Rostand and Maeterlinck were friends, and one night they accepted an invitation to dine at the home of the Countess de B——, the occasion being in honour of the President of the Republic.
Having some time to spare beforehand, the two men, who were then not nearly so celebrated as Edmond Rostand was when he died, or as Maeterlinck is now, called upon Sarah Bernhardt. It was three o’clock in the afternoon, and the Countess’s dinner was fixed for nine o’clock at night.
Nine o’clock came and passed, and then nine-thirty, and finally 10 p.m. The Countess gave orders for the dinner to be served, at the same time sending messengers to the homes of the absentees, to inquire if there had been any accident.
To her astonishment the messengers came back with the news that nothing had been seen or heard of the two poets since they had departed, shortly after lunch, to take tea with Madame Sarah Bernhardt.
Containing her anger, the Countess returned to her guests and explained that Rostand and Maeterlinck had been unavoidably detained. Then she privately sent two young guests to Sarah’s house, with strict instructions not to return without finding out whether the distinguished and errant couple were still there.
They had no sooner reached the portals of Sarah’s home than the grille opened and out came Rostand and Maeterlinck, in a great hurry.
“The Countess and the President of the Republic have been waiting for you for three hours!” cried one of the messengers.
It came out that, during their visit, Sarah had been seized with one of her modelling fits and had persuaded them to sit to her. When it was time for them to go, she had enticed them into a room she called her studio, which had glass doors, and turned the key on them there.
When they turned round they perceived Sarah sitting on the other side of the transparent doors, calmly continuing her modelling.
They rapped on the door, made faces at her, shouted, all to no purpose. Sarah went on working with her clay, rounding the figures into shape.