took the play on tour, but it proved only moderately popular in Belgium
and Holland. The intrepid Sarah now made up her mind to a brief period
of repose, but she was none the less kept before the Paris public. On
April 28, 1883, she appeared with Mme. Réjane, M. Saint Germain, M.
Daubray, and M. Guyon, at the Trocadéro, in a two-act pantomime by M.
Richepin, entitled _Pierrot Assassin_. Early in September the papers
published mysterious paragraphs announcing the return of M. Damala to
Paris, and the agreement of the pair to separate. The public was not
previously aware of M. Damala’s absence, or of any disagreement in
the household. The initiated, however, knew that the honeymoon was
a short one, that discord had made its appearance only a few months
after the sensational marriage in London, and that M. Damala had been
obliged to make up his mind to exile--in Tunis, it was said. The
separation did not seem to be a great affliction to Sarah. At the very
beginning of the season she was in arms and eager for the fray. On
September 17, 1883, in company with Marais, she revived _Froufrou_,
which she had never before performed in Paris. This was at the Porte
St. Martin theatre, which had been bought by her under the name of her
son, M. Maurice Bernhardt, in partnership with M. Derembourg. The
success of the piece was considerable, though not absolutely complete.
Nevertheless _Froufrou_ ran for ninety-nine nights. Immediately
afterwards (December 20) she brought out _Nana Sahib_, a seven-act
drama in verse by M. Jean Richepin. Her own success was very great,
though, as usual, it was not unanimously admitted; but the piece itself
was a failure, in spite of the fact that the author himself replaced
M. Marais a week after the _première_. _Nana Sahib_ is connected
in theatrical history with another souvenir. The night before its
production, Mme. Sarah Bernhardt was the central figure in a terrific
scandal. Accompanied by her son Maurice and M. Jean Richepin, she made
her way into the rooms occupied by Mme. Marie Colombier, turned all
the furniture topsy-turvy, smashed the ornaments, and finally set upon
the lady of the house and horsewhipped her in a frenzy of rage. The
reason for this conduct was not far to seek. Mme. Marie Colombier had
just published an abominably offensive book, the title of which, _Sarah
Barnum_, showed clearly enough against whom it was directed. The affair
created a great uproar, but no one ventured to blame the insulted
actress for taking the law into her own hands.
[Illustration: As Théodora.]
_Nana Sahib_ was withdrawn after thirty performances, and on January
26, 1884, Sarah Bernhardt appeared in _La Dame aux Camélias_, which
thus became, as it still is, her chief resource. This revival
lasted for more than a hundred nights. On May 21 it was replaced by
an adaptation of _Macbeth_, by M. Jean Richepin. This ran for only
a month. At the end of June Mme. Sarah Bernhardt left for a short
foreign tour. Next season, in consequence of sundry stories which found
their way into the papers, and particularly of an attempt to poison
her, which Paris did not take seriously, she handed over the Porte
St. Martin theatre to M. Duquesnel, and joined his company at that
theatre. _Macbeth_ was tried again on September 11, but was withdrawn
five weeks afterwards. On December 26 she played _Théodora_, one of
the most undoubted successes of her career. On this point there can be
no mistaking the testimony of figures. _Théodora_ ran for two hundred
consecutive nights, and, when the hundredth performance was given,
the piece had already earned nearly a million francs. After Paris had
had enough of _Théodora_, the piece was taken to Brussels and London,
where it met with renewed success. It was brought back to the Porte
St. Martin on the 28th October, 1885, and was given fifty-four times
before its chief exponent broke down, and was compelled, on the 21st
December, to leave the stage before the performance was over. On the
following day she was obliged to take to her bed, but on the 31st she
was able to appear in _Marion de Lorme_, though she was still visibly
suffering from overwork. On the 27th February she gave another trial
to a Shakespearean adaptation--a somewhat indifferent version of
_Hamlet_, by MM. Cressonnois and Samson, in which she played Ophelia.
