He came back many times, however, and was often one of a party in Sarah’s dressing-room. The news that she was the recipient of royal favour soon got abroad, and sarcasms were printed in some of the liberal weeklies. When she read them, Sarah sent a note to the editors:
“Criticise my performances on the stage if it pleases you, but my private life should be free of insult. Furthermore, I have loyal friends who will protect my name with their swords.”
This, too, was published, and all Paris laughed at the actress who thought it an insult that her name should be linked with that of a prince. Other people in the profession thought it a pose, but Sarah was quite sincere. She was fascinated by the smooth, cynical flow of the Prince’s conversation, and she could not openly bid him remove himself from her presence. At the bottom of her heart, however, she disliked him profoundly and was at small pains to conceal it.
Once an artist of revolutionary tendencies, one Paul Deshayes, entered Sarah’s dressing-room, to find there Prince Napoleon, Madame Sand and several others. Deshayes was seeking his gloves, which he had left in the room a few minutes before. Turning to the Prince he said curtly:
“You are sitting on my gloves, monsieur!”
The Prince, turning red with anger at this unceremonious mode of address, took the gloves and flung them on the floor.
“I thought the chair was clean!” he said contemptuously.
Sarah Bernhardt jumped to her feet, picked up the gloves, and handed them to Deshayes.
Then, turning to the Prince, she said hotly:
“Politeness used to be considered a privilege of kings, sir, but I perceive that they do not teach it to princes!”