -“You will now see the other ogre,” he said, and I pictured to myself the -other ogre as charming as his partner. I was therefore greatly -disappointed on seeing a very ugly little man whom I recognized as -Chilly. - -He eyed me up and down most impolitely, and pretended not to recognize -me. He signed to me to sit down and, without a word, handed me a pen and -showed me where to sign my name on the paper before me. - -Mme. Guérard interposed, laying her hand on mine. - -“Do not sign without reading it,” she said. - -“Are you mademoiselle’s mother?” he asked, looking up. - -“No,” she said, “but it is just the same as though I were.” - -“Well, yes, you are right. Read it quickly,” he continued, “and then -sign or leave it alone, but be quick.” - -I felt the color coming into my face, for this man was odious. Duquesnel -whispered to me: - -“There’s no ceremony about him, but he’s all right, don’t take offense.” - -I signed my engagement and handed it to his ugly partner. - -“You know,” he remarked, “M. Duquesnel is responsible for you. I should -not upon any account have engaged you.” - -“And if you had been alone, monsieur,” I answered, “I should not have -signed; so we are quits.” - -I went away at once and hurried to my mother’s to tell her, for I knew -this would be a great joy for her. Then, that very day, I set off with -my _petite dame_ to buy everything necessary for furnishing my -dressing-room. The following day I went to the convent in the Rue Notre -Dame des Champs to see my dear governess, Mlle. De Brabender. She had -been ill, with acute rheumatism in all her limbs, for the last thirteen -months. She had suffered so much that she looked like a different -person. She was lying in her little white bed, a little white cap -covering her hair, her big nose was drawn with pain, her washed-out eyes -seemed to have no color in them. Her formidable mustache alone bristled -up with constant spasms of pain. Besides all this she was so strangely -altered that I wondered what had caused the change. I went nearer and, -bending down, kissed her gently. I then gazed at her so inquisitively -that she understood instinctively. With her eyes she signed to me to -look on the table near her, and there in a glass I saw all my dear old -friend’s teeth. I put the three roses I had brought her in the glass -and, kissing her again, I asked her forgiveness for my impertinent -curiosity. I left the convent with a very heavy heart, for the Mother -Superior took me in the garden and told me that my beloved Mlle. De -Brabender could not live much longer. I therefore went every day for a -time to see my gentle old governess, but as soon as the rehearsals -commenced at the Odéon my visits had to be less frequent. - -One morning about seven o’clock, a message came from the convent to -fetch me in great haste, and I was present at the dear woman’s death -agony. Her face lighted up at the supreme moment with such a holy look -that I suddenly longed to die. I kissed her hands which were holding the -crucifix: they had already turned cold. I asked to be allowed to be -there when she was placed in her coffin. - -On arriving at the convent the next day, at the hour fixed, I found -the Sisters in such a state of consternation that I was alarmed. What -could have happened, I wondered? They pointed to the door of the cell -without uttering a word. The nuns were standing round the bed, on -which was the most extraordinary-looking being imaginable. My poor -governess, lying rigid on her deathbed, had a man’s face. Her mustache -had grown longer, and she had a beard of half an inch all round her -chin. Her mustache and beard were sandy, while the long hair framing -her face was white. Her mouth, without the support of the teeth, had -sunk in so that her nose fell on the sandy mustache. It was like a -terrible and ridiculous-looking mask, instead of the sweet face of my -friend. It was the face of a man, while the little, delicate hands -were those of a woman. - -There was an awestruck expression in the eyes of the nuns in spite of -the assurance of the nurse, who had declared to them that the body was -that of a woman. They had dressed the poor dead body, but the poor -little Sisters were trembling and crossing themselves all the time. - -The day after this dismal ceremony I made my début at the Odéon in “Le -Jeu de l’Amour et du Hasard.” I was not suitable for Marivand’s pieces, -as they require a certain coquettishness and an affectation which were -not then among my qualities. Then, too, I was rather too slight, so that -I had no success at all. Chilly happened to be passing along the -corridor, just as Duquesnel was talking to me and encouraging me. Chilly -pointed to me and remarked: - -“They are no good, these grand folks, there is not even any pluck about -them.” - -I was furious at the man’s insolence, and the blood rushed to my face, -but I saw through my half-closed eyes Camille Doucet’s face, that face -always so clean shaven and young looking, under his crown of white hair. -I thought it was a vision of my mind, which was always on the alert, on -account of the promise I had made. But no, it was he himself, and he -came up to me. - -“What a pretty voice you have,” he said. “Your second appearance will be -such a pleasure to us!” - -This man was always courteous, but truthful. This début of mine had not -given him any pleasure, but he was counting on my next appearance, and -he had spoken the truth. I had a pretty voice, and that was all that -anyone could say. - -I remained at the Odéon and worked very hard. I was always ready to take -anyone’s place at a moment’s notice, for I knew all the rôles. I had -some success, and the students approved of me. When I came on the stage -I was always greeted by applause from them. A few old sticklers looked -down at the pit to command silence, but no one cared a straw for them. - -Finally, my day of triumph dawned. Duquesnel had the happy idea of -putting “Athalie” on again with Mendelssohn’s choruses. Beauvallet, who -had been odious as a professor, was charming as a comrade. By special -permission from the Ministry he was to play _Joad_. The rôle of -_Zacharie_ was assigned to me. Some of the _Conservatoire_ pupils were -to take the spoken choruses, and the pupils who studied singing -undertook the musical part. The rehearsals were so bad that Duquesnel -and Chilly were in despair. Beauvallet, who was more agreeable now, but -not choice as regarded his language, muttered some terrible words. We -began over and over again, but it was all to no purpose. The spoken -choruses were simply abominable. Chilly exclaimed at last: - -“Well, let the young one say all the spoken choruses. That would be -right enough with her pretty voice!” - -Duquesnel did not utter a word, but he pulled his mustache to hide a -smile. Chilly was coming round to his _protégée_ after all. He nodded -his head in an indifferent way in answer to his partner’s questioning -look, and we began again, I reading all the spoken choruses. Everyone -applauded, and the conductor of the orchestra was delighted, for the -poor man had suffered enough. The first performance was a veritable -small triumph for me! Oh! quite a small one, but still full of promise -for my future. The public, charmed with the sweetness of my voice and -its crystal purity, encored the part of the spoken choruses, and I was -rewarded by three bursts of applause. - -At the end of the act Chilly came to me and said: - -“You were adorable!” He addressed me familiarly, using the French -_thou_, and this rather annoyed me; but I answered mischievously, using -the same form of speech: - -“You think I am not so thin now?” - -He burst into a fit of laughter, and from that day forth we both used -the familiar _thou_ and became the best friends imaginable. - -Oh, that Odéon Theater! It is the theater I have loved most. I was very -sorry to leave it, for everyone liked each other there, and everyone was -gay. The theater was a little like the continuation of school. The young -_artistes_ came there, and Duquesnel was an intelligent manager, and -very polite and young himself. During the rehearsal we often went off, -several of us together, to play at hide and seek in the Luxembourg, -during the scenes in which we were not acting. I used to think of my few -months at the Comédie Française. The little world I had known there had -been stiff, scandal-mongering, and jealous. I recalled my few months at -the Gymnase. Hats and dresses were always discussed there, and everyone -chattered about a hundred things that had nothing to do with art. - -At the Odéon I was very happy. We thought of nothing but putting on -plays, and we rehearsed morning, afternoon, and at all hours, and I -liked that very much. - -For the summer I had taken a little house in the Villa Montmorency at -Auteuil. I went to the theater in a “little duke,” which I drove myself. -I had two wonderful ponies that Aunt Rosine had given to me, because -they had very nearly broken her neck by taking fright at St. Cloud at a -whirligig of wooden horses. I used to drive at full speed along the -quays, and in spite of the atmosphere brilliant with the July sunshine -and the gayety of everything outside, I always ran up the cold, cracked -steps of the theater with veritable joy, and rushed up to my -dressing-room, wishing everyone I passed “Good morning” on my way. When -I had taken off my coat and gloves I went on the stage, delighted to be -once more in that infinite darkness with only a poor light, a -_servante_, hanging here and there on a tree, a turret, a wall, or -placed on a bench, thrown on the faces of the _artistes_ for a few -seconds. - -There was nothing more vivifying for me than that atmosphere full of -microbes, nothing more gay than that obscurity, and nothing more -brilliant than that darkness. - -One day my mother had the curiosity to come behind the scenes. I thought -she would have died with horror and disgust. - -“Oh, you poor child!” she murmured, “How can you live in that?” When -once she was outside again she began to breathe freely, taking long -gasps several times. Oh! yes, I could live in it, and I could scarcely -live _except_ in it. Since then I have changed a little, but I still -have a great liking for that gloomy workshop in which we joyous -lapidaries of art cut the precious stones supplied to us by the poets. - -The days passed by, carrying away with them all our little disappointed -hopes, and fresh days dawned bringing fresh dreams, so that life seemed -to me eternal happiness. I played in turn in “Le Marquis de Villemer” -and “François le Champi.” In the former I took the part of the foolish -_Baroness_, an expert woman of thirty-five years of age. I was scarcely -twenty-one myself, and I looked seventeen. In the second piece I played -_Mariette_, and had great success. - -Those rehearsals of the “Marquis de Villemer” and “François le Champi” -have remained in my memory as so many exquisite hours. - -Mme. George Sand was a sweet, charming creature, extremely timid. She -did not talk much, but smoked all the time. Her large eyes were always -dreamy, and her mouth, which was rather heavy and common, had the -kindest expression. She had, perhaps, a medium-sized figure, but she was -no longer upright. I used to watch her with the most romantic affection, -for had she not been the heroine of a fine love romance! - -I used to sit down by her, and when I took her hand in mine I held it as -long as possible. Her voice, too, was gentle and fascinating. - -Prince Napoleon, commonly known as “Plon-Plon,” often used to come to -George Sand’s rehearsals. He was extremely fond of her. The first time I -ever saw that man I turned pale, and felt as though my heart had stopped -beating. He looked so much like Napoleon I. - -Mme. Sand introduced me to him in spite of my wishes. He looked at me in -an impertinent way, and I did not like him. I scarcely replied to his -compliments, and went closer to George Sand. - -[Illustration: SARAH BERNHARDT IN “FRANÇOIS LE CHAMPI.”] - -“Why, she is in love with you!” he exclaimed, laughing. - -George Sand stroked my cheek gently. - -“She is my little Madonna,” she answered, “do not torment her.” - -I stayed with her, casting displeased and furtive glances at the prince. -Gradually, though, I began to enjoy listening to him, for his -conversation was brilliant, serious, and at the same time witty. He -sprinkled his discourses and his replies with words that were a trifle -crude, but all that he said was interesting and instructive. He was not -very indulgent, though, and I have heard him say base, horrible things -about little Thiers which I believe had little truth in them. He drew -such an amusing portrait one day of that agreeable Louis Bouilhet, that -George Sand, who liked him, could not help laughing, although she called -the prince a bad man. He was very unceremonious, too, but at the same -time he did not like people to be wanting in respect to him. One day an -_artiste_ named Paul Deshayes, who was playing in “François le Champi,” -came into the _artistes’ foyer_. Prince Napoleon was there, Mme. George -Sand, the curator of the library, whose name I have forgotten, and I. -This _artiste_ was common and something of an anarchist. He bowed to -Mme. Sand and, addressing the prince, said: - -“You are sitting on my gloves, sir.” - -The prince scarcely moved, pulled the gloves out and, throwing them on -the floor, remarked: - -“I thought this seat was clean.” - -The actor colored, picked up the gloves, and went away murmuring some -revolutionary threat. - -I played the part of _Hortense_ in “Le Testament de César Girôdot,” and -of _Anna Danby_ in Alexandre Dumas’ “Kean.” - -On the evening of the first performance of the latter piece the public -was very disagreeable. Dumas’ _père_ was quite out of favor, on account -of a private matter that had nothing to do with art. Politics, for some -time past, had been exciting everyone, and the return of Victor Hugo -from exile was very much desired. When Dumas entered his box, he was -greeted by yells. The students were there in full force, and they began -shouting for _Ruy Blas_. Dumas rose and asked to be allowed to speak. -“My young friends ...” he began, as soon as there was silence. “We are -quite willing to listen,” called out some one, “but you must be alone in -your box.” - -Dumas protested vehemently. Several members of the orchestra took his -side, for he had invited a woman into his box, and whoever that woman -might be, no one had any right to insult her in so outrageous a manner. -I had never yet witnessed a scene of this kind. I looked through the -hole in the curtain, and was very much interested and excited. I saw our -great Dumas, pale with anger, clenching his fists, shouting, swearing, -and storming. Then suddenly there was a burst of applause. The woman had -disappeared from the box. She had taken advantage of the moment when -Dumas, leaning well over the front of the box, was answering: - -“No, no, this woman shall not leave the box!” - -Just at this moment she slipped away, and the whole house, delighted, -shouted: “Bravo!” Dumas was then allowed to continue, but only for a few -seconds. Cries of “_Ruy Blas!_ _Ruy Blas!_ Victor Hugo! Hugo!” could -then be heard again in the midst of an uproar truly infernal. We had -been ready to commence the play for an hour, and I was greatly excited. -Chilly and Duquesnel then came to us on the stage. - -“Courage, _mes enfants_, for the house has gone mad,” they said. “We -will commence, anyhow, let what will happen!” - -“I’m afraid I shall faint,” I said to Duquesnel. My hands were as cold -as ice and my heart was beating wildly. “What am I to do,” I asked him, -“if I get too frightened?” - -“There’s nothing to be done,” he replied. “Be frightened, but go on -playing, and don’t faint upon any account!” - -The curtain was drawn up in the midst of a veritable tempest, bird -cries, mewing of cats, and a heavy rhythmical refrain of “_Ruy Blas!_ -_Ruy Blas!_ Victor Hugo! Victor Hugo!” - -My turn came. Berton _père_, who was playing _Kean_, had been received -badly. I was wearing the eccentric costume of an Englishwoman in the -year 1820. As soon as I appeared I heard a burst of laughter, and I -stood still, rooted to the spot in the doorway. But the very same -instant the cheers of my dear friends, the students, drowned the -laughter of the disagreeable people. I took courage, and even felt a -desire to fight. But it was not necessary, for after the second, -endlessly long, harangue, in which I give an idea of my love for _Kean_, -the house was delighted, and gave me an ovation. Ignotus wrote the -following paragraph in the _Figaro_: - -“Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt appeared wearing an eccentric costume, which -increased the tumult, but her rich voice—that astonishing voice of -hers—appealed to the public, and she charmed them like a little -Orpheus.” - -After “Kean” I played in “La Loterie du Mariage.” When we were -rehearsing the piece, Agar came up to me one day, in the corner where I -usually sat. I had a little armchair there from my dressing-room, and -put my feet up on a straw chair. I liked this place, because there was a -little gas burner there, and I could work while waiting for my turn to -go on the stage. I loved embroidering and tapestry work. I had a -quantity of different kinds of fancy work commenced, and could take up -one or the other as I felt inclined. - -Mlle. Agar was an admirable creature. She had evidently been created for -the joy of the eyes. She was a brunette, tall, pale, with large, dark, -gentle eyes, a very small mouth with full rounded lips, which went up at -the corners in an almost imperceptible smile. She had exquisite teeth, -and her head was covered with thick, glossy hair. She was the living -incarnation of one of the most beautiful types of ancient Greece. Her -pretty hands were long and rather soft, while her slow and rather heavy -walk completed the evocation. She was the great tragedian of the Odéon -Theater. She approached me with her measured tread, followed by a young -man of from twenty-four to twenty-six years of age. - -“Well, my dear,” she said, kissing me, “there is a chance for you to -make a poet happy.” She then introduced François Coppée. I invited the -young man to sit down, and then I looked at him more thoroughly. His -handsome face, emaciated and pale, was that of the immortal Bonaparte. A -thrill of emotion went through me, for I adored Napoleon I. - -“Are you a poet, monsieur?” I asked. - -“Yes, mademoiselle.” - -His voice, too, trembled, for he was still more timid than I was. - -“I have written a little piece,” he continued, “and Mlle. Agar is sure -that you will play it with her.” - -“Yes, my dear,” put in Agar, “you are going to play it for him. It is a -little masterpiece, and I am sure you will have a gigantic success!” - -“Oh, and you, too! You will be so beautiful in it!” said the poet, -gazing rapturously at Agar. - -I was called on to the stage just at this moment, and on returning a few -minutes later I found the young poet talking in a low voice to the -beautiful tragedian. I coughed, and Agar, who had taken my armchair, -wanted to give it back. On my refusing it she pulled me down on her lap. -The young man drew up his chair and we chatted away together, our three -heads almost touching. It was decided that after reading the piece I -should show it to Duquesnel, who alone was capable of judging poetry, -and that we should then get permission from both managers to play it for -the benefit of M. X—— after the first performance. The young man was -delighted, and his pale face lighted up with a grateful smile as he -shook hands excitedly. Agar walked away with him as far as the little -landing which projected over the stage. I watched them as they went, the -magnificent, statuelike woman and the slender outline of the young -writer. Agar was perhaps thirty-five at that time. She was certainly -very beautiful, but to me there was no charm about her, and I could not -understand why this poetical Bonaparte was in love with this matronly -woman. It was as clear as daylight that he was, and she, too, appeared -to be, in love. This interested me infinitely. I watched them clasp each -other’s hands, and then, with an abrupt and almost awkward movement, the -young poet bent over the beautiful hand he was holding and kissed it -fervently. Agar came back to me with a faint color in her cheeks. This -was rare with her, for she had a marblelike complexion. “Here is the -manuscript,” she said, giving me a little roll of paper. - -The rehearsal was over and I wished Agar good-by; and, on my way home, -read the piece while driving. I was so delighted with it that I drove -straight back to the theater to give it to Duquesnel at once. I met him -coming downstairs. - -“Do come back again, please,” I exclaimed. - -“Good heavens, my dear girl, what is the matter?” he asked. “You look as -though you have won a big lottery prize!” - -“Well, it is something like that,” I said, and entering his office I -produced the manuscript. - -“Read this, please,” I continued. - -“I’ll take it with me,” he said. - -“Oh, no, read it here at once!” I insisted. “Shall I read it to you?” - -“No, no,” he replied, “your voice is treacherous. It makes charming -poetry of the worst lines possible. Well, let me have it,” he continued, -sitting down in his armchair. He began to read, while I looked at the -newspapers. - -“It’s delicious,” he soon exclaimed. “It’s a perfect masterpiece!” - -I sprang to my feet in my joy. - -“And you will get Chilly to accept it?” - -“Oh, yes, you can make your mind easy! But when do you want to play it?” - -“Well, the author seems to be in a great hurry,” I said, “and Agar, -too——” - -“And you as well,” he put in, laughing, “for this is a rôle that just -suits your fancy.” - -“Yes, my dear Duq,” I acknowledged. “I, too, want it put on at once. Do -you want to be very nice?” I added. “If so, let us have it for the -benefit of M. X—— in a fortnight from now. That would not make any -difference to other arrangements, and our poet would be so happy.” - -“Good!” said Duquesnel, “I will settle it like that. What about the -scenery, though?” he muttered, meditatively, biting his nails, which -were his favorite meal when disturbed in his mind. - -I had already thought that out, so I offered to drive him home and on -the way I put my plan before him. - -We might have the scenery of “Jeanne de Signoris,” a piece that had -recently been put on and taken off again immediately, after being jeered -at by the public. The scenery consisted of a superb Italian park, with -flowers, statues, and even a flight of steps. As to costumes, if we -spoke of them to Chilly, no matter how little they might cost, he would -shriek, as he had done in his rôle of _Rodin_. The only thing for it was -that Agar and I would have to supply our own costumes. - -On arriving at Duquesnel’s house, he suddenly asked me to go in with him -and discuss the costumes with his wife. I accepted his invitation, and, -after kissing the prettiest face imaginable, I told the owner of the -face about our plot. She approved of everything, and promised to begin -at once to look out for pretty designs for our costumes. While she was -talking I compared her with Agar. Oh, how much I preferred that charming -head with its fair hair, those large, limpid eyes, and the whole face, -with its two little pink dimples! Her hair was soft and light, and -formed a halo round her forehead. I admired, too, her delicate wrists, -finishing with the prettiest hands imaginable, hands that were, later -on, quite famous. - -On leaving the friendly couple I drove straight to Agar’s, to tell her -what had happened. She kissed me over and over again, and a cousin of -hers, a priest, who happened to be there, appeared to be very delighted -with my story. He seemed to know about everything. Presently there was a -timid ring at the bell, and François Coppée was announced. - -“I am just going away,” I said to him, as I met him in the doorway and -shook hands. “Agar will tell you everything.” - -The rehearsals of his piece, “Le Passant,” commenced very soon after -this, and were delightful, for the shy young poet was a most interesting -and intelligent talker. - -The first performance took place as arranged, and “Le Passant” was a -veritable triumph. The whole house cheered over and over again, and the -curtain was raised eight times for Agar and me. We tried in vain to -bring the author forward, as the public wished to see him. François -Coppée was not to be found. The young poet, hitherto unknown, had become -famous within a few hours. His name was on all lips. As for Agar and -myself, we were simply overwhelmed with praise, and Chilly wanted to pay -for our costumes. We played this one-act piece more than a hundred times -consecutively, to a full house. We were asked to give it at the -Tuileries, and at the house of the Princess Mathilde. Oh, that first -performance at the Tuileries! It is stamped on my brain forever, and -with my eyes shut I can see every detail again, even now. - -It had been managed, between Duquesnel and the official sent from the -court, that Agar and I should go to the Tuileries to see the room where -we were to play, in order to have it arranged according to the -requirements of the piece. The Comte de Laferrière was to introduce me -to the Emperor, who would then introduce me to the Empress Eugénie. Agar -was to be introduced by the Princess Mathilde, for whom she was then -sitting as Minerva. - -M. De Laferrière came for me at nine o’clock in a state carriage, and -Mme. Guérard accompanied me. - -M. De Laferrière was a very agreeable man with rather stiff manners. As -we were turning round the Rue Royale the carriage had to draw up an -instant, and General Fleury approached us. I knew him, as he had been -introduced to me by Morny. He spoke to us, and the Comte de Laferrière -explained where we were going. As he left us he said to me: “Good luck!” -Just at that moment a man who was passing by took up the words and -called out: “Good luck, perhaps, but not for long, you crowd of -good-for-nothings!” - -On arriving at the Tuileries Palace we all three got out of the -carriage, and were shown into a small yellow drawing-room on the ground -floor. - -“I will go and inform his majesty that you are here,” said M. De -Laferrière, leaving us. - -When alone with Mme. Guérard, I thought I would rehearse my three -courtesies: - -“Now, _ma petite dame_,” I said, “tell me whether they are right.” - -I made the courtesies, murmuring, “Sire—Sire.” I began over again -several times, looking down at my dress, as I said “Sire,” when suddenly -I heard a stifled laugh. - -I stood up quickly, furious with Mme. Guérard, but I saw that she, too, -was bent over in a half circle. I turned round quickly, and behind me -was—the Emperor. He was clapping his hands silently and laughing -quietly, but still he _was_ laughing. My face flushed, and I was -embarrassed, for I wondered how long he had been there. I had been -courtesying I do not know how many times, trying to get my reverence to -my mind, and saying: “There—that’s too low, though—There, is that right, -Guérard?” “Good heavens!” I now said to myself, “has he heard all that?” -In spite of my confusion, I now made my courtesy again, but the Emperor -said, smiling: - -“It’s no use, it could not be better than it was just now. Save them for -the Empress, who is expecting you.” - -Oh! that “just now,” I wondered when it had been. - -I could not question Mme. Guérard, as she was following at some distance -with M. De Laferrière. The Emperor was at my side, talking to me of a -hundred things, but I could only answer in an absent-minded way on -account of that “just now.” - -I liked him much better like this, quite near, than in his portraits. He -had such fine eyes, which he half closed while looking through his long -lashes. His smile was sad and rather mocking. His face was pale, and his -voice faint, but seductive. - -We found the Empress seated in a large armchair. Her body was encased in -a gray dress, and seemed to have been molded into the material. I -thought her very beautiful. She, too, was more beautiful than her -portrait. I made my three courtesies under the laughing eyes of the -Emperor. The Empress spoke, and the spell was then broken. That rough, -hard voice coming from that brilliant woman gave me a shock. - -From that moment I felt ill at ease with her, in spite of her -graciousness and her kindness. As soon as Agar arrived and had been -introduced, the Empress had us conducted to the large drawing-room, -where the performance was to take place. The measurements were taken for -the platform, and there was to be the flight of steps, where Agar had to -pose as the unhappy courtesan cursing mercenary love, and longing for -ideal love. - -This flight of steps was quite a problem. They were supposed to -represent the first three steps of a huge flight, leading up to a -Florentine palace, and had to be half hidden in some way. I asked for -some shrubs and flowering plants, which I arranged along all three of -the steps. - -The Prince Imperial, who had come in, was then about thirteen years of -age. He helped me to arrange the plants, and laughed wildly when Agar -mounted the steps to try the effect. - -He was delicious, with his magnificent eyes with heavy lids like those -of his mother, and with his father’s long eyelashes. He was witty, like -the Emperor, whom people surnamed “Louis the Imbecile,” and who -certainly had the most refined, subtle, and at the same time the most -generous wit. - -We arranged everything as well as we could, and it was decided that we -should return two days later for a rehearsal before their majesties. - -How gracefully the Prince Imperial asked permission to be present at the -rehearsal! His request was granted, and the Empress then took leave of -us in the most charming manner; but her voice was very ugly. She told -the two ladies who were with her to give us wine and biscuits and to -show us over the palace if we wished to see it. I did not care much -about this, but _ma petite dame_ and Agar seemed so delighted at the -offer that I gave in to them. - -I have regretted ever since that I did so, for nothing could have been -uglier than the private rooms, with the exception of the Emperor’s study -and the staircases. This inspection of the palace bored me terribly. A -few of the pictures consoled me, and I stayed some time gazing at -Winterhalter’s portrait representing the Empress Eugénie. She looked -beautiful, and I thanked Heaven that the portrait could not speak, for -it served to explain and justify the wonderful good luck of her majesty. - -The rehearsal took place without any special incident. The young prince -did his utmost to prove to us his gratitude and delight, for it was a -dress rehearsal on his account, as he was not to be present at the -_soirée_. He sketched my costume, and intended to have it copied for a -costume ball which was to be given for the imperial child. Our -performance was in honor of the Queen of Holland, accompanied by the -Prince of Orange, commonly known in Paris as “Prince Citron.” - -A rather amusing incident occurred during the evening. The Empress had -remarkably small feet, and, in order to make them look still smaller, -she forced them into shoes that were too narrow. She looked wonderfully -beautiful that night, with her pretty sloping shoulders emerging from a -dress of pale blue satin, embroidered with silver. On her lovely hair -she was wearing a little diadem of turquoises and diamonds, and her -small feet were on a cushion of silver brocade. All through Coppée’s -piece, my eyes wandered frequently to this cushion, and I saw the two -little feet moving restlessly about. Finally, I saw one of the shoes -pushing its little brother very, very gently, and then I saw the heel of -the empress come out of its prison. The foot was then only covered at -the toe, and I was very anxious to know how it would get back, for, -under such circumstances, the foot swells and cannot go into a shoe that -is too narrow. When the piece was over, we were recalled twice, and as -it was the Empress who gave the signal for the applause, I thought she -was putting off the moment for getting up, and I saw her pretty little -sore foot trying in vain to get back into its shoe. The light curtain -went down, and as I had told Agar about the cushion drama, we watched -the various phases through the divisions in the curtains. - -The Emperor rose and everyone followed his example. He offered his arm -to the Queen of Holland, but she looked at the Empress, who had not yet -risen. The Emperor’s face lighted up with that smile which I had already -seen. He said a word to General Fleury, and immediately the generals and -other officers on duty, who were seated behind the sovereigns, formed a -rampart between the crowd and the Empress. The Emperor and the Queen of -Holland then passed on, without appearing to have noticed her majesty’s -distress, and the Prince of Orange, with one knee on the ground, helped -the beautiful sovereign to put on her Cinderella-like slipper. I saw -that the Empress leaned more heavily on the prince’s arm than she liked, -for her pretty foot was evidently rather painful. - -We were then sent for to be complimented, and we were surrounded and -fêted so much that we were delighted with our evening. - - - - - CHAPTER X - IN FIRE AND WAR - - -After “Le Passant” and the famous success of that adorable piece, a -success in which Agar and I had our share, Chilly thought more of me and -began to like me. He insisted on paying for our costumes, which was -great extravagance for him. I had become the adored queen of the -students, and I used to receive little bouquets of violets, sonnets, and -long, long poems—too long to read. Sometimes, on arriving at the -theater, as I was getting out of my carriage, I received a shower of -flowers which simply covered me, and I was delighted and used to thank -my worshipers. The only thing was that their admiration blinded them, so -that when in some pieces I was not so good, and the house was rather -chary of applause, my little army of students would be indignant, and -would cheer wildly, without rhyme or reason. I can understand quite well -that this used to exasperate the regular subscribers of the Odéon, who -were very kindly disposed toward me, nevertheless. They, too, used to -spoil me, but they would have liked me to be more humble and meek, and -less headstrong. How many times one or another of those old subscribers -would come and give me a word of advice! “Mademoiselle, you were -charming in ‘Junie,’” one of them observed, “but you bite your lips, and -the Roman women never did that!” “My dear girl,” another one said, “you -were delicious in ‘François le Champi,’ but there is not a single Breton -woman in the whole of Brittany with her hair frizzed.” - -A professor from the Sorbonne said to me one day, rather curtly: “It is -a want of respect, mademoiselle, to turn your back on the public!” - -“But, monsieur,” I replied, “I was accompanying an old lady to a door at -the back of the stage. I could not walk along with her backward.” - -“The _artistes_ we had before you, mademoiselle, who were quite as -talented, found a way of going across the stage without turning their -backs on the public.” With this he turned quickly on his heels and was -going away, but I stopped him. - -“Monsieur, will you go to that door, through which you intended to pass, -without turning your back on me?” - -He made an attempt, and then, furious, turned his back on me and -disappeared, slamming the door after him. - -I lived for some time at 16 Rue Auber, in a flat on the first floor, -which was rather a nice one. I had furnished it with old Dutch furniture -which my grandmother had sent me. My godfather advised me to insure -against fire, as this furniture, he assured me, constituted a small -fortune. I decided to follow his advice, and asked my _petite dame_ to -take the necessary steps for me. A few days later, she told me that some -one would call about it on the 12th. On the day in question, toward two -o’clock, a gentleman called, but I was in an extremely nervous -condition, and could not see anyone. I had refused to be disturbed, and -had shut myself up in my bedroom in a frightfully depressed state. That -same evening, I received a letter from the fire insurance company, -asking me which day their agent might call to have the agreement signed. -I replied that he might come on Saturday. On Friday I was so utterly -wretched that I sent to ask my mother to come and lunch with me. I was -not playing that day, as I never used to play on Tuesdays and Fridays, -the days we went through our repertory, for, as I was playing every -other day in new pieces, it was feared that I should be overtired. - -My mother, on arriving, thought I looked very pale. - -“Yes,” I replied, “I do not know what is the matter with me, but I am in -a very nervous state and most depressed.” - -The governess came to fetch my little boy to take him out for a walk, -but I would not let him go. - -“Oh, no!” I exclaimed, “the child must not leave me to-day, I am afraid -of something happening.” - -What happened was fortunately of a less serious nature than I, with my -love for my family, was dreading. - -I had my grandmother living with me at that time, and she was blind. It -was the grandmother who had given me most of my furniture. She was a -spectral-looking woman, and her beauty was of a cold, hard type. She was -fearfully tall, and she looked like a giantess. She was thin, and very -upright, and her long arms were always stretched in front of her, -feeling for all the objects in her way, so that she might not knock -herself, although she was always accompanied by the attendant whom I had -engaged for her. Above this long lady was her little face, with two -immense, pale blue eyes, which were always open, even when asleep -through the night. She was generally dressed from head to foot in gray, -and this neutral color gave something unreal to her general appearance. -My mother, after trying to comfort me, went away about two o’clock. My -grandmother, seated opposite me in her large Voltaire armchair, -questioned me: - -“What are you afraid of?” she asked. “Why are you so mournful? I have -not heard you laugh all day.” - -I did not answer, but looked at my grandmother. It seemed to me that the -trouble I was dreading would come through her. - -“Are you not there?” she persisted. - -“Yes, I am here,” I answered, “but please do not talk to me.” - -She did not utter another word, but, with her two hands on her lap, sat -there for hours. I sketched her strange, prophet-like face. - -It began to grow dusk, and I thought I would go and dress, after being -present at the meal taken by my grandmother and the child. My friend, -Rose Baretta, was dining with me that evening, and I had also invited a -most charming man, who was very intelligent and distinguished. His name -was Charles Haas. Arthur Meyer came, too, a young journalist already -very much in vogue. I told them about my forebodings with regard to that -day, and begged them not to leave me before midnight. - -“After that,” I said, “it will not be to-day, and the wicked sprites who -are watching me will have missed their chance.” - -They agreed to humor my fancy, and Arthur Meyer, who ought to have gone -to some first night at one of the theaters, gave it up. Dinner was more -animated than luncheon had been, and it was nine o’clock when we left -the table. Rose Baretta sang us some delightful old songs. I went away -for a minute to see that all was right in my grandmother’s room. I found -my maid with her head wrapped up in cloths soaked in sedative water. I -asked what was the matter, and she said that she had a terrible -headache. I told her to prepare my bath and everything for me for the -night and then to go to bed. She thanked me and obeyed. - -I went back to the drawing-room, and sitting down to the piano, played -“Il Bacio,” Mendelssohn’s “Bells,” and Weber’s “Last Thought.” I had not -come to the end of this last melody, when I stopped, suddenly hearing -cries in the street of “Fire! Fire!” - -“They are shouting ‘Fire!’” exclaimed Arthur Meyer. - -“That’s all the same to me,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “It is not -midnight yet and I am expecting my own misfortune.” - -Charles Haas had opened the drawing-room window to see where the shouts -were coming from. He stepped out on the balcony, and then came quickly -in again. - -“The fire is here!” he exclaimed. “Look!” - -I rushed to the window and saw the flames coming from the two windows of -my bedroom. I ran back through the drawing-room to the corridor and then -to the room where my child was sleeping with his governess and his -nurse. They were all fast asleep. Arthur Meyer opened the hall door, the -bell of which was being rung violently. I roused the two women quickly, -wrapped the sleeping child in his blankets, and rushed to the door with -my precious burden. I then ran downstairs and, crossing the street, took -him to Guadacelli’s chocolate shop opposite, just at the corner of the -Rue de Caumartin. The kind man took my little slumberer in, let him lie -on a couch, where the child continued his sleep without any break. I -left him in charge of his governess and his nurse, and went quickly back -to the flaming house. - -The firemen, who had been sent for, had not yet arrived, and at all -costs I was determined to rescue my poor grandmother. It was impossible -to go back up the principal staircase, as it was filled with smoke. -Charles Haas, bareheaded and in evening dress, a flower still in his -buttonhole, started with me up the narrow back staircase. We were soon -on the first floor, but when once there my knees shook, it seemed as -though my heart had stopped, and I was seized with despair. The kitchen -door, at the top of the first flight of stairs, was locked with a triple -turn of the key. My willing companion was tall, slight, and elegant, but -not strong. I besought him to go down and fetch a hammer, a hatchet, or -something, but just at that moment a newcomer wrenched the door open by -a violent plunge with his shoulder against it. - -This new arrival was no other than M. Sohège, a friend of mine. He was a -most charming and excellent man, a broad-shouldered Alsatian, well known -in Paris, very lively and kind, and always ready to do anyone a service. -I took my friends to my grandmother’s room. She was sitting up in bed, -out of breath with calling Catherine, the servant who waited upon her. -This maid was about twenty-five years of age, a big, strapping girl from -Burgundy, and she was now sleeping peacefully, in spite of the uproar in -the street, the noise of the fire engines, which had arrived at last, -and the wild shrieks of the occupants of the house. Sohège shook the -maid, while I explained to my grandmother the reason of the tumult and -why we were in her room. - -“Very good,” she said: and then she added, calmly, “will you give me the -box, Sarah, that you will find at the bottom of the wardrobe? The key of -it is here.” - -“But, grandmother,” I exclaimed, “the smoke is beginning to come in -here. We have not any time to lose.” - -“Well, do as you like, I shall not leave without my box!” With the help -of Charles Haas and of Arthur Meyer, we put my grandmother on Sohège’s -back, in spite of herself. He was of medium height, and she was -extremely tall, so that her long legs touched the ground, and I was -afraid she might get them injured. Sohège, therefore, took her in his -arms, and Charles Haas carried her legs. We then set off, but the smoke -stifled us, and after descending about ten stairs I fell down in a -faint. - -When I came to myself, I was in my mother’s bed. My little boy was -asleep in my sister’s room, and my grandmother was installed in a large -armchair. She sat bolt upright, frowning, and with an angry expression -on her lips. She did not trouble about anything but her box, until at -last my mother was angry, and reproached her severely in Dutch with only -caring for herself. She answered excitedly, and her neck craned forward, -as though to help her head to peer through the perpetual darkness which -surrounded her. Her thin body wrapped in an Indian shawl of many colors, -the hissing of her strident words, which flowed freely, all contributed -to make her resemble a serpent in some terrible nightmare. My mother did -not like this woman, who had married my grandfather when he had six big -children, the eldest of whom was sixteen and the youngest, my uncle, -five years. This second wife had never had any children of her own, and -she had been indifferent and even hard toward those of her husband, and -consequently she was not liked in the family. I had taken her in because -smallpox had broken out in the family with whom she had been boarding. -She had then wished to stay with me, and I had not had courage enough to -oppose her. On the occasion of the fire, though, I considered she -behaved so badly that a strong dislike to her came over me, and I -resolved not to have her any longer in my house. - -News of the fire was brought to us. It continued to rage, and burned -everything in my flat, absolutely everything, even to the very last book -in my library. My greatest trouble was that I lost a magnificent -portrait of my mother by Bassompierre Severin, a pastelist very much in -vogue under the Empire; an oil portrait of my father, and a very pretty -pastel of my sister Jeanne. I had not much jewelry, and all that was -found of the bracelet given to me by the Emperor was a huge shapeless -mass which I still have. I had a very pretty diadem, set with diamonds -and pearls, given to me by Kabil Bey, after a performance at his house. -The ashes of this had to be riddled in order to find the stones. The -diamonds were there, but the pearls had melted. - -I was absolutely ruined, for the money that my father and his mother had -left me I had spent in furniture, curiosities, and a hundred other -useless things, which were the delight of my life. I had, too, and I own -it was absurd, a tortoise named Chrysagère. Its back was covered with a -shell of gold, set with very small blue, pink, and yellow topazes. Oh, -how beautiful it was and how droll! It used to wander round my flat, -accompanied by a small tortoise named Zerbinette, which was its servant, -and I amused myself for hours watching Chrysagère, flashing with a -hundred lights under the rays of the sun or the moon. Both my tortoises -died in this fire. - -Duquesnel, who was very kind to me at that time, came to see me a few -weeks later, for he had just received a summons from the fire insurance -company, whose papers I had refused to sign the day before the -catastrophe. The company claimed a heavy sum from me for damages to the -other tenants of the house. The second story was almost entirely -destroyed, and for many months the whole building had to be propped up. -I did not possess the forty thousand francs claimed. Duquesnel offered -to give a benefit performance for me, which would, he said, free me from -my difficulty. De Chilly was very walling to agree to anything that -would be of service to me. This benefit was a wonderful success, thanks -to the presence of the adorable Adelina Patti. The young singer, who was -then the Marquise de Caux, had never before sung at a benefit -performance, and it was Arthur Meyer who brought me the news that “La -Patti” was going to sing for me. Her husband came during the afternoon, -to tell me how glad she was of this opportunity of proving to me her -sympathy. As soon as the “fairy bird” was announced, every seat in the -house was promptly taken, at prices which were higher than those -originally fixed. She had no reason to regret her friendly action, for -never was any triumph more complete. The students greeted her with three -cheers as she came on the stage. She was a little surprised at this -noise of bravos in rhythm. I can see her now coming forward, her two -little feet encased in pink satin. She was like a bird hesitating as to -whether it would fly or remain on the ground. She looked so pretty, so -smiling, and when she trilled out the gemlike notes of her wonderful -voice the whole house was delirious with excitement. Everyone sprang up -and the students stood on their seats, waved their hats and -handkerchiefs, nodded their young heads, in their feverish enthusiasm -for art, and encored with intonations of the most touching supplication. -The divine singer then began again, and three times over she had to sing -the _cavatina_ from the “Barber of Seville,” _Una voce poco fa_. - -I thanked her affectionately afterwards, and she left the theater -escorted by the students, who followed her carriage for a long way, -shouting over and over again: “Long live Adelina Patti!” Thanks to that -evening’s performance I was able to pay the insurance company. I was -ruined all the same, or very nearly so. - -I stayed a few days with my mother, but we were so cramped for room -there that I took a furnished flat in the Rue de l’Arcade. It was a -wretched house and the flat was dark. I was wondering how I should get -out of my difficulties, when one morning M. C——, my father’s notary, was -announced. This was the man I disliked so much, but I gave orders that -he should be shown in. I was surprised that I had not seen him for so -long a time. He told me that he had just returned from Hombourg, that he -had seen in the newspaper an account of my misfortune, and had now come -to put himself at my service. In spite of my distrust, I was touched by -this, and I related to him the whole drama of my fire. I did not know -how it had started, but I vaguely suspected my maid Josephine of having -placed my lighted candle on the little table to the left of the head of -my bed. I had frequently warned her not to do this, but it was on this -little piece of furniture that she always placed my water bottle and -glass, and a dessert dish with a couple of raw apples, for I like eating -apples when I wake in the night. On opening the door there was always a -terrible draught, as the windows were left open until I went to bed. On -closing the door after her the lace bed curtains had probably caught -fire. I could not explain the catastrophe in any other way. I had -several times seen the young servant do this stupid thing, and I -supposed that on the night in question she had been in a hurry to go to -bed on account of her bad headache. As a rule, when I was going to -undress myself, she prepared everything and then came in and told me, -but this time she had not done so. As a rule, too, I just went into the -room myself to see that everything was right, and several times I had -been obliged to move the candle. That day, however, was destined to -bring me misfortune of some kind, though it was not a very great one. - -“But,” said the notary, “you were not insured, then?” - -“No, I was to sign my policy the day after the event.” - -“Ah,” exclaimed the man of law; “and to think that I have been told you -set the flat on fire yourself, for the sake of picking up a large sum -for damages!” - -I shrugged my shoulders, for I had seen insinuations to this effect in a -newspaper. I was very young at this time, but I already had a certain -disdain for tittle-tattle. - -“Oh, well, I must arrange matters for you, if things are like this,” -said Maître C——. “You are really better off than you imagine as regards -the money on your father’s side,” he continued. “As your grandmother -leaves you an annuity, you can get a good amount for this by agreeing to -insure your life for 250,000 francs for forty years, for the benefit of -the purchaser.” I agreed to everything, and was only too delighted at -such a windfall. This man promised to send me, two days after his -return, 120,000 francs, and he kept his word. - -My reason for giving the details of this little episode, which after all -belongs to my life, is to show how differently things turn out from what -seems likely, according to logic or according to our own expectations. -It is quite certain that the accident, which just then happened to me, -scattered to the winds the hopes and plans of my life. I had arranged -for myself a luxurious home with the money that my father and his mother -had left me. I had reserved and placed out the amount necessary to -complete my monthly salary for the next two years, and I was reckoning -that at the end of the two years I should be in a position to demand a -very large salary. And all these arrangements had been upset by the -carelessness of a domestic. I had rich relatives and very rich friends, -but not one among them stretched out a hand to help me out of the ditch -into which I had fallen. My rich relatives had not forgiven me for going -on to the stage. And yet, Heaven knows what tears it had cost me to take -up this career that had been forced upon me! My Uncle Faure came to see -me at my mother’s house, but my aunt would not listen to a word about -me. I used to see my cousin secretly, and sometimes his pretty sister. -My rich friends considered that I was wildly extravagant, and could not -understand why I did not place the money I had inherited in good, sound -investments. - -I received a great deal of poetry on the subject of my fire. Most of the -pieces were anonymous; I have kept them, however, and I quote the -following one, which is rather nice: - - _Passant_, te voilà sans abri: - La flamme a ravagé ton gîte. - Hier plus léger qu’un colibri; - Ton esprit aujourd’hui s’agite, - S’exhalant en gémissements - Sur tout ce que le feu dévore. - Tu pleures tes beaux diamants?... - Non, tes grands yeux les ont encore! - - Ne regrette pas ces colliers; - Qu’on a leur cou les riches dames! - Tu trouveras dans les halliers, - Des tissus verts, aux fines trames! - Ta perle?... Mais, c’est le jais noir - Qui sur l’envers du fossépousse! - Et le cadre de ton miroir - Est une bordure de mousse! - - Tes bracelets?... Mais, tes bras nus: - Tu paraitras cent fois plus belle! - Sur les bras polis de Vénus, - Aucun cercle d’or n’étincelle! - Garde ton charme si puissant! - Ton parfum de plante sauvage! - Laisse les bijoux, _O Passant_, - A celles que le temps ravage! - - Avec ta guitare à ton cou, - Va, par la France et par l’Espagne! - Suis ton chemin; je ne sais où.... - Par la plaine et par la montagne! - Passe, comme la plume au vent! - Comme le son de ta mandore! - Comme un flot qui baise en rêvant - Les flancs d’une barque sonore! - -The proprietor of one of the hotels now very much in vogue sent me the -following letter, which I quote word for word: - - MADAME: If you would consent to dine every evening for a month in our - large dining-room, I would place at your service a suite of rooms on - the first floor, consisting of two bedrooms, a large drawing-room, a - small boudoir and a bath room. It is of course, understood that this - suite of rooms would be yours free of charge if you would consent to - do as I ask. - - Yours truly, etc.... - - P. S.—You would only have to pay for the fresh supplies of plants for - your drawing-room. - -This was the extent of the man’s coarseness. I asked one of my friends -to go and give the low fellow his answer. - -I was in despair, though, for I felt that I could not live without -comfort and luxury. - -I soon made up my mind as to what I must do, but not without great -sorrow. I had been offered a magnificent engagement in Russia, and I -should have to accept it. Mme. Guérard was my sole confidant, and I did -not mention my plan to anyone else. The idea of Russia terrified her, -for at that time my chest was very delicate and cold was my most cruel -enemy. It was just as I had made up my mind to this that the lawyer -arrived. His avaricious and crafty mind had schemed out the clever and, -for him, profitable combination, which was to change my whole life once -more. - -I took a pretty flat on the first floor of a house in the Rue de Rome. -It was very sunny, and that delighted me more than anything else. There -were two drawing-rooms and a large dining-room. I arranged for my -grandmother to live at a home kept by lay Sisters and nuns. She was a -Jewess, and carried out very strictly all the laws laid down by her -religion. The house was very comfortable, and my grandmother took with -her her own maid, the young girl from Burgundy, to whom she was -accustomed. When I went to see her she told me that she was much better -off there than with me. “When I was with you,” she said, “I found your -boy too noisy.” I very rarely went to visit her there, for after seeing -my mother turn pale at her unkind words I never cared any more for her. -She was happy, and that was the essential thing. - -I now played in “Le Bâtard,” in which I had great success; in -“L’Affranchi,” in “L’Autre,” by George Sand, and in “Jean-Marie,” a -little masterpiece by André Theuriet, which had the most brilliant -success. Porel played the part of _Jean-Marie_. He was at that time -slender, and full of hope as regarded his future. Since then his -slenderness has developed into plumpness and his hope into certitude. - - -Evil days then came upon us! Paris began to get feverish and excited. -The streets were black with groups of people, discussing and -gesticulating. And all this noise was only the echo of far-distant -groups gathered together in German streets. These other groups were -yelling, gesticulating, and discussing, but—they knew; while we—did not -know! - -I could not keep calm, but was extremely excited, until finally I was -ill. War was declared, and I hate war! It exasperates me and makes me -shudder from head to foot. At times I used to spring up terrified, upset -by the distant cries of human voices. - -Oh, war! What infamy, shame, and sorrow! War! What theft and crime, -abetted, forgiven, and glorified! - -On the 19th of July, war was seriously declared and Paris then became -the theater of the most touching and burlesque scenes. Excitable and -delicate as I was, I could not bear the sight of all these young men -gone wild, who were yelling the “Marseillaise,” and rushing along the -streets in close file, shouting over and over again; “To Berlin! To -Berlin!” - -My heart used to beat wildly for I, too, thought that they were going to -Berlin. I understood the fury they felt, for these people had provoked -us without plausible reasons, but at the same time it seemed to me that -they were getting ready for this great occasion without sufficient -respect and dignity. My own impotence made me feel rebellious, and when -I saw all the mothers, with pale faces and eyes swollen with crying, -holding their boys in their arms and kissing them in despair, the most -frightful anguish seemed to choke me. I cried, too, almost unceasingly, -and I was wearing myself away with anxiety, but I did not foresee the -horrible catastrophe that was to take place. - -The doctors decided that I must go to Eaux-Bonnes. I did not want to -leave Paris, for I had caught the general fever of excitement. My -weakness increased though, day by day, and on the 27th day of July I was -taken away in spite of myself. Mme. Guérard, my manservant, and my maid -accompanied me, and I also took my child with me. - -At the stations there were posters everywhere, announcing that the -Emperor Napoleon had gone to Metz to take command of the army. - -On arriving at Eaux-Bonnes, I was obliged to go to bed. My condition was -considered very serious by Dr. Langlet, who told me afterwards that he -certainly thought I was going to die. I vomited blood and had to have a -piece of ice in my mouth all the time. At the end of about twelve days, -however, I began to get up, and after this I soon recovered my strength -and my calmness, and went for long rides. - -The war news led us to hope for victory. There was great joy and a -certain emotion felt by everyone on hearing that the young Prince -Imperial had received his baptism of fire at Saarbruck, in the -engagement commanded by General Frossard. - -Life seemed to me beautiful again, for I had great confidence in the -issue of the war. I pitied the Germans for having embarked on such an -adventure. But, alas! the glorious progress which my brain had been so -active in imagining was cut short by the atrocious news from St. Privat. -The political news was posted up every day in the little garden of the -Casino at Eaux-Bonnes. The public went there to get information. -Detesting tranquillity, as I did, I used to send my manservant to copy -the telegrams. Oh, how grievous it was, that terrible telegram from St. -Privat, informing us laconically of the frightful butchery, of Marshal -Canrobert’s heroic defense, and of Bazaine’s first treachery in not -going to the rescue of his comrades. - -I knew Canrobert and liked him immensely. Later on he was one of my -faithful friends, and I shall always remember the exquisite hours spent -in listening to his accounts of the bravery of others—never of his own. -And what an abundance of anecdotes, what wit, what charm! - -This news of the battle of St. Privat caused my feverishness to return. -My sleep was full of nightmares and I had a relapse. The news was worse -every day. After St. Privat came Gravelotte where 36,000 men, French and -German, were cut down in a few hours. Then came the sublime but -powerless efforts of MacMahon, who was repulsed as far as Sedan, and -finally Sedan! - -Sedan! Ah, the horrible awakening! The month of August had finished the -night before amid a tumult of weapons and dying groans. But the groans -of the dying men were mingled still with hopeful cries. The month of -September, though, was cursed from its very birth. Its first war cry was -stifled back by the brutal and cowardly hand of Destiny. - -A hundred thousand men! A hundred thousand Frenchmen had to capitulate, -and the Emperor of France had to hand his sword over to the King of -Prussia! - -Ah, that cry of grief, that cry of rage uttered by the whole nation! It -can never be forgotten! - -On the first of September toward ten o’clock Claude, my manservant, -knocked at my door. I was not asleep, and he gave me his copy of the -first telegrams: “Battle of Sedan commenced.... MacMahon wounded ... -etc., etc.” “Ah, go back again!” I said, “and as soon as a fresh -telegram comes, bring me the news. I feel that something unheard of, -something great—and quite different—is going to happen. We have suffered -so terribly this last month that there can only be something good now, -something fine; for God’s scales mete out joy and suffering equally. Go -at once, Claude,” I added, and then full of confidence, I soon fell -asleep again, and was so tired that I slept until one o’clock. When I -awoke, my maid Elicie, the most delightful girl imaginable, was seated -near my bed. Her pretty face and her large, dark eyes were so mournful -that my heart stopped beating. I gazed at her anxiously, and she put -into my hands the copy of the last telegram: “The Emperor Napoleon has -just handed over his sword....” - -The blood rushed to my head, and my lungs were too weak to control it. I -lay back on my pillow, and the blood escaped through my lips with the -groans of my whole being. - -For three days I was between life and death. Dr. Langlet sent for one of -my father’s friends, a shipowner named M. Mannoir. He came at once, -bringing with him his young wife. She, too, was very ill, worse in -reality than I was, in spite of her fresh look, for she died six months -later. Thanks to their care and to the energetic treatment of Dr. -Langlet I came through alive from this attack. - -I decided to return at once to Paris, as the siege was about to be -proclaimed and I did not want my mother and my sisters to remain in the -capital. Independently of this, everyone at Eaux-Bonnes was seized with -a desire to get away, invalids and tourists alike. A post chaise was -found, the owner of which agreed, for an exorbitant price, to take me to -the next train that came. When once in it, we were more or less -comfortably seated as far as Bordeaux, but it was impossible to find -five seats in the express from there. My manservant was allowed to -travel with the engine driver. I do not know where Mme. Guérard and my -maid found room, but in the compartment I entered, with my little boy, -there were already nine persons. An ugly old man tried to push my child -back when I had put him in, but I pushed him again energetically in my -turn. - -“No human force will make us get out of this carriage again,” I said; -“do you hear that, you ugly old man? We are here and we shall stay.” - -A stout lady, who took up more room herself than three ordinary persons, -exclaimed: - -“Well, that is lively, for we are suffocated already. It’s shameful to -let eleven persons get into a compartment where there are only seats for -eight!” - -“Will you get out, then?” I retorted, turning to her quickly, “for -without you there would only be seven of us.” - -The stifled laughter of the other travelers showed me that I had won -over my audience. Three young men offered me their places, but I -refused, declaring that I was going to stand. The three young men had -risen and they declared that they would also stand, then. The stout lady -called a railway official. “Come here, please,” she began. The official -stopped an instant at the door. - -“It is perfectly shameful,” she went on. “There are eleven in this -compartment, and it is impossible to move.” - -“Don’t you believe it,” exclaimed one of the young men. “Just look for -yourself; we are standing up and there are three seats empty; send us -some more people in here!” - -The official went away laughing and muttering something about the woman -who had complained. She turned to the young man and began to talk -abusively to him. He bowed very respectfully in reply, and said: - -“Madame, if you will calm down you shall be satisfied. We will seat -seven on the other side, including the child, and then you will only be -four on your side.” - -The ugly old man was short and slight. He looked sideways at the stout -lady and murmured: “Four! four!” His look and tone showed that he -considered the stout lady took up more than one seat. This look and tone -were not lost on the young man, and before the ugly old man had -comprehended he said to him: “Will you come over here, and have this -corner? All the thin people will be together, then,” he added, inviting -a placid, calm-looking young Englishman of about eighteen to twenty -years of age to take the old man’s seat. The Englishman had the body of -a prize fighter with a face like that of a fair-haired baby. A very -young woman, opposite the stout one, laughed till the tears came. All -six of us then found room on the thin people’s side of the carriage. We -were a little crushed, but had been considerably enlivened by this -little entertainment, and we certainly needed something to enliven us. -The young man who had taken the matter in hand in such a witty way, was -tall and nice-looking. He had blue eyes, and his hair was almost white, -and this gave to his face a most attractive freshness and youthfulness. -My boy was on his knee during the night. With the exception of the -child, the stout lady, and the young Englishman, no one went to sleep. -The heat was overpowering, and the war was of course discussed. After -some hesitation, one of the young men told me that I resembled Mlle. -Sarah Bernhardt. I answered that there was every reason why I should -resemble her. The young men then introduced themselves. The one who had -recognized me was Albert Delpit, the second was a Dutchman, Baron von -Zelern or Von Zelen, I do not remember exactly which, and the young man -with the white hair was Felix Faure. He told me that he was from Hâvre, -and that he knew my grandmother very well. I kept up a certain -friendship with these three men afterwards, but later on Albert Delpit -became my enemy. All three are now dead; Albert Delpit died a -disappointed man, for he had tried everything, and succeeded in nothing; -the Dutch baron died in a railway accident, and Felix Faure as President -of the French Republic. - -The young woman, on hearing my name, introduced herself in her turn: - -“I think we are slightly related,” she said. “I am Mme. Laroque....” - -“Of Bordeaux?” I asked. - -“Yes.” - -My mother’s brother had married a Mlle. Laroque of Bordeaux, so that we -were able to talk of our family. Altogether the journey did not seem -very long, in spite of the heat, the overcrowding, and our thirst. - -The arrival in Paris was more gloomy. We shook hands warmly with each -other. The stout lady’s husband was awaiting her with a telegram in his -hand. The unfortunate woman read it, and then, uttering a cry, burst -into sobs and fell into his arms. I gazed at her, wandering what sorrow -had come upon her. Poor woman, I could no longer see anything ridiculous -about her! I felt a pang of remorse at the thought that we had been -laughing at her so much, when misfortune had already singled her out. - -On reaching home I sent word to my mother that I should be with her -sometime during the day. She came at once, as she wanted to know how my -health was. We then arranged about the departure of the whole family, -with the exception of myself, as I wanted to stay in Paris during the -siege. My mother, my little boy, and his nurse, my sisters, my Aunt -Annette, who kept house for me, and my mother’s maid, were all ready to -start two days later. I had taken rooms at Frascati’s, at Hâvre, for the -whole tribe. But the desire to leave Paris was one thing, and the -possibility of doing so, another. The stations were invaded by families -like mine, who thought it more prudent to emigrate. I sent my manservant -to engage a compartment, and he came back three hours later with his -clothes torn, after receiving various kicks and blows. - -“Madame cannot go into that crowd,” he assured me. “It is quite -impossible. I should not be able to protect her. And then, too, madame -will not be alone; there is madame’s mother, the other ladies, and the -children. It is really quite impossible.” - -I sent at once for three of my friends, explained my difficulty, and -asked them to accompany me. I told my butler to be ready, as well as my -other manservant, and my mother’s footman. He, in his turn, invited his -younger brother, who was a priest and who was very willing to go with -us. We all set off in a railway omnibus. There were seventeen of us in -all, and only nine who were really traveling. Our eight protectors were -not too many, for they were not human beings who were taking tickets, -but wild beasts, haunted by fear, and spurred on by a desire to escape. -These brutes saw nothing but the little ticket office, the door leading -to the train, and then the train which would insure their escape. The -presence of the young priest was a great help to us, for his religious -character made people refrain sometimes from blows. - -When once all my people were installed in the compartment which had been -reserved for them, they waved their farewells, threw kisses, and the -train started. A shudder of terror then ran through me, for I suddenly -felt so absolutely alone. It was the first time I had been separated -from the little child who was dearer to me than the whole world. - -Two arms were then thrown affectionately round me, and a voice murmured: -“My dear Sarah, why did you not go, too? You are so delicate. Will you -be able to bear the solitude without the dear child?” - -It was Mme. Guérard, who had arrived too late to kiss the boy, but was -there now to comfort the mother. I gave way to my despair, regretting -that I had sent him away. And yet, as I said to myself, there might be -fighting in Paris! The idea never for an instant occurred to me that I -might have gone away with him. I thought that I might be of some use in -Paris. Of some use, but in what way? This I did not know. The idea -seemed stupid, but nevertheless that was my idea. It seemed to me that -everyone who was well ought to stay in Paris. In spite of my weakness I -felt that I was well, and with reason, as I proved later on. I therefore -stayed, not knowing at all what I was going to do. