opposite. This has a curious effect; everybody turns over at the same
time, and it sounds like a shower of rain a second long.”
All these details, and the manner in which they were told, were very
amusing. I could have gone on asking questions all night, but as it was
becoming late I hastened to put my most inquisitive queries.
“How much baggage do you take?”
“About eighty trunks.”
“Eighty?”
She laughed at my astonishment.
“Yes,” she added, “there are at least forty-five cases of theatrical
costumes. We take nearly two hundred and fifty pairs of shoes, and they
fill one entire trunk. There is one for linen, one for flowers, and
one for perfumery, and others for my dresses, hats, etc. I really don’t
know how my maid manages to find what she wants!”
[Illustration: As Pauline Blanchard.]
[Illustration: Mme. Sarah Bernhardt and the painter Clairin.]
“Would it be indiscreet to ask what payment you are to receive?”
“Not at all; there is no mystery about it. I get £120 for every
performance, plus one-third of the receipts, which makes on the average
a total of £240. Oh! I was forgetting: I am allowed £40 a week for
hotel expenses.”
In accordance with her programme, Sarah left on January 23 for
her second tour in America. She followed the route given above,
with the exception of Mexico and Havana, which she omitted. She
was enthusiastically applauded almost everywhere. In Australia the
excitement rose to a frenzy. Sydney was decorated with flags in her
honour; she was received by members of the Colonial Cabinet; the horses
were taken out of her carriage, she was borne in triumph, and official
receptions were organized for her. At Sydney she appeared for the
first time in _Pauline Blanchard_, by MM. Darmont and Humblot. On this
occasion she also played _La Dame de Chalant_--a piece that has not yet
been seen in France.
[Illustration: As Izeïl.]
During her absence there was some talk of her returning to the House of
Molière for the creation of _La Reine Juana_, by M. Parodi, the author
of _Rome Vaincue_, in which she had scored so many triumphs. Her own
plans, however, were different. She wanted to make her dream a reality:
to be her own mistress and to work on her own account. Thus, barely a
month after her return to Paris in May 1892, she set off for London,
returned to France, and started again on a tour through Russia and the
Continental cities, such as Vienna, Copenhagen, Christiania, etc. It
would take too long to record the triumph she scored in this wild
gallop across Europe. Back in Paris in March 1893, she immediately
began to prepare for another tour in South America. On the 28th May
she played _Phèdre_ at the Vaudeville in aid of the funds of the
Pouponnière, a charitable organization under the presidency of Mme.
Georges Charpentier, wife of the well-known publisher. On the 24th
May, through her American _impresarii_, Messrs. Abbey and Grau, she
purchased the Renaissance theatre. Then came her tour through South
America; dazzling success, big takings, and back to Paris.
[Illustration: Mme. Sarah Bernhardt in her entrance-hall.]
Sarah Bernhardt was now at length installed in her own theatre, which
she was to make her own in every sense, and which was destined to
be for several years to come the scene of the finest experiments in
dramatic art in all Paris--experiments carried out with a lavish
disregard for everything except the interests of art. On the 6th
November she opened the Renaissance with a four-act drama by M. Jules
Lemaître, _Les Rois_.
As one critic expressed it, the Renaissance was not a shop but almost a
temple!
At last, exclaims M. Sarcey, we have seen the great and only Sarah
again, and the Renaissance, under her management, has opened its
doors with _Les Rois_. How splendid she was, and how she reminded
us of the Sarah of her best days!
She re-appeared in _La Dame aux Camélias_ on the 16th December, and,
according to the _Figaro_--
The interpretation of the play was admirable as far as Mme. Sarah
Bernhardt was concerned. The performance was one of the great
artiste’s best.
M. Sarcey indulged in reminiscences--
I well remember the first occasion on which I saw Mme. Sarah
Bernhardt as Marguerite Gauthier. It was in London, in 1881. She
played the part on several consecutive evenings, and every time I
was there, interested, delighted, and enthusiastic! The notices I
wrote then were simply brimming over with admiration. The Parisians
thought me slightly mad!
On the 24th January, 1894, _Izeïl_, by MM. Sylvestre and Morand, was
brought out. Every act elicited enthusiastic applause from the public.
Referring to Sarah, M. Jules Lemaître wrote in the _Journal des
Débats_--
We owe to her one of the strongest artistic impressions we have
ever experienced. Is it a fact that, for reasons which MM.
