Mlle. Bernhardt made a very indifferent début as Gabrielle. The artificial reputation she made at the Odéon and brought with her to the Comédie Française does not stand examination. There is a deadly monotony about her diction. Everything is on the same level. The only tone in her voice is the low and plaintive one. When the action of the play quickens and the passions of the various characters begin to assert themselves, she dwindles away to nothing, and loses all the fire, force, and colour that the part ought to have. What good work can Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt do at the Théâtre Français? The idea of giving her a leading part in a modern drama is out of the question. The most she can do is to act as a feeble substitute for Mlle. Favart. The weakness of her voice and the insufficiency of her talents exclude her from leading tragedy parts, and I do not see that she can take her place anywhere except in the background. She might sigh through the tirades of Atalide in Bajazet or of Aricie in Phèdre melodiously enough, but that is really the extent of her powers, and it is not enough to justify the importance attached to a very unpromising début.
As Léonora in Dalila.
The reader will readily understand that these unjust criticisms by a celebrated writer are given here merely as evidence of the vanity of theatrical criticism.
In January and February 1873, Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt appeared successively as Junie in Britannicus, as Mademoiselle de Belle-Isle, and as Cherubin in Le Mariage de Figaro. With the exception of M. Sarcey the newspaper critics paid little attention to her. He thought her one of the best Cherubins he had ever seen: the incarnation of the adventurous youngster, the little scamp who is sure to be never without a sweetheart. She had all the self-consciousness of the big school-boy, with the audacity and impetuousness of a young bantam. She conveyed an impression of desire without love.
Next month her struggles began again with the production of Dalila by Edmond About. Her friends seemed inclined to abandon her. M. Sarcey was far from encouraging—
I fear, he said, that the management has made a mistake in already giving Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt leading parts. I do not know whether she will ever be able to fill them, but she certainly cannot do so at present. She is wanting in power and breadth of conception. She impersonates soft and gentle characters admirably, but her failings become manifest when the whole burden of the piece rests on her frail shoulders.
Apparently forgetting that, only a year before, he had declared Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt the only possible successor to Mlle. Favart, M. Sarcey added—
After her two celebrated predecessors, Mlles. Fargueil and Favart, Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt has excited little more than a benevolent curiosity. She can do nothing really badly, for she is an artiste to the tips of her fingers, but her voice has no sarcasm or irony, and is simply hard and distinct. Moreover, her whole personality is stiff. There is no clinging softness about her. She is more harsh than cold, and more cold than catlike.
Auguste Vitu indulged in a little fun over her thinness, and described her as “a needle made to look as neat as a new pin.” “There is nothing of the sorceress about her,” he added, “except the magic wand—herself.”