_Hamlet_ failed to attract the public any more than _Marion de Lorme_,
and on the 5th April Sarah brought out _Fédora_ again. After sixteen
performances she left on her annual visit to London, and thence to
Liverpool, where she took the steamer for Rio de Janeiro. This was
the beginning of her great American tour under the management of
Messrs. Abbey and Grau. It was one prodigious triumphal progress from
one end of America to the other. It lasted thirteen months, and took
her through Mexico, Brazil, Chili, the United States, and Canada;
The _répertoire_, an extensive one, comprised _Fédora_, _La Dame aux
Camélias_, _Froufrou_, _Phèdre_, _Adrienne Lecouvreur_, _Théodora_,
_Hernani_, _Le Maître de Forges_, and _Le Sphinx_, M. Philippe Garnier
taking the principal male parts. In Brazil the average receipts were
£720 a night. “Absurdly rich men,” says M. Jules Lemaître, “wearing
black whiskers and covered with jewels, like idols, used to wait
outside the stage door, and lay their handkerchiefs on the ground so
that dust should not soil the feet of Phèdre or Théodora.” After her
appearance as Phèdre at Rio de Janeiro she was recalled two hundred
times! The twenty-five performances she gave brought in £12,800, of
which she received £4000. Three performances at New York realized
£5040, and twenty at Buenos Ayres, where the total number of
spectators reached 80,000, produced £20,000. The Argentinos’ enthusiasm
rose to such a pitch that they presented her with an estate of 13,000
acres in the Mission territory, the best part of the Argentine
Republic. She was obliged to promise the generous donors that she would
take advantage of her first month’s leisure to come and taste the
sweets of repose amongst her own gazelles and beneath the shade of her
own gardenias and diamelas!
[Illustration:
Scene from _Théodora_. Mme. Sarah Bernhardt. Mme. Marie Laurent.
]
In the meantime, gossip, the inevitable companion of the capricious
artiste, was not idle. At Rio de Janeiro the Noirmont scandal occurred.
Mme. Noirmont, intermittently an actress, but better known in a
certain circle of society as “la grande Marthe,” was a member of the
company. What was the quarrel between the actress and her manageress?
History sayeth not, but the fact remains that during a rehearsal one
day Mme. Noirmont “went for” Sarah, and gave her a resounding smack,
to the accompaniment of much strong language. Sarah promptly hauled
Mme. Noirmont off to the nearest police-station, where a summons was
duly issued against the offender. But this was not enough for Sarah,
and one evening, when the curtain had only just fallen on the second
act of _Adrienne Lecouvreur_, Sarah seized a horsewhip and paid off
all outstanding scores. Result: a second visit to the police-station,
and a second scandal. Later on, while the company was at Santiago,
another story got into circulation. In April 1878 the American papers
announced the marriage of Mme. Sarah Bernhardt and M. Angelo, a member
of her troupe. The New York _Morning Journal_ added that the marriage
was kept secret because the divorce proceedings against M. Damala were
still in progress. The report was promptly denied, and Sarah sent the
following telegram to the _Figaro_--
The news of my marriage with Angelo is absurd, because he is
married already, and so am I. Please contradict this mischievous
story. Thanks in advance.
SARAH BERNHARDT.
[Illustration: As Lady Macbeth.]
After thirteen months’ absence Sarah at length returned to Europe.
The total receipts during her American tour were a million dollars,
of which her own share was £60,000. She landed in England on May 6th,
not, as might be supposed, to rest, but to start off again on another
tour, under the management of Mr. Mayer, through England, Scotland, and
Ireland. On August 10th she started for Cauterets, and begun to prepare
for her return to Paris. She re-opened with _La Tosca_ on November
24, 1887, and long and loud was the applause that greeted her. M.
Sarcey alone withheld unstinted praise, and took exception, not to the
artiste’s talents but to her use of them, and indulged in criticisms of
the play itself. M. Sardou responded in a letter addressed to a third
person, in which he took advantage of the opportunity to make a hit at
the critics of his work--
MONSIEUR,
You ask for my opinion on Sarah Bernhardt. It is simply that she is
an admirable artiste, and that, in _La Tosca_, she has far exceeded
anything that has been done in our generation by Georges, Dorval,
or Rachel. As for Sarcey, who knows nothing about painting, music,
architecture, or sculpture, and to whom Nature has harshly denied
all sense of the artistic, it is not surprising that he should be
not merely indifferent but even hostile to any attempt to reproduce
the past by means of scenery, costume, and the representation of
former customs. He showed this feature by his treatment of _La
Haine_, but it would be unjust to blame him for this defect in his
intellect. If he likes to play the part of the fox who lost his
tail, by all means let him do it.
