Ollivier was the Premier who had declared war under the pressure of the “imbecile emperor.”
Jane Essler, a famous artiste of her time, who had been sitting in a chair lazily watching the scene with an expression of calm indifference, suddenly jumped to her feet.
“Come, let us go to the Boulevards!” she cried.
“Aux boulevards!” We were swept away by excitement.
“No; let us go to the Odéon!” shouted Sarah, and this new suggestion met with a frenzy of approval.
“A l’Odéon! A l’Odéon! Vive la guerre!”
When we came down from the flat the Boulevard Haussmann, or the street now known by that name, was alive with people. Any passage of vehicles was impossible, so we went on foot through the rue Auber as far as the Opéra.
Here there was an enormous crowd. The great Place was literally surging with people. On the walls of the Opéra itself huge posters had been pasted but a few minutes before. I remember that some of our party tore them down and stuffed them into their pockets as souvenirs. The posters explained the abrupt action of the Government, and enjoined the people to remain calm.
“Victory is assured,” was one phrase that stands out in my mind.
Carried along by the crowd, we were swept down the Avenue de l’Opéra. Opposite the Théâtre Français was another huge crowd. Marie Lloyd—an actress who, by the way, had been Sarah’s competitor at the Conservatoire, and who had gained the first prize which Sarah had coveted—was standing by the statue of Molière, singing the Marseillaise. Every time she came to “Marchons! Marchons!” the thousands of people present took up the refrain, and again and again the words of the magnificent old song were repeated.