Sylvestre and Morand know as well as I, and which the reader can
doubtless guess, her creative has had still more play than her
artistic talent?
M. Sarcey says--
In this delightfully picturesque play she is herself the most
delightful and most picturesque spectacle. She does not look
thirty! The audience was at first quite overcome. Then there was
a furious outburst of applause, and the house rose at her. What a
triumph!
[Illustration: As Gismonda.]
These extracts, which might be multiplied _ad infinitum_, show Sarah
Bernhardt at her apogee. From this point her supremacy was undisputed,
and any show of criticism was always tempered by admiring reservations.
This was the attitude henceforth adopted by the entire Press in
regard to her creations. _Fédora_ was revived on the 3rd April, 1894.
M. Lemaître remarks on it--
I am not quite sure whether Mme. Sarah Bernhardt can say “How
do you do?” like any ordinary mortal. To be herself she must be
extraordinary, and then she is incomparable.
Off to London in June, she played _Izeïl_ with tremendous success.
On her return she gave _La Femme de Claude_ on the 19th September.
_Gismonda_, which she produced on the 1st November, elicited another
poetical outburst of admiration in the Press. The _Figaro_ speaks of
her as attaining the perfection of her art. M. Bauer, in the _Echo de
Paris_, calls Gismonda the most wonderful of all her creations. M.
Lemaître, in the _Journal des Débats_, says that “as all the laudatory
adjectives have already been used up in her service, it is difficult
to express the adoration evoked by every fresh appearance of this
extraordinary woman.” M. Sarcey alone was rather reserved in his
praise, and described her as having been applauded with more Italian
than French exaggeration; but he amply atoned for this when Sarah
revived _Phèdre_ on the 24th December of the same year (1894).
What can I tell you of Sarah that you do not know already? Her
acting is the summit of art. Our grandfathers used to speak with
emotion of Talma and Mlle. Mars. I never saw either the one or the
other, and I have barely any recollection of Rachel, but I do not
believe that anything more original and more perfect than Mme.
Sarah Bernhardt’s performance on Wednesday has ever been seen in
any theatre.
On the 11th February, 1895, came the revival of _Amphitryon_, with
Coquelin, who unfortunately remained with her for only a brief period.
M. Sarcey considered the performance wanting in life. The other
critics treated it as a success for Sarah and Coquelin, but there was
no enthusiasm. On the 15th February, _Magda_, by the German writer
Sudermann, was produced. All the critics described her as admirable.
On the 5th April, _La Princesse Lointaine_, by M. Edmond Rostand,
proved an equally great success for poet and actress. To London and
Scotland again, with _Gismonda_, _Izeïl_, _La Princesse Lointaine_, _La
Tosca_, _Magda_, and _La Femme de Claude_. Then she made arrangements
to produce _Amants_, by M. Maurice Donnay, for which she engaged Mme.
Jeanne Granier. In the meantime what does Sarah do? Rest? Not at all.
On the 5th January the _Figaro_ announced her departure on that day for
America, where she was to give a series of performances. She was back
on the 4th July, 1896. She took two months’ rest at Belle-Isle, and on
the 30th September she revived _La Dame aux Camélias_ with phenomenal
success. On the 8th October she recited before the Tsar and Tsaritsa at
Versailles. _Lorenzaccio_, adapted by M. Armand Dartois from Musset’s
poem, was produced on the 3rd December, and enabled Sarah to score yet
another triumph.
[Illustration: The Fort-aux-Poulains, Belle-Isle, Mme. Sarah
Bernhardt’s country residence.]
“SARAH BERNHARDT’S DAY”
On the 8th February she brought out a piece by M. Sardou, _Spiritisme_.
It was a failure. Sarah’s talents were extolled to the skies as usual,
but in comparison with her previous appearances the reception of the
play was cold. After twenty-five indifferent performances she was
obliged to revive _La Tosca_, and then bring out a piece, _Snob_, by
M. Gustave Guiches, in which there was no part for her. Easter week
arrived, and she took advantage of it to give a series of performances
of M. Rostand’s religious drama, _La Samaritaine_, which met with
triumphal success. Says M. Sarcey--“Sarah, transfigured and drinking
in the life-giving Word, and repeating the words ‘I am listening, I am
listening’ with all a neophyte’s ardour, is a sight to be seen. Her
personality completely fills the second act. Full of the divine fire,
she evangelizes the crowd wherever she goes. Her success was very
great.”