Cordially yours,
V. SARDOU.
This time M. Sardou was on the right side. _La Tosca_ was performed
one hundred and twenty-nine times, and was not taken off the boards
until March 25, 1888. Ten days later, Sarah was playing _La Dame aux
Camélias_ and _La Tosca_ at Bordeaux. Thence she went on to Lisbon and
Madrid. Next the indefatigable traveller began a French tour, under
the management of M. Emile Simon, at Caen. In July she was in London
playing _Francillon_, at the Lyceum, with indifferent success. She was
soon off again, her life being now one incessant round of travel with
brief stoppages in Paris. M. Maurice Grau was once more her manager,
and she opened in October at Antwerp, after which she visited Liège,
Amsterdam, the Hague, Rotterdam, Utrecht, Arnheim, Brussels, Vienna,
Prague, Budapest, Bucharest, Constantinople, Cairo, and Alexandria.
_La Tosca_ was as great a favourite as it had been in Paris, but
at the Hague the Huguenot scruples of the Dutch _bourgeois_ led to
the performance of the play being forbidden, on the ground that it
contained attacks on Roman Catholicism which might prove offensive to
persons of that religion. At Bucharest Sarah was received by Queen
Natalie, who, living as she was in strict retirement, had been unable
to attend any public performance in spite of her great desire to see
the artiste. Sarah accordingly performed a scene from _La Dame aux
Camélias_ for her at the palace. When the actress uttered the words,
“Shall fallen greatness never rise again?” Queen Natalie, who applied
them to her own case, burst into tears. Every one present, including
Sarah Bernhardt, shared the poor Queen’s emotion, and the performance
had to be interrupted.
From Bucharest Sarah went on to Italy, Russia, and Scandinavia,
returning to Paris on the 21st March. Three weeks afterwards, without
taking time for rest, she appeared at the Variétés in _Léna_, a piece
adapted from the English by M. Pierre Berton, and in which she added
another to the numerous kinds of death already on her list. The piece,
however, was merely an ephemeral success, and was not a great triumph
for its principal interpreter. M. Jules Lemaître says--
Mme. Sarah Bernhardt played the earlier acts in a rather offhand
style. Her delivery was sometimes childish and lisping, and
sometimes hard and guttural.
[Illustration: As Jeanne d’Arc.]
[Illustration: Mme. Sarah Bernhardt on one of her tours.]
On the 16th May, Sarah revived _La Dame aux Camélias_ at the Variétés.
In July she went to London, where she was received with the customary
enthusiasm, and, the summer at an end, she re-appeared on the 4th
September at the Porte St. Martin theatre in _La Tosca_, in which she
had triumphed two years before. A month later came another revival,
_Théodora_, which furnished M. Sarcey with one more opportunity for
lamenting--as, in fact, he had never ceased to do since Sarah’s
desertion of the Comédie Française--the injury her foreign tours had
done her. Regardless of criticism and case-hardened by experience
against the opinions of the Press, Mme. Sarah Bernhardt was devoting
all her energies to the rehearsals of _Jeanne d’Arc_. Perhaps, however,
she was not really far from agreeing with M. Sarcey. On the eve of one
of her tours she remarked--
Really, I seem to be intended for the export trade! Success abroad
is very nice, but success in France is still better.
She produced M. Jules Barbier’s _Jeanne d’Arc_ at the Porte St. Martin,
on the 3rd January, 1890. The result was unanimously admitted to be all
that could be desired. M. de Lapommeraye observed--
The entire performance was one continued triumph for Mme. Sarah
Bernhardt, who sent a thrill of the noblest emotion and the keenest
admiration through every heart.
According to M. Henry Bauer, “her success increased with every act and
culminated in a brilliant triumph.” “This woman has a power within
her,” exclaimed M. Jules Lemaître. “It is impossible to see her
without being moved to tears,” said M. Sarcey. M. Vitu wrote--
She chiefly surprised every one, including her warmest admirers
as well as her most prejudiced critics, by the extraordinary,
passionate, irresistible force she imparted to the patriotic
outbursts of the heroine. But everything, even praises, must have
an end. What I have said is merely a summary of the expressed
opinions of the entire audience last night, of what Paris will say
in a few days, and of what every one will say in a few months when
Paris and the world will have seen and applauded Sarah again and
again in this the finest of all the fine creations of her career.
In July she was playing in London, and on the 23rd October she appeared
at the Porte St. Martin in _Cléopâtre_, by MM. Sardou and Moreau. “What
a wonderful actress she is!” exclaims M. de Lapommeraye. “She appears,
she is seen and heard, and she triumphs.”
“What a pity it is,” regretfully says M. Bauer, “that her
prodigious gifts, her art, and her powers of perception and
expression should ever be wasted on M. Jules Barbier’s verses, or
on brigand stories in prose!”
