This was not the beginning of their romance, however, for Sarah was then held in ties of intimacy with Georges Clairin, Doré’s friend.
But Doré joined Sarah’s little intimate circle, and after the death of Damala he ventured to reproach her for abandoning her painting and sculpture.
“It is because I have no teacher,” she said sadly. She had quarrelled with Clairin, who had gone to live in the Midi.
“Let me accompany you!” suggested Doré. “I cannot teach you, but we will teach each other.”
Less than a week later it was common gossip in Paris that Gustave Doré and Sarah Bernhardt experienced a tender passion for each other. It is questionable, however, whether this was not a passing passion with Sarah—although a very genuine one all the same.
Doré was a handsome man of singularly fine physique. He was quiet, studious, and in his own field as famous as Sarah in hers.
He used to work on exquisite miniatures of Sarah, several of which are now to be found in private collections.
Sarah and he spent one August sketching together in Brittany. They both wore corduroy trousers and carried easels, and people who did not know them took them for an old painter and his apprentice, never dreaming that the “apprentice” was the most famous actress in France.
Sarah told me of an amusing incident that occurred during this painting odyssey. They had been walking all day, and dusk found them near a farmhouse. Entering, they asked for shelter for the night.
After dinner Doré was shown to a bedroom, and the painter supposed that Sarah had been given another. But the next morning, on looking out of the window, he was amazed to see her washing herself at the yard pump, her clothes full of straw and filth. She was in a merry mood.