With that she flounced out of the theatre, leaving us in doubt as to whether the play could continue.
On returning to her house, however, she was met by her maid, who said to her:
“Monsieur Richepin has just been here and has taken away his things. He has left madame a note.”
Sarah tore open the note feverishly. A cry of mingled rage and despair escaped her. It was a note of adieu!
Immediately Sarah sat down at her writing-table and wrote to Sardou and to Duquesnel:
“My dear friends,
“I have reflected, you are quite right; Richepin after all is only the latest of these voyous whom I have put out of my door. All shall be as you wish.
“Sarah.”
It was only later that we learned from Richepin the true story.
The one and only pantomime that Sarah Bernhardt ever played in was Pierrot, Assassin, by Richepin.
This was a complete failure and only brought hisses and cat-calls wherever it was produced, but Sarah insisted on retaining it on her répertoire so that Richepin could have the authors’ royalties. These were considerable, for Sarah cannily would only produce the pantomime once in each city, and her name alone was sufficient to fill the theatre.
She took the thing all over Europe. When we were in Scandinavia she would tell us that the play was not a success because: “These Northerners do not understand the art of pantomime; it is an art of the South; you will see how they will applaud us in the south of France!”