M. Albert Wolff simply quivers with enthusiasm--
I have long felt that this rare artiste is not merely a great
actress, but the only one of our time. She stands without a rival
in the world. I have never seen Rachel, whose fame still excites
Mme. Sarah Bernhardt to greater efforts even in the hour of her
greatest triumphs, but I do not see how it can be possible for any
one to have more talent than Sarah. Her evening ended in a perfect
ovation.
[Illustration: As Cleopatra.]
She played Cléopâtre until the beginning of January 1891, and on the
23rd she set off for America and Australia, I went to see her a
few days before her departure. I had already paid several visits
about this time to her delightful sanctum in the Boulevard Pereire.
She had been suffering from an affection of the larynx, and was
hardly able to speak, and I had called to inquire after her health.
To pass away the time while she disposed of her dressmakers, doctors,
attorneys, and what not, I strolled up and down the well-known hall
on the ground-floor--a hall quite unlike any other that I have ever
seen. In the course of my many journalistic visits to the houses of
Paris celebrities I have soon become indifferent to the cold and
hollow display of official _salons_, to M. Renan’s plain walnut-wood
furniture, to M. Zola’s somewhat discordant profusion of decoration,
to Edmond de Goncourt’s art-treasures, and to the solemn comfort
of academic homes. I have viewed, without faltering, the gorgeous
and imposing ceilings of the Hôtel d’Uzès, the pompous display of
multi-millionaire financiers, the faintly pretentious coquetry of the
popular actress’s home, the frills and furbelows and knock-me-down
eccentricities of our celebrated painters; but every time I enter
what Sarah Bernhardt calls her studio, I am immediately struck by
an indefinable something, infinitely pleasing, and not to be met
with elsewhere. No doubt the sensation is partly physical and partly
mental; it must arise from a combination of the perfumed atmosphere
of the place, the ideally artistic arrangement and extraordinary
diversity of everything, the muffled footfalls on the thick carpet,
the subdued twittering of birds hidden in the foliage of rare and
costly plants, the intoxicating play of colour on silk and velvet,
the silent welcome of familiar animals, and above all, the voice and
presence of the mistress of the house when she makes her appearance.
But she is not yet here, and I resume my investigations. At the first
glance it is difficult to see anything more than a delightful chaos
of light and colour, an odd but harmonious profusion of the Oriental
and the modern. Gradually the eye begins to distinguish surrounding
objects. On the walls, which are hung with Turkey-red cotton, with a
pattern of graceful plumes, are all sorts of queer weapons, Mexican
sombreros, feather parasols, and trophies of lances, daggers, sabres,
clubs, quivers and arrows, surmounted by hideous nightmare-like
war-masks. Scattered about are bits of old pottery, Venice mirrors with
wide frames of pale gold, and pictures by Clairin, some representing
Sarah lying on a couch at full length, half hidden among her furs and
brocaded coverings, others, her son Maurice and her big white greyhound.
[Illustration: Vestibule of Mme. Sarah Bernhardt’s studio.]
Scattered about on stools, on settles, and on the edges of sundry
small articles of furniture are swarms of Buddhas, Japanese monsters,
rare Chinese curios, bits of pottery, enamel, lacquer, and ivory
work, miniatures, ancient and modern bronzes. In a special case is
a collection of valuable souvenirs: gold vases, drinking-cups,
liqueur-flasks, pyxes, beautifully carved golden wreaths, and
exquisitely artistic gold and silver filigree. Flowers are on all
sides: bunches of white lilac, Spanish lilies-of-the-valley, and
mimosa, bouquets of roses and chrysanthemums, mingled with palms
reaching to the glass ceiling. At the further end of the room is
the big cage originally made for Tigrette--a tiger-cat brought home
by Sarah from one of her voyages--and afterwards occupied by two
lion-cubs, Scarpia and Justinian, reared in freedom but despatched to
the menagerie immediately they displayed an intention of providing
their own food. At present the wild animals’ cage, with its closely-set
bars, serves as an aviary. In it birds of brilliant plumage sing and
disport themselves on the branches of an artificial tree. In the corner
opposite the cage and on the right-hand side of the fire-place with
its wrought-iron dogs, is a most magnificent, barbaric, disconcerting
couch--an immense divan made out of a heap of white bear, beaver,
eland, tiger, jaguar, buffalo, and even crocodile skins. The walls of
this lair are also formed of thick furry skins, falling in luxuriant,
enticing curves over the foot of the couch. Piles of faintly-tinted
silk cushions lie scattered over the furs. The light falls from above
through a canopy of colourless silk, embroidered with faded flowers and
supported by two dragon-head standards. The floor is covered from end
to end with Oriental carpets thickly strewn with skins. Jackals’ and
hyenas’ heads and panthers’ paws meet the visitor at every step.