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - I ESTABLISH MY WAR HOSPITAL - - -For some days I was perfectly dazed, missing the usual life around me, -and missing the affection of those I loved. The defense, however, was -being organized, and I decided to use my strength and intelligence in -tending the wounded. The question was where could we install an -_ambulance_? - -The Odéon Theater had closed its doors, but I moved heaven and earth to -get permission to organize an _ambulance_ at the Odéon, and, thanks to -Emile de Girardin and Duquesnel, my wish was granted. I went to the War -Office and made my declaration, and my request and my offers were -accepted for a military _ambulance_. - -The next difficulty was that I wanted food. I wrote a line to the -Prefect of Police. A military courier arrived very soon after my letter, -bringing me a note from the prefect, containing the following lines: - - MADAME: If you could possibly come at once I would wait for you until - six o’clock. Excuse the earliness of the hour, but I have to be at the - Chamber at nine in the morning, and as your note seems to be urgent, I - am anxious to do all I can to be of service to you. - - COMTE DE KÉRATRY. - -I remembered a Comte de Kératry who had been introduced to me at my -aunt’s house the evening I had recited poetry accompanied by Rossini. He -was a young lieutenant, good-looking, witty, and lively. He had -introduced me to his mother, a very charming woman, and I had recited -poetry at her _soirées_. The young lieutenant had gone to Mexico and for -some time we had kept up a correspondence, but this had gradually -ceased, and we had not met again. I asked Mme. Guérard whether she -thought that the prefect might be a near relative of my young friend’s. -“It may be so,” she replied, and we discussed this in the carriage which -was taking us at once to the Tuileries Palace, where the prefect had his -offices. My heart was very heavy when we came to the stone steps. Only a -few months previously, one April morning, I had been there with Mme. -Guérard. Then, as now, a footman had come forward to open the door of my -carriage, but the April sunshine had then lighted up the steps, caught -the shining lamps of the state carriages, and sent its rays in all -directions. There had been a busy, joyful coming and going of the -officers, and elegant salutes had been exchanged. On this occasion the -misty, crafty-looking November sun fell heavily on all it touched. -Black, dirty-looking cabs drove up one after the other, knocking against -the iron gate, grazing the steps, advancing or moving back, according to -the coarse shouts of their drivers. Instead of the elegant salutations, -I heard now such phrases as: - -“Well, how are you, old chap?” “Oh, the wooden jaws!” “Well, any news?” -“Yes, it’s the very deuce with us!” etc., etc.... The palace was no -longer the same. The very atmosphere had changed. The faint perfume -which elegant women leave in the air as they pass was no longer there. A -vague odor of tobacco, of greasy clothes, of hair plastered with pomatum -made the atmosphere seem heavy. Ah, the beautiful French Empress! I -could see her again in her blue dress embroidered with silver, calling -to her aid Cinderella’s good fairy to help her on again with her little -slipper. The delightful young Prince Imperial, too; I could see him -helping me to place the pots of verbena and Marguerites, and holding in -his arms, which were not strong enough for it, a huge pot of -rhododendrons, behind which his handsome face completely disappeared. I -could see the Emperor Napoleon III himself, with his half-closed eyes, -clapping his hands at the rehearsal of the courtesies intended for him. - -The fair Empress, dressed in strange clothes, had rushed away in the -carriage of her American dentist, for it was not even a Frenchman, but a -foreigner, who had had the courage to protect the unfortunate woman. And -the gentle Utopian Emperor had tried in vain to be killed on the -battlefield. Two horses had been killed under him, but he had not -received so much as a scratch. And after this he had given up his sword. -And we, at home, had all wept with anger, shame, and grief at this -giving up of the sword. Yet what courage it must have required for this -brave man to carry out such an act! He had wanted to save a hundred -thousand men, to spare a hundred thousand lives, and to reassure a -hundred thousand mothers. Our poor, beloved Emperor! History will some -day do him justice, for he was good, humane, and confiding. Alas! alas! -he was too confiding! - -I stopped a minute before entering the prefect’s suite of rooms. I was -obliged to wipe my eyes, and, in order to change the current of my -thoughts, I said to my _petite dame_: - -“Tell me, should you think me pretty if you saw me now for the first -time?” - -“Oh, yes!” she replied warmly. - -“So much the better!” I said, “for I want this old prefect to think me -pretty. There are so many things I must ask him for.” - -On entering his room, what was my surprise to recognize in him the -lieutenant I knew. He had become captain and then prefect of the Seine. -When my name was announced by the usher, he sprang up from his chair and -came forward with his face beaming and both hands stretched out. - -“Ah, you had forgotten me!” he said; and then he turned to greet Mme. -Guérard in a friendly way. - -“But I never thought I was coming to see you,” I replied; “and I am -delighted,” I continued, “for you will let me have everything I ask -for.” - -“Only that!” he remarked, with a short burst of laughter. “Well, will -you give your orders, madame?” he continued. - -“Yes, I want bread, milk, meat, vegetables, sugar, wine, brandy, -potatoes, eggs, coffee,” I said in one breath. - -“Oh, let me get my breath!” exclaimed the count-prefect. “You speak so -quickly that I am gasping.” - -I was quiet a moment, and then I continued: - -“I have started an _ambulance_ at the Odéon, but as it is a military -_ambulance_, the municipal authorities refuse me food. I have five -wounded men already, and I can manage for them, but other wounded men -are being sent to me, and I shall have to give them food.” - -“You shall be supplied above and beyond all your wishes,” said the -prefect. “There is food in the palace which was being stored by the -unfortunate Empress. She had prepared enough for months and months. I -will have all you want sent to you, except meat, bread, and milk, and as -regards these I will give orders that your _ambulance_ shall be included -in the municipal service, although it is a military one. Then I will -give you an order for salt and some other things, which you will be able -to get from the Opera.” - -“From the Opera!” I repeated, looking at him incredulously. “But it is -only being built, and there is nothing but scaffolding there yet.” - -“Yes; but you must go through the little doorway under the scaffolding -opposite the Rue Scribe; you then go up the little spiral staircase -leading to the provision office, and there you will be supplied with -what you want.” - -“There is still something else I want to ask,” I said. - -“Go on, I am quite resigned, and ready for your orders,” he replied. - -“Well, I am very uneasy,” I said, “for they have put a stock of powder -in the cellars under the Odéon. If Paris were to be bombarded and a -shell should fall on the building, we should all be blown up, and that -is not the aim and object of an _ambulance_.” - -“You are quite right,” said the kind man, “and nothing could be more -stupid than to store powder there. I shall have more difficulty about -that, though,” he continued, “for I shall have to deal with a crowd of -stubborn _bourgeois_, who want to organize the defense in their own way. -You must try to get a petition for me, signed by the most influential -householders and tradespeople in the neighborhood. Now are you -satisfied?” he asked. - -“Yes,” I replied, shaking hands with him cordially with both hands. “You -have been most kind and charming. Thank you very much.” - -I then moved toward the door, but I stood still again suddenly, as -though hypnotized by an overcoat hanging over a chair. Mme. Guérard saw -what had attracted my attention, and she pulled my sleeve gently: - -“My dear Sarah,” she whispered, “do not do that.” - -I looked beseechingly at the young prefect, but he did not understand. - -“What can I do now to oblige you, beautiful Madonna?” he asked. - -I pointed to the coat and tried to look as charming as possible. - -“I am very sorry,” he said, bewildered, “but I do not understand at -all.” - -I was still pointing to the coat. - -“Give it me, will you?” I said. - -“My overcoat?” - -“Yes.” - -“What do you want it for?” - -“For my wounded men when they are convalescent.” - -He sank down on a chair in a fit of laughter. I was rather vexed at this -uncontrollable outburst, and I continued my explanation. - -“There is nothing so funny about it,” I said. “I have a poor fellow, for -instance, whose two fingers have been taken off. He does not need to -stay in bed for that, naturally, and his soldier’s cape is not warm -enough. It is very difficult to warm the big _foyer_ of the Odéon -sufficiently, and those who are well enough have to be there. The man I -tell you about is warm enough at present, because I took Henri Fould’s -overcoat, when he came to see me the other day. My poor soldier is huge, -and as Henri Fould is a giant I might never have had such an opportunity -again. I shall want a great many overcoats, though, and this looks like -a very warm one.” - -I stroked the furry lining of the coveted garment, and the young -prefect, still choking with laughter, began to empty the pockets of his -overcoat. He pulled out a magnificent white silk muffler from the -largest pocket. - -“Will you allow me to keep my muffler?” he asked. - -I put on a resigned expression and nodded my consent. Our host then -rang, and when the usher appeared he handed him the overcoat, and said -in a solemn voice, in spite of the laughter in his eyes: - -“Will you carry this to the carriage for these ladies?” - -I thanked him again and went away feeling very happy. - -Twelve days later I returned, taking with me a letter covered with the -signatures of the householders and tradesmen living near the Odéon. - -On entering the prefect’s room I was petrified to see him, instead of -advancing to meet me, rush toward a cupboard, open the door, and fling -something hastily into it. After this he leaned back against the door as -though to prevent my opening it. - -“Excuse me,” he said, in a witty, mocking tone, “but I took a violent -cold after your first visit. I have just put my overcoat—oh, only an -ugly, old overcoat, not a warm one,” he added quickly, “but still an -overcoat, inside there, and there it is now, and I will take the key out -of the lock.” - -He put the key carefully into his pocket, and then came forward and -found me a chair. Our conversation soon took a more serious turn, -though, for the news was very bad. For the last twelve days the -_ambulances_ had been crowded with the wounded. Everything was in a bad -way, home politics as well as foreign politics. The Germans were -advancing on Paris. The Army of the Loire was being formed. Gambetta, -Chanzy, Bourbaki, and Trochn were organizing a desperate defense. We -talked for some time about all these sad things, and I told him about -the painful impression I had had on my last visit to the Tuileries, of -my remembrance of everyone, so brilliant, so considerate, and so happy -formerly, and so deeply to be pitied at present. We were silent for a -moment, and then I shook hands with him, told him I had received all he -had sent, and returned to my _ambulance_. - -[Illustration: AN EARLY PORTRAIT OF SARAH BERNHARDT.] - -The prefect had sent me ten barrels of wine and two of brandy; 30,000 -eggs all packed in boxes with lime and bran; a hundred bags of coffee, -boxes of tea, forty boxes of Albert biscuits, a thousand tins of -preserve, and a quantity of other things. M. Menier, the great chocolate -manufacturer, had sent me five hundred pounds of chocolate. One of my -friends, who was a flour dealer, had made me a present of twenty sacks -of flour, ten of which were maize flour. Félix Potin, my neighbor when I -was living at 11 Boulevard Malesherbes, had responded to my appeal by -sending two barrels of raisins, a hundred boxes of sardines, three sacks -of rice, two sacks of lentils, and twenty sugar loaves. From M. De -Rothschild I had received two barrels of brandy and a hundred bottles of -his own wine for the convalescents. I also received a very unexpected -present. Léonie Dubourg, an old schoolfellow of mine at the Grandchamps -Convent, sent me fifty tin boxes, each containing four pounds of salt -butter. She had married a very wealthy gentleman farmer, who cultivated -his own farms, which it seems were very numerous. I was very much -touched at her remembering me, for I had never seen her since the old -days at the convent. I had also asked for all the overcoats and slippers -of my various friends, and I had bought up a job lot of two hundred -flannel vests. My Aunt Betty, my blind grandmother’s sister, who is -still living in Holland, and is now ninety-three years of age, managed -to get for me, through the delightful Dutch Ambassador, Baron ——, three -hundred night shirts of magnificent Dutch linen, and a hundred pairs of -sheets. I received lint and bandages from every corner of Paris, but it -was more particularly from the Palais de l’Industrie that I used to get -my provisions of lint and linen for binding wounds. There was an -adorable woman there, named Mlle. Hocquigny, who was at the head of all -the _ambulances_. All that she did was done with a cheerful -gracefulness, and all that she was obliged to refuse she refused -sorrowfully, but still in a gracious manner. She was at that time more -than thirty years of age, and although unmarried she looked more like a -young married woman. She had large, blue, dreamy eyes, and a laughing -mouth, a deliciously oval face, little dimples, and crowning all this -grace, this dreamy expression and this coquettish, inviting mouth, a -wide forehead like that of the virgins painted by the early painters, a -wide and rather prominent forehead, encircled by hair worn in smooth, -wide, flat bandeaux, separated by a faultless parting. The forehead -seemed like the protecting rampart of this delicious face. Mlle. -Hocquigny was adored by everyone, and made much of, but she remained -invulnerable to all homage. She was happy in being beloved, but she -would not allow anyone to express affection for her. - -At the Palais de l’Industrie a remarkable number of celebrated doctors -and surgeons were on duty, and they, as well as the convalescents, were -all more or less in love with Mlle. Hocquigny. As she and I were great -friends, she confided to me her observations and her sorrowful disdain. -Thanks to her I was never short of linen nor of lint. I had organized my -_ambulance_ with a very small staff. My cook was installed in the public -_foyer_. I had bought her an immense cooking range, so that she could -make soups and herb tea for fifty men. Her husband was chief attendant. -I had given him two assistants, and Mme. Guérard, Mme. Lambquin, and I -were the nurses. Two of us sat up at night, so that we each went to bed -every third night. I preferred this to taking on some woman whom I did -not know. Mme. Lambquin belonged to the Odéon, where she used to take -the part of the duennas. She was plain and had a common face, but she -was very talented. She talked loud and was very plain spoken. She called -a spade a spade, and liked frankness and no under meaning to things. At -times she was a trifle embarrassing with the crudeness of her words and -her remarks, but she was kind, active, alert, and devoted. My various -friends who were on service at the fortifications came to me in their -free time to do my secretarial work. I had to keep a book, which was -shown every day to a sergeant who came from the Val-de-Grâce military -hospital, giving all details as to how many men came into our -_ambulance_, how many died, and how many recovered and left. Paris was -in a state of siege, and no one could go far outside the walls, and no -news from outside could be received. The Germans were not, however, -round the gates of the city. Baron Larrey came now and then to see me, -and I had, as head surgeon, Dr. Duchesne, who gave up his whole time, -night and day, to the care of my poor men during the five months that -this truly frightful nightmare lasted. - -I cannot recall those terrible days without the deepest emotion. It was -no longer the country in danger that kept my nerves strung up, but the -sufferings of all her children. There were all those who were away -fighting, those who were brought in to us wounded or dying, the noble -women of the people, who stood for hours and hours in the _queue_ to get -the necessary dole of bread, meat, and milk for their poor little ones -at home. Ah, those poor women! I could see them from the theater -windows, pressing up close to each other, blue with cold, and stamping -their feet on the ground to keep them from freezing, for that winter was -the most cruel one we had had for twenty years. Frequently one of these -poor, silent heroines was brought in to me, either in a swoon from -fatigue, or struck down suddenly with congestion caused by cold. On the -20th of December, three of these unfortunate women were brought into the -_ambulance_. One of them had her feet frozen, and she lost the big toe -of her right foot. The second was an enormously stout woman, who was -suckling her child, and her poor breasts were harder than wood. She -simply howled with pain. The youngest of the three was a girl of sixteen -to eighteen years of age. She died of cold, on the trestle on which I -had had her placed to send her home. On the 24th of December, there were -fifteen degrees of cold. I often sent William, our attendant, out with a -little brandy to warm the poor women. Oh, the suffering they must have -endured, those heartbroken mothers, those sisters, and _fiancées_, in -their terrible dread! How excusable their rebellion seems during the -Commune, and even their bloodthirsty madness! - -My _ambulance_ was full. I had sixty beds and was obliged to improvise -ten more. The soldiers were installed in the _artistes’ foyer_ and in -the general _foyer_, and the officers in a room which had formerly been -used for refreshments. - -One day a young Breton named Marie le Gallec was brought in. He had been -struck by a bullet in the chest and another in the wrist. Dr. Duchesne -bound up his chest firmly and splintered his wrist. He then said to me -very simply: - -“Let him have everything he likes, he is dying.” - -I bent over his bed and said to him: - -“Tell me anything that would give you pleasure, Marie le Gallec?” - -“Soup,” he answered promptly, in the most comic way. - -Mme. Guérard hurried away to the kitchen and soon returned with a bowl -of broth and pieces of toast. I placed the bowl on the little wooden -shelf with four short legs which was so convenient for the meals of our -poor sufferers. The wounded man looked up at me and said: - -“Barra!” I did not understand, and he repeated: “Barra!” His poor chest -caused him to hiss out the word, and he made the greatest efforts to -repeat his emphatic request. I sent immediately to the Marine Office -thinking that there would surely be some Breton seamen there, and I -explained my difficulty, and my ignorance of the Breton dialect. I was -informed that the word “barra” meant bread. I hurried at once to Le -Gallec with a large piece of bread. His face lighted up and, taking it -from me with his sound hand, he broke it up with his teeth and let the -pieces fall in the bowl. He then plunged his spoon into the middle of -the broth and filled it up with bread until the spoon could stand -upright in it. When it stood up without shaking about, the young soldier -smiled. He was just preparing to eat this horrible concoction when the -young priest from St. Sulpice, who had my _ambulance_ in charge, -arrived. I had sent for him on hearing the doctor’s sad verdict. He laid -his hand gently on the young man’s shoulder, thus stopping the movement -of his arm. The poor fellow looked up at the priest, who showed him the -Holy Cup. - -“Oh!” he said simply, and then, placing his coarse handkerchief over the -steaming soup, he put his hands together. We had arranged the two -screens, which we used for isolating the dead or dying, around his bed. -He was left alone with the priest while I went on my rounds to calm the -murmurers, or help the believers to raise themselves for the prayer. The -young priest soon pushed aside the partition, and I then saw Marie le -Gallec, with a beaming face, eating his abominable bread sop. He fell -asleep soon afterward, roused up to ask for something to drink, and died -immediately, in a slight fit of choking. - -Fortunately I did not lose many men out of the three hundred who came -into my _ambulance_, for the death of the unfortunate ones completely -upset me. I was very young at that time, only twenty-four years of age, -but I could nevertheless see the cowardliness of some of the men, and -the heroism of many of the others. A young Savoyard eighteen years old -had had his forefinger taken off. Baron Larrey was quite sure that he -had shot it off himself with his own gun, but I could not believe that. -I noticed, though, that in spite of our nursing and care the wound did -not heal. I bound it up in a different way, and the following day I saw -that the bandage had been altered. I mentioned this to Mme. Lambquin, -who was sitting up that night together with Mme. Guérard. - -“Good; I will keep my eye on him; you go to sleep, my child, and count -on me.” - -The next day when I arrived she told me that she had caught the young -man scraping the wound on his finger with his knife. I called him and -told him that I should have to report this to the Val-de-Grâce Hospital. -He began to weep and vowed to me that he would never do it again, and -five days later he was well. I signed the paper authorizing him to leave -the _ambulance_, and he was sent to the army of the defense. I often -wondered what became of him. - -Another of our patients bewildered us, too. Each time that his wound -seemed to be just on the point of healing up, he had a violent attack of -dysentery which threw him back. This seemed suspicious to Dr. Duchesne, -and he asked me to watch the man. At the end of a considerable time, we -were convinced that our wounded man had thought out the most comical -scheme. He slept next the wall and therefore had no neighbor on the one -side. During the night, he managed to file the brass of his bedstead. He -put the filings in a little pot which had been used for ointment of some -kind. A few drops of water and some salt mixed with this powdered brass -formed a poison, which might have cost its inventor his life. I was -furious at this stratagem. I wrote to the Val-de-Grâce, and an -_ambulance_ conveyance was sent to take this unpatriotic Frenchman away. - -But side by side with these despicable men, what heroism we saw! A young -captain was brought in one day. He was a tall fellow, a regular -Hercules, with a superb head, and a frank expression. On my book he was -described as Captain Menesson. He had been struck by a bullet at the top -of the arm, just at the shoulder. With a nurse’s assistance I was trying -as gently as possible to take off his cloak, when three bullets fell -from the hood which he had pulled over his head, and I counted sixteen -bullet holes in the cloak. The young officer had stood upright for three -hours, serving as a target himself, while covering the retreat of his -men as they fired all the time on the enemy. This had taken place among -the Champigny vines. He had been brought in unconscious in a hospital -conveyance. He had lost a great deal of blood, and was half dead with -fatigue and weakness. He was very gentle and charming, and thought -himself sufficiently well two days later to return to the fight. The -doctor, however, would not allow this, and his sister, who was a nun, -besought him to wait until he was something like well again. - -“Oh, not quite well,” she said, smiling; “but just well enough to have -strength to fight.” - -Soon after he came into the _ambulance_ the Cross of the Legion of Honor -was brought for him, and this was a moment of intense emotion for -everyone. The unfortunate wounded men who could not move turned their -suffering faces toward him and, with their eyes shining through a mist -of tears, gave him a fraternal look. The more convalescent among them -held out their hands to the young giant. - -It was Christmas Eve, and I had decorated the _ambulance_ with festoons -of green leaves. I had made pretty little chapels in front of the Virgin -Mary, and the young priest from St. Sulpice came to take part in our -poor but poetical Christmas service. He repeated some beautiful prayers, -and the wounded men, many of whom were from Brittany, sang some sad, -solemn songs, full of charm. Porel, the present manager of the -Vaudeville Theater, had been wounded on the Avron Plateau. He was then -convalescent, and was one of my guests, together with two officers now -ready to leave the _ambulance_. That Christmas supper is one of my most -charming and at the same time most melancholy memories. It was served in -the small room which we had made into a bedroom. Our three beds were -covered with draperies and skins which I had fetched from home, and we -used them as seats. - -Mlle. Hocquigny had sent me five yards of white pigs’ pudding,[1] the -famous Christmas dish, and all my poor soldiers who were well enough, -were delighted with this delicacy. One of my friends had had twenty -large brioche cakes made for me, and I had ordered some large bowls of -punch, the colored flames from which amused the grown-up sick children -immensely. The young priest from St. Sulpice accepted a piece of brioche -and, after taking a little white wine, left us. Ah, how charming and -good he was, that poor young priest! And how well he managed to make -that unbearable Fortin cease talking. Gradually the latter began to get -humanized, until finally he began to think the priest was a good sort of -fellow. Poor young priest! He was shot by the Communists, and I cried -for days and days over his murder. - -Footnote 1: - - In France “_white pudding_” is as often eaten as “_black pudding_,” - and is somewhat similar in taste. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - MORE HOSPITAL DAYS - - -The month of January arrived. The army of the enemy held Paris day by -day in a still closer grip. Food was getting scarce. Bitter cold -enveloped the city, and the poor soldiers who fell, sometimes only -slightly wounded, passed away gently in a sleep that was eternal, their -brains numbed and their bodies half frozen. - -No more news could be received from outside; but thanks to the United -States Minister, who had chosen to remain in Paris, a letter arrived -from time to time. It was in this way that I received a thin slip of -paper, as delicate as a primrose petal, bringing me the following -message: “Everyone well. Courage. A thousand kisses. Your mother.” This -impalpable missive dated from seventeen days previously. - -And so my mother, my sisters, and my little boy were at The Hague all -this time, and my mind which had been continually traveling in their -direction had been wandering along the wrong route, toward Hâvre, where -I thought they were established tranquilly at the house of a cousin of -my father’s mother. - -I had my two aunts living at The Hague, but the question was, Were they -there at this time? I no longer knew, and from that moment I never -ceased suffering the most anxious and torturing mental distress. - -I was doing all in my power just then to have some wood for burning. -Comte de Kératry had sent me a large provision before his departure to -the provinces, in a balloon, on the 9th of October. I was now very -short, and I would not allow the stock we had in the cellars to be -touched, so that we should not be quite without fuel in case of an -emergency. I had all the little footstools belonging to the theater used -for firewood, all the wooden cases in which the accessories were kept, a -good number of old Roman benches, armchairs, and curule chairs that were -stowed away under the Odéon, and, indeed, everything which came to hand. -Finally, taking pity on my despair, pretty Mlle. Hocquigny sent me about -twenty thousand pounds’ weight of wood, and I then took courage again. - -I had been told about some new system of keeping meat, by which the meat -neither lost its juices nor its nutritive quality. I sent Mme. Guérard -to the Council House, in the neighborhood of the Odéon, where such -provisions were distributed, but some brute answered her that when I had -removed all the Buddhistic images from my _ambulance_ I should receive -the necessary food. M. Herisson, the mayor, with some functionary -holding an influential post, had been to inspect my _ambulance_. The -important personage had requested me to have the beautiful white -Virgins, which were on the mantelpieces and tables, taken away, as well -as the Divine Crucified One, hanging on the wall of each room in which -there were any of the wounded. I refused in a somewhat insolent and very -decided way to act in accordance with the wish of my visitor; whereupon, -the famous republican turned his back on me, and gave orders that I -should be refused everything at the Council House. I was very -determined, however, and I moved heaven and earth until I succeeded in -being included for the distribution of food, in spite of the orders of -the chief. It is only fair to say that the mayor was a charming man. -Mme. Guérard returned after her third visit, with a child pushing a hand -barrow containing ten enormous bottles of the miraculous meat. I -received the precious consignment with infinite joy, for my men had been -almost without meat for the last three days; and the beloved -_pot-au-feu_ was an almost necessary resource for the poor wounded -fellows. On all the bottles were directions as to opening them: “Let the -meat soak so many hours, etc., etc.” - -Mme. Lambquin, Mme. Guérard, and I, together with all the staff of the -infirmary, were soon grouped, anxiously and inquisitively, around these -glass receptacles. - -I told the head attendant to open the largest of the bottles, in which -through the glass we could see an enormous piece of beef, surrounded by -thick, muddy-looking water. The string, fastened round the rough paper -which hid the cork, was cut and then, just as the man was about to put -the corkscrew in, a deafening explosion was heard, and a rank odor -filled the room. Everyone rushed away terrified. I called them all back, -scared and disgusted as they were, and showed them the following words -on the directions: “Do not be alarmed at the bad odor on opening the -bottle.” Courageously, and with resignation, we took up our work once -more, though we felt sick all the time from the abominable exhalation. I -took the beef out and placed it on a dish that had been brought for the -purpose. Five minutes later this meat turned blue, and then black, and -the stench from it was so unbearable that I decided to throw it away. -Mme. Lambquin was wiser, though, and more reasonable. - -“No, oh, no, my dear girl,” she said; “in these times it will not do to -throw meat away, even though it may be rotten. Let us put it in the -glass bottle again and send it back to the Council House.” I followed -her wise advice, and it was a very good thing I did, for another -_ambulance_, installed at Boulevard de Medicis, on opening these bottles -of meat had been as horrified as we were and had thrown the contents -into the street. A few minutes after the crowd had gathered round in a -mob and, refusing to listen to anything, had yelled out insults -addressed to “the aristocrats,” “the clericals,” and “the traitors,” who -were throwing good meat, intended for the sick, into the street, so that -the dogs were enjoying it, while the people were starving with hunger. -It was with the greatest difficulty that the wretched, mad people had -been prevented from invading the _ambulance_, and when one of the -unfortunate nurses had gone out, later on, she had been mobbed, and -beaten, until she was left half dead from fright and blows. She did not -want to be carried back to her own _ambulance_, and the druggist begged -me to take her in. I kept her for a few days, in one of the boxes in the -second gallery of the theater, and when she was better she asked if she -might stay with me as a nurse. I granted her wish, and kept her with me -afterwards as a maid. - -She was a fair-haired girl, gentle and timid, and was predestined for -misfortune. She was found dead in the Père Lachaise Cemetery after the -skirmish between the Communists and the Versailles troop. A stray bullet -had struck her in the back of the neck as she was praying at the grave -of her little sister, who had died two days before from smallpox. I had -taken her with me to St. Germain, where I had gone to stay during the -horrors of the Commune. Poor girl! I had allowed her to go to Paris very -much against my own will. - -As we could not count on this preserved meat for our food, I made a -contract with a knacker, who agreed to supply me, at rather a high -price, with horseflesh, and until the end this was the only meat we had -to eat. Well prepared and well seasoned, it was very good. - -Hope had now fled from all hearts and we were living in the expectation -of we knew not what. An atmosphere of misfortune seemed to hang like -lead over us, and it was a sort of relief when the bombardment commenced -on the 27th of December. At last, we felt that something fresh was -happening. It was an era of fresh suffering. There was some stir, at any -rate, for the last fortnight the fact of not knowing anything had been -killing us. - -On the 1st of January, 1871, we lifted our glasses to the health of the -absent ones, to the repose of the dead; and the toast choked us with a -lump in our throats. - -Every night we used to hear the dismal cry of “_Ambulance! Ambulance!_” -underneath the windows of the Odéon. We went down to meet the pitiful -procession, and one, two, or sometimes three conveyances would be there, -full of our poor, wounded soldiers. There would be ten or twelve rows of -them, lying or sitting up on the straw. I said that I had one or two -places, and lifting the lantern, I looked into the conveyance, and the -faces would then turn slowly toward the lamp. Some of the men would -close their eyes, as they were too weak to bear even that feeble light. -With the help of the sergeant who accompanied the conveyance, and our -attendant, one of the unfortunates would with difficulty he lifted to -the narrow litter on which he was to be carried up to the hospital. - -Oh, what sorrowful anguish it was for me when, on lifting the patient’s -head, I discovered that it was getting heavy, oh, so heavy; and when -bending over that inert face I felt that there was no longer any breath! -The sergeant would then give the order to take him back, and the poor -dead man was put back in his place, and another wounded man was lifted -out. The other dying men would then move back a little, in order not to -profane the dead. Ah, what grief it was when the sergeant said: “Do try -to take one or two more in! It is a pity to drag these poor chaps about -from one hospital to another. The Val-de-Grâce is full.” - -“Very well, I will take two more,” I would say, and then I wondered -where we should put them. We had to give up our own beds, and in this -way the poor fellows were saved. Ever since the first of January, we had -all three been sleeping every night at the hospital. We had some loose -dressing-gowns of gray swanskin, not unlike the soldiers’ cloaks. The -first of us who heard a cry or a groan sprang out of bed, and if -necessary, called the other two. - -On the 10th of January, Mme. Guérard and I were sitting up at night, on -one of the lounges in the _artistes’ foyer_, awaiting the dismal cry of -“_Ambulance!_” There had been a fierce affray at Clamart and we knew -that there would be many wounded. I was telling her of my fear that the -bombs, which had already reached the Museum, the Sorbonne, the -Salpétrière, the Val-de-Grâce, would fall on the Odéon. - -“Oh, but my dear Sarah,” said the sweet woman, “the hospital flag is -waving so high above it, that there could be no mistake. If it were -struck it would be purposely, and that would be abominable.” - -“But Guérard,” I replied, “why should you expect these execrable enemies -of ours to be better than we are ourselves? Did we not behave like -savages at Berlin, in 1806?” - -“But at Paris there are such admirable public monuments,” she urged. - -“Well, and was not Moscow full of masterpieces? The Kremlin is one of -the finest buildings in the world. That did not prevent us giving that -admirable city up to pillage. Oh, no, my poor _petite dame_, do not -deceive yourself! Armies may be Russian, German, French or Spanish, but -they _are_ armies, that is, they are beings who form an impersonal -‘whole’—a ‘whole’ that is ferocious and irresponsible. The Germans will -bombard the whole of Paris, if the possibility of doing so should be -offered them. You must make up your mind to that, my dear Guérard.” - -I had not finished my sentence when a terrible detonation roused the -sleeping neighborhood. Mme. Guérard and I had been seated opposite each -other. We found ourselves standing up, close together in the middle of -the room, terrified. My poor cook, her face quite white, came to me for -safety. The reports continued rather frequently. The bombarding had -commenced from our side that night. I went round to the wounded men, but -they did not seem to be much disturbed. Only one, a boy of fifteen, whom -we had surnamed “pink baby,” was sitting up in bed. When I went to him -to soothe him, he showed me his little medal of the Holy Virgin. - -“It is thanks to her that I was not killed,” he said. “If they would put -the Holy Virgin on the ramparts of Paris the bombs would not come.” - -He lay down again then, holding his little medal in his hand, and the -bombarding continued until six in the morning. - -“_Ambulance! Ambulance!_” we then heard, and Mme. Guérard and I went -down. - -“Here,” said the sergeant, “take this man. He is losing all his blood, -and if I take him any farther he will not arrive living.” - -The wounded man was put on the litter, but, as he was German, I asked -the subofficer to take all his papers and give them in at the Ministry. -We gave the man the place of one of the convalescents, whom I installed -elsewhere. I asked him his name and he told me that it was Frantz Mayer, -and that he was the first soldier of the Silesian Landwehr. He then -fainted, from weakness caused by loss of blood. He soon came to himself -again, with our care, and I then asked him whether he wanted anything, -but he did not answer a word. I supposed that he did not speak French, -and as there was no one at the hospital who spoke German, I waited until -the next day to send for some one who knew his language. I must own that -the poor man was not welcomed by his dormitory companions. A soldier -named Fortin, who was twenty-three years of age, and a veritable child -of Paris, a comical fellow, mischievous, droll, and good-natured, never -ceased railing against the young German, who on his side never flinched. -I went several times to Fortin, and begged him to be quiet, but it was -all in vain. Every fresh outbreak of his was greeted with wild laughter, -and his success put him into the gayest of humors, so that he continued, -getting more and more excited all the time. The others were prevented -from sleeping and he moved about wildly in his bed, bursting out into -abusive language when too abrupt a movement intensified his suffering. -The unfortunate fellow had had his sciatic nerve torn by a bullet, and -he had to endure the most atrocious pain. - -After my third fruitless appeal for silence, I ordered the two men -attendants to carry him into a room where he would be alone. He sent for -me, and when I went to him, promised to behave well all night long. I -therefore countermanded the order I had given, and he kept his word. The -following day I had Frantz Mayer carried into a room where there was a -young Breton who had had his skull fractured by the bursting of a shell, -and therefore needed the utmost tranquillity. - -One of my friends, who spoke German very well, came to see whether the -Silesian wanted anything. The wounded man’s face lighted up on hearing -his own language and then, turning to me, he said: - -“I understand French quite well, madame, and if I listened calmly to the -horrors poured forth by your French soldier it was because I know that -you cannot hold out two days longer, and I can understand his -exasperation.” - -“And why do you think that we cannot hold out?” - -“Because I know that you are reduced to eating rats.” Dr. Duchesne had -just arrived, and he was dressing the horrible wound which the patient -had above his thigh. - -“Well,” he said, “my friend, as soon as your fever has gone down you -shall eat an excellent wing of chicken.” The German shrugged his -shoulders and the doctor continued: “Meanwhile drink this, and tell me -what you think of it.” - -Dr. Duchesne gave him a glass of water with a little of the excellent -cognac which the prefect had sent me. That was the only _tisane_ that my -soldiers took. The Silesian said no more, but he put on the reserved, -circumspect manner of people who know and will not speak. - -The bombardment continued, and the hospital flag certainly served as a -target for our enemies, for they fired with surprising exactitude, and -altered their firing directly a bomb fell a little away from the -neighborhood of the Luxembourg. Thanks to this, we had more than twelve -bombs one night. These dismal shells, when they burst in the air, were -like the fireworks at a fête. The shining splinters then fell down black -and deadly. George Boyer, who at that time was a young journalist, came -to call on me at the hospital, and I told him about the terrifying -splendors of the night. - -“Oh, how much I should like to see all that!” he said. - -“Come this evening, toward nine or ten o’clock, and you will see,” I -replied. - -We spent several hours at the little round window of my dressing-room, -which looked out toward Châtillon. It was from there that the Germans -fired the most. - -We listened, in the silence of the night, to the muffled sounds coming -from there, right over yonder, then there would be a light, a formidable -noise in the distance, and the bomb arrived, falling in front of us or -behind, bursting either in the air or on reaching its goal. Once we had -only just time to draw back quickly, and even then the disturbance in -the atmosphere affected us so violently that for a second we were under -the impression we had been struck. - -The shell had fallen just underneath my dressing-room, grazing the -cornice, which it dragged down in its fall to the ground, and bursting -there feebly. But what was our amazement to see a little crowd of -children swoop down on the burning pieces, just like a lot of sparrows -on fresh manure when the carriage has passed! The little vagabonds were -quarreling over the _débris_ of these engines of warfare. I wondered -what they could possibly do with them. - -“Oh, there is not much mystery about it!” said Boyer; “these little -starving urchins will sell them.” - -This proved to be true. One of the men attendants, whom I sent to find -out, brought back with him a child of about ten years old. - -“What are you going to do with that, my little man?” I asked him, -picking up the piece of shell, which was warm and still dangerous, by -the edge where it had burst. - -“I am going to sell it,” he replied. - -“What for?” - -“To buy my turn in the _queue_, when the meat is being distributed.” - -“But you risk your life, my poor child. Sometimes the shells come -quickly, one after the other. Where were you when this one fell?” - -“Lying down on the stone of the wall that supports the iron railings.” -He pointed across to the Luxembourg gardens, opposite the _artistes’_ -entrance to the Odéon. - -We bought up all the _débris_ that the child had, without attempting to -give him advice which might have sounded wise. What was the use of -preaching wisdom to this poor little creature who heard of nothing but -massacres, fire, revenge, retaliation and all the rest of it, for the -sake of honor, for the sake of religion, for the sake of right! And -then, too, how was it possible to keep out of the way? All the people -living in the Faubourg St. Germain were liable to be blown to pieces, as -the enemy, very luckily, could only bombard Paris on that side and not -everywhere even there. No, we were certainly in the most dangerous -neighborhood. - -One day Baron Larrey came to see Frantz Mayer, who was very ill. He -wrote a prescription, which a young errand boy was told to wait for, and -bring back very, very quickly. As the boy was rather given to loitering, -I went to the window. His name was Victor, but we called him Toto. The -druggist lived at the corner of the Place Medicis. It was then six -o’clock in the evening. Toto looked up, and on seeing me, he began to -laugh and jump as he hurried to the druggist’s. He had only five or six -more yards to go, and as he turned round to look up at my window, I -clapped my hands and called out: “Good, be back soon!” Alas! Before the -poor boy could open his mouth to reply, he was cut in two by a shell -which had just fallen. It did not burst, but bounced a yard high, and -then struck poor Toto right in the middle of the chest. I uttered such a -shriek that everyone came rushing to me. I could not speak, but pushed -everyone aside and rushed downstairs, beckoning for some one to come -with me. - -“A litter—the boy—the druggist’s,” I managed to articulate. - -Ah, what a horror, what an awful horror! When we reached the poor child, -his intestines were all over the ground, his chest, and his poor little -red, chubby face had the flesh entirely taken off. He had neither eyes, -nose, nor mouth, nothing, nothing but some hair, at the end of a -shapeless bleeding mass, a yard away from his body. And it was as though -a tiger’s two claws had opened the body and emptied it with fury and a -refinement of cruelty, leaving nothing but the poor little skeleton. - -Baron Larrey, who was the best of men, turned slightly pale at this -sight. He saw many such sights certainly, but this poor little fellow -was a holocaust which had been terribly mutilated. Ah, the injustice, -the infamy of war! Will the much dreamed-of time never come, when wars -are no longer possible, when the monarch who wants war will be dethroned -and imprisoned as a malefactor? Will the time never come when there will -be a cosmopolitan council, where the wise man of every country will -represent his nation, and where the rights of humanity will be discussed -and respected! So many men think as I do. So many women talk as I do, -and yet nothing is done. - -A man, whom I liked very much, was engaged in certain inventions for -balloons. To find out how to steer balloons means, for me, finding out -how to realize my dream, namely, to fly in the air, to approach the sky, -and have under one’s feet the moist downlike clouds. Ah, how interested -I was in my friend’s researches! One day, though, he came to me very -much excited with a new discovery. - -“I have discovered something about which I am wild with delight!” he -said. He then began to explain to me that his balloon would be able to -carry inflammable matter without the least danger, thanks to this, and -thanks to that. - -“But what for?” I asked, bewildered by his explanations and half crazy -with so many technical words. - -“What for?” he repeated; “why, for war!” he replied. “We shall be able -to fire, and to throw terrible bombs to a distance of a thousand, twelve -hundred, and even fifteen hundred yards, and it would be impossible for -us to be harmed at such a distance. My balloon, thanks to a substance -which is my invention, with which the covering would be coated, would -have nothing to fear from fire nor yet from gas.” - -“I do not want to know anything more about you or your invention,” I -said, interrupting him brusquely. “I thought you were a humane savant, -and you are a wild beast. Your researches were in connection with the -most beautiful manifestation of human genius, with those fêtes of the -skies which I loved so dearly. You want to transform these now into -cowardly attacks turned against the earth. You horrify me! Do go!” - -With this I left my friend to himself and his cruel invention, ashamed -for a moment. His efforts have not succeeded, though, according to his -wishes. - -The remains of the poor lad were put into a small coffin, and Mme. -Guérard and I followed the pauper’s hearse to the grave. The morning was -so cold that the driver had to stop and take a glass of hot wine, as -otherwise he might have died of congestion. We were alone in the -carriage, for the boy had been brought up by his grandmother who could -not walk at all, and who knitted vests and stockings. It was by going to -order some vests and socks for my men that I had made the acquaintance -of _Mère Tricottin_, as she was called. At her request I had engaged her -grandson, Victor Durieux, as an errand boy, and the poor old woman had -been so grateful that I did not dare go now to tell her of his death. My -_petite dame_ went for me to the Rue de Vaurigard, where the old woman -lived. As soon as Mme. Guérard arrived, the poor grandmother could see -by her sad face that something had happened. - -“_Bon Dieu!_ my dear lady, is the poor little _maigrotte_ dead?” - -This was her name for me. Mme. Guérard then told her, as gently as -possible, the sad news. The old woman took off her spectacles, looked at -Mme. Guérard, wiped them and put them on her nose again. She then began -to grumble violently about her son, the father of the dead boy. He had -taken up with some low girl, by whom he had had this child, and she had -always foreseen that misfortune would come upon them through it. She -continued in this strain, not sorrowing for the poor boy, but abusing -her son, who was a soldier in the Army of the Loire. Although the -grandmother seemed to feel so little grief, I went to see her after the -funeral. - -“It is all over, Mme. Durieux,” I said, “but I have secured the grave -for a period of five years for the poor boy.” - -She turned toward me, quite comic in her vexation. - -“What madness!” she exclaimed; “now that he’s with the _bon Dieu_ he -won’t want for anything. It would have been better to have taken a bit -of land that would have brought something in. Dead folks don’t make -vegetables grow.” - -This outburst was so terribly logical that, in spite of the odious -brutality of it, I yielded to _Mère Tricottin’s_ desire, and gave her -the same present I had given to the boy. They should each have their bit -of land, the child who had had a right to a longer life should sleep his -eternal sleep in his, while the old woman could wrest from hers what -fruits she might. - -I returned to the _ambulance_ sad and unnerved. A joyful surprise was -awaiting me. A friend of mine was there, holding in his hand a very -small piece of tissue paper, on which were the following two lines in my -mother’s handwriting: “We are all very well and at Hombourg.” I was -furious on reading this. At Hombourg! All my family at Hombourg, -settling down tranquilly in the enemy’s country! I racked my brains to -think by what extraordinary combination my mother had gone to Hombourg. -I knew that my pretty Aunt Rosine had a friend there, with whom she -stayed every year, for she always went for two months to Hombourg, two -months to Baden-Baden, and a month to Spa, as she was the greatest -gambler that the _bon Dieu_ ever created. Anyhow, those who were so dear -to me were all well, and that was the principal thing. But I was -nevertheless annoyed with my mother for going to Hombourg. - -I heartily thanked the friend who had brought me the little slip of -paper. It was sent to me by the American Minister, who had put himself -to no end of trouble in order to give help and consolation to the -Parisians. I then gave him a few lines for my mother, in case he should -be able to send them to her. - -The bombardment of Paris continued. One night the Brothers from the -_Ecole Chrétienne_ came to ask us for conveyances and help, in order to -collect the dead on the Châtillon Plateau. I let them have my two -conveyances, and I went with them to the battlefield. Ah, what a -horrible remembrance! It was like a scene from Dante! It was an icy cold -night and we could scarcely get along. Finally, by the light of torches -and lanterns we saw that we had arrived. I got out of the vehicle with -the infirmary attendant and his assistant. We had to move slowly, as at -every step we trod upon the dying or the dead. We passed along -murmuring: “_Ambulance! Ambulance!_” When we heard a groan we turned our -steps in the direction whence it came. Ah, the first man that I found in -this way! He was half lying down, his body supported by a heap of dead. -I raised my lantern to look at his face and found that his ear and part -of his jaw had been blown off. Great clots of blood, coagulated by the -cold, hung from his lower jaw. There was a wild look in his eyes. I took -a wisp of straw, dipped it in my flask, drew up a few drops of brandy -and blew them into the poor fellow’s mouth between his teeth. I repeated -this three or four times. A little life then came back to him and we -took him away in one of the vehicles. The same thing was done for the -others. Some of them could drink from the flask, which made our work -shorter. One of these unfortunate men was frightful to look at. A shell -had taken all the clothes from the upper part of his body, with the -exception of two ragged sleeves, which hung from the arms at the -shoulders. There was no trace of a wound, but his poor body was marked -all over with great black patches, and the blood was oozing slowly from -the corners of his mouth. I went nearer to him, for it seemed to me that -he was breathing. I had a few drops of the vivifying cordial given to -him, and he then half opened his eyes and said: “Thank you.” He was -lifted into the conveyance, but the poor fellow died from a hemorrhage, -covering all the other wounded men with a stream of dark blood. - -Daylight gradually began to appear, a misty, dull dawn. The lanterns had -burned out, but we could now distinguish each other. There were about a -hundred persons there: Sisters of Charity, military and civil -men-nurses, the Brothers from the _Ecole Chrétienne_, other priests and -a few ladies who like myself had given themselves up, heart and soul, to -the service of the wounded. - -The sight was still more dismal by daylight, for all that the night had -hidden in its shadows appeared then in the tardy, wan light of that -January morning. - -There were so many wounded that it was impossible to transport them all, -and I sobbed at the thought of my helplessness. Other vehicles kept -arriving, but there were so many wounded, so very many. Many of those -who had only slight wounds had died of cold. - -On returning to the hospital I met one of my friends at the door. He was -a naval officer, and he had brought me a sailor who had been wounded at -the Fort of Ivry. He had been shot below the right eye. He was entered -as Désiré Bloas, boatswain’s mate, aged twenty-seven. He was a -magnificent fellow, very frank looking, and a man of few words. - -As soon as he was in bed, Dr. Duchesne sent for a barber to shave him, -as his bushy whiskers had been ravaged by a bullet that had lodged -itself in the salivary gland, carrying with it hair and flesh into the -wound. The surgeon took up his pincers to extract the pieces of flesh -which had stopped up the opening of the wound. He then had to take some -very fine pincers to extract the hairs which were mixed up inextricably -in the torn mass of flesh. When the barber laid his razor very gently -near the wound, the unfortunate man turned livid, and an oath escaped -his lips. He immediately glanced at me and muttered: “Pardon, -mademoiselle.” I was very young, but I appeared much younger than my -age. I looked like a very young girl, in fact. I was holding the poor -fellow’s hand in mine and trying to comfort him with the hundreds of -consoling words that spring from a woman’s heart to her lips, when she -has to soothe moral or physical suffering. - -“Ah, mademoiselle,” said poor Bloas, when the wound was finally dressed, -“you gave me courage.” - -When he was more easy I asked him if he would like something to eat. - -“Yes,” he replied. - -“Well, my boy, would you like cheese, soup, or sweets?” asked Mme. -Lambquin. - -“Sweets,” replied the strong, powerful-looking fellow, smiling. - -Désiré Bloas often talked to me about his mother, who lived near Brest. -He had a veritable adoration for this mother, but he seemed to have a -terrible grudge against his father, for one day, when I asked him -whether his father was still living, he looked up with his fearless eyes -and appeared to fix them on a being visible only to himself, as though -challenging him, with an expression of the most pitiful contempt. Alas, -the brave fellow was destined to a cruel end, but I will return to that -later on. - -The sufferings endured through the siege began to have their effect on -the “morale” of the Parisians. Bread had just been rationed out; there -were to be three hundred grammes for adults, and one hundred and fifty -grammes for children. A silent fury took possession of the people at -this news. Women were the most courageous, the men were excited. -Quarrels grew bitter, for some wanted war to the very death, and others -wanted peace. - -One day when I entered Frantz Mayer’s room to take him his meal, he went -into the most ridiculous rage. He threw his piece of fowl down on the -ground and declared that he would not eat anything, nothing more at all, -for they had deceived him by telling him that the Parisians had not -enough food to last two days before surrendering, and he had been in the -_ambulance_ seventeen days now, and was having fowl. What the poor -fellow did not know was that I had bought about forty fowls and six -geese at the beginning of the siege, and I was feeding them up in my -dressing-room in the Rue de Rome. Oh, my dressing room was very pretty -just then, and I let Frantz believe that all Paris was full of fowls, -ducks, geese, and other domestic bipeds. - -The bombardment continued, and one night I had to have all my patients -transported to the Odéon cellars, for when Mme. Guérard was helping one -of the sick men to get back into bed a shell fell on the bed itself, -between her and the officer. It makes me shudder even now to think that -three minutes previously the unfortunate man would have been killed as -he lay in bed, although the shell did not burst. - -We could not stay long in the cellars. The water was getting deeper in -them and rats tormented us. I therefore decided that the _ambulance_ -must be moved, and I had the worst of the patients taken to the -Val-de-Grâce Hospital. I kept about twenty men who were on the way to -convalescence. I rented an immense empty flat for them in the Rue de -Provence, and it was there that we awaited the armistice. - -I was half dead with anxiety, as I had had no news from my own family -for so long. I could not sleep and had become the very shadow of my -former self. - -Jules Favre was entrusted with the negotiations with Bismarck. Oh, those -two days of preliminaries! They were the most unnerving days of any for -the besieged. False reports were spread. We were told of the maddest, -and most exorbitant demands on the part of the Germans, who certainly -were not tender to the vanquished. - -There was a moment of stupor when we heard that we had to pay two -hundred million francs down, for our finances were in such a pitiful -state that we shuddered at the idea that we might not be able to make up -the sum of two hundred millions immediately. - -Baron Alphonse de Rothschild, who was shut up in Paris with his wife and -brothers, gave his signature for the two hundred millions. This fine -deed was soon forgotten, and there are even people who gainsay it. - -When we heard in Paris that the armistice was signed for twenty days, a -frightful sadness took possession of us all, even of those who most -ardently wished for peace. - -Every Parisian felt on his cheek the hand of the conqueror. It was the -brand of shame, the blow given by the abominable treaty of peace. - -Oh, that 31st of January, 1871! I was anæmic from the siege, undermined -by grief, tortured with anxiety about my family, and I went out with -Mme. Guérard and two friends toward the Parc Monceau. Suddenly one of my -friends, M. De Plancy, turned pale as death. I looked to see what was -the matter, and noticed a soldier passing by. He had no weapons. Two -others passed and they, also, had no weapons. And they were so pale, -too, these poor, disarmed soldiers, these humble heroes. There was such -evident grief and hopelessness in their very gait; and their eyes, as -they looked at us women, seemed to say: “It is not our fault!” It was -all so pitiful, so touching I burst out sobbing, and went back home at -once, for I did not want to meet any more disarmed French soldiers. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - A WARTIME JOURNEY - - -I decided to set off now as quickly as possible in search of my family. -I asked Paul de Rémusat to get me an audience with M. Thiers, in order -to obtain from him a passport for leaving Paris. I trusted Mme. Guérard -and Mme. Lambquin with disbanding my _ambulance_. - -M. Thiers gave me the passport, and I was ready to go, but I could not -start alone. I felt that the journey I was about to undertake was a very -dangerous one, and M. Thiers and Paul de Rémusat had also warned me of -this. I could see, therefore, that I should be very dependent on my -traveling companion all the time, and on this account I decided not to -take a servant with me, but a friend. I very naturally went at once to -Mme. Guérard. Her husband, gentle though he was, refused absolutely to -let her go with me, as he considered this expedition mad and dangerous. -Mad it certainly was, and dangerous, too. - -I did not insist, but I sent for my son’s governess, Mlle. Soubise. I -asked her whether she would go with me, and did not attempt to conceal -from her any of the dangers of the journey. She jumped with joy, and -said she would be ready within twelve hours. This girl is at present the -wife of Commandant Monfils-Chesneau. And how strange life is, for she is -now teaching the two daughters of my son, her former pupil. - -Mlle. Soubise was then very young, and she looked like a Creole. She had -very beautiful, dark eyes, with a gentle, timid expression, and the -voice of a child. Her head, however, was full of adventure, romance, and -day dreams. - -In appearance we might both have been taken for quite young girls, for, -although I was older than she was, my slenderness and my face made me -look younger. It would have been absurd to try to take a trunk with us, -so I took a bag for us both. We had only a change of linen and some -stockings. I had my revolver, and I offered one to Mlle. Soubise, but -she refused it with horror, and showed me an enormous pair of scissors -in an enormous case. - -“But what are you going to do with them?” I asked. - -“I shall kill myself if we are attacked,” she replied. - -I was surprised at the difference in our characters. I was taking a -revolver determined to protect myself by killing others; she was -determined to protect herself by killing herself. - -On the 24th of February, we started on this journey, which was to have -lasted three days, and lasted eleven. At the first gate at which I -presented myself in leaving Paris, I was sent back in the most brutal -fashion! Permissions to go outside the city had to be submitted for -signature at the German outposts. I went to another gate, but it was -only at the postern gate of _Poissonniers_ that I could get my passport -signed. - -We were taken into a little shed, which had been transformed into an -office. A Prussian general was seated there. He looked me up and down, -and then said: - -“Are you Sarah Bernhardt?” - -“Yes,” I answered. - -“And this young lady is with you?” - -“Yes.” - -“And you think you are going to cross easily?” - -“I hope so.” - -“Well, then, you are mistaken, and you had better stay inside Paris.” - -“No, I want to leave. I see myself what may happen, but I want to -leave.” - -He shrugged his shoulders, called an officer, said something I did not -understand in German, and then went out, leaving us alone without our -passports. - -We had been there about a quarter of an hour when I suddenly heard a -voice I knew. It was one of my friends, René Griffon, who had heard of -my departure, and had come after me to try to dissuade me. The trouble -he had taken was all in vain, though, as I was determined to leave. The -general returned soon after, and Griffon was anxious to know what might -happen to us. - -“Everything!” answered the officer. “And worse than everything!” - -Griffon spoke German, and had a short colloquy with the officer about -us. This rather annoyed me, for as I did not understand, I imagined that -he was urging the general to prevent our starting. I nevertheless -resisted all persuasions, supplications, and even threats. A few minutes -later, a well-appointed vehicle drew up at the door of the shed. - -“There you are,” said the German officer roughly. “I am sending you to -Gonesse, where you will find the provision train which starts in an -hour. I am recommending you to the care of the station master, the -Commandant—after that may God take care of you!” - -I stepped into the general’s carriage, and said farewell to my friend, -who was in despair. We arrived at Gonesse, and got out at the station, -where we saw a little group of people talking in low voices. The -coachman made me a military salute, refused what I wished to give him, -and drove away at full speed. I advanced toward the group, wondering to -whom I ought to speak, when a friendly voice exclaimed: “What, you here! -Where have you come from? Where are you going?” It was Villaret, the -tenor in vogue at the Opera. He was going to his young wife, I believe, -of whom he had had no news for five months. He introduced one of his -friends, who was traveling with him, and whose name I do not remember, -General Pelissier’s son, and a very old man, so pale and so sad-looking -and woebegone that I felt sorry for him. It was M. Gerson, and he was -going to Belgium, to take his grandson to his godmother’s. His two sons -had been killed during this pitiful war. One of the sons was married, -and his wife had died of sorrow and despair. He was taking the orphan -boy to his godmother, and he hoped to die himself as soon as possible -afterwards. Ah, the poor fellow, his wish must have been accomplished -very quickly, for he was only fifty-nine then, and he was so cruelly -ravaged by his grief that I took him for seventy. - -Besides these five persons, there was an unbearable chatterer, named -Théodore Joussiau, a wine dealer. He did not require any introduction. - -“How do you do, madame!” he began. “How lucky we are that you are going -to travel with us! Ah! the journey will be a difficult one. Where are -you going? Two women alone! It is not at all prudent, especially as all -the routes are crowded with German and French sharpshooters, marauders, -and thieves. Oh, haven’t I demolished some of those German -sharpshooters! Sh—we must speak quietly, though. These sly fellows are -very quick of hearing!...” He then pointed to the German officers who -were walking up and down. “Ah, the rascals!” he went on. “If I had my -military costume and my gun they would not walk so boldly in front of -Théodore Joussiau. I have no less than six helmets at home....” - -The man got on my nerves, and I turned my back on him and looked to see -which of the men before me could be the station master. A tall young man -with his arm in a sling, came toward me with an open letter. It was the -one which the general’s coachman had handed to him, recommending me to -his care. He held out his well arm to me but I refused it. He bowed and -led the way, and I followed him, accompanied by Mlle. Soubise. - -On arriving in his office he gave us seats at a little table, upon which -knives and forks were placed for two persons. It was then three o’clock -in the afternoon, and we had had nothing, not even a drop of water, -since the evening before. I was very much touched by this -thoughtfulness, and we did honor to the very simple but refreshing meal -prepared for us by the young officer. - -While we lunched I looked at him when he was not noticing. He was very -young, and his face bore traces of recent suffering. I felt a -compassionate tenderness for this unfortunate man who was crippled for -life, and my hatred for war increased still more. - -He suddenly said to me, in rather bad French: - -“I think I can give you news of one of your friends.” - -“What is his name?” I asked. - -“Emmanuel Bocher.” - -“Oh, yes, he is certainly a great friend of mine. How is he?” - -“He is still a prisoner, but he is very well.” - -“But I thought he had been released,” I said. - -“Some of those who were taken with him were released, on giving their -word never to take up arms against us again, but he refused to give his -word.” - -“Oh, the brave soldier!” I exclaimed, in spite of myself. - -The young German looked at me with his clear, sad eyes. - -“Yes,” he said simply, “the brave soldier!” - -When we had finished our luncheon, I rose to return to the other -travelers. - -“The compartment reserved for you will not be here for two hours,” said -the young officer. “If you would like to rest, ladies, I will come for -you at the right time.” He went away, and before long I was sound -asleep. I was nearly dead with fatigue. Mlle. Soubise touched me on the -shoulder to rouse me. The train was ready to start, and the young -officer walked with me to it. I was a little amazed when I saw the -carriage in which I was to travel. It had no roof, and was filled with -coal. The officer had several sacks put in, one on the top of the other, -to make our seats less hard. He sent for his officer’s cloak, begging me -to take it with us, and send it back, but I refused this odious disguise -most energetically. It was a deadly cold day, but I preferred dying of -cold to muffling up in a cloak belonging to the enemy. - -The whistle was blown, the wounded officer saluted, and the train -started. There were Prussian soldiers in the carriages. The -subordinates, the employés, and the soldiers were just as brutish and -rude as the German officers were polite and courteous. - -The train stopped without any plausible reason; it started again to stop -again, and it then stood still for an hour on this icy cold night. On -arriving at Creil, the stoker, the engine driver, the soldiers, and -everyone else got out. I watched all these men, whistling, bawling to -each other, spitting, and bursting into laughter as they pointed to us. -Were they not the conquerors and we the conquered? - -At Creil we stayed more than two hours. We could hear the distant sound -of foreign music, and the hurrahs of Germans who were making merry. All -this hubbub came from a white house about five hundred yards away. We -could distinguish the outlines of human beings locked in each others’ -arms, waltzing, and turning round and round in a giddy revel. - -It began to get on my nerves, for it seemed likely to continue until -daylight. I got out with Villaret, intending at any rate to stretch my -limbs. We went toward the white house, and then, as I did not want to -tell him my plan, I asked him to wait there for me. - -Very fortunately, though, for me, I had not time to cross the threshold -of this vile lodging-house, for an officer, smoking a cigarette, was -just coming out of a small door. He spoke to me in German. - -“I am French,” I replied, and he then came up to me, speaking my -language, for they could all talk French. - -He asked me what I was doing there, and my nerves were so overstrung -that I burst out sobbing, and told him, through my sobs, of our -lamentable odyssey since our departure from Gonesse, and finally of our -waiting two hours in an icy cold carriage, while the stokers, engine -drivers, and conductors, were all dancing in this house. - -“But I had no idea that there were passengers in those carriages, and it -was I who gave permission to these men to dance, and drink. The guard of -the train told me that he was taking cattle and goods, and that he did -not need to arrive before eight in the morning, and I believed him....” - -“Well, monsieur,” I said, “the only cattle in the train will be the -eight French passengers, and I should be very much obliged if you would -give orders that the journey should be continued.” - -“Make your mind easy about that, madame,” he replied. “Will you come in -and rest? I am here just now on a round of inspection, and am staying -for a few days in this inn. You shall have a cup of tea, and that will -refresh you.” - -I told him that I had a friend waiting for me in the road, and a lady in -the railway carriage. - -“But that makes no difference,” he said, “let us go and fetch them.” - -A few minutes later we found poor Villaret seated on a milestone. His -head was on his knees and he was asleep. I asked him to fetch Mlle. -Soubise. - -“And if your other traveling companions will come and take a cup of tea, -they will be welcome,” said the officer. I went back with him, and we -entered by the little door through which I had seen him come out. It was -a fairly large room which we entered, on a level with the meadow; there -were some mats on the floor, a very low bed, and an enormous table, on -which were two large maps of France. One of these was studded over with -pins and small flags. There was also a portrait of the Emperor William, -mounted, and fastened up with four pins, and all this belonged to the -officer. - -On the chimney-piece, under an enormous glass shade, were a bride’s -wreath, a military medal, and a plait of white hair. On each side of the -glass shade was a china vase, containing a branch of box. All this, -together with the table and the bed, belonged to the landlady, who had -given up her room to the officer. There were five cane chairs round the -table, a velvet armchair, and a wooden bench covered with books against -the wall. A sword and belt were lying on the table, and two horse -pistols. - -I was philosophizing to myself on all these heterogeneous objects, when -the others arrived: Mlle. Soubise, Villaret, young Gerson, and that -unbearable Théodore Joussiau. I hope he will forgive me if he is living -now, poor man, but the thought of him still irritates me. - -The officer had some boiling hot tea brought in for us, and it was a -veritable treat, as we were exhausted with hunger and cold. - -When the door was opened for the tea to come in, Théodore Joussiau -caught a glimpse of the throng of girls, soldiers, and other people. - -“Ah, my friends,” he exclaimed, with a burst of laughter, “we are at his -majesty William’s; there is a reception on, and it’s _chic_—I can tell -you that!...” With this he smacked his tongue twice. Villaret reminded -him that we were the guests of a German, and that it was preferable to -be quiet. - -“That’s enough, that’s enough!” he replied, lighting a cigarette. - -A frightful uproar of oaths and shouts now took the place of the -deafening sound of the orchestra, and the incorrigible Southerner half -opened the door. - -I could see the officer giving orders to two subofficers who, in their -turn, separated the groups, seizing the stoker, the engine driver, and -the other men belonging to the train, so roughly that I was sorry for -them. They were kicked in the back, they received blows with the flat of -the sword on the shoulder, and a blow with the butt end of a gun knocked -the guard of the train down. He was the ugliest brute, though, that I -have ever seen. All these people were sobered in a few seconds, and went -back toward our carriage, with a hangdog look and a threatening mien. - -We followed them, but I did not feel any too satisfied as to what might -happen to us on the way with this queer lot. The officer evidently had a -similar idea, for he ordered one of the subofficers to accompany us as -far as Amiens. This subofficer got into our carriage and we set off -again. We arrived at Amiens at six in the morning. Daylight had not yet -succeeded in piercing through the night clouds. A fine rain was falling, -which was hardened by the cold. There was no carriage to be had and not -even a porter. I wanted to go to the Hotel du Cheval-Blanc, but a man -who happened to be there said to me: - -“It’s no use, my little young lady, there’s no way of putting up even a -lath like you. Go to the house over there with a balcony; they can put -some people up.” - -With these words he turned his back on me. Villaret had gone off without -saying a word. M. Gerson and his grandson had been stowed away silently -in a covered country cart, hermetically closed. A stout, ruddy, -thick-set matronly woman was waiting for them, but the coachman looked -as though he belonged to nice people. General Pelissier’s son, who had -not uttered a word since we had left Gonesse, had disappeared like a -ball from the hands of a conjurer. - -Théodore Joussiau politely offered to accompany us, and I was so weary -that I accepted his offer. He picked up our bag, and began to walk at -full speed, so that we had difficulty in keeping up with him. He was so -breathless with the walk that he could not talk, which was a great -relief to me. - -Finally, we arrived at the house, and entered, but my horror was great -on seeing that the hall of the hotel had been transformed into a -dormitory. We could scarcely walk between the mattresses laid down on -the ground, and the grumbling of the people was by no means promising. - -When once we were in the office, a young girl in mourning told us that -there was not a corner vacant. I sank down on a chair, and Mlle. Soubise -leaned against the wall, with her arms hanging down, looking most -dejected. - -The odious Joussiau then yelled out that they could not let two women, -as young as we were, be out in the street all night. He went to the -proprietress of the hotel and said something quietly about me. I do not -know what it was, but I heard my name distinctly. The young woman in -mourning then looked at me with misty eyes. “My brother was a poet,” she -said. “He wrote a very pretty sonnet about you, after seeing you play -‘Le Passant’ more than ten times. He took me, too, to see you and I -enjoyed myself so much that night. It is all over though.” She lifted -her hands toward her head and sobbed, trying to stifle her cries. - -“It’s all over!” she repeated. “He is dead! They have killed him! It is -all over! All over!” - -I got up, moved to the depths of my being by this horrible grief. I put -my arms round her, and kissed her, crying myself, and whispering to her -words that soothe, and hopes that comfort. - -Lulled by my words, and touched by my sisterliness, she wiped her eyes, -and taking my hand, led me gently away. Soubise followed. I signed to -Joussiau in an authoritative way to stay where he was. And we went up -the two flights of stairs of the hotel, in silence. At the end of a -narrow corridor she opened a door. We found ourselves in rather a large -room, reeking with the smell of tobacco. A small night lamp, placed on a -little table by the bed, was all the light in this large room. The -wheezing respiration of a human breast disturbed the silence. I looked -toward the bed, and by the faint light from the little lamp, I saw a man -half seated, propped up by a heap of pillows. The man was aged-looking, -rather than really old. His beard and hair were white and his face bore -traces of suffering. Two large furrows were formed, from the eyes to the -corners of the mouth. What tears must have rolled down that poor -emaciated face! - -The girl went quietly toward the bed, signed to us to come inside the -room, and then shut the door. We walked across on tiptoes to the far end -of the room, our arms stretched out to maintain our equilibrium. I sat -down with precaution on a large Empire couch, and Soubise took a seat -beside me. The man in bed half opened his eyes. “What is it, my child?” -he asked. - -“Nothing, father, nothing serious,” she replied. “I wanted to tell you, -so that you should not be surprised when you woke up. I have just given -hospitality in our room to two ladies who are here.” - -He turned his head in an annoyed way, and tried to look at us at the end -of the room. - -“The lady with fair hair,” continued the girl, “is Sarah Bernhardt, whom -Lucien liked so much, you remember?” - -The man sat up and, shading his eyes with his hand, peered at us. I went -near to him. He gazed at me silently, and then made a gesture with his -hand. His daughter understood the gesture and brought him an envelope -from a small bureau. The unhappy father’s hands trembled as he took it. -He drew three sheets of paper out, slowly, and a photograph. He fixed -his gaze on me and then on the portrait. - -“Yes, yes, it certainly is you, it certainly is you,” he murmured. - -I recognized my photograph, taken in “Le Passant,” smelling a rose. - -“You see,” said the poor man, his eyes veiled by tears, “you were this -child’s idol. These are the lines he wrote about you.” - -He then read me, in his quavering voice, with a slight Picardian accent, -a very pretty sonnet. - -He then unfolded a second paper, on which some verses to Sarah Bernhardt -were scrawled. The third paper was a sort of triumphant chant, -celebrating all our victories over the enemy. - -“The poor fellow still hoped, until he was killed,” said the father, -“and yet he has only been dead five weeks. He had three shots in his -head. The first shattered his jaw, but he did not fall. He continued -firing on the scoundrels like a man possessed. The second took his ear -off, and the third struck him in his right eye. He fell then, never to -rise again. His comrade told us all this. He was twenty-two years old. -And now—it’s all over!” - -The unhappy man’s head fell back on the heap of pillows. His two inert -hands had let the papers fall, and great tears rolled down his pale -cheeks, in the furrows formed by grief. A stifled groan burst from his -lips. The girl had fallen on her knees and buried her head in the -bedclothes, to deaden the sound of her sobs. Soubise and I were -completely upset. Ah, those stifled sobs, those deadened groans seemed -to buzz in my ears, and I felt everything giving way under me. I -stretched my hands out into space and closed my eyes. Soon there was a -distant rumbling noise, which increased and came nearer, then yells of -pain, bones knocking against each other, horses’ feet making human -brains gush out with a dull, flabby sound; men barbed with iron passed -by like a destructive whirlwind, shouting: “_Vive_ the war!” And women -on their knees, with outstretched arms, crying out: “War is infamous! In -the name of our wombs which bore you, of our breasts which suckled you, -in the name of our pain in childbirth, in the name of our anguish over -your cradles, let this cease!” - -But the savage whirlwind passed by, riding over the women. I stretched -my arms out in a supreme effort which woke me suddenly. I was lying in -the girl’s bed. Mlle. Soubise, who was near me, was holding my hand. A -man whom I did not know, but whom some one called “doctor,” laid me -gently down again on the bed. I had some difficulty in collecting my -thoughts. - -“How long have I been here?” I asked. - -“Since last night,” replied the gentle voice of Soubise. “You fainted, -and the doctor told us that you had an attack of fever. Oh, I have been -very frightened!” I turned my face to the doctor. - -“Yes, dear lady,” he said, “you must be very prudent still for the next -forty-eight hours, and then you can set out again. But you have had a -great many shocks for one with such delicate health. You must be -careful.” I took the draught that he was holding out to me, apologized -to the owner of the house, who had just come in, and then turned round -with my face to the wall. I needed rest so very, very much. - -Two days later I left our sad but congenial hosts. My traveling -companions had all disappeared. When I went downstairs I kept meeting -Prussians, for the unfortunate proprietor had been invaded compulsorily -by the German army. He looked at each soldier and at each officer, -trying to find out whether he were not the one who had killed his poor -boy. He did not tell me this, but it was my idea. It seemed to me that -such was his thought and such the meaning of his gaze. - -In the vehicle in which I drove to the station, the kind man had put a -basket of food. He also gave me a copy of the sonnet and a tracing of -his son’s photograph. - -I left the desolate couple with the deepest emotion, and I kissed the -girl on taking our departure. Soubise and I did not exchange a word on -our journey to the station; we were both preoccupied with the same -distressing thoughts. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - HOMBOURG AND RETURN - - -At the station we found that the Germans were masters there, too. I -asked for a first-class compartment to ourselves, or for a -_coupé_—whatever they liked, provided we were alone. - -I could not make myself understood. I saw a man oiling the wheels of the -carriages, who looked to me like a Frenchman. I was not mistaken. He was -an old man, who had been kept on, partly out of charity and partly -because he knew every nook and corner, and being Alsatian, spoke German. -This good man took me to the booking office and explained my wish to -have a first-class compartment to myself. The man who had charge of the -ticket office burst out laughing. There was neither first nor second -class, he said; it was a German train, and I should have to travel like -everyone else. The wheel oiler turned purple with rage, which he quickly -suppressed. (He had to keep his place. His consumptive wife was nursing -their son, who had just been sent home from the hospital with his leg -cut off and the wound not yet healed up. There were so many in the -hospital....) All this he told me as he took me to the station master. -The latter spoke French very well, but he was not at all like the other -German officers I had met. He scarcely saluted me, and when I expressed -my desire he replied curtly: - -“It is impossible. Two places shall be reserved for you in the officers’ -carriage.” - -“But that is what I want to avoid,” I exclaimed. “I do not want to -travel with German officers.” - -“Well, then, you shall be put with German soldiers,” he growled angrily, -and putting on his hat, he went out, slamming the door. - -I remained there, amazed and confused by his insolence. I turned so -pale, it appears, and the blue of my eyes became so clear, that Soubise, -who was acquainted with my fits of anger, was very much alarmed. - -“Do be calm, madame, I implore,” she said. “We are two women alone among -these people. If they liked to harm us they could, and we must -accomplish the aim and object of our journey, we must see little Maurice -again.” - -She was very clever, this charming Mlle. Soubise, and her little speech -had the desired effect. To see the child again was my aim and object. I -calmed down and vowed that I would not allow myself to get angry during -this journey, which promised to be fertile in incidents, and I almost -kept my word. I left the station master’s office and found the poor -Alsatian waiting at the door. I gave him a couple of louis which he hid -away quickly, and then shook my hand as though he would break it off. - -“You ought not to have that so visible, madame,” he said, pointing to -the little bag I had hanging at my side. “It is very dangerous.” - -I thanked him, but did not pay any attention to his advice. Just as the -train was about to start we entered the only first-class compartment. -There were two young German officers in it. They saluted, and I took -this as a good omen. The train whistled, and I thought what good luck we -had had, as no one else would get in! Well, the wheels had not turned -round ten times when the door opened violently, and five German officers -leaped into our carriage. - -We were nine then, and I thought, What torture! The station master waved -a farewell to one of the officers, and both of them burst out laughing -as they looked at us. I glanced at the station master’s friend. He was a -surgeon major and was wearing the _ambulance_ badge on his sleeve. His -wide face was congested, and a ring of sandy, bushy beard surrounded the -lower part of it. Two little bright, light-colored eyes in perpetual -movement lit up this ruddy face and gave him a sly look. He was broad -shouldered and thick-set, and gave one the idea of having strength -without nerves. The horrid man was still laughing when the station and -its station master were far away from us, but what the other one had -said was evidently very droll. I was in a corner seat, with Soubise -opposite me, and the two young German officers on the other side of each -of us. They were both very gentle and polite, and one of them was quite -delightful in his youthful charm. The surgeon major took off his helmet. -He was very bald and had a very small, stubborn-looking forehead. He -began to talk in a loud voice to the other officers. Our two young -bodyguards took very little part in the conversation. Among the others -was a tall, affected young man whom they addressed as Baron. He was -slender, very elegant, and very strong. When he saw that we did not -understand German, he spoke to us in English. But Soubise was too timid -to answer, and I speak English very badly. He therefore resigned himself -regretfully to talking French. He was agreeable, too agreeable; he -certainly had not bad manners, but he was deficient in tact. I made him -understand this by turning my face toward the scenery we were passing. - -We were very much absorbed in our thoughts and had been traveling for a -long time when I suddenly felt suffocated by smoke which was filling the -carriage. I looked round and saw that the surgeon major had lighted his -pipe and, with his eyes half closed, was sending up puffs of smoke to -the ceiling. My throat was smarting with it, and I was choking with -indignation, so that I was seized with a fit of coughing, which I -exaggerated in order to attract the attention of the impolite man. The -baron, however, slapped him on the knee and endeavored to make him -comprehend that smoke annoyed me. He answered by an insult which I did -not understand, shrugged his shoulders, and continued to smoke. -Exasperated by this, I lowered the window on my side. The intense cold -made itself felt in the carriage, but I preferred that to the nauseous -smoke of the pipe. Suddenly the surgeon major got up, putting his hand -to his ear. I then saw that his ear was filled with cotton wool. He -swore like an ox-driver and, pushing past everyone, and stepping on my -loot and on Soubise’s, he shut the window violently, cursing and -swearing all the time—quite uselessly, for I did not understand him. He -went back to his seat, continued his pipe, and sent out enormous clouds -of smoke in the most insolent way. The baron and the two young Germans -who had been the first in the carriage appeared to ask him something, -and then to remonstrate with him, but he evidently told them to mind -their own business and began to abuse them. Very much calmer myself on -seeing the increasing anger of the disagreeable man, and very much -amused by his earache, I again opened the window. He got up again, -furious, showed me his ear and his swollen cheek, and I comprehended the -word periostitis in the explanation he gave me on shutting the window -again. I then made him understand that I had a weak chest and that the -smoke made me cough. The baron acted as my interpreter and explained -this to him. But it was easy to see that he did not care a bit about -that, and he once more took up his favorite attitude and his pipe. I -left him in peace for five minutes, during which time he was able to -imagine himself triumphant until, with a sudden jerk of my elbow, I -broke the pane of glass. Stupefaction was then depicted on the major’s -face, and he became livid. He got straight up, but the two young men -rose at the same time, while the baron burst out laughing in the most -brutal manner. The surgeon moved a step in our direction, but he found a -rampart before him; another officer had joined the two young men, and he -was a strong, hardy-looking fellow, just cut out for an obstacle. I do -not know what he said to the surgeon major, but it was something clear -and decisive. The latter, not knowing how to expend his anger, turned on -the baron, who was still laughing, and abused him so violently that the -latter calmed down suddenly, and answered in such a way that I quite -understood the two men were calling each other out. That affected me but -little. They might very well kill each other, these two men, for they -were equally ill-mannered. - -The carriage was now quiet and icy cold, for the wind blew in wildly -through the broken pane. The sun had set. The sky was getting cloudy. It -was about half past five and we were approaching Tergnier. The major had -changed seats with his friend, in order to shelter his ear as much as -possible. He kept moaning like a half-dead cow. - -Suddenly, the repeated whistling of a distant locomotive made us listen -attentively. We then heard two, three, and four _petards_ bursting under -our wheels. We could perfectly well feel the efforts the engine driver -was making to slacken speed, but before he could succeed we were thrown -against each other by a frightful shock. There were cracks and creaks, -the hiccoughs of the locomotive spitting out its smoke in irregular -fits, desperate cries, shouts, oaths, sudden downfalls, a lull, then a -thick smoke, broken by the flames of a fire. Our carriage was standing -up like a horse kicking up its hind legs. It was impossible to get our -balance again. - -Who was wounded and who was not wounded? We were nine in the -compartment. For my part, I fancied that all my bones were broken. I -moved one leg and then I tried the other. Then, delighted at finding -them without any broken places, I tried my arms in the same way. I had -nothing broken and neither had Mlle. Soubise. She had bitten her tongue -and it was bleeding, and this had frightened me. She did not seem to -understand anything. The tremendous shaking up had made her dizzy, and -she lost her memory for some days. I had a rather deep scratch between -my eyes. I had not had time to stretch out my arms, and my forehead had -knocked against the hilt of the sword which the officer seated by -Soubise had been holding upright. - -Assistance arrived from all sides. For some time the door of our -compartment could not be opened. The darkness had come on when it -finally yielded, and a lantern shone feebly on our poor, broken-up -carriage. I looked round for our one bag, but on finding it I let it go -immediately, for my hand was red with blood. Whose blood was it? Three -men did not move, and one of them was the major. His face looked to me -livid. I closed my eyes, in order not to know, and I let the man who had -come to our aid pull me out of the compartment. One of the young -officers got out after me. He took Soubise, who was almost in a fainting -condition, from his friend. The imbecile baron then got out; his -shoulder was out of joint. A doctor came forward among the rescuers. The -baron held his arm out to him and told him to pull it, which he did at -once. The French doctor took off the officer’s cloak, told two of the -railway men to hold him, and then, pushing against him himself, pulled -at the poor arm. The baron was very pale and gave a low whistle. When -the arm was back in its place the doctor shook the baron’s other hand. -“_Cristi!