We now come to the great artiste’s most recent creations. Her dramatic
genius found fresh expression in Octave Mirabeau’s fine social problem
play, _Les Mauvais Bergers_, brought out on the 15th December. After
her appearance as a man in _Lorenzaccio_, and as a divinely inspired
convert in _La Samaritaine_, here she was as one of the working-class,
in a cotton blouse and woollen skirt. Next she gave Gabriel
d’Annunzio’s _Ville Morte_, and, rejuvenated and transfigured after
her severe illness, she produced _Lysiane_ by M. Romain Coolus in the
spring of 1898.
Immediately after her triumph in _Lorenzaccio_, a few of Sarah
Bernhardt’s friends, headed by M. Henry Bauer, decided to organize a
grand _fête_ in her honour, to mark the apogee of her artistic career.
Wednesday, 9th December, 1896, was fixed as the date. Shortly before
the great day, I had requested Sarah to give herself up to one or two
hours’ solitude, to revive the memories of her emotions, struggles, and
triumphs, and, in short, give the readers of the _Figaro_ a glimpse
into her mind on the eve of one of the most memorable events of her
brilliant career. She sent me the following spontaneous and vigorous
account of her meditations--
_My dear friend, you are asking for nothing less than a full
confession, but I have no hesitation in answering. I am proud and
thoroughly happy at the prospect of the_ fête _that is to be given
me. You ask me to say whether I really and truly believe I deserve
this honour. If I say Yes, you will think me very conceited. If
I say No, you will set me down as very blamable. I would rather
tell you why I am so proud and happy. For twenty-nine years past I
have given the public the vibrations of my soul, the pulsations of
my heart, and the tears of my eyes. I have played one hundred and
twelve parts. I have created thirty-eight new characters, sixteen
of which are the work of poets. I have struggled like no other
human being has struggled. My independence and hatred of deception
have made me bitter enemies. I have overcome and pardoned those
whom I condescended to encounter. They have become my friends. The
mud thrown at me by others has fallen from me in dust, dried up by
the scorching sun of my determination and faith in my own powers.
I have ardently longed to climb the topmost pinnacle of my art. I
have not yet reached it. By far the smaller part of my life remains
for me to live, but what matters it! Every day brings me nearer to
the realization of my dream. The hours that have flown away with
my youth have left me my courage and cheerfulness, for my goal is
unchanged, and I am marching towards it._
_I have journeyed across the ocean, carrying with me my ideal of
art, and the genius of my nation has triumphed. I have planted
the French language in the heart of foreign literature, and
this is my proudest achievement. My art has been the missionary
whose efforts have made French the common speech of the younger
generation. I know this to be true. Teachers in foreign countries
have told me so, ladies in New York have confirmed it, the public
has proved it, and I have been openly blamed for my presumption
by a German professor at Chicago. In Brazil, the students fought
with drawn swords because an attempt was made to prevent them from
shouting “Vive la France!” as they dragged my carriage along. In
the Argentine Republic, the students tried to do honour to my
country by learning passages from Racine, Corneille, Molière,
and Jules Lemaître’s critiques, all of which they recited most
correctly and with scarcely any foreign accent. In Canada, my
sledge was propelled by members of Parliament to the cry of “Vive
la France!” and after every performance the students struck up the
Marseillaise, listened to by the English, standing up, hat in hand,
with their invariable respect for any noble expression of feeling._
_Here is a typical incident. When I arrived in Australia, the
French residents were dominated by the Germans. Our consul was
neither liked nor esteemed. Immediately upon my arrival I was
received by the mayor in his robes of office. His wife and children
offered me flowers, and a military band played the national anthems
of France and England. I owed this polite attention to orders from
England. The effect was immediately felt, and this semi-royal
reception was much to the benefit of our countrymen at Sydney and
Melbourne. The plays performed by my company and myself met with
wonderful success, and when the steamer which was conveying us
back to the northern hemisphere fired her parting gun, our own
national anthem was sung by more than five thousand people massed
on the quays. I assure you that those who witnessed that grand and
heart-stirring scene have not forgotten it._
_In Hungary, the towns in which I was to perform were decorated
with French flags, in spite of orders from the Austrian Government.