A servant interrupts my reflections and announces that Madame is
waiting for me. I go up-stairs to the study, and find the illustrious
actress in an ample cream cashmere _peignoir_ trimmed with lace.
“I have just come out of my bath, and you must excuse me for keeping
you waiting,” she says, with an outstretched hand and a smile. “I can
talk a little better to-day. What is it you want to know?”
“To begin with,” I reply, “I should like to know the date of your
departure and the extent of your tour?”
“You will find it all on this paper. I am sure I could not tell you all
these things. On my tours I often take the train or steamer without
even asking where I am going. What does it matter to me?”
I read as follows--
“Leave Paris, 23rd January, and Havre, 24th; arrive at New York, 1st
February. New York, 1st February to 14th March; Washington, 16th to
21st March; Philadelphia, 23rd to 28th March; Boston, 30th March to
4th April; Montreal, 6th to 11th April; Detroit, Indianapolis, and St.
Louis, 13th to 18th April; Denver, 20th to 22nd April; San Francisco,
24th April to 1st May. Leave San Francisco for Australia, 2nd May.
Stay in Australia about three months. Open at Melbourne, 1st June;
visit Sydney, Adelaide, and Brisbane, completing engagements at end of
August. Return to San Francisco, 28th September. Principal cities
of the United States, then Mexico and Havana. Return to New York
about 1st March, 1892. If business then better in South America, take
the Argentine Republic, Uruguay, and Brazil in June, July, August,
September, and October, 1892; London, January 1893; then Russia and
European capitals.”
[Illustration: Mme. Sarah Bernhardt’s drawing-room.]
“Two years!” I said. “Don’t you feel sorry to think of leaving Paris
for two years?”
“Not at all,” replied the Bohemian genius. “Far from it; it is just
the same thing as going to the Bois de Boulogne or the Odéon. I love
travelling. I am delighted to be off, and full of joy to get back
again. There is genuine and healthy excitement in moving from place to
place and getting over so much ground. It never bores me, and then I
haven’t time to be bored. Just think--I have never stayed more than a
fortnight in any one place! At the end of these two years I shall have
gone half round the world. I know North America already, and I have
been there twice; but this time we are going to Australia, which will
be quite new to me. We shall stop at the Sandwich Islands and play
before Queen Pomaré, at Honolulu. There’s a novelty for you!”
“Won’t you miss your home, your comforts, and your friends?”
“I shall have them all again when I come back, and my delight will
be all the greater for being so long deprived of them. And as for
comfort, we travel like princes. Very often we have a special train
for ourselves and our baggage. There is a big car, called the ‘Sarah
Bernhardt,’ containing a fine bedroom, with a four-post bed, bath-room,
drawing-room, and kitchen, all for me, and there are about thirty beds
for the rest of the troupe. You see how convenient it is; and as the
train is our own, we can stop when we like. When we come to a specially
nice neighbourhood we leave the train, play ball games on the prairie,
have pistol practice, and amuse ourselves generally. If we don’t care
to get off the train, we turn the beds up against the sides and have
dancing with a piano. There is plenty of room, as we have three long
cars joined together. You see, we don’t suffer from _ennui_!”
“How do you spend your time on these long sea-voyages?”
“I play chess, draughts, and _nain jaune_. I don’t care much for cards,
but sometimes I play Chinese bezique, because it is very long, and
passes the time. I am a very bad player, and I hate to lose--it enrages
me. This is ridiculous and silly, I know, but there it is! I can’t bear
to be beaten!”
“What do you think of American scenery?”
“I don’t like it. Everything is so big--too big in fact--nothing but
mountains with tops that you can’t see; steppes that stretch away to
the horizon, immense trees and plants, and skies that look ten times
as high as ours. All these things have a supernatural effect, and when
I come back Paris looks like a dear little trinket in a miniature case.”
[Illustration: In _La Dame de Chalant_.]
“And the public?”
“I can’t call them anything but delightful! They adore me! In the
principal American cities, every one of a certain class understands
French, and as the prices are, of course, very high, the audience
is largely composed of this class. In some places I have regular
first-night audiences, who note the smallest effects and shades of
diction.”
“What about those who don’t understand French?”