_” he said, “I must have hurt you very much. You have a -precious lot of courage.” The German saluted and I helped him on again -with his cloak. - -The doctor was then fetched away, and I saw that he was taken back to -our compartment. I shuddered in spite of myself. We were now able to -find out what had been the cause of our accident. A locomotive attached -to two vans of coal had been shunting, in order to get on to the siding -and let us pass, when one of the vans got off the rails and the -locomotive tired its lungs with whistling the alarm, while men ran to -meet us scattering _petards_. Everything had been in vain, and we had -run against the overturned van. - -What were we to do? The soft roads were all broken up by the cannon. We -were about four miles from Tergnier, and a fine, penetrating rain was -making our clothes stick to our bodies. - -There were four carriages, but the wounded had to be conveyed. Other -carriages would come, but there were the dead to be carried away. An -improvised litter was just being borne along by two workmen. The major -was lying on it, so livid that I clenched my hands until my nails -entered the flesh. One of the officers wanted to question the doctor who -was following. - -“Oh, no!” I exclaimed, “please, please do not. I do not want to know. -The poor fellow!” - -I stopped my ears as though some one was about to shout out something -horrible to me, and I never knew his fate. - -We were obliged to resign ourselves to setting out on foot. We went -about two kilometers as bravely as possible, and then I stopped quite -exhausted. The mud which clung to our shoes made them very heavy. The -effort we had to make at every step to get each foot out of the dirt -tired us out. I sat down on a milestone and declared that I would not go -any farther. - -My companion wept, and the two young German officers, who had acted as -bodyguards, made a seat for me by crossing their hands, and we went -nearly another mile like that. My companion could not walk any farther. -I offered her my place, but she refused it. “Well, then, let us wait -here!” I said, and quite at the end of our strength, we rested against a -little broken tree. - -It was now night, and such a cold night! Huddled close to Soubise, -trying to keep warm, I began to fall asleep, seeing before my eyes the -wounded men of Châtillon, who had died seated against the little shrubs. -I did not want to move again, and the torpor seemed to me thoroughly -delicious. - -A cart passed by, however, on its way to Tergnier. One of the young men -hailed it and, when the terms were made, I felt myself picked up from -the ground, lifted into the vehicle and carried along by the jerky, -rolling movement of two loose wheels which climbed the hills, sank into -the mire, and jumped over the heaps of stones, while the driver whipped -up his beasts and urged them on with his voice. He had a “don’t care, -let what will happen” way of driving, which was quite the note of the -times. I was aware of all this in my semi-sleep, for I was not really -asleep, but I did not want to answer any questions. I gave myself up to -this prostration of my whole being with a certain enjoyment. - -A rough jerk, however, indicated that we had arrived at Tergnier. The -cart had drawn up at the hotel, and we had to get out. I pretended to be -still asleep. But it was no use, I had to wake up. The two young men -helped me up to my room. - -I asked Soubise to arrange about the payment of the cart before the -departure of our excellent young companions, who were sorry to leave us. -I signed for each of them a voucher, on a sheet of the hotel paper, for -a photograph. Only one of them ever claimed it. This was six years -later, and I sent it to him. - -The Tergnier Hotel could only give us one room between us. I let Soubise -go to bed, and I slept in an armchair, dressed as I was. The following -morning I asked about a train for Cateau, but was told that there was no -train. We had to work marvels to get a vehicle, but finally, Dr. -Meunier, or Mesnier, agreed to lend us a two-wheeled conveyance. That -was something, but there was no horse. The poor doctor’s horse had been -requisitioned by the enemy. A wheelwright, for an exorbitant price, let -me hire a colt that had never been in the shafts, and which went wild -when the harness was put on. The poor little beast calmed down after -being well lashed, but his wildness then changed into stubbornness. He -stood still on his four legs, which were trembling with fury, and -refused to move. With his neck stretched forward toward the ground, his -eye fixed, and his nostrils dilating, he would not budge any more than a -stake in the earth. Two men then held the light carriage back, the -halter was taken off the colt’s neck, he shook his head for an instant -and, thinking himself free and without any impediments, he began to step -out. The men were scarcely holding the vehicle. He gave two little kicks -and then began to trot. It was only a very short trot. A boy then -stopped him, some carrots were given to him, his mane was stroked, and -the halter was put on again. He stopped suddenly, but the boy, jumping -into the gig and holding the reins lightly, spoke to him and encouraged -him to move on. The colt tried timidly and, not feeling any resistance, -began to trot along for about a quarter of an hour, and then came back -to us at the door of the hotel. I had to leave a deposit of four hundred -francs with the notary of the place, in case the colt should die. - -Ah, what a journey that was with the boy! Soubise and I sitting close -together in that little gig, the wheels of which creaked at every jolt! -The unhappy colt was steaming like a _pot-au-feu_ when the lid is -raised. We started at eleven in the morning, and when we had to stop, -because of the poor beast who could not go any farther, it was five in -the afternoon and we had not gone five miles. Oh, that poor colt, he was -certainly to be pitied! We were not very heavy, all three of us -together, but we were too much for him. We were just a few yards away -from a sordid-looking house. I knocked and an enormous old woman opened -the door. - -“What do you want?” she asked. - -“Hospitality for an hour and shelter for our horse.” - -She looked out on the road and saw our turnout. “Hey, father,” she -called out in a husky voice, “come and look here!” - -A fat man, quite as fat, but older than she was, came hobbling heavily -along. She pointed to the gig, so oddly equipped, and he burst out -laughing and said to me in an insolent way: - -“Well, what do you want?” - -I repeated my phrase, “Hospitality for an hour, etc., etc.” - -“P’raps we can do it, but it’ll want paying for.” - -I showed him twenty francs. The old woman gave him a nudge. - -“Oh, but in these times, you know, it’s well worth forty francs!” - -“Very good,” I said, “agreed, forty francs.” - -He then let me go inside the house with Mlle. Soubise, and sent his son -forward to the boy, who was coming along holding the colt by his mane. -He had taken off the halter very considerately, and thrown my rug over -its steaming sides. On reaching the house, the poor beast was quickly -unharnessed, and taken into a little inclosure, at the far end of which -a few badly joined planks served as a stable for an old mule, which was -aroused by the fat woman with kicks, and turned out into the inclosure. -The colt took its place, and when I asked for some oats for it she -replied: “P’raps we could get it some, but that isn’t in the price of -the forty francs.” - -“Very well,” I said; and I gave our boy five francs to fetch the oats, -but the old shrew took the money from him and handed it to her lad, -saying: “You go, you know where to find them, and come back quick.” - -Our boy stayed with the colt, drying it and rubbing it down as well as -he could. I went back to the house, where I found my charming Soubise -with her sleeves turned up, and her delicate hands washing two glasses -and two plates for us. I asked if it would be possible to have some -eggs. - -“Yes, but——” - -I interrupted our monstrous hostess. - -“Don’t tire yourself, madame, I beg,” I said. “It is understood that the -forty francs are your tip and that I am to pay for everything else.” - -She was confused for a moment, shaking her head and trying to find -words, but I asked her to give me the eggs. She brought me five eggs and -I began to prepare my omelette, as my culinary glory is an omelette. - -The water was nauseous, so we drank cider. I sent for the boy and let -him have something to eat in our presence, for I was afraid that the -ogress would give him too economical a meal. - -When I paid the fabulous bill of seventy-five francs, inclusive, of -course, of the forty francs, the matron put on her spectacles and, -taking one of the gold pieces, looked at it on one side, then on the -other, made it ring on a plate and then on the ground. She did this with -each of the three gold pieces. I could not help laughing. “Oh, there’s -nothing to laugh at!” she grunted. “For the last six months we’ve had -nothing but thieves here.” - -“And you know something about theft!” I said. - -She looked at me, trying to make out what I meant, but the laughing -expression in my eyes took away her suspicions. This was very fortunate, -as they were people capable of doing us harm. I had taken the -precaution, when sitting down to table, of putting my revolver near me. - -“You know how to fire that?” asked the lame man. - -“Oh, yes, I shoot very well!” I answered, but this was not true. Our -steed was then put in again in a few seconds, and we proceeded on our -way. The colt appeared to be quite joyful. He stamped, kicked a little, -and began to go at a pretty steady pace. Our disagreeable hosts had told -us the way to St. Quentin, and we set off, after our poor colt had made -attempts to stand still. I was dead tired and fell asleep, but after -about an hour the vehicle stopped abruptly, and the wretched beast began -to snort and put his back up, supporting himself on his four stiff, -trembling legs. - -It had been a gloomy day, and a lowering sky seemed to be shedding tears -slowly over the earth. We had stopped in the middle of a field, which -had been plowed up all over by the heavy wheels of cannon. The rest of -the ground had been trampled by horses’ feet, and the cold had hardened -the little ridges of earth, leaving icicles here and there which -glittered dismally in the thick atmosphere. - -We got down from the vehicle to try to discover what was making our -little animal tremble in this way. I gave a cry of horror for, only -about five yards away, some dogs were pulling wildly at a dead body, -half of which was still underground. It was a soldier and, fortunately, -one of the enemy. I took the whip from our young driver and lashed the -horrid animals as hard as I could. They moved away for a second, showing -their teeth, and then returned to their voracious and abominable work, -growling sullenly at us. - -Our boy got down and led the snorting pony by the bridle. We went on -with some difficulty, trying to find the road in these devastated -plains. Darkness came over us and it was icy cold. The moon feebly -pushed aside her veils and shone over the landscape with a wan, sad -light. I was half dead with fright. It seemed to me that the silence was -broken by cries from underground, and every little mound of earth -appeared to me to be a head. Soubise was crying, with her face hidden in -her hands. After going along for half an hour, we saw, in the distance, -a little group of people coming along carrying lanterns. I went toward -them, as I wanted to find out which way to go. I was embarrassed on -getting nearer to them, for I could hear sobs. I saw a poor woman, who -was very corpulent, being helped along by a young priest. The whole of -her body was shaken by her fits of grief. She was followed by two -subofficers and by three other persons. I let her pass by, and then -questioned those who were following her. I was told that she was looking -for the bodies of her husband and son, who had both been killed a few -days before on the St. Quentin plains. She came each day at dusk, in -order to avoid inquisitive people, and she had not yet met with any -success. It was hoped that she would find them this time, as one of -these subofficers, who had just left the hospital, was taking them to -the spot where he had seen the poor creature’s husband fall, mortally -wounded. He had fallen there himself, and had been picked up by the -_ambulance_ people. - -I thanked these persons, who told me the wretched road we must take, the -best one there was, lay through this cemetery. - -We could now distinguish groups of people searching about, and it was -all so horrible that it made me want to scream out. - -Suddenly, the boy who was driving us pulled my coat sleeve. - -“Oh, madame,” he said, “look at that scoundrel stealing!” - -I looked and saw a man lying down full length, with a large bag near -him. He had a dark lantern, which he held toward the ground. He then got -up, looked around him, for his outline could be seen distinctly on the -horizon, and began his work again. - -When he caught sight of us he put out his lamp, and crouched down on the -ground. We walked on in silence straight toward him. I took the colt by -the bridle, on the other side from the boy, who no doubt understood my -idea, for he let himself be guided by me. I walked straight toward the -man, pretending not to know he was there. The colt backed, but we pulled -hard and made it advance. We were so near to him that I shuddered at the -thought that the wretch would perhaps allow himself to be trampled over -by the animal and the light vehicle rather than reveal his presence. -Fortunately, though, I was mistaken; a stifled voice murmured: - -“Take care there! I am wounded. You will run over me.” I took the gig -lantern down. We had covered it with a jacket, as the moon lighted us -better, and I turned it now on the face of this wretch. I was stupefied -to see a man of from sixty-five to seventy years of age, with a -hollow-looking face, framed with long, dirty, white whiskers. He had a -muffler round his neck, and was wearing a peasant’s cloak of a dark -color. Around him, shown up by the moon, were sword belts, brass -buttons, sword hilts, and other objects that the infamous old man had -torn from the poor dead men. - -“You are not wounded. You are a thief, and a violator of tombs! I shall -call out and you will be killed. Do you hear that, you miserable -wretch!” I exclaimed, and went so near to him that I could feel his -breath sully mine. He crouched down on his knees, and, clasping his -criminal hands, implored me in a trembling, tearful voice. - -“Leave your bag there, then,” I said, “and all those things. Empty your -pockets, leave everything and go. Run, for as soon as you are out of -sight I shall call one of those soldiers who are searching, and I shall -give them your plunder. I know I am doing wrong, though, in letting you -off and not giving you up.” - -He emptied his pockets, groaning all the time, and was just going away -when the lad whispered: “He’s hiding some boots under his cloak.” I was -furious with rage with this vile thief and I pulled his big cloak off. - -“Leave everything, you wretched man,” I exclaimed, “or I will call out.” - -Six pairs of boots, taken from the corpses, fell noisily on to the hard -ground. The man stooped down for his revolver, which he had taken out of -his pocket at the same time as the stolen objects. - -“Will you leave that, and get away quickly?” I said, “my patience is at -an end.” - -“But if I am caught I shan’t be able to defend myself,” he exclaimed, in -a fit of desperate rage. - -“It will be because God willed it so,” I answered. “Go at once or I will -call.” The man then made off, abusing me as he went. - -Our little driver then fetched a soldier to whom I related the -adventure, showing him the objects. - -“Which way did the rascal go?” asked a sergeant who had come with the -soldier. - -“I can’t say,” I replied. - -“Oh, well, I don’t care to run after him,” he said, “there are enough -dead men here.” - -We continued our way until we came to a place where several roads met, -and it was then possible for us to take a road a little more suitable -for vehicles. - -After going through Busigny, and a wood, where there were bogs in which -we only just escaped being swallowed up, our painful journey came to an -end, and we arrived at Cateau in the night, half dead with fatigue, -fright, and despair. - -I was obliged to take a day’s rest there, for I was prostrate with -feverishness. We had two little rooms, roughly whitewashed but quite -clean. The floor was of red, shiny bricks, and there was a polished wood -bed, and curtains of white sateen. - -I sent for a doctor for my nice little Mlle. Soubise, who, it seemed to -me, was worse than I was. He thought we were both in a very bad state, -though. A nervous feverishness had taken all the use out of my limbs and -made my head burn. Soubise could not keep still, but kept seeing -specters and fires, hearing shouts, and turning round quickly, imagining -that some one had touched her on the shoulder. The good man gave us a -soothing draught to overcome our fatigue, and the next day a very hot -bath brought back the suppleness to our limbs. It was then six days -since we had left Paris, and it would take about twenty more hours to -reach Hombourg, for in those days trains went much less quickly than at -present. I took the train for Brussels, where I was counting on buying a -trunk, and a few necessary things. - -From Cateau to Brussels there was no hindrance to our journey, and we -were able to take the train again the same evening. - -I had replenished our wardrobe, which certainly needed it, and we -continued our journey without much difficulty as far as Cologne, -although on passing through Strasbourg I had a nervous attack from -sorrow and despair. On arriving at Cologne we had a cruel -disappointment. The train had only just entered the station, when a -railway official, passing quickly in front of the carriages, shouted -something in German, which I did not catch. Everyone seemed to be in a -hurry, and men and women pushed each other without any courtesy. I -addressed another official and showed him our tickets. He took up my bag -very obligingly, and hurried after the crowd. We followed, but I did not -understand the excitement, until the man flung my bag into a -compartment, and signed to me to get in as quickly as possible. Mlle. -Soubise was already on the step, when she was pushed aside violently by -a railway porter, who slammed the door, and before I was fully aware of -what had happened, the train had disappeared. My bag had gone in the -carriage, and my trunk was with all the other trunks, in a luggage van -that had been unhooked from the train which had arrived and fastened on -to the express which had left. I began to cry with rage. An official -took pity on us and led us to the station master. He was a very superior -sort of man, who spoke French fairly well. I sank down in his great -leather armchair, and told him my misadventure, sobbing nervously. He -looked kind and sympathetic. He immediately telegraphed for my bag and -trunk to be given into the care of the station master at the first -station. “You will have them again to-morrow, toward midday,” he said. - -“Then I cannot start this evening?” I asked. - -“Oh, no, that is impossible,” he replied. “There is no train, for the -express that will take you to Hombourg does not start before to-morrow -morning.” - -“O God, God!” I exclaimed, and I was seized with veritable despair, -which soon affected Mlle. Soubise, too. - -The poor station master was rather embarrassed and tried to soothe me. -“Do you know anyone here?” he asked. - -“No, no one. I have only been to Baden-Baden. That was three years ago, -and I do not know anyone in Cologne.” - -“Well, then, I will have you driven to the Hôtel du Nord. My -sister-in-law has been there for two days and she will look after you.” - -Half an hour later his carriage arrived and he took us to the Hôtel du -Nord, after driving a long way around to show us the city. But at that -time I did not admire anything belonging to the Germans. - -On arriving at the Hôtel du Nord, he introduced us to his sister-in-law, -a fair-haired young woman, pretty, but too tall and too big for my -taste. I must say, though, that she was very sweet and affable. She -engaged two bedrooms for us near her own rooms. She had a flat on the -ground floor, and she invited us to dinner, which was served in her -drawing-room. Her brother-in-law joined us in the evening. The charming -woman was very musical. She played to us from Berlioz, Gounod, and even -Auber. I thoroughly appreciated the delicacy of this woman, in letting -us hear only French composers. I asked her to play something from Mozart -and Wagner. At that name she turned to me and exclaimed: “Do you like -Wagner!” - -“I like his music,” I replied, “but I detest the man.” - -Mlle. Soubise whispered to me: “Ask her to play Liszt.” - -She overheard, and complied with infinite graciousness. I must own that -I spent a delicious evening there. - -At ten o’clock the station master (whose name I have very stupidly -forgotten, and I cannot find it in any of my notes) told me he would -call for us at eight the following morning, and then took leave of us. I -fell asleep, lulled by Mozart, Gounod, etc. - -At eight o’clock the next morning, a servant came to tell me that the -carriage was waiting for us. There was a gentle knock at my door, and -our pretty hostess of the previous evening said sweetly: “Come, you must -start!” I was really very much touched by the delicacy of this pretty -German woman. - -It was such a fine day that I asked her if we should have time to walk -and, on her reply in the affirmative, we all three started for the -station, which is not far from the hotel. An engaged carriage had been -reserved for us, and we installed ourselves in it as comfortably as -possible. The brother and sister shook hands with us and wished us a -pleasant journey. - -When the train had started, I discovered, in one of the corners, a -bouquet of forget-me-nots with the sister’s card, and a box of -chocolates from the station master. - -I was at last about to arrive at my goal and was in a state of wild -excitement at the idea of seeing, once more, all my beloved ones. My -eyes, which had grown larger with anxiety, traveled more rapidly than -the train. I fumed each time it stopped, and envied the birds I saw -flying along. I laughed with delight as I thought of the surprised faces -of those I was going to see again, and then I began to tremble with -anxiety. What had happened to them? and should I find them all? I should -if ... ah, those “ifs,” those “becauses,” and those “buts”! My mind -became full of them, they bristled with illnesses, and accidents, and I -began to weep. My poor little traveling companion began to weep, too. - -Finally, we came within sight of Hombourg. Twenty more minutes of this -turning of wheels and we entered the station. But just as though all the -spirites and devils from the infernal regions had concerted to torture -my patience, we stopped short. All heads were out of the windows. “What -is it?” “What’s the matter?” “Why are we not going on?” There was a -train in front of us at a standstill, with a broken brake, and the line -had to be cleared. I fell back on my seat, clenching my teeth and hands -and looking up in the air to distinguish the evil spirits which were so -bent on tormenting me, and then I resolutely closed my eyes. I muttered -some invectives against the invisible sprites, and declared that as I -would not suffer any more, I was now going to rest. I then fell fast -asleep, for the power of sleeping when I wish is a precious gift which -God has bestowed on me. In the most frightful circumstances and the most -cruel moments of life, when I have felt that my reason was giving way -under shocks that have been too great or too painful, my will has laid -hold of my reason, just as one holds a bad-tempered little dog that -wants to bite, and subjugating it, my will has said to my reason: -“Enough, you can take up again to-morrow your suffering and your plans, -your anxiety, your sorrow and your anguish. You have had enough for -to-day. You would give way altogether under the weight of so many -troubles, and you would drag me along with you. I will not have it! We -will forget everything for a while and go to sleep together!” And I have -gone to sleep. This is absolutely true. - -Mlle. Soubise roused me as soon as the train had really arrived. I was -refreshed and calmer. A minute later we were in a carriage, and had -given the address: 7 Obere Strasse. - -We were soon there, and I found all my adored ones, big and little, and -they were all very well. Oh, what happiness it was! The blood pulsed in -all my arteries. I had suffered so much that I burst out into delicious -sobs. - -Who can ever describe the infinite pleasure of tears of joy! During the -next two days the maddest things occurred, which I will not relate, so -incredible would they sound. Among others, fire broke out in the house; -we had to escape in our night clothes, camp out for six hours in five -feet of snow, etc., etc., but everyone was safe and sound. - -We then set out for Paris, but on arriving at St. Denis there were no -more trains. It was four o’clock in the morning. The Germans were -masters of all the suburbs of Paris and the trains ran only for their -service. After an hour spent in running about, in discussions and -rebuffs, I found an officer of higher rank, who was better educated and -more agreeable. He had a locomotive prepared to take me to the Gare du -Hâvre. - -The journey was very amusing. My mother, my aunt, my sister Régina, -Mlle. Soubise, the two maids, the children, and I all squeezed into a -little square space, in which there was a very small, narrow bench, -which I think was the place for the signalman in those days. The engine -went very slowly, as the rails were frequently obstructed by carts or -railway carriages. - -We left at five in the morning and reached the Gare du Hâvre at seven. -At a place which I cannot locate, our German conductors were exchanged -for French. I questioned them and learned that Paris was just then -disturbed by revolutionary movements. - -The stoker with whom I was talking was a very intelligent and very -advanced individual. “You would do better to go somewhere else, and not -to Paris,” he said, “for before long they will come to blows there.” - -We had arrived by this time, but at this hour, as no train was expected -in, it was impossible to find a carriage. I got down with my tribe from -the locomotive, to the great amazement of the station officials. - -I was no longer very rich, but I offered twenty francs to one of the men -if he would see to our six bags. We were to send for my trunk and those -belonging to my family later on. - -There was not a single carriage outside the station. What was to be -done? I was then living at No. 4 Rue de Rome, and this was not far away, -but my mother scarcely ever walked, for she was delicate and had a weak -heart. The children, too, were very, very tired. Their eyes were puffed -up and scarcely open, and their little limbs benumbed by the cold and -the sitting still. I began to get desperate, but a milk cart was just -passing by, and I sent the porter to hail it. I offered twenty francs if -the man would drive my mother and the two children to 4 Rue de Rome. - -“And you, too, if you like, young lady,” said the milkman. “You are -thinner than a grasshopper, you won’t make it any heavier.” I did not -want inviting twice, although rather annoyed by the man’s speech. - -When once my mother was installed, in spite of her hesitation, by the -side of the milkman, and the children and I were in among the full and -empty milk pails, I said to the man: “Would it be all the same to you to -come back and fetch the others?” I pointed to the remaining group, and -added: “You shall have twenty francs more.” - -“Right you are!” said the worthy fellow. “A good day’s work! Don’t you -tire your legs, you others. I’ll be back for you directly!” - -He then whipped up his horse and took us off at a wild rate. The -children rolled about and I held on. My mother set her teeth and did not -utter a word, but from under her long lashes she glanced at me with a -displeased look. - -On arriving at my door the milkman drew up his horse so short that I -thought my mother would fall out on to the animal’s back. We had -arrived, though, and we got out. The cart started off again at full -speed. My mother would not speak to me for about an hour. Poor, pretty -mother, it was not my fault after all. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - THE COMMUNE AND VICTOR HUGO - - -I had gone away from Paris eleven days before, and had then left a sad -city. The sadness had been painful, the result of a great misfortune -which had been unexpected. No one had dared to look up, fearing to be -blown upon by the same wind which was blowing the German flag floating -over yonder beyond the Arc de Triomphe. - -I found Paris now effervescent and grumbling. The walls were placarded -with many-colored posters, and all these posters contained the wildest -harangues. Fine, noble ideas were side by side with absurd threats. -Workmen, on their way to their daily toil, stopped in front of these -bills. One would read aloud, and the gathering crowd would begin the -reading over again. And all these human beings, who had just been -suffering so much through this abominable war, now echoed these appeals -for vengeance. They were very much to be excused. This war, alas! had -hollowed out under their very feet a gulf of ruin and of mourning. -Poverty had brought the women to rags, the privations of the siege had -lowered the vitality of the children, and the shame of the defeat had -discouraged the men. Well, these appeals to rebellion, these anarchist -shouts, these yells from the crowd, shrieking: “Down with thrones! Down -with the Republic! Down with the rich! Down with the priests! Down with -the Jews! Down with the army! Down with the masters! Down with those who -work! Down with everything!”—all these cries roused the benumbed -hearers. The Germans, who fomented all these riots, rendered us a real -service without intending it. Those who had given themselves up to -resignation were stirred out of their torpor. Others, who were asking -for “revenge,” found an aliment for their inactive forces. None of them -agreed. There were ten or twenty different parties, devouring each other -and threatening each other. It was terrible! - -But it was the awakening. It was life after death. I had among my -friends about ten of the leaders of different opinions, and all of them -interested me, the maddest and the wisest of them. I often saw Gambetta -at Girardin’s, and it was a joy to me to listen to this admirable man. -What he said was so wise, so well balanced and so captivating! This man -with his heavy stomach, his short arms, and huge head, had a halo of -beauty round him when he spoke. And he was never common, never ordinary. -He took snuff, and the gesture of his hand when he brushed away the -stray grains, was full of grace, He smoked huge cigars, but could smoke -them without annoying anyone. When he was tired of politics and talked -literature, it was a rare charm, for he knew everything and quoted -poetry admirably. One evening, after dinner at Girardin’s, we played -together the whole of the scene in the first act between _Hernani_ and -_Doña Sol_. He was not handsome, like Mounet-Sully, but he was just as -admirable in it. - -Another time he recited the whole of “Ruth and Boaz.” But I preferred -his political discussions to all that, especially when he criticised the -speech of some one whose opinion was opposed to his own. The eminent -qualities of this politician’s talent were logic and balance, and his -seductive force was chauvinism. The obscure death of so great a thinker -is a disconcerting challenge flung at human pride. - -I sometimes saw Rochefort, whose wit delighted me. I was not at ease -with him, though, for he was the cause of the fall of the Empire, and, -although I am very Republican, I liked the Emperor, Napoleon III. He had -been too trustful, but very unfortunate, and it seemed to me that -Rochefort insulted him too much after his misfortune. - -I also frequently saw Paul de Rémusat, the favorite of Thiers. He had -great refinement of mind, broad ideas, and fascinating manners. Some -people accused him of Orleanism. He was a Republican, and a much more -advanced Republican than Thiers. Anyone must have known him very little -to believe him anything else but what he said he was. Paul de Rémusat -had a horror of untruth. He was sensitive, and had a very -straightforward, strong character. He took no active part in politics, -except in private circles; and his advice always prevailed, even in the -Chamber and in the Senate. He would never speak except in the office. -The Ministry of Fine Arts was offered to him a hundred times, but he -repeatedly refused it. Finally, after my repeated entreaties, he almost -allowed himself to be appointed Minister of Fine Arts, but at the last -moment he declined, and wrote me a delicious letter, from which I quote -a few passages. As the letter was not written for publication, I do not -consider that I have a right to give the whole of it, but there seems to -be no harm in publishing these few lines: - - Allow me, my charming friend, to remain in the shade. I can see better - there than in the dazzling brilliancy of men. You are grateful to me, - sometimes, for being attentive to the miseries you point out to me. - Let me keep my independence. It is more agreeable to me to have the - right to relieve everyone than to be obliged to relieve no matter - whom.... In matters of art, I have made for myself an ideal of beauty - which would naturally seem too partial.... - -It is a great pity that the scruples of this delicate-minded man did not -allow him to accept this office. The reforms that he pointed out to me -were, and still are, very necessary ones. However, that cannot be -helped. - -I also knew, and frequently saw, a great, foolish fellow full of dreams -and Utopian follies. His name was Flourens, and he was tall and nice -looking. He wanted everyone to be happy and everyone to have money, and -he shot down the soldiers without reflecting that he was commencing by -making one or more of them unhappy. Reasoning with him was impossible, -but he was charming and brave. I saw him two days before his death. He -came to see me with a very young girl, who wanted to devote herself to -dramatic art. I promised him to help her. Two days later the poor child -came to tell me of the heroic death of Flourens. He had refused to -surrender, and, stretching out his arms, and shouted to the hesitating -soldiers: “Shoot! shoot! I would not have spared you!” And he had then -fallen under the bullets. - -Another man, not so interesting, whom I looked upon as a dangerous -madman, was a certain Raoul Rigault. For a short time he was Prefect of -Police. He was very young and very daring, wildly ambitious, determined -to do anything to succeed, and it seemed to him more easy to do harm -than good. That man was a real danger. He belonged to that band of -students who used to send me verses every day. I came across them -everywhere, enthusiastic and mad. They had been nicknamed in Paris “the -drivelers.” One day he brought me a little one-act play. This piece was -so stupid and the verses so insipid that I sent it back to him with a -few words, which he no doubt considered unkind, for he bore me malice -for them and attempted to avenge himself in the following way. He called -on me one day. Mme. Guérard was there when he was shown in. - -“Do you know that I am all-powerful at present?” he said. - -“In these days there is nothing surprising in that,” I replied. - -“I have come to see you, either to make peace or declare war,” he -continued. - -This way of talking did not suit me, and I sprang up. “As I can foresee -that your conditions of peace would not suit me, _cher monsieur_, I will -not give you time to declare war. You are one of the men one would -prefer, no matter how spiteful they might be, to have for enemies, -rather than for friends.” With these words I rang for my footman to show -the Prefect of Police to the door. - -Mme. Guérard was in despair. “That man will do us some harm, my dear -Sarah, I assure you,” she said. - -She was not mistaken in her presentiment, except that she was thinking -of me and not of herself, for his first vengeance was taken on her, by -sending away one of her relatives, who was a police commissioner, to an -inferior and dangerous post. He then began to invent a hundred miseries -for me. One day I received an order to go at once to the Prefecture of -Police, on urgent business. I took no notice. The following day a -mounted courier brought me a note from Sire Raoul Rigault, threatening -to send a prison van for me. I took no notice whatever of the threats of -this wretch, who was shot shortly after, and died without showing any -courage. - -Life, however, was no longer possible in Paris, and I decided to go to -St. Germain en Laye. I asked my mother to go with me, but she went to -Switzerland with my youngest sister. - -The departure from Paris was not as easy as I had hoped. Communists, -with gun on shoulder, stopped the trains and searched in all our bags -and pockets, and even under the cushions of the railway carriages. They -were afraid that the passengers were taking newspapers to Versailles. -This was monstrously stupid. - -The installation at St. Germain was not easy. Nearly all Paris had taken -refuge in this little place, which is as pretty as it is dull. From the -height of the terrace, where the crowd remained morning and night, we -could see the alarming progress of the Commune. On all sides of Paris -the flames rose, proud and destructive. The wind often brought us burnt -papers, which we took to the Council House. The Seine brought quantities -along with it, and the boatmen collected these in sacks. Some days—and -these were the most distressing of any—an opaque veil of smoke enveloped -Paris. There was no breeze to allow the flames to pierce through. The -city then burned stealthily, without our anxious eyes being able to -discover what fresh homes these furious madmen had set alight. - -I went for a ride every day in the forest. Sometimes I would go as far -as Versailles, but this was not without danger. We often came across -poor starving wretches in the forest, whom we joyfully helped, but -often, too, there were prisoners who had escaped from Poissy, or -Communist sharp shooters trying to shoot a Versailles soldier. One day -on the way back from Triel, where Captain O’Connor and I had been for a -gallop over all the hills, we entered the forest rather late in the -evening, as it was a shorter way. A shot wits fired from a neighboring -thicket, which made my horse bound so sharply toward the left that I was -thrown. Fortunately my horse was quiet. O’Connor hurried to me, but I -was already up and ready to mount again. “Just a second,” he said, “I -want to search that thicket.” With a short gallop he was soon at the -spot, and I then heard a shot, some branches breaking under flying feet, -then another shot, not at all like the two former ones, and my friend -appeared again with a pistol in his hand. - -“It has not touched you?” I asked. - -“Yes, the first shot just touched my leg, but the fellow aimed too low. -The second he fired haphazard. I fancy, though, that he has a bullet -from my revolver in his body.” - -“But I heard some one running away,” I said. - -“Oh,” replied the elegant captain, chuckling, “he will not go far!” - -“Poor wretch!” I murmured. - -“Oh, no!” exclaimed O’Connor, “do not pity them, I beg. They kill -numbers of our men every day; only yesterday five soldiers from my -regiment were found on the Versailles road, not only killed, but -mutilated,” and, gnashing his teeth, he finished his sentence with an -oath. - -I turned toward him rather surprised, but he took no notice. We -continued our way, riding as quickly as the obstacles in the forest -would allow us. All at once, our horses stopped short, snorting and -sniffing. O’Connor took his revolver in his hand, got off and led his -horse. A few yards from us there was a man lying on the ground. “That -must be my wretch of just now,” said my companion and, bending down over -the man, he spoke to him. A moan was the only reply. O’Connor had not -seen his man, so he could not have recognized him. He lighted a match, -and we saw that this one had no gun. I had dismounted and was trying to -raise the unfortunate man’s head, but I withdrew my hand covered with -blood. He had opened his eyes and fixed them on O’Connor. - -[Illustration: SARAH BERNHARDT IN RIDING HABIT.] - -“Ah, it’s you, Versailles dog!” he said. “It was you who shot me! I -missed you, but—” He tried to pull out the revolver from his belt, but -the effort was too great, and his hand fell down inert. O’Connor, on his -side, had cocked his revolver, but I placed myself in front of the man -and besought him to leave the poor fellow in peace. I could scarcely -recognize my friend, for this nice-looking, fair-haired man, so correct, -rather a snob, but very charming, seemed to have turned into a brute. -Leaning forward toward the unfortunate man, his under jaw advancing, he -was muttering under his teeth some inarticulate words; his clenched hand -seemed to be grasping his anger, just as one does an anonymous letter, -before flinging it away in disgust. - -“O’Connor, let this man alone, please!” I said. - -He was as gallant a man as he was a good soldier. He gave way and seemed -to become aware of the situation again. “Good!;” he said, helping me to -mount once more. “When I have taken you back to your hotel, I will come -back with some men to pick up this wretch.” Half an hour later we were -back home, without having exchanged another word during our ride. - -I kept up my friendship with O’Connor, but I could never see him again -without thinking of that scene. Suddenly, when he was talking to me, the -brutelike mask, under which I had seen him for a second, would fix -itself again over his laughing face. Quite recently, in March, 1905, -General O’Connor, who was commanding in Algeria, came to see me one -evening in my dressing-room at the theater. He told me about his -difficulties with some of the great Arab chiefs. - -“I fancy,” he said, laughing, “that we shall have to have a brush -together.” - -The captain’s mask, for me, then fixed itself on the general’s face. I -never saw him again, for he died six months afterwards. - -We were at last able to go back to Paris. The abominable and shameful -peace had been signed, the wretched Commune crushed. Everything was -supposed to be in order again. But what blood and ashes! what women in -mourning! what ruins! - -The bitter odor of smoke was what we inhaled in Paris. All that I -touched at home left on my fingers a somewhat greasy and almost -imperceptible color. A general uneasiness beset France, and more -especially Paris. The theaters, however, opened their doors once more, -and that was a general relief. - -One morning I received from the Odéon a notice of rehearsal. I shook out -my hair, stamped my feet, and sniffed the air like a young horse -snorting. The race ground was to be opened for us again. We should be -able to gallop afresh through our dreams. The lists were open. The -contest was beginning. Life was commencing again. It is truly strange -that man’s mind should have made of life a perpetual strife. When there -is no longer War there is Battle, for there are a hundred thousand of us -for the same object, God has created the earth and man for each other. -The earth is vast. What ground there is uncultivated! Miles upon miles, -acres upon acres of new land, waiting for arms that will take from its -bosom the treasures of inexhaustible nature. And we remain grouped round -each other; crowds of famishing people watching other groups, which are -also lying in wait. - -The Odéon opened its doors to the public, offering them its repertory. -Some new pieces were given us to study. One of these, more particularly, -had great success. It was André Theuriet’s “Jean-Marie,” and was given -in October, 1871. This little one-act play is a veritable masterpiece, -and it took its author straight to the Academy. Porel, who played the -part of _Jean-Marie_, had huge success. He was at that time slender, -nimble, and full of youthful ardor. He needed a little more poetry, but -the joyous laughter of his thirty-two teeth made up in ardor for what -was wanting in poetic desire. It was very good, anyhow. - -My rôle of the young Breton girl, submissive to the elderly husband -forced upon her, and living eternally with the memory of the _fiancé_ -who was absent, perhaps dead, was pretty, poetical, and touching through -the final sacrifice. There was even a certain grandeur in the end of the -piece. It had, I must repeat, an immense success and increased my -growing reputation. - -I was, however, awaiting the event which was to consecrate me a star. I -did not quite know what I was expecting, but I knew that my Messiah had -to come. And it was the greatest poet of the last century who was to -place on my head the crown of the Elect. - -At the end of that year, 1871, we were told, in rather a mysterious and -solemn way, that we were going to play a piece of Victor Hugo’s. My -mind, at that time of my life, was still closed to great ideas. What -with my somewhat cosmopolitan family, their rather snobbish -acquaintances and friends, and the acquaintances and friends I had -chosen in my independent life as an _artiste_, I was living in rather a -_bourgeois_ atmosphere. I had heard Victor Hugo spoken of ever since my -childhood as a rebel and a renegade, and his works, which I had read -with passion, did not prevent my judging him with very great severity. -And I blush to-day with anger and shame, when I think of all my absurd -prejudices, nourished by the imbecile or insincere little court which -flattered me. I had a great wish, nevertheless, to play in “Ruy Blas.” -The rôle of the queen seemed so charming to me. - -I mentioned my wish to Duquesnel, who said he had already thought of it. -Jane Essler, an _artiste_ then in vogue, but a trifle vulgar, had great -chances, though, against me. She was on very friendly terms with Paul -Meurice, Victor Hugo’s intimate friend and adviser. A friend brought -Auguste Vacquerie to my house. He was the other friend, and even a -relative of the “illustrious master.” - -Auguste Vacquerie promised to speak for me to Victor Hugo, and two days -later he came again, assuring me that I had every chance in my favor. -Paul Meurice himself, a very straightforward man with a delightful mind, -had proposed me to the author. Then, too, Geffroy, the admirable -_artiste_ taken from the Comédie Française to play “Don Salluste,” had -said, it appears, that he could see only one little Queen of Spain -worthy to wear the crown, and I was that one. I did not know Geffroy, -and I did not know Paul Meurice, and was rather astonished that they -should know me. - -The reading was to be at Victor Hugo’s the next day at two o’clock. I -was very much spoiled and very much praised and flattered, so that I -felt hurt at the unceremoniousness of a man who did not condescend to -disturb himself, but asked women to go to his house, when there was -neutral ground, the theater, for the reading of plays. I told this -unheard of thing at five o’clock to my little court, and men and women -alike exclaimed: “What! That man who was only the other day an outlaw! -That man who has only just been pardoned! That nobody dares to ask the -little Idol, the Queen of Hearts, the Fairy of Fairies to inconvenience -herself!” - -All my little sanctuary was in a tumult, men and women alike could not -keep still. “She must not go,” they said. “Write him this ... write him -that.” And they were composing impertinent, disdainful letters when -Marshal Canrobert was announced. He belonged at that time to my little -five o’clock court, and he was soon posted by my turbulent visitors. He -was furiously angry at the imbecilities uttered against the great poet. - -“You must not go to Victor Hugo’s,” he said to me, “for it seems to me -that he has no reason to deviate from the regular customs. But make an -excuse of sudden illness—follow my advice, and show the respect for him -that we owe to genius.” - -I followed my great friend’s counsel and sent the following letter to -the poet: - - MONSIEUR: The Queen has taken a chill and her _Camerara Mayor_ forbids - her to go out. You know better than anyone else the etiquette of this - Spanish Court. Pity your Queen, Monsieur. - -I sent the letter, and the following is the poet’s reply: - - I am your valet, Madame. - - VICTOR HUGO. - -The next day the play was read on the stage to the _artistes_. I believe -that the reading did not take place, or at least not entirely, at the -master’s house. - -I then made the acquaintance of the monster. Ah, what a grudge I had for -a long time against all those silly people who had prejudiced me! - -The monster was charming, so witty and refined, and so gallant, with a -gallantry that was an homage and not an insult. He was so good, too, to -the humble, and always so gay. He was not, certainly, the ideal of -elegance, but there was a moderation in his gestures, a gentleness in -his way of speaking, which savored of the old French peer. He was quick -at repartee, and his observations were gentle but persistent. He recited -poetry badly, but adored hearing it well recited. - -He often spoke in verse when he wanted to reprimand an _artiste_. One -day, during a rehearsal, he was trying to convince poor Tallien about -his bad elocution. I was bored by the length of the colloquy, and sat -down on the table swinging my legs. He understood my impatience and, -getting up from the middle of the orchestra, exclaimed: - - “Une Reine d’Espagne honnête et respectable - Ne devrait point ainsi s’asseoir sur une table.” - -I sprang from the table, slightly embarrassed, and wanted to answer him -in rather a piquant or witty way—but I could not find anything to say, -and remained there, confused and in a bad temper. - -One day when the rehearsal was over an hour earlier than usual, I was -waiting, my forehead pressed against the window pane, for the arrival of -Mme. Guérard, who was coming to fetch me. I was gazing idly at the -footpath opposite, which is bounded by the Luxembourg railings. Victor -Hugo had just crossed the road and was about to walk on. An old woman -attracted his attention. She had just put a heavy bundle of linen down -on the ground and was wiping her forehead, on which were great beads of -perspiration. - -In spite of the cold, her toothless mouth was half open, as she was -panting, and her eyes had an expression of distressing anxiety, as she -looked at the wide road she had to cross, with carriages and omnibuses -passing each other. Victor Hugo approached her, and after a short -conversation, he drew a piece of money from his pocket, handed it to -her, then taking off his hat he confided it to her and, with a quick -movement and a laughing face, lifted the bundle to his shoulder and -crossed the road, followed by the bewildered woman. I rushed downstairs -to embrace him for it, but by the time I had reached the passage, -jostled against De Chilly, who wanted to stop me, and descended the -staircase, Victor Hugo had disappeared. I could see only the old woman’s -back, but it seemed to me that she hobbled along now more briskly. - -The next day I told the poet that I had witnessed his delicate, good -deed. “Oh,” said Paul Maurice, his eyes wet with emotion, “every day -that dawns is a day of kindness for him!” I embraced Victor Hugo and we -went to the rehearsal. - -Oh, those rehearsals of “Ruy Blas”! I shall never forget them, for there -was such good grace and charm about everything. When Victor Hugo arrived -everything brightened up. His two satellites, Auguste Vacquerie and Paul -Maurice, scarcely ever left him, and when the master was absent they -kept up the divine fire. Geffroy, severe, sad, and distinguished, often -gave me advice. Then, during the intervals of rest, I posed for him in -various attitudes, for he was a painter. In the _foyer_ of the Comédie -Française there are two pictures representing the members of both sexes -for two generations. The pictures are not of very original composition, -neither are they of beautiful coloring, but they are faithful -likenesses, it appears, and rather happily grouped. - -Lafontaine, who was playing _Ruy Blas_, often had long discussions with -the master, in which Victor Hugo never yielded. And I must confess that -he was always right. Lafontaine had conviction and self-assurance, but -his elocution was very bad for poetry. He had lost his teeth, and they -were replaced by a set of false ones. This gave a certain slowness to -his delivery, and there was a little odd, clacking sound between his -real palate and his artificial rubber palate, which often distracted the -ear listening attentively to catch the beauty of the poetry. - -As to that poor Tallien, who was playing _Don Guritan_, he made a hash -of it every minute. He had understood his rôle quite wrongly. Victor -Hugo explained it to him clearly and intelligently. Tallien was a -well-intentioned comedian, a hard worker, always conscientious, but as -stupid as a goose. What he did not understand at first, he never -understood. It was finished for life. But, as he was straightforward and -loyal, he put himself into the hands of the author, and gave himself up -then in complete self-abnegation. “That is not as I understood it,” he -would say, “but I will do as you tell me.” - -He would then rehearse, word by word and gesture by gesture, with the -inflexions and movements required. This got on my nerves in the most -painful way, and was a cruel blow dealt at the solidarity of my artistic -pride. I often took this poor Tallien aside and tried to urge him on to -rebellion, but it was all in vain. He was tall, and his arms were too -long and his eyes tired, his nose was weary with having grown too long, -and it sank over his lips with heartrending dejection. His forehead was -covered with thick hair, and his chin seemed to be running away in a -hurry from this ill-built face. A great kindliness was diffused all over -his being, and this kindliness was just himself. Everyone was therefore -infinitely fond of him. - -The 26th of January, 1872, was an artistic fête for the Odéon. The -_Tout-Paris_ of first nights and all youthful Paris were to meet in the -large, solemn, dusty theater. Ah, what a splendid, stirring performance -it was! What a triumph for Geffroy, pale, sinister, and severe looking -in his black costume as _Don Salluste_! Mélingue rather disappointed the -public as _Don César de Bazan_, and the public was in the wrong.... The -rôle of _Don César de Bazan_ is a treacherously good rôle, which always -tempts _artistes_ by the brilliancy of the first act; but the fourth -act, which belongs entirely to him, is distressingly heavy and useless. -It might be taken out of the piece, just like a periwinkle out of its -shell, and the piece would be none the less clear and complete. - -This 26th of January rent asunder, though, for me, the thin veil which -still made my future hazy, and I felt that I was destined for celebrity. -Until that day I had remained the students’ little Fairy. I became then -the Elect of the Public. - -Breathless, dazed, and yet delighted by my success, I did not know to -whom to reply, in the ever-changing stream of men and women admirers. -All at once, I saw the crowd separating and forming two lines, and I -caught a glimpse of Victor Hugo and Girardin coming toward me. In a -second all the stupid ideas I had had about this immense genius flashed -across me. I remembered my first interview, when I had been stiff and -barely polite to this kind, indulgent man. At that moment, when all my -life was opening its wings, I should have liked to cry out to him my -repentance, and to tell him of my devout gratitude. - -Before I could speak, though, he was down on his knee, and, raising my -two hands to his lips, he murmured: “Thank you! Thank you!” - -And so it was he who said thank you. He, the great Victor Hugo, whose -mind was so fine, whose universal genius filled the world! He, whose -generous hands flung pardons like gems to all his insulters. Ah, how -small I felt, how ashamed and yet how happy! He then rose, shook the -hands that were held out to him, finding for everyone the right word. - -He was so handsome that night, with his wide forehead, which seemed to -retain the light, his thick, silvery fleece of hair, and his laughing, -luminous eyes. - -Not daring to fling myself in Victor Hugo’s arms, I fell into -Girardin’s, the sure friend of my first steps, and burst into tears. He -took me aside in my dressing-room. “You must not let yourself be -intoxicated with this great success, now,” he said. “There must be no -more risky jumps, now that you are crowned with laurels. You will have -to be more yielding, more docile, more sociable.” - -“I feel that I shall never be yielding nor docile, my friend,” I -answered, looking at him. “I will try to be more sociable, but that is -all I can promise. As to my crown, I assure you that in spite of my -risky jumps—and I feel that I shall always be making jumps—the crown -will not shake off.” - -Paul Maurice, who had come up to me, overheard this conversation and -reminded me of it on the evening of the first performance of “Angelo,” -at the Sarah Bernhardt Theater, on the 7th of February, 1905. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - I LEAVE THE ODÉON - - -On returning home, I sat up a long time talking to Mme. Guérard, and -when she wanted to go I begged her to stay longer. I had become so rich -in hopes and future that I was afraid of thieves. My _petite dame_ -stayed on with me, and we talked till daybreak. At seven o’clock we took -a cab and I drove my dear friend home, and then continued driving for -another hour. I had already achieved a fair number of successes: “Le -Passant,” and “Le Drame de la Rue de la Paix”; _Anna Danby_ in “Kean,” -and “Jean-Marie,” but I felt that the “Ruy Blas” success was greater -than any of the others, and that this time I had become some one likely -to be criticised, but not to be overlooked. - -I often went in the morning to Victor Hugo’s and he was always very -charming and kind. - -When I was quite at my ease with him, I told him about my first -impressions, about all my stupid, nervous rebellion with regard to him, -about all that I had been told and all that I had believed, in my naïve -ignorance about political matters. - -On this particular morning, the master took great delight in my -conversation. He sent for Mme. Drouet, the sweet soul, the companion of -his glorious and rebellious mind. He told her, in a laughing, but -melancholy way, about the evil work of bad people, in sowing error in -every soil, whether favorable or not. That morning is engraved forever -in my mind, for the great man talked a long time. Oh, it was not for me, -but for what I represented in his eyes! Was I not, as a matter of fact, -the young generation, in whom a _bourgeois_ and clerical education had -warped the intelligence, by closing the mind to every generous idea, to -every flight toward the New? - -When I left Victor Hugo that morning I felt myself more worthy of his -friendship. - -I then went to Girardin’s, as I wanted to talk to some being who loved -the poet, but he was out. - -I went next to Marshal Canrobert’s, and there I had a great surprise. -Just as I was getting out of the carriage, I nearly fell into the arms -of the marshal, who was coming out of his house. - -“What is it? What’s the matter? Is it postponed?” he asked laughing. - -I did not understand and gazed at him rather bewildered. “Well, have you -forgotten that you invited me to luncheon?” he asked. - -I was quite confused, for I had entirely forgotten it. “Well, all the -better!” I said. “I very much wanted to talk to you. Come, I am going to -take you with me now.” - -I then described my visit to Victor Hugo, and repeated all the fine -things he had said to me, forgetting that I was constantly saying things -that were contrary to his ideas. This admirable man could admire, -though, and if he could not change his opinions, he approved the great -ideas which were to bring about great changes. - -One day, when he and Busnach were both at my house, there had been a -political discussion which became rather violent. I was afraid for a -moment that things might take a wrong turn, as Busnach was the most -witty, and at the same time the rudest man in France.... It is only fair -to say, though, that if Marshal Canrobert was a polite man and very well -bred, he was not at all behind William Busnach in wit. The latter was -worked up by the teasing speeches of the marshal. - -“I challenge you, monsieur,” he exclaimed, “to write about the odious -Utopias that you have just been supporting!” “Oh, M. Busnach,” replied -Canrobert, coldly, “we do not use the same steel for writing history! -You use a pen and I a sword.” - -The luncheon that I had so completely forgotten was nevertheless a -luncheon arranged several days previously. On reaching home we found -there Paul de Rémusat, charming Mlle. Hocquigny, and M. De Montbel, a -young attaché of the Embassy. I explained my lateness as well as I could -and the morning finished in the most delicious harmony of ideas. - -I have never felt more than I did that day the infinite joy of -listening. - -During a silence, Mlle. Hocquigny turned to the marshal and said: “Are -you not of the opinion that our young friend ought to enter the Comédie -Française?” - -“Ah, no, no!” I exclaimed, “I am so happy at the Odéon. I began at the -Comédie and the short time I stayed there I was so unhappy.” - -“You will be obliged to go back there, my dear friend—obliged! Believe -me, it will be better early than late.” - -“Well, do not spoil to-day’s pleasure for me, for I have never been -happier!” - -One morning after this my maid brought me a letter. The large round -stamp, on which the words “Comédie Française” are to be read, was on the -corner of the envelope. - -I remembered that just ten years ago that very day, our old servant -Marguerite had, without my mother’s permission, handed me a letter in -the same kind of envelope. My face then had flushed with joy, but this -time I felt a faint tinge of pallor touch my cheeks. When events occur -which disturb my life, I always have a movement of recoil toward the -past. I cling for a second to what is, and then I fling myself headlong -into what is to be. It is like a gymnast who clings first to his trapeze -bar in order to fling himself afterwards with full force into space. In -one second the “now” becomes for me the “has been,” and I love it with -tender emotion as something dead. But I adore what is to be without -seeking even to know about it, for what is to be is the unknown, the -mysterious attraction. I always fancy that it will be something unheard -of, and I shudder from head to foot in delicious uneasiness. - -I receive quantities of letters, and it seems to me that I never receive -enough. I watch them accumulating just as I watch the waves of the sea. -What are they going to bring me, these mysterious envelopes, large, -small, pink, blue, yellow, white? What are they going to fling upon the -rock, these great wild waves, dark with seaweed? What sailor-boy’s -corpse? What remains of a wreck? What are these little brisk waves going -to leave on the beach, these reflections of a blue sky, little laughing -waves? What pink “seastar”? What mauve anemone? What pearly shell? - -So I never open my letters immediately. I look at the envelopes, try to -recognize the handwriting, the seal, and it is only when I am quite -certain from whom the letter comes that I open it. The others I leave my -secretary to open or a kind friend, Suzanne Leylor. My friends know this -so well that they always put their initials in the corner of their -envelopes. At that time, I had no secretary, but my _petite dame_ served -me as such. I looked at the envelope a long time and gave it at last to -Mme. Guérard. - -“It is a letter from M. Perrin, director of the ‘Comédie Française,’” -she said. “He asks if you can fix a time to see him on Tuesday or -Wednesday afternoon at the ‘Comédie Française,’ or at your own house.” - -“Thanks, what day is it to-day?” I asked. - -“Monday,” she replied. - -I then installed Mme. Guérard at my desk and asked her to reply that I -would go there the following day at three o’clock. - -I was earning very little at that time at the Odéon. I was living on -what my father had left me, that is, on the transaction made by the -Hâvre notary, and not much remained. I therefore went to see Duquesnel -and showed him the letter. - -“Well, what are you going to do?” he asked. - -“Nothing. I have come to ask your advice.” - -“Oh, well, I shall advise you to stay at the Odéon! Besides, your -engagement does not terminate for another year, and I shall not let you -leave!” - -“Well, raise my salary, then,” I said. “I am offered twelve thousand -francs a year at the Comédie. Give me fifteen thousand here and I will -stay, for I do not want to leave.” - -“Listen to me,” said the charming manager in a friendly way. “You know -that I am not free to act alone, but I will do my best, I promise you,” -and Duquesnel certainly kept his word. “Come here to-morrow before going -to the Comédie, and I will give you Chilly’s reply. But take my advice -and if he obstinately refuses to increase your salary, do not leave, we -shall find a way. And besides ... anyhow, I cannot say any more!” - -I returned the following day according to arrangement. I found Duquesnel -and Chilly in the manager’s office. Chilly began at once somewhat -roughly: “And so you want to leave, Duquesnel tells me. Where are you -going? It is most stupid, for your place is here. Just consider and -think it over for yourself. At the Gymnase they only give modern pieces, -pieces for dressy plays. That is not your style. At the Vaudeville it is -the same. At the Gaieté you would spoil your voice. You are too -distinguished for the Ambigu.” - -I looked at him without replying and he felt awkward and mumbled: - -“Well, then, you are of my opinion?” - -“No,” I answered, “you have forgotten the Comédie.” - -He was sitting in his big armchair and he burst out laughing. - -“Ah, no, my dear girl!” he said, “you must not tell me that! They’ve had -enough of your queer character at the Comédie. I dined the other night -with Maubant and when some one said that you ought to be engaged at the -Comédie Française he nearly choked with rage. I can assure you he did -not show much affection as far as you were concerned, the great -tragedian!” - -“Oh, well, you ought to have taken my part!” I exclaimed, irritated. -“You know very well that I am very reliable.” - -“But I did take your part,” he said, “and I added even that it would be -a very fortunate thing for the Comédie if it could have an _artiste_ -with your will power, that perhaps might relieve the monotonous tone of -the house, and I only spoke as I thought, but the poor tragedian was -beside himself. He does not consider that you have any talent. In the -first place, he maintains that you do not know how to recite poetry. He -declares that you make all your A’s too broad. Finally, when he had no -arguments left, he declared that as long as he lives you will never -enter the Comédie Française.” - -I was silent for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of the probable -result of my experiment. Finally coming to a decision, I murmured -somewhat waveringly: “Well, then, you will not give me a higher salary?” - -“No, a thousand times no!” yelled Chilly. “You will try to make me sing -when your engagement comes to an end and then we will see. But I have -your signature until then. You have mine, too, and I hold to our -engagement. The Théâtre Français is the only one that would suit you -besides ours, and I am quite easy in my mind with regard to that -theater.” - -“You make a mistake, perhaps,” I answered. He got up brusquely and came -and stood opposite me, his two hands in his pockets. He then said in an -odious and familiar tone: “Ah! that’s it, is it? You think I am an -idiot, then?” - -I got up, too, and said coldly, pushing him gently back: “I think you -are a triple idiot.” I then hurried away toward the staircase, and all -Duquesnel’s shouting was in vain. I ran down the stairs two at a time. - -On arriving under the Odéon Arcade I was stopped by Paul Maurice, who -was just going to invite Duquesnel and Chilly for Victor Hugo to a -supper to celebrate the hundredth presentation of “Ruy Blas.” - -“I have just come away from your house,” he said. “I have left you a few -lines from Victor Hugo.” - -“Good, good, that’s all right,” I replied, getting into my carriage. “I -shall see you to-morrow, then, my friend.” - -“Good heavens, what a hurry you are in!” he said. - -“Yes!” I replied; and then, leaning out of the window, I said to my -coachman: “Drive to the Comédie Française.” - -I looked at Paul Maurice to wish him farewell. He was standing stupefied -on the arcade steps. - -On arriving at the Comédie I sent my card to Perrin, and five minutes -later was ushered in to that icy manikin. There were two very distinct -personages in this man. The one was the man he was himself, and the -other the one he had created for the requirements of his profession. -Perrin himself was gallant, pleasant, witty, and slightly timid; the -manikin was cold and somewhat given to posing. - -I was first received by Perrin, the manikin. He was standing up, his -head bent to bow to a woman, his arm outstretched to indicate the -hospitable armchair. He waited, with a certain affectation, until I was -seated, before sitting down himself. He then picked up a paper knife, in -order to have something to do with his hands, and in a rather weak -voice, the voice of the manikin, he remarked: - -“Have you thought it over, mademoiselle?” - -“Yes, monsieur, and here I am to give my signature.” - -Before he had time to give me any encouragement to dabble with the -things on his desk, I drew up my chair, picked up a pen and prepared to -sign the paper. I did not take enough ink at first, and I stretched my -arm out across the whole width of the writing table and dipped my pen -this time resolutely to the bottom of the ink pot. I took too much ink, -however, this time, and on the return journey a huge drop of it fell on -the large sheet of white paper in front of the manikin. He bent his -head, for he was slightly shortsighted, and looked for a moment like a -bird when it discovers a hempseed in its grain. He then proceeded to put -aside the blotted sheet. - -“Wait a minute! oh, wait a minute!” I exclaimed, seizing the inky paper. -“I want to see whether I am doing right or not to sign. If that is a -butterfly I am right, and if anything else, no matter what, I am wrong.” -I took the sheet, doubled it in the middle of the enormous blot and -pressed it firmly together. Emile Perrin thereupon began to laugh, -giving up his manikin attitude entirely. He leaned over to examine the -paper with me, and we opened it very gently, just as one opens one’s -hand after imprisoning a fly. When the paper was spread open, in the -midst of its whiteness, a magnificent black butterfly with outspread -wings was to be seen. - -“Well, then,” said Perrin, with nothing of the manikin left, “we were -quite right in signing.” - -After this we talked for some time, like two friends who meet again, for -this man was charming and very fascinating in spite of his ugliness. -When I left him we were friends and delighted with each other. - -I was playing “Ruy Blas” that night at the Odéon. Toward ten o’clock -Duquesnel came to my dressing-room. - -“You were rather rough on that poor Chilly,” he said. “And then, too, -you really were not nice. You ought to have come back when I called you. -Is it true, as Paul Maurice tells us, that you went straight to the -Théâtre Française?” - -“Here, read for yourself,” I said, handing him my engagement with the -Comédie. - -Duquesnel took the paper and read it. - -“Will you let me show it to Chilly?” he asked. - -“Show it him, certainly,” I replied. - -He came nearer and said in a grave, hurt tone: - -“You ought never to have done that without telling me first. It shows a -lack of confidence, and I did not deserve that.” - -He was right, but the thing was done. A moment later Chilly arrived, -furious, gesticulating, shouting, stammering in his anger. - -“It is abominable!” he said. “It is treason, and you had not even the -right to do it! I shall make you pay damages!” - -As I felt in a bad humor, I turned my back on him and excused myself in -as poor a way as possible to Duquesnel. He was hurt, and I was a little -ashamed, for this man had given me nothing but proofs of kindliness; and -it was he who, in spite of Chilly and many other unwilling people, had -held the door open for my future. - -Chilly kept his word and brought an action against me and the Comédie. I -lost and had to pay six thousand francs damage to the managers of the -Odéon. - -A few months later Victor Hugo invited the interpreters of “Ruy Blas” to -a big supper in honor of the one hundredth performance. This was a great -delight to me, as I had never been present at a supper of this kind. - -[Illustration: SKULL IN MADAME BERNHARDT’S LIBRARY, WITH AUTOGRAPH -VERSES BY VICTOR HUGO.] - -I had scarcely spoken to Chilly since our last scene. On the night in -question he was placed at my right, and we had to get reconciled. I was -seated at the right of Victor Hugo, and at his left was Mme. Lambquin, -who was playing the _Camerara Mayor_. Duquesnel was next to Mme. -Lambquin. Opposite the illustrious poet was another poet, Théophile -Gautier, with his lion’s head on an elephant’s body. He had a brilliant -mind and said the choicest things with a horse laugh. The flesh of his -fat, flabby, wan face was pierced by two eyes veiled by heavy lids. The -expression of them was charming, but far away. There was in this man an -Oriental nobility choked by Western fashion and customs. I knew nearly -all his poetry, and I gazed at him with affection, the fond lover of the -Beautiful. - -It amused me to imagine him dressed in superb Oriental costumes. I could -see him lying down on huge cushions, his beautiful hands playing with -gems of all colors, and some of his verses came in murmurs to my lips. I -was just setting off with him in a dream that was infinite, when a word -from my neighbor, Victor Hugo, made me turn toward him. What a -difference! He was just himself, the great poet, the most ordinary of -beings, except for his luminous forehead. He was heavy looking, although -very active. His nose was common, his eyes lewd, and his mouth without -any beauty; his voice alone had nobility and charm. I liked to listen to -him while looking at Théophile Gautier. - -I was a little embarrassed, though, when I looked across the table, for -at the side of the poet was an odious individual, Paul de Ste. Victor. -His cheeks looked like two bladders from which the oil was oozing out. -His nose was sharp and like a crow’s beak, his eyes evil looking and -hard, his arms too short, and he was too stout. He had plenty of wit and -talent, but he employed both in saying and writing more harm than good. -I knew that this man hated me, and I promptly returned him hatred for -hatred. - -In the toast proposed by Victor Hugo in thanking everyone for such -zealous help on the reappearance of his work, every person raised his -glass and looked toward the poet, but the illustrious master turned -toward me and continued: “As to you, madame——” Just at this moment Paul -de St. Victor put his glass down so violently on the table that it -broke. There was an instant of stupor, and then I leaned across the -table and held my glass out toward Paul de St. Victor. - -“Take mine,” I said, “monsieur, and then when you drink you will know -what my thoughts are in reply to yours, which you have just expressed so -clearly!” - -The horrid man took my glass, but with what a look! - -Victor Hugo finished his speech in the midst of applause and cheers. -Duquesnel then leaned back and spoke to me quietly. He asked me to tell -Chilly to reply, that it was his turn to speak. - -“Come, get up,” I said to him. He gazed at me with a glassy look and in -a far-away voice replied: - -“My legs are being held.” I looked at him more attentively, while -Duquesnel asked for silence for M. De Chilly’s speech. I saw that his -fingers were grasping a fork desperately, the tips of his fingers were -white, the rest of the hand was violet. I took his hand, and it was icy -cold, the other was hanging down inert under the table. There was -silence and all eyes turned toward Chilly. - -“Get up,” I said, seized with terror. He made a movement, and his head -suddenly fell forward with his face on his plate. There was a muffled -uproar, and the few women present surrounded the poor man. Stupid, -commonplace, indifferent things were uttered in the same way that one -mutters familiar prayers. His son was sent for, and then two of the -waiters came and carried the body away, living, but inert, and placed it -in a small drawing-room. - -Duquesnel stayed with him, begging me, however, to go back to the poet’s -guests. I returned to the room where the supper had taken place. Groups -had been formed, and when I was seen entering I was asked if he was no -better. - -“The doctor has just arrived and he cannot yet say,” I replied. - -“It is indigestion,” said Lafontaine (_Ruy Blas_), tossing off a glass -of liqueur brandy. - -“It is cerebral anæmia,” pronounced Tallien (_Don Guritan_) clumsily, -for he was always losing his memory. - -Victor Hugo approached and said very simply: - -“It is a beautiful kind of death.” - -He then took my arm and led me away to the other end of the room, trying -to chase my sadness away by gallant and poetical whispers. Some little -time passed with this gloom weighing on us, and then Duquesnel returned. -He was pale, but had put on the attitude of a man of the world, and was -ready to answer all questions. - -“Oh, yes, he had just been taken home. It would be nothing, it appeared. -He only needed rest for a couple of days. Probably his feet had been -cold during the meal.” - -“Yes,” put in one of the “Ruy Blas” guests, “there certainly was a fine -draught from some chink under the table!” - -“Yes,” Duquesnel was just replying to some one who was worrying him. -“Yes, no doubt, there was too much heat for his head.” - -“Yes,” added another of the guests, “our heads were nearly on fire with -that wretched gas.” - -I could see the moment arriving when Victor Hugo would be reproached by -all of his guests for the cold, the heat, the food, and the wine of his -banquet. All these imbecile remarks got on Duquesnel’s nerves. He -shrugged his shoulders, and drawing me away from the crowd said: - -“It’s all over with him.” - -I had had a presentiment of this, but the certainty of it now caused me -intense grief. - -“I want to go,” I said to Duquesnel. “Would you kindly tell some one to -ask for my carriage?” - -I moved toward the small drawing-room which served as a cloak room for -our wraps, and there old Mme. Lambquin knocked up against me. Slightly -intoxicated by the heat and the wine, she was waltzing with Tallien. - -“Ah! I beg your pardon, little Madonna,” she said, “I nearly knocked you -over.” - -I pulled her toward me and, without reflecting, whispered to her, “Don’t -dance any more, Mamma Lambquin, Chilly is dying.” She was purple, but -her face turned as white as chalk. Her teeth began to chatter, but she -did not utter a word. - -“Oh, my dear Lambquin,” I murmured, “I did not know I should make you so -wretched!” - -But she was not listening to me any longer. She was putting on her -cloak. - -“Are you leaving?” she asked me. - -“Yes,” I replied. - -“Will you drive me home? I will then tell you....” - -She wrapped a black fichu round her head and we both went downstairs, -accompanied by Duquesnel and Paul Maurice, who saw us into the carriage. - -She lived in the St. Germain neighborhood and I in the Rue de Rome. On -the way the poor woman told me the following details: - -“You know, my dear,” she began, “I have a mania for somnambulists, and -fortune tellers of all kinds. Well, last Friday (you see, I only consult -them on a Friday) a woman who tells fortunes by cards said to me: ‘You -will die a week after a man who is dark and not young and whose life is -connected with yours.’ Well, my dear, I thought she was just making -game, for there is no man whose life is connected with mine, as I am a -widow and have never had any _liaison_. I therefore abused her for this, -as I paid her seven francs. She charges ten francs to other people but -seven francs to _artistes_. She was furious at my not believing her, and -she seized my hands and said: ‘It’s no good yelling at me, for it is as -I say. And if you want me to tell you the exact truth, it is a man who -supports you, and even to be more exact still, there are two men who -support you, the one dark and the other fair—It’s a nice thing, that!’ -She had not finished her speech before I had given her such a slap as -she had never had in her life, I can assure you. Afterwards, though, I -puzzled my head to find out what the wretched woman could have meant. -And all I could find was that the two men who support me, the one dark -and the other fair, are our two managers: Chilly and Duquesnel. And, now -you tell me that Chilly——” - -She stopped short, breathless with her story, and again seized with -terror. “I feel stifled,” she murmured, and, in spite of the freezing -cold, we lowered both the windows. On arriving I helped her up her four -flights of stairs and after telling the _concierge_ to look after her, -and giving the woman a twenty-franc piece to make sure that she would do -so, I went home myself very much upset by all these incidents, as -dramatic as they were unexpected, in the midst of a fête. - -Three days later Chilly died without ever recovering consciousness. - -Twelve days later poor Lambquin died. To the priest who gave her -absolution she said: “I am dying because I listened to and believed the -demon.