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 told me, constituted a small fortune. I
decided to follow his advice, and asked _mon petit 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, towards two o’clock, a gentleman called, but I
was in an extremely nervous condition, and said: “No, I must be left
alone to-day. I do not wish to see any one.”
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,
La Foncière, asking 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
perform on Tuesdays and Fridays, days on which répertoire plays only
were given. As I was playing every other day in new pieces, it was
feared that I should be over-tired.
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, with my
love for my family, I 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
very tall indeed, six feet, but 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 nurse whom I had
engaged for her. Above this long body was her little face, with two
immense pale blue eyes, which were always open, even when asleep at
night. She was generally dressed from head to foot in grey, and this
neutral colour 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 arm-chair,
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 insisted.
“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, fatidical 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 and witty man, Charles Haas. Arthur Meyer came too. He was
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 spirits who
are watching me will have missed their chance.”
They agreed to humour my fancy, and Arthur Meyer, who was to have gone
to some first night at one of the theatres, remained with us. 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 in
the street cries 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 to 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 in 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 Caumartin.
The kind man took my little slumberer in and 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 in his button-
hole, 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 thought 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 amiable 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 new-comer 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 any one 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, whilst 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 arm-
chair. 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 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 colours, 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
had been indifferent, even harsh, towards those of her husband; and
consequently she was not liked in the family. I had taken charge of her
because small-pox 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 keep
her with me. News of the fire was brought to us. It continued to rage,
and burnt everything in my flat, absolutely everything, even to the very
last book in my library. My greatest sorrow was that I had lost a
magnificent portrait of my mother by Bassompierre Severin, a pastelist
very much _à la mode_ under the Empire; an oil portrait of my father,
and a very pretty pastel of my sister Jeanne. I had not much jewellery,
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 Kalil Bey after a performance
at his house. The ashes of this had to be sifted 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 smaller tortoise named Zerbinette, which was its
servant, and I used to amuse 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 La Foncière, the
fire insurance company, whose papers I had refused to sign the day
before the catastrophe. The company claimed a heavy sum of money from me
for damages done to the house itself. The second storey was almost
entirely destroyed, and for many months the whole building had to be
propped up. I did not possess the 40,000 francs claimed. Duquesnel
offered to give a benefit performance for me, which would, he said, free
me from all difficulties. De Chilly was very willing to agree to
anything that would be of service to me. The 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 gem-like notes of her wonderful
voice the whole house was delirious with excitement.
Every one 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 _Il Barbière de Seville_, “_Una voce poco fa_.”
I thanked her affectionately afterwards, and she left the theatre
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
dismal 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 Hamburg, 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 adore
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. Usually, 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 in order to receive a large sum of money!”
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 had
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 mother had left me. I had kept by me and invested a
sufficient amount of money so as to be sure to complete my monthly
salary for the next two years: I reckoned that at the end of the two
years I should be in a position to demand a very high 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 amongst 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 verse on the subject of my fire. Most of it
was anonymous. I have kept it all, however, and I quote the following
poem, which is rather nice:
Passant, te voilà sans abri:
La flamme a ravagé ton gite.
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’ont à 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 fossé pousse!
Et le cadre de ton miroir
Est une bordure de mousse!
Tes bracelets?... Mais, tes bras nus,
Tu paraîtras cent fois plus belle!
Sur les bras jolis 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, 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 sorrow. I
had been offered a magnificent engagement in Russia, and I should have
to accept it. Madame Guérard was my sole confidant, and I did not
mention my plan to any one 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 her
own maid with her, 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 successfully 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. Since then his slenderness has developed into
plumpness and his hope into certitude.
XV
THE FRANCO-PRUSSIAN WAR
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, whilst 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!
Recently, I visited a huge steel works. I will not say in what country,
for all countries have been hospitable to me, and I am neither a spy nor
a traitress. I only set forth things as I see them. Well, I visited one
of these frightful manufactories, in which the most deadly weapons are
made. The owner of it all, a multi-millionaire, was introduced to me. He
was pleasant, but no good at conversation, and he had a dreamy,
dissatisfied look. My cicerone informed me that this man had just lost a
huge sum of money, nearly sixty million francs.
“Good Heavens!” I exclaimed; “how has he lost it?”
“Oh well, he has not exactly lost the money, but has just missed making
the sum, so it amounts to the same thing.”
I looked perplexed, and he added, “Yes; you remember that there was a
great deal of talk about war between France and Germany with regard to
the Morocco affair?”
“Yes.”
“Well, this prince of the steel trade expected to sell cannons for it,
and for a month his men were very busy in the factory, working day and
night. He gave enormous bribes to influential members of the Government,
and paid some of the papers in France and Germany to stir up the people.
Everything has fallen through, thanks to the intervention of men who are
wise and humanitarian. The consequence is that this millionaire is in
despair. He has lost sixty or perhaps a hundred million francs.”
I looked at the wretched man with contempt, and I wished heartily that
he could be suffocated with his millions, as remorse was no doubt
utterly unknown to him.
And how many others merit our contempt just as this man does! Nearly all
those who are known as “suppliers to the army,” in every country in the
world, are the most desperate propagators of war.
Let every man be a soldier in the time of peril. Yes, a thousand times
over, yes! Let every man be armed for the defence of his country, and
let him kill in order to defend his family and himself. That is only
reasonable. But that there should be, in our times, young men whose sole
dream is to kill in order to make a position for themselves, that is
inconceivable!