Sarah had no remedy in the courts, so she took her revenge in another way. She and Jean Richepin—at least, the way in which the book was written certainly greatly resembled Richepin’s well-known style—wrote and published a volume in reply which was entitled “Marie Pigeonnier,” and in which exactly the same tactics were followed.
The two books convulsed Paris and the several editions were quickly exhausted. Sarah’s friends bought up “Sarah Barnum,” and Marie Colombier’s friends purchased all they could find of “Marie Pigeonnier.” Sarah herself spent 10,000 francs in buying up every copy of the “Sarah Barnum” book she could lay hands on.
A few copies escaped, however, and these can be found in certain Paris libraries to-day.
They were really very clever books, beautifully written and full of very effective satire.
Marie Colombier, in “Sarah Barnum,” accused Sarah of drinking too much whisky, and Sarah Bernhardt retorted by asserting that Marie Pigeonnier delighted in absinthe. It was an amusing although scarcely polite controversy!
Jean Richepin is now one of the great and respected men of France. His romantic youth is almost forgotten in the eminent respectability of his age. He is probably France’s most prolific classic author, and though he quarrelled bitterly with Sarah Bernhardt, his warm regard for her persisted until her death.
Richepin is one of the most distinguished living members of the Academie Française and of the Institut de France. He is credited with having obtained for Sarah Bernhardt the Legion of Honour, after a long discussion as to whether an actress could be awarded a distinction which had hitherto been reserved for men.
Sarah soon abandoned the Ambigu to play at the Vaudeville in Féodora, a play by Victorien Sardou. This had been arranged before Sarah left for America. Raymond Deslandes, director of the Vaudeville, paid her 1,500 francs—sixty pounds—per performance.
Later on, when Sarah took over the management of the Porte St. Martin, she made Duquesnel director, and Sardou and Duquesnel wished her to launch Théodora, another play by Sardou. Pierre Berton was against the innovation, and urged that Féodora should again be played. Sarah and Berton were now at daggers drawn.
“My compliments” (wrote Sardou to my husband at this time). “You are right about Féodora—that is better than a new piece, which I know will be a failure.
“But why do you wish Sarah to play Féodora where Garnier has no part? It is Sarah, which is to say Garnier, who leads everything to-day in this lunatic asylum of which Duquesnel thinks he is the director but of which he is only a pensionnaire.”