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - I RETURN TO THE COMÉDIE FRANÇAISE - - -I left the Odéon with very great regret, for I adored and still adore -that theater. It always seems as though in itself it were a little -provincial town. Its hospitable arcades, under which so many poor old -_savants_ take the air and are sheltered at the same time from the sun; -the large flags all round, between the crevices of which microscopic -yellow grass grows; its tall pillars, blackened by time, by hands, and -by the dirt from the road; the uninterrupted noise going on all around, -the departure of the omnibuses, like the departure of the old coaches; -the fraternity of the people who meet there, everything, even to the -very railings of the Luxembourg, give it a quite special aspect in the -midst of Paris. Then, too, there is a kind of odor of the colleges -there, the very walls are impregnated with youthful hopes. People are -not always talking there of yesterday as they do in the other theaters. -The young _artistes_ who come there talk of to-morrow. - -In short, my mind never goes back to those few years of my life without -a childish emotion, without thinking of laughter and without a dilation -of the nostrils, inhaling again the odor of little ordinary bouquets, -clumsily tied up, bouquets which had all the freshness of flowers that -grow in the open air, flowers that were the offerings of the hearts of -twenty summers, little bouquets paid for out of the purses of students. - -I would not take anything away with me from the Odéon. I left the -furniture of my dressing-room to a young _artiste_. I left my costumes, -all the little toilette knickknacks. I divided them and gave them away. -I felt that my life of hopes and dreams was to cease there. I felt that -the ground was now ready for the fruition of all the dreams, that life -was about to commence, and I divined rightly. - -My first experience at the Comédie Française had not been a success. I -knew that I was going into the lion’s den. I counted few friends in this -house, except Laroche, Coquelin, and Mounet-Sully; the two first my -friends of the _Conservatoire_, and the latter of the Odéon. Among the -women Marie Lloyd and Sophie Croizette, both friends of my childhood, -the disagreeable Jouassain, who was nice only to me, and the adorable -Mlle. Brohan, whose goodness delighted the soul, whose wit charmed the -mind, and whose indifference rebuffed devotion. - -M. Perrin decided that I should make my début in “Mademoiselle de Belle -Isle,” according to Sarcey’s wish. The rehearsals began in the _foyer_, -which troubled me very much. Mlle. Brohan was to play the part of the -_Marquise de Prie_. At this time she was so fat as to be almost -unsightly, while I was so thin that the composers of popular and comic -verses took my meager proportions as their theme and the cartoonists as -a subject for their albums. It was therefore impossible for the _Duc de -Richelieu_ to mistake the _Marquise de Prie_ (Madeleine Brohan) for -_Mademoiselle de Belle Isle_ (Sarah Bernhardt) in the inconvenient and -conclusive nocturnal _rendezvous_ given by the _Marquise_ to the _Duc_, -who thinks he embraces the chaste _Mademoiselle de Belle Isle_. - -At each rehearsal, Bressant, who took the part of the _Duc de -Richelieu_, would stop, saying: “No, it is too ridiculous. I must play -the _Duc de Richelieu_ with both my arms cut off!” And Madeleine left -the rehearsal to go to the director’s room, in order to try and get rid -of the rôle. - -This was exactly what Perrin wanted; he had from the earliest moment -thought of Croizette, but he wanted to have his hand forced for private -and underhand reasons which he knew and which others guessed. - -At last the change took place, and the serious rehearsals commenced. -Then the first performance was announced for November 6 (1872). I have -always had, from the very beginning, and still have, a terrible fear, -especially when I know that much is expected from me. And I knew a long -time beforehand that the _Salle_ had been let; I knew that the Press -counted on a big success, and that Perrin himself was reckoning on a -succession of good takings. - -Alas! all these hopes and predictions went for nothing, and my débuts at -the Comédie Française were only mediocre. - -The following is an extract from the _Temps_ of November 11, 1872. It -was written by Francisque Sarcey, with whom I was not then acquainted, -but who was following my career with very great interest: - - “It was a very brilliant assembly, as this début had attracted all - theater lovers. The fact is, besides the special merit of Mlle. Sarah - Bernhardt, a whole crowd of true or false stories had been circulated - about her personally, and all this had excited the curiosity of the - Parisian public. Her appearance was a disappointment. She had, by her - costume, exaggerated in a most ostentatious way a slenderness which is - elegant under the veils and ample drapery of the Grecian and Roman - heroines, but which is objectionable in modern dress. Then, too, - either powder does not suit her, or stage fright had made her terribly - pale. The effect of this long, white face emerging from a long, black - sheath was certainly unpleasant” (I looked like an ant), “particularly - as the eyes had lost their brilliancy, and all that relieved the face - were the sparkling white teeth. She went through the first three acts - with a convulsive tremor, and we recognized the Sarah of ‘Ruy Blas’ - only by two couplets which she gave in her enchanting voice with the - most wonderful grace; but in all the more powerful passages she was a - failure. I doubt whether Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt will ever, with her - delicious voice, be able to render those deep, thrilling notes, - expressive of paroxysms of violent passion, which are capable of - carrying away an audience. If only nature had endowed her with this - gift, she would be a perfect _artiste_, and there are none such on the - stage. Roused by the coldness of her public, Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt was - entirely herself in the fifth act. This was certainly our Sarah once - more, the Sarah of ‘Ruy Blas,’ whom we had admired so much at the - Odéon,” etc., etc. - -As Sarcey said, I made a complete failure of my début. My excuse, -though, was not the “stage fright” to which he attributed it, but the -terrible anxiety I felt on seeing my mother hurriedly leave her seat in -the dress circle five minutes after my appearance on the stage. I had -glanced at her on entering, and had noticed her deathlike pallor. When -she went out, I felt that she was about to have one of those attacks -which endangered her life, so that my first act seemed to me -interminable. I uttered one word after another, stammering through my -sentences haphazard, with only one idea in my head, a longing to know -what had happened. Oh, the public cannot conceive of the tortures -endured by the unfortunate comedians who are there before them in flesh -and blood on the stage, gesticulating and uttering phrases, while their -heart, all torn with anguish, is with the beloved absent one who is -suffering! As a rule, one can fling away the worries and anxieties of -everyday life, put off one’s own personality for a few hours, take on -another and, forgetting everything else, enter as it were into another -life. But that is impossible when our dear ones are suffering; anxiety -then lays hold of us, attenuating the bright side, magnifying the dark, -maddening our brain, which is living two lives at once, and tormenting -our heart, which is beating as though it would burst. These were the -sensations I experienced during that first act. - -“Mamma? What has happened to mamma?” were my first words on leaving the -stage. No one could tell me anything. - -Croizette came up to me and said: “What’s the matter? I hardly recognize -you, and you weren’t yourself at all just now in the play.” - -In a few words I told her what I had seen, and all that I had felt. -Frédéric Febvre sent at once to get news, and the doctor came hurrying -to me. - -“Your mother had a fainting fit, mademoiselle,” he said, “but they have -just taken her home.” - -“It was her heart, wasn’t it?” I asked, looking at him. - -“Yes,” he replied, “madame’s heart is in a very agitated state.” - -“Oh, I know how ill she is!” I said, and not being able to control -myself any longer, I burst into sobs. Croizette helped me back to my -dressing-room. She was very kind, for we had known each other from -childhood, and were very fond of each other. Nothing ever estranged us, -in spite of all the malicious gossip of envious people, and all the -little miseries due to vanity. - -My dear Mme. Guérard (_ma petite dame_) took a cab and hurried away to -my mother to get news for me. I put a little more powder on, but the -public, not knowing what was taking place, were annoyed with me, -thinking I was guilty of some fresh caprice, and received me still more -coldly than before. It was all the same to me, as I was thinking of -something else. I went on saying _Mademoiselle de Belle Isle’s_ words (a -most stupid and tiresome rôle), but all the time, I, Sarah, was waiting -for news about my mother. I was watching for the return of _ma petite -dame_. “Open the door on the O. P. side, just a little way,” I had said -to her, “and make a sign like this, if mamma is better, and like that, -if she is worse.” But I had forgotten which of the signs was to stand -for better, and when, at the end of the third act, I saw Mme. Guérard -opening the door and nodding her head for “yes,” I became quite idiotic. -It was in the big scene of the third act when _Mademoiselle de Belle -Isle_ reproaches the _Duc de Richelieu_ (Bressant) with doing her such -irreparable harm. The _Duc_ replies, “Why did you not say that some one -was listening, that some one was hidden?” I exclaimed: “It’s Guérard -bringing me news!” The public had not time to understand, for Bressant -went on quickly, and so saved the situation. - -After an unenthusiastic recall, I heard that my mother was better, but -that she had had a very serious attack. Poor mamma, she had thought me -such a fright when I made my appearance on the stage that her superb -indifference had given way to grievous astonishment, and that, in its -turn, to rage, on hearing a lady seated near her say in a jeering tone: -“Why, she’s like a dried bone, this little Bernhardt!” - -[Illustration: “OPHELIA”—SCULPTURE BY SARAH BERNHARDT.] - -I was greatly relieved on getting the news, and I played my last act -with confidence. The great success of the evening, though, was -Croizette’s, who was charming as the _Marquise de Prie_. My success, -nevertheless, was assured in the performances which followed, and it -became so marked that I was accused of paying for applause. I laughed -heartily at this, and never even contradicted the report, as I have a -horror of useless words. - -I continued my débuts in “Junie de Britannicus,” having for hero -Mounet-Sully, who played admirably. In this delicious rôle of _Junie_ I -obtained an immense and incredible success. - -Then, in 1873 I played _Chérubin_ in “Le Mariage de Figaro.” Croizette -played _Suzanne_, and it was a real treat for the public to see the -delicious creature play a part so full of gayety and charm. _Chérubin_ -was for me the opportunity of a fresh success. - -In the month of March, 1873, Perrin took it into his head to stage -“Dalila,” by Octave Feuillet. I was then taking the part of young girls, -young princesses, or young boys. My slight frame, my pale face, my -delicate aspect marked me out, for the time being, for the rôle of -victim. When suddenly Perrin, finding that the victims attracted the -pity of the public, and thinking that it was for this reason I pleased -them, made the most ridiculous change in the distribution of the parts; -he gave me the rôle of _Dalila_, the swarthy, wicked, and ferocious -princess, and to Sophie Croizette he gave the rôle of the fair young -dying girl. - -The piece, under this strange distribution, was turned upside down. I -forced my nature in order to appear the haughty and voluptuous siren; I -stuffed my bodice with wadding, and the hips under my skirt with -horsehair; but I kept my small, thin, sorrowful face. Croizette was -obliged to repress the advantages of her bust by bands which oppressed -and suffocated her, but she kept her pretty plump face with its dimples. - -I was obliged to put on a strong voice, she to soften hers. In fact, it -was absurd, and the piece was only a partial success. - -After that I created “L’Absent,” a pretty piece in verse by Eugène -Manuel, “Chez l’Avocat,” a very amusing thing in verse, by Paul Ferrier, -where Coquelin and I quarreled beautifully. Then, August 22d, I played -with immense success the rôle of _Andromaque_. I shall never forget the -first performance, in which Mounet-Sully obtained a delirious triumph. -Oh, how fine he was, Mounet-Sully, in his rôle of _Oreste_! His -entrance, his fury, his madness, and the plastic beauty of this -marvelous _artiste_—how fine it was! How magnificent! - -After _Andromaque_ I played _Aricie_ in “Phedre”; and that evening in -this secondary rôle, it was I who obtained, in reality, the success of -the evening. - -I took such a position, in a very short time, at the Comédie, that -some of the _artistes_ began to feel uneasy, and the management shared -the anxiety. M. Perrin, an extremely intelligent man, whom I have -always remembered with great affection, was horribly authoritative. I -was authoritative, also, so that there was always perpetual warfare -between us. He wanted to impose his will on me, and I would not submit -to it. He was always ready to laugh at my outbursts when they were -against the others, but he was furious when they were directed against -himself. As for me, I will own that to get Perrin in a fury was one of -my delights. He stammered so when he tried to talk quickly, he who -weighed every word on ordinary occasions; the expression of his eyes, -which was generally wavering, grew irritated and deceitful, and his -pale, distinguished-looking face became mottled with patches of color, -like the dregs of wine. His fury made him take his hat off and put it -on again fifteen times in as many minutes, and his extremely smooth -hair stood on end with this mad gallop of his headgear. Although I had -certainly arrived at the age of discretion, I delighted in my wicked -mischievousness, which I always regretted after, but which I was -always ready to recommence, and even now after all the days, weeks, -months, and years that I have lived since then, it still gives me -infinite pleasure to play a joke on anyone. All the same, life at the -Comédie began to affect my nerves. - -I wanted to play _Camille_ in “On ne Badine pas avec l’Amour.” The rôle -was given to Croizette. I wanted to play _Célimène_; that rôle was -Croizette’s. Perrin was very partial to Croizette. He admired her, and -as she was very ambitious, she was most thoughtful and docile, which -charmed the authoritative old man. She always obtained everything she -wanted, and as Sophie Croizette was frank and straightforward, she often -said to me when I was grumbling: “Do as I do, be more yielding, you pass -your time in rebelling; I appear to be doing everything that Perrin -wants me to do, but in reality I make him do all I want him to. Try the -same thing.” I accordingly screwed up my courage and went to see Perrin. -He nearly always said to me when we met: - -“Ah, how do you do, Mlle. Revolt? Are you calm to-day?” - -“Yes, very calm,” I replied; “but be amiable and grant me what I am -going to ask you.” I tried to be charming, and spoke in my prettiest -way. He almost purred with satisfaction, and was witty (this was no -effort to him, as he was naturally so), and we got on very well together -for a quarter of an hour. I then made my petition: - -“Let me play _Camille_ in ‘On ne Badine pas avec l’Amour.’” - -“That’s impossible, my dear child,” he replied; “Croizette is playing -it.” - -“Well, then, we’ll both play it, we’ll take it in turns.” - -“But Mlle. Croizette wouldn’t like that.” - -“I’ve spoken to her about it, and she would not mind.” - -“You ought not to have spoken to her about it.” - -“Why not?” - -“Because the distribution of parts concerns the management and not the -_artistes_.” - -He didn’t purr any more, he only growled. As for me, I was in a fury, -and a few minutes later, I went out of the room, banging the door after -me. All this preyed on my mind, though, and I used to cry all night. I -then decided to take a studio and devote myself to sculpture. As I was -not able to use my intelligence and my energy in creating rôles at the -theater, as I wished, I gave myself up to another art, and began working -at sculpture with frantic enthusiasm. I soon made great progress, and -started on an enormous composition: “After the Storm.” I was indifferent -now to the theater. Every morning at eight my horse was brought round -and I went for a ride, and at ten I was back in my studio, 11 Boulevard -de Clichy. I was very delicate, and my health suffered from the double -effort I was making. I used to vomit blood in the most alarming way, and -for hours together I was unconscious. I never went to the Comédie, -except when obliged to by my duties there. My friends were seriously -concerned about me, and Perrin was told what was going on. Finally, -urged on by the Press and the Department of Fine Arts, he decided to -give me a rôle to create in Octave Feuillet’s play “Le Sphinx.” - -The principal rôle was for Croizette, but on hearing it read, I thought -the part destined for me charming, and I resolved that it should also be -the principal rôle. There would have to be two principal ones, that was -all. The rehearsals went along very smoothly at the start, but it soon -became evident that my rôle was more important than had been imagined, -and friction soon began. - -Croizette, herself, got nervous; Perrin was annoyed, and all this -by-play had the effect of calming me. Octave Feuillet, a shrewd, -charming man, extremely well bred and slightly ironical, thoroughly -enjoyed the skirmishes that took place. War was doomed to break out, -however, and the first hostilities came from Sophie Croizette. - -I always wore in my bodice three or four roses which were apt to open -under the influence of the warmth, and some of the petals naturally -fell. One day, Sophie Croizette slipped down full length on the stage, -and as she was tall and not slim, she fell rather indecently, and got up -again ungracefully. The stifled laughter of some of the subordinate -persons present stung her to the quick, and turning to me, she said: -“It’s your fault, your roses fall and make everyone slip.” I began to -laugh. - -“Three petals of my roses have fallen,” I replied, “and there they all -three are by the armchair on the prompt side, and you fell on the O. P. -side. It isn’t my fault, therefore; it is just your own awkwardness.” -The discussion continued and was rather heated on both sides. Two clans -were formed, the “Croizettists,” and the “Bernhardtists,” war was -declared, not between Sophie and me, but between our respective admirers -and detractors. The rumor of these little quarrels spread in the world -outside the theater and the public, too, began to form clans. Croizette -had on her side all the bankers and all the people who were suffering -from congestion. I had all the artists, the students, dying folks, and -the failures. When once war was declared there was no drawing back from -the strife. The first, the most fierce, and the definitive battle was -fought over the moon. - -We had begun the full-dress rehearsals. In the third act the scene was -laid in a forest glade. In the middle of the stage was a huge rock upon -which was _Blanche_ (Croizette) kissing _Savigny_ (Delaunay), who was -supposed to be my husband. I (_Berthe de Savigny_) had to arrive by a -little bridge over a stream of water. The glade was bathed in moonlight. -Croizette had just played her part and her kiss had been greeted with a -burst of applause by the house. This was rather daring in those days for -the Comédie Française. - -Suddenly a fresh burst of applause was heard. Amazement could be read on -some faces, and Perrin stood up terrified. I was crossing the bridge, my -pale face ravaged with grief, and the _sortie de bal_ which was intended -to cover my shoulders was dragging along, just held by my limp fingers; -my arms were hanging down as though despair had taken the use out of -them. I was bathed in the white light of the moon and the effect, it -seems, was striking and deeply impressive. A nasal, aggressive voice -cried out: “One moon effect is enough. Turn it off for Mlle. Bernhardt.” - -I sprang forward to the front of the stage. “Excuse me, M. Perrin,” I -exclaimed, “you had no right to take my moon away. The manuscript reads: -‘_Berthe advances, pale, convulsed with emotion, the rays of the moon -falling on her_’... I am pale and I am convulsed ... I must have my -moon!...” - -“It is impossible,” roared Perrin. “Mlle. Croizette’s ‘You love me, -then!’ and her kiss must have this moonlight. She is playing the Sphinx, -that is the chief part in the play and we must leave her the principal -effect....” - -“Very well, then, give Croizette a brilliant moon, and give me a less -brilliant one. I don’t mind that, but I must have my moon.” All the -_artistes_ and all the employés of the theater put their heads in at all -the doorways and openings both on the stage and in the house itself. The -“Croizettists” and the “Bernhardtists” began to comment on the -discussion. - -Octave Feuillet was appealed to, and got up in his turn. - -“I grant that Mlle. Croizette is very beautiful in her moon effect. -Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt is ideal, too, with her ray of moonlight. I want -the moon, therefore, for both of them.” - -Perrin could not control his anger. There was a discussion between the -author and the director, followed by others between the _artistes_, and -between the doorkeeper and the journalists who were questioning him. The -rehearsal was interrupted; I declared that I would not play the part if -I did not have my moon. For the next two days I received no notice of -another rehearsal but through Croizette I heard that they were trying my -rôle of _Berthe_ privately. They had given it to a young woman whom we -had nicknamed “the Crocodile,” because she followed all the rehearsals -just as that animal follows boats—she was always hoping to snatch up -some rôle that might happen to be thrown overboard. Octave Feuillet -refused to accept the change of _artistes_ and he came himself to fetch -me, accompanied by Delaunay, who had negotiated matters. - -“It’s all settled,” he said, kissing my hands, “there will be a moon for -both of you.” - -The first night was a triumph for both Croizette and for me. The party -strife between the two clans waxed warmer and warmer, and this added to -our success and amused us both immensely, for Croizette was always a -delightful friend and a loyal comrade. She worked for her own ends, but -never against anyone else. - -After the “Sphinx” I played a pretty piece in one act by a young pupil -of the Polytechnical School, Louis Denayrouse—“La Belle Paule.” This -author has now become a renowned scientific man and has renounced his -poetry. - -I had begged Perrin to give me a month’s holiday, but he refused -energetically, and compelled me to take part in the rehearsal of -“Zaïre,” during the trying months of June and July, and in spite of my -reluctance, announced the first performance for the 6th of August. That -year it was fearfully hot in Paris. I believe that Perrin, who could not -tame me alive, had, without really any bad intention, but by pure -autocracy, the desire to tame me dead. Doctor Parrot went to see him and -told him that my state of weakness was such that it would be positively -dangerous for me to act during the trying heat. Perrin would hear -nothing of it. Then, furious at the obstinacy of this intellectual -_bourgeois_, I swore I would play on to the death. - -Often, when I was a child, I wished to kill myself in order to vex -others. I remember once having swallowed the contents of a large ink pot -after being compelled by mamma to swallow a “_panade_”[2] because she -imagined that _panades_ were good for the health. Our nurse had told her -my dislike to this form of nourishment, adding that every morning I -emptied the _panade_ into the slop pail. I had, of course, a very bad -stomach ache, and screamed out in pain. I cried to mamma: “It is you who -have killed me”—and my poor mother wept. She never knew the truth, but -they never again made me swallow anything against my will. - -Footnote 2: - - Bread stewed a long time in water and flavored with a little butter - and sugar; a kind of “sops” given to children in France. - -Well, after so many years had gone over my head, I experienced the same -bitter and childish sentiment. “I don’t care,” I said, “I shall -certainly fall senseless, vomiting blood, and perhaps I shall die! And -it will serve Perrin right. He will be furious!” Yes, that is what I -thought. I am, at times, very foolish. Why? I don’t know how to explain -it, but I admit it. - -The 6th of August, therefore, I played, in tropical heat, the part of -_Zaïre_. The entire audience was bathed in perspiration. I saw the -spectators through a mist. The piece, badly staged as regards scenery, -but very well presented as regards costumes, was particularly well -played by Mounet-Sully, _Orosmane_, Laroche, _Nerestan_, and -myself—_Zaïre_—and obtained an immense success. - -I was determined to faint, determined to vomit blood, determined to die, -in order to enrage Perrin. I gave myself entirely up to it. I had -sobbed, I had loved, I had suffered, and I had been stabbed by the -poignard of _Orosmane_, uttering a true cry of suffering, for I had felt -the steel penetrate my breast; then falling panting, dying, on the -Oriental divan, I had meant to die in reality, and dared scarcely move -my arms, convinced as I was that I was in my death agony and somewhat -afraid, I must admit, at having succeeded in playing such a nasty trick -on Perrin. But my surprise was great when the curtain fell at the close -of the piece, and I got up quickly to answer to the call and salute the -public without languor, without fainting, ready to recommence the piece. - -And I marked this performance with a little white stone—for that day I -learned that my vital force was at the service of my intellect. I had -desired to follow the impulse of my brain, whose conceptions seemed to -me to be too forceful for my physical strength to carry out and I found -myself, having given out all of which I was capable—and more—in perfect -equilibrium. - -Then I saw the possibility of the longed-for future. - -I had fancied, and up to this performance of _Zaïre_ I had always heard, -and read in the papers that my voice was pretty, but weak; that my -gestures were gracious, but vague; that my supple movements lacked -authority, and that my glance lost in heavenward contemplation, could -not tame the lion (the public). I thought then of all that. I had -received proof that I could count on my physical strength, for I had -commenced the performance of _Zaïre_ in such a state of weakness that it -was easy to predict that I should not finish the first act without -fainting. - -On the other hand, although the rôle was easy, it required two or three -shrieks which might have provoked the vomiting of blood which frequently -troubled me at that time. That evening, therefore, I acquired the -certainty that I could count on the strength of my vocal cords, for I -had uttered my shrieks with real rage and suffering, hoping to break -something in my wild desire to be revenged on Perrin. - -Thus, this little comedy turned to my profit. Not being able to die at -will, I faced about and resolved to be strong, vivacious, and active, to -the great annoyance of some of my contemporaries, who had put up with me -only because they thought I would soon die, but who began to hate me as -soon as they acquired the conviction that I should perhaps live for a -long time. I will give only one example, related by Alexandre Dumas, -_fils_, who was present at the death of his intimate friend, Charles -Narrey, and heard his dying words: “I am content to die because I shall -hear no more of Sarah Bernhardt and of the great Français” (Ferdinand de -Lesseps). - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - A HOLIDAY AND NEW SUCCESSES - - -But this revelation of my strength rendered more painful to me the sort -of idleness to which Perrin condemned me. In fact, after _Zaïre_, I -remained months without anything of importance—playing here and there. -Then, discouraged and disgusted with the theater, I renewed my passion -for sculpture. After my ride I took a light repast and then fled to my -studio where I remained till the evening. - -Friends came to see me, sat around me, played the piano, sang, warmly -discussed politics—for in this modest studio I received the most -illustrious men of all parties. Several ladies came to take tea, which -was abominable and badly served; but I did not care about that. I was -absorbed by that admirable art. I saw nothing, or to speak more truly. I -_would not_ see anything. - -At this time I was making the bust of an adorable young girl, Mlle. Emmy -de X——. Her slow and measured conversation had an infinite charm. She -was a foreigner but spoke French so perfectly that I was stupefied. She -smoked a cigarette all the time and had a profound disdain for those who -did not understand her. - -I made the sittings last as long as possible, for I felt that this -delicate spirit was imbuing me with her science of seeing into the -beyond, and often in the serious steps of my life I have said to myself: -“What would Emmy have done?... What would she have thought?...” - -I was somewhat surprised one day by the visit of Adolphe de Rothschild, -who came to give me an order for his bust. I commenced the work -immediately. But I had not properly considered this admirable man—he had -nothing of the æsthetic, but the contrary. I tried, nevertheless, and I -brought all my will to bear in order to succeed in this first order of -which I was so proud. Twice I dashed the bust which I had commenced on -the ground, and after a third attempt I definitely gave it up, -stammering idiotic excuses which apparently did not convince my model, -for he never returned to me. When we met, in our morning rides, he -saluted me with a cold and rather severe bow. - -After this defeat I undertook the bust of a beautiful child, Mlle. -Multon, a delicious little American whom later on I came across in -Denmark, married and the mother of a family—but still as pretty as ever. -Then I made a bust of Mlle. Hocquigny, that admirable person who was -keeper of the linen in the hospital cars during the war and who had so -efficiently helped me and my wounded at that time. - -Then I undertook the bust of my young sister Régina, who had, alas, a -weak chest. A more perfect face was never made by the hand of God! Two -leonine eyes, shaded by long brown lashes—so long that they made a -shadow on her cheeks when she lowered them—a slender nose with delicate -nostrils, a tiny mouth, a willful chin and a pearly skin, crowned by -meshes of sun rays, for I have never seen hair so blond and so pale, so -bright and so silky. But this admirable face was without charm: the -expression was hard and the mouth without smile. I tried my best to -reproduce this beautiful face in marble, but it needed a great artist -and I was only a humble amateur. - -When I exhibited the bust of my little sister, it was five months after -her death, which occurred after a six months’ illness full of false -hopes. I had taken her to my home, No. 4 Rue de Rome, to the little -_entresol_ which I had inhabited since the terrible fire which had -destroyed my furniture, my books, my pictures, and all my scant -possessions. This apartment in the Rue de Rome was small. My bedroom was -very tiny. The big bamboo bed took up all the room. In front of the -window was my coffin, where I frequently installed myself to learn my -parts. Therefore when I took my sister to my home I found it quite -natural to sleep every night in this little bed of white satin which was -to be my last couch, and to put my sister in the big bamboo bed under -the lace hangings. She herself found it quite natural, also, for I would -not leave her at night and it was impossible to put another bed in this -room. Besides, she was accustomed to my coffin. - -Three days after this new arrangement my manicure came into the room to -do my hands and my sister asked her to enter quietly because I was still -asleep. The woman turned her head, believing that I was asleep in the -armchair, but seeing me in my coffin she rushed away, shrieking wildly. -From that moment all Paris knew that I slept in my coffin, and gossip -with its thistledown wings took flight in all directions. - -I was so accustomed to the turpitudes which were written about me that I -did not trouble about this. But at the death of my poor little sister a -tragic-comic incident happened: when the undertaker’s men came to the -room to take away the body they found themselves confronted with two -coffins, and losing his wits, the master of ceremonies sent in haste for -a second hearse. I was at that moment with my mother, who had lost -consciousness, and I got back just in time to prevent the black-clothed -men taking away my coffin. The second hearse was sent back, but the -papers got hold of this incident. I was blamed, criticised, etc. - -After the death of my sister I fell seriously ill. I had tended her day -and night, and this, in addition to the grief I was suffering, made me -anæmic. I was ordered to the South for two months. I promised to go to -Mentone and I turned immediately toward Bretagne, the country of my -dreams. I had with me my little boy, my butler and his wife. My poor -Guérard, who had helped me to tend my sister, was in bed ill with -phlebitis. I would have much liked to have had her with me. - -[Illustration: SARAH BERNHARDT IN HER COFFIN.] - -Oh, the lovely holiday that we had there! Thirty-five years ago Bretagne -was wild, inhospitable, but as beautiful—perhaps more beautiful than at -present, for it was not furrowed with roads, its green slopes were not -dotted with small white villas, its inhabitants—the men—were not dressed -in the abominable modern trousers, nor the women in the miserable little -hat and feathers. No, the Bretons proudly displayed their well-shaped -legs in gaiters or rough stockings, their feet shod with buckled shoes, -their long hair was brought down on the temples, hiding any awkward -ears, and giving to the face a nobility which the modern style does not -admit of. The women, with their short skirts, which showed their slender -ankles in black stockings, and with their small heads under the wings of -the headdress, resembled seagulls. I am not speaking, of course, of the -inhabitants of Pont l’Abbé or of Bourg de Batz, who have entirely -different aspects. - -I visited nearly the whole of Bretagne and stayed especially at -Finistère. The Pointe du Raz enchanted me. I remained twelve days at -Audierne, in the house of the Père Batifoulé, so big and so fat that -they had been obliged to cut a piece out of the table to take in his -immense abdomen. I set out every morning at ten o’clock. My butler -Claude himself prepared my lunch, which he packed up very carefully in -three little baskets; then climbing into the comical vehicle of the Père -Batifoulé, my little boy driving, we set out for the Baie des Trépassés. -Ah, that beautiful and mysterious shore, all bristling with rocks, all -pale and sorrowful! The lighthouse keeper would be looking out for me -and would come to meet me. Claude gave him my provisions with a thousand -recommendations as to the manner of cooking the eggs, warming up the -lentils, and toasting the bread. He carried off everything, then -returned with two old sticks in which he had stuck nails to make them -into picks and we recommenced the terrifying ascension of the Pointe du -Raz, a kind of labyrinth full of disagreeable surprises; of _crevasses_ -across which we had to jump, over the gaping and roaring abyss; of -arches and tunnels through which we had to crawl on all fours, having -overhead—touching even—a rock which had fallen there in unknown ages and -was only held in equilibrium by some inexplicable phenomena. Then, all -at once, the way became so narrow that it was impossible to walk -straight forward; we had to turn and put our backs against the rock and -advance with both arms spread out and fingers holding on to the few -projections of the rock. - -When I think of what I did in those moments, I tremble, for I have -always been and still am, subject to fits of dizziness. I went over this -path along a steep precipitous rock, thirty meters high, in the midst of -the infernal noise of the sea, at this place eternally furious and -raging fearfully against indestructible rock. And I must have taken a -mad pleasure in it, for I accomplished this journey five times in eleven -days. - -After this challenge thrown down to reason, we descended and installed -ourselves in the Baie des Trépassés. After a bath we had lunch and I -painted till sunset. - -The first day there was nobody there. The second day a child came to -look at us. The third day about ten children stood around asking for -_sous_. I was foolish enough to give them some, and the following day -there was a crowd of twenty or thirty boys, some of them from sixteen to -eighteen years old. - -I had the ugly band routed by Claude and the lighthouse keeper and as -they took to throwing stones at us I pointed my gun at the little troop. -They fled howling. Only two boys, of six and ten years of age, stayed. -We did not take any notice of them and I installed myself a little -farther on, sheltered by a rock which kept the wind away. The two boys -followed. Claude and the lighthouse keeper were on the lookout to see -that the boys did not come back. They were stooping down over the -extreme point of the rock which was above our heads. They seemed -peaceful, when suddenly my young maid jumped up: “Horrors! Madame! -Horrors! They are throwing lice down on us!” And, in fact, the two -little good-for-nothings had been for the last hour searching for all -the vermin they could find on themselves and throwing them on us. - -I had the two little beggars seized and they got a well-deserved -correction. - -There was a _crevasse_ which was called the “Enfer du Plogoff.” I had a -wild desire to go down this _crevasse_, but the guardian dissuaded me, -constantly giving as objections the danger of slipping and his fear of -responsibility in case of accident. I persisted, nevertheless, in my -intention, and after a thousand promises, in addition to a certificate -to testify that notwithstanding the supplications of the guardian and -the certainty of the danger that I ran, I had persisted all the same, -etc., and after having made a small present of ten _louis_ to the brave -man, I obtained the facilities for descending the “Enfer du -Plogoff”—that is to say a wide belt to which a strong rope was fastened. -I buckled this belt round my waist, which was then so slender -(forty-three centimeters) that it was necessary to make additional holes -in order to fasten it. - -Then the guardian put on each of my hands a wooden shoe, the sole of -which was bordered with big nails jutting out two centimeters. I stared -at these wooden shoes and asked for an explanation before putting them -on. - -“Well,” said the guardian Lucas, “when I let you down, as you are no -fatter than a herringbone, you will get shaken about in the _crevasse_ -and will risk breaking your bones; while if you have the _sabots_ on -your hands you can protect yourself against the walls by putting out -your arms to the right and the left, according as you are shaken up -against them. I do not say that you will not have a few—bangs—but that -is your own fault, you _will_ go. Now, listen, my little lady: when you -are at the bottom, on the rock in the middle, mind you don’t slip, for -that is the most dangerous of all; if you fell in the water I might pull -the rope, for sure, but I don’t answer for anything. In that cursed -whirlpool of water you might be caught between two stones and it would -be no use for me to pull—I should break the rope and that would be all.” - -Then the man grew pale and making the sign of the cross, he leaned -toward me, murmuring in a faint voice: “It is the shipwrecked ones who -are there, under the stones, down there. It is they who dance in the -moonlight on the shore of the dead (‘Trépassés’). It is they who put the -slippery seaweed on the little rock, down there, in order to make -travelers slip, and then they drag them to the bottom of the sea.” Then, -looking me in the eyes, he said: “Will you go down all the same?” - -“Yes, certainly, Père Lucas, I will go down at once.” - -My little boy was building forts and castles on the sand with Félicie. -Only Claude was with me. He did not say a word, knowing my unbridled -desire to meet danger. He looked to see if the belt was properly -fastened, and asked my permission to tie the tongue of the belt firmly, -then he passed a strong cord several times around to strengthen the -leather, and I was let down, suspended by the rope in the blackness of -the _crevasse_. I extended my arms to the right and the left, as the -guardian had told me to do, and even then I got my elbows scraped. At -first I thought that the noise I heard was the reverberation of the echo -of the blows of the wooden shoes against the edges of the _crevasse_ but -suddenly a frightful din filled my ears: successive firings of cannon, -strident, ringing, crackings of a whip, plaintive howlings and repeated -monotonous cries as of a hundred fishermen drawing up a net filled with -fish, seaweed, and pebbles. All the noises mingled under the mad -violence of the wind. I became furious with myself, for I was really -afraid. The lower I went, the louder the howlings became in my ears and -my brain; and my heart beat the order of retreat. The wind swept through -the narrow tunnel and blew in all directions round my legs, my body, my -neck. A horrible fear took possession of me. I descended slowly and at -each little shock I felt that the four hands holding me above had come -to a knot. I tried to remember the number of knots, for it seemed to me -that I was making no progress. Then, filled with terror, I opened my -mouth to call out to be drawn up again, but the wind, which danced in -mad folly around me, filled my mouth and drove back the words. I was -nearly suffocated. Then I shut my eyes and ceased to struggle. I would -not even put out my arms. A few moments after I pulled up my legs in -unspeakable terror. The sea had just seized them in a brutal embrace -which had wet me through. However, I recovered courage, for now I could -see clearly. I stretched out my legs and found myself upright on the -little rock. It is true it was very slippery. I took hold of a large -ring fixed in the vault which overhung the rock and looked round. The -long and narrow _crevasse_ grew suddenly larger at its base and -terminated in a large grotto which looked out over the open sea; but the -entrance of this grotto was protected by a quantity of both large and -small rocks which could be seen for a distance of a league in front on -the surface of the water—which explains the terrible noise of the sea -dashing into the labyrinth and the possibility of standing upright on a -rock with the wild dance of the waves all around. - -However, I saw very plainly that a false step might be fatal in the -brutal whirl of waters which came rushing in from afar with dizzy speed -and broke against the insurmountable obstacle, and in receding dashed -against other waves which followed them. From this cause proceeded the -perpetual fusillade of waters which rushed into the _crevasse_ without -danger of drowning me. - -The night commenced to fall, and I experienced a fearful anguish in -discovering on the crest of a little rock two enormous eyes which looked -fixedly at me. Then a little farther, near a tuft of seaweed, two more -large, fixed eyes. I saw no body to these beings—nothing but the eyes. I -thought for a minute that I was losing my senses, and I bit my tongue -till the blood came, then I pulled violently at the rope, as I had -agreed to do, in order to give the signal for being drawn up. I felt the -trembling joy of the four hands pulling me, and my feet lost their hold -as I was lifted up by my guardians. The eyes were lifted up also, -troubled to see me go. And while I mounted through the air I saw nothing -but eyes everywhere—eyes throwing out long feelers to reach me. I had -never seen an octopus, and I did not even know of the existence of these -horrible beasts. - -During the ascension, which seemed to me interminable, I imagined I saw -these beasts along the walls, and my teeth were chattering when I was -drawn on to the green hillock. - -I immediately told the guardian the cause of my terror, and he crossed -himself, saying: “Those were the eyes of the shipwrecked ones. No one -must stay there!” - -I knew very well that they were not the eyes of shipwrecked ones, but I -did not know what they were. For I thought I had seen some strange -beasts that no one had ever seen before. - -It was only at the hotel, with Père Batifoulé, that I learned to know -the octopus. - - -Only five more days of holiday were left to me, and I passed them at the -Pointe du Raz, seated in a niche of rock which has been since named -“Sarah Bernhardt’s armchair.” Many tourists have sat there since, and -many have sent me verses. - -I returned to Paris when my holiday was finished. But I was still very -weak and could not take up my work until toward the month of November. I -played all the pieces of my _répertoire_, and I was annoyed at not -having any new rôles. - -One day Perrin came to see me in my sculptor’s studio. He began to talk -at first about my busts; he told me that I ought to do his medallion, -and asked me, incidentally, if I knew the rôle of _Phèdre_. Up to this -time I had played only _Aricie_, and the part of _Phèdre_ seemed -formidable to me. I had, however, studied it for my own pleasure. - -“Yes, I know the rôle of _Phèdre_. But I think if ever I had to play it -I should die of fright.” - -He laughed with his silly little laugh and said to me, squeezing my hand -(for he was very gallant): “Work it up; I think that you will play it.” - -In fact, eight days after I was called to the directorial office, and -Perrin told me that he had announced “Phèdre” for the 21st of December, -the fête of Racine, with Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt in the part of _Phèdre_. -I thought I should fall. - -“Well, but what about Mlle. Rousseil?” I asked. - -“Mlle. Rousseil wishes to have the Committee promise that she shall -become an Associate in the month of January, and the Committee, which -will without doubt appoint her, refuses to make this promise, and -declares that this demand is like a threat. But perhaps Mlle. Rousseil -will change her plans, and in that case you will play _Aricie_ and I -will change the bill.” - -Coming out from Perrin’s I ran up against M. Regnier. I told him of my -conversation with the director and of my fears. - -“No, no,” said the great _artiste_ to me, “you must not be afraid! I see -very well what you are going to make of this rôle. But all you have to -do is to be careful and not force your voice. Make the rôle sorrowful -rather than furious—it will be better for everyone—even Racine.” - -Then, joining my hands, I said: “Dear M. Regnier, help me to work up -_Phèdre_ and I shall not be so much afraid.” - -He looked at me rather surprised, for in general I was neither docile -nor apt to be guided by advice. I own that I was wrong, but I could not -help it. But the responsibility which this put upon me made me timid. -Regnier accepted and gave me a rendezvous for the following morning at -nine o’clock. - -Roselia Rousseil persisted in her demand to the Committee, and “Phèdre” -was billed for the 21st of December, with Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt for the -first time in the rôle of _Phèdre_. - -This caused quite a sensation in the artistic set and in the -theater-loving world. That evening over two hundred people were turned -away at the ticket office. And when I was told that I began to tremble -so much that my teeth chattered. - -Regnier comforted me as best he could, saying: “Courage! Cheer up! Are -you not the spoiled darling of the public? They will take into -consideration your inexperience in important first parts, etc....” - -These were the last words he should have said to me. I should have felt -stronger if I had known that the public were come to oppose and not to -encourage me. - -I began to cry bitterly, like a child. Perrin was called and consoled me -as well as he could; then he made me laugh by putting powder on my face -so awkwardly that I was blinded and suffocated. - -Everybody in the theater knew about it and stood at the door of my -dressing-room wishing to comfort me. Mounet-Sully, who was playing -_Hippolyte_, told me that he had dreamed: “We were playing ‘Phèdre’ and -you were hissed, and my dreams always go by contraries—so,” he cried, -“we shall have a tremendous success!” - -But what put me completely in a good humor was the arrival of the worthy -Martel, who was playing _Théramène_, and who had come so quickly, -believing me ill, that he had not had time to finish his nose. The sight -of this gray face with a wide bar of red wax commencing between the two -eyebrows, coming down to half a centimeter below his nose and leaving -behind it the end of the nose with two large black nostrils—this face -was indescribable! And everybody laughed irrepressibly. I knew that -Martel made up his nose, for I had already seen this poor nose change -shape at the second performance of “Zaïre,” under the tropical -depression of the atmosphere; but I had never realized how much he -lengthened it. This comical apparition restored all my gayety, and from -henceforth I was in full possession of my faculties. - -The evening was one long triumph for me. And the Press was unanimous in -praise, with the exception of the article of Paul de St. Victor, who was -on very good terms with a sister of Rachel, and could not get over my -impertinent presumption in daring to measure myself with the great dead -_artiste_; these are his own words, addressed to Girardin, who -immediately told me. How mistaken he was, poor St. Victor! I had never -seen Rachel act, but I worshiped her talent, for I had surrounded myself -with her most devoted admirers, and they little thought of comparing me -with their idol. - -A few days after this performance of “Phèdre,” the new piece of Bornier -was read to us—“La Fille de Roland.” The part of _Berthe_ was confided -to me, and we immediately began the rehearsals of this fine piece, whose -verses were, nevertheless, a little flat, but which had a real breath of -patriotism. There was in this piece a terrible duel, which the public -did not see, but which was related by _Berthe_, the daughter of -_Roland_, while the incidents happened under the eyes of the unhappy -girl, who, from a window of the castle followed in anguish the fortunes -of the encounter. This scene was the only important one of my much -sacrificed rôle. - -The piece was ready to be passed when Bornier asked that his friend, -Emile Augier, should be present at a general rehearsal. When the play -was finished Perrin came to me; he had an affectionate and constrained -air. As to Bornier, he came straight to me in a decided and quarrelsome -manner. Emile Augier followed him. “Well,” he said to me. I looked -straight at him, feeling in this moment that he was my enemy. He stopped -short and scratched his head, then turned toward Augier and said: - -“I beg you, _cher Maître_, explain to mademoiselle yourself.” - -Emile Augier was a broad man with wide shoulders and a common -appearance, at this time rather fat. He was in very good repute at the -Théâtre Français, of which he was, for the moment, the successful -author. He came near me: “You managed the part at the window very well, -mademoiselle, but it is ridiculous; it is not your fault, but that of -the author, who has written a most improbable scene. The public would -laugh immoderately; this scene must be taken out.” - -I turned toward Perrin, who was listening silently: “Are you of the same -opinion, sir?” - -“I talked it over a short time ago with these gentlemen, but the author -is master of his work.” - -Then addressing myself to Bornier, I said: “Well, my dear author, what -have you decided?” - -Little Bornier looked at big Emile Augier. There was in this beseeching -and piteous glance an expression of sorrow at having to cut out a scene -which he prized, and of fear to vex an Academician just at the time when -he was hoping to become a member of the Academy. - -“Cut it out! cut it out! or you are done for!” brutally replied Augier, -and turned his back. Then poor Bornier, who resembled a Breton gnome, -came up to me. He scratched himself desperately, for the unfortunate man -had a skin disease which itched terribly. He did not speak. He looked at -us questioningly. A poignant anxiety was expressed on his face. Perrin, -who had come up to me, guessed the private little drama which was taking -place in the heart of the mild Bornier. - -“Refuse energetically,” murmured Perrin to me. - -I understood, and declared firmly to Bornier that if this scene was -taken out I should refuse the part. Then Bornier seized both my hands -which he kissed ardently, and running up to Augier he cried with comical -emphasis: - -“But I cannot take it out! I cannot take it out! She will not play! And -the day after to-morrow the play is to be passed!” Then as Emile Augier -made a gesture, and would have spoken—“No! No! To put back my play eight -days would be to kill it! I cannot take it out! Oh, my God!” And he -cried and gesticulated with his two long arms, and stamped with his -short legs. His large hairy head went from right to left. He was at the -same time funny and pitiful. Emile Augier was irritated, and turned on -me like a hunted boar on a pursuing dog: - -“You will take the responsibility, mademoiselle, of the absurd window -scene at the first presentation?” - -“Certainly, monsieur, and I even promise to make of this scene, which I -find very fine, an enormous success!” - -He rudely shrugged his shoulders, muttering something very disagreeable -between his teeth. - -When I left the theater I met poor Bornier quite transfigured. He -thanked me a thousand times, for he thought very highly of this scene, -but dared not thwart Emile Augier. Both Perrin and myself had divined -the legitimate emotions of this poor poet, so gentle and so well brought -up, but a trifle Jesuitical. - -The play was a big success. But the window scene on the night of the -first presentation was a veritable triumph. - -It was a short time after the terrible war of 1870. The play contained -frequent allusions to this, and, owing to the patriotism of the public, -had an even greater success than it deserved as a play. I had Emile -Augier called. He came into my dressing-room with a surly air and called -to me from the door: - -“So much the worse for the public! It only proves that the public is an -idiot to make a success of such vileness!” And he disappeared without -having even entered my dressing-room. - -His outburst made me laugh, and as the triumphant Bornier had embraced -me repeatedly, I hugged myself in glee. - -[Illustration: SARAH BERNHARDT PAINTING, 1878–9.] - -Two months later I played “Gabrielle,” by this same Augier, and I had -incessant quarrels with him. I found the verses of this play execrable. -Coquelin, who took the part of my husband, had a grand success. As for -me, I was as mediocre as the play itself, which is saying much. - -I had been admitted Associate in the month of January, and since then it -seemed to me that I was in prison, for I had undertaken the engagement -not to leave Molière’s Theater for several years. This idea made me sad. -It was Perrin who had instigated me to ask to become Associate, and now -I regretted it very much. - -Almost all the latter part of the year I played only occasionally. - -My time was then occupied in looking after the building of a pretty -_hôtel_ which I was having constructed at the corner of the Avenue de -Villiers and the Rue Fontuny. A sister of my grandmother had left me in -her will a nice legacy which I used to buy the ground. My great desire -was to have a house that should be entirely my own, and I was then -realizing it. The son-in-law of M. Regnier, Félix Escalier, a -fashionable architect, was building me a ravishing _hôtel_! Nothing -amused me more than to go with him in the morning over the unfinished -house. Then afterwards I mounted the movable scaffolds. Then I went on -the roofs. I forgot my worries of the theater in this new occupation. -The thing I most desired just now was to become an architect. Then, when -the building was finished, the interior had to be thought of. I spent my -strength in helping my painter friends who were decorating the ceilings -in my bedroom, in my dining-room, in my hall—Georges Clairin, the -architect Escalier, who was also a talented painter, Duez, Picard, -Butin, Jadin, Jourdain, and Parrot. I was deeply interested, and I -recollect a joke which I played on one of my relations. My Aunt Betsy -had come from Holland, her native country, to pass a few days in Paris. -She was staying with my mother. I invited her to lunch in my new, -unfinished habitation. Five of my painter friends were working, some in -one room, some in another, and everywhere lofty scaffoldings were -erected. In order to be able to climb the ladders more easily I was -wearing my sculptor’s costume. My aunt, seeing me thus arrayed, was -horribly shocked and told me so. But I was preparing yet another -surprise for her. She thought these young workers were ordinary house -painters and considered I was too familiar with them. But she nearly -fainted when midday came and I rushed to the piano to play “The -Complaint of the Hungry Stomachs.” This wild melody had been improvised -by the group of painters, but revised and corrected by poet friends. -When the song was finished I mounted into my bedroom and made myself -into a fine lady for lunch. - -My aunt had followed me: “But, my dear,” said she, “you are mad to think -I am going to eat with all these workmen. Certainly in all Paris there -is no one but yourself who would do such a thing.” - -“No, no, aunt, it is all right.” - -And I dragged her off, when I was dressed, to the dining-room, which was -the most habitable room of the house. Five young men solemnly bowed to -my aunt, who did not recognize them at first, for they had changed their -working clothes and looked like five respectable young men of society. -Mme. Guérard lunched with us. Suddenly, in the middle of lunch, my aunt, -cried out: “But these are the workmen!” The five young men rose and -bowed low. Then my poor aunt understood her mistake and excused herself -in every possible manner, so confused was she. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - BUSY DAYS - - -One day Alexandre Dumas, _fils_, was announced. He came to bring me the -good news that he had finished his play for the Comédie Française: -“L’Etrangère,” and that my rôle, the _Duchess de Septmonts_, had come -out very well. “You can,” he said to me, “make a fine success out of -it.” I expressed my gratitude to him. - -A month after this visit we were convoked to the Comédie for the reading -of this piece. - -The reading was a great success, and I was delighted with my rôle: -_Catherine de Septmonts_. I also liked the rôle of Croizette: _Mistress -Clarkson_. Got gave us each our parts, and thinking that he had made a -mistake I passed on to Croizette the rôle of _l’Etrangère_, which he had -just given me, saying to her: “Here, Got has made a mistake—here is your -rôle.” - -“But he is not making any mistake, it is I who am to play the _Duchess -de Septmonts_.” - -I burst out into irrepressible laughter, which surprised everybody -present, and when Perrin, annoyed, asked me why I was laughing like -that, I exclaimed: - -“At all of you—you, Dumas, Got, Croizette—and all of you who are in the -plot, and who are all a little afraid of the result of your cowardice. -Well, you need not alarm yourselves. I was delighted to play the -_Duchesse de Septmonts_, but I shall be ten times more delighted to play -the _Stranger_. And this time, my dear Sophie, I make no account of you; -you are not worth considering, for you have played me a little trick -which was quite unworthy of our friendship!” - -The rehearsals were strained on all sides. Perrin, who was a warm -partisan of Croizette, bewailed the want of suppleness of her talent, so -much so that one day Croizette, out of all patience, burst out: - -“Well, monsieur, you should have left the rôle to Sarah, she would have -taken the part in the love scenes as you wish; I cannot do any better. -You irritate me too much, I have had enough of it!” And she ran off, -sobbing, into the little _guignol_, where she had an attack of hysteria. -I followed her and consoled her as well as I could. And in the midst of -her tears she kissed me, murmuring: “It is true, it is they who -instigated me to do this nasty trick, and now they are bothering me.” -Croizette spoke broadly—very broadly—and sometimes she had quite a -provincial accent. - -Then we made up our quarrel entirely. - -A week before the first performance I received an anonymous letter -informing me that Perrin was trying his very best to get Dumas to change -the name of the piece. He wished—it goes without saying—to have the -piece called “La Duchesse de Septmonts.” I rushed off to the theater to -find Perrin at once. At the door I met Coquelin, who was taking the part -of the _Duc de Septmonts_, which he did marvelously well. I showed him -the letter. He shrugged his shoulders. “It is infamous! But why do you -take any notice of an anonymous letter? It is not worthy of you!” We -were talking at the foot of the staircase when the manager arrived. - -“Here, show the letter to Perrin.” And he took it from my hands in order -to show it to him. Perrin reddened slightly. - -“I know this writing,” he said. “It is some one from the theater who has -written this letter.” - -I snatched it back from him. “Then it is some one who is well informed, -and what he says is perhaps true, is it not so? Tell me, I have the -right to know.” - -“I detest anonymous letters.” And he went up the stairs with a slight -bow, without saying anything further. - -“Ah, if it is true,” said Coquelin, “it is too much! Would you like me -to go to see Dumas? I will find out at once.” - -“No, thank you. But you have put an idea into my head.” And shaking -hands with him I went off immediately to see Dumas, _fils_. He was just -going out. - -“Well, well! What is the matter? Your eyes are blazing!” - -I went with him into the drawing-room and asked my question at once. He -had kept his hat on and took it off to recover his self-possession. -Before he could speak a word I got furiously angry—one of those rages -which I sometimes have, and which are more like attacks of madness. With -all that I felt of bitterness toward this man, toward Perrin, toward all -this theatrical world who should have loved me and upheld me, and who -betrayed me on every occasion—all that I had been accumulating of hot -anger during the rehearsals, the cries of revolt against the perpetual -injustice of these two men, Perrin and Dumas—I burst out with -everything, in an avalanche of stinging words, which were both furious -and sincere. I reminded him of his promise made in former days; of his -visit to my _hôtel_ in the Avenue de Villiers; of the cowardly and -underhand manner in which he had written of me, at Perrin’s request, and -on the wishes of the friends of Sophie.... I spoke vehemently, without -allowing him to edge in a single word. And when, worn out, I was forced -to stop, I murmured, out of breath with fatigue: “What—what—what have -you to say for yourself?” - -“My dear child,” he replied, much touched, “if I had examined my own -conscience I should have said to myself all that you have just said to -me so eloquently. But I can truly say, in order to excuse myself a -little, that I really believed that you did not care at all about your -theater; that you much preferred your sculpture, your painting, and your -court. We have seldom talked together, and people led me to believe all -that which I was perhaps too ready to believe. Your grief and anger have -touched me deeply. I give you my word that the play shall keep its title -of ‘L’Etrangère.’ And now, embrace me with a good grace, to show that -you are no longer angry with me.” - -I embraced him, and from that day we were good friends. - -That evening I told the whole tale to Croizette, and I saw that she knew -nothing about this wicked scheme. I was very pleased to know that. - -The play was very successful. Coquelin, Febvre, and I carried off the -laurels of the day. - -I had just commenced in my studio, in the Avenue de Clichy, a large -group, the inspiration for which I had gathered from the sad history of -an old woman whom I often saw at nightfall in the Baie des Trépassés. -One day I went up to her wishing to speak to her, but I was so terrified -by her aspect of madness that I rushed off at once, and the guardian -told me her history. She was the mother of five sons—all sailors. Two -had been killed by the Germans in 1870, and three had been drowned. She -had brought up the little son of her youngest boy, always keeping him -far from the sea and teaching him to hate the water. She had never left -the little lad; but he became so sad that he was really ill, and he said -he was dying because he wanted to see the sea. “Well, make haste and get -well,” said the grandmother tenderly, “and we will go and visit the sea -together.” Two days later the child was better, and the grandmother left -the valley in the company of her little grandson to go and see the -ocean, the grave of her three sons. - -It was a November day. A low sky hung over the sea limiting the horizon. -The child jumped with joy. He ran, gamboled, and sang for happiness when -he saw all this living water. The grandmother sat on the sand and hid -her tearful eyes in her two trembling hands; then, suddenly, struck by -the silence, she looked up in terror. There, in front of her she saw a -boat drifting, and in the boat her boy, her little lad of eight years -old, who was laughing right merrily, paddling as well as he could with -one oar that he could hardly hold, and crying out: “I am going to see -what there is behind the mist and I will come back.” - -He never came back. And the following day they found the poor old woman -talking low to the waves which came and bathed her feet. She came every -day to the water’s edge, throwing in the bread which kindly folk gave -her and saying to the waves: “You must carry that to the little lad.” - -This touching narrative had remained in my memory. I can still see the -tall old woman with her brown cape and hood. I worked feverishly at the -group. It seemed to me now that I was destined to be a sculptor and I -began to despise my theater. I went there only when I was compelled by -my duties and I left it as soon as possible. - -I had made several designs, none of which pleased me. Just when I was -going to throw down the last one in discouragement, the painter Georges -Clairin, who came to see me, begged me not to do so. And my good friend, -Mathieu Mensiner, who was a man of talent, also joined his voice against -the destruction of my design. - -Excited by their encouragement I decided to push on with the work and to -make a large group. I asked Lourdier if he knew any tall, bony old -woman, and he sent me two, but neither of them suited me. Then I asked -all my painter and sculptor friends, and during eight days all sorts of -old and infirm women came for my inspection. I fixed at last on a -charwoman who was about sixty years old. She was very tall and had very -sharply cut features. When she came in I felt a slight sentiment of -fear. The idea of remaining alone with this female _gendarme_ for hours -together made me feel uneasy. But when I heard her speak I was more -comfortable. Her timid, gentle voice and frightened gestures, like a shy -young girl, contrasted strangely with the build of the poor woman. When -I showed her the design she was stupefied: “Do you want me to have my -neck and shoulders bare? I really cannot.” I told her that nobody ever -came in when I worked and I asked to see her neck immediately. - -Oh, that neck! I clapped my hands with joy when I saw it. It was long, -emaciated, terrible. The bones literally stood out almost bare of flesh, -the Adam’s apple looked as if it would come through the skin. It was -just what I wanted. I went up to her and gently bared her shoulder. What -a treasure I had found! the bones of the shoulder were entirely visible -under the skin and she had two immense “salt cellars.” The woman was -ideal for my work. She seemed destined for it. She blushed when I told -her so. I asked to see her feet. She took off her thick boots and showed -a dirty foot which had no character. “No,” I said, “thank you. Your feet -are too small, I will take only your head and shoulders.” - -After having fixed the price I engaged her for three months. At the idea -of earning so much money for three months the poor woman began to cry -and I felt so sorry for her that I told her she would not have to seek -for work that winter, because she had already told me that she generally -passed six months of the year in the country, at Sologne, near her -grandchildren. - -Having found the grandmother I now needed the grandchild. I then had -passed in review before me a whole army of little Italians, professional -models. There were some lovely children, real little _Jupins_. The -mothers undressed their children in one moment and the children posed -quite naturally and took attitudes which showed off their muscles and -the development of the torso. I chose a fine little boy of seven years, -but who looked more like nine. I had already had the workmen in to put -up the scaffolding required to make it sufficiently stable to sustain -the necessary weight. Enormous iron supports were fixed into the plaster -by bolts, and pillars of wood and iron wherever needed. The skeleton of -a large piece of sculpture looks like a giant trap put up to catch rats -and mice by the thousand. - -I gave myself up to this enormous work with the courage of ignorance. -Nothing discouraged me. Often I worked on till midnight, sometimes till -four o’clock in the morning. And as one, humble gas burner was totally -insufficient for working by, I had a crown or rather a silver circlet -made, each bud of which was a candlestick with a candle burning, those -of the back row a little higher than those of the front; and with this -help I was able to work almost without ceasing. I had no watch or clock -in the room, as I wished to ignore time altogether. Then my maid would -come to seek me. How many times I have gone without lunch or dinner! -Then I would perhaps faint and so be compelled to send for something to -eat to restore my strength. - -[Illustration: SARAH BERNHARDT AT WORK ON HER “MÊDÉE.”] - -I had almost finished my group, but I had done neither the feet nor the -hands of the grandmother. She was holding her little dead grandson on -her knees, but her arms had no hands and her legs had no feet. I looked -in vain for the hands and the feet of my ideal, large and bony. One day -when my friend Martel came to see me at my studio and to look at this -group which was much talked of, I had an inspiration: Martel was big, -and thin enough to make Death jealous. I watched him walking round my -work. He was looking at it as a connoisseur. But _I_ was looking at -_him_. Suddenly I said: - -“My dear Martel, I beg you ... I beseech you ... to pose for the hands -and feet of my grandmother.” - -He burst out laughing, and with perfectly good grace took off his shoes -and took the place of my model. - -He came ten days running and gave me three hours each day. Thanks to him -I was able to finish my group. I had it molded and sent to the Salon -(1876) where it had a veritable success. Is there any need to say that I -was accused of having got some one else to make this group for me? I -asked one critic to meet me. This was no other than Jules Claretie, who -had declared that this work, which was very interesting, could not have -been done by me. Jules Claretie excused himself very politely and that -was the end of it. - -The jury, after being fully informed on the subject, awarded me -“honorable mention,” and I was wild with joy. - -I was very much criticised, but also very much praised. Nearly all the -criticisms were directed to the neck of my old Breton woman—that neck on -which I had worked with such eagerness. - -The following is from an article by Réné Delorme: - -“The work of Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt deserves to be studied in detail. The -head of the grandmother, well worked out as to the profound wrinkles it -bears, expresses that intense sorrow in which everything else counts as -nothing. The only reproach I have to bring against this artist is that -she has brought too much into prominence the muscles of the neck of the -old grandmother. This shows a lack of experience. She is pleased with -herself for having studied anatomy so well and is not sorry for the -opportunity of showing it. It is,” etc., etc.... - -Certainly this gentleman was right—I had studied anatomy eagerly and in -a very amusing manner. I had had lessons from Doctor Parrot who was so -good to me. I had continually with me a book of anatomical designs, and -when I was at home I stood before the glass and said suddenly to myself, -putting my finger on some part of my body: “Now, then, what is that?” I -had to answer immediately, without hesitation, and when I hesitated I -compelled myself to learn by heart the muscles of the head or the arm -and did not sleep till this was done. - - -A month after the exhibition there was a reading of Parodi’s play, “Rome -Vaincue,” at the Comédie Française. I refused the rôle of the young -vestal _Opïmia_, which had been allotted to me, and energetically -demanded that of _Posthumia_, an old blind Roman woman with a superb and -noble face. No doubt there was some connection in my mind between my old -Breton weeping over her son, and the august patrician claiming pardon -for her granddaughter. - -Perrin was at first astounded. Afterwards he acceded to my request. But -his order-loving mind, and his taste for symmetry made him anxious about -Mounet-Sully, who was also playing in the piece. He was accustomed to -seeing Mounet-Sully and me playing the two heroes, the two lovers, the -two victims. How was he to arrange matters so that we should still be -the two ... together? Eureka! There was in the play an old idiot named -_Vastaepor_, who was quite unnecessary for the action of the piece, but -had been brought in to satisfy Perrin. “Eureka!” cried the director of -the Comédie, “Mounet-Sully shall play _Vestaepor_!” Equilibrium was -restored. The God of the _bourgeois_ was content. - -The piece, which was really quite mediocre, obtained a big success at -the first presentation (27th September, 1876), and personally I was very -successful in the fourth act. The crowd was decidedly in my favor in -spite of everything and everybody. - -The performance of “Hernani” made me more the favorite of the public -than ever. I had already gone through it with Victor Hugo and it was a -real pleasure to me to visit the great poet each day. I had never -discontinued my visits to him, but I was never able to have any -conversation with him in his own house. There were always men in red -ties gesticulating, or women in tears reciting. He was very good; he -listened to me with half-closed eyes and I thought he was asleep. Then -when I stopped he roused up at the silence and said a consoling word, -for Victor Hugo would not have promised to hear me without keeping his -word. He was not like me; I promise everything with the firm intention -of keeping my promises, and two hours after I have forgotten all about -them. If anybody reminds me of what I have promised I tear my hair and -to make up for my forgetfulness I say anything, I buy presents, in fact -I complicate my life with useless worries. It has always been so and -always will. - -As I was grumbling one day to Victor Hugo that I never could have a -chance of talking with him, he invited me to lunch, saying that after -lunch we could talk together alone. I was delighted with this lunch, to -which Paul Maurice the poet, Léon Gladel, Gustave Doré and the Cummunard -X— (a Russian lady whose name I do not remember) were also invited. In -front of Victor Hugo sat Mme. Drouet, the friend of his unlucky days. -But what a horrible lunch we had! It was really bad and badly served. My -feet were frozen by the draughts from the three doors, which fitted -badly, and one could positively _hear_ the wind blowing under the table. -Near me was Mr. X——, the German architect, who is to-day a very -successful man. This man had such dirty hands and ate so badly that he -made me feel sick. I met him afterwards at Berlin. He is now quite clean -and proper, and I believe an Imperialist. But the uncomfortable feeling -this uncongenial neighbor inspired in me, the cold draughts blowing on -my feet, the boredom I was afflicted with—all reduced me to a state of -positive suffering and I lost consciousness. When I recovered I found -myself on a couch, my hand in that of Mme. Drouet and in front of me, -sketching me, Gustave Doré. - -“Oh, don’t move,” he cried, “you are so pretty like that!” These words, -though they were so inappropriate, pleased me, nevertheless, and I -complied with the wish of the great artist. From that day we were the -best of friends. - -I left the house of Victor Hugo without saying good-by to him, a trifle -ashamed of myself. The next day he came to see me. I told him some tale -to account for my illness and I saw no more of him except at the -rehearsals of “Hernani.” - -The first performance of “Hernani” took place on the 21st November, -1877. It was a triumph alike for the author and the actors. “Hernani” -had already been played ten years earlier, but Delaunay, who then took -the part of _Hernani_, was the exact contrary of what this part should -have been. He was neither epic, romantic, nor poetic. He had not the -style of these grand times. He was charming, gracious, and with a -perpetual smile, of middle height, with studied movements, ideal in -Musset, perfect in Emile Augier, charming in Molière, but execrable in -Victor Hugo. - -Bressant, who took the part of _Charles-Quint_, was worst of all. His -amiable and flabby style and his weak and wandering eyes effectively -prevented all grandeur. His two enormous feet, generally half hidden -under his trousers, took on immense proportions. I could see nothing -else. They were very large, flat, and slightly turned in at the toes. -They were a nightmare! But think of their possessor repeating the -admirable couplet of _Charles-Quint_ to the shade of Charlemagne! It was -absurd! The public coughed, wriggled, and showed that they found the -whole thing painful and ridiculous. - -In our performance (in 1877) it was Mounet-Sully in all the splendor of -his talent who played _Hernani_. And it was Worms, that admirable -_artiste_ who played _Charles-Quint_—and how well he took the part! How -he rolled out the lines! What a splendid diction he had! This -performance of the 21st of November, 1877, was a triumph. The public -received me very well in my rôle. I played _Doña Sol_. Victor Hugo sent -me this letter: - - MADAME: You have been great and charming; you have moved me—me, the - old man, and at one part, while the public whom you had enchanted - cheered you, I wept. This tear which I shed for you, and through you, - is at your feet, where I place myself. - - VICTOR HUGO. - -With this letter came a small box containing a fine chain bracelet, from -which hung one diamond drop. I lost this bracelet at the rich nabob’s, -Alfred Sassoon. He would have given me another, but I refused. He could -not give me back the tear of Victor Hugo. - -My success at the Comédie was assured, and the public treated me as a -spoiled child. My friends were a little jealous of me. Perrin made -trouble for me at every turn. He had a sort of friendship for me, but he -could not believe that I could get on without him, and as he always -refused to do as I wanted I did not go to him for anything. I sent a -letter to the Ministère and I always won my cause. - - - - - CHAPTER XX - A BALLOON ASCENSION - - -As I had a continual thirst for what was new, I now tried my hand at -painting. I knew how to draw a little and had a well-developed sense of -color. I first did two or three small pictures—then I undertook the -portrait of my dear Guérard. Alfred Stevens thought it was vigorously -done, and Georges Clairin encouraged me to continue with painting. Then -I launched out courageously, boldly. I began a picture which was nearly -two meters in size: “The Young Girl and Death.” - -Then there was a cry of indignation against me. - -Why did I want to do anything else but act, since that was my career? - -Why did I always want to be before the public? - -Perrin came to see me one day when I was very ill. He began to preach. -“You are killing yourself, my dear child,” he said. “Why do you go in -for sculpture, painting, etc.? Is it to prove that you can do it?” - -“Oh, no, no,” I answered; “it is merely to create a necessity for -staying here!” - -“I don’t understand,” said Perrin, listening very attentively. - -“This is how it is. I have a wild desire to travel, to see something -else, to breathe another air, and to see skies that are higher than ours -and trees that are bigger; something different, in short. I have -therefore had to create for myself some tasks which will hold me to my -chains. If I did not do this, I feel that my desire to see other things -in the world would win the day and I should do something foolish.” - -This conversation was destined to go against me some years later when -the Comédie brought an action against me. - -The Exhibition of 1878 put the finishing stroke to the state of -exasperation that Perrin and some of the _artistes_ of the theater were -in with regard to me. They blamed me for everything, for my painting, my -sculpture, and my health. I had a terrible scene with Perrin and it was -the last one, for from that time forth we did not speak to each other -again; a formal bow was the most that we exchanged afterwards. - -The climax was reached over my balloon ascension. I adored and I still -adore balloons. Every day I went up in M. Giffard’s captive balloon. -This persistency had struck the _savant_ and he asked a mutual friend to -introduce him. - -“Oh, M. Giffard,” I said, “how I should like to go up in a balloon that -is not captive!” - -“Well, mademoiselle, you shall do so if you like,” he replied very -kindly. - -“When?” I asked. - -“Any day you like.” - -I should have liked to start immediately, but as he pointed out he would -have to fit the balloon up and it was a great responsibility for him to -undertake. We therefore fixed upon the following Tuesday, just a week -from then. I asked M. Giffard to say nothing about it, for if the -newspapers should get hold of this piece of news, my terrified family -would not allow me to go. M. Tissandier, who a little time after was -doomed, poor fellow, to be killed in an aërial accident, promised to -accompany me. Something happened, however, to prevent his going with me, -and it was young Godard who the following week accompanied me in the -_Doña Sol_—a beautiful orange-colored balloon specially prepared for my -expedition. Prince Jerome Napoleon (Plon-Plon), who was with me when -Giffard was introduced, insisted on going with us. But he was heavy and -rather clumsy and I did not care much about his conversation, in spite -of his marvelous wit, for he was spiteful and rather delighted when he -could get a chance to attack the Emperor Napoleon III, whom I liked very -much. - -We started alone, Georges Clairin, Godard, and I. The rumor of our -journey had nevertheless spread, but too late for the Press to get hold -of it. I had been up in the air about five minutes when one of my -friends, Count de M——, met Perrin on the Pont des Saints-Pères. - -“I say,” he began, “look up in the sky! There is your star shooting -away.” - -Perrin looked up, and pointing to the balloon which was rising he asked: -“Who is in that?” - -“Sarah Bernhardt,” replied my friend. Perrin, it appears, turned purple, -and clenching his teeth, he murmured: “That’s another of her freaks, but -she will pay for this.” - -He hurried away without even saying good-by to my young friend, who -stood there stupefied at this unreasonable burst of anger. - -And if he had suspected my infinite joy at thus traveling through the -air, Perrin would have suffered still more. - -Ah, our departure! It was half past five. I shook hands with a few -friends. My family, whom I had kept in the most profound ignorance, was -not there. I felt my heart tighten somewhat when after the words “Loose -all” I found myself in one instant fifty yards above the earth. I still -heard a few cries: “Attention! Come back! Don’t let her be killed!” And -then nothing more.... Nothing.... There was the sky above and the earth -beneath.... Then, suddenly, I was in the clouds. I had left a misty -Paris. I now breathed under a blue sky and saw a radiant sun. Around us -were opaque mountains of clouds with irradiated edges. Our balloon -plunged into a milky vapor all warm with the sun. It was splendid! It -was stupefying! Not a sound, not a breath! But the balloon was scarcely -moving at all. It was only toward six o’clock that the currents of air -caught us and we took our flight toward the East. We were at an altitude -of about 1,700 yards. The spectacle became fairylike. Large fleecy -clouds were spread below us. Large orange curtains fringed with violet -came down from the sun to lose themselves in our cloudy carpet. - -[Illustration: SARAH BERNHARDT, PORTRAIT BY PARROTT, 1875, IN THE -COMÉDIE FRANÇAISE, PARIS.] - -At twenty minutes to seven we were about 2,500 yards above the earth, -and cold and hunger commenced to make themselves felt. - -The dinner was copious—we had _foie gras_—fresh bread and oranges. The -cork of our champagne bottle flew up into the clouds with a pretty, soft -noise. We raised our glasses in honor of M. Giffard. - -We had talked a great deal. Night began to put on her heavy dark mantle. -It became very cold. We were then at 2,600 meters and I had a singing in -my ears. My nose began to bleed. I felt very uncomfortable and began to -feel drowsy without being able to prevent it. Georges Clairin got -anxious and young Godard cried out loudly—to wake me up, no -doubt—“Alloa! Alloa! we shall have to go down. Let us throw out the -guide rope!” This cry woke me up properly. I wanted to know what was the -guide rope. I got up feeling rather stupefied, and in order to rouse me -Godard put the guide rope into my hands. It was a strong rope, about 130 -meters long, to which were attached at certain distances little iron -hooks. Clairin and I let out the rope, laughing, while Godard bending -over the side of the car was looking through a field glass. - -“Stop!” cried he suddenly. “There are a lot of trees!” - -In fact, we were over the wood of Ferrières. But just in front of us -there was a little open ground suitable for our descent. - -“There is no doubt about it,” cried Godard, “if we miss this plain we -shall come down in the black night in the wood of Ferrières, and that -would be very dangerous!” Then, turning to me, “Will you,” he said, -“open the valve?” - -I immediately did so, and the gas came out of its prison, whistling a -mocking air. The valve was shut by order of the aëronaut, and we -descended rapidly. Suddenly the stillness of the night was broken by the -sound of a horn. I trembled. It was Louis Godard, who had pulled out of -his pocket, which was a veritable storehouse, a sort of horn, on which -he blew with violence. A loud whistle answered our call, and 500 meters -below us we saw a man who was shouting his hardest to make us hear. As -we were very close to a little station we easily guessed that this man -was the station master. - -“Where are we?” cried Louis Godard, with his horn. - -“At—in—in—ille,” answered the station master. It was impossible to -understand. - -“Where are we?” thundered Georges Clairin in his most formidable tones. - -“At—in—in—ille,” shouted the station master with his hand curved round -his mouth. - -“Where are we?” called I in my most crystalline accents. - -“At—in—in—ille,” answered the station master—and his porters. - -It was impossible to find out anything. We had to lower the balloon. At -first we descended rather too quickly and the wind blew us toward the -wood. We had to mount again. But ten minutes later we opened the valve -again and made a fresh descent. The balloon was then to the right of the -station, and far from the amiable station master. - -“Throw out the anchor!” cried in a commanding tone young Godard. And -helped by Georges Clairin he threw out into space another rope, to the -end of which was fastened a formidable anchor. The rope was 80 meters -long. - -Down below us a crowd of children of all ages had been running ever -since we stopped above the station. When we got to about 300 yards from -the earth, Godard called out to them: “Where are we?” - -“At Vachère!” - -None of us knew Vachère. But we descended nevertheless. - -“Alloa! You down below there—take hold of the guide rope,” cried the -aëronaut, “and mind you don’t pull too hard!” Five vigorous men seized -hold of the rope. We were 130 meters from the ground, and the spectacle -became interesting. The night began to blot out everything. I raised my -head to see the sky, but I remained with my mouth open with -astonishment. I saw only the lower end of our balloon, which was -overhanging its base all loose and baggy. It was very ugly. - -We anchored gently, without the little dragging which I hoped would -happen, and without the little drama which I had half expected. - -It began to rain in torrents as we left the balloon. - -The young owner of a neighboring _château_ ran up, like the peasants, to -see what was going on. He offered me his umbrella. - -“Oh, I am so thin I cannot get wet! I pass between the drops.” - -The word was repeated, and has become almost a proverb. - -“What time is there a train?” asked Godard. - -“Oh, you have plenty of time!” answered an oily and heavy voice. “You -cannot leave before ten o’clock, as the station is a long way from here, -and in such weather it will take the young lady two hours to walk -there.” - -I was confounded, and looked for the young gentleman with the umbrella, -which I could have used as a walking stick, as neither Clairin nor -Godard had one. But just as I was accusing him of going away and leaving -us, he jumped lightly out of a vehicle which I had not heard drive up. - -“There!” said he. “There is a carriage for you and these gentlemen, and -another for the body of the balloon.” - -“_Ma foi!