Czechs went through their national dances before me with red,
white, and blue ribbons._
_These are the trifling victories that have gained me so much
indulgence. I say nothing of the encounters at which you and all
the Paris public have been present. And now, after having finished
my confession, I can still find one little circumstance in my own
favour. Five months ago I refused an offer of a million francs to
perform in Germany. If there be any carping critics to say the_
fête _about to be given me is out of proportion to my talents, tell
them I am the militant_ doyenne _of a grand, inspiring, elevating
form of art. Tell them French courtesy was never more manifest than
when, desiring to honour the art of interpretation and raise the
interpreter to the level of other creative artists, it selected a
woman._
_SARAH BERNHARDT._
_December 8, 1896._
The promised _fête_ took place on the following day, 9th December.
It was a very fine one--much finer than any one could possibly have
expected.
It was a charming, delightful festival under a grey wintry sky in the
heart of Paris: an outburst of kindly feeling in the most artistic
form. Some unsympathetic spirits had made merry over the programme, and
it was asserted that the timid poets who were to appear would shrink
from the critical gaze of Paris. Thanks to Sarah and the witchcraft of
her grace and beauty, the ceremony was not only the greatest and most
enviable triumph of her career, but it passed off with perfect harmony,
in an atmosphere warm with cordiality and admiration.
[Illustration: Mme. Sarah Bernhardt, from a drawing by C. Léandre.]
The brief and hurried summary to which I am obliged to confine myself
can give only a faint idea of those six hours of continuous ovations.
Half-an-hour after noon Sarah arrived in her two-horse brougham with
her son and daughter-in-law. As she appeared on the steps in the
courtyard of the Grand Hôtel, cries of “_Vive Sarah!_” were heard, and
the crowd of foreign visitors present spontaneously uncovered as the
great artiste passed through them. The great Salle du Zodiaque, in
which the banquet was held, was already full of guests, all in evening
dress. When Mme. Sarah Bernhardt came down the narrow winding staircase
leading from the first floor into the dining-room, every man and woman
among the five hundred guests rose and frantically applauded again
and again. The long train of her beautiful white dress, trimmed with
English lace, embroidered with gold, and bordered with chinchilla,
followed her like a graceful, tame serpent down the stairs. At every
turn in the winding staircase she bent over the railing and twined her
arm like an ivy-wreath round the velvet pillars while she acknowledged
the acclamations with her disengaged hand. Her lithe and slender body
scarcely seemed to touch the earth. She was wafted towards us as it
were in a halo of glory. There was a continuous fire of applause from
the whole assembly as she made her way to the presidential chair.
She reached it very pale, but smiling and happy. Another thunderous
outburst of cheers, and the meal began.
Sarah Bernhardt had M. Sardou on her right and M. Henry Bauer on her
left. At the head table there were also Mme. de Najac, MM. François
Coppée, H. de Bornier, Ludovic Halévy, Jules Lemaître, Théodore
Dubois, André Theuriet, H. Lavedan, Albert Carré, Coquelin the elder,
Edouard Colonne, and Gabriel Pierné; Mme. Maurice Bernhardt, MM.
Mendès, Silvestre, Maurice Bernhardt, Lord and Lady Ribblesdale, MM.
Jean Lorrain, Haraucourt, Charpentier, Comte Robert de Montesquiou,
Clairin, Armand d’Artois, Morand, Silvain, and Edmond Rostand. At the
other tables the guests took their places as best pleased them, without
regard to the cards. There were three kinds of menus, designed by Mme.
Abbéma, Chéret, and Mucha. The luncheon was a lively one. All eyes were
fixed on the heroine of the feast. Every one was loud in wonder at the
freshness of her colour and the perpetual youth which she owes without
doubt to the incomparable vital energy of her privileged nature. When
the dessert was reached, M. Sardou rose and said--
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,
I leave to the poets, whom we are to hear later on, the honour
of extolling, better than I can do, the genius of the unrivalled
artiste before us, the real creator of every one of her _rôles_,
the acknowledged sovereign of dramatic art, and hailed as such
throughout the world. My task is a humbler one. To every one of
those who owe to her such keen emotions it is not given to see
her in her home, among her children and her friends, and, after
applauding the actress, to know the benevolence, the charity, and
the exquisite kindness of the woman. To her I bear testimony, and
wish her long life and prosperity, and I ask you all to drink to
the health of her who is both the great and the good Sarah.
