It had a moderate success when Sarah first produced it in her own theatre at Paris, but was an absolute triumph in London and New York. In the play Sarah takes the part of the young King of Rome.
To me she once said: “L’Aiglon is my favourite part. I think I like it better than Tosca. At any rate, a poet wrote it with me in mind.”
“So did François Coppée write Le Passant, with you in mind!” I reminded her.
Sarah was wistful. “Yes, that is true,” she answered. “Poor François. He is a genius ... but—he is not Edmond Rostand!”
L’Aiglon was not the first play of Rostand’s that Sarah produced.
In 1896 the door-keeper of the Renaissance came to her with a worried look.
“There is a wild man outside who wants to see you, madame,” he said.
“Who is he?” asked Sarah.
“He said Jean Richepin had sent him—but I doubt it myself; he looks like a savage.”
“Send your wild man to me,” commanded Sarah, laughingly, and turning to me explained: “It is this boy Rostand, whom Jean spoke of. It appears that he is a poet, and quite a good one.”