_ You have saved us,” said Clairin, clasping his hand, “for it -appears the roads are in a very bad state.” - -“Oh,” said the young man, “it would be impossible for the feet of -Parisians to walk even half the distance.” - -Then he bowed and wished us a pleasant journey. - -Rather more than an hour later we arrived at the station of -Emerainville. The station master, learning who we were, received us in a -very friendly manner. He made his apologies for not having heard when we -called out. He had a frugal meal of bread, cheese, and cider set before -us. I have always detested cheese, and would never eat it—there is -nothing poetical about it—but I was dying with hunger. - -“Taste it, taste it,” said Georges Clairin. - -I bit a morsel off and found it excellent. - -We got back very late, in the middle of the night, and I found my -household in an extreme state of anxiety. Our friends, who had come to -hear news of us, had stayed. There was quite a crowd. I was somewhat -annoyed at this, as I was half dead with fatigue. - -I sent everybody away rather sharply and went up to my room. As my maid -was helping me to undress she told me that some one had come for me from -the Comédie Française several times. - -“Oh, _mon Dieu_!” I cried anxiously. “Could the piece have been -changed?” - -“No, I don’t think so,” said the maid. “But it appears that M. Perrin is -furious, and that they are all against you. There is the note which was -left for you.” - -I opened the letter. I was requested to appear before the Administration -the following day at two o’clock. - -On my arrival at Perrin’s at the time appointed, I was received with an -exaggerated politeness which had an undercurrent of severity. - -Then commenced a series of onslaughts on my fits of ill temper, my -caprices, my eccentricities; and he finished his speech by saying that I -had incurred a fine of £40 for traveling without the consent of the -manager. - -I burst out laughing: “The case of a balloon has not been foreseen,” I -said, “and I can promise you I shall pay no fine. Outside the theater I -do as I please, and that is no business of yours, my dear M. Perrin, so -long as I am not doing anything that would injure my theatrical work! -And, besides—you bore me to death!—I will resign!—Be happy!” - -I left him ashamed and anxious. - -The next day I sent in my written resignation to M. Perrin, and shortly -afterwards I was sent for by M. Turquet, Minister of Fine Arts. I -refused to go, and they sent a mutual friend, who stated that M. Perrin -had gone further than he had any right, that the fine was remitted, and -that I must take back my resignation. So I did. - -But the situation was strained. My fame had become annoying for my -enemies, and a little trying, I confess, for my friends. But at this -time all this stir and noise amused me vastly. I did nothing to attract -attention; but my fantastic tastes, my paleness and thinness, my -particular way of dressing, my scorn of fashion, my general freedom in -all respects, made me a being set apart. I did not recognize this fact. - -I did not read—I never read—the newspapers. So I did not know what was -said about me, either favorable or unfavorable. Surrounded by a court of -adorers of both sexes, I lived in a sunny dream. All the royal -personages and the notabilities who were the guests of France during the -Exhibition of 1878 came to see me. This was a constant source of -pleasure to me. - -The Comédie was the first theatrical stage of all these illustrious -visitors, and Croizette and I played nearly every evening. While I was -playing _Amphytrion_ I fell seriously ill, and was sent to the South. - -I remained there two months. I lived at Mentone, but I made Cap Martin -my headquarters. I had a tent put up on the spot that the Empress -Eugénie afterwards selected to build her villa. I did not want to see -anybody, and I thought that by living in a tent, so far from the town, I -should not be troubled with visitors. This was a mistake. One day when I -was having lunch with my little boy, I heard the bells of two horses -which had come with a carriage. The road overhung my tent, which was -half hidden by the bushes. Suddenly a voice which I knew, but could not -recognize, cried in the emphatic tone of a herald: - -“Does Sarah Bernhardt, Associate of the Comédie Française, live here?” - -We did not move. The question was asked again. Again the answer was -silence. But we heard the sound of breaking branches, the bushes were -pushed apart, and at two yards from the tent the teasing voice -recommenced. - -We were discovered. Somewhat annoyed I came out. I saw before me a man -with a large tussore cloak on, a field glass strapped on his shoulders, -a gray bowler hat, and a red, happy face with a little pointed beard. I -glanced at this commonplace-looking individual with anything but favor. -He lifted his hat: - -“Mme. Sarah Bernhardt is here?” - -“What do you want with me, sir?” - -“Here is my card, madame.” - -I read: “Gambard, Nice, Villa des Palmiers.” I looked at him with -astonishment, and he was still more astonished to see that his name did -not produce any impression on me. He had a foreign accent. - -“Well, you see, madame, I come to ask you to sell us your group, ‘After -the Tempest.’” - -I began to laugh. - -“_Ma foi_, monsieur, I am treating for that with the firm of Susse, and -they offer me 6000 francs. If you will give ten, you may have it.” - -“Quite right,” he said. “Here are 10,000 francs. Have you pen and ink?” - -“No.” - -“Ah,” said he, “allow me.” And he produced a little case in which there -was pen and ink. - -I made out the receipt, and gave him an order to go and take the group -at Paris, in my studio. He went away, and I heard the bells of the -horses ringing and then dying away in the distance. After this I was -often invited to the house of this original person, who was one of the -negro kings of Nice. - -Shortly after I came back to Paris. At the theater they were preparing -for the benefit night of Bressant, who was about to leave the stage. It -was agreed that Mounet-Sully and I should play an act from “Othello,” by -Jean Aicard. The theater was well filled, and the audience in a good -humor. After the song of _Saule_, I was in bed as _Desdemona_, when -suddenly I heard the public laugh, softly at first, and then -irrepressibly. _Othello_ had just come in, in the darkness, in his shirt -or very little more, with a lantern in his hand, and gone to a door -hidden in some drapery. The public, that impersonal unity, has no -hesitation in taking part in a manifestation of unseemly mirth that each -member of the audience, taken as a separate individual, would be ashamed -to admit. But the ridicule thrown on this act by the exaggerated -pantomime of the actor prevented the play being staged again, and it was -only twenty years later that “Othello,” as an entire play, was produced -at the Théâtre Français. I was then no longer there. - -After having played _Berenice_, in “Mithridate,” successfully, I took up -again my rôle of the _Queen_ in “Ruy Blas.” The play was as successful -at the Théâtre Français as at the Odéon, and the public was, if -anything, still more favorable to me. Mounet-Sully played _Ruy Blas_. He -took the part admirably, and was infinitely better than Lafontaine, who -played it at the Odéon. Frédéric Febvre, very well dressed, represented -his part very well, but he was not so good as Geffroy, who was the most -distinguished and the most frightful _Don Salluste_ that could be -imagined. - -My relations with Perrin were more and more strained. - -He was pleased that I was successful, for the sake of the theater; he -was happy at the magnificent receipts of “Ruy Blas”; but he would have -much preferred that it had been another than I who received all the -applause. My independence, my horror of submission, even in appearance, -annoyed him vastly. - -One day my servant came to tell me that an elderly Englishman was asking -to see me so insistently that he thought it better to come and tell me, -though I had given orders I was not to be disturbed. - -“Send him away and let me work in peace.” - -I was just commencing a picture which interested me very much. It -represented a little girl on Palm Sunday, carrying branches of palm. The -little model who posed for me was a lovely Italian of eight years old. -Suddenly she said to me: - -“He’s quarreling—that Englishman!” - -As a matter of fact, in the anteroom there was a noise of voices rising -higher and higher. Irritated, I rushed out, my palette in my hand, -resolved to make the intruder flee. But just at the moment when I opened -the door of my studio, a tall man came so close to me that I drew back, -and he came into my hall. His eyes were clear and piercing, his hair -silvery white, and his beard carefully trimmed. He made his excuses very -politely, admired my paintings, my sculpture, my hall—and this while I -was in complete ignorance of his name. When at the end of ten minutes I -begged him to sit down and tell me to what I owed the pleasure of his -visit, he replied in a stilted voice with a strong accent: - -“I am Mr. Jarrett, the _impresario_. I can make your fortune. Will you -come to America?” - -“Never!” I exclaimed firmly. “Never!” - -“Oh, well, don’t get angry! Here is my address—don’t lose it.” Then, at -the moment he took leave, he said: - -“Ah! you are going to London with the Comédie Française. Would you like -to earn a lot of money in London?” - -“Yes. How?” - -“By playing in drawing-rooms. I can make you a small fortune.” - -“Oh, I would be pleased to do that—that is, if I go to London, for I -have not yet decided.” - -“Then will you sign a little contract to which we will add an additional -clause?” - -And I signed a contract with this man, who inspired me with confidence -at first sight—a confidence which he never betrayed. - -The Committee and M. Perrin had made an agreement with John -Hollingshead, director of the Gaiety Theater, in London. Nobody had been -consulted and I thought that was a little too free and easy. So when -they told me about this agreement, I said nothing. Perrin rather -anxiously took me aside: - -“What are you turning over in your mind?” - -“I am turning over this: that I will not go to London in a situation -inferior to anybody. For the entire term of my contract I intend to be -Associate _à part entière_ (with full benefit).” - -This intention excited the Committee highly. And the next day Perrin -told me that my proposal was rejected. - -“Well, I shall not go to London. That is all! Nothing in my contract -obliges me to go.” - -[Illustration: SARAH BERNHARDT, PORTRAIT BY CLAIRIN.] - -The Committee met again, and Got cried out: “Well, let her stay away! -She is a regular nuisance!” - -It was therefore decided that I should not go to London. But -Hollingshead and Mayer, his partner, did not see it in this light, and -they declared that the contract would not be binding if either -Croizette, Mounet-Sully, or I did not go. - -The agents, who had bought two hundred thousand francs’ worth of tickets -beforehand, also refused to regard the affair as binding on them if we -did not go. Mayer came to see me in profound despair and told me all -about it. - -“We shall have to break our contract with the Comédie if you don’t -come,” he said, “for the business cannot go through.” - -Frightened at the consequences of my bad temper, I ran to see Perrin, -and told him that after the consultation I had just had with Mayer, I -understood the involuntary injury I should be causing to the Théâtre -Français and to my comrades, and I told him I was ready to go under any -conditions. - -The Committee was holding a meeting. Perrin asked me to wait and shortly -after he returned: Croizette and I had been appointed Associates with -full benefit (_Sociétaires à part entière_), not only for London, but -for always. - -Everybody had done his duty. Perrin, very much touched, took both my -hands and drew me to him: - -“Oh, the good and untamable little creature!” - -We embraced and peace was again concluded between us. But it could not -last long, for five days after this reconciliation, about nine o’clock -in the evening, M. Perrin was announced at my house. I had company for -dinner. Nevertheless, I was about to receive him in the hall. He held -out to me a paper. - -“Read that,” said he. - -And I read in an English newspaper, the _Times_, this paragraph: - -“_Drawing-room Comedies of Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt, under the management -of Sir Benedict:_ - -“The _répertoire_ of Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt is composed of comedies, -proverbs, one-act plays and monologues, written especially for her and -one or two _artistes_ of the Comédie Française. These comedies are -played without accessories or scenery, and can be adapted both in London -and Paris to the _matinées_ and _soirées_ of the best society. For all -details and conditions please communicate with Mr. Jarrett (Secretary of -Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt) at His Majesty’s Theatre.” - -As I was reading the last lines it dawned on me that Jarrett, learning -that I was certainly coming to London, had begun to advertise me. I -frankly explained this to Perrin. - -“What objection is there,” I said, “to my making use of my evenings to -earn money, as the thing has been offered me?” - -“That has nothing to do with me—it is the business of the Committee.” - -“That is too much!” I cried, and calling for my secretary I said: “Give -me Delaunay’s letter that I gave you yesterday.” - -He brought it out of one of his numerous pockets and gave it to Perrin -to read: - - Would you care to come and play “La Nuit d’Octobre” at Lady Dudley’s - on Thursday, June 5th? They will give us each 5,000 francs. Kind - regards, - - DELAUNAY. - -“Let me have this letter,” said the manager, visibly annoyed. - -“No, I will not. But you may tell Delaunay that I have told you of his -offer.” - -For the next two or three days nothing was talked of in Paris but the -scandalous announcement of the _Times_. The French were then almost -entirely ignorant of the habits and customs of the English. At last all -this talk annoyed me, and I begged Perrin to try and stop it, and the -following day there appeared in the _National_ of the 29th of May: - -“_Much Ado About Nothing._ In friendly discussion it has been decided -that outside the rehearsals and the performances of the Comédie -Française, each artist is free to employ his time as he sees fit. There -is therefore absolutely no truth at all in the pretended quarrel between -the Comédie Française and Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt. This _artiste_ has only -acted strictly within her rights, which nobody attempts to limit, and -all our _artistes_ intend to benefit in the same manner. The manager of -the Comédie Française asks only that the _artistes_ who form this -‘corps’ do not give performances in a body.” - -This article came from the Comédie, and the members of the Committee had -taken advantage of it to advertise a little for themselves, announcing -that they also were ready to play in drawing-rooms, for the article was -sent to Mayer with a request that it should appear in the English -papers. It was Mayer himself who told me this. - -All disputes being at an end, we commenced our preparations for -departure. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - MY LONDON DÉBUT - - -I had never been on the sea when it was decided that the _artistes_ of -the Comédie Française should go to London. The determined ignorance of -the French concerning all things foreign was much more pronounced in -those days than it is at present. As for me, my ignorance was quite -pathetic. I had a very warm cloak made, as I had been assured that the -crossing was icy cold, even in the very middle of summer, and I believed -this. On every side I was besieged with lozenges for seasickness, -sedative for headache, tissue paper to put down my back, little compress -plasters to put on my diaphragm, and waterproof cork soles for my shoes, -for it appeared that above all things I must not have cold feet. Oh, how -droll and amusing it all was! I took everything, paid attention to all -the recommendations and believed everything I was told. - -The most inconceivable thing of all, though, was the arrival, five -minutes before the boat started, of an enormous wooden case. It was very -light and was held by a tall young man, who to-day is a most remarkable -individual, with all the crosses, all the honors, an immense fortune, -and the most outrageous vanity. At that time he was a shy inventor, -young, poor, and sad; he was always buried in books which treated of -abstract questions, while of life he knew absolutely nothing. He had a -great admiration for me, mingled with a trifle of awe. My little court -had surnamed him “La Quenelle.” He was long, vacillating, colorless, and -really did resemble the thin roll of forcemeat in a _vol-au-vent_. - -He came up to me, his face more wan looking even than usual. The boat -was moving a little, my departure terrified him, and the wind caused him -to plunge from right to left. He made a mysterious sign to me and I -followed him, accompanied by _ma petite dame_ and leaving my friends, -who were inclined to be ironical, behind. When I was seated, he opened -the case and took out an enormous life belt invented by himself. I was -perfectly astounded, for I was unused to sea voyages, and the idea had -never even occurred to me that we might be shipwrecked during one hour’s -crossing. “La Quenelle” was by no means disconcerted, and he put the -belt on himself in order to show me how it was used. - -Nothing could have looked more foolish than this man with his sad, -serious face, putting on this apparatus. There were a dozen egg-sized -bladders round the belt, eleven of which were filled with air and -contained a lump of sugar each. In the twelfth, a very small bladder, -were ten drops of brandy. In the middle of the belt was a tiny cushion -with a few pins on it. - -“You understand,” he said to me. “You fall in the water _paff_—you stay -like this.” Hereupon he pretended to sit down, rising and sinking with -the movement of the waves, his two hands in front of him laid upon the -imaginary sea, and his neck stretched like that of a tortoise in order -to keep his head above water. - -“You see, you have now been in the water for two hours,” he explained, -“and you want to get back your strength. You take a pin and prick an -egg, like this. You take your lump of sugar and eat it, that is as good -as a quarter of a pound of meat.” He then threw the broken bladder -overboard, and from the packing case brought out another, which he -fastened to the life belt. He had evidently thought of everything. I was -petrified with amazement. A few of my friends had gathered round, hoping -for one of “La Quenelle’s” mad freaks, but they had never expected -anything like this one. - -M. Mayer, one of our _impresarios_, fearing a scandal of too absurd a -kind, dispersed the people who were gathering round us. I did not know -whether to be angry or to laugh, but the jeering, unjust speech of one -of my friends roused my pity for this poor “Quenelle.” I thought of the -hours he had spent in planning, combining, and then manufacturing his -ridiculous machine. I was touched by the anxiety and affection which had -prompted the invention of this life-saving apparatus, and I held out my -hand to my poor “Quenelle,” saying: “Be off, now, quickly, the boat is -just going to start.” - -He kissed the hand held out to him in a friendly way, and hurried off. I -then called my steward Claude, and I said, “As soon as we are out of -sight of land throw that case and all it contains into the sea.” - -The departure of the boat was accompanied by shouts of “Hurrah! _Au -revoir!_ Success! Good luck!” There was a waving of hands, handkerchiefs -floating in the air, and kisses thrown haphazard to everyone. - -But what was really fine and a sight I shall never forget, was our -landing at Folkestone. There were thousands of people there, and it was -the first time I had ever heard the cry of “Vive Sarah Bernhardt!” - -I turned my head and saw before me a pale young man, the ideal face of -_Hamlet_. He presented me with a gardenia. I was destined to admire him -later on as _Hamlet_. He was Forbes-Robertson. We passed on through a -crowd offering us flowers and shaking hands, and I soon saw that I was -more favored than the others. This slightly embarrassed me, but I was -delighted all the same. One of my comrades, who was just near, and with -whom I was not a favorite, said to me, in a spiteful tone: “They’ll make -you a carpet of flowers soon.” - -“Here is one!” exclaimed a young man, throwing an armful of lilies on -the ground in front of me. I stopped short, rather confused, not daring -to walk on these white flowers, but the crowd pressing on behind -compelled me to advance, and the poor lilies had to be trodden under -foot. - -“Hip, hip, hurrah! a cheer for Sarah Bernhardt!” shouted the turbulent -young man. His head was above all the other heads, he had luminous eyes -and long hair, and looked like a German student. He was an English poet, -though, and one of the greatest of this century, a poet who was a -genius, but who was, alas! tortured and finally vanquished by madness. -It was Oscar Wilde. The crowd responded to his appeal, and we reached -our train amid shouts of “Hip, hip, hurrah, for Sarah Bernhardt! Hip, -hip, hurrah, for the French _artistes_!” - -When the train arrived at Charing Cross toward nine o’clock, we were -nearly an hour late. A feeling of sadness came over me. The weather was -gloomy, and then, too, I thought we should have been greeted again upon -our arrival in London with more “hurrahs!...” There were plenty of -people, crowds of people, but none appeared to know us. - -On reaching the station I had noticed that there was a handsome carpet -laid down and I thought it was for us. Oh, I was prepared for anything, -as our reception at Folkestone had turned my head. The carpet, however, -had been laid down for their Royal Highnesses the Prince and the -Princess of Wales, who had just left for Paris. - -This news disappointed me and even annoyed me personally. I had been -told that all London was quivering with excitement at the very idea of -the visit of the Comédie Française, and I had found London extremely -indifferent. The crowd was large and very compact, but cold. - -“Why have the Prince and Princess gone away to-day?” I asked M. Mayer. - -“Well, because they had decided beforehand about this visit to Paris,” -he replied. - -“Oh, then they won’t be here for our first night?” I continued. - -“No, the Prince has taken a box for the season for which he has paid -four hundred pounds, but it will be used by the Duke of Connaught.” - -I was in despair. I don’t know why, but I certainly was in despair, as I -felt that everything was going wrong. - -A footman led the way to my carriage, and I drove through London with a -heavy heart. Everything looked dark and dismal, and when I reached the -house—77, Chester Square—I did not want to get out of my carriage. - -The door of the house was wide open, though, and in the brilliantly -lighted hall I could see what looked like all the flowers on earth -arranged in baskets, bouquets, and huge bunches. I got out of the -carriage and entered the house in which I was to live for the next six -weeks. All the branches seemed to be stretching out their flowers to me. - -“Have you the cards that came with all these flowers?” I asked my -manservant. - -“Yes,” he replied. “I have put them together on a tray. All of them are -from Paris, from madame’s friends there. This one is the only bouquet -from here.” He handed me an enormous one, and on the card with it, I -read the words: “Welcome!—Henry Irving.” - -I went all through the house and it seemed to me very dismal looking. I -visited the garden, but the damp seemed to go through me, and my teeth -chattered when I came in again. That night, when I went to sleep, my -heart was heavy with foreboding, as though I were on the eve of some -misfortune. - -The following day was given up to receiving journalists. I wanted to see -them all at the same time, but Mr. Jarrett objected to this. The man was -a veritable advertising genius. I had no idea of it at that time. He had -made me some very good offers for America, and although I had refused -them, I nevertheless held a very high opinion of him, on account of his -intelligence, his comic humor, and my need of being piloted in this new -country. - -“No,” he said, “if you receive them all together, they will all be -furious, and you will get some wretched articles; you must receive them -one after the other.” - -Thirty-seven journalists came that day, and Jarrett insisted on my -seeing every one of them. He stayed in the room and saved the situation -when I said anything foolish. I spoke English very badly, and some of -the men spoke French very badly. Jarrett translated my answers to them. -I remember perfectly well that all of them began with: “Well, -mademoiselle, what do you think of London?” - -I had arrived the previous evening at nine o’clock, and the first of -these journalists asked me this question at ten in the morning. I had -drawn my curtain back on getting up, and all I knew of London was -Chester Square, a small square of somber verdure, in the midst of which -was a black statue, and the horizon bounded by an ugly church. - -I really could not answer the question, but Jarrett was quite prepared -for this, and I learned the following morning that “I was most -enthusiastic about the beauty of London, that I had already seen a -number of the public buildings,” etc., etc. - -Toward five o’clock, Hortense Damian arrived. She was a charming woman, -and a favorite in London society. She had come to inform me that the -Duchess of —— and Lady R—— would call on me at half past five. - -“Oh, stay with me, then!” I said to her. “You know how unsociable I am; -I feel sure that I shall be stupid.” - -At the time fixed my visitors were announced. This was the first time I -had come into contact with any members of the English aristocracy, and I -have always had since a very pleasant memory of it. - -Lady R—— was extremely beautiful, and the Duchess was so gracious, so -distinguished and so kind that I was very much touched by her visit. - -A few minutes later Lord Dudley called. I knew him very well, as he had -been introduced to me by Marshal Canrobert, one of my dearest friends. -He asked me if I would care to have a ride the following morning, and -said he had a very nice lady’s horse which was entirely at my service. I -thanked him, but I wanted first to drive in Rotten Row. - -At seven o’clock Hortense Damian came to fetch me to dine with her at -the house of the Baroness M——. She had a very nice home in Prince’s -Gate. There were about twenty guests, among others the painter, Millais. -I had been told that the _cuisine_ was very bad in England, but I -thought this dinner perfect. I had been told that the English were cold -and sedate. I found them charming and full of humor. Everyone spoke -French very well and I was ashamed of my ignorance of the English -language. After dinner there were recitations and music. I was touched -by the gracefulness and tact of my hosts in not asking me to say any -poetry. - -I was very much interested in observing the society in which I found -myself. It did not in any way resemble a French gathering. The young -girls seemed to be enjoying themselves on their own account and enjoying -themselves thoroughly. They had not come there to find a husband. What -surprised me a little was the _décolleté_ of ladies who were getting on -in years and to whom time had not been very merciful. I spoke of this to -Hortense Damian. - -“It’s frightful!” I said. - -“Yes, but it’s _chic_!” - -She was very charming, my friend Hortense, but she troubled about -nothing that was not _chic_. She sent me the “_Chic_ commandments” a few -days before I left Paris. - - Chester Square, tu habiteras. - Rotten Row, tu monteras. - Le Parlement visiteras. - Garden-parties fréquenteras. - Chaque visite, tu rendras. - A chaque lettre, tu repondras. - Photographies, tu signeras. - Hortense Damain, tu écouteras, - Et tous ses conseils, les suivras. - - (In Chester Square thou shalt live. - In Rotten Row thou shalt ride. - Parliament thou shalt visit. - Garden parties thou shalt frequent. - Every visit thou shalt return. - Every letter thou shalt answer. - Photographs thou shalt sign. - To Hortense Damian thou shalt listen, - And all her counsels thou shalt follow.) - -I laughed at these “commandments,” but I soon realized that, under this -jocular form, she considered them as very serious and important. Alas! -my poor friend had hit upon the wrong person for her counsels. I -detested paying visits, writing letters, signing photographs, or -following anyone’s advice. I adore having people come to see me, and I -detest going to see them. I adore receiving letters, reading them, -commenting on them, but I detest writing them. I detest riding and -driving in frequented parts, and I adore lonely roads and solitary -places. I adore giving advice and I detest receiving it, and I never -follow at once any wise advice that is given me. It always requires an -effort of my will to recognize the justice of any counsel, and then an -effort of my intellect to be grateful for it; at first it simply annoys -me. Consequently, I paid no attention to Hortense Damian’s counsels, nor -yet to Jarrett’s, and in this I made a great mistake, for many people -were vexed with me—and, in any other country, I should have made -enemies. On that first visit to London what a quantity of letters of -invitation I received to which I never replied! How many charming women -called upon me and I never returned their calls! Then, too, how many -times I accepted invitations to dinner and never went after all, nor did -I even send a line of excuse. It is perfectly odious, I know, and yet I -always accept with pleasure and intend to go; but when the day comes I -am tired, perhaps, or want to have a quiet time, or to be free from any -obligation, and when I am obliged to decide one way or another, the time -has gone by, and it is too late to send word and too late to go. And so -I stay at home, dissatisfied with myself, with everyone else, and with -everything. - -Hospitality is a quality made up of primitive taste and antique -grandeur. The English are, in my opinion, the most hospitable people on -earth, and they are hospitable simply and munificently. When an -Englishman has opened his door to you he never closes it again. He -excuses your faults and accepts your peculiarities. It is thanks to this -broadness of ideas that I have been for twenty-five years the beloved -and pampered _artiste_. - -I was delighted with my first _soirée_ in London, and I returned home -very gay and very much “anglomaniaized.” I found some of my friends -there—Parisians who had just arrived, and they were furious. My -enthusiasm exasperated them, and we sat up arguing until two in the -morning. - -The next day I went to Rotten Row. It was glorious weather, and all Hyde -Park seemed to be strewn with enormous bouquets. There were the flower -beds wonderfully arranged by the gardeners, then there were the clusters -of sunshades, blue, pink, red, white, or yellow, which sheltered the -light hats covered with flowers, under which shone the pretty faces of -babies and women. Along the riding path there was an exciting gallop of -graceful thoroughbreds bearing along some hundreds of horsewomen, -slender, supple, and courageous; there were men and children, the latter -mounted on big Irish ponies. There were other children, too, galloping -along on Scotch ponies with long, shaggy manes, and the children’s hair -and the manes of the horses blew about with the wind caused by the ride. - -The carriage road between the riding track and the foot passengers was -filled with dogcarts, open carriages of various kinds, mail coaches, and -very smart cabs. There were powdered footmen, horses decorated with -flowers, sportsmen driving, ladies, too, driving admirable horses. All -this elegance, this essence of luxury and this joy of life, brought back -to my memory the vision of our Bois de Boulogne, so elegant and so -animated a few years before, when Napoleon III used to drive through in -his _daumont_, nonchalant and smiling. Ah, how beautiful it was in those -days—our Bois de Boulogne! with the officers caracoling in the Avenue -des Acacias, admired by our beautiful society women! - -The joy of life was everywhere—the love of Love enveloping life with an -infinite charm. I closed my eyes, and I felt a pang at my heart as the -awful recollections of 1870 crowded to my brain. He was dead, our gentle -Emperor with his shrewd smile. Dead, vanquished by the sword, betrayed -by fortune, crushed with grief! - -The thread of life in Paris had been taken up again in all its -intenseness; but the life of elegance, of charm, and of luxury was still -shrouded in crape. Scarcely eight years had passed since the war had -struck down our soldiers, ruined our hopes, and tarnished our glory. -Three presidents had already succeeded each other. That wretched little -Thiers, with his perverse, _bourgeois_ soul, had worn his teeth out with -nibbling at every kind of government: royalty under Louis Philippe, -empire under Napoleon III, and the executive power of the French -Republic. He had never even thought of lifting our beloved Paris up -again, bowed down as she was under the weight of so many ruins. He had -been succeeded by MacMahon, a good, brave man, but a cipher. Grévy had -succeeded the marshal, but he was miserly and considered all outlay -unnecessary for himself, for other people, and for the country. And so -Paris remained sad, nursing the leprosy that the Commune had -communicated to her by the kiss of its fires. And our delightful Bois de -Boulogne still bore the traces of the injuries that the National Defense -had inflicted on her. The Avenue des Acacias was deserted. - -I opened my eyes again. They were filled with tears, and through their -mist I caught a glimpse once more of the triumphant vitality which -surrounded me. - -I wanted to return home at once, for I was acting that night for the -first time, and I felt rather wretched and despairing. There were -several persons awaiting me at my house in Chester Square, but I did not -want to see anyone. I took a cup of tea and went to the Gaiety Theater, -where we were to face the English public for the first time. I knew -already that I had been elected the favorite, and the idea of this -chilled me with terror, for I am what is known as a _traqueuse_. I am -subject to the _trac_ or stage fright, and I have it terribly. When I -first appeared on the stage I was timid, but I never had this _trac_. I -used to turn as red as a poppy when I happened to meet the eye of some -spectator. I was ashamed of talking so loud before so many silent -people. That was the effect of my cloistered life, but I found no -feeling of fear. The first time I ever had the real sensation of _trac_ -or stage fright, was in the month of January, 1869, at the seventh or -perhaps the eighth performance of “Le Passant.” The success of this -little masterpiece had been enormous, and my interpretation of the part -of _Zanetto_ had delighted the public, and particularly the students. -When I went on the stage that day I was suddenly applauded by the whole -house. I turned toward the Imperial box, thinking that the Emperor had -just entered. But no, the box was empty, and I realized then that all -the bravos were for me. I was seized with a fit of nervous trembling, -and my eyes smarted with tears that I had to keep back. Agar and I were -called back five times and, on leaving the theater, the students ranged -on each side gave me three cheers. On reaching home I flung myself into -the arms of my blind grandmother, who was then living with me. - -“What’s the matter with you, my dear?” she asked. - -“It’s all over with me, grandmother,” I said, “they want to make a -‘star’ of me, and I haven’t talent enough for that. You’ll see they’ll -drag me down and finish me off with all their bravos.” - -My grandmother took my head in her hands and I met the vacant look in -her large, light eyes fixed on me. “You told me, my child, that you -wanted to be the first in your profession, and when the opportunity -comes to you, why, you are frightened. It seems to me that you are a -very bad soldier.” - -I drove back my tears and declared that I would bear up courageously -against this success which had come to interfere with my tranquillity, -my heedlessness and my “don’t-careism.” But, from that time forth, fear -took possession of me, and stage fright martyrized me. - -It was under these conditions that I prepared for the second act of -“Phèdre,” in which I was to appear for the first time before the English -public. Three times over I put rouge on my cheeks, blackened my eyes, -and three times over I took it all off again with a sponge. I thought I -looked ugly, and it seemed to me I was thinner than ever and not as -tall. I closed my eyes to listen to my voice. My special pitch is _le -bal_, which I pronounced low down with the open a, _le bâââl_, or that I -take high by dwelling on the l—_le balll_. Ah! but there was no doubt -about it, my _le bal_ neither sounded high nor low, my voice was hoarse -in the low notes and not clear in the soprano. I cried with rage, and -just then I was informed that the second act of “Phèdre” was about to -commence. This drove me wild. I had not my veil on, nor my rings, and my -cameo belt was not fastened. - -I began to murmur: - - “Le voici! Vers mon cœur tout mon sang se retire. - J’oublie en le voyant....” - -That word _j’oublie_ struck me with a new idea. What if I did forget the -words I had to say? Why, yes.... What was it I had to say? I did not -know.... I could not remember.... What was I to say after _en le -voyant_...? - -No one answered me. Everyone was alarmed at my nervous state. I heard -Got mumble, “She’s going mad!” Mlle. Thénard, who was playing _Œnone_, -my old nurse, said to me: “Calm yourself, all the English have gone to -Paris, there’s no one in the house but Belgians.” - -This foolishly comic speech turned my thoughts in another direction. -“How stupid you are!” I said. “You know how frightened I was at -Brussels!” - -“Oh, all for nothing!” she answered calmly. “There were only English -people in the theater that day.” - -I had to go on the stage at once, and I could not even answer her, but -she had changed the current of my ideas. I still had stage fright, but -not the fright that paralyzes, only the kind that drives one wild. This -is bad enough, but it is preferable to the other sort. It makes one do -too much, but at any rate, one does something. - -The whole house had applauded my arrival on the stage for a few seconds, -and as I bent my head in acknowledgment, I said within myself: “Yes ... -yes ... you shall see. I’m going to give you my very blood ... my life -itself ... my soul....” - -When I began my part, as I had lost my self-possession, I started on -rather too high a note, and when once in full swing I could not get -lower again, I simply could not stop. I suffered, I wept, I implored, I -cried out, and it was all real. My suffering was horrible, my tears were -flowing—scorching and bitter. I implored _Hippolyte_ for the love which -was killing me, and my arms stretched out to Mounet-Sully were the arms -of _Phèdre_ writhing in the cruel longing for his embrace.... God was -within me—— - -When the curtain fell, Mounet-Sully lifted me up inanimate and carried -me to my dressing-room. - -The public, unaware of what was happening, wanted me to appear again and -bow. I, too, wanted to return and thank the public for its attention, -its kindliness, and its emotion. - -I went back, and the following is what John Murray said in the _Gaulois_ -of June 5, 1879: - - “When recalled with loud cries, Mlle. Bernhardt appeared, exhausted by - her efforts and supported by Mounet-Sully; she received an ovation - which I think is unique in the annals of the theater in England.” - -The following morning the _Daily Telegraph_ terminated its admirable -criticism with these lines: - - “Clearly Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt exerted every nerve and fiber and her - passion grew with the excitement of the spectators, for when after a - recall that could not be resisted the curtain drew up, Mr. - Mounet-Sully was seen supporting the exhausted figure of the actress, - who had won her triumph only after tremendous physical exertion, and - triumph it was, however short and sudden.” - -The _Standard_ finished its article with these words: - - “The subdued passion, repressed for a time, until at length it burst - its bonds, and the despairing, heartbroken woman is revealed to - _Hippolyte_, was shown with so vivid a reality that a scene of - enthusiasm such as is rarely witnessed in a theater followed the fall - of the curtain. Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt, in the few minutes she was upon - the stage (and coming on it must be remembered to plunge into the - middle of a stirring tragedy) yet contrived to make an impression - which will not soon be effaced from those who were present.” - -The _Morning Post_ said: - - “Very brief are the words spoken before _Phèdre_ rushes into the room - to commence tremblingly and nervously, with struggles which rend and - tear and convulse the system, the secret of her shameful love. As her - passion mastered what remained of modesty or reserve in her nature, - the woman sprang forward and recoiled again, with the movements of a - panther, striving, as it seemed, to tear from her bosom the heart - which stifled her with its unholy longings, until in the end, when, - terrified at the horror her breathings have provoked in _Hippolyte_, - she strove to pull his sword from its sheath and plunge it in her own - breast, she fell back in complete and absolute collapse. This - exhibition, marvelous in beauty of pose, in febrile force, in - intensity, and in purity of delivery, is the more remarkable as the - passion had to be reached, so to speak, at a bound, no performance of - the first act having roused the actress to the requisite heat. It - proved Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt worthy of her reputation, and shows what - may be expected from her by the public which has eagerly expected her - coming.” - -This London first night was definitive for my future. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - MY STAY IN ENGLAND - - -My intense desire to win over the English public had caused me to -overtax my strength. I had done my utmost at the first performance and -had not spared myself in the least. The consequence was that in the -night I vomited blood in such an alarming way that a messenger was -despatched to the French Embassy in search of a physician. Dr. Vintras, -who was at the head of the French Hospital in London, found me lying on -my bed, exhausted and looking more dead than alive. He was afraid that I -should not recover and requested that my family be sent for. I made a -gesture with my hand to the effect that it was not necessary. As I could -not speak, I wrote down with a pencil: “Send for Dr. Parrot.” - -Dr. Vintras remained with me part of the night, putting crushed ice -between my lips every five minutes. At length toward five in the morning -the blood vomiting ceased, and thanks to a potion that the doctor gave -me, I fell asleep. - -We were to play “L’Etrangère” that night at the Gaiety and, as my rôle -was not a very fatiguing one, I wanted to perform my part _quand-même_. - -Dr. Parrot arrived by the four o’clock boat and refused categorically to -give his consent. He had attended me from my childhood. I really felt -much better, and the feverishness had left me. I wanted to get up, but -to this Dr. Parrot objected. - -Presently, Dr. Vintras and Mr. Mayer, the _impresario_ of the Comédie -Française, were announced. Mr. Hollingshead, the director of the Gaiety -Theater, was waiting in a carriage at the door to know whether I was -going to play in “L’Etrangère,” the piece announced on the bills. I -asked Dr. Parrot to rejoin Dr. Vintras in the drawing-room and I gave -instructions for Mr. Mayer to be introduced into my room. - -“I feel much better,” I said to him, very quickly. “I’m very weak still, -but I will play. Ssh! ... don’t say a word here. Tell Hollingshead and -wait for me in the smoking room, but don’t let anyone else know.” - -I then got up and dressed very quickly. My maid helped me and, as she -had guessed what my plan was, she was highly amused. - -Wrapped in my cloak, with a lace fichu over my head, I joined Mayer in -the smoking room and then we both got into his hansom. - -“Come to me in an hour’s time,” I said in a low voice to my maid. - -“Where are you going?” asked Mayer, perfectly stupefied. - -“To the theater ... quick ... quick...!” I answered. - -The cab started and I then explained to him that if I had stayed at -home, neither Dr. Parrot nor Dr. Vintras would have let me act upon any -account. - -“The die is cast now,” I added, “and we shall see what happens.” - -When once I was at the theater I took refuge in the manager’s private -office, in order to avoid Dr. Parrot’s anger. I was very fond of him and -I knew how wrongly I was acting toward him, considering the -inconvenience to which he had put himself in making the journey -specially for me in response to my summons. I knew, though, how -impossible it would have been to have made him understand that I felt -really better, and that in risking my life I was really only risking -what was my own to dispose of as I pleased. - -Half an hour later my maid joined me. She brought with her a letter from -Dr. Parrot, full of gentle reproaches and furious advice, finishing with -a prescription, in case of a relapse. He was leaving an hour later and -would not even come and shake hands with me. I felt quite sure, though, -that we should make it all up again on my return. I then began to -prepare for my rôle in “L’Etrangère.” While dressing, I fainted three -times, but I was determined to play _quand-même_. - -The opium that I had taken in my potion made my head rather heavy. I -arrived on the stage in a semiconscious state, delighted with the -applause I received. I walked along as though I were in a dream and -could scarcely distinguish my surroundings. The house itself I saw only -through a luminous mist. My feet glided along on the carpet without any -effort, and my voice sounded to me far away, very far away. I was in -that delicious stupor that one experiences after chloroform, morphine, -opium, or hasheesh. - -The first act went off very well, but in the third act, just when I was -to tell the _Duchess de Septmonts_ (Croizette) all the troubles that I, -_Mrs. Clarkson_, had gone through during my life, just as I should have -commenced my interminable story I could not remember anything. Croizette -murmured my first phrase for me, but I could only see her lips move -without hearing a word. I then said quite calmly: - -“The reason I sent for you here, madame, is because I wanted to tell you -my reasons for acting as I have done, but I have thought it over and -have decided not to tell you them to-day.” - -Sophie Croizette gazed at me with a terrified look in her eyes, she then -rose and left the stage, her lips trembling, and her eyes fixed on me -all the time. - -“What’s the matter?” everyone asked when she sank almost breathless into -an armchair. - -“Sarah has gone mad!” she exclaimed. “I assure you she has gone quite -mad. She has cut out the whole of her scene with me.” - -“But how?” everyone asked. - -“She has cut out two hundred lines,” said Croizette. - -“But what for?” was the eager question. - -“I don’t know. She looks quite calm.” - -The whole of this conversation which was repeated to me later on took -much less time than it does now to write it down. Coquelin had been told -and he now came on to the stage to finish the act. The curtain fell. I -was stupefied and desperate afterwards on hearing all that people told -me. I had not noticed that anything was wrong, and it seemed to me that -I had played the whole of my part as usual, but I was really under the -influence of the opium. There was very little for me to say in the fifth -act, and I went through that perfectly well. The following day the -accounts in the papers sounded the praises of our company but the piece -itself was criticised. I was afraid at first that my involuntary -omission of the important part in the third act was one of the causes of -the severity of the press. This was not so, though, as all the critics -had read and re-read the piece. They discussed the play itself, and did -not mention my slip of memory. - -The _Figaro_, which was in a very bad humor with me just then, had an -article from which I quote the following extract: - - “‘L’Etrangère’ is not a piece in accordance with the English taste. - Mlle. Croizette, however, was applauded enthusiastically and so were - Coquelin and Febvre. Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt, nervous as usual, lost her - memory.” - -He knew perfectly well, worthy Mr. Johnson,[3] that I was very ill. He -had been to my house and seen Dr. Parrot, consequently he was aware that -I was acting in spite of the faculty in the interests of the Comédie -Française. The English public had given me such proofs of appreciation -that the Comédie was rather affected by it, and the _Figaro_, which was -at that time the organ of the Théâtre Française, requested Johnson to -modify his praises of me. This he did the whole time that we were in -London. - -Footnote 3: - - T. Johnson, London correspondent of _Le Figaro_. - -My reason for telling about my loss of memory, which was quite an -unimportant incident in itself, is merely to prove to authors how -unnecessary it is to take the trouble of explaining the characters of -their creations. Alexandre Dumas was certainly anxious to give us the -reasons which caused _Mrs. Clarkson_ to act as strangely as she did. He -had created a person who was extremely interesting and full of action as -the play proceeds. She reveals herself to the public, in the first act, -by the lines which _Mrs. Clarkson_ says to _Mme. de Septmonts_. “I -should be very glad, madame, if you would call on me. We could talk -about one of your friends, M. Gérard, whom I love perhaps, as much as -you do, although he does not perhaps care for me as he does for you.” - -That was quite enough to interest the public in these two women. It was -the eternal struggle of good and evil, the combat between Vice and -Virtue. But it evidently seemed rather commonplace to Dumas, ancient -history, in fact, and he wanted to rejuvenate the old theme by trying to -arrange for an orchestra with organ and banjo. The result he obtained -was a fearful cacophony. He wrote a foolish piece, which might have been -a beautiful one. The originality of his style, the loyalty of his ideas, -and the brutality of his humor sufficed for rejuvenating old ideas, -which, in reality, are the eternal basis of all tragedies, comedies, -novels, pictures, poems, and pamphlets. It was Love between Vice and -Virtue. Among the spectators who saw the first performance of -“L’Etrangère” in London, and there were quite as many French as English -present, not one remarked that there was something wanting, and not one -of them said that he had not understood the character. - -I talked about it to a very learned Frenchman. - -“Did you notice the gap in the third act?” I asked him. - -“No,” he replied. - -“In my big scene with Croizette?” - -“No.” - -“Well, then, read what I left out,” I insisted. - -When he had read this he exclaimed: “So much the better. It’s very dull, -all that story, and quite useless. I understand the character without -all that rigmarole and that romantic history.” - -Later on, when I apologized to Dumas _fils_ for the way in which I had -cut down his play, he answered: “Oh, my dear child, when I write a play -I think it is good, when I see it played I think it is stupid, and when -any anyone tells it to me, I think it is perfect, as the person always -forgets half of it.” - -The performances given by the Comédie Française drew a crowd nightly to -the Gaiety Theater, and I remained the favorite. I mention this now with -pride, but without any vanity. I was very happy and very grateful for my -success, but my comrades had a grudge against me on account of it, and -hostilities began in an underhand, treacherous way. - -Mr. Jarrett, my adviser and agent, had assured me that I should be able -to sell a few of my works, either my sculpture or paintings. I had, -therefore, taken with me six pieces of sculpture and ten pictures, and I -had an exhibition of them in Piccadilly. I sent out invitations, about a -hundred in all. - -His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, let me know that he would come -with the Princess of Wales. The English aristocracy and the celebrities -of London came to the inauguration. I had sent out only a hundred -invitations, but twelve hundred people arrived, and were introduced to -me. I was delighted and enjoyed it all immensely. - -Mr. Gladstone did me the great honor of talking to me for about ten -minutes. With his genial mind he spoke of everything in a singularly -gracious way. He asked me what impression the attacks of certain -clergymen on the Comédie Française and the damnable profession of -dramatic _artistes_, had made on me. I answered that I considered our -art quite as profitable, morally, as the sermons of Catholic and -Protestant preachers. - -“But will you tell me, mademoiselle,” he insisted, “what moral lesson -you can draw from ‘Phèdre’?” - -“Oh, Mr. Gladstone,” I replied, “you surprise me! ‘Phèdre’ is an ancient -tragedy; the morality and customs of those times belong to a perspective -quite different from ours, and different from the morality of our -present society. And yet in that there is the punishment of the old -nurse _Œnone_, who commits the atrocious crime of accusing an innocent -person. The love of _Phèdre_ is excusable on account of the fatality -which hangs over her family, and descends pitilessly upon her. In our -times we should call that fatality atavism, for _Phèdre_ was the -daughter of _Minos_ and _Pasiphæ_. As to _Theseus_, his verdict, against -which there could be no appeal, was an arbitrary and monstrous act, and -was punished by the death of that beloved son of his who was the sole -and last hope of his life. We ought never to cause what is irreparable.” - -“Ah!” said the Grand Old Man, “you are against capital punishment?” - -“Yes, Mr. Gladstone.” - -“And quite right, mademoiselle.” - -Frederic Leighton then joined us and with great kindness complimented me -on one of my pictures, representing a young girl holding some palms. -This picture was bought by Prince Leopold. - -My little exhibition was a great success, but I never thought that it -was to be the cause of so much gossip and of so many cowardly side -thrusts, until finally it led to my rupture with the Comédie Française. - -I had no pretensions either as a painter or a sculptor, and I exhibited -my works for the sake of selling them, as I wanted to buy two little -lions and had not money enough. I sold the pictures for what they were -worth, that is to say, at very modest prices. - -Lady H—— bought my group “After the Storm.” It was smaller than the -large group I had exhibited two years previously at the Paris Salon, and -for which I had received a prize. The smaller group was in marble, and I -had worked at it with the greatest care. I wanted to sell it for £160, -but Lady H—— sent me £400 together with a charming note, which I venture -to quote. It ran as follows: - - Do me the favour, Madame, of accepting the enclosed £400 for your - admirable group “After the Storm.” Will you also do me the honour of - coming to lunch with me and afterwards you shall choose for yourself - the place where your piece of sculpture will have the best light. - - ETHEL H——. - -This was Tuesday and I was playing in “Zaïre” that evening, but -Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday I was not acting. I had money enough now -to buy my lions, so without saying a word at the theater, I started for -Liverpool. I knew there was a big menagerie there, Cross’s Zoo, and that -I should find some lions for sale. - -The journey was most amusing, as although I was traveling incognito, I -was recognized all along the route and was made a great deal of. - -Three gentlemen friends and Hortense Damain were with me, and it was a -very lively little trip. I know that I was not shirking my duties at the -Comédie, as I was not to play again before Saturday, and this was only -Wednesday. - -We started in the morning at 10.30 A.M. and arrived in Liverpool about -2.30. We went at once to Cross’s, but could not find the entrance to the -house. We asked a shopkeeper at the corner of the street, and he pointed -to a little door which we had already opened and closed twice, as we -could not believe that was the entrance. - -I had seen a large iron gateway with a wide courtyard beyond, and we -were in front of a little door leading into quite a small, bare-looking -room, where we found a little man. - -“Mr. Cross?” we said. - -“That’s my name,” he replied. - -“I want to buy some lions,” I then said. - -He began to laugh, and he asked, - -“Do you really, mademoiselle? Are you so fond of animals? I went to -London last week to see the Comédie Française, and I saw you in -‘Hernani’ ...” - -“It wasn’t from that you discovered that I liked animals?” I said to -him. - -“No, it was a man who sells dogs in St. Andrew’s Street who told me; he -said you had bought two dogs from him and that if it had not been for -the gentleman who was with you, you would have bought five.” - -He told me all this in very bad French, but with a great deal of humor. - -“Well, Mr. Cross,” I said, “I want two lions to-day.” - -“I’ll show you what I have,” he replied, leading the way into the -courtyard where the wild beasts were. Oh, what magnificent creatures -they were! There were two superb African lions with shining coats and -powerful-looking tails which were beating the air. They had only just -arrived and they were in perfect health, with plenty of courage for -rebellion. They knew nothing of the resignation which is the dominating -stigma of civilized beings. - -“Oh, Mr. Cross,” I said, “these are too big, I want some young lions.” - -“I haven’t any, mademoiselle.” - -“Well, then, show me all your animals.” - -I saw the tigers, the leopards, the jackals, the chetahs, and the pumas, -and I stopped in front of the elephants. I simply adore them, and I -should have liked to have a dwarf elephant. That has always been one of -my dreams, and perhaps some day I shall be able to realize it. - -Cross had not any, though, so I bought a chetah. It was quite young and -very droll; it looked like a gargoyle on some castle of the Middle Ages. -I also bought a dog wolf, all white with a thick coat, fiery eyes, and -spearlike teeth. He was terrifying to look at. Mr. Cross made me a -present of six chameleons which belonged to a small race and looked like -lizards. He also gave me an admirable chameleon, a prehistoric, fabulous -sort of animal. It was a veritable Chinese curiosity and changed color -from pale green to dark bronze, at one minute slender and long like a -lily leaf, and then all at once puffed out and thick-set like a toad. -Its lorgnette eyes, like those of a lobster, were quite independent of -each other. With its right eye it would look ahead, and with its left -eye it looked backward. I was delighted and quite enthusiastic over this -present. I named my chameleon “Cross-ci Cross-ça,” in honor of Mr. -Cross. - -We returned to London with the chetah in a cage, the dog wolf in a -leash, my six little chameleons in a box, and “Cross-ci Cross-ça” on my -shoulder, fastened to a gold chain we had bought at a jeweler’s. I had -not found any lions but I was delighted all the same. My domestics were -not as pleased as I was. There were already three dogs in the house: -Minniccio who had accompanied me from Paris, Bull and Fly, bought in -London. Then there was my parrot, Bizibouzon, and my monkey, Darwin. - -Mme. Guérard screamed when she saw these new guests arrive. My butler -hesitated to approach the dog wolf, and it was all in vain that I -assured them that my chetah was not dangerous. No one would open the -cage, and it was carried out into the garden. I asked for a hammer in -order to open the door of the cage that had been nailed down, thus -keeping the poor chetah a prisoner. When my domestics heard me ask for -the hammer, they decided to open it themselves. Mme. Guérard and the -women servants watched from the windows. Presently the door burst open, -and the chetah, beside himself with joy, sprang like a tiger out of his -cage, wild with liberty. He rushed at the trees, made straight for the -dogs, who all four began to howl with terror. The parrot was excited, -and uttered shrill cries and the monkey, shaking his cage about, gnashed -his teeth to distraction. This concert in the silent square made the -most prodigious effect. All the windows were opened and more than twenty -faces appeared above my garden wall, all of them inquisitive, alarmed, -or furious. I was seized with a fit of uncontrollable laughter, and my -friend Louise Abbéma; Nittis, the painter, who had come to call on me, -was in the same state, and Gustave Doré, who had been waiting for me -ever since two o’clock. Georges Deschamp, an amateur musician, with a -great deal of talent, tried to note down this Hoffmanesque harmony, -while my friend, Georges Clairin, his back shaking with laughter, -sketched the never-to-be-forgotten scene. - -The next day in London the chief topic of conversation was the Bedlam -that had been let loose at 77, Chester Square. So much was made of it -that our dean, M. Got, came to beg me not to make such a scandal, as it -reflected on the Comédie Française. I listened to him in silence and -when he had finished I took his hands. - -“Come with me and I will show you the scandal,” I said. I conducted him -into the garden. - -“Let the chetah out!” I said, standing on the steps like a captain -ordering his men to take in a reef. - -When the chetah was free the same mad scene occurred again as on the -previous day. - -“You see, M. le Doyen,” I said, “this is my Bedlam.” - -“You are mad,” he said, kissing me, “but it certainly is irresistibly -comic,” and he laughed until the tears came when he saw all the heads -appearing above the garden wall. - -The hostilities continued, though by means of scraps of gossip retailed -by one person to another and from one set to another. The French Press -took it up and so did the English Press. In spite of my happy -disposition and my contempt for ill-natured tales, I began to feel -irritated. Injustice has always roused me to revolt, and injustice was -certainly having its fling. I could not do a thing that was not watched -and blamed. - -One day I was complaining of this to Madeleine Brohan, whom I loved -dearly. That adorable _artiste_ took my face in her hands, and looking -into my eyes, said: “My poor dear, you can’t do anything to prevent it. -You are original without trying to be so. You have a dreadful head of -hair that is naturally curly and rebellious, your slenderness is -exaggerated, you have a natural harp in your throat, and all this makes -of you a creature apart, which is a crime of high treason against all -that is commonplace. That is what is the matter with you physically. Now -for your moral defects. You cannot hide your thoughts, you cannot stoop -to anything, you never accept any compromise, you will not lend yourself -to any hypocrisy, and all that is a crime of high treason against -society. How can you expect under these conditions not to arouse -jealousy, not to wound people’s susceptibilities, and not to make them -spiteful? If you are discouraged because of these attacks, it will be -all over with you, as you will have no strength left to withstand them. -In that case I advise you to brush your hair, to put oil on it, and so -make it lie as sleek as that of the famous Corsican, but even that would -never do, for Napoleon had such sleek hair that it was quite original. -Well, you might try to brush your hair as smooth as Prudhon’s,[4] then -there would be no risk for you. I would advise you,” she continued, “to -get a little stouter and to let your voice break occasionally, then you -would not annoy anyone. But if you wish to remain _yourself_, my dear, -prepare to mount on a little pedestal made of calumny, scandal, -injustice, adulation, flattery, lies, and truths. When you are once upon -it, though, do the right thing, and cement it by your talent, your work, -and your kindness. All the spiteful people who have unintentionally -provided the first materials for the edifice will kick it, then, in -hopes of destroying it. They will be powerless to do this, though, if -you choose to prevent them; and that is just what I hope for you, my -dear Sarah, as you have an ambitious thirst for glory. I cannot -understand that, myself, as I like only rest and shade.” - -Footnote 4: - - Prudhon was one of the _artistes_ of the Théâtre Français. - -[Illustration: SARAH BERNHARDT, FROM AN OIL PAINTING BY MLLE. LOUISE -ABBÉMA.] - -I looked at her with envy, she was so beautiful with her liquid eyes, -her face with its pure, restful lines and her weary smile. I wondered in -an uneasy way if happiness were not rather in this calm tranquillity, in -the disdain of all things. I asked her gently if this were so, for I -wanted to know, and she told me that the theater bored her, that she had -had so many disappointments. She shuddered when she spoke of her -marriage, and as to her motherhood, that had only caused her sorrow. Her -love affairs had left her affections crushed and physically disabled. -The light seemed doomed to fade from her beautiful eyes, her legs were -swollen, and could scarcely carry her. She told me all this in the same -calm, half weary tone. - -What had charmed me only a short time before chilled me to the heart -now, for her dislike to movement was caused by the weakness of her eyes -and her legs, and her delight in the shade was only the love of that -peace which was so necessary to her, wounded as she was by the life she -had lived. - -The love of life, though, took possession of me more violently than -ever. I thanked my dear friend, and profited by her advice. I armed -myself for the struggle, preferring to die in the midst of the battle -rather than to end my life regretting that it had been a failure. I made -up my mind not to weep over the base things that were said about me, and -not to suffer any more injustices. I made up my mind, too, to stand on -the defensive and very soon an occasion presented itself. - -“L’Etrangère” was to be played for the second time at a matinée, June -21, 1879. The day before I had sent word to Mayer that I was not well -and that as I was playing in “Hernani” at night, I should be glad if he -could change the play announced for the afternoon if possible. The -receipts, however, were more than £400 and the Committee would not hear -of it. - -“Oh, well,” Got said to Mr. Mayer, “we must give the rôle to some one -else if Sarah Bernhardt cannot play. There will be Croizette, Madeleine -Brohan, Coquelin, Febvre, and myself in the cast, and, hang it all, it -seems to me that all of us together will make up for Mlle. Bernhardt.” - -Coquelin was requested to ask Lloyd to take my part, as she had played -this rôle at the Comédie when I was ill. Lloyd was afraid to undertake -it, though, and refused. It was decided to change the play, and -“Tartuffe” was given instead of “L’Etrangère.” Nearly all of the public, -however, asked to have their money refunded, and the receipts, which -would have been about £500, only amounted to £84. - -All the spite and jealousy now broke loose, and the whole company of the -Comédie, more particularly the men, with the exception of Mr. Worms, -started a campaign against me. Francisque Sarcey, as drum major, beat -the measure with his terrible pen in his hand. The most foolish, -slanderous, and stupid inventions and the most odious lies took their -flight like a cloud of wild ducks and swooped suddenly down upon all the -newspapers that were against me. It was said that for a shilling anyone -might see me dressed as a man; that I smoked huge cigars leaning on the -balcony of my house; that at the various receptions where I gave one-act -plays, I took my maid with me for the dialogue; that I practiced fencing -in my garden, dressed as a _pierrot_ in white, and that when taking -boxing lessons, I had broken two teeth for my unfortunate professor. - -Some of my friends advised me to take no notice of all these turpitudes, -assuring me that the public could not possibly believe them. They were -mistaken, though, for the public likes to believe bad things about -anyone, as these are always more amusing than the good things. I soon -had a proof that the English public was beginning to believe what the -French papers said. I received a letter from a tailor asking me if I -would consent to wear a coat of his make when I appeared in masculine -attire, and not only did he offer me this coat for nothing, but he was -willing to pay me a hundred pounds if I would wear it. This man was -quite an ill-bred person, but he was sincere. I received several boxes -of cigars, and the boxing and fencing professors wrote to offer their -services gratuitously. All this annoyed me to such a degree that I -resolved to put an end to it. An article by Albert Wolff in the Paris -_Figaro_ caused me to take steps to cut matters short. - -And I wrote in reply to it as follows: - - ALBERT WOLFF, FIGARO, PARIS: - - And you, too, my dear M. Wolff—you believe in such insanities? Who can - have been giving you such false information? Yes, you are my friend, - though, for in spite of all the infamies you have been told you have - still a little indulgence left. Well, then, I give you my word of - honor that I have never dressed as a man here in London. I did not - even bring my sculptor costume with me. I give the most emphatic - denial to this misrepresentation. I only went once to the exhibition - which I organized, and that was on the opening day, for which I had - only sent out a few private invitations, so that no one paid a - shilling to see me. It is true that I have accepted some private - engagements to act, but you know that I am one of the most poorly paid - members of the Comédie Française. I certainly have the right, - therefore, to try to make up the difference. I have ten pictures and - eight pieces of sculpture on exhibition. That, too, is quite true, but - as I brought them over here to sell I really must show them. As to the - respect due to the House of Molière, dear M. Wolff, I lay claim to - keeping that in mind more than anyone else, for I am absolutely - incapable of inventing such calumnies for the sake of slaying one of - its standard-bearers. And now, if the stupidities invented about me - have annoyed the Parisians and if they have decided to receive me - ungraciously on my return, I do not wish anyone to be guilty of such - baseness on my account, so I will send in my resignation to the - Comédie Française. If the London public is tired of all this fuss and - should be inclined to show me ill-will instead of the indulgence - hitherto accorded me, I shall ask the Comédie to allow me to leave - England in order to spare our company the annoyance of seeing one of - its members hooted at and hissed. I am sending you this letter by - wire, as the consideration I have for public opinion gives me the - right to commit such folly, and I beg you, dear M. Wolff, to accord to - my letter the same honor as you did to the calumnies of my enemies. - - With very kind regards, - Yours sincerely, - SARAH BERNHARDT. - -This telegram caused much ink to flow. While treating me as a spoiled -child, people generally agreed that I was quite right. The Comédie was -most amiable, Perrin, the manager, wrote me an affectionate letter -begging me to give up my idea of leaving the company. The women were -most friendly. Croizette came to see me and putting her arms round me -said: “Tell me you won’t do such a thing, my dear, foolish child. You -won’t really send in your resignation? In the first place it would not -be accepted, I can answer for that.” - -Mounet-Sully talked to me of art and of probity. His whole speech -savored of Protestantism. There are several Protestant pastors in his -family and this influenced him unconsciously. Delaunay, surnamed Father -Candor, came solemnly to inform me of the bad impression my telegram had -made. He told me that the Comédie Française was a ministry; that there -was the minister, the secretary, the subchiefs and the employés, and -that each one must conform to the rules and bring in his share either of -talent or work, and so on and so on.... I saw Coquelin at the theater in -the evening. He came to me with outstretched hands. - -“You know I can’t compliment you,” he said, “on your rash action, but -fortunately we shall make you change your mind. When one has the good -fortune and the honor of belonging to the Comédie Française one must -remain there until the end of one’s career.” - -Frédéric Febvre pointed out to me that I ought to stay with the Comédie -because it would save money for me and I was quite incapable of doing -that myself. - -“Believe me,” he said, “when we are with the Comédie we must not leave, -it means our bread provided for us later on.” - -Got, our dean, then approached me. - -“Do you know what you are doing in sending in your resignation?” he -asked. - -“No,” I replied. - -“Deserting.” - -“You are mistaken,” I answered, “I am not deserting; I am changing -barracks.” - -Others then came to me and they all gave me advice tinged by their own -personality, Mounet, as a seer or believer, Delaunay prompted by his -bureaucratic soul, Coquelin as a politician blaming another person’s -idea now, but extolling it later on and putting it into practice for his -own profit—Febvre, a lover of respectability—Got, as a selfish old -growler, understanding nothing but the orders of the powers that be and -advancement as ordained on hierarchical lines. Worms said to me in his -melancholy way: - -“Will people be better elsewhere?” - -Worms had the most dreamy soul and the most frank, straightforward -character of any member of our illustrious company. I liked him -immensely. - -We were about to return to Paris and I wanted to forget all these things -for a time. I was in a hesitating mood. I postponed taking a definite -decision. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - I AGAIN LEAVE THE COMÉDIE FRANÇAISE - - -The stir that had been made about me, the good that had been said in my -favor, and the bad things written against me, all this combined had -created in the artistic world an atmosphere of battle. When on the point -of leaving for Paris, some of my friends felt very anxious about the -reception which I should get there. The public is very much mistaken in -imagining that the agitation made about celebrated _artistes_ is in -reality instigated by the persons concerned and that they do it -purposely. Irritated at seeing the same name constantly appearing on -every occasion the public declares that the _artiste_ who is either -being slandered or pampered is an ardent lover of publicity. Alas! three -times over alas! We are victims of the said advertisement. Those who -know the joys and miseries of celebrity when they have passed the age of -forty know how to defend themselves. They are at the beginning of a -series of small worries, thunderbolts hidden under flowers, but they -know how to hold in check that monster advertisement. It is a sort of -octopus with innumerable tentacles. It throws out its clammy arms on the -right and on the left, in front and behind, and gathers in through its -thousand little inhaling organs, all the gossip and slander and praise -afloat to spit out again at the public when it is vomiting its black -gall. But those who are caught in the clutches of celebrity at the age -of twenty know nothing. I remember that the first time a reporter came -to me I drew myself up straight and was as red as a coxcomb with joy. I -was just seventeen years old—I had been acting in a private house and -had taken the part of _Richelieu_ with immense success. This gentleman -came to call on me at home and asked me first one question and then -another, and then another—I answered and chattered and was wild with -pride and excitement. He took notes and I kept looking at my mother. It -seemed to me that I was getting taller. I had to kiss my mother by way -of keeping my composure and I hid my face on her shoulder to hide my -delight. Finally, the gentleman rose, shook hands with me, and then took -his departure. I skipped about in the room and began to turn round -singing, “_Trois petits pâtés, ma chemise brûle_,” when suddenly the -door opened and the gentleman said to mamma, “Oh, madame, I forgot, this -is the receipt for the subscription to the journal! It is a mere -nothing, only sixteen francs a year.” Mamma did not understand at first. -As for me, I stood still with my mouth open, unable to digest my _petits -pâtés_. Mamma then paid the sixteen francs and in her pity for me, as I -was crying by that time, she stroked my hair gently. Since then I have -been delivered over to the monster, bound hand and foot, and I have been -and still am accused of adoring advertisement. And to think that my -first claims to celebrity were my extraordinary thinness and delicate -health. I had scarcely made my début when epigrams, puns, jokes, and -caricatures concerning me were indulged in by everyone to their heart’s -content. Was it really for the sake of advertising myself that I was so -thin, so small, so weak, and was it for this, too, that I remained in -bed six months of the year, laid low by illness? My name became -celebrated before I was, myself. At the first night of Louis Bouilhet’s -piece “Mlle. Aïssé” at the Odéon, Flaubert, who was an intimate friend -of the author, introduced an attaché of the British Embassy to me. - -[Illustration: SARAH BERNHARDT AS THE _DUC DE RICHELIEU_.] - -“Oh, I have known you for some time, mademoiselle,” he said, “you are -the little stick with the sponge on the top!” - -This caricature of me had just appeared and had been the delight of idle -folks. I was quite a young girl at that time and nothing of that kind -hurt me or troubled me. In the first place all the doctors had given me -up, so that I was indifferent about things, but all the doctors were -mistaken and twenty years later I had to fight against the monster. - -The return of the Comédie to their homes was an event, but an event that -was kept quiet. Our departure from Paris had been very lively and gay -and quite a public event. Our return was clandestine for many of the -members, and for me among the number. It was a doleful return for those -who had not been appreciated and those who had been failures were -furious. I had not been back home an hour when Perrin, the manager, was -announced. He began to reproach me gently about the little care I took -of my health. He said I caused too much fuss to be made about me. - -“But,” I exclaimed, “is it my fault if I am thin? Is it my fault, too, -that my hair is too curly and that I don’t think just as other people -do? Supposing that I took arsenic enough, for a whole month, to make me -swell out like a barrel and supposing I were to shave my head like an -Arab and only answer ‘Yes’ to everything you said. People would declare -I did it for advertisement.” - -“But, my dear child,” answered Perrin, “there are people who are neither -fat nor thin, neither close shaven nor with shocks of hair, and who -answer yes and no.” - -I was simply petrified by the justice and reason of the remark and I -understand the “because” of all the “whys” I had been asking myself for -some years. There was no happy medium about me. I was “too much” and -“too little” and I felt that there was nothing to be done for it. I -owned it to Perrin and told him that he was quite right. He took -advantage of my mood for lecturing me and for advising me not to put in -an appearance at the opening ceremony that was to take place at the -Comédie. He feared a cabal against me. “Some people were rather excited, -rightly or wrongly, a little of both,” he added, in that shrewd and -courteous way which was peculiar to him. I listened to him without -interrupting, which slightly embarrassed him, for Perrin was an arguer -but not an orator. - -When he had finished I said: “You have told me too many things that -excite me, M. Perrin. I love a battle and I shall appear at the -ceremony. You see I have already been warned about it. Here are three -anonymous letters. Read this one, it is the nicest.” - -He unfolded the letter, which was perfumed with amber, and read as -follows: - - My poor skeleton, you will do well not to show your horrible Jewish - nose at the opening ceremony the day after to-morrow. I fear that it - would serve as a target for all the potatoes that are now being cooked - specially for you in your kind city of Paris. Have some paragraphs put - in the papers to the effect that you have been spitting blood and - remain in bed and think over the consequences of excessive - advertisement. - - A SUBSCRIBER - -Perrin pushed the letter away from him in disgust. - -“Here are two more,” I said, “but they are so coarse that I will spare -you. I shall go to the opening ceremony.” - -“Good!” replied Perrin. “They are rehearsing to-morrow, shall you come?” - -“I shall come,” I answered. - -The next day at the rehearsal the _artistes_, men and women, did not -care about going on to the stage to make their bow with me. I must say, -though, that they all nevertheless showed much good grace. But I -declared that I wished to go on alone, although it was against the rule, -but I thought I ought to face the ill humor and the cabal alone. - -The house was crowded when the curtain rose. The ceremony commenced in -the midst of “Bravos!” The public was delighted to see its beloved -_artistes_ again. They advanced two by two, one on the right and the -other on the left, holding the palm and the crown to place on the -pedestal of Molière’s bust. My turn came and I advanced alone. I felt -that I was pale and then livid, with a will that was determined to -conquer. I went forward slowly toward the footlights, but instead of -bowing as my comrades had done I stood up erect and gazed with my two -eyes into all the eyes turning toward me. I had been warned of the -battle and did not wish to provoke it, but I would not fly from it. I -waited a second and felt the thrill and the emotion that ran through the -house, and then, suddenly stirred by an impulse of generous kindliness, -the whole house burst into wild applause and shouts. The public, so -beloved and so loving, was intoxicated with joy. That was certainly one -of the finest triumphs of my whole career. Some of the _artistes_ were -very delighted, especially the women, for there is one thing to remark -with regard to our art, the men are more jealous of the women than the -women are among themselves. I have met with many enemies among the men -comedians and with very few among the women. I think that the dramatic -art is essentially feminine. To paint one’s face, to hide one’s real -feelings, to try to please and to endeavor to attract attention, these -are all faults for which we blame women and for which great indulgence -is shown. These same defects seem odious in a man. And yet the actor -must endeavor to be as attractive as possible, even if he is obliged to -have recourse to paint and to false beard and hair. He may be a -Republican and he must uphold with warmth and conviction royalist -theories. He may be a Conservative and must maintain anarchist -principles, if such be the good pleasure of the author. - -At the Théâtre Français poor Maubant was a most advanced Radical and his -stature and handsome face doomed him to play the parts of kings, -emperors, and tyrants. As long as the rehearsals went on, Charlemagne or -Cæsar could be heard swearing at tyrants, cursing the conquerors, and -claiming the hardest punishments for them. I thoroughly enjoyed this -struggle between the man and the actor. Perhaps this perpetual -abstraction from himself gives the comedian a more feminine nature. -However that may be, it is certain that the actor is jealous of the -actress. The courtesy of the well-educated man vanishes before the -footlights, and the comedian, who in private life would render a service -to a woman in any difficulty, will pick a quarrel with her on the stage. -He would risk his life to save her from any danger in the road, on the -railway, or on a boat, but when once on the boards he will not do -anything to help her out of a difficulty. If her memory should fail, or -if she should make a false step, he would not hesitate to push her—I am -going a long way, perhaps, but not so far as people may think. I have -performed with some celebrated comedians who have played me some bad -tricks. On the other hand, there are some actors who are admirable and -who are more men than comedians when on the stage. Pierre Berton, Worms, -and Guitry are, and always will be, the most perfect models of friendly -and protecting courtesy toward the woman comedian. I have played in a -number of pieces with each of them and, subject as I am to stage fright, -I have always felt perfect confidence when acting with these three -_artistes_. I knew that their intelligence was of a high order, that -they had pity on me for my fright, and that they would be prepared for -any nervous weaknesses caused by it. Pierre Berton and Worms, both of -them very great _artistes_, left the stage in full artistic vigor and -vital strength, Pierre Berton to devote himself to literature, and -Worms—no one knows why. As to Guitry, much the youngest of the three, he -is now the first _artiste_ on the French stage, for he is an admirable -comedian and at the same time an artist, a very rare thing in a man. I -know very few _artistes_ in France or in other countries with these two -qualities combined. Henry Irving is an admirable _artiste_ but not a -comedian; Coquelin is an admirable comedian, but he is not an _artiste_. -Mounet-Sully has genius which he sometimes places at the service of the -_artiste_ and sometimes at the service of the comedian, but on the other -hand, he sometimes gives us exaggerations as _artiste_ and comedian -which make lovers of Beauty and Truth gnash their teeth. Bartet is a -perfect _comedienne_ with a very delicate artistic sense. Réjane is the -most comedian of comedians and an _artiste_ when she wishes to be. -Eleonora Duse is more a comedian than an _artiste_. She walks in paths -that have been traced out by others. She does not imitate them, -certainly not, for she plants flowers where there were trees and trees -where there were flowers, but she has never by her art made a single -personage stand out identified by her name; she has not created a being -or a vision which reminds one of herself. She has put on other people’s -gloves, but she has put them on inside out. And all this she has done -with infinite grace and with careless unconsciousness. She is a great -comedienne, a very great comedienne, but not a great _artiste_. Novelli -is a comedian of the old school which did not trouble much about the -artistic side. He is perfect in laughter and tears. Beatrice Patrick -Campbell is especially an _artiste_ and her talent is that of charm and -thought; she execrates beaten paths, she wants to create and she -creates. Antoine is often betrayed by his own powers, for his voice is -heavy and his general appearance rather ordinary. As a comedian there is -therefore often much to be desired, but he is always an _artiste_ -without equal and our art owes much to him in its evolution in the -direction of truth. Antoine, too, is not jealous of the woman comedian. - -The days which followed the return of the Comédie to its own home were -very trying for me. Our manager wanted to subdue me and he tortured me -with a thousand little pin pricks which were much more painful for a -nature like mine than so many stabs with a knife. I became irritable, -bad tempered, on the slightest provocation and was, in fact, ill. I had -always been gay and now I was sad. My health, which had ever been -feeble, was endangered by this state of chaos. - -Perrin gave me the rôle of the _Aventurière_ to study. I detested the -piece and did not like the part, and I considered the lines of -“L’Aventurière” very bad poetry indeed. As I cannot dissimulate well, in -a fit of temper I said this straight out to Emile Augier, and he avenged -himself in a most discourteous way on the first opportunity that -presented itself. This was on the occasion of my definite rupture with -the Comédie Française, the day after the first performance of -“L’Aventurière” on Saturday, April 17, 1880. I was not ready to play my -part and the proof of this was a letter I wrote to M. Perrin, April 14, -1880. - - I regret very much, my dear Monsieur Perrin, but I have such a sore - throat that I cannot speak and am obliged to stay in bed. Will you - kindly excuse me? It was at that wretched Trocadéro that I took cold - on Sunday. I am very much worried, as I know it will cause you - inconvenience. Anyhow, I will be ready for Saturday, whatever happens. - A thousand excuses and kind regards. - - SARAH BERNHARDT. - -I was able to play, as I had recovered from my sore throat, but I had -not studied my part during the three days, as I could not speak. I had -not been able to try on my costumes, either, as I had been in bed all -the time. On Friday I went to ask Perrin to put off the performance of -“L’Aventurière” until the next week. He replied that it was impossible, -that every seat was booked, and that the piece had to be played the -following Tuesday for the subscription night. I let myself be persuaded -to act, as I had confidence in my star. - -“Oh!” I said to myself, “I shall get through it all right.” - -I did not get through it, though, or rather I came through it very -badly. My costume was a failure: it did not fit me. They had always -jeered at me for my thinness and in this dress I looked like an English -teapot. My voice was still rather hoarse, which very much disconcerted -me. I played the first part of the rôle very badly and the second part -rather better. At a certain moment during the scene of violence I was -standing up, resting my two hands on the table on which there was a -lighted candelabrum. There was a cry raised in the house, for my hair -was very near to the flame. The following day one of the papers said -that, as I felt things were all going wrong, I wanted to set my hair on -fire so that the piece should come to an end before I failed completely. -That was certainly the very climax of stupidity. The press did not -praise me and the press was quite right. I had played badly, looked -ugly, and been in a bad temper, but I considered that there was -nevertheless a want of courtesy and indulgence toward me. Auguste Vitu, -in the _Figaro_ of April 18, 1880, finished his article with the phrase: -“The new _Clorinde_ (the _Adventuress_) in the last two acts made some -gestures with her arms and movements of her body which one regrets to -see taken from _Virginie_ of “L’Assommoir” and introduced at the Comédie -Française.” - -The only fault which I never have had, which I never shall have, is -vulgarity. That was an injustice and a determination to hurt my -feelings. Vitu was no friend of mine, but I understood from this way of -attacking me that petty hatreds were lifting up their rattlesnake heads. -All the low-down little viper world was crawling about under my flowers -and my laurels. I had known what was going on for a long time, and -sometimes I had heard rattling behind the scenes. I wanted to have the -enjoyment of hearing them all rattle together and so I threw my laurels -and my flowers to the four winds of heaven. In the most abrupt way I -broke the contract which bound me to the Comédie Française, and through -that to Paris. - -I shut myself up all the morning, and after endless discussions with -myself, I decided to send in my resignation to the Comédie. I therefore -wrote to M. Perrin, this letter: - - TO THE DIRECTOR: - - You have compelled me to play when I was not ready. You have accorded - me only eight rehearsals on the stage and the play has been rehearsed - entirely only three times. I was very unwilling to appear before the - public. You insisted absolutely. What I foresaw has happened. The - result of the performance has surpassed my anticipations. A critic - pretended that I played _Virginie de l’Assommoir_ instead of _Doña - Clorinde de “l’Aventurière.”_ May Emile Augier and Zola absolve me! It - is my first rebuff at the Comédie and shall be my last. I warned you - the day of the general rehearsal. You have gone too far. I keep my - word. By the time you receive this letter I shall have left Paris. - Will you kindly accept my immediate resignation and believe me, yours - sincerely, - - SARAH BERNHARDT. - -In order that this resignation might not be refused at the Committee -meeting I sent copies of my letter to the _Gaulois_ and the _Figaro_, -and it was published at the same time as M. Perrin received it. - -Then, quite decided not to be influenced by anybody, I set off at once, -with my maid, for Hâvre. I had left orders that no one was to be told -where I was, and the first evening I was there I passed in strict -incognito. But the next morning I was recognized and telegrams were sent -to Paris to that effect. I was besieged by reporters. - -I took refuge at La Hêve where I spent the whole day on the beach in -spite of the cold rain which fell without ceasing. - -[Illustration: SARAH BERNHARDT, 1879.] - -I went back to the Hotel Frascati, frozen, and in the night I was so -feverish that the doctor was summoned. Mme. Guérard, who was sent for by -my alarmed maid, came at once, and I was feverish for two days. During -this time the newspapers continued to pour out a flood of ink on paper. -This turned to bitterness and I was accused of the worst misdeeds. The -Committee sent a _huissier_ to my hotel in the Avenue de Villiers, and -this man declared that after having knocked three times at the door and -having received no answer he had left copy, etc., etc.... - -The man was lying. In the hotel there were my son and his tutor, my -steward, the husband of my maid, my butler, the cook, the kitchenmaid, -the second lady’s maid, and five dogs; but it was all in vain that I -protested against the minion of the law; it was useless. - -The Comédie must, according to the rules, send me three summonses; this -was not done and a lawsuit was commenced against me. It was lost in -advance. - -Maître Allon, the advocate of the Comédie Française, invented wicked -little histories about me. He took a pleasure in trying to make me -ridiculous. He had a big file of letters from me to Perrin, letters -which I had written in softer moments or in anger. Perrin had kept them -all, even the shortest notes. I had kept none of his. The few letters to -myself from Perrin which have been published were given by him from his -letter-copy book. Of course he gave only those which could inspire the -public with an idea of his paternal kindness to me etc., etc.... - -The pleading of Maître Allon was very successful; he claimed three -hundred thousand francs damages, in addition to the confiscation for the -benefit of the Comédie Française, of the 43,000 francs which that -theater owed me. - -Maître Barboux was my advocate. He was an intimate friend of Perrin. He -defended me very indifferently. I was condemned to pay a hundred -thousand francs to the Comédie Française and to lose the 43,000 francs -which I had left with the management. I may say that I did not trouble -much about this law suit. - -Three days after my resignation Jarrett called upon me. He proposed to -me for the third time to make a contract for America. This time I lent -an ear to his propositions. We had never spoken about prices and this is -what he proposed: - -Five thousand francs for each performance and the half of the takings -above 15,000 francs; that is to say, if the day the receipts reached the -sum of 20,000 francs, I should receive 7,500 francs. In addition: 1,000 -francs per week for my hotel bill; also, a special Pullman for my -journeys, containing my bedroom, a drawing-room with a piano, four beds -for my staff, and two cooks to cook for me on the way. Mr. Jarrett was -to have ten per cent. on all sums received by me. - -I accepted everything. I was anxious to leave Paris. Jarrett immediately -sent a telegram to Mr. Abbey, the great American _impresario_, and he -landed on this side thirteen days later. I signed the contract made by -Jarrett, which was discussed clause by clause with the American manager. - -I was given, on signing the contract, 100,000 francs as advance payment -for the expenses of departure. I was to play eight pieces: “Hernani,” -“Phèdre,” “Adrienne Lecouvreur,” “Froufrou,” “La Dame aux Camélias,” “Le -Sphinx,” “L’Etrangère,” and “La Princesse George.” - -I ordered twenty-five costumes for town wear at Laferrière’s, with whom -I then dealt. - -At Baron’s I ordered six costumes for “Adrienne Lecouvreur,” and four -costumes for “Hernani.” I ordered from a young theater _costumier_ named -Lepaul, my costume for “Phèdre.” These thirty-six costumes cost me -61,000 francs; but out of this my costume for “Phèdre” alone cost 4,000 -francs. The poor _artiste-costumier_ had embroidered it himself. It was -a marvel. It was brought to me two days before my departure and I cannot -think of this moment without emotion. Irritated by long waiting, I was -writing an angry letter to the _costumier_ when he was announced. At -first I received him very badly, but I found him looking so ill, the -poor man, that I made him sit down and asked how he came to be so ill. - -“Yes, I am not at all well,” he said in such a weak voice, that I was -quite upset. “I wanted to finish this dress and I have worked at it -three days and nights. But look how nice it is, your costume!” And he -spread it out with loving respect before me. - -“Look!” remarked Guérard, “a little spot!” - -“Ah, I pricked myself,” answered the poor _artiste_ quickly. - -But I had just caught sight of a drop of blood at the corner of his -lips. He wiped it quickly away so that it should not fall on the pretty -costume as the other little spot had done. I gave the _artiste_ the -4,000 francs, which he took with trembling hands. He murmured some -unintelligible words and withdrew. - -“Take away this costume, take it away!” I cried to my _petite dame_ and -my maid. And I cried so much that I had the hiccough all the evening. -Nobody understood why I was crying. But I reproached myself bitterly for -having worried the poor man. It was plain that he was dying. And by the -force of circumstances I had unwittingly forged the first link of the -chain of death which was dragging to the tomb this youth of -twenty-two—this _artiste_ with a future before him. - -I would never wear this costume. It is still in its box yellowed with -age. Its gold embroidery is tarnished by time, and the little spot of -blood has slightly reddened the stuff. As to the poor _artiste_, I -learned of his death during my stay in London in the month of May, for -before leaving for America I signed with Hollingshead and Mayer, the -_impresarios_ of the Comédie, a contract which bound me to them from the -24th May to the 24th June (1880). - -It was during this period that the lawsuit which the Comédie Française -brought against me was judged. - -Maître Barboux did not consult me about anything, and my success in -London, which was achieved without the help of the Comédie, irritated -the Committee, the press, and the public. - -Maître Allon, in his pleadings, pretended that the London public, which -was quickly tired of me, would not now come to those performances of the -Comédie in which I appeared. - -The following list gives the best possible denial to the assertions of -Maître Allon: - - _Performances given by the Comédie Française at the Gaiety Theatre. The - crosses indicate the pieces in which I appeared._ - - - 1879 PLAYS Receipts - in - francs - - June 2 Prologue “Le Misanthrope;” “Phèdre,” Acte II - of - - “Les Précieuses Ridicules” X 13.080 - - „ 3 “L’Etrangère” X 12.565 - - „ 4 “Le Fils Naturel” 9.300 - - „ 5 “Les Caprices de Marianne” - - “La Joie Fait Peur” 10.100 - - „ 6 “Le Menteur” - - “Le Médecin Malgré Lui” 9.530 - - „ 7 “Le Marquis de Ville Mer” 9.960 - - „ 7 (Matinée) “Tartuffe” - - “La Joie Fait Peur” 8.700 - - „ 9 “Hernani” X 13.600 - - „ 10 “Le Demi-monde” 11.425 - - „ 11 “Mlle. de Belle Isle” - - “Il Faut qu’une Porte Soit Ouverte ou - Fermée” 10.420 - - „ 12 “Le Post-scriptum” - - “Le Gendre de M. Poirier” 10.445 - - „ 13 “Phèdre” 13.920 - - „ 14 “Le Luthier de Crémône” - - “Le Sphinx” X 13.350 - - „ 14 (Matinée) “Le Misanthrope” - - “Les Plaideurs” 8.800 - - „ 16 “L’ami Fritz” 9.375 - - „ 17 “Zaïre” - - “Les Précieuses Ridicules” X 13.075 - - „ 18 (Matinée) “Le Jeu de l’Amour et du Hasard” - - “Il ne Faut Jurer de Rien” 11.550 - - „ 18 “Le Demi-monde” 12.160 - - „ 20 “Les Fourchambault” 11.200 - - „ 21 “Hernani” X 13.375 - - „ 21 (Matinée) “Tartuffe” - - “Il Faut qu’une Porte Soit Ouverte ou - Fermée” 2.115 - - „ 23 “Gringoire” - - “On ne Badine pas avec l’Amour” 11.080 - - „ 24 “Chez l’Avocat” - - “Mlle. de la Seiglière” 9.660 - - „ 25 (Matinée) “L’Etrangère” X 11.710 - - „ 25 “Le Barbier de Seville” 9.180 - - „ 26 “Andromaque” - - “Les Plaideurs” X 13.350 - - „ 27 “L’Avare” - - “L’Etincelle” 11.775 - - „ 28 “Le Sphinx” - - “Le Dépit Amoureux” X 12.860 - - „ 28 (Matinée) “Hernani” X 13.730 - - „ 30 “Ruy Blas” X 13.660 - - July 1 “Mercadet” - - “L’été de la St. Martin” 9.850 - - „ 2 “Ruy Blas” X 13.160 - - „ 3 “Le Mariage de Victorine” - - “Les Fourberies de Scapin” 10.165 - - „ 4 “Les Femmes Savantes;” - - “L’Etincelle” 11.960 - - „ 5 “Les Fourchambault” 10.700 - - „ 5 (Matinée) “Phèdre;” - - “La Joie Fait Peur” X 14.265 - - „ 7 “Le Marquis de Villemer” 10.565 - - „ 8 “L’ami Fritz” 11.005 - - „ 9 “Hernani” X 14.275 - - „ 10 “Le Sphinx” X 13.775 - - „ 11 “Philiberte” - - “L’Etourdi” 11.500 - - „ 12 “Ruy Blas” X 12.660 - - „ 12 (Matinée) “Gringoire” - - “Hernani,” Acte V - - “La Bénédiction” - - “Davenant” - - “L’Etincelle” X 13.725 - - ——————— - - Total receipts in francs 492.150 - -The average of the receipts was about 11,715 francs. These figures show -that out of the forty-three performances given by the Comédie Française, -the eighteen performances in which I took part gave an average of 13,350 -francs each; while the twenty-five other performances gave an average of -10,000 francs. - - * * * * * - -While I was in London I learned that I had lost my lawsuit, with its ... -“Inasmuch as” ... “Nevertheless” ... etc. ... “declares hereby that -Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt loses all the rights, privileges, and advantages -resulting to her profit, from the engagement which she contracted with -the company, by authentic decree of the 24th March, 1875, which condemns -her to pay to the plaintiff in his lawful quality, the sum of 100,000 -francs damages....” - -I gave my last performance in London the very day that the papers -published the result of this unjust verdict. I was applauded and the -public overwhelmed me with flowers. - -I had taken with me, as _artistes_, Mme. Devoyod, Mary Jullien, Kalb, my -sister Jeanne, Pierre Berton, Train, Talbot, Dieudonné—all _artistes_ of -worth. I played all the pieces which I was to play in America. - -Vitu, Sarcey, and Lapommeraye had said so much against me that I was -stupefied to learn from Mayer that they had arrived in London to be -present at my performances. I did not understand it at all. I thought -that the Parisian journalists were leaving me in peace at last, and here -were my worst enemies coming across the sea to see and hear me. Perhaps -they were hoping, like the Englishman who followed the lion-tamer, to -see him devoured by his lions. - -Vitu, in the _Figaro_, had finished one of his bitter articles in these -words: - - “But we have heard enough surely, of Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt! - - Let her go abroad with her monotonous voice and her funereal - fantasies! - Here, we have nothing new to learn from her talents or her - caprices ...” - -Sarcey, in an equally bitter article, apropos of my resignation at the -Comédie, finished with these words: - - “... There comes a time when naughty children must go to bed ...” - -[Illustration: THE CELEBRATED PORTRAIT OF SARAH BERNHARDT, PAINTED BY -JULES BASTIEN-LEPAGE.] - -As to the amiable Lapommeraye, he had showered on my devoted head all -the rumors that he had collected from all sides. But as they said he had -no originality, he tried to show that he also could dip his pen in venom -and he had cried: “Pleasant journey!” And here they all came, these -three, and others with them.... And the day following my first -performance of “Adrienne Lecouvreur,” Auguste Vitu telegraphed to the -_Figaro_ a long article, in which he criticised me in certain scenes, -regretting that I had not followed the example of Rachel, whom I had -never seen. And he finished his article with these words: - - “The sincerity of my admiration cannot be doubted when I avow that in - the fifth act Sarah Bernhardt rose to a height of dramatic power, to a - force of expression which could not be surpassed. She played the long - and cruel scene in which _Adrienne_, poisoned by the _Duchesse de - Bouillon_, struggles against death in her fearful agony, not only with - immense talent, but with a science of art which up to the present she - has never revealed. If the Parisian public had heard ... or ever - hears, Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt cry out with the piercing accent which - she put into her words that evening: ‘I will not die, I will not die!’ - it would weep with her.” - -Sarcey finished an admirable critique with these words: - - “She is prodigious!...” - -And Lapommeraye, who had once more become amiable, begged me to go back -to the Comédie which was waiting for me, which would kill the fatted -calf on the return of its prodigal child. - -Sarcey, in his article in the _Temps_, consecrated five columns of -praises to me and finished his article with these words: - - “Nothing—nothing can ever take the place of this last act of ‘Adrienne - Lecouvreur’ at the Comédie. Ah, she should have stayed at the Comédie! - Yes, I come back to my litany! I cannot help it! We shall lose as much - as she will. Yes, I know that we can say Mlle. Dudlay is left to us. - Oh, she will always stay with us! I cannot help saying it—What a pity! - What a pity!” - -And eight days after, on the 7th June, he wrote in his theatrical -chronicle, on the first performance of “Froufrou”: - - “I do not think that the emotion at the theater has ever been so - profound. There are, in the dramatic art, exceptional times when the - _artistes_ are transported out of themselves, carried above themselves - and compelled to obey this inward ‘demon,’ (_I_ should have said god,) - who whispered to Corneille his immortal verses. - - “‘Well,’ said I to Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt, after the play, ‘this is an - evening which will open to you, if you wish, the doors of the Comédie - Française!’ ‘Do not speak of it,’ said she to me! We will not speak of - it. But what a pity! What a pity!” - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - PREPARATIONS FOR AMERICA - - -My success in “Froufrou” was so marked that it filled the void left by -Coquelin, who, after having signed, with the consent of Perrin, with -Messrs. Mayer and Hollingshead, declared that he could not keep his -engagements. It was a nasty trick of Jarnac’s by which Perrin hoped to -injure my London performances. He had previously sent Got to me to ask -officially if I would not come back to the Comédie. He said I should be -permitted to make my American tour and that everything would be arranged -on my return. But he should not have sent Got. He should have sent Worms -or _Le petit père Franchise_—Delaunay. The one might have persuaded me -by his affectionate reasoning, and the other by the falsity of arguments -presented with such grace that it would have been difficult to refuse. - -Got declared that I should be only too happy to come back to the Comédie -on my return from America; “for you know,” he added, “you know, my -little one, that you will die in that country. And if you come back you -will perhaps be only too glad to return to the Comédie Française, for -you will be in a bad state of health, and it will take some time before -you are right again. Believe me, sign, and it is not we who will benefit -by that, but you!” - -“I thank you,” answered I, “but I prefer to choose my hospital myself on -my return. And now you can go and leave me in peace.” I fancy I said: -“Get out!” - -That evening he was present at a performance of “Froufrou” and came to -my dressing-room and said: - -“You had better sign, believe me! And come back to commence with -‘Froufrou’! I will promise you a happy return!” - -I refused and finished my performances in London without Coquelin. - -The average of the receipts was 9,000 francs, and I left London with -regret—I who had left it with so much pleasure the first time. But -London is a city apart; its charm unveils little by little. The first -impression for a Frenchman or woman is that of keen suffering, of mortal -_ennui_. Those tall houses with sash windows without curtains; those -ugly monuments, all in mourning with the dust and grime, and black with -greasy dirt; those flower sellers at the corners of all the streets with -faces sad as the rain and bedraggled feathers in their hats and -lamentable clothing; the black mud of the streets; the low sky; the -funereal mirth of drunken women hanging on to men just as drunk; the -wild dancing of disheveled children round the street organs, as numerous -as the omnibuses—all that caused, twenty-five years ago, an indefinite -suffering to a Parisian. But little by little one finds that the -profusion of the squares is restful to the eyes; that the beauty of the -aristocratic ladies effaces the image of the flower sellers. - -The constant movement of Hyde Park, and especially of Rotten Row, fills -the heart with gayety. The broad English hospitality which was -manifested from the first moment of making an acquaintance; the wit of -the men, which compares favorably with the wit of Frenchmen; and their -gallantry, much more respectful and therefore much more flattering, left -no regrets in me for French gallantry. - -But I prefer our pale mud to the London black mud; and our windows -opening in the centre to the horrible sash windows. I find also that -nothing marks more clearly the difference of character of the two -nations than their respective windows. Ours open wide, the sun enters -into our houses even to the heart of the dwelling, the air sweeps away -all the dust and all the microbes. They shut in the same manner, simply, -as they open. - -English windows open only halfway, either the top half or the bottom -half. One may even have the pleasure of opening them a little at the top -and a little at the bottom, but not at all in the middle. The sun cannot -enter openly, nor the air. The window keeps its selfish and perfidious -character. I hate the English windows. But now I love London, and—is -there any need to add?—its inhabitants. Since my first visit I have -returned there twenty-one times, and the public has always remained -faithful and affectionate. - -After this first test of my freedom, I felt more sure of life than -before. Although I was very weakly of constitution, the possibility of -doing as I wanted without let or hindrance and without control, calmed -my nerves; and with a strengthened nervous system, my health, which had -been weakened by perpetual irritations and by excessive work, recovered -its tone. I reposed on the laurels which I had gathered myself—and I -slept better. Sleeping better I commenced to eat better. And great was -the astonishment of my little court when they saw their idol come back -from London round and rosy. - -I remained several days in Paris, then I set out for Brussels, where I -was to play “Adrienne Lecouvreur” and “Froufrou.” - -The Belgian public—by which I mean the Brussels public—is the most like -our own. In Belgium I never feel that I am in a strange country. Our -language is the language of the country; the horses and carriages are -always in perfect taste; the fashionable women resemble our own -fashionable women; _cocottes_ abound; the hotels are as good as in -Paris; the cab horses are as poor; the newspapers are as spiteful. -Brussels is gossiping Paris in miniature. - -I played, for the first time, at the Monnaie and I felt uncomfortable in -this immense and frigid theater. But the benevolent enthusiasm of the -public soon warmed me and I shall never forget the four evenings I gave -there. - -Then I set out for Copenhagen, where I was to give five performances at -the Theater Royal. - -Our arrival, which was anxiously expected, doubtless, really frightened -me. More than two thousand persons who were assembled in the station -when the train came in, gave a hurrah so terrible that I did not know -what was happening. But when M. De Fallesen, manager of the Theater -Royal, and the first chamberlain of the king, entered my compartment and -begged me to show myself at the window to gratify the curiosity of the -public, the hurrahs began again, and then I understood. But a dreadful -anxiety now took possession of me. I could never, I was sure, rise to -what was expected from me. My slender frame would inspire disdain in -those magnificent men and those splendid and healthy women. I stepped -out of the train so diminished by comparison that I had the sensation of -being nothing more than a breath of air; and I saw the crowd, submissive -to the police, divide into two compact lines, leaving a large way for my -carriage. I passed slowly through this double hedge of sympathetic -sightseers, who threw me flowers and kisses and lifted their hats to me. -I have had afterwards, in the course of my long career, many triumphs, -receptions and ovations; but my reception by the Danish people remains -one of my most cherished souvenirs. The living hedge lasted till we -reached the Hotel d’Angleterre where I went in, after once more thanking -the sympathetic friends who surrounded me. - -In the evening, the King and Queen and their daughter, the Princess of -Wales, were present at the first performance of “Adrienne Lecouvreur.” - -This is what the _Figaro_ of the 16th August, 1880, said: - - “Sarah Bernhardt has played ‘Adrienne Lecouvreur’ with a tremendous - success before a magnificent public. The royal family, the King and - the Queen of the Hellènes, as well as the Princess of Wales, were - present at the performance. The Queens threw their bouquets to the - French artiste, midst applause. It was an unprecedented triumph. The - public was delirious. To-morrow ‘Froufrou’ will be played.” - -The performances of “Froufrou” were equally successful. But as I was -playing only every other day I wanted to visit Elsinore. The King placed -the royal steamer at my disposal for this little journey. - -I had invited all my company. - -M. De Fallesen, the first chamberlain and manager of the Theater Royal, -caused a magnificent lunch to be served for us, and accompanied by the -principal notabilities of Denmark we visited Hamlet’s tomb, the Spring -of Ophelia, and the Castle of Marienlyst. Then we went over the Castle -of Cronburg. I regretted my visit to Elsinore. The reality did not come -up to the expectation. The so-called Tomb of Hamlet is represented by a -small column, ugly and mournful looking; there is little verdure and the -desolate sadness of deceit without beauty. They gave me a little water -from the Spring of Ophelia to drink and the Baron de Fallesen broke the -glass without allowing anyone else to drink from the spring. - -I returned from this very ordinary journey feeling rather sad. Leaning -against the side of the vessel I watched the water gliding past, when I -noticed a few rose petals emerge, which carried by an invisible current -were borne against the sides of the boat; then the petals increased to -thousands and in the mysterious sunset rose the melodious chant of the -sons of the North. I looked up. In front of us, rocked on the water by -the evening breeze, was a pretty boat with outspread sails: a score of -young men, throwing handfuls of roses into the waters, which were -carried to us by the little wavelets, were singing the marvelous legends -of past centuries. And all that was for me: all those roses, all that -love, all that musical poetry. And the setting sun—it was also for me. -And in this fleeting moment which brought near me all the beauty of -life, I felt myself very near to God. - -The following day, at the close of the performance, the King had called -me before him into the royal box and he decorated me with a very pretty -Order of Merit adorned with diamonds. He kept me some time in his box -asking me about a lot of things. I was presented to the Queen and I -noticed immediately that she was somewhat deaf. I was rather -embarrassed, but the Queen of Greece came to my rescue. She was -beautiful, but much less so than her lovely sister, the Princess of -Wales. Oh, that adorable and seductive face! with the eyes of a child of -the North and classic features of virginal purity, a long supple neck -that seemed made for queenly bows, a sweet and almost timid smile. The -indefinable charm of this princess made her so radiant that I saw -nothing but her, and I left the box leaving behind me, I fear, but a -doubtful opinion of my intelligence with the royal couples of Denmark -and Greece. - -The evening before my departure I was invited to a grand supper. -Fallesen made a speech, and thanked us in a very well-turned manner for -the French week which we had given in Denmark. - -Robert Walt made a very cordial speech on behalf of the Press, very -short but very sympathetic. Our ambassador, in a few courteous words, -thanked Robert Walt, and then to the general surprise, Baron Magnus, the -Prussian Minister, rose, and in a loud voice, turning to me, he said: “I -drink to France, which gives us such great _artistes_! to France, _la -belle France_, whom we all love so much!” - -Hardly ten years had passed since the terrible war. French men and women -were still suffering; their wounds were not healed. - -Baron Magnus, a really amiable and charming man, had, from the time of -my arrival in Copenhagen, sent me flowers with his card. I had sent back -the flowers and begged an attaché of the English Embassy, Sir Francis, I -believe, to ask the German baron not to renew his gifts. The baron -laughed good-naturedly and waited for me as I came out of my hotel. He -came to me with outstretched hands and spoke kindly and reasonable -words. Everybody was looking at us and I was embarrassed. It was evident -that he was a kind man. I thanked him, touched in spite of myself, by -his frankness, and I went away quite undecided as to what I really felt. -Twice he renewed his visit, but I did not receive him, but only bowed as -I left my hotel. I was somewhat irritated at the tenacity of this -amiable diplomatist. On the evening of the supper, when I saw him take -the attitude of an orator, I felt myself grow pale. He had barely -finished his little speech, when I jumped to my feet and cried: “Let us -drink to France—but to the whole of France, _Monsieur l’Embassadeur de -Prusse_!” I was nervous, sensational, and theatrical, without intending -it. - -It was like a bolt from the blue. - -The orchestra of the court which was placed in the upper gallery began -playing the “Marseillaise.” At this time the Danes hated the Germans. -The supper room was suddenly deserted as if by enchantment. - -I went up to my rooms not wishing to be questioned. I had gone too far. -Anger had made me say more than I intended. Baron Magnus did not deserve -this tirade. And also my instinct forewarned me of results to follow. I -went to bed angry with myself, with the baron, and with all the world. - -About five o’clock in the morning I commenced to doze, when I was -awakened by the growling of my dog. Then I heard some one knocking at -the door of the salon. I called my maid, who woke her husband, and he -went to open the door. An attaché from the French Embassy was waiting to -speak to me on urgent business. I put on an ermine tea gown and went to -see the visitor. - -“I beg you,” he said, “to write a note immediately, to explain that the -words you said were not meant.... The Baron Magnus, whom we all respect, -is in a very awkward situation and we are all unhappy about it. Prince -Bismarck is not to be trifled with and it may be very serious for the -baron.” - -“Oh! I assure you, monsieur, I am a hundredfold more unhappy about it -than you, for the baron is a good and charming man; he is short of -political tact, and in this case it is excusable because I am not a -woman of politics. I was lacking in coolness. I would give my right hand -to repair the ill.” - -“We don’t ask you for so much as that. And that would spoil the beauty -of your gestures!” (He was French, you see). “Here is the rough copy of -a letter; will you take it, rewrite it, sign it and everything will be -at an end.” - -But that was unacceptable. The wording of this letter gave twisted and -rather cowardly explanations. I rejected it and after several attempts -to rewrite it, I gave up in despair and did nothing. - -Three hundred persons had been present at the supper, in addition to the -royal orchestra and the attendants. Everybody had heard the amiable but -awkward speech of the baron. I had replied in a very excited manner. The -public and the Press had all been witnesses of my tirade; we were the -victims of our own foolishness, the baron and myself. If such a thing -were to happen at the present time I should not care a pin for public -opinion, and I should even take pleasure in ridiculing myself in order -to do justice to a brave and gallant man. But at that time I was very -nervous, and uncompromisingly patriotic. And also, perhaps, I thought I -was some one of importance. Since then life has taught me that if one -has to be famous it can only be after Death has set his seal to life. -To-day I am going down the hill of life and I regard gaily all the -pedestals on which I have been lifted up, and there have been so many of -them that their fragments, broken by the same hands that had raised -them, have made me a solid pillar, from which I look out on life, happy -with the past and expectant of the future. - -My stupid vanity had wounded one who meant me well, and this incident -has always left in me a feeling of remorse and chagrin. - -I left Copenhagen in the midst of applause and repeated cries of _Vive -la France_! From all the windows hung the French flag, fluttering in the -breeze, and I felt that this was not only _for_ me, but _against_ -Germany—I was sure of it. - -Since then the Germans and the Danes are solidly united and I am not -certain that several Danes do not still bear me malice because of this -incident of the Baron Magnus. - -I came back to Paris to make my final preparations for my journey to -America. I was to set sail the 15th of October. - -One day in August, I was having a reception of all my friends, who came -to see me in full force because I was about to set out for a long -journey. - -[Illustration: SARAH BERNHARDT AND MEMBERS OF HER COMPANY OUT SHOOTING.] - -Among the number were Girardin, Count Kapenist, Marshal Canrobert, -Georges Clairin, Arthur Meyer, Duquesnel, the beautiful Augusta Holmes, -Raymond de Montbel, Nordenskyjold, O’Connor, and other friends. I -chatted gaily, happy to be surrounded by so many tender and intellectual -friends. Girardin did all he could to persuade me not to undertake this -journey to America. He had been the friend of Rachel and told me the sad -end of her journey. Arthur Mayer was of opinion that I ought always to -do what I thought best. The other friends discussed the affair. That -admirable man, whom France will always worship, Canrobert, said how much -he should miss and regret these intimate _causeries_ at our five o’clock -teas. - -“But,” said he, “we have not the right to try, in our affectionate -selfishness, to hinder our young friend from doing all she can in the -strife. She is of a combative nature.” - -“Ah, yes!” I cried, “I am born for the strife, I feel it. Nothing -pleases me like having to master a public—perhaps hostile—who have read -and heard all that the Press have to say against me. But I am sorry that -I cannot play, not only in Paris, but in all France, my two big -successes, ‘Adrienne’ and ‘Froufrou.’” - -“As to that, you can count on me,” cried Félix Duquesnel. “My dear -Sarah, you had your first successes with me and it is with me that you -will have your last.” - -Everybody exclaimed and I jumped up. - -“Why wait,” said he, “for the last successes until you come back from -America? If you will consent you can count on me for everything. I -will obtain, at any price, theaters in all the large towns and we will -give twenty-five performances during the month of September. As to the -money conditions, they will be of the simplest: twenty-five -performances—50,000 francs. To-morrow I will give you the half of this -sum and you shall sign the contract, so that you will not have time to -change your mind.” - -I clapped my hands joyfully. All the friends who were there begged -Duquesnel to send them, as soon as possible, a plan of the tour, for -they all wanted to see me in the two plays in which I had carried off -the laurels in England and Belgium and Denmark. - -Duquesnel promised to send them the details of the tour, and it was -settled that their visits would be drawn by lot from a little bag and -each town marked with the date and the name of the play. - -A week later, Duquesnel, with whom I had signed the contract, returned -with the entire tour planned out and all the company engaged. It was -almost miraculous. - -The performances were to commence on Saturday the 4th of September, and -there were to be twenty-five of them; and the whole, including the day -of departure and the day of return, was to last twenty-eight days, which -caused this tour to be called “The twenty-eight days of Sarah -Bernhardt,” like the twenty-eight days of a citizen who is obliged to -undertake his military service. - -The little tour was most successful, and I never enjoyed myself more -than in this artistic promenade. Duquesnel organized excursions and -fêtes outside the towns. - -At first he had prepared, thinking to please me, some visits to the -sights of the towns. He had written beforehand from Paris fixing dates -and hours. The guardians of the different museums, art galleries, etc., -had offered to point out to me the finest objects in their collections -and the mayors had prepared the visits to the churches and celebrated -buildings. - -When, on the eve of our departure, he showed us the heap of letters, -each giving a most amiable affirmative, I shrieked. I hate seeing public -buildings, and having them explained to me. I know most of the public -sights of France, but I have visited them when I felt inclined and with -my own chosen friends. As to the churches and other buildings, I find -them very tiresome. I cannot help it—it really wearies me to see them. I -can admire their outline in passing, or when I see them silhouetted -against the setting sun, that is all right, but further than that I will -not go. The idea of entering these cold spaces, while some one explains -their absurd and interminable history, of looking up at their ceilings -with craning neck, of cramping my feet by walking unnaturally over -highly waxed floors, of being obliged to admire the restoration of the -left wing, (that they would have done better by letting crumble to -ruins,) to have to wonder at the depth of some moat which once used to -be full of water but is now dry as the east wind ... all that is so -tiresome it makes me want to howl. From my earliest childhood I have -always detested houses, castles, churches, towers, and all buildings -higher than a mill. I love low buildings, farms, huts, and I positively -adore mills, because these little buildings do not obstruct the horizon. -I have nothing to say against the Pyramids, but I would a hundred times -rather they had never been built. - -I begged Duquesnel to send telegrams at once to all the notabilities who -had been so obliging. We passed two hours over this task and the 3rd of -September I set out, free, joyful, and content. - -My friends came to see me while I was on tour, in accordance with the -lots they had drawn, and we had picnics by coach into the surrounding -country in all the towns in which I played. - -I came back to Paris on the 30th of September, and had only just time to -prepare for my journey to America. I had been only a week at Paris when -I had a visit from M. Bertrand, who was then director of the Variétés. -His brother was director of the Vaudeville in partnership with Raymond -Deslandes. I did not know Eugène Bertrand, but I received him at once, -for we had mutual friends. - -“What are you going to do when you come back from America?” he asked me, -after we had exchanged greetings. - -“I really don’t know.... Nothing. I have not thought of anything.” - -“Well, I have thought of something for you. And if you like to make your -return to Paris in a play of Victorien Sardou’s, I will sign with you at -once for the Vaudeville.” - -“Ah!” I cried. “The Vaudeville! What are you thinking of? Raymond -Deslandes is the manager and he hates me like poison because I ran away -from the Gymnase the day following the first performance of his play: -‘Un Mari qui Lance sa Femme.’ His play was ridiculous, and I was even -more ridiculous than his play in the part of a young Russian lady -addicted to dancing and eating sandwiches. That man will never engage -me!” - -He smiled. “My brother is the partner of Raymond Deslandes. My -brother ... to put it plainly, is myself. All the money brought by us is -mine! I am the sole master! What do you want to earn?” - -“But...? I really don’t know.” - -“Will fifteen hundred francs per performance suit you?” - -I looked at him in stupefaction, not quite sure if he was in his right -mind. - -“But, monsieur, if I do not succeed you will lose money, and I cannot -agree to that.” - -“Do not be afraid,” he said. “I can assure you it will be a success—a -colossal success. Will you sign? And I will also guarantee you fifty -performances!” - -“Oh, no, never! I will sign willingly, for I admire the talent of -Victorien Sardou, but I do not want any guarantee. Success will depend -on Victorien Sardou, and after him on me. So I sign and thank you for -your confidence.” - -At my afternoon teas I showed the new contract to my friends, and they -were all of opinion that luck was on my side in the matter of my -resignation. - -Only three days remained to me in Paris. My heart was sore at the idea -of leaving France, for many sorrowful reasons.... But in these memoirs I -have put to one side all that touches the inner part of my life. There -is one “I” which lives another life, and whose sensations, sorrows, -joys, and griefs are born and die for a very small number of hearts. - -But I felt the need of another atmosphere, of vaster space, of other -skies. - -I left my little boy with my uncle who had five boys of his own. His -wife was a rigid Protestant, but kind, and my cousin Louise, their -eldest daughter, was witty and highly intelligent. She promised me to be -on the lookout and to let me know at once if there was anything I ought -to know. - -[Illustration: BUST OF VICTORIEN SARDOU, BY SARAH BERNHARDT.] - -Up to the last moment, people in Paris did not believe that I would -really go. I had such uncertain health that it seemed folly to undertake -such a journey. But when it was quite certain that I was going, there -was a general outburst from my enemies and the hue and cry after me was -in full swing. I have now under my eyes the specimens of insanity, -calumnies, lies, and stupidities, burlesque portraits, doleful -pleasantries, good-bys to the darling, the idol, the star, the zimm! -boum! boum! etc., etc.... It was all so absolutely idiotic that I was -confounded. I had not read the greater part of these articles, but my -secretary had orders to cut them out and paste them in little notebooks, -whether favorable or unfavorable. It was my godfather who had commenced -doing this when I entered the _Conservatoire_ and after his death I had -it continued. - -Happily I find, in these thousands of lines, fine and noble words—words -written by J. J. Weiss, Zola, Emile de Girardin, Jules Vallés, Jules -Lemaître, etc.; and beautiful verses full of grace and justice, signed -Victor Hugo, Francois Coppée, Richemin, Haroucourt, Henri de Bornier, -Catulle Mendès, Parodi, and later Edmond Rostand. - -I neither could nor would suffer unduly from the calumnies and lies; but -I confess that the kindly appreciation and praises accorded me by the -superior spirits afforded me infinite joy. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV - MY ARRIVAL IN AMERICA - - -The ship which was to take me away to other hopes, other sensations, and -other successes was named _L’Amérique_. It was the unlucky boat, the -boat that was haunted by the Gnome. All kinds of misfortunes, accidents, -and storms had been its lot. It had been stranded for months with its -keel out of water. Its stern had been staved in by an Iceland boat and -it had foundered on the shoals of Newfoundland, I believe, and been set -afloat again. Another time fire had broken out on it right in the Hâvre -roadstead, but no great damage was done, and the poor boat had had a -celebrated adventure which had made it ridiculous. In 1876 or 1877 a new -pumping system was adopted and although this system had been in use by -the English for a long time it was quite unknown aboard French boats. -The captain very wisely decided to have these pumps worked by his crew -so that in case of any danger the men would be ready to manipulate them -easily. The experiment had been going on for a few minutes when one of -the men came to inform the captain that the hold of the ship was filling -with water, and no one could discover the cause of it. “Go on pumping!” -shouted the captain. “Hurry up! Pump away!” The pumps were worked -frantically and the result was that the hold filled entirely, and the -captain was obliged to abandon the ship after seeing the passengers -safely off in the boats. An English whaler met the ship two days after, -tried the pumps which worked admirably but in the contrary way to that -indicated by the French captain. This slight error cost the _Compagnie -Transatlantique_ £48,000 salvage money, and when they wanted to start -the ship again and passengers refused to go by it they offered my -_impresario_, M. Abbey, excellent terms. He accepted them, and very -intelligent he was, for in spite of all prognostications the boat had -paid her tribute. - -I had hitherto traveled very little and I was wild with delight. - -On the 15th of October, 1880, at six o’clock in the morning, I entered -my cabin. It was a large one and hung with light red rep embroidered -with my initials. What a profusion of the letters S. B.! Then there was -a large brass bedstead brightly polished, and flowers everywhere. -Adjoining mine was a very comfortable cabin for my _petite dame_, and -leading out of that was one for my maid and her husband. All the other -persons I employed were at the other end of the ship. The sky was misty, -and the sea gray, with no horizon. I was on my way over there, beyond -that mist which seemed to unite the sky and the water in a mysterious -rampart. The clearing of the deck for the departure upset everyone and -everything. The rumbling of the machinery, the boatswain’s call, the -bell, the sobbing and the laughter, the creaking of the ropes, the -shrill shouting of the orders, the terror of those who were only just in -time to catch the boat, the “Halloo!” “Look out!” of the men who were -pitching the packages from the port into the hold, the sound of the -laughing waves breaking over the side of the boat, all this mingled -together made the most frightful uproar, tiring the brain so that its -own sensations were all vague and bewildered. I was one of those who, up -to the last moment enjoyed the “Good-bys,” the handshakings, the plans -about the return, and the farewell kisses, and when it was all over -flung themselves sobbing on their bed. - -For the next three days I was in utter despair, weeping bitter tears, -tears that scalded my cheeks. Then I began to get calm again, my will -power triumphed over my grief. On the fourth day I dressed at seven -o’clock and went on deck to have some fresh air. It was icy cold and as -I walked up and down I met a lady dressed in black with a sad, resigned -face. The sea looked gloomy and colorless and there were no waves. -Suddenly a wild billow dashed so violently against our boat that we were -both thrown down. I immediately clutched hold of the leg of one of the -benches, but the unfortunate lady was flung forward. Springing to my -feet with a bound I was just in time to seize hold of the skirt of her -dress, and with the help of my maid and a sailor, we managed to prevent -the poor woman from falling head first down the staircase. Very much -hurt, though, she was, and a trifle confused; she thanked me in such a -gentle, dreamy voice that my heart began to beat with emotion. - -“You might have been killed, madame,” I said, “down that horrible -staircase.” - -“Yes,” she answered, with a sigh of regret, “but it was not God’s will. -Are you not Madame Hessler?” she continued, looking earnestly at me. - -“No, madame,” I answered, “my name is Sarah Bernhardt.” - -She stepped back and drawing herself up, her face very pale and her -brows knitted, she said in a mournful voice, a voice that was scarcely -audible: “I am the widow of President Lincoln.” - -I, too, stepped back, and a thrill of anguish ran through me, for I had -just done this unhappy woman the only service that I ought not to have -done her—I had saved her from death. Her husband had been assassinated -by an actor, Booth, and it was an actress who had now prevented her from -joining her beloved husband. I went back again to my cabin and stayed -there two days, for I had not the courage to meet that woman for whom I -felt such sympathy, and to whom I should never dare to speak again. - -On the 22d we were surprised by an abominable snowstorm. I was called up -hurriedly by Captain Jonclas. I threw on a long ermine cloak and went on -to the bridge. It was perfectly stupefying and at the same time -fairylike. The heavy flakes met each other with a hiss in their mad -waltzing provoked by the wind. The sky was suddenly veiled from us by -all this whiteness which fell round us in avalanches, completely hiding -the horizon. I was facing the sea and, as Captain Jonclas pointed out to -me, we could not see a hundred yards in front of us. I then turned round -and saw that the boat was as white as a seagull; the ropes, the cordage, -the nettings, the portholes, the shrouds, the whalers, the deck, the -sails, the ladders, the funnels, the airholes—everything was white. The -sea was black and the sky was black. The boat alone was white, floating -along in this immensity. There was a contest between the high funnel, -sputtering forth with difficulty its smoke through the wind which was -rushing wildly into its great mouth, and the prolonged shrieks of the -siren. The contrast was so extraordinary between the virgin whiteness of -this boat and the infernal uproar it made that it seemed to me as if I -had before me an angel in a fit of hysterics. - -In the evening of that strange day the doctor came to tell me of the -birth of a child among the immigrants, in whom I was deeply interested. -I went at once to the mother and did all I could for the poor little -creature who had just come into the world. Oh, the dismal moans in that -dismal night in the midst of all that misery! Oh, that first strident -cry of the child affirming its will to live in the midst of all these -sufferings, of all these hardships, and of all these hopes! Everything -was there mingled together in that human medley—men, women, children, -rags and preserves, oranges and basins, heads of hair and bald pates, -half-open lips of young girls and tightly closed mouths of shrewish -women, white caps and red handkerchiefs, hands stretched out in hope and -fists clenched against adversity. I saw revolvers half concealed under -the rags, knives in the men’s belts. A sudden roll of the boat showed us -the contents of a parcel that had fallen from the hands of a rascally -looking fellow with a very decided expression on his face, and a hatchet -and a tomahawk fell to the ground. One of the sailors immediately seized -the two weapons to take them to the purser. I shall never forget the -scrutinizing glance of the man. He had evidently made a mental note of -the features of the sailor, and I breathed a fervent prayer that the two -might never meet in a solitary place. - -I remember now with remorse the horrible disgust that took possession of -me when the doctor handed the child over to me to wash. That dirty -little red, moving, sticky object was a human being. It had a soul and -would have thoughts. I felt quite sick and I could never again look at -that child—although I was afterwards its godmother—without living over -again that first impression. When the young mother had fallen asleep I -wanted to go back to my cabin. The doctor helped me, but the sea was so -rough that we could scarcely walk at all among the packages and -immigrants. Some of them who were crouching on the floor watched us -silently as we tottered and stumbled along like drunkards. I was annoyed -at being watched by those malevolent, mocking eyes. “I say, doctor,” one -of the men called out, “the sea water gets in the head like wine. You -and your lady look as though you were coming back from a spree!” An old -woman clung to me as we passed. “Oh, madame!” she said, “shall we be -shipwrecked with the boats rolling like this? Oh, God! oh, God!” A tall -fellow with red hair and beard came forward and laid the poor old woman -down again gently. “You can sleep in peace, mother,” he said; “if we are -shipwrecked I swear there shall be more, saved down here than up on the -top.” He then came closer to me and continued in a defiant tone: “The -rich folks ... first class, into the sea! ... the immigrants—seconds, in -the boats!” As he uttered these words I heard a sly, stifled laugh from -everywhere, in front of me, behind, at the side, and even from under my -feet. It seemed to echo in the distance like the laughing behind the -scenes on the stage. I drew nearer to the doctor and he saw that I was -uneasy. - -“Nonsense,” he said, laughing, “we should defend ourselves.” - -“But how many _could_ be saved,” I asked, “in case we were really in -danger?” - -“Two hundred—two hundred and fifty at the most with all the boats out, -if all arrived safely.” - -“But the purser told me that there were seven hundred and sixty -immigrants,” I insisted, “and there are only a hundred and twenty -passengers. How many do you reckon are the officers, the crew, and the -servants?” - -“A hundred and seventy,” the doctor answered. - -“Then there are a thousand and fifty on board and you can save only two -hundred and fifty?” - -“Yes.” - -“Well, then, I can understand the hatred of these immigrants whom you -take on board like cattle and treat like negroes. They are absolutely -certain that in case of danger they would be sacrificed.” - -“But we should save them when their turn came.” - -I glanced with horror at the man who was talking to me. He looked honest -and straightforward and he evidently meant what he said. And so all -these poor creatures who had been disappointed in life, and badly -treated by society, would have no right to life until after _we_ were -saved, we the more favored ones! Oh, how I understood now the rascally -looking fellow, with his hatchet and tomahawk! How thoroughly I approved -at that moment of the revolvers and the knives hidden in the belts. Yes, -he was quite right, the tall, red-haired fellow. We want the first -places, always the first places ... and so we might have the first -places! Into the water with us! - -“Well, are you satisfied?” asked the captain who was just coming out of -his cabin. “Has it gone off all right?” - -“Yes, captain,” I answered, “but I am horrified.” - -Jonclas stepped back in surprise.... - -“Good heavens, what has horrified you?” he asked. - -“The way in which you treat your passengers ...” - -He tried to put in a word, but I continued: “Why ... you expose us in -case of a shipwreck....” - -“We never have a shipwreck....” - -“Good ... in case of a fire, then....” - -“Good ... in case of submersion....” - -“We never have a fire....” - -“I give in,” he said, laughing. “To what do we expose you, madame?” - -“To the very worst of deaths ... to a blow on the head with an ax, to a -dagger thrust in our back, or merely to be flung into the water....” - -He attempted to speak, but again I continued: “There are seven hundred -and fifty immigrants below and there are scarcely three hundred of us, -counting first-class passengers and the crew.... You have boats which -might save two hundred persons and even that is doubtful....” - -“Well?” - -“Well, what about the immigrants?” - -“We should save them before the crew.” - -“But after us?” - -“Yes, after you.” - -“And you fancy that they would let you do it?” - -“We have guns with which to keep them in order.” - -“Guns ... guns for women and children.” - -“No ... the women and children would take their turn first.” - -“But that is idiotic,” I exclaimed, “it is perfectly absurd! Why save -women and children if you are going to make widows and orphans of them? -And do you believe that all those young men would resign themselves to -their fate because of your guns? There are more of them than there are -of you, and they are armed. Life owes them their revenge, and they have -the same right that we have to defend the supreme moment. They have the -courage of those who have nothing to lose and everything to gain in the -struggle. In my opinion it is iniquitous and infamous that you should -expose us to certain death and them to an obligatory and perfectly -justified crime.” - -The captain tried to speak, but again I persisted. “Without going as far -as a shipwreck only fancy if we were to be tossed and bandied about for -months on a raging sea. This has happened and might happen again.... You -cannot possibly have food enough on board for a thousand people during -two or three months.” - -“No, certainly not,” put in the purser dryly. He was a very amiable man, -but very touchy. - -“Well, then, what should you do?” I asked. - -“What would _you_ do?” asked the captain, highly amused at the annoyed -expression on the purser’s face. - -“I ... oh! I should have a boat for immigrants and a boat for -passengers, and I think that would be only just.” - -“Yes, but it would be ruinous.” - -“No, the one for wealthy people would be a steamer like this, and the -one for emigrants a sailing vessel.” - -“But that, too, would be unjust, madame, for the steamer would go more -quickly than the sailing boat.” - -“That would not matter at all,” I argued. “Wealthy people are always in -a hurry and the poor never are. And then, considering what is awaiting -them in the land to which they are going....” - -“It is the Promised Land.” - -“Oh! poor things ... poor things ... with their Promised Land—Dakota or -Colorado! In the daytime they have the sun which makes their brains -boil, scorches the ground, dries up the springs, and brings forth -endless numbers of mosquitoes to sting their bodies and try their -patience. The Promised Land! At night they have the terrible cold to -make their eyes smart, to stiffen their joints, and ruin their lungs. -The Promised Land! It is just death in some out-of-the-world place after -fruitless appeals to the justice of their fellow countrymen. They will -breathe their life out in a sob or in a terrible curse of hatred. God -will have mercy on all of them, though, for it is piteous to think that -all these poor creatures are delivered over with their feet bound by -suffering, and their hands bound by hope, to the slave drivers who trade -in white slaves. And when I think that the money is in the purser’s cash -box which the slave driver has paid for the transport of all these poor -creatures! Money that has been collected by rough hands or trembling -fingers. Poor money economized, copper by copper, tear by tear. When I -think of all this it makes me wish that we could be shipwrecked, that -_we_ could be all killed, and all of those saved.” - -With these words I hurried away to my cabin to have a good cry, for I -was seized with a great love for humanity and intense grief that I could -do nothing, absolutely nothing!... - -The following morning I awoke late, as I had not fallen asleep until -near dawn. My cabin was full of visitors and they were all holding small -parcels half concealed. I rubbed my sleepy eyes and could not quite -understand the meaning of their invasion. - -“My dear Sarah,” said Mme. Guérard, coming to me and kissing me, “don’t -imagine that this day, your fête day, could be forgotten by those who -love you.” - -“Oh!” I exclaimed, “is it the 23d?” - -“Yes, and here is the first of the remembrances from the absent ones.” - -My eyes filled with tears and it was through a mist that I saw the -portrait of that young being more precious to me than anything else in -the world, with a few words in his own hand writing.... Then there were -some presents from friends ... pieces of work from humble admirers. My -little godson of the previous evening was brought to me in a basket, -with oranges, apples, and tangerines all round him. He had a golden star -on his forehead, a star cut out of some gold paper in which chocolate -had been wrapped. My maid Félicie, and Claude, her husband, who were -most devoted to me, had prepared some very ingenious little surprises. -Presently there was a knock at my door and on calling out “Come in,” I -saw, to my surprise, three sailors carrying a superb bouquet which they -presented to me in the name of the whole crew. I was wild with -admiration and wanted to know how they had managed to keep the flowers -in such good condition. It was an enormous bouquet, but when I took it -in my hands I let it fall to the ground in an uncontrollable fit of -laughter. The flowers were all cut out of vegetables, but so perfectly -done that the illusion was complete at a little distance. Magnificent -roses were cut out of carrots, camellias out of turnips, small radishes -had furnished sprays of rosebuds stuck on to long leeks dyed green, and -all these relieved by carrot leaves artistically arranged to imitate the -grassy plants used for elegant bouquets. The stalks were tied together -with a bow of tri-colored ribbon. One of the sailors made a very -touching little speech on behalf of his comrades, who wished to thank me -for a trifling service rendered. I shook hands cordially and thanked -them heartily and this was the signal for a little concert that had been -organized in the cabin of my _petite dame_. There had been a private -rehearsal with two violins and a flute, so that for the next hour I was -lulled by the most delightful music, which transported me to my own dear -ones, to my hall which seemed so distant to me at that moment, and for -the first time since my departure I regretted having set out. This -little fête, which was almost a domestic one, together with the music, -had evoked the tender and restful side of my life, and the tears that -all this called forth fell without grief, bitterness, or regret. I wept -simply because I was deeply moved, and I was tired, nervous, and weary, -and had a longing for rest and peace. I fell asleep in the midst of my -tears, sighs, and sobs. - -Finally, the boat stopped on the 27th of October, at half past six in -the morning. I was asleep, worn out by three days and nights of wild -storms. My maid had some difficulty in rousing me. I could not believe -that we had arrived, and I wanted to go on sleeping until the last -minute. I had to give in to the evidence, however, as the boat had -stopped. This sudden arrival delighted me and everything seemed to be -transformed in a minute. I forgot all my discomforts, and the weariness -of the eleven days’ crossing. The sun was rising, pale but rose tinted, -dispersing the mists and shining over the river. I had entered the New -World in the midst of a display of sunshine. This seemed to me a good -omen. I am so superstitious that if I had arrived when there was no -sunshine I should have been wretched, and most anxious until after my -first performance. It is a perfect torture to be superstitious to this -degree and, unfortunately for me, I am ten times more so now than I was -in those days, for besides the superstitions of my own country I have, -thanks to my travels, added to my stock all the superstitions of the -other countries. I know them all now and in any critical moment of my -life they all rise up in armed legions, for or against me. I cannot walk -a single step, or make any movement or gesture, sit down, go out, look -at the sky or the ground, without finding some reason for hope or for -despair until at last, exasperated by the trammels put upon my actions -by my thought, I defy all my superstitions and just act as I want to. -Delighted, then, with what seemed to me to be a good omen I began to -dress gleefully. Mr. Jarrett had just knocked at my door. - -“Do please be ready as soon as possible, madame,” he said, “for there -are several boats, with the French colors flying that have come out to -meet you.” - -[Illustration: SARAH BERNHARDT IN TRAVELLING COSTUME, 1880.] - -I glanced in the direction of my porthole and saw a small steamer, black -with people, and then two other small boats no less laden than the first -one. The sun lighted up all these French flags and my heart began to -beat more quickly. I had been without any news for twelve days, as, in -spite of all the efforts of our good captain, _L’Amérique_ had taken -twelve days for the journey. A man had just come on deck, and I rushed -toward him with outstretched hands unable to utter a single word. He -gave me a packet of telegrams. I did not see anyone present, and I heard -no sound. I wanted to know something. And among all the telegrams I was -searching first for one, just one name. At last I had it, the telegram I -had waited for, feared and hoped to receive. Here it was at last. I -closed my eyes for a second, and during that time I saw all that was -dear to me and felt the infinite sweetness of it all. When I opened my -eyes again I was slightly embarrassed for I was surrounded by a crowd of -unknown people, all of them silent and indulgent, but evidently very -curious. Wishing to go away I took Mr. Jarrett’s arm and went to the -salon. As soon as I entered, the first notes of the “Marseillaise” rang -out, and our consul spoke a few words of welcome and handed me some -flowers. A group representing the French colony presented me with a -friendly address. Then M. Mercier, the editor of the _Courrier des -Etats-Unis_, made a speech, as witty as it was kindly. It was a -thoroughly French speech. Then came the terrible moment of -introductions. Oh, what a tiring time that was! My mind was kept at a -tension to catch the names. Mr. Pemb ... Madame Harth ... with the _h_ -aspirated. With great difficulty I grasped the first syllable, and the -second finished in a confusion of muffled vowels and hissing consonants. -By the time the twentieth name was pronounced I had given up listening, -I simply kept on with my little _risorius de Santorini_, half closed my -eyes, held out mechanically the arm, at the end of which was the hand -that had to shake and be shaken. I replied all the time: “_Combien je -suis charmée, madame.... Oh, certainement!... Oh, oui!... Oh, non!... -Ah!... Oh! Oh!..._” I was getting dazed, idiotic—worn out with standing. -I had only one idea, and that was to get my rings off the fingers that -were swelling with the repeated grips they were having. My eyes were -getting larger and larger with terror, as they gazed at the door through -which the crowd continued to stream in my direction ... there to -shake.... My _risorius de Santorini_ must still go on working more than -fifty times ... I could feel the beads of perspiration standing out -under my hair—and I began to get terribly nervous. My teeth chattered -and I commenced stammering. “_Oh, madame!... Oh!... Je suis -cha—cha_....” I really could not go on any longer. I felt that I should -get angry or burst out crying ... in fact that I was about to make -myself ridiculous. I decided therefore to faint.... I made a movement -with my hand as though it wanted to continue but could not.... I opened -my mouth, closed my eyes and fell gently into Jarrett’s arms. “Quick! -air!... A doctor.... Poor thing.... How pale she is! Take her hat -off.... Loosen her corset.... She doesn’t wear one. Unfasten her -dress....” I was terrified, but Félicie was called up in haste and my -_petite dame_ would not allow any _déshabillage_. The doctor came back -with a bottle of ether. Félicie seized the bottle. - -“Oh, no, doctor ... not ether! When madame is quite well the odor of -ether will make her faint.” - -This was quite true and I thought, it was time to come to my senses -again. The reporters were arriving and there were more than twenty of -them, but Jarrett, who was very much affected, asked them to go to the -Albemarle Hotel, where I was to put up. I saw each of the reporters take -Jarrett aside, and when I asked him what the secret was of all these -“asides” he answered phlegmatically: “I have made an appointment with -them from one o’clock. There will be a fresh one every ten minutes.” I -looked at him petrified with astonishment. He met my anxious gaze and -said: - -“_Oh, oui, il était nécessaire!_” - -On arriving at the Albemarle Hotel I felt tired and nervous, and wanted -to be left quite alone. I hurried away at once to my room in the suite -that had been engaged for me and fastened the doors. There was neither -lock nor bolt on one of them, but I pushed a piece of furniture against -it and then refused emphatically to open it. There were about fifty -people waiting in the drawing-room, but I had that feeling of awful -weariness which makes one ready to go to the most violent extremes for -the sake of an hour’s repose. I wanted to lie down on the rug, cross my -arms, throw my head back, and close my eyes. I did not want to talk any -more, and I did not want to have to smile or look at anyone. I threw -myself down on the floor and was deaf to the knocks on my door, and to -Jarrett’s supplications. I did not want to argue the matter, so I did -not utter a word. I heard the murmur of grumbling voices and Jarrett’s -words tactfully persuading the visitors to stay. I heard the rustle of -paper being pushed under the door and Mme. Guérard whispering to -Jarrett, who was furious. - -“You don’t know her, M. Jarrett,” I heard her say: “if she thought you -were forcing the door open, against which she has pushed the furniture, -she would jump out of the window!” - -Then I heard Félicie talking to a French lady who was insisting on -seeing me. “It is quite impossible,” she was saying. “Madame would be -quite hysterical. She needs an hour’s rest and everyone must wait!” For -some little time I could hear a confused murmur which seemed to get -farther away, and then I fell into a delicious sleep, laughing to myself -as I went off, for my good temper returned as I pictured the angry, -nonplused expression on the faces of my visitors. - -I woke in an hour’s time, for I have the precious gift of being able to -sleep ten minutes, a quarter of an hour, or an hour, just as I like, and -I then wake quite peacefully without any start, at the time I have -decided upon. Nothing does me so much good as this rest to body and -mind, decided upon and regulated merely by my will. Very often in my own -family I have lain down on the bearskin hearth rug in front of the fire, -telling everyone to go on talking and take no notice of me. I have then -slept, perhaps for an hour, and on waking have found two or three -newcomers in the room who, not wishing to disturb me, have taken part in -the general conversation, while waiting until I should wake up to -present their respects to me. Even now I lie down on the huge, wide sofa -in the little Empire _salon_ which leads into my _loge_ and I sleep -while waiting for the friends and _artistes_, with whom I have made -appointments, to be ushered in. When I open my eyes I see the faces of -my kind friends, who shake hands cordially, delighted that I should have -had some rest. My mind is then tranquil and I am ready to listen to all -the beautiful ideas proposed to me or to decline the absurdities -submitted to me, without being ungracious. - -I woke up, then, at the Albemarle Hotel an hour later and found myself -lying on the rug. I opened the door of my room and discovered my dear -Guérard and my faithful Félicie seated on a trunk. - -“Are there any people there still?” I asked. - -“Oh, madame! there are about a hundred now,” answered Félicie. - -“Help me take my things off then, quickly,” I said, “and find me a white -dress.” - -In about five minutes I was ready, and I felt that I looked nice from -head to foot. I went into the drawing-room, where all these unknown -persons were waiting. Jarrett came forward to meet me, but on seeing me -well dressed and with a smiling face, he postponed the sermon that he -wanted to preach me. - -I should like to introduce Jarrett to my readers, for he was a most -extraordinary man. He was then about sixty-five or seventy years of age. -He was tall with a face like King Agamemnon, framed by the most -beautiful silver-white hair I have even seen on a man’s head. His eyes -were of so pale a blue that when they lighted up with anger he looked as -though he were blind. When he was calm and tranquil, admiring nature, -his face was really handsome, but when gay and animated his upper lip -showed his teeth, and curled up in a most ferocious sniff, and his grin -seemed to be caused by the drawing up of his pointed ears which were -always moving as though on the watch for prey. He was a terrible man, -extremely intelligent, but from childhood he must have been fighting -with the world, and he had the most profound contempt for all mankind. -Although he must have suffered a great deal himself, he had no pity for -those who suffered. He always said that every man was armed for his own -defense. He pitied women, did not care for them, but was always ready to -help them. He was very rich, and very economical, but not miserly. “I -made my way in life,” he often said to me, “by the aid of two weapons: -honesty and a revolver. In business honesty is the most terrible weapon -a man can use against rascals and crafty people—the former don’t know -what it is, and the latter do not believe in it—while the revolver is an -admirable invention for compelling scoundrels to keep their word.” He -used to tell me about wonderful and terrifying adventures. He had a deep -scar under his right eye. During a violent discussion about a contract -to be signed for Jenny Lind, the celebrated singer, Jarrett said to his -interlocutor, pointing at the same time to his right eye: “Look at that -eye, sir, it is now reading in your mind all that you are not saying.” -“It doesn’t know how to read, then, for it never foresaw that,” said the -other firing his revolver at Jarrett’s right eye. “A bad shot, sir,” -replied Jarrett, “this is the way to take aim for effectually closing an -eye,” and he put a ball between the two eyes of the other man, who fell -down dead. When Jarrett told this story, his lip curled up and his two -incisors appeared to be crunching the words with delight, and his bursts -of stifled laughter sounded like the snapping of his jaws. He was an -upright, honest man, though, and I liked him very much, and like what I -remember of him. - -My first impression was a joyful one, and I clapped my hands with -delight as I entered the drawing-room which I had not yet seen. The -busts of Racine, Molière, and Victor Hugo were on pedestals surrounded -with flowers. All around the large room were sofas laden with cushions -and to remind me of my home in Paris there were tall palms stretching -out their branches over the sofas. Jarrett introduced Knoedler to me, -who had suggested this piece of gallantry. He was a very charming man. I -shook hands with him and we were friends from that time forth. The -visitors soon went away, but the reporters remained. They were all -seated, some of them on the arms of the chairs, others on the cushions. -One of them had crouched down tailor fashion on a bearskin and was -leaning back against the steam heater. He was pale and thin and coughed -a great deal. I went toward him and had just opened my lips to speak to -him, although I was rather horrified that he did not rise, when he -addressed me in a bass voice: - -“Which is your favorite rôle, madame?” he asked. - -“That is no concern of yours,” I answered, turning my back on him. In -doing so I knocked against another reporter, who was more polite. - -“What do you eat as soon as you wake in the morning, madame?” he -inquired. - -I was about to reply to him as I had done to the first one, but Jarrett, -who had had difficulty in appeasing the anger of the crouching man, -answered quickly for me: “Oatmeal.” I did not know what that dish was, -but the ferocious reporter continued his questions: - -“And what do you eat during the day?” - -“Mussels.” - -He wrote down phlegmatically: “Mussels through the day.” I moved -toward the door and a reporter in a tailor-made skirt, with her hair -cut short, asked me in a clear, sweet voice: “Are you a -Jewcatholicprotestantmahometanbuddhistatheistzoroastertheistordeist?” -I stood still, rooted to the spot in bewilderment. She had said all -that in a breath, accenting the syllables haphazard, and making of the -whole one word, so wildly incoherent that my impression was it was not -safe to remain near this strange, gentle person. I must have looked -uneasy, and as my eyes fell on an elderly lady who was talking gayly -to a little group of people she came to my rescue, saying in very good -French: “This young lady is asking you, madame, whether you are of the -Jewish religion or whether you are a Catholic, a Protestant, a -Mahometan, a Buddhist, an atheist, a Zoroaster, a theist, or a deist?” - -I sank down on a couch. “Oh, heavens!” I exclaimed, “will it be like -this in all the cities I visit?” - -“Oh, no,” answered Jarrett, placidly, “your interviews will be wired -throughout America.” - -“What about the mussels?” I thought to myself, and then in an -absent-minded way I answered, “I am a Catholic, mademoiselle.” - -“A Roman Catholic, or do you belong to the Orthodox church?” she asked. - -I jumped up from my seat, for she bored me beyond endurance, and a very -young man then approached timidly. - -“Will you allow me to finish my sketch, madame?” he asked. - -I remained standing, my profile turned toward him at his request. When -he had finished I asked to see what he had done and, perfectly -unabashed, he handed me his horrible drawing of a skeleton with a curly -wig. I tore the sketch up and threw it at him, but the following day -that horror appeared in the papers, with a disagreeable inscription -underneath it. Fortunately I was able to speak seriously about my art -with a few honest and intelligent journalists, but twenty-five years ago -reporters’ paragraphs were more appreciated in America than serious -articles, and the public, very much less literary then than at present, -always seemed ready to echo the turpitudes invented by reporters hard up -for copy. I should think that no creature in the world, since the -invention of _reportage_, has ever had as much to endure as I had during -that first tour. The basest calumnies were circulated by my enemies long -before I arrived in America; there was all the treachery of the friends -of the Comédie and even of my own admirers, who hoped that I should not -succeed on my tour so that I might return more quickly to the fold, -humiliated, calmed down, and subdued. Then there were the exaggerated -announcements invented by my _impresario_, Abbey, and my representative, -Jarrett. These announcements were often outrageous and always -ridiculous, but I did not know their real source until long afterwards -when it was too late, much too late, to undeceive the public, who were -fully persuaded that I was the instigator of all these inventions. I -therefore did not attempt to undeceive them. It matters very little to -me whether people believe one thing or another. Life is short, even for -those who live a long time, and we must live for the few who know and -appreciate us, who judge and absolve us, and for whom we have the same -affection and indulgence. The rest I look upon as a mere crowd, lively -or sad, loyal or corrupt, from whom there is nothing to be expected but -fleeting emotions, either pleasant or unpleasant, which leave no trace -behind them. We ought to hate very rarely, as it is too fatiguing, -remain indifferent to a great deal, forgive often and never forget. -Forgiving does not mean forgetting, at least it does not with me. I will -not mention here any of the outrageous and infamous attacks that were -made upon me, as it would be doing too great an honor to the wretched -people who were responsible for them from beginning to end, dipping -their pen in the gall of their own soul. All I can say is that nothing -kills but death, and that anyone who wishes to defend himself or herself -from slander can do it. For that one must live. It is not given to -everyone to be able to do it, but it depends on the will of God who sees -and judges. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI - NEW YORK AND BOSTON - - -I TOOK two days’ rest before going to the theater, for I could feel the -movement of the boat all the time, my head was dizzy, and it seemed to -me as though the ceiling moved up and down. The twelve days on the sea -had quite upset my health. I sent a line to the stage manager telling -him that we would rehearse on Wednesday, and on that day as soon as -luncheon was over I went to the Booth Theater, where our performances -were to take place. At the door reserved for the _artistes_ I saw a -compact, swaying crowd, very much animated and gesticulating. These -strange-looking individuals did not belong to the _artiste_ world. They -were not reporters, either, for I knew them too well, alas! to be -mistaken in them. They were not there out of curiosity, either, these -people, for they seemed too much occupied and then, too, there were only -men. When my carriage drew up one of them rushed forward to the door of -it and then returned to the swaying crowd. “Here she is, here she is!” I -heard, and then all these common men with their white neckties and -questionable-looking hands, with their coats flying open and trousers -whose knees were worn and dirty looking, crowded behind me into the -narrow passage leading to the staircase. I did not feel very easy in my -mind, and I mounted the stairs rapidly. Several persons were waiting for -me at the top, Mr. Abbey, Jarrett, and also some reporters, two -gentlemen, and a charming and most distinguished woman whose friendship -I have kept ever since, although she does not care much for French -people. I saw Mr. Abbey, who was usually very dignified and cold, -advance in the most gracious and courteous way to one of the men who -were following me. They raised their hats to each other and, followed by -the strange and brutal-looking regiment, they advanced toward the center -of the stage. I then saw the strangest of sights. In the middle of the -stage were my forty-two trunks. In obedience to a sign twenty of the men -came forward and placing themselves, each one between two trunks, with a -quick movement with their right and left hands they lifted the lids of -the trunks on the right and left of them. Jarrett with frowns and an -unpleasant grin held out my keys to them. He had asked me that morning -for my keys for the customs. “Oh, it’s nothing!” he said, “don’t be -uneasy,” and the way in which my luggage had always been respected in -other countries had given me perfect confidence about it. The principal -personage of the ugly group came toward me accompanied by Abbey, and -Jarrett explained things to me. The man was an official from the -American customhouse. The custom office is an abominable institution in -every country, but worse in America than anywhere else. I was prepared -for all this and was most affable to the tormenter of a traveler’s -patience. He raised the melon which served him for a hat and, without -taking his cigar out of his mouth made some incomprehensible remark to -me. He then turned to his regiment of men, made an abrupt sign with his -hand, and uttered some word of command, whereupon the forty dirty hands -of these twenty men proceeded to forage among my velvets, satins, and -laces. I rushed forward to save my poor dresses from such outrageous -violations, and I ordered our costume maker to lift my gowns out one at -a time, which she accordingly did, aided by my maid, who was in tears at -the small amount of respect shown by these boors to all my beautiful, -fragile things. Two ladies had just arrived, very noisy and -businesslike. One of them was short and stout, her nose seemed to begin -at the roots of her hair; she had round, placid-looking eyes and a mouth -like a snout; her arms she was hiding timidly behind her heavy, flabby -bust and her ungainly knees seemed to come straight out of her groin. -She looked like a seated cow. Her companion was like a terrapin, with -her little, black, evil-looking head at the end of a neck which was too -long, and very stringy. She kept shooting it out of her boa and drawing -it back with the most incredible rapidity. The rest of her body bulged -out.... These two delightful persons were the dressmakers sent for by -the customhouse to estimate my costumes. They glanced at me in a furtive -way and gave a little bow, full of bitterness and jealous rage at the -sight of my dresses, and I was quite aware that two more enemies had now -come upon the scene. These two odious shrews began to chatter and argue, -pawing and crumpling my dresses and cloaks at the same time. They kept -exclaiming in the most emphatic way: “Oh, how beautiful! What -magnificence! What luxury! All our customers will want gowns like these -and we shall never be able to make them! It will be the ruin of all the -American dressmakers.” They were working up the judges into a state of -excitement for this “chiffon court martial.” They kept lamenting, then -going into raptures and asking for “justice” against foreign invasion. -The ugly band of men nodded their heads in approval and spat on the -ground to affirm their independence. Suddenly the Terrapin turned on one -of the inquisitors: - -“Oh, isn’t it beautiful! Show it them, show it them!” she exclaimed, -seizing on a dress all embroidered with pearls, which I wore in “La Dame -aux Camélias.” - -“This dress is worth at least $10,000,” she said and then, coming up to -me she asked: “How much did you pay for that dress, madame?” - -I ground my teeth together and would not answer, for just at that moment -I should have enjoyed seeing the Terrapin in one of the saucepans in the -Albemarle Hotel kitchen. It was nearly half past five and my feet were -frozen. I was half dead, too, with fatigue and suppressed anger. The -rest of the examination was postponed until the next day, and the ugly -band of men offered to put everything back in the trunk, but I objected -to that. I sent out for five hundred yards of blue tarlatan to cover -over the mountain of dresses, hats, cloaks, shoes, laces, linen, -stockings, furs, gloves, etc., etc. They then made me take my oath to -remove nothing, for they had such charming confidence in me, and I left -my butler there in charge. He was the husband of Félicie, my maid, and a -bed was put up for him on the stage. I was so nervous and upset that I -wanted to go somewhere far away, to have some fresh air, and to stay out -for a long time. A friend offered to take me to see the Brooklyn Bridge. - -“That masterpiece of American genius will make you forget the petty -miseries of our red-tape affairs,” he said gently, and so we set out for -Brooklyn Bridge. - -Oh, that bridge! It is insane, admirable, imposing, and it makes one -feel proud. Yes, one is proud to be a human being when one realizes that -a human brain has created and suspended in the air, fifty yards from the -ground, that fearful thing which bears a dozen trains filled with -passengers, ten or twelve tram cars, a hundred cabs, carriages, and -carts, and thousands of foot passengers, and all that moving along -together amidst the uproar of the music of the metals, clanging, -clashing, grating, and groaning under the enormous weight of people and -things. The movement of the air caused by this frightful, tempestuous -coming and going, caused me to feel giddy and stopped my breath. I made -a sign for the carriage to stand still and I closed my eyes. I then had -a strange indefinable sensation of universal chaos. I opened my eyes -again when my brain was a little more tranquil and I saw New York -stretching out along the river, wearing its night ornaments, which -glittered as much through its dress with thousands of electric lights as -the firmament with its tunic of stars. I returned to the hotel -reconciled with this great nation. I went to sleep tired in body but -rested in mind, and had such delightful dreams that I was in a good -humor the following day. I adore dreams, and my sad, unhappy days are -those which follow dreamless nights. My great grief is that I cannot -choose my dreams. How many times I have done all in my power at the end -of a happy day to make myself dream a continuation of it! How many times -I have called up the faces of those I love just before falling asleep! -but my thoughts wander and carry me off elsewhere, and I prefer that or -even a disagreeable dream to none at all. When I am asleep my body has -an infinite sense of enjoyment, but it is torture to me for my thoughts -to slumber. My vital forces rebel against such negation of life. I am -quite willing to die once for all, but I object to slight deaths such as -those of which one has the sensation on dreamless nights. When I awoke, -my maid told me that Jarrett was waiting for me to go to the theater, so -that the valuation of my costumes could be terminated. I sent word to -Jarrett that I had seen quite enough of the regiment from the -customhouse, and I asked him to finish everything without me, as Mme. -Guérard would be there. During the next two days the Terrapin, the -Seated Cow and the Black Band made notes for the customhouse, took -sketches for the papers and patterns of my dresses for customers. I -began to get impatient, as we ought to have been rehearsing. Finally, I -was told on Thursday morning that the business was over, and that I -could not have my trunks until I had paid 28,000 francs for duty. I was -seized with such a violent fit of laughing that poor Abbey, who had been -terrified, caught it from me and even Jarrett showed his cruel teeth. - -“My dear Abbey,” I exclaimed, “arrange as you like about it, but I must -make my début on Monday, the 8th of November, and to-day is Thursday. I -shall be at the theater on Monday to dress. See that I have my trunks, -for there was nothing about the customhouse in my contract. I will pay -half, though, of what you have to give.” The 28,000 francs were handed -over to an attorney who made a claim in my name on the Board of Customs. -My trunks were left with me, thanks to this deposit, and the rehearsals -commenced at Booth’s Theater. - -[Illustration: SARAH BERNHARDT AT HOME, BY WALTER SPINDLER.] - -On Monday evening, November 8th, at 8.30, the curtain rose for the first -performance of “Adrienne Lecouvreur.” The house was crowded and the -seats, which had been sold to the highest bidders and then sold by them -again, had fetched exorbitant prices. I was awaited with impatience and -curiosity, but not with any sympathy. There were no young girls present, -as the piece was too immoral. (Poor _Adrienne Lecouvreur_!) The audience -was very polite to the _artistes_ of my company, but rather impatient to -see the strange person who had been announced to them. The curtain fell -at the end of the first act and Adrienne had not appeared. One of the -audience, very much annoyed, asked to see Mr. Henry Abbey. “I want my -money back,” he said, “as _la Bernhardt_ is not in every act.” Abbey -refused to return the money to the extraordinary individual and as the -curtain was going up he hurried back to take possession of his seat -again. My appearance was greeted by several rounds of applause, which I -believe had been paid for in advance by Abbey and Jarrett. I commenced -and the sweetness of my voice as in the fable of the “Two Pigeons” -worked the miracle. The whole house this time burst out into hurrahs. A -current of sympathy was established between my public and myself. -Instead of the hysterical skeleton that had been announced to them, they -had before them a very frail-looking creature with a sweet voice. The -fourth act was applauded and _Adrienne’s_ rebellion against the -_Princesse de Bouillon_ stirred the whole house. Finally, in the fifth -act, when the unfortunate _artiste_ is dying, poisoned by her rival, -there was quite a manifestation and everyone was deeply moved. - -At the end of the third act all the young men were sent off by the -ladies to find all the musicians they could get together, and to my -surprise and delight on arriving at my hotel a charming serenade was -played for me while I was at supper. The crowd had assembled under my -windows at the Albemarle Hotel and I was obliged to go out on to the -balcony several times to bow and to thank this public, which I had been -told I should find cold and prejudiced against me. From the bottom of my -heart I also thanked all my detractors and slanderers, as it was through -them that I had had the pleasure of fighting, with the certainty of -conquering. The victory was all the more enjoyable as I had not dared to -hope for it. - -I gave twenty-seven performances in New York. The plays were “Adrienne -Lecouvreur,” “Froufrou,” “Hernani,” “La Dame aux Camélias,” “Le Sphinx,” -“L’Etrangère.” The average receipts were 20,342 francs for each -performance, including matinées. The last performance was given on -Saturday, December 4th, as a matinée, for my company had to leave that -night for Boston and I had reserved the evening to go to Mr. Edison, at -Menlo Park, where I had a reception worthy of fairyland. - -Oh, that matinée of Saturday, December 4th! I can never forget it! When -I got to the theater to dress it was midday, for the matinée was to -commence at half past one. My carriage stopped, not being able to get -along, for the street was filled by ladies, sitting on chairs which they -had borrowed from the neighboring shops, or on folding seats which they -had brought themselves. The play was “La Dame aux Camélias.” I had to -get out of my carriage and walk about twenty-five yards on foot in order -to get to the stage door. It took me twenty-five minutes to do it. -People shook my hands and begged me to come back. One lady took off her -brooch and pinned it in my mantle—a modest brooch of amethysts -surrounded by fine pearls, but certainly for the giver the brooch had -its value. I was stopped at every step. One lady pulled out her notebook -and begged me to write my name. The idea took like lightning. Small boys -under the care of their parents wanted me to write my name on their -cuffs. My arms were full of small bouquets which had been pushed into my -hands. I felt behind me some one tugging at the feather in my hat. I -turned round sharply. A woman with a pair of scissors in her hand had -tried to cut off a lock of my hair, but she had only succeeded in -cutting the feather out of my hat. In vain Jarrett signalled and -shouted—I could not get along. They sent for the police, who delivered -me, but without any ceremony, either for my admirers or for myself. They -were real brutes, those policemen, and made me very angry. I played “La -Dame aux Camélias” and I counted seventeen calls after the third act and -twenty-nine after the fifth. In consequence of the cheering and calls -the play had lasted an hour longer than usual and I was half dead with -fatigue. I was just about to go to my carriage to get back to my hotel -when Jarrett came to tell me that there were more than 50,000 people -waiting outside. I fell back on a chair, tired and disheartened. - -“Oh, I will wait till the crowd has dispersed! I am tired out. I can do -no more.” - -But Henry Abbey had an inspiration of genius. - -“Stay,” said he to my sister, “put on madame’s hat and boa and take my -arm. And take also these bouquets—give me what you cannot carry. And now -we will go to your sister’s carriage and make our bow.” - -He said all this in English and Jarrett translated it to my sister who -lent herself to this little comedy very willingly. During this time -Jarrett and I got into Abbey’s carriage, which was stationed in front of -the theater where no one was waiting. And it was fortunate we took this -course, for my sister only got back to the Albemarle Hotel an hour -later, very tired, but very much amused. Her resemblance to myself, my -hat, my boa, and the darkness of night had been the accomplices of the -little comedy which we had offered to my enthusiastic public. - -We had to set out at nine o’clock for Menlo Park. We had to dress in -traveling costume, for the following day we were to leave for Boston and -my trunks had gone that day with my company, which preceded me by -several hours. - -The dinner was, as usual, very bad, for in those days in America the -food was unspeakably awful. At ten o’clock we took the train—a pretty, -special train all decorated with flowers and banners, which they had -been kind enough to prepare for me. But it was a painful journey, all -the same, for at each instant we had to pull up to allow another train -to pass, or an engine to maneuver, or to wait to pass over the points. -It was two o’clock in the morning when the train at last reached the -station of Menlo Park, the residence of Thomas Edison. - -It was a very dark night and the snow was falling silently in heavy -flakes. A carriage was waiting and the one lamp of this carriage served -to light up the whole station, for orders had been given that the -electric lights should be put out. I found my way with the help of -Jarrett and some of my friends who had accompanied us from New York. The -intense cold froze the snow as it fell, and we walked over veritable -blocks of sharp, jagged ice, which crackled under our feet. Behind the -first carriage was another heavier one, with only one horse and no lamp. -There was room for five or six persons to crowd into this. We were ten -in all; Jarrett, Abbey, my sister, and I took our places in the first -one, leaving the others to get into the second. We looked like a band of -conspirators, the dark night, the two mysterious carriages, the silence -caused by the icy coldness, the way in which we were muffled in our -furs, and our anxious expressions as we glanced around us—all this made -our visit to the celebrated Edison resemble a scene out of an operetta. - -The carriage rolled along, sinking deep into the snow and jolting -terribly; the jolts made us dread every instant some tragi-comic -accident. I cannot tell how long we had been rolling along for, lulled -by the movement of the carriage and buried in my warm furs, I was -quietly dozing when a formidable “Hip-hip-hurrah!” made us all jump, my -traveling companions, the coachman, the horse, and I. As quick as -thought the whole country was suddenly illuminated. Under the trees, on -the trees, among the bushes, along the garden walks, lights flashed -forth triumphantly. The wheels of the carriage turned a few times more -and then drew up at the house of the famous Thomas Edison. A group of -people awaited us on the veranda, four men, two ladies, and a young -girl. My heart began to beat quickly as I wondered which of these men -was Edison. I had never seen his photograph and I had the greatest -admiration for his genius. I sprang out of the carriage and the dazzling -electric light made it seem like daytime to us. I took the bouquet which -Mrs. Edison offered me and thanked her for it, but all the time I was -endeavoring to discover which of these was the Great Man. They all four -advanced toward me, but I noticed the flush that came into the face of -one of them and it was so evident from the expression of his blue eyes -that he was intensely bored that I guessed this was Edison. I felt -confused and embarrassed myself, for I knew very well that I was causing -inconvenience to this man by my visit. He, of course, imagined that it -was due to the idle curiosity of a foreigner, eager to court publicity. -He was no doubt thinking of the interviewing in store for him the -following day, and of the stupidities he would be made to utter. He was -suffering beforehand at the idea of the ignorant questions I should ask -him, of all the explanations he would, out of politeness, be obliged to -give me, and at that moment Thomas Edison took a dislike to me. His -wonderful blue eyes, more luminous than his incandescent lamps, enabled -me to read his thoughts. I immediately understood that he must be won -over, and my combative instinct had recourse to all my powers of -fascination, in order to vanquish this delightful but bashful _savant_. -I made such an effort and succeeded so well that, half an hour later, we -were the best of friends. I followed him about quickly, climbing up -staircases as narrow and steep as ladders, crossing bridges suspended in -the air above veritable furnaces, and he explained everything to me. I -understood all, and I admired him more and more, for he was so simple -and charming, this king of light. As we leaned over a slightly unsteady -bridge, above the terrible abyss in which immense wheels, encased in -wide thongs, were turning, tacking about, and rumbling, he gave various -orders in a clear voice and light then burst forth on all sides, -sometimes in sputtering, greenish jets, sometimes in quick flashes or in -serpentine trails like streams of fire. I looked at this man of medium -size, with rather a large head and a noble-looking profile, and I -thought of Napoleon I. There is certainly a great physical resemblance -between these two men, and I am sure that one compartment of their brain -would be found to be identical. Of course I do not compare their genius. -The one was “destructive” and the other “creative,” but while I execrate -battles, I adore victories and, in spite of his errors, I have raised an -altar in my heart to that god of Glory, Napoleon! I therefore looked at -Edison thoughtfully, for he reminded me of the great man who was dead. -The deafening sound of the machinery, the dazzling rapidity of the -changes of light—all that together made my head whirl and, forgetting -where I was, I leaned for support on the slight balustrade which -separated me from the abyss beneath. I was so unconscious of all danger -that, before I had recovered from my surprise, Edison had helped me into -an adjoining room and installed me in an armchair without my realizing -how it had all happened. He told me afterwards that I had turned dizzy. - -After having done the honors of his telephonic discovery and of his -astonishing phonograph, Edison offered me his arm and took me to the -dining-room where I found his family assembled. I was very tired and did -justice to the supper that had been so hospitably prepared for us. - -I left Menlo Park at four o’clock in the morning and this time the -country round, the roads, and the station were all lighted up, _à -giorno_, by the thousands of jets of my kind host. What a strange power -of suggestion the darkness has! I thought I had traveled a long way that -night, and it seemed to me that the roads were impracticable. It proved -to be quite a short distance and the roads were charming, although they -were covered with snow. Imagination had played a great part during the -journey to Edison’s house, but reality played a much greater one during -the same journey back to the station. I was enthusiastic in my -admiration of the inventions of this man, and I was charmed with his -timid graciousness and perfect courtesy, and with his profound love of -Shakespeare. - -The next day or rather that same day, for it was then four in the -morning, I started after my company for Boston. Mr. Abbey, my -_impresario_, had arranged for me to have a delightful “car,” but it was -nothing like the wonderful Pullman car that I was to have from -Philadelphia for continuing my tour. I was very much pleased with this -one, nevertheless. In the middle of the room there was a real bed, large -and comfortable, on a brass bedstead. Then there was an armchair, a -pretty dressing table, a basket tied up with ribbons for my dog, and -flowers everywhere, but flowers without overpowering perfume. In the car -adjoining mine were my own servants, who were also very comfortable. I -went to bed feeling thoroughly satisfied and woke up at Boston. - -A large crowd was assembled at the station. There were reporters and -curious men and women, a public decidedly more interested than friendly, -not badly intentioned but by no means enthusiastic. Public opinion in -New York had been greatly occupied with me during the past month. I had -been so much criticised and glorified. Calumnies of all kinds, stupid -and disgusting, foolish and odious, had been circulated about me. Some -people blamed and others admired the disdain with which I had treated -these turpitudes, but everyone knew that I had won in the end, and that -I had triumphed over all and everything. Boston knew, too, that -clergymen had preached from their pulpits saying that I had been sent by -the Old World to corrupt the New World, that my art was an inspiration -from hell, etc., etc. Everyone knew all this, but the public wanted to -see for itself. Boston belongs especially to the women. Tradition says -that it was a woman who first set foot in Boston. Women form the -majority there. They are puritanical with intelligence, and independent -with a certain grace. I passed between the two lines formed by this -strange, courteous, and cold crowd, and, just as I was about to get into -my carriage a lady advanced toward me and said: “Welcome to Boston, -madame.” - -“Welcome, madame,” and she held out a soft little hand to me. (American -women generally have charming hands and feet.) Other people now -approached and smiled, and I had to shake hands with many of them. I -took a fancy to this city at once, but all the same I was furious for a -moment when a reporter sprang on to the steps of the carriage just as we -were driving away. He was in a greater hurry and more audacious than any -of the others, but he was certainly overstepping the limits and I pushed -the wretched man back angrily. Jarrett was prepared for this and saved -him by the collar of his coat; otherwise he would have fallen down on -the pavement as he deserved. - -“At what time will you come and get on the whale to-morrow?” this -extraordinary personage asked. I gazed at him in bewilderment. He spoke -French perfectly and repeated his question. - -“He’s mad,” I said in a low voice to Jarrett. - -“No, madame, I am not mad, but I should like to know at what time you -will come and get on the whale. It would be better perhaps to come this -evening, for we are afraid it may die in the night, and it would be a -pity for you not to come and pay it a visit while it still has breath.” - -He went on talking, and as he talked, he half seated himself beside -Jarrett who was still holding him by the collar, lest he should fall out -of the carriage. - -“But, monsieur,” I exclaimed. “What do you mean? What is all this about -a whale?” - -“Ah! madame,” he replied, “it is admirable, enormous. It is in the -harbor basin and there are men employed day and night to break the ice -all round it.” - -He broke off suddenly and standing on the carriage step he clutched the -driver. - -“Stop! Stop!” he called out. “Hi-Hi, Henry—come here—here’s madame, here -she is!” - -The carriage drew up, and without any further ceremony he jumped down -and pushed into my carriage a little man, square all over, who was -wearing a fur cap pulled down over his eyes, and an enormous diamond in -his cravat. He was the strangest type of the old-fashioned Yankee. He -did not speak a word of French, but he took his seat calmly by Jarrett, -while the reporter remained half sitting and half hanging on to the -vehicle. There had been three of us when we started from the station, -and we were five when we reached the Hotel Vendome. There were a great -many people awaiting my arrival, and I was quite ashamed of my new -companion. He talked in a loud voice, laughed, coughed, spat, addressed -everyone, and gave everyone invitations. All the people seemed to be -delighted. A little girl threw her arms round her father’s neck, -exclaiming: “Oh, yes, papa, do please let us go!” - -“Well, but we must ask madame,” he replied and he came up to me in the -most polite and courteous manner. “Will you kindly allow us to join your -party when you go to see the whale to-morrow?” he asked. - -“But, monsieur,” I answered, delighted to have to do with a gentleman -once more, “I have no idea what all this means. For the last quarter of -an hour this reporter and that extraordinary man have been talking about -a whale. They declare, authoritatively, that I must go and pay it a -visit and I know absolutely nothing about it at all. These two gentlemen -took my carriage by storm, installed themselves in it without my -permission and, as you see, are giving invitations in my name to people -I do not know, asking them to go with me to a place about which I know -nothing, for the purpose of paying a visit to a whale which is to be -introduced to me and which is waiting impatiently to die in peace.” - -The kindly disposed gentleman signed to his daughter to come with us -and, accompanied by them, and by Jarrett, and Mme. Guérard, I went up in -an elevator to the door of my suite of rooms. I found my apartments hung -with valuable pictures and full of magnificent statues. I felt rather -disturbed in my mind, for among these objects of art were two or three -very rare and beautiful things which I knew must have cost an exorbitant -price. I was afraid lest any of them should be stolen and I spoke of my -fear to the proprietor of the hotel. - -“Mr. X——, to whom the knickknacks belong,” he answered, “wishes you to -have them to look at as long as you are here, mademoiselle, and when I -expressed my anxiety about them to him just as you have done to me, he -merely remarked that ‘it was all the same to him.’ As to the pictures, -they belong to two wealthy Bostonians.” There was among them a superb -Millet which I should have liked very much to own. After expressing my -gratitude, and admiring these treasures, I asked for an explanation of -the story of the whale, and Mr. Max Gordon, the father of the little -girl, translated for me what the little man in the fur cap had said. It -appeared that he owned several fishing boats which he sent out for -codfishing for his own benefit. One of these boats had captured an -enormous whale, which still had the two harpoons in it. The poor -creature, thoroughly exhausted with its struggles, was several miles -farther along the coast, but it had been easy to capture it and bring it -in triumph to Henry Smith, the owner of the boats. It was difficult to -say by what freak of fancy and by what turn of the imagination this man -had arrived at associating in his mind the idea of the whale and my name -as a source of wealth. I could not understand it, but the fact remained -that he insisted in such a droll way and so authoritatively and -energetically that the following morning at seven o’clock, fifty persons -assembled, in spite of the icy cold rain, to visit the basin of the -quay. Mr. Gordon had given orders that his mail coach with four -beautiful horses should be in readiness. He drove himself, and his -daughter, Jarrett, my sister, Mme. Guérard, and another elderly lady, -whose name I have forgotten, were with us. Seven other carriages -followed. It was all very amusing indeed. On our arrival at the quay, we -were received by this comic Henry, shaggy looking this time from head to -foot, and his hands encased in fingerless woolen gloves. Only his eyes -and his huge diamond shone out from his furs. I walked along the quay, -very much amused and interested. There were a few idlers looking on also -and alas! three times over alas!—there were reporters. Henry’s shaggy -paw then seized my hand and he drew me along with him quickly to the -staircase. I barely escaped breaking my neck at least a dozen times. He -pushed me along, made me stumble down the ten steps of the basin and I -next found myself on the back of the whale. They assured me that it -still breathed; I should not like to affirm that it really did, but the -splashing of the water breaking its eddy against the poor creature -caused it to oscillate slightly. Then, too, it was covered with glazed -frost, and twice I fell down full length on its spine. I laugh about it -now, but I was furious then. Everyone around me insisted, however, on my -pulling a piece of the shattered whalebone from the mouth of the poor -wounded creature, a sliver of that bone from which those little ribs are -made which are used for women’s corsets. I did not like to do this, as I -feared to cause it suffering and I was sorry for the poor thing, as -three of us, Henry, the little Gordon girl, and I, had been skating -about on its back for the last ten minutes. Finally, I decided to do it. -I pulled out the little piece of whalebone and went up the steps again, -holding my poor trophy in my hand. I felt nervous and flustered, and -everyone surrounded me. I was annoyed with this man. I did not want to -return to the coach, as I thought I could hide my bad temper better in -one of the huge, gloomy-looking landaus which followed, but the charming -Miss Gordon asked me so sweetly why I would not drive with them, that I -felt my anger melt away before the child’s smiling face. - -“Would you like to drive?” her father asked me, and I accepted with -pleasure. - -Jarrett immediately proceeded to get down from the coach as quickly as -his age and corpulence would allow him. - -“If you are going to drive I prefer getting down,” he said, and he took -his place in another carriage. I changed seats boldly with Mr. Gordon in -order to drive, and we had not gone a hundred yards before I had let the -horses make for a chemist’s shop along the quay and got the coach itself -up on to the footpath, so that if it had not been for the quickness and -energy of Mr. Gordon we should all have been killed. On arriving at the -hotel, I went to bed and stayed there until it was time for the theater -in the evening. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII - I VISIT MONTREAL - - -We played “Hernani” that night to a full house. The seats had been sold -to the highest bidders, and considerable prices were obtained for them. -We gave fifteen performances at Boston at an average of 19,000 francs -for each performance. I was sorry to leave that city, as I had spent two -charming weeks there, my mind all the time on the alert when holding -conversations with the Boston women. They are Puritans from the crown of -the head to the sole of the foot, but they are indulgent and there is no -bitterness about their puritanism. What struck me most about the women -of Boston was the harmony and softness of their gestures. Brought up -among the severest and harshest of traditions, the Bostonian race seems -to me to be the most refined and the most mysterious of all the American -races. As the women are in the majority in Boston, many of the young -girls will remain unmarried. All their vital forces which they cannot -expend in love and in maternity they employ in fortifying and making -supple the beauty of their body, by means of exercise and sports, -without losing any of their grace. All the reserves of heart are -expended in intellectuality. They adore music, the theater, literature, -painting, and poetry. They know everything and understand everything, -are chaste and reserved, and neither laugh nor talk very loudly. - -They are as far removed from the Latin race as the North Pole is from -the South Pole, but they are interesting, delightful, and captivating. - -[Illustration: SARAH BERNHARDT AS _DOÑA SOL_ IN “HERNANI.”] - -It was, therefore, with a rather heavy heart that I left Boston for New -Haven, and to my great surprise on arriving at the hotel at New Haven, I -found Henry Smith there, the famous whale man. “Oh, heavens!” I -exclaimed, flinging myself into an armchair, “what does this man want -now with me?” - -I was not left in ignorance very long for the most infernal noise of -brass instruments, drums, trumpets, and I should think saucepans, drew -me to the window. I saw an immense carriage surrounded by an escort of -negroes dressed as minstrels. On this carriage was an abominable, -monstrous, colored advertisement representing me standing on the whale, -tearing away its blade while it struggled to defend itself. Some -sandwich men followed with posters on which were written the following -words: “Come and see the enormous cetacea which Sarah Bernhardt killed -by tearing out its whalebone for her corsets. These are made by Mme. -Lily Noé who lives, etc.” Still other sandwich men carried posters with -these words: “The whale is just as flourishing (sic) as when it was -alive. It has five hundred dollars’ worth of salt in its stomach, and -every day the ice upon which it was resting is renewed at a cost of one -hundred dollars!” - -My face turned more livid than that of a corpse and my teeth chattered -with fury on seeing this. Henry Smith advanced toward me and I struck -him in my anger, and then rushed away to my room, where I sobbed with -vexation, disgust, and utter weariness. I wanted to start back to Europe -at once, but Jarrett showed me my contract. I then wanted to take steps -to have this odious exhibition stopped and in order to calm me, I was -promised that this should be done, but in reality nothing was done at -all. Two days later I was at Hartford and the same whale was there. It -continued its tour as I continued mine. They gave it more salt, and -renewed its ice, and it went on its way, so that I came across it -everywhere. I took proceedings about it, but in every state I was -obliged to begin all over again, as the law varied in the different -states. And every time I arrived at a fresh hotel I found there an -immense bouquet awaiting me with the horrible card of the showman of the -whale. I threw his flowers on the ground and trampled on them, and much -as I love flowers, I had a horror of these. Jarrett went to see the man -and begged him not to send me any more bouquets, but it was all of no -use as it was the man’s way of avenging the box on the ears I had given -him. Then, too, he could not understand my anger. He was making any -amount of money and had even proposed that I should accept a percentage -of the receipts. Ah! I would willingly have killed that execrable Smith, -for he was poisoning my life. I could see nothing else in all the -different cities I visited, and I used to shut my eyes on the way from -the hotel to the theater. When I heard the minstrels I used to fly into -a rage and turn green with anger. Fortunately, I was able to rest when -once I reached Montreal, where I was not followed by this show. I should -certainly have been ill if it had continued, as I saw nothing but that, -I could think of nothing else, and my very dreams were about it. It -haunted me, it was an obsession and a perpetual nightmare. When I left -Hartford, Jarrett swore to me that Smith would not be at Montreal as he -had been taken suddenly ill. I strongly suspected that Jarrett had found -a way of administering to him some violent kind of medicine which had -stopped his journeying for the time. I felt sure of this, as the -ferocious gentleman laughed so heartily _en route_, but anyhow I was -infinitely grateful to him for ridding me of the man for the present. - -For a long time, ever since my earliest childhood, I had dreamed about -Canada. I had always heard my godfather regret, with considerable fury, -the surrender of that territory by France to England. - -I had heard him enumerate, without very clearly understanding them, the -pecuniary advantages of Canada, the immense fortune that lay in its -lands, etc. ... and that country had seemed to my imagination the -far-off promised land. - -Awakened some considerable time previous by the strident whistle of the -engine, I asked what time it was. Eleven o’clock, I was informed. We -were within fifteen minutes of the station. The sky was black and -smooth, like a steel shield. Lanterns placed at distant intervals caught -the whiteness of the snow heaped up there for how many days!... The -train stopped suddenly and then started again with such a slow and timid -movement that I fancied that there might be a possibility of its running -off the rails. But a deadened sound, growing louder every second, fell -upon my attentive ears. This sound soon resolved itself into music ... -and it was in the midst of a formidable “Hurrah! Long live France!” -shouted by ten thousand throats, strengthened by an orchestra playing -the “Marseillaise” with a frenzied fury, that we made our entry into -Montreal. - -The place where the train stopped in those days was very narrow. A -somewhat high bank served as a rampart for the slight platform of the -station. - -Standing on the small step of my carriage, I looked with emotion upon -the strange spectacle I had before me. The bank was packed with bears -holding lanterns. There were hundreds and hundreds of them. In the -narrow space between the bank and the train which had come to a stop, -there were more bears, large and small ... and I wondered with terror -how I should manage to reach my sleigh. - -Jarrett and Abbey caused the crowd to make way and I got out. But a -deputy whose name I cannot make out in my notes (what commendation for -my writing!)—a deputy advanced toward me and handed me an address signed -by the notabilities of the city. I returned thanks as best I could, and -took the magnificent bouquet of flowers that was tendered in the name of -the signatories to the address. When I lifted the flowers to my face in -order to smell them, I hurt myself slightly with their pretty petals -frozen by the cold. - -However, I began to feel both arms and legs were getting benumbed. The -cold crept over my whole body. That night, it appears, was one of the -coldest that had been experienced for many years past. - -The women who had come to be present at the arrival of the French -company had been compelled to withdraw into the interior of the station, -with the exception of Mrs. Joseph Doutre, who handed me a bouquet of -rare flowers and gave me a kiss. It was twenty-two degrees below zero. I -whispered low to Jarrett: - -“Let us continue our journey, I am turning into ice. In ten minutes I -shall not be able to move a step.” - -Jarrett repeated my words to Abbey who applied to the chief of police. -The latter gave orders in English and another police officer repeated -them in French. And we were able to proceed for a few yards. But the -station was still some way off. The crowd grew bigger, and at one time I -felt as though I were about to faint. I took courage, however, holding -or rather hanging on to the arms of Jarrett and Abbey. Every minute I -thought I should fall, for the platform was covered with ice. - -We were obliged, however, to stay further progress. A hundred lanterns, -held aloft by a hundred students’ hands, suddenly lit up the place. - -A tall young man separated himself from the group and came straight -toward me holding a wide unrolled piece of paper, and in a loud voice -exclaimed: “To Sarah Bernhardt....” And these are the lines he read: - - A SARAH BERNHARDT - - Salut, Sarah! salut, charmante Doña Sol! - Lorsque ton pied mignon vient fouler notre sol, - Notre sol tout couvert de givre, - Est-ce un frisson d’orgueil ou d’amour? je ne sais; - Mais nous sentons courir dans notre sang français, - Quelque chose qui nous enivre! - - Femme vaillante au cœur saturé d’idéal, - Puisque tu n’as pas craint notre ciel boréal, - Ni redouté nos froids sévères, - Merci! De l’âpre hiver pour longtemps prisonniers, - Nous rêvons à ta vue aux rayons printaniers - Qui font fleurir les primevères! - - Oui, c’est au doux printemps que tu nous fais rêver! - Oiseau des pays bleus, lorsque tu viens braver - L’horreur de nos saisons perfides, - Aux clairs rayonnements d’un chaud soleil de Mai, - Nous croyons voir, du fond d’un bosquet parfumé, - Surgir la reine des sylphides. - - Mais non: de floréal ni du blond Messidor, - Tu n’est pas, ô Sarah, la fée aux ailes d’or - Qui vient répandre l’ambroisie, - Nous saluons en toi l’artiste radieux - Qui sut cueillir d’assaut dans le jardin des dieux - Toutes les fleurs de poésie! - - Que sous ta main la toile anime son réseau; - Que le paron brillant vive sous ton ciseau, - Ou l’argile sous ton doigt rose; - Que sur la scène, au bruit délirant des bravos, - En types toujours vrais, quoique toujours nouveaux, - Ton talent se métamorphose; - - Soit que, peintre admirable ou sculpteur souverain, - Toi-même oses ravir la muse au front serein, - A te sourire toujours prêtée! - Soit qu’aux mille vivate de la foule à genoux, - Des grands maîtres anciens ou modernes, pour nous - Ta voix se fasse l’interprète; - - Des bords de la Tamise aux bords du Saint-Laurent, - Qu’il soit enfant du peuple ou brille au premier rang, - Laissant glapir la calomnie, - Tour à tour par ton œuvre et ta grâce enchanté - Chacun courbe le front devant la majesté - De ton universel génie! - - Salut donc, ô Sarah! salut, ô Doña Sol! - Lorsque ton pied mignon vient fouler notre sol, - Te montrer de l’indifférence - Serait à notre sang nous-mêmes faire affront; - Car l’étoile qui luit la plus belle à ton front, - C’est encore celle de la France! - -He read very well, it is true, but those lines, read with a temperature -of twenty-two degrees of cold, to a poor woman dumfounded through -listening to a frenzied “Marseillaise,” stunned by the mad hurrahs from -ten thousand throats delirious with patriotic fervor, were more than my -strength could bear, made me feel dizzy, and caused my head to reel. - -I made superhuman efforts at resistance, but was overwhelmed with -fatigue. Everything appeared to be turning round in a mad farandole. I -felt myself raised from the ground and heard a voice which seemed to -come from far away—“Make room for our French lady....” Then I heard -nothing further and only recovered my senses in my room at the Hotel -Windsor. - -My sister Jeanne had become separated from me by the movement of the -crowd. But the poet Fréchette, a French-Canadian, became her escort and -brought her several minutes after, safe and sound, but trembling on my -account, and this is what she told me—“Just imagine. When the crowd was -pressing against you, seized with terror on seeing your head fall back -with closed eyes on to Abbey’s shoulder, I shouted out ‘Help. My sister -is being killed.’ I had become mad. A man of enormous size who had -followed us for a long time worked his elbows and hips to make the -enthusiastic but overwrought mob give way, with a quick movement placed -himself before you, just in time to prevent you from falling. The man, -whose face I could not see on account of its being hidden beneath a fur -cap, the ear flaps of which covered almost his entire face, raised you -up as though you had been a flower, and held forth to the crowd in -English. I did not understand anything he said, but the Canadians were -struck with it, for the pushing ceased, and the crowd separated into two -compact files in order to let you pass through. I can assure you that it -made me feel quite impressed to see you so slender, with your head back -and the whole of your poor frame borne at arms’ length by that Hercules. -I followed as fast as I could, but having caught my foot in the flounce -of my skirt I had to stop for a second, and that second was enough to -separate us completely. - -“The crowd having closed up after your passage, formed an impenetrable -barrier. I can assure you, dear sister, that I felt anything but at -ease, and it was Mr. Fréchette who saved me.” - -I shook the hand of that worthy gentleman and thanked him this time as -well as I could for his fine poem, then I spoke to him of his other -poems, a volume of which I had obtained at New York, for, alas! to my -shame I must acknowledge it, I knew nothing about Fréchette up to the -time of my departure from France, and yet he was already known a little -in Paris. - -He was very touched with the several lines I dwelt upon as the finest of -his work. He thanked me for doing so. We remained friends. - -The day following, nine o’clock had hardly struck, when a card was sent -up to me on which were written these words: “He who had the joy of -saving you, madame, begs that your kindness will grant him a moment’s -interview.” I directed that the man be shown into the drawing-room, and -after notifying Jarrett, went to waken my sister. “Come with me,” I -said. She slipped on a Chinese dressing gown and we went in the -direction of the huge, immense drawing-room of my apartment, for a -bicycle would have been necessary to traverse my rooms, drawing-rooms -and dining-room, for the whole length without fatigue. On opening the -door I was struck with the beauty of the man who was before me. He was -very tall, with wide shoulders, small head, a hard look, hair thick and -curly, tanned complexion. The man was fine looking but seemed uneasy. He -blushed slightly on seeing me. I expressed my gratitude and asked to be -excused for my foolish weakness. I received joyfully the bouquet of -violets he handed me. On taking leave he said in a low tone: “If ever -you hear who I am, swear that you will only think of the slight service -I have rendered you.” At that moment Jarrett entered with white face. He -went up to the stranger and spoke to him in English. I could, however, -catch the words: “detective ... door ... assassination ... -impossibility ... New Orleans....” - -His sunburnt complexion became chalky, his nostrils quivered as he -looked toward the door. Then, as flight appeared impossible, he looked -at Jarrett and in a peremptory tone, as cold as flint, said “Well” as he -went toward the door. My hands, which had opened under the stupor, let -fall his bouquet which he picked up, looking at me with a supplicating -and appealing air. I understood and said to him in a loud tone of voice, -“I swear to it, monsieur.” The man disappeared with his flowers. I heard -the uproar of people behind the door, and of the crowd in the street. I -did not wish to listen to anything further. - -When my sister, of a romantic and foolish turn of mind, wished to tell -me about the horrible thing, I closed my ears. - -Four months afterwards, when an attempt was made to read aloud to me an -account of his death by hanging I refused to hear anything about it. And -now after twenty-six years have passed and I know, I only wish to -remember the service rendered and my pledged word. This incident left me -somewhat sad. The anger of the Bishop of Montreal was necessary to -enable me to regain my good humor. That prelate, after holding forth in -the pulpit against the immorality of French literature, forbade his -flock to go to the theater. His charge was violent and spiteful against -modern France. As to Scribe’s play, “Adrienne Lecouvreur,” he tore it -into shreds, as it were, disclaiming against the immoral love of the -_comedienne_ and of the hero and against the adulterous love of the -_Princess of Bouillon_. But the truth showed itself in spite of all, and -he cried out with fury intensified by outrage—“In this infamous -lucubration there are French authors, a court abbé who, thanks to the -unbounded licentiousness of his expressions, constitutes a direct insult -to the clergy.” Finally, he pronounced an anathema against Scribe, who -was already dead, against Legouvé, against me, and against all my -company. The result was that crowds came from everywhere, and the four -presentations, “Adrienne Lecouvreur,” “Froufrou,” “La Dame aux Camélias” -(afternoon performance), and “Hernani,” had a colossal success and -brought in fabulous receipts. - -[Illustration: CORNER IN SARAH BERNHARDT’S PARIS HOME, SHOWING PORTRAIT -BY CHARTRAN.] - -I was invited by the poet Fréchette and a banker whose name I do not -remember to make a visit to Ottawa. I accepted with joy, and went there -accompanied by my sister, Jarrett, and Angelo, who was always ready for -a dangerous excursion; I felt in safety in the presence of that artist, -full of bravery and composure, and gifted with herculean strength. The -only thing he lacked to make him perfect was talent. He had none then -and never did have any. - -The St. Lawrence River was frozen over almost entirely; we crossed it in -a carriage along a route indicated on the river by two rows of branches -fixed in the ice. We had four carriages; the distance between Ottawa and -Montreal is one hundred and twenty-five kilometers. - -This visit to the Iroquois was deliciously enchanting. I was introduced -to the chief, father, and mayor of the Iroquois tribes. Alas! this -former chief, son of “Big White Eagle,” surnamed during his childhood -“Sun of the Nights,” now clothed in sorry European rags, was selling -liquor, thread, needles, flax, pork fat, chocolate, etc. All that -remained of his mad rovings through the old wild forests—when he roamed -naked over a land free of all allegiance—was the stupor of the bull held -prisoner by the horns. It is true he also sold brandy and that he -quenched his thirst, as did all of them, at that source of -forgetfulness. - -“Sun of the Nights” introduced me to his daughter, a girl of eighteen to -twenty years of age, insipid and devoid of beauty and grace. She sat -down at the piano and played a tune that was popular at the time—I do -not remember what. I was in a hurry to leave the store—the home of these -two victims of civilization. - -I visited Ottawa, but found no pleasure in it. The same compression of -the throat, the same retrospective anguish caused me to revolt against -man’s cowardice which hid under the name of civilization the most unjust -and most protected of crimes. - -I returned to Montreal somewhat sad and tired. The success of our four -performances was extraordinary, but what gave them a special charm in my -eyes was the infernal and joyous noise made by the students. The doors -of the theater were opened every day one hour in advance for them. They -then arranged matters to suit themselves. Most of them were gifted with -magnificent voices. They separated into groups according to the -requirements of the songs they wished to sing. Then they prepared by -means of a strong string worked by a pulley the aërial route that was to -be followed by the flower-bedecked baskets which descended from their -paradise to where I was. They tied ribbons round the necks of doves -bearing sonnets and wishes. - -These flowers and birds were sent off during the “calls,” and by a happy -disposition of the strings the flowers fell at my feet, the doves flew -where their astonishment led them, and every evening these messages of -grace and beauty were repeated. I experienced considerable emotion the -first evening. The Marquis of Lorne, son-in-law of Queen Victoria, -Governor of Canada, was of royal punctuality. The students knew it. The -house was noisy and quivering. Through an opening in the curtain I gazed -on the composition of this assembly. All of a sudden a silence came over -it without any outward reason for it, and the “Marseillaise” was sung by -three hundred warm, young, male voices. With a courtesy full of grandeur -the governor stood up at the first notes of our national hymn. The whole -house was on its feet in a second, and the magnificent anthem echoed in -our hearts like a call from the mother country. I do not believe I ever -heard the “Marseillaise” sung with keener emotion and unanimity. As soon -as it was over, the plaudits of the crowd broke out three times over, -then, upon a sharp gesture from the governor, the band played “God Save -the Queen.” - -I never saw a prouder and more dignified gesture than that of the -governor when he motioned to the leader of the band. He was quite -willing to allow these sons of submissive Frenchmen to feel a regret, -perhaps even a flickering hope. The first on his feet, he listened to -that fine plaint with respect, but he smothered its last echo beneath -the English national anthem. Being English, he was incontestably right -in doing so. - -I gave for the last performance, on the 25th December, Christmas Day, -“Hernani.” - -The Bishop of Montreal again thundered against me, against Scribe and -Legouvé, and the poor _artistes_ who had come with me who could not help -it. I do not know whether he did not even threaten to excommunicate all -of us, living and dead. Lovers of France and French art, in order to -reply to his abusive attack, unyoked my horses, and my sleigh was almost -carried by an immense crowd among which were the deputies and -notabilities of the city. - -One has only to consult the daily papers of that period to realize the -crushing effect caused by such a triumphant return to my hotel. - -The day following, Sunday, I left the hotel at seven o’clock in the -morning with Jarrett and my sister, for a promenade on the banks of the -St. Lawrence River. At a given moment I ordered the carriage to stop -with the object of walking a little way. - -My sister laughingly said, “What if we climb on to the large piece of -ice that seems ready to crack?” No sooner thought of than done. And -behold, both of us walking on the ice trying to break it loose. All of a -sudden, a loud shout from Jarrett made us understand that we had -succeeded. As a matter of fact, our ice bark was already floating free -in the narrow channel of the river that remained always open through the -force of the current. My sister and I sat down, for the piece of ice -rocked about in every direction, making both of us laugh inordinately. -Jarrett’s cries caused people to gather. Men armed with boat hooks -endeavored to stop our progress, but it was not easy, for the edges of -the channel were too friable to bear the weight of a man. Ropes were -thrown out to us. We caught hold of one of them with our four hands, but -the sudden pull of the men in drawing us toward them cast our raft so -suddenly against the icy edges that it broke in two, and we remained, -full of fear this time, on one small part of our skiff. I laughed no -longer, for we were beginning to travel somewhat fast, and the channel -was opening out in width. But in one of the turns it made, we were -fortunately squeezed in between two immense blocks, and to this fact we -owed being able to escape with our lives. The men who bad followed our -very rapid ride with real courage, climbed on to the blocks. A harpoon -was thrown with marvelous skill on to our icy wreck so as to retain us -in our position, for the current, rather strong underneath, might have -caused us to move. A ladder was brought and planted against one of the -large blocks, and its steps afforded us means of delivery. My sister was -the first to climb up and I followed, somewhat ashamed at our ridiculous -escapade. - -During the length of time required to regain the bank, the carriage, -with Jarrett in it, was able to rejoin us. He was pallid, not from fear -of the danger I had undergone, but at the idea that if I died the tour -would come to an end. He said to me quite seriously, “If you had lost -your life, madam, you would have been dishonest, for you would have -broken your contract of your own free will.” - -We had just enough time to get to the station where the train was ready -to take me to Springfield. - -An immense crowd was waiting and it was with the same cry of love, -underlined with _au-revoirs_, that the Canadian public wished us -good-by. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII - MY TOUR OF THE WESTERN STATES - - -After our immense and noisy success at Montreal, we were somewhat -surprised with the icy welcome of the public at Springfield. - -We played “La Dame aux Camélias,” in America “Camille”—why? No one was -ever able to tell me. This play, that the public rushed to see in -crowds, shocked the overstrained Puritanism of the small American -states. The critics of the large cities discussed this modern Magdalene. -But those of the small towns began by throwing stones at her. This -stilted reserve on the part of the public, prejudiced against the -impurity of _Marguerite Gautier_, we met with from time to time in the -small cities. Springfield at that time had barely thirty thousand -inhabitants. - -During the day I passed at Springfield I called at a gunsmiths to -purchase a Colt gun. The salesman showed me into a long and very narrow -courtyard where I tried several guns. On turning round, I was surprised -and confused to see two gentlemen taking an interest in my shooting. I -wished to withdraw at once, but one of them came up to me—“Would you -like, madam, to come and fire off a cannon?” I almost fell to the ground -with surprise, and did not reply for a second. Then I said, “Yes, I -would.” - -An appointment was made with my strange questioner, who was the director -of the Colt gun factory. An hour afterwards I went to the rendezvous. - -More than thirty people were there already who had been hastily invited. -It got on my nerves a trifle. I fired off the newly invented -quick-firing cannon. It amused me very much without procuring me any -emotion, and that evening, after the icy performance, we left for -Baltimore with a vertiginous rush, the play having finished later than -the hour fixed for the departure of the train. It was necessary to catch -it at any cost. The three enormous carriages that made up my special -train went off under full steam. Having two engines we bounded over the -rails but stayed on, thanks to some miracle. - -We finally succeeded in catching up with the express that (having been -warned by telegram) knew we were on its track; it made a short stop—just -long enough to couple us to it—and in that way we reached Baltimore, -where I stayed four days and gave five performances. - -Two things struck me in that city—the deadly cold in the hotels and the -theater, and the loveliness of the women. I felt a profound sadness at -Baltimore for it was the first time I had spent the first of January far -from everything that was dear to me. I wept all night and underwent that -moment of discouragement that makes one wish for death. - -The success, however, had been colossal in that charming city, which I -left with regret to go to Philadelphia, where we were to remain a week. - -That handsome city I do not care for. I received an enthusiastic welcome -there in spite of a change of programme the first evening. Two -_artistes_ having missed the train we could not play “Adrienne -Lecouvreur” and I had to replace it by “Phèdre,” the only piece in which -the absentees could be replaced. The receipts averaged 20,000 francs for -the seven performances given in six days. My sojourn was saddened by a -letter announcing the death of my friend Gustave Flaubert, the writer -who had the beauty of our language most at heart. - -From Philadelphia we proceeded to Chicago. - -At the station I was received by a deputation of Chicago ladies, and a -bouquet of rare flowers was handed to me by a delightful young lady, -Madam Lily ——. Jarrett then led me into one of the rooms of the station -where the French delegates were waiting. - -A very short but highly emotional speech from our consul spread -confidence and friendly feelings among all, and after having returned -heartfelt thanks, I was preparing to leave the station, when I remained -stupefied—and it seems that my features assumed such an intense -expression of suffering that everybody ran toward me to offer -assistance. For a sudden anger electrified all my being, and I walked -straight toward the horrible vision that had just appeared before me—the -whale man! He was alive, that horrible Smith—enveloped in furs, with -diamonds on all of his fingers. He was there with a bouquet in his hand, -the horrible brute! I refused the flowers and repulsed him with all my -strength increased tenfold by anger, and a flood of confused words -escaped my pallid lips. But this scene charmed him, for it was repeated -and spread about, magnified, and the whale had more visitors than ever. - -I went to the Palmer House, one of the most magnificent hotels of that -day, whose proprietor, Mr. Palmer, was a perfect gentleman, courteous, -kind, and generous, for he filled the immense apartment I occupied with -the rarest flowers, and taxed his ingenuity in order to have me served -in the French style, a rare thing at that time. - -We were to remain a fortnight in Chicago. Our success exceeded all -expectations. This fortnight at Chicago seemed to me the most agreeable -days I had had since my arrival in America. First of all there was the -vitality of the city in which men pass each other without ever stopping, -with knitted brows, with one thought in mind, “the end to attain.” They -move on and on, never turning for a cry or prudent warning. What takes -place behind them, matters little. They do not wish to know why a cry -was raised; and they have no time to be prudent, “the end to attain” -awaits them. - -Women here, as everywhere else in America, do not work, but they do not -stroll about the streets as in other cities; they walk quickly; they -also are in a hurry to seek amusement. During the daytime I went some -distance into the surrounding country in order not to meet the sandwich -men advertising the whale. - -One day I went to the pig-slaughtering house. Ah, what a dreadful and -magnificent sight! There were three of us—my sister, myself, and an -Englishman, a friend of mine. On arrival, we saw hundreds of pigs -hurrying, bunched together, grunting and snorting, file off along a -small, narrow, raised bridge. - -Our carriage passed under this bridge and stopped before a group of men -who were waiting for us. The manager of the stockyards received us and -led the way to the special slaughterhouses. On entering into the immense -shed, which was dimly lighted by windows with greasy and ruddy panes, an -abominable smell gets into one’s throat, a smell that only leaves one -several days afterwards. A sanguinary mist rises everywhere like a light -cloud floating on the side of a mountain and lit up by the setting sun. -An infernal hubbub drums itself into one’s brain; the almost human cries -of the pigs being slaughtered, the violent strokes of the hatchets, -lopping off the limbs, the successive “Han!” of the “ripper” who, with a -superbly sweeping gesture lifts the heavy hatchet, and with one stroke -opens from top to bottom the unfortunate, quivering animal hung on a -hook. During the terror of the moment, one hears the continuous grating -of the revolving razor, which, in one second, removes the bristles from -the trunk thrown to it by the machine that has cut off the four legs. -The whistle by which escapes the steam from the hot water in which the -head of the animal is scalded; the rippling of the water that is -constantly renewed; the cascade of the waste water; the rumbling of the -small trains carrying under wide arches trucks loaded with hams, -sausages, etc. ... all that sustained by the sounds of the bells of the -engines warning of the danger of their approach, and which in this spot -of terrible massacre seem to be the perpetual knell of wretched agonies. -Nothing was more Hoffmanesque than this slaughter of pigs at the period -I am speaking about, for since then, a sentiment of humanity has crept, -although still somewhat timidly, into this temple of porcine hecatombs. - -I returned from this visit quite ill. That evening I played in “Phèdre.” -I went on to the stage quite unnerved and trying to do everything to get -rid of the horrible vision of a little while ago. I threw myself heart -and brain into my rôle, so much so that at the end of the fourth act I -absolutely fainted on the stage. - -On the day of my last performance, a magnificent collar of camellias in -diamonds was handed me on behalf of the ladies of Chicago. I left that -city fond of everything in it—its people, its lake as big as a small -inland sea, its audiences who were so enthusiastic, everything, -everything, but its stockyards. - -I did not even bear any ill-will toward the bishop who also, as had -happened in other cities, had denounced my art and French literature. By -the violence of his sermons he had as a matter of fact advertised us so -well that Mr. Abbey, the manager, wrote the following letter to him: - - HIS GRACE: Whenever I visit your city I am accustomed to spend $400 in - advertising. But as you have done the advertising for me, I send you - $200 for your poor. - - HENRY ABBEY. - -We left Chicago to go to St. Louis, where we arrived after having -covered two hundred and eighty-three miles in fourteen hours. - -In the drawing-room of my car, Abbey and Jarrett showed me the statement -of the sixty-two performances that had been given since our departure; -the gross receipts were $227,459, that is to say 1,137,295 francs—an -average of 18,343 francs per performance. This gave me great pleasure on -Henry Abbey’s account, who had lost everything in his previous tour with -an admirable _troupe_ of Opera _artistes_, and greater pleasure still on -my own account, for I was to receive a good share of the receipts. - -We stayed at St. Louis all the week from the 24th to the 31st of -January. I must admit that this city, which was specially French, was -less to my liking than the other American cities, as it was dirty and -the hotels were not very comfortable. Since then St. Louis has made -great strides, but it was the Germans who planted there the bulb of -progress. At the time of which I speak, the year 1881, the city was -repulsively dirty. In those days, alas! we were not great at colonizing, -and all the cities where French influence preponderated, were poor and -behind the times. I was bored to death at St. Louis, and I wanted to -leave the place at once, after paying the indemnity to the manager, but -Jarrett, the upright man, the stern man of duty, the ferocious man, said -to me, holding the contract in his hand: “No, madame, you must stay; you -can die of _ennui_ here, if you like, but stay you must.” - -By way of entertaining me, he took me to a celebrated grotto, where we -were to see some millions of fish without eyes. The light had never -penetrated into this grotto, and as the first fish who lived there had -no use for their eyes, their descendants had no eyes at all. We went -down and groped our way to the grotto, very cautiously, on all fours -like cats. The road seemed to me interminable; but, at last, the guide -told us that we had arrived at our destination. We were able to stand -upright again, as the grotto itself was higher. I could see nothing, but -I heard a match being struck, and the guide then lighted a small -lantern. Just in front of me, nearly at my feet, was a rather deep -natural basin: “You see,” remarked our guide phlegmatically, “that is -the pond, but just at present there is no water in it, neither are there -any fish; you must come again in three months’ time.” - -Jarrett made such a fearful grimace that I was seized with an -uncontrollable fit of laughter, of that kind of laughter which borders -on madness; I was suffocated with it, and I hiccoughed and laughed till -the tears came. I then went down into the basin of the pond in search of -a relic of some kind, a little skeleton of a dead fish, or anything, no -matter what. There was nothing to be found, though, absolutely nothing. -We had to return on all fours as we came. I made Jarrett go first, and -the sight of his big back in his fur coat as he walked along on hands -and feet, grumbling and swearing as he went, gave me such delight that I -no longer regretted anything, and I gave ten dollars to the guide to his -ineffable surprise. - -[Illustration: LIBRARY IN MADAME BERNHARDT’S HOUSE, PARIS.] - -We returned to the hotel, and I was informed that a jeweler had been -waiting for me more than two hours. “A jeweler!” I exclaimed; “but I -have no intention of buying any jewelry; I have too much as it is.” -Jarrett, however, winked at Abbey, who was there as we entered. I saw at -once that there was some understanding between the jeweler and my two -_impresarii_. I was told that my ornaments needed cleaning, that the -jeweler would undertake to make them look like new, repair them if they -required it and, in a word ... exhibit them. I rebelled, but it was of -no use. Jarrett assured me that the ladies of St. Louis were -particularly fond of shows of this kind. He said it would be an -excellent advertisement, that my jewelry was very much tarnished, that -several stones were missing, and that this man would replace them for -nothing. “What a saving,” he added; “just think of it!” - -I gave up, for discussions of that kind bore me to death, and two days -later the ladies of St. Louis went to admire my ornaments in this -jeweler’s showcases under a blaze of light. Poor Mme. Guérard, who also -wanted to see them, came back horrified: - -“They have added to your things,” she said, “sixteen pairs of earrings, -two necklaces, and thirty rings; a lorgnette all diamonds and rubies, a -gold cigarette holder set with turquoises, a small pipe, the amber -mouthpiece of which is encircled with diamond stars, sixteen bracelets, -a toothpick studded with sapphires, and a pair of spectacles with gold -mounts ending with small acorns of pearls.” - -“They must have been made specially,” said poor Guérard, “for there -can’t be anyone who would wear such glasses, and on them were written -the words: ‘Spectacles which Madame Sarah Bernhardt wears when she is at -home.’” I certainly thought that this was exceeding all the limits -allowed to advertisement. To make me smoke pipes and wear spectacles was -going rather too far, and I got into my carriage and drove at once to -the jeweler’s. I arrived just in time to find the place closed. It was -five o’clock on Saturday afternoon, the lights were out, and everything -was dark and silent. I returned to the hotel and spoke to Jarrett of my -annoyance: “What does it all matter, madame?” he said tranquilly; “so -many girls wear spectacles, and as to the pipe, the jeweler tells me he -has received five orders from it, and that it is going to be quite the -fashion. Anyhow, it is of no use worrying about the matter, as the -exhibition is now over, your jewelry will be returned to-night, and we -leave here the day after to-morrow.” That evening the jeweler returned -all the objects I had lent him, and they had been polished and repaired, -so that they looked quite new. He had included with them a gold -cigarette holder set with turquoises, the very one that had been on -view. I simply could not make that man understand anything, and my anger -cooled down when confronted by his pleasant manner and his joy. - -This advertisement, though, came very near costing my life. Tempted by -the thought of this huge quantity of jewelry, the greater part of which -did not belong to me, a little band of sharpers planned to rob me, -believing that they would find all these valuables in the large handbag -which my steward always carried. - -On Sunday, the 30th of January, we left St. Louis at eight o’clock in -the morning for Cincinnati. I was in my magnificently appointed Pullman -car, and I had requested that my car should be put at the end of our -special train, so that from the platform I might enjoy the beauty of the -landscape which passes before one like a continually changing living -panorama. - -We had scarcely been more than ten minutes _en route_ when the guard -suddenly stooped down and looked over the little balcony. He then drew -back quickly, and his face turned pale. Seizing my hand, he said in a -very anxious tone, in English, “Please go inside, madame.” I understood -that we were in danger of some kind. He pulled the alarm signal, made a -sign to another guard, and, before the train had quite come to a -standstill, the two men sprang down and disappeared under the train. The -guard had fired a revolver in order to attract everyone’s attention, and -Jarrett, Abbey, and the _artistes_ hurried out into the narrow corridor. -I found myself in the midst of them, and to our stupefaction, we saw the -two guards dragging out from underneath my compartment a man armed to -the teeth. With a revolver held to his temple on either side he decided -to confess the truth of the matter. The jeweler’s exhibition had excited -the envy of all the tribes of thieves, and this man had been despatched -by an organized hand at St. Louis to relieve me of my jewelry. He was to -unhook my carriage from the rest of the train between St. Louis and -Cincinnati, at a certain spot known as the “Little Incline.” As this was -to be done during the night, and my carriage was the last, the thing was -comparatively easy, as it was only a question of lifting the enormous -hook and drawing it out of the link. The man was a veritable giant and -he was fastened on to my carriage. We examined his apparatus and found -that it consisted of merely very thick, wide straps of leather, about -half a yard wide. By means of these, he was fastened firmly to the under -part of the train with his hands perfectly free. The courage and the -_sang froid_ of that man were admirable. He told us that seven armed men -were waiting for us at the “Little Incline” and that they certainly -would not have injured us if we had not attempted to resist, for all -they wanted was my jewelry, and the money which the secretary carried, -$2,300. Oh! he knew everything, he knew everyone’s name, and he gabbled -on in bad French: “Oh! as for you, madame, we should not have done you -any harm in spite of your pretty little revolver; we should even have -let you keep it.” - -And so this man and his band knew that the secretary slept at my end of -the train and that he was not to be dreaded much, poor Chatterton, that -he had with him $2,300, and that I had a very prettily chased revolver, -ornamented with cats’ eyes. The man was firmly bound and taken in charge -by the two guards, and the train was then backed to St. Louis—we had -started away only a quarter of an hour before. The police were informed -and they sent us five detectives. A goods train, which should have gone -on half an hour after us, was sent on ahead. Eight detectives traveled -on this goods train and received orders to get out at the “Little -Incline.” Our giant was handed over to the police authorities, but I was -promised that he should be dealt with mercifully on account of the -confession he had made. Later on, I learned that this promise had been -kept, as the man was sent back to his native country, Ireland. - -From this time forth, my compartment was always placed between two -others every night. In the daytime I was allowed to have my carriage at -the end on condition that I would agree to have an armed detective on my -bridge, whom I was to pay, by the way, for his services. We started -about twenty-five minutes after the goods train. All the men were -requested to have their revolvers in readiness and some white sticks -like pastry rollers were given to the women and to the men who had not -any revolvers. Our dinner was very gay and everyone was rather excited. -As to the guard who had discovered the giant hidden under the train, -Abbey and I had rewarded him so lavishly that he was intoxicated, and -kept coming on every occasion to kiss my hand and weep his drunkard’s -tears, repeating all the time: “I saved the French lady, I’m a -gentleman.” - -When, finally, we approached the “Little Incline,” it was dark. The -engine driver wanted to rush along at full speed, but we had not gone -five miles when petards exploded under the wheels, and we were obliged -to slacken our pace. We wondered what new danger there was awaiting us, -and we began to feel anxious. The women were nervous and some of them -were in tears. We went along slowly, peering into the darkness, trying -to make out the form of a man or of several men by the light of each -petard. Abbey suggested going at full speed, because these petards had -been placed along the line by the bandits, who had probably thought of -some way of stopping the train in case their giant did not succeed in -unhooking the carriage. The engine driver refused to go more quickly, -declaring that these petards were the signals placed there by the -railway company, and that he could not risk everyone’s life on a mere -supposition. The man was quite right and he was certainly very brave. - -“We can certainly settle a handful of ruffians,” he said, “but I could -not answer for anyone’s life if the train went off the lines, or -collided with something, or went over a precipice.” - -We continued, therefore, to go slowly. The lights had been turned off in -the car, so that we might see as much as possible without being seen -ourselves. We had tried to keep the truth from the _artistes_, except -from three men whom I had sent for to come to my carriage. The -_artistes_ really had nothing to fear from the robbers, as I was the -only person at whom they were aiming. To avoid all unnecessary questions -and evasive answers we sent the secretary to tell them that as there was -some obstruction on the line the train had to go slowly. They were also -told that one of the gas pipes had to be repaired before we could have -the light again. The communication was then cut between my car and the -rest of the train. We had been going along like this for ten minutes, -perhaps, when everything was suddenly lighted up by a fire, and we saw a -gang of railway men hastening toward us. It makes me shudder now when I -think how nearly these poor fellows were to being killed. Our nerves had -been in such a state of tension for several hours that we imagined at -first that these men were the wretched friends of the giant. Some one -fired at them, and if it had not been for our plucky engine driver -calling out to them to stop, with the addition of a terrible oath, two -or three of these poor men would have been wounded. I, too, had seized -my revolver, but before I could have drawn out the ramrod which serves -as a cog to prevent it from going off, anyone would have had time to -seize me, bind me, and kill me a hundred times over. And still any time -I go to a place where I think there is danger, I invariably take my -pistol with me, for it is a pistol and not a revolver. I always call it -a revolver, but, in reality, it is a pistol, and of a very old-fashioned -make, too, with this ramrod and the trigger so hard to pull that I have -to use my other hand as well. I am not a bad shot, for a woman, provided -that I may take my time, but this is not very easy when one wants to -fire at a robber. And yet, I always have my pistol with me; it is here -on my table and I can see it as I write. It is in its case, which is -rather too narrow, so that it requires a certain amount of strength and -patience to pull it out. If an assassin should arrive at this particular -moment I should first have to unfasten the case, which is no easy -matter, then to get the pistol out, pull out the ramrod, which is rather -too firm, and press the trigger with both hands. And yet, in spite of -all this, the human animal is so strange that this little ridiculously -useless object here before me seems to me an admirable protection. And -nervous and timid as I am, alas! I feel quite safe when I am near to -this little friend of mine, who must roar with laughter inside the -little case out of which I can scarcely drag it. - -Well, everything was now explained to us. The goods train which had -started before us ran off the line, but no great damage was done, and no -one was killed. The St. Louis band of robbers had arranged everything, -and had prepared to have this little accident two miles from the “Little -Incline,” in case their comrade, crouching under my car, had not been -able to unhook it. The train left the rails, but when the wretches -rushed forward believing that it was mine, they found themselves -surrounded by the band of detectives. It seems that they fought like -demons. One of them was killed on the spot, two more wounded, and all -the others taken prisoners. A few days later the chief of this little -band was hanged. He was a Belgian, named Albert Wirbyn, twenty-five -years of age. - -I did all in my power to save him, for it seemed to me that -unintentionally I had been the instigator of his evil plan. If Abbey and -Jarrett had not been so rabid for advertisement, if they had not added -more than 600,000 francs’ worth of jewelry to mine, this man, this -wretched youth, would not perhaps have had the stupid idea of robbing -me. - -[Illustration: CORNER IN SARAH BERNHARDT’S LIBRARY, SHOWING MADAME -BERNHARDT’S WRITING TABLE ON THE LEFT.] - -Who can say what schemes had floated through the minds of the poor -fellow, who was perhaps half starved or perhaps excited by a clever, -inventive brain? Perhaps when he stopped and looked at the jeweler’s -window, he said to himself: “There is jewelry there worth 1,000,000 -francs. If it were all mine I would sell it and go back to Belgium. What -joy I could give to my poor mother who is blinding herself with work by -gaslight, and I could help my sister to get married.” Or perhaps he was -an inventor, and he thought to himself: “Ah! if only I had the money -which that jewelry represents, I could bring out my invention myself, -instead of selling my patent to some highly esteemed rascal, who will -buy it from me for a crust of bread. What would it matter to the -_artiste_? Ah, if only I had the money!” Ah, if I had the money!... -Perhaps the poor fellow cried with rage to think of all this wealth -belonging to one person. Perhaps the idea of crime germinated in this -way in a mind which had hitherto been pure. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX - FROM THE GULF TO CANADA AGAIN - - -We arrived at Cincinnati safe and sound. We gave three performances -there and set off once more for New Orleans. Now, I thought, we shall -have some sunshine and we shall be able to warm our poor limbs, -stiffened with three months of mortal cold. We shall be able to open our -windows, and breathe fresh air instead of the suffocating and -anæmia-giving steam heat. I fell asleep and dreams of warmth and sweet -scents lulled me in my slumber. A knock at my door roused me suddenly, -and my dog with ears erect sniffed at the door, but as he did not growl -I knew it was some one of our party. I opened the door and Jarrett, -followed by Abbey, made signs to me not to speak. Jarrett came in on -tiptoes and closed the door again. - -“Well, what is it now?” I asked. - -“Why,” replied Jarrett, “the incessant rain during the last twelve days -has swollen the river to such a height that the bridge across the bay of -St. Louis threatens to give way. If we go back we shall require three or -four days.” - -I was furious. Three or four days and to go back to the snow again. Ah, -no, I felt I must have sunshine! - -“Why can we not pass? Oh, heavens, what shall we do!” I exclaimed. - -“Well, the engine driver is here. He thinks that he might get across, -but he has only just married, and he will try the crossing on condition -that you give him $2,500, which he will at once send to Mobile where his -father and wife live. If we get safely to the other side he will give -you back this money, but if not it will belong to his family.” - -“Yes, certainly, give him the money and let us cross.” - -As I have said, I generally traveled by special train. This one was made -up of only three carriages and the engine. I never doubted for a moment -as to the success of this foolish and criminal attempt, and I did not -tell anyone about it except my sister, my beloved Guérard, and my -faithful Félicie and her husband Claude. The comedian, Angelo, who was -sleeping in Jarrett’s berth on this journey, knew of it, but he was -courageous and had faith in his star. The money was handed over to the -engine driver who sent it off to Mobile. It was only just as we were -actually starting that I had the vision of the responsibility I had -taken upon myself, for it was risking without their consent the lives of -twenty-seven persons. It was too late then to do anything, the train had -started and at a terrific speed it touched the bridge. I had taken my -seat on the platform and the bridge bent and swayed like a hammock under -the dizzy speed of our wild course. When we were half way across it gave -way so much that my sister grasped my arm and whispered: “Ah, we are -drowning!” I certainly thought as she did that the supreme moment had -arrived. - -My last minute was not inscribed, though, for that day in the Book of -Destiny. The train pulled itself together and we arrived on the other -side of the water. Behind us we heard a terrible noise. The bridge had -given way. For more than a week the trains from the East and the North -could not enter the city. - -I left the money to our brave engine driver but my conscience was by no -means tranquil and for a long time my sleep was disturbed by the most -frightful nightmares. - -When getting out of the train I was more dead than alive. I had to -submit to receiving the friendly but fatiguing deputation of my -compatriots. Then, loaded with flowers, I climbed into the carriage that -was to take me to the hotel. The roads were rivers and we were on an -elevated spot. The lower part of the city, the coachman explained to us -in Marseilles French, was inundated up to the tops of the houses. The -negroes had been drowned by hundreds. “Ah, hussy!” he cried as he -whipped up his horses. At that period the hotels in New Orleans were -squalid—dirty, uncomfortable, black with cockroaches, and as soon as the -candles were lighted, the bedrooms became filled with large mosquitoes -that buzzed around and fell on one’s shoulders, sticking in one’s hair. -Oh, I shudder still when I think of it! - -At the same time there was an opera company in the city, the “star” of -which was a charming woman, Emilie Ambre, who at one time came very near -being Queen of Holland. The country was poor, like all the other -American districts where the French were to be found preponderating. Ah, -we are hardly good colonists! - -The opera did a very poor business and we did not do excellently, -either. Six performances would have been ample in that city; we gave -eight. - -Nevertheless, my sojourn pleased me immensely. An infinite charm was -evolved from it. All these people, so different, black and white, had -smiling faces. All the women were graceful. The shops were attractive -from the cheerfulness of their windows. The open-air traders under the -arcades challenged one another with joyful flashes of wit. The sun, -however, did not show itself once. But these people had the sun within -themselves. - -I could not understand why boats were not used. The horses had water up -to their hams, and it would have been impossible even to get into a -carriage if the pavements had not been a meter or more high. - -Floods being as frequent as the years, it would be of no use thinking of -banking up the river or arm of the sea. But walking was made easy by the -high pavements and small, movable bridges. The dark children amused -themselves catching crayfish in the streams. Where did they come from? -And they sold them to passersby. Now and again, we would see a whole -family of water serpents speed by. They swept along with raised head and -undulating body like long, starry sapphires. - -I went down toward the lower part of the town. The sight was -heartrending. All the cabins of the colored inhabitants had fallen into -the muddy waters. They were there in hundreds squatting upon these -moving wrecks, with eyes burning from fever, their white teeth -chattering. Right and left, everywhere, were dead bodies floating about, -knocking up against the wooden piles. Many ladies were distributing -food, endeavoring to lead away the unfortunate negroes, but they refused -to go. And the women would slowly shake their heads. One child of -fourteen years of age had just been carried off to the hospital with his -foot cut clean off at the ankle by an alligator. His family were howling -with fury. They wished to keep the youngster with them. The negro quack -doctor pretended that he could have cured him in two days and that the -white quacks would leave him for a month in bed. - - -I left this city with regret, for it resembled no other city I had -visited up to then. We were surprised to find that none of our party was -missing though we had gone through—so they all said—various dangers. The -hairdresser alone, a man called Ibé, could not recover his equilibrium, -having become half mad from fear the second day of our arrival. At the -theater he generally slept in the trunk in which he stored his wigs. -However strange it may seem, the fact is quite true. The first night, -everything passed off as usual, but during the second night he woke up -the whole neighborhood by his shrieks. The unfortunate fellow had got -off soundly to sleep, when he woke up with a feeling that his mattress, -which hung over his collection of wigs, was being raised up by some -inconceivable movements. He thought that some cat or dog had got into -the trunk and he lifted up the feeble rampart. Two serpents were within, -actively moving about, of a size sufficient to terrify the people that -the shouts of the poor Figaro had caused to gather round. - -He was still very pale when I saw him embark on board the boat that was -to take us to our train. I called him and begged him to relate to me the -odyssey of his terrible night. As he told me the story he showed me his -heavy leg. “They were as thick as that, madame. Yes, like that....” And -he quaked with fear as he recalled the dreadful girth of the reptiles. I -thought that they were about one-quarter as thick as his leg, and that -would have been enough to justify his fright, but the serpents in -question were inoffensive water snakes that bite out of pure -viciousness, but have no venom fangs. - -We reached Mobile somewhat late in the day. We had stopped at that city -on our way to New Orleans, and I had had a real attack of nerves caused -by the “cheek” of the inhabitants who, in spite of the lateness of the -hour, had got up a deputation to wait upon me. I was dead with fatigue -and was dropping off to sleep in my bed on the car. I therefore -energetically declined to see anybody. But these people knocked at my -windows, sang about my carriage, and finally exasperated me. I quickly -threw up one of the windows and emptied a jug of water on their heads. -Women and men, among whom were several journalists, were splashed. Their -fury was great. - -I was returning to that city, preceded by the above story embellished in -their favor by the drenched reporters. But on the other hand there were -others who had been more courteous and had refused to go and disturb a -lady at such an unearthly hour of the night. These latter were in the -majority and took up my defense. - -It was therefore in this warlike atmosphere that I appeared before the -public of Mobile. I wanted, however, to justify the good opinion of my -defenders and confound my detractors. Yes, but the Gnome who had decided -otherwise was there. - -Mobile was a city that was generally quite disdained by _impresarii_. -There was only one theater. It had been let to the tragedian Barrett, -who was to appear six days after me. All that remained was a miserable -place, so small that I know of nothing that can be compared to it. We -were playing “La Dame aux Camélias.” When _Marguerite Gautier_ orders -supper to be served, the servants who were to bring in the table ready -laid tried to get it in through the door. But this was impossible. -Nothing could be more comical than to see those unfortunate servants -adopt every expedient. - -The public laughed. Among the laughter of the spectators was one that -became contagious. A negro of twelve or fifteen who had got in somehow -was standing on a chair, and with his two hands holding on to his knees, -his body bent, head forward, mouth open, he was laughing with such a -shrill and piercing tone, and with such even continuity, that I caught -it, too. I had to go out while a portion of the back scenery was being -removed to allow the table to be brought in. - -I returned somewhat composed, but still under the domination of -suppressed laughter. We were sitting round the table and the supper was -drawing to a close as usual. But just as the servants were entering to -remove the table, one of them caught the scenery that had been badly -adjusted by the scene shifters in their haste, and the whole back scene -fell on our heads. As the scenery was nearly all made of paper in those -days, it did not fall on our heads and remain there, but round our -necks, and we had to remain in that position without being able to move. -Our heads having gone through the paper, our appearance was most comical -and ridiculous. The young negro’s laughter started again more piercing -than ever, and this time my suppressed laughter ended in a crisis that -left me without any strength. - -The money paid for admission was returned to the public. It exceeded -15,000 francs. - -This city had a fatality for me and came very near proving so during the -third visit I paid to it. - -That very night we left Mobile for Atlanta, where, after playing “La -Dame aux Camélias,” we left again the same evening for Nashville. - -We stayed for an entire day at Memphis and gave two performances. At one -in the morning we left for Louisville. - - -We were beginning the dizzy round of the smaller towns, arriving at -three, four, and sometimes six o’clock in the evening, and leaving -immediately after the play. I left my car only to go to the theater and -returned as soon as the play was over to retire to my elegant but -diminutive bedroom. I sleep well on the railway. I felt an immense -pleasure in traveling that way at high speed, sitting outside on the -small platform or rather reclining in a rocking-chair, gazing on the -ever-changing spectacle, that passed before me, of American plains and -forests. Without stopping, we went through Louisville, Cincinnati, for -the second time, Columbus, Dayton, Indianapolis, St. Joseph that has the -best beer in the world, and where, we were obliged to go to an hotel on -account of repairs to one of the wheels of the car. Supper was served. -What a supper! Fortunately, the beer was light in both color and -consistency and enabled me to swallow the dreadful things that were -served up. - -We left for Leavenworth, Quincy, Springfield—not the Springfield in -Massachusetts—the one in Illinois. - -During the journey from Springfield to Chicago, we were stopped by the -snow in the middle of the night. The sharp and deep groanings of the -locomotive had already awakened me. I summoned my faithful Claude and -learned that we were to stop and wait for help. Aided by my Félicie, I -dressed in haste and tried to descend, but it was impossible. The snow -was as high as the platform of the car. I remained wrapped up in furs, -contemplating the magnificent night. The sky was hard, implacable, -without a star, but all the same translucent. Lights extended as far as -the eye could see along the rails before me, for I had taken refuge on -the rear platform. These lights were to warn the trains that followed. -Four of them came up and stopped when the first fog-signals went off -beneath their wheels, then crept slowly forward to the first light where -a man who was stationed there explained the incident. The same lights -were lit immediately for the following train, as far off as possible, -and a man proceeding beyond the lights placed detonators on the rails. -Each train that arrived followed that course. - -We were blocked by the snow. The idea came to me of lighting the kitchen -fire and I thus got enough boiling water to melt the top coating of snow -on the side where I wanted to get down. Having done this, Claude and the -negroes got down and cleared away a small portion as well as they could. -I was at last able to get down myself and tried to remove the snow to -one side. My sister and I finished by throwing snowballs at each other -and the _mêlée_ became general. Abbey, Jarrett, the secretary, and -several of the _artistes_ joined in and we were warmed up through this -small battle with white cannon balls. - -When dawn appeared we were to be seen firing a revolver and Colt rifle -at a target made from a champagne case. A distant sound, deadened by the -cotton wool of the snow, at length made us realize that help was -approaching. As a matter of fact, two engines with men who had shovels, -hooks, and spades, were coming at full speed from the opposite -direction. They were obliged to slow down on getting to one kilometer of -where we were, and the men got down, clearing the way before them. They -finally succeeded in reaching us, but we were obliged to go back and -take the western route. The unfortunate _artistes_ who had counted on -getting breakfast in Chicago, which we ought to have reached at eleven -o’clock, were lamenting, for with the new itinerary that we were forced -to follow, it would be half past one before we could get to Milwaukee, -where we were to give a matinée at two o’clock—“La Dame aux Camélias.” I -therefore had the best lunch I could prepared and my negroes carried it -to my company, the members of which showed themselves very grateful. - -The performance did not begin till three and finished at half past six -o’clock; we started again at eight with “Froufrou.” - -Immediately after the play was over we left for Grand Rapids, Detroit, -Cleveland, and Pittsburg, in which latter city I was to meet an American -friend of mine who was to help me to realize one of my dreams—at least I -fancied so. In partnership with his brother, my friend was the owner of -a large steel works and several petroleum wells. I had known him in -Paris, and had met him again at New York, where he offered to conduct me -to Buffalo so that I could visit, or rather where he could show me, the -Falls of Niagara, for which he entertained a lover’s passion. -Frequently, he would start off quite unexpectedly, like a madman, and -take a rest at a place just near the Niagara Falls. The deafening sound -of the cataracts seemed like music after the hard, hammering, strident -noise of the forges at work on the iron, and the limpidity of the -silvery cascades rested his eyes and refreshed his lungs, saturated as -they were with petroleum and smoke. - -My friend’s buggy, drawn by two magnificent horses, took us along in a -bewildering whirlwind of mud splashing over us and snow blinding us. It -had been raining for a week and Pittsburg in 1881 was not what it is at -present, although it was a city which impressed one on account of its -commercial genius. The black mud ran along the streets and everywhere in -the sky rose huge patches of thick, black, opaque smoke; but there was a -certain grandeur about it all, for work was king there. Trains ran -through the streets laden with barrels of petroleum or piled as high as -possible with charcoal and coal. That fine river, the Ohio, carried -along with it steamers, barges, and loads of timber fastened together -and forming enormous rafts which floated down the river alone to be -stopped on the way by the owner for whom they were destined. The timber -is marked and no one else thinks of taking it. I am told that the wood -is not conveyed in this way now and it is a pity. - -The carriage took us along through streets and squares in the midst of -railways, under the enervating vibration of the electric wires which ran -like furrows across the sky. We crossed a bridge which shook under the -light weight of the buggy. It was a suspension bridge. Finally, we drew -up at my friend’s home. He introduced his brother to me, a charming man -but very cold and correct, and so quiet that I was astonished. - -[Illustration: THÉÂTRE SARAH BERNHARDT, PARIS.] - -“My poor brother is deaf,” said my companion, after I had been exerting -myself for five minutes to talk to him in my gentlest voice. I looked at -this poor millionaire who was living in the most extraordinary noise and -who could not even hear the faintest echo of the outrageous uproar. He -could not hear anything at all, and I wondered whether he was to be -envied or pitied. I was then taken to visit his incandescent ovens and -his vats in a state of ebullition. I went into a room where some steel -disks were cooling, which looked like so many setting suns. The heat -from them seemed to scorch my lungs, and I felt as though my hair would -take fire. We then went down a long, narrow street through which small -trains were running to and fro. Some of those trains were laden with -incandescent metals which irised the air as they passed. We walked in -single file along the narrow passage reserved for foot passengers -between the rails. I did not feel at all safe and my heart began to beat -fast. Blown each way by the wind from the two trains coming in opposite -directions and passing each other, I drew my skirts closely round me so -that they should not be caught. Perched on my high heels, at every step -I took I was afraid of slipping on this narrow, greasy, coal-strewn -pavement. To sum up briefly, it was a very unpleasant moment, and very -delighted I was to come to the end of that interminable street which led -to an enormous field stretching away as far as the eye could see. There -were rails lying all about here which men were polishing and filing, -etc. I had had quite enough, though, and I asked to be allowed to go -back and rest. So we all three returned to the house. - -On arriving there, valets arrayed in livery opened the doors, took our -furs, walking on tiptoes as they moved about. There was silence -everywhere and I wondered why, as it seemed to me incomprehensible. My -friend’s brother scarcely spoke at all and when he did his voice was so -low that I had great difficulty in understanding him. When we asked him -any question by gesticulating, and we had to listen most attentively to -catch his reply, I noticed that an almost imperceptible smile lighted up -for an instant his stony face. I understood very soon that this man -hated humanity and that he avenged himself in his own way for his -infirmity. - -Lunch had been prepared for us in the winter conservatory, a nook of -magnificent verdure and flowers. We had not taken our seats at the table -when the songs of a thousand birds burst forth like a veritable fanfare. -Underneath some large leaves whole families of canaries were imprisoned -by invisible nets. They were everywhere, up in the air, down below, -under my chair, on the table behind me, all over the place. I tried to -quiet this shrill uproar by shaking my napkin and speaking in a loud -voice, but the little feathered tribe began to sing in a maddening way. -The deaf man was leaning back in a rocking-chair and I noticed that his -face had lighted up. He laughed aloud in an evil, spiteful manner. Just -as my own temper was getting the better of me, a feeling of pity and -indulgence came into my heart for this man whose vengeance seemed to me -as pathetic as it was puerile. Promptly deciding to make the best of my -host’s spitefulness, and assisted by his brother, I took my tea into the -hall at the other end of the conservatory. I was nearly dead with -fatigue and when my friend proposed that I should go with him to see his -petroleum wells, a few miles out of the city, I gazed at him with such a -scared, hopeless expression that he begged me in the most friendly and -polite way to forgive him. - -It was five o’clock and quite dusk, and I wanted to go back to my hotel. -Mr. Th—— asked if I would allow him to take me back by the hills. The -road was rather longer, but I should be able to have a bird’s-eye view -of Pittsburg, and he assured me that it was quite worth while. We -started off in the buggy with two fresh horses and a few minutes later I -had the wildest dream. It seemed to me that he was Pluto, the god of the -infernal regions, and I was Proserpine. We were traveling through our -empire at a quick trot, drawn by our winged horses. All around us we -could see fire and flames. The blood-red sky was burning with long, -black trails that looked like widows’ veils. The ground was covered with -long arms of iron stretched heavenward in a supreme imprecation. These -arms threw forth smoke, flames, or sparks which fell again in a shower -of stars. The carriage carried us on up the hills, and the cold froze -our limbs, while the fires excited our brain. It was then that my friend -told me of his love for the Niagara Falls. He spoke of them more like a -lover than an admirer, and told me he liked to go to them alone. He -said, though, that for me he would make an exception. He spoke of the -rapids with such intense passion that I felt rather uneasy and began to -wonder whether the man was not mad. I grew alarmed, for he was driving -along over the very tops of the hills, jumping the stone heaps. I -glanced at him sideways; his face was calm, but his underlip twitched -slightly, and I had noticed this peculiarity with his deaf brother, too. -By this time I was quite nervous. The cold and the fires, this -demoniacal drive, the sound of the anvil ringing out mournful chimes -which seemed to come from under the earth, and then the deep forge -whistle sounding like a desperate cry rending the silence of the night; -the chimney stacks, too, with their worn-out lungs spitting forth their -smoke with a perpetual death rattle, and the wind which had just risen -twisting the streaks of smoke into spirals which it sent up toward the -sky or beat down all at once on to us—altogether this wild dance, of the -natural and the combined elements, affected my whole nervous system so -that it was quite time for me to get back to the hotel. I sprang out of -the carriage quickly on arriving and arranged to see my friend at -Buffalo, but, alas! I was never to see him again. He took cold that very -day and could not meet me there, and the following year I heard that he -had been dashed against the rocks when trying to boat in the rapids. He -died of his passion, for his passion. - -At the hotel all the _artistes_ were awaiting me, as I had forgotten we -were to have a rehearsal of “La Princesse Georges” at half past four. I -noticed a face that was unknown to me among the members of the company, -and on making inquiries about this person found that he was an -illustrator who had brought an introduction from Jarrett. He asked to be -allowed to make a few sketches of me, and after giving orders that he -should be taken to a seat, I did not trouble any more about him. We had -to hurry through the rehearsal in order to be at the theater in time for -the performance of “Froufrou,” which we were giving that night. The -rehearsal was accordingly rushed and gabbled through so that it was soon -over, and the stranger took his departure, refusing to let me look at -his sketches on the plea that he wanted to do them up before showing -them. My joy was great the following day when Jarrett arrived at my -hotel perfectly furious, holding in his hand the principal newspaper of -Pittsburg in which our illustrator, who turned out to be a journalist, -had written an article giving at full length an account of the dress -rehearsal of “Froufrou.” “In the play of ‘Froufrou,’” wrote this -delightful imbecile, “there is only one scene of any importance and that -is the one between the two sisters. Mme. Sarah Bernhardt did not impress -me greatly and, as to the _artistes_ of the Comédie Française, I -considered they were mediocre. The costumes were not very fine, and in -the ball scene the men did not wear dress suits.” - -Jarrett was wild with rage, and I was wild with joy. He knew my horror -of reporters and he had introduced this one in an underhand way, hoping -to get a good advertisement out of it. The journalist imagined that we -were having a dress rehearsal of “Froufrou,” and we were merely -rehearsing Alexandre Dumas’ “Princesse Georges” for the sake of -refreshing our memories. He had mistaken the scene between the -_Princesse Georges_ and the _Comtesse de Terremonde_ for the scene in -the third act between the two sisters in “Froufrou.” We were all of us -wearing our traveling costumes and he was surprised at not seeing the -men in dress coats and the women in evening dress. What fun this was for -our company, and for all the town, and I may add, what a subject it -furnished for the jokes of all the rival newspapers! - - - - - CHAPTER XXX - END OF MY AMERICAN TOUR - - -I had to play two days at Pittsburg, and then go on to Bradford, Erie, -Toronto, and arrive at Buffalo on Sunday. It was my intention to give -all the members of my company a day’s entertainment at the Falls, but -Abbey, too, wanted to invite them. We had a discussion on the subject -which was extremely animated. He was very dictatorial and so was I, and -we both preferred giving the whole thing up rather than yield to each -other. Jarrett, however, pointed out the fact to us that our autocracy -would deprive the _artistes_ of a little festivity about which they had -heard a great deal and to which they were looking forward. We therefore -gave in finally, and in order to settle the matter we agreed to share -this fête between us. The _artistes_ accepted our invitations with the -most charming good grace, and we took the train for Buffalo, where we -arrived at ten minutes past six in the morning. We had telegraphed -beforehand for carriages and coffee to be in readiness and to have food -provided for us, as it is simply madness for thirty-two persons to -arrive on Sunday in an American town without giving notice of such an -event. We had a special train going at full speed over the lines that -were entirely free on Sundays, and it was decorated with festoons of -flowers. The younger _artistes_ were as delighted as children, those who -had already seen everything before, told about it; then there was the -eloquence of those who had heard of it, etc., etc., and all this -together with the little bouquets of flowers distributed among the women -and the cigars and cigarettes presented to the men, made everyone -good-humored, so that all appeared to be happy. The carriages met our -train and took us to the Hotel d’Angleterre which had been kept open for -us. There were flowers everywhere and any number of small tables upon -which were coffee, chocolate, or tea. Every table was soon surrounded -with guests. I had my sister, Abbey, Jarrett, and the principal -_artistes_ at my table. The meal was of short duration and very gay and -animated. We then went to the Falls, and I remained more than an hour on -the balcony hollowed out of the rock. My eyes filled with tears as I -stood there for I was deeply moved by the splendor of the sight. A -radiant sun made the air around us iridescent. There were rainbows -everywhere lighting up the atmosphere with their soft silvery colors. -The _coulées_ of hard ice hanging down along the rocks on each side -looked like enormous jewels. I was sorry to leave this balcony, and we -went down in narrow cages which glided gently into a tube arranged in -the cleft of the enormous rock. We arrived in this way under the -American Falls. They were there almost over our heads, sprinkling us -with their blue, pink, and mauve drops. In front of us, protecting us -from the Falls, were a heap of icicles forming quite a little mountain. -We climbed over this to the best of our ability. My heavy fur mantle -tired me and about half way down I took it off and let it slip over the -side of the ice mountain to take it again when I reached the bottom. I -was wearing a dress of white cloth with a satin blouse and everyone -screamed with surprise on seeing me. Abbey took off his overcoat and -threw it over my shoulders. I shook this off quickly and Abbey’s coat -went to join my fur cloak below. The poor _impresario’s_ face looked -very blank. As he had taken a fair quantity of cocktails he staggered, -fell down on the ice, got up and immediately fell again to the amusement -of everyone. I was not at all cold as I never am when out of doors. I -only feel the cold inside houses or in any place where I am inactive. -Finally, we arrived at the highest point of the ice and the cataract was -really most threatening. We were covered by the impalpable mist which -rises in the midst of the tumultuous noise. I gazed at it all, -bewildered and fascinated by the rapid movement of the water which -looked like a wide curtain of silver, unfolding itself to be dashed -violently into a rebounding, splashing heap with a noise unlike any -sound I had ever heard. I very easily turn dizzy and I know very well -that if I had been alone I should have remained there forever with my -eye fixed on the sheet of water hurrying along at full speed, my mind -lulled by the fascinating sound, and my limbs numbed by the treacherous -cold which encircled us. I had to be dragged away, but I am soon myself -again when confronted by an obstacle. - -[Illustration: FOYER IN MADAME BERNHARDT’S THEATER, PARIS.] - -We had to go down again and this was not as easy as it had been to climb -up. I took the walking stick belonging to one of my friends and then sat -down on the ice. By putting the stick under my legs I was able to slide -down to the bottom. All the others imitated me and it was a comical -sight to see forty people descending this ice hill in this way. There -were several somersaults and collisions and plenty of laughter. A -quarter of an hour later we were all at the hotel where luncheon had -been ordered. - -We were all cold and hungry; it was warm inside the hotel and the meal -smelled good. When luncheon was over, the landlord of the hotel asked me -to go into a small drawing-room, where a surprise awaited me. On -entering, I saw on a table protected under a long glass box, the Niagara -Falls in miniature with the rocks looking like pebbles. A large glass -represented the sheet of water and glass threads represented the Falls. -Here and there was some foliage of a hard, crude green. Standing up on a -little hillock of ice was a figure intended for me. It was enough to -make anyone howl with horror, it was all so hideous. I managed to raise -a broad smile for the benefit of the hotel keeper by way of -congratulating him on his good taste, but I was petrified on recognizing -the man servant of the Th—— brothers of Pittsburg. They had sent this -monstrous caricature of the most beautiful thing in the world. I read -the letter which their domestic handed me and all my disdain melted -away; they had gone to so much trouble in order to explain what they -wanted me to understand and they were so delighted at the idea of giving -me any pleasure. I dismissed the valet after giving him a letter for his -masters, and I asked the hotel keeper to send the work of art to Paris -packed carefully. I hoped that it might arrive in fragments. The thought -of it haunted me, though, and I wondered how my friend’s passion for the -Falls could be reconciled with the idea of such a gift. While admitting -that his imaginative mind might have hoped to be able to carry out his -idea, how was it that he was not indignant at the sight of this -grotesque imitation? How had he dared to send it to me? How was it that -my friend loved the Falls, and what had he understood of their marvelous -grandeur? Since his death I have questioned my own memory of him a -hundred times, but all in vain. He died for them, rolling about in their -waters, killed by their caresses, and I cannot think that he could ever -have seen how beautiful they really were. Fortunately, I was called -away, as the carriage was there and everyone waiting for me. The horses -started off with us, trotting in that weary way peculiar to tourists’ -horses. - -When we arrived on the Canadian shore we had to go underground and array -ourselves in black or yellow mackintoshes. We looked like so many heavy, -dumpy sailors who were wearing these garments for the first time. There -were two large cells to shelter us, one for the women and the other for -the men. Everyone undressed more or less in the midst of wild confusion, -and making a little package of our clothes we gave this into the keeping -of the woman in charge. With the mackintosh hood drawn tightly under the -chin hiding the hair entirely, an enormous blouse much too wide covering -the whole body, fur boots with rough soles to prevent broken legs and -heads, and immense mackintosh breeches in Zouave style, the prettiest -and slenderest woman was at once transformed into a huge, cumbersome, -awkward bear. An iron-tipped cudgel to carry in the hand completed this -becoming costume. I looked more ridiculous than the others for I would -not cover my hair, and in the most pretentious way I had fastened some -roses into my mackintosh blouse. The women went into raptures on seeing -me. “How pretty she looks like that!” they exclaimed. “She always finds -a way to be chic, _quand-même_!” The men kissed my bear’s paw in the -most gallant way, bowing low and saying in low tones: “Always and -_quand-même_ the queen, the fairy, the goddess, the divinity,” etc., -etc.... And I went along purring with content and quite satisfied with -myself until, as I passed by the counter where the girl who gives the -tickets was sitting, I caught sight of myself in the glass. I looked -enormous and ridiculous with my roses pinned in and the curly locks of -hair forming a kind of peak to my clumsy hood. I appeared to be stouter -than all the others because of the silver belt I was wearing round my -waist, as this drew up the hard folds of the mackintosh round my hips. -My thin face was nearly covered by my hair which was flattened down by -my hood. My eyes could not be seen and only my mouth, which is rather -large, served to show that this barrel was a human being. Furious with -myself for my pretentious coquetry and ashamed of my own weakness for -having been so content with the pitiful, insincere flattery of people -who were making fun of me, I decided to remain as I was as a punishment -for my stupid vanity. There were a number of strangers among us who -nudged each other, pointing to me and laughing slyly at my absurd -get-up, and this was only what I deserved. - -We went down the flight of steps cut in the block of ice in order to get -underneath the Canadian Falls. The sight there was most strange and -extraordinary. Above me I saw an immense cupola of ice hanging over in -space, attached only on one side to the rock. From this cupola thousands -of icicles of the most varied shapes were hanging. There were dragons, -arrows, crosses, laughing faces, sorrowful faces, hands with six -fingers, deformed feet, incomplete human bodies, and women’s long locks -of hair. In fact, with the help of the imagination, and by fixing the -gaze when looking with half-shut eyes, the illusion is complete, and in -less time than it takes to describe all this, one can evoke all the -pictures of nature and of our dreams, all the wild conceptions of a -diseased mind or the realities of a reflective brain. - -In front of us were small steeples of ice, some of them proud and erect, -standing out against the sky, others ravaged by the wind which gnaws the -ice, looking like minarets ready for the muezzin. On the right a cascade -was rushing down as noisily as on the other side, but the sun had -commenced its evolution toward the west and everything was tinged with a -rosy hue. The water splashed over us and we were suddenly covered with -small silvery waves that fell over us, and which when shaken slightly -stiffened against our mackintoshes. It was a shoal of very small fish -which had had the misfortune to be driven into the current and which had -come to die in the dazzling brilliancy of the setting sun. On the other -side there was a small block which looked like a rhinoceros entering the -water. - -“I should love to mount on that,” I exclaimed. - -“Yes, but it is impossible,” replied one of my friends. - -“Oh, as to that, nothing is impossible!” I said. “There is only the -risk, the crevasse to be covered is not a yard long.” - -“No, but it is deep,” remarked an _artiste_ who was with us. - -“Well,” I said, “my dog is just dead. We will bet a dog of my choice -that I go.” - -Abbey was fetched immediately, but he arrived only in time to see me -there. I came very near falling into the crevasse, and when I was on the -back of the rhinoceros I could not stand up. It was as smooth and -transparent as artificial ice. I sat down on its back holding on to the -little hump, and I declared that if no one came to fetch me I should -stay where I was, as I had not the courage to move a step on this -slippery back and then, too, it seemed to me as though it moved -slightly. I began to lose my self-possession. I felt dizzy, but I had -won my dog. My excitement was over and I was seized with fright. -Everyone gazed at me in a bewildered way and that increased my terror. -My sister went into hysterics, and my dear Guérard groaned in a -heartrending way: “O God, my dear Sarah! O God!” The artist was making -sketches and fortunately the company had gone on up in order to get to -the rapids in time. Abbey besought me to return; poor Jarrett besought -me. But I felt dizzy and I could not and would not cross again. Angelo -then sprang across the crevasse and remaining there called for a plank -of wood and a hatchet. - -“Bravo! Bravo!” I exclaimed from the back of my rhinoceros. - -The plank was brought. It was an old, black-looking piece of wood and I -glanced at it suspiciously. The hatchet cut into the tail of my -rhinoceros and the plank was fixed firmly by Angelo on my side and held -by Abbey, Jarrett, and Claude, on the other. I let myself slide over the -crupper of my rhinoceros and I then started, not without terror, along -the rotten plank of wood which was so narrow that I was obliged to put -one foot in front of the other, the heel over the toe. I returned in a -very feverish state to the hotel, and the artist brought me the droll -sketches he had made. - -After a light luncheon I was to start again by the train which had been -waiting for us twenty minutes. All the others had taken their places -some time before. I was leaving without having seen the rapids in which -my poor Pittsburg friend met his death. - -Our great voyage was drawing toward its close. I say great voyage for it -was my first one. It lasted for eight months. The voyages I have since -undertaken were always from eleven to sixteen months. - -From Buffalo we went to Rochester, Utica, Syracuse, Albany, Troy, -Worcester, Providence, Newark, making a short stay in Washington, an -admirable city, but which at that time had a sadness about it that -affected one’s nerves. It was the last large city I visited. - -After two admirable performances and a supper at the Embassy we left for -Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York, where our tour was to come to a -close. In that city I gave a grand matinée at the general demand of the -_artistes_ of New York. The piece chosen was the “Princesse Georges.” - -Oh, what a fine and never-to-be-forgotten performance! Everything was -applauded by the _artistes_. Nothing escaped the particular state of -mind of that audience made up of actors and actresses, painters and -sculptors. At the end of the play a gold hair comb was handed to me on -which was engraved the names of a great number of persons present. From -Salvini, I received a pretty casket of lapis, and from Mary Anderson, at -that time in the striking beauty of her nineteen years, a small medal -bearing a forget-me-not in turquoise. In my dressing-room I counted one -hundred and thirty bouquets. - -That evening we gave our last performance with “La Dame aux Camélias.” I -had to return and bow to the public fourteen times. - -Then I had a moment’s stupefaction, for in the tempest of cries and -bravos, I heard a shrill cry shouted by thousands of mouths and which I -did not in the least understand. After each recall I asked in the wings -what the meaning of the word was that struck on my ears like a dreadful -sneeze, beginning again time after time. Jarrett appeared and -enlightened me. “They are calling for a speech.” I looked at him -abashed.... “Yes, they want you to make them a little speech.” “Ah, no!” -I exclaimed, as I again went on to the stage to make a bow. “No.” And in -making my bow to the public I murmured: “I cannot speak. But I can tell -you, thank you, with all my heart!” It was in the midst of a thunder of -applause, underscored with “Hip! hip! hurrah! Vive la France!” that I -left the theater. - -On Wednesday, the 4th of May, I embarked on the same transatlantic -steamer, _L’Amérique_, the phantom vessel to which my journey had -brought good luck. But it had no longer the same commander. The new -one’s name was Santelli. He was as little and fair complexioned as the -other was big and dark. But he was as charming and a nice -conversationalist. - -My cabin had been newly fitted up, and this time the woodwork had been -covered in sky-blue material. On going on the steamer I turned toward -the friendly crowd and threw them a last adieu. “_Au revoir_,” they -shouted back. - -I then went toward my cabin. Standing at the door in an elegant -iron-gray suit, wearing pointed shoes, hat in the latest style, and -wearing dogskin gloves, stood Henry Smith, the showman of whales. I gave -a cry like that of a wild beast. He kept his joyful smile and held out a -jewel casket which I took with the object of throwing it into the sea -through the open porthole. But Jarrett caught hold of my arm and took -possession of the casket which he opened. “It is magnificent!” he -exclaimed, but I had closed my eyes. I stopped up my ears and cried out -to the man: “Go away! you knave! you brute! go away. I hope you will die -under atrocious suffering! Go away!” - -I half opened my eyes. He had gone. Jarrett wanted to talk to me about -the present. I would not hear anything about it. - -“Ah, for God’s sake, Mr. Jarrett, leave me alone! Since this jewel is so -fine, give it to your daughter and do not speak to me about it any -more.” And this was done. - -The evening before my departure from America I had received a long -cablegram signed Grosos, President of the Life Saving Society at Hâvre, -asking me to give a performance for the benefit of the families of the -society upon my arrival. I accepted with unspeakable joy. On regaining -my native land I should assist in drying tears. - -After the decks had been cleared for departure, our ship oscillated -slightly, and we left New York on Thursday, the 5th of May. - -Detesting as I usually do sea traveling I set out this time with a light -heart and smiling face, disdainful of the horrible discomfort caused by -the voyage. - -We had not left New York forty-eight hours when the boat stopped. I -sprang out of my berth and was soon on deck fearing some accident to our -boat, _Phantom_, as we had nicknamed it. In front of us a French boat -had raised, lowered, and again raised its small flags. The captain, who -had given the replies to these signals, sent for me and explained to me -the working and the orthography of the signals. I could not remember -anything he told me, I must confess to my shame. A small boat was -lowered from the ship opposite us and two sailors and a young man, very -poorly dressed and with a pale face, embarked. Our captain had the steps -lowered, the small boat accosted, and the young man escorted by two -sailors came on deck. One of them handed a letter to the officer who was -waiting at the top of the steps. He read it and, looking at the young -man, he said quietly, “Follow me.” The small boat and the sailors -returned to the ship, the boat was hoisted, the engine shrieked, and -after the usual salute the two ships continued their way. The -unfortunate young man was brought before the captain. I went away after -asking the captain to tell me afterwards what was the meaning of it all -unless it should prove to be something which had to be kept secret. - -The captain came himself and told me some time after. The young man was -a poor artist, a wood engraver who had managed to slip aboard a steamer -bound for New York. He had not a cent of money for his passage, as he -had not even been able to pay for an immigrant’s ticket. He had hoped to -get through without being noticed, hiding under the bales of various -kinds. He had, however, been taken ill and it was this illness which had -betrayed him. Shivering with cold and feverish he had talked aloud in -his sleep, uttering the most incoherent words. He was taken into the -infirmary and when there he had confessed everything. The captain -undertook to make him accept what I sent him for his journey to America. -The story soon spread and other passengers made a collection so that the -young engraver found himself very soon in possession of a fortune of -£48. Three days later he brought me a little wooden box, manufactured, -carved, and engraved by him. This little box is now nearly full of -petals of flowers for every year on the 7th of May I receive a small -bouquet of flowers with these words, always the same ones, year after -year: “Gratitude and Devotion.” I always put the petals of the flowers -into the little box, but for the last seven years I have not received -any. Is it forgetfulness or death which has caused the artist to -discontinue this graceful little token of gratitude? I have no idea, but -the sight of the box always gives me a vague feeling of sadness as -forgetfulness and death are the most faithful companions of the human -being. Forgetfulness takes up its abode in our mind, in our heart, while -Death is always here laying traps for us, watching all we do, and -jeering gayly when sleep closes our eyes, for we give him then the -illusion of what he knows will some day be a reality. - -[Illustration: SARAH BERNHARDT IN “L’AIGLON”—PAINTING BY G. CLAIRIN.] - -Apart from the above incident, nothing particular happened during the -voyage. I spent every night on deck, gazing at the horizon, hoping to -draw toward me that land on which were the loved ones. I turned in -toward morning and slept all day to kill the time. - -The boats in those days did not perform the crossing with the speed of -to-day. The hours seemed to me to be wickedly long. I was so impatient -to land that I called for the doctor and asked him to send me to sleep -for eighteen hours. He gave me twelve hours’ sleep with a strong dose of -chloral and I felt stronger and calmer for confronting the shock of -happiness. - -Santelli had promised that we should arrive on the evening of the 14th. -I was ready and had pawed the ground distractedly for an hour when an -officer came to ask whether I would not go on to the bridge with the -commander who was waiting for me. - -With my sister I went in haste on to the bridge, and soon understood -from the embarrassed circumlocutions of the amiable Santelli that we -were too far off to hope to make the harbor that night. - -I began to cry. I thought we should never arrive. I imagined that the -Gnome was going to triumph and I wept those tears that were like a brook -that runs on and on without ceasing. - -The commander did what he could to bring me to a rational state of mind. -I descended from the bridge with both body and soul like limpid rags. - -I lay down on a straw deck chair and when dawn came was benumbed and -sleepy. It was five in the morning. We were still twenty miles off land. -The sun, however, began joyously to brighten up the small white clouds, -light as snowflakes. The look of the loved one gave me courage again. I -ran toward my cabin. I spent a long while over my toilet in order to -kill time. At seven o’clock I made inquiries from the captain. “We are -twelve miles off,” he said. “In two hours we shall land.” “You swear to -it?” “Yes, I swear.” I returned on deck, where, leaning on the bulwark, -I scanned the distance. A small steamer appeared on the horizon. I saw -it without looking at it, expecting every minute to hear the cry “Over -there! Over there!” All at once I noticed masses of small white flags -being waved on the small steamer. I got hold of my glass ... and let it -fall with a joyous cry that left me without any strength, without -breath. I wanted to speak. I could not. My face, it appears, became so -pale that it frightened the people who were about. My sister Jeanne wept -as she waved her arms toward the distance. They wanted to make me sit -down. I would not. Hanging on to the bulwarks, I smell the salts that -are thrust under my nose. I allow friendly hands to wipe my temples, but -I am gazing over there whence the vessel is coming. Over there lies my -happiness! my joy! my life! my everything! dearer than everything! - -The _Diamond_ (the vessel’s name) comes near. A bridge of love is formed -between the small and large ship, a bridge placed under the beatings of -our hearts, under the weight of the kisses that have been kept back for -how many days. Then comes the reaction that takes place in our tears -when the young being that one worships is pressed to one’s bosom under -the spell of an undefinable emotion. - -The big ship is invaded. Everyone is there, my dear and faithful -friends. They have accompanied my young son Maurice. Ah, what a -delicious time! Answers get ahead of questions. Laughter is mingled with -tears. Hands are pressed, lips are kissed, only to begin over again. One -is never tired of this repetition of tender affection. During this time, -our boat is moving. The _Diamond_ has disappeared carrying away the -mails. The farther we advance, the more small boats are met with, decked -with flags, plowing the sea. There are a hundred at least. Here are -others. - -“Is it a public holiday?” I asked Georges Boyer, the correspondent of -the _Figaro_, who with friends had come to meet me. - -“Oh, yes, madame, a great fête day to-day at Hâvre, for they are -expecting the return of a fairy who left seven months ago!” - -“Is it really in my honor that all these pretty boats have spread their -wings and beflagged their masts. Ah, how happy I am!” At this moment we -go alongside the jetty. There are perhaps twenty thousand people there -who cry out: “Vive Sarah Bernhardt!” - -I am dumfounded. I do not expect any triumphant return. I am well aware -that the performance given for the Life Saving Society has won the -hearts of the people of Hâvre, but I learn that trains have come from -Paris, packed with people, to welcome my return. - -I feel my pulse.... It is I.... I am not dreaming.... - -The boat stops opposite a red velvet tent and an invisible orchestra -strikes up an air from the _Châlet_: “Arrêtons-nous ici.” - -I smile at this quite French childishness. I get off ... and walk -through the midst of a hedge of smiling, kind faces of sailors who offer -me flowers. - -Within the tent all the life savers are waiting for me, wearing on their -broad chests the medals they have so well deserved. - -Mr. Grosos, the president, reads to me the following address: - - “Madame, as president, I have the honor to present to you a delegation - from the Life Saving Society of Hâvre, who have come to welcome you - and express their gratitude for the sympathy you have so warmly worded - in your transatlantic dispatch. - - “We have also come to congratulate you on the immense success that you - have met with at every place you have visited during your adventurous - journey. You have now conquered in two worlds an incontestable - popularity and artistic celebrity, and your marvelous talent, added to - your personal charms, has affirmed abroad that France is always the - land of art and the birthplace of elegance and beauty. - - “A yet distant echo of the words you spoke in Denmark, evoking a deep - and sad souvenir, still strikes on our ears. It repeats that your - heart is as French as your talent, for in the midst of the feverish - and burning successes of the theater you have never forgotten to unite - your patriotism to your artistic triumphs. - - “Our life savers have charged me with expressing to you their - admiration for the charming benefactor whose generous hand has - spontaneously stretched itself out toward their poor but noble - society. They wish to offer you these flowers, gathered from the soil - of the mother country, on the land of France, where you will find them - everywhere under your feet. They are worthy that you should accept - them with favor, for they are presented to you by the bravest and most - loyal of our life savers.” - -It is said that my reply was very eloquent, but I cannot affirm that -that reply was really made by me. I had lived for several hours in a -state of overexcitement from successive emotions. I had taken no food, -had no sleep. My heart had not ceased beating a moving and joyous -charge. My brain had been filled with a thousand facts that had been -piled up for seven months and narrated in two hours. This triumphant -reception, that I was far from expecting after what had happened just -before my departure, after having been so badly treated by the Paris -press, after the incidents of my journey that had been always badly -interpreted by several French papers—all these coincidences were of such -different proportions that they seemed hardly credible. I preferred to -remain in the latter dream that was so flattering to me. - -The performance furnished a fruitful harvest for the life savers. As for -me, I played “La Dame aux Camélias” for the first time in France. God -had come. I affirm that those who were present at that performance -experienced the quintessence of what my personal art can give. - -I spent the night at my place at Ste. Addresse. The day following I left -for Paris. A most flattering ovation was awaiting me on my arrival. -Then, three days afterwards, installed in my hotel in the Avenue de -Villiers, I received Victorien Sardou in order to hear the reading of -his magnificent piece “Fédora.” - -Ah, what a great artist! What an admirable actor! What a marvelous -author! He read that play to me right off, playing every rôle, giving me -in one second the vision of what I should do. - -“Ah!” I exclaimed after the reading was over. “Ah, dear master, thanks -for this beautiful part! Thanks for the fine lesson you have just given -me!” - -That night left me without sleep, for I wished to catch a glimpse in the -darkness of the small star in which I had faith. I saw it as dawn was -breaking, and fell asleep thinking over the new era that it was going to -lighten up. - -My artistic journey lasted seven months. I visited fifty cities and gave -156 representations as follows: - - “La Dame aux Camélias” 65 performances - “Adrienne Lecouvreur” 17 „ - “Froufrou” 41 „ - “La Princesse Georges” 3 „ - “Hernani” 14 „ - “L’Etrangère” 3 „ - “Phèdre” 6 „ - “Le Sphinx” 7 „ - - Total receipts 2,667,600 francs - Average receipts 17,100 „ - -I conclude these memories of mine here, for this is really the first -halting place in my life; the real evolution of my physical and moral -being. - -I had run away from the Comédie Française, from Paris, from France, from -my family, and from my friends. - -I had thought of having a wild ride across mountains, seas, and space, -and I came back in love with the vast horizon, but calmed down by the -feeling of responsibility which for seven months had been weighing on my -shoulders. - -The terrible Jarrett, with his implacable and cruel wisdom, had tamed my -wild nature by a constant appeal to my probity. - -In those few months my mind had matured and the brusqueness of my will -was softened. - -My life, which I thought at first was to be so short, seemed now likely -to be very, very long, and that gave me a great mischievous delight -whenever I thought of the infernal displeasure of my enemies. - -I resolved to live. I resolved to be the great _artiste_ that I longed -to be. - -And from the time of this return I gave myself entirely up to my life. - - - THE END - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - “THE MOST UNFORTUNATE WOMAN IN MODERN HISTORY.” - - Lucretia Borgia: According to Original Documents and Correspondence of - Her Day. - -By FERDINAND GREGOROVIUS, Author of “A History of the City of Rome in -the Middle Ages.” Translated from the Third German Edition by John -Leslie Garner. Illustrated. 8vo. Cloth, $2.25 net; postage, 17 cents -additional. - - Lucretia Borgia is the most unfortunate woman in modern history. Is - this because she was guilty of the most hideous crimes, or is it - simply because she has been unjustly condemned by the world to bear - its curse? The question has never been answered. Mankind is ever ready - to discover the personification of human virtues and human vices in - certain typical characters found in history and fable. The Borgias - will never cease to fascinate the historian and the psychologist. They - are a satire on a great form or phase of religion, debasing and - destroying it. They stand on high pedestals, and from their presence - radiates the light of the Christian ideal. In this form we behold and - recognize them. We view their acts through a medium which is permeated - with religious ideas. Without this, and placed on a purely secular - stage, the Borgias would have fallen into a position much less - conspicuous than that of many other men, and would soon have ceased to - be anything more than representatives of a large species. This is the - first translation from the German of this important work of - Gregorovius, in which a vast supply of information is furnished about - the family of this famous and interesting woman and about herself. The - book is illustrated with portraits and views, and offers valuable - knowledge upon the times and character of a woman about whose nature a - conflict of opinions has raged for centuries. About her beauty and - talents there are no two voices; on the question of her vices the - world has become divided. A patron of art and letters, as to her - private life the most hideous stories gained circulation, making her - name the most notorious of her renowned house, not excepting that of - her brother, the infamous Cesare Borgia. - - In this translation English readers are offered the best known account - of this celebrated woman, written by the author of that monumental and - illuminating work, “The History of Rome in the Middle Ages.” - - “The story is far more exciting than most romances, and treats of - Italian history and life about which comparatively little that is - authoritative can be found in English.”—_The Sun, New York._ - - - REMINISCENCES OF A SCIENTIST - - The Autobiography of Joseph Le Conte. - - With portrait. 12mo. Cloth, $1.25 net. - -Professor Le Conte was widely known as a man of science, and notably as -a geologist. His later years were spent at the University of California. -But his early life was passed in the South; there he was born and spent -his youth; there he was living when the civil war brought ruin to his -home and his inherited estate. His reminiscences deal with phases of -life in the South that have unfailing interest to all students of -American history. His account of the war as he saw it has permanent -value. He was in Georgia when Sherman marched across it. Professor Le -Conte knew Agassiz, and writes charmingly of his associations with him. - - “Attractive because of its unaffected simplicity and - directness.”—_Chicago Chronicle._ - - “Attractive by virtue of its frank simplicity.”—_New York Evening - Post._ - - “Well worth reading even if the reader be not particularly interested - in geology.”—_New York American._ - - “This story of a beautiful, untiring life is worthy of consideration - by every lover of truth.”—_St. Paul Despatch._ - - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, - NEW YORK. BOSTON. CHICAGO. LONDON. - - - - -“Destined to take rank as one of the two or three most remarkable -self-portrayals of a human life ever committed to posterity.” - - —_Franklin H. Giddings, LL.D., in the Independent._ - - An Autobiography by Herbert Spencer. - - -With Illustrations. Many of them from the Author’s Own Drawings. Cloth, -8vo. Gilt Top. Two vols. in a box, $5.50 net. Postage, 40 cents -additional. - - “It is rare, indeed, that a man who has so profoundly influenced the - intellectual development of his age and generation has found time to - record the history of his own life. And this Mr. Spencer has done so - simply, so frankly, and with such obvious truth, that it is not - surprising that Huxley is reported as having said, after reading it in - manuscript, that it reminded him of the ‘Confessions’ of Rousseau, - freed from every objectionable taint.”—_New York Globe._ - - “As interesting as fiction? There never was a novel so interesting as - Herbert Spencer’s ‘An Autobiography’.”—_New York Herald._ - - “It is rich in suggestion and observation, of wide significance and - appeal in the sincerity, the frankness, the lovableness of its human - note.”—_New York Mail and Express._ - - “The book, as a whole, makes Spencer’s personality a reality for us, - where heretofore it has been vaguer than his philosophical - abstractions.”—_John White Chadwick in Current Literature._ - - “In all the literature of its class there is nothing like it. It bears - the same relationship to autobiographical productions as Boswell’s - ‘Life of Johnson’ bears to biographies.”—_Philadelphia Press._ - - “This book will always be of importance, for Herbert Spencer was a - great and original thinker, and his system of philosophy has bent the - thought of a generation, and will keep a position of commanding - interest.”—_Joseph O’Connor in the New York Times._ - - “Planned and wrought for the purpose of tracing the events of his life - and the growth of his opinions, his autobiography does more than that. - It furnished us, half unconsciously, no doubt, a more vivid - portraiture of his peculiarities than any outsider could possibly - provide. We pity his official biographer! Little can be left for him. - Here we have Spencer in habit as he was.”—_New York Evening Post._ - - - VIVID, MOVING, SYMPATHETIC, HUMOROUS. - - A Diary from Dixie. - -By MARY BOYKIN CHESNUT. Being her Diary from November, 1861, to August, -1865. Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary. Illustrated. -8vo. Ornamental Cloth, $2.50 net; postage additional. - - Mrs. Chesnut was the most brilliant woman that the South has ever - produced, and the charm of her writing is such as to make all - Southerners proud and all Northerners envious. She was the wife of - James Chesnut, Jr., who was United States Senator from South Carolina - from 1859 to 1861, and acted as an aid to President Jefferson Davis, - and was subsequently a Brigadier-General in the Confederate Army. Thus - it was that she was intimately acquainted with all the foremost men in - the Southern cause. - - “In this diary is preserved the most moving and vivid record of the - Southern Confederacy of which we have any knowledge. It is a piece of - social history of inestimable value. It interprets to posterity the - spirit in which the Southerners entered upon and struggled through the - war that ruined them. It paints poignantly but with simplicity the - wreck of that old world which had so much about it that was beautiful - and noble as well as evil. Students of American life have often - smiled, and with reason, at the stilted and extravagant fashion in - which the Southern woman had been described south of Mason and Dixon’s - line—the unconscious self-revelations of Mary Chesnut explain, if they - do not justify, such extravagance. For here, we cannot but believe, is - a creature of a fine type, a ‘very woman,’ a very Beatrice, frank, - impetuous, loving, full of sympathy, full of humor. Like her - prototype, she had prejudices, and she knew little of the Northern - people she criticised so severely; but there is less bitterness in - these pages than we might have expected. Perhaps the editors have seen - to that. However this may be they have done nothing to injure the - writer’s own nervous, unconventional style—a style breathing character - and temperament as the flower breathes fragrance.”—_New York Tribune._ - - “It is written straight from the heart, and with a natural grace of - style that no amount of polishing could have imparted.”—_Chicago - Record-Herald._ - - “The editors are to be congratulated; it is not every day that one - comes on such material as this long-hidden diary.”—_Louisville Evening - Post._ - - “It is a book that would have delighted Charles Lamb.”—_Houston - Chronicle._ - - - BIOGRAPHY AND HISTORY. - - The Journal of Latrobe. - -Being the Notes and Sketches of an Architect, Naturalist, and Traveller -in the United States from 1796 to 1820. By BENJAMIN HENRY LATROBE, -Architect of the Capitol at Washington. Copiously illustrated with -reproductions from the original drawings by the author. 8vo. Ornamental -cloth, $3.50 net. - - These are the memoirs of a personal friend of the first President of - the United States. He was a man of refinement and great intellectual - attainments, a soldier, civil engineer, philosopher, artist, humorist, - poet, and naturalist. The book is bright with story and anecdote, - criticism and comment. - - “Benjamin Latrobe was a man of the world and a clever commentator on - what he saw going on around him. One of the best pen pictures of - Washington is Latrobe’s account of a visit to the Father of his - Country at Mt. Vernon in 1796.”—_Review of Reviews._ - - “Mr. Latrobe was a keen observer, and his notes of travel in the South - are valuable in an attempt to picture the life of a century - ago.”—_Chicago Tribune._ - - “Benjamin Latrobe visited Washington at Mt. Vernon and recorded what - he saw very fully. Then, late in life, he went to New Orleans by sea - and wrote full notes of his voyage and his impressions. Both diaries - are full of interest. Between them are placed in this volume papers - relating to the building of the Capitol. Prefixed to the volume is a - biographical introduction written by his son thirty years ago. The - illustrations are curious and interesting.”—_New York Sun._ - - “With what has been said of the volume it should be evident that it is - curious, interesting, and instructive to an unusual degree. To speak - of ‘The Journal of Latrobe’ without mention of its illustrations would - be an unpardonable oversight.”—_San Francisco Chronicle._ - - - AN AMERICAN ADMIRAL. - - Forty-five Years Under the Flag. - -By WINFIELD SCOTT SCHLEY, Rear-Admiral, U. S. N. Illustrated. 8vo. -Cloth, uncut edges, and gilt top, $3.00 net. - - About one-third of Admiral Schley’s volume is devoted to the Spanish - War, in which he became so great a figure. He tells his own story in - simple and effective words. His recollections are constantly - reinforced by references to dispatches and other documents. - - Readers will be surprised at the extent of Admiral Schley’s - experiences. He left the Naval Academy just before the outbreak of the - Civil War and saw service with Farragut in the Gulf. Three chapters - are devoted to Civil War events. His next important service was - rendered during the opening of Corea to the commerce of the world, and - the chapter in which he describes the storming of the forts is one of - thrilling interest. Another important expedition in his life was the - rescue of Greely, to which three chapters are devoted. Two other - chapters pertain to the Revolution in Chili, and the troubles growing - out of the attack upon some of Admiral Schley’s men in the streets of - Valparaiso. - - Altogether the book contains thirty-eight chapters. It has been - illustrated from material furnished by Admiral Schley and through his - suggestions, and makes an octavo volume of large size. It will appeal - to every true-hearted American. - - The author says in his preface: “In times of danger and duty the - writer endeavored to do the work set before him without fear of - consequences. With this thought in mind, he has felt moved, as a duty - to his wife, his children, and his name, to leave a record of his long - professional life, which has not been without some prestige, at least - for the flag he has loved and under which he has served the best years - of his life.” - - “Rear-Admiral W. S. Schley’s ‘Forty-five Years Under the Flag’ is the - most valuable contribution to the history of the American Navy that - has been written in many a year.”—_New York Times._ - - “The author’s career is well worthy of a book, and he has every reason - for pride in telling of his forty-five active years in all parts of - the world.” - - —_Edwin L. Shuman in the Chicago Record-Herald._ - - “It is a stirring story, told with the simple directness of a sailor. - Its reading carries the conviction of its truthfulness. The Admiral - could not have hoped to accomplish more.”—_Chicago Evening Post._ - - “He has told his own story, in his own way, from his own viewpoint, - and goes after his detractors, open and above board, with his big - guns.” - - —_Washington Post._ - - “It is a work that will interest everyone, from the sixteen-year-old - schoolboy who is studying history and loves tales of stirring - adventure to the grandsire whose blood still pulses hotly with - patriotic pride at the recounting of valiant deeds of arms under our - starry flag.”—_Boston American._ - - “The Admiral tells the story well. His is a manly and straightforward - style. He leaves nothing to doubt, nothing open to controversy.” - - —_Baltimore Sun._ - - - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES - - - 1. P. 244, changed “leave on the bench” to “leave on the beach”. - 2. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in - spelling. - 3. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed. - 4. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEMORIES OF MY LIFE *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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