And this is one of my most precious souvenirs.
X
M. AND MME. CAMILLE FLAMMARION
IN America we have a great actress named Modjeska. She is one of the most interesting women I have ever met. She is a Pole, exiled from her own country and married to Count Bozenta. Although she has a title and is very much of an aristocrat by birth, she is possessed of those conceptions of liberty that are generally attributed to the Nihilists. It was, indeed, on that account that her own estates and those of her husband were confiscated, and they themselves driven into exile. That must have occurred about 1880 or a little before.
Then they found their way to free America, established themselves there, and the countess decided to go on the stage.
To her great astonishment, and everybody else’s, it was soon evident that the sacred fire burned in her. She became a great actress. In America we are as fond of her as if she were a daughter of our own land.
Shortly after my first appearance at the Folies-Bergère a lady asked to see me. It was the Countess Wolska, likewise a Pole, and a friend of Modjeska’s. She, too, was living in exile with her father, who had dared to write a revolutionary book called The Polish Jew.
It was through the kindness of Countess Wolska that I made the acquaintance of M. and Mme. Flammarion. I shall never forget the impression that Camille Flammarion made upon me the first time the countess took me to his house, Rue Cassini. He wore a lounge jacket of white flannel, edged with red lace. He had a veritable forest of hair, which formed as it were a bonnet around his head. This was so remarkable that I could not repress an exclamation. Mme. Flammarion then told me that she frequently had to cut some of the locks, for her husband’s hair grew with such vigour that he was tormented by it. Then she showed me a cushion on a divan, and remarked, “There is where I put his hair after cutting it.”
To give an accurate idea of Camille Flammarion’s style of wearing his hair, you have only to multiply Paderewski’s head of hair by twelve.
At the time of my performance of Salome at the Athénée M. and Mme. Flammarion came one evening to my dressing-room, after the performance, along with Alexandre Dumas. As there were many other people there I did not notice at first that the two men did not speak to each other. Finally I became aware of it and I asked, in great surprise, “Is it possible that the two most distinguished personalities in Paris are not acquainted with each other?”
“It is not so remarkable,” replied Dumas, “for, you see, Flammarion dwells in space, and I am just a cumberer of the earth.”