Sarah Bernhardt as I knew her

by Mme. Pierre Berton

Still, there was nothing definite against Sarah, except gossip, and so much was admitted everywhere. All fashionable London fell captive to her art on the stage of the Gaiety. The Times acclaimed her as the greatest emotional actress ever seen on an English stage. She made her London début in the second act of Phèdre, into which she put so much of herself that after the performance she fainted from exhaustion and had to be carried home. “Such a scene of enthusiasm,” wrote the Standard, “has rarely and perhaps never been witnessed in an English theatre.”

Meanwhile, a tremendous campaign was going on against her in the Paris newspapers. They said that by her eccentric actions she had disgraced the Comédie Française abroad, and brought dishonour on her country. It was a despicable campaign, and was founded on practically nothing. But her enemies in Paris were determined to make hay while the cat was away, if I may be pardoned for mixing up two proverbs.

Gladstone, who was much struck by the charming and emotional French actress, introduced her to King Léopold of Belgium, who fell an utter slave to her beauty. She was seen with the Belgian monarch everywhere, and, as Léopold enjoyed probably the worst reputation of any prince in Europe, the fact that he was obviously enamoured of Sarah did not enhance her reputation.

This incident, in fact, in Republican France, was only an added cause for dissatisfaction. Léopold was not liked in Paris, and he was barely tolerated in London; yet Sarah seemed to find pleasure in his conversation and amusement in his company. He had, of course, the entrée everywhere, and as often as not he appeared with Sarah, generally to the secret dismay of his hostess.

There were houses in London at this period where certain representatives of royalty were looked at askance; and this condition of affairs obtained also in many European capitals. When I was in Moscow I was amazed to find that there were several aristocratic but untitled families who would not have dreamed of receiving a Grand Duke into their homes.

One of the rumours that gained particular credit in London was to the effect that Sarah smoked cigars. She received several boxes from male admirers!

Another story was that she paraded the streets dressed as a man. I doubt both of the stories myself—especially that as to the cigars, for Sarah never smoked at all—but they were widely credited in London, and those of the Paris newspapers that were hostile to the actress naturally seized on them and reprinted them with avidity. Editorials were published severely criticising her conduct, and these finally grew so numerous that Sarah decided to have done with them once and for all.

She accordingly wrote a letter to Albert Wolff, the director of the Figaro, announcing that she had decided to resign from the Comédie Française.

Nobody believed she would actually resign—she had threatened it too many times before—but her announcement in the Figaro caused huge excitement. The Minister of Fine Arts telegraphed personally to Sarah demanding an explanation. Sarah disdained to reply. The Comédie troupe was recalled from London, and Sarah was warned not to play for a while, as the public, “after the things she had done in London,” would be sure to hiss her. She insisted on playing, however, and was given an ovation. It was another triumph for her personality. But she had the critics against her en masse.

A few weeks later Perrin refused to postpone the première of L’Aventurière, in which Sarah was playing Clorinde, despite her statement that she was physically unable to act. The first night was a failure. Sarah was unanimously attacked in the newspapers, and this time, enraged at Perrin, she did resign.