The success of La Dame in America encouraged Sarah to give it a fair trial in France, and elsewhere in Europe. Eventually it became, after Phèdre and Le Passant, her greatest success. Even L’Aiglon—another play which received its original baptism of success in the United States—could not rival it in popularity.
All of which may go to show that American audiences have a better sense of the dramatic than have audiences in Europe—or it may not!
After witnessing a performance of Le Sphinx, which also obtained an enormous success in New York, Commodore Vanderbilt, who was then at the hey-day of his power in New York, but was not yet accepted in society because of his bluff and hearty—not to say indifferent—manners, was announced to Sarah in her dressing-room. She had heard of this remarkable man, and was anxious to meet him. Her account of the conversation, which took place through an interpreter, was amusing.
“His first words to me” (said Sarah) “were, ‘You are a Jewess, aren’t you, madame?’
“I was offended at his manner, and replied frigidly, ‘No, monsieur, I am a Catholic!’
“‘That’s peculiar,’ said Vanderbilt, ‘I heard you were a Jewess. However, it don’t matter. I came to present my respects. You’re the only woman who ever made me cry!’
“I laughed—nobody could resist him. ‘Yep, by gorry,’ went on the multi-millionaire, ‘you made me cry! An’ I’ve taken a box for every night you are billed to play!’”
He kept his word. Looking across the footlights, night after night, throughout twenty-three performances, Sarah never failed to see Vanderbilt in his box. Every time he saw her looking at him, he took out a gigantic handkerchief and solemnly wiped his eyes. When she left New York, he was among those who saw her off on the boat.
“Ma’am,” he said, “I’d like to give you a present. What would you like the most?”
Some women, hearing such an avowal from a multi-millionaire, would have thought of jewels. But Sarah was more original.