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.
As M. Coppée came forward, Sarah rose, and it was seen that the flowers suspended from the palms formed a wreath just above her head. Standing up, she listened to an indifferent sonnet. After reading his verses M. Coppée approached Mme. Sarah Bernhardt and kissed both her hands, but she, bending down towards the poet, offered him her cheeks to kiss. M. Mendès, M. Haraucourt, and M. André Theuriet then read their sonnets with the same simple ceremonial, amid applause. A sonnet by M. de Heredia, read by M. Morand, was not sufficiently audible. Finally, M. Edmond Rostand came forward and recited the following verses in clear, resonant tones—
En ce temps sans beauté, seule encor tu nous restes
Sachant descendre, pâle, un grand escalier clair,
Ceindre un bandeau, porter un lys, brandir un fer.
Reine de l’attitude et Princesse des gestes.
En ce temps, sans folie, ardente, tu protestes!
Tu dis des vers. Tu meurs d’amour. Ton vol se perd.
Tu tends des bras de rêve, et puis des bras de chair.
Et quand Phèdre paraît, nous sommes tous incestes.
Avide de souffrir, tu t’ajoutas des cœurs;
Nous avons vu couler—car ils coulent, tes pleurs!—
Toutes les larmes des nos âmes sur tes joues.
Mais aussi tu sais bien, Sarah, que quelquefois
Tu sens furtivement se poser, quand tu joues,
Les lèvres de Shakespeare aux bagues de tes doigts.
