That night the company were the guests of the well-known de Rosas at a formal banquet, and one of the hosts proposed a toast to the French artistes.
Sarah sprang to her feet and pointed a shaking finger at her unfortunate subordinate Dumeny, who was sitting quietly at one end of the table with his wife.
“Ah, no!” she cried, “I will not drink your toast if it includes that pig there! When I play with him, I never have any applause!”
There was a dead silence for a few moments, and then Dumeny, very pale and with tears in his eyes, rose and left the room, followed by his wife. We drank the toast.
The next day Sarah bore down on Dumeny in the middle of rehearsals and exclaimed heartily: “Ah, my little cabbage!”—and kissed him on the cheek!
In Madrid I was asked to play the part of Nanine in La Dame aux Camélias. The Théâtre de l’Opéra at Madrid is an immense building, and the area at the back of the stage is a perfect wilderness of gangways, passages, and turnings between the different sets. It was difficult even for the habitués of the theatre to find their way about. As for myself, I never did learn the quickest way from one side of the stage to the other, when a scene was being played. The distance seemed tremendous, and one was always tripping over something.
I was supposed to make my exit by one door and to re-appear at another one, where I was to knock and say a certain line loudly—I have forgotten the exact words.
I made my exit safely enough, but in running round to the other door I lost my way, missed my cue, and, rendered nervous at the prospect of Sarah’s wrath, entered without saying the line. As I did so, Sarah darted a furious look at me, and I realised that she had already explained my absence in such a way that my appearance created a comic situation. The audience was laughing.
In the last act Sarah “died” and it was my duty to pass a garment over her. This was the first time I had been close to her since my faux pas of the third act.
Suddenly, as she sank with glazing eyes on her couch, I was amazed to hear her launch into a perfect stream of low-toned vituperation, directed at myself.