Terrific applause followed this last sentence, the ladies present
being, if possible, more enthusiastic than the men. When silence was
restored, Sarah rose and uttered these simple words--
“To all of you, my friends, from the bottom of a grateful heart I say
‘Thank you! thank you!’”
Her hands, at first clasped upon her breast and then outstretched
towards the guests, seemed to say--
“My heart, my whole heart is yours!”
[Illustration: As Phèdre.]
Repeated volleys of applause followed. Tears coursed down the cheeks of
many of the ladies. M. Sardou was seen to wipe his eyes. The emotion
was truly great and general. The Colonne choir sang the chorus composed
for the occasion by MM. Armand Silvestre and Gabriel Pierné, and then
the guests rose from the table. Mme. Sarah Bernhardt left as she had
come, shaking many a hand on the way, embracing Coquelin, stopping in
front of Jeanne Granier, kissing her twice and congratulating her on
her triumph in _Amants_. As she went slowly up the winding stair, from
time to time sending a smile or a wave of her hand to her admirers
below, she seemed almost to be mounting in triumph towards the sky!
The next act in the great ceremony took place at the Renaissance
theatre at half-past three. As was the case at the Grand Hôtel, mounted
soldiers were posted outside to keep back the crowd assembled to
watch the arrival of the guests. The house was crowded. Every one who
had been at the luncheon was in attendance, and hundreds of others
besides. Literally everybody in art, literature, and society was there.
Greetings were exchanged on all sides, but, unlike most assemblies
of this kind, the gathering did not display a trace of mockery or
hostility. Everybody had come to do honour in real earnest to the great
French tragedienne. The upper galleries were occupied by deputations
from the students’ associations, Polytechnic School, Conservatoire of
Music and Declamation, School of Fine Arts, non-commissioned officers
of the Paris garrison, etc. At a quarter to four the curtain rose on
the third act of _Phèdre_, with M. Darmont as Hippolyte, Mlle. Seylor
as Ismène, Mlle. Mellot as Aricie, and Mme. Grandet as Œnone. Sarah’s
entrance in her peplum and _mousseline de soie_ veil, embroidered with
gold, was the signal for thunders of applause. She spoke, she moaned,
she sang, she called down imprecations on her enemies’ heads, and
when, with a superb gesture, she bared her breast and declaimed--
“Voilà mon cœur. C’est là que ton bras doit frapper!”--
the ovation she received threatened to literally bring down the house.
The same scenery was used, after the interval, for the fourth act of
_Rome Vaincue_, by M. de Parodi. Enthusiasm rose to a still greater
height when Postumia came forward, blind, in mourning garments, a halo
of white hair about her brow. The whole audience was thrilled by her
cries of anguish, the gestures of her hesitating arms, and the signs of
grief upon her face. I saw all my neighbours shed tears.
[Illustration: As Phèdre.]
After a second interval came the turn of the poets, who, according to
the programme, were each to read a sonnet in honour of the artiste.
There was a distinct thrill of curiosity among the audience. What
would this apotheosis be like, and would the bold idea be carried
out as it ought to be? At this moment I was in fear of seeing a
smile--fear for the great and beloved artiste, and for the courageous
poets whose grateful admiration was perhaps to expose them to the
shafts of malice. The curtain rose again, and applause burst forth
from every part of the house. Sarah, in her Phèdre dress, was seen
seated in a chair of flowers beneath a canopy of green palms standing
on a platform raised two steps above the stage. Her face, pale with
emotion, stood out against a background of red and white camellias.
Amongst the palms were branches of orchids; around Sarah, and at her
feet, were her fellow-actresses, in plain white antique robes, with
wreaths of roses on their brows, gazing at her with smiles of delight.
On her right, and close to the scenery, were the five poets who were to
celebrate her--MM. François Coppée, Edmond Haraucourt, Catulle Mendès,
Edmond Rostand, and André Theuriet. Beside them was a deputation
from the Students’ Association. On the left were all the artistes of
the Renaissance theatre. M. Paul Clerget, of the Renaissance, acted
as master of the ceremonies. M. Paul Tixier, the President of the
Students’ Association, came forward and delivered a witty and tactful
little address. M. Clerget then announced--
The poet, François Coppée.