The night commenced to fall, and I experienced a fearful anguish in discovering on the crest of a little rock two enormous eyes which looked fixedly at me. Then a little farther, near a tuft of seaweed, two more large, fixed eyes. I saw no body to these beings—nothing but the eyes. I thought for a minute that I was losing my senses, and I bit my tongue till the blood came, then I pulled violently at the rope, as I had agreed to do, in order to give the signal for being drawn up. I felt the trembling joy of the four hands pulling me, and my feet lost their hold as I was lifted up by my guardians. The eyes were lifted up also, troubled to see me go. And while I mounted through the air I saw nothing but eyes everywhere—eyes throