The sensation came from the fact that the head of the central figure was undoubtedly that of Sarah, and there was considerable discussion as to whether she had posed for the entire body. Clairin finally settled the argument.
“A professional model posed for the body,” he said. “Sarah is much too thin.”
The explanation satisfied everybody, for there was no gainsaying the fact that Sarah was abnormally thin.
But the gossipy weeklies seized on the affair with avidity, and Sarah’s attachment to Georges Clairin soon became public property. Of course, both were tremendously criticised. Their denials were not listened to. Sarah was dumbfounded at the venom of some of the attacks.
“These canaille!” she said, contemptously referring to her critics. “They say that I am selfish—well, what woman is not? They say that I am greedy—but did you ever know me to have a spare franc I could call my own? They say I am cold and haughty, but that is because I will not suffer the presence of fools! They say that I am indiscreet—it is they who are indiscreet! They say that I have never really loved, that I am cruel and ambitious, that I pull men down and climb over their bodies on my ascent to fame—it is not true! I am ambitious; yes, and I am jealous of a success won by hard work; but I am haughty only to those whom I despise, and I am cruel—never! It is they who are cruel to me!”
“They delight in sticking knives into me!” she declared on another occasion.
“I hate them!” she said again, passionately. “I hate them! They tear down gods! All Paris is my enemy and all Paris is at my feet.”
On other occasions she was merely scornful.
“Let them talk, these little people!” she would say. “They think they are throwing stones at me, but every stone goes to help in building the structure of my success!”
And it was true. The more people ranted against Sarah, the greater she became. She was by now the greatest feminine personality—I say it in all seriousness—that France had known since Joan of Arc.