Some little time afterwards she published an account of her ballooning experiences in an amusing little book entitled, In the Clouds; Impressions of a Chair, with some very pretty illustrations by Clairin. The simple and unstudied gaiety of this book brought it into great favour. Of course she was accused of another attempt to advertise herself, and her literary efforts were riddled with epigrams, but she was beginning to be accustomed to this kind of thing. Several newspapers asked her to write for them. The Globe requested her to supply the 1879 Salon critique, and another journal suggested that she should write an article on England, in which country she was about to perform. “How in the world,” exclaimed Albert Millaud, with mingled astonishment and alarm, “can such a frail creature, made up of poetry and grace, accomplish such labours?”
On February 7, 1879, she played Monime in Mithridate for the first time. The whole success of the performance fell to her. “If ever a part suited Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt,” said M. Sarcey, “Monime is that part.” “Had it been written expressly for her, it could not have fitted her better,” exclaimed M. Auguste Vitu. Even the unappeasable Paul de Saint-Victor had to give way.
The rôle, he wrote, is within the scope of her talents, and is exactly adapted to her voice. She has all the required uniformity of tone and touching sweetness, relieved by one or two outbursts of offended dignity and quietly ironical smiles. She obtained well-merited applause.
Ruy Blas was reproduced on April 4. According to M. Claretie it would be impossible to have a more exquisite impersonation of any poetical creation, or a better rendering of all the emotions of the character. Emile Zola, who was then theatrical critic on the Voltaire, wrote—“Ruy Blas was played to perfection at the Comédie Française. Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt is exquisite.” M. Auguste Vitu gave his opinion in these terms—
Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt did not play the Queen better last night than she did at the Odéon in 1872, for the simple reason that she was then perfection itself. Yesterday’s applause and calls before the curtain must have convinced her that she was quite as charming as she was six years ago.
The Figaro descriptive writer tells us—
Everybody was attacked by stage fright, and Sarah was far from being any better than her confrères. In the second act, she trembled to such an extent that when she tried to take her attendant Casilda by the chin she could only indicate the act by a gesture. “For goodness’ sake,” whispered Mlle. Baretta, “don’t tremble like that; you’ll frighten me horribly.” Back in her dressing-room, Sarah began to weep copiously, but this time with joy. Victor Hugo remained only a short time in the front of the house. Between the first and second acts he paid a visit to Sarah before her turn came. Before the fifth act Sarah came to the poet for a little of the encouragement he knows so well how to administer, and which always gives her so much ardour and confidence.
As Léonora in Dalila.
Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt had now been nearly seven years at the Comédie Française, and those who knew her were beginning to feel surprise at the length of her stay. The same year, 1879, was to witness several events leading up to her final flight in search of independence and freedom of movement. Mr. Mayer engaged the Comédie Française troupe for a series of performances to be given at the Gaiety Theatre, London, in June. Sarah was to play in L’Etrangère, Phèdre, Le Sphinx, Hernani, Andromaque, and Zaïre. The company left for London on June 1. Next day Phèdre was played, and L’Etrangère on the 3rd. Sarah was somewhat coldly received at first, but British iciness soon melted beneath the tragedienne’s fire. On the 9th, M. Sarcey felt justified in writing—“The English can adore two idols at the same time, and they are now devoted to Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt.”