When Sarah saw the gown she cried: “What! A fine woman like you, to hide your arms and shoulders! How ridiculous!”
And, seizing a pair of scissors, she cut off both sleeves and sliced off the collar, while poor Augusta stood by, terrified to death. The gown now had a square decollété, it was true, but it was completely ruined.
When a male friend came to see her, wearing a tall hat, it was a delight to Sarah to throw it on the ground and playfully dance upon it!
She was a trial to all who loved her, and she had tremendous difficulty in keeping domestics. Despite this, she finally established a household which remained with her for most of her later years.
Her secretary was Piron, formerly of the Opéra-Comique, who could play on almost any instrument. Her personal maid was Dominga, a Buenos Ayres dressmaker, who threw up her business to follow Sarah. Her valet was Antonio, a Tunisian Jew who spoke five languages and who was discovered by Sarah in far-away Chili. Her butler was Claude, and her dresser was Félicie.
It was during a performance of Jeanne d’Arc at the Porte St. Martin, in 1890, a year after Damala’s death, that the accident, which eventually cost her her right leg, happened to Sarah.
She injured the right knee in falling while on the stage, and during the resultant illness, which was complicated by phlebitis, there was much talk of amputation. (This did not come until 1915, however, and for the time being Sarah’s limb was saved, thanks to the genius of the famous Doctor Lucas-Championnière.)
An American impresario then in Paris (I think it was P. T. Barnum) went to Sarah and said that he had heard her leg was to be cut off.
“I offer you 10,000 dollars for your limb for exhibition purposes,” was his astounding proposition.
Sarah’s reply was to raise her skirts and to display wistfully the member, which had shrunk a good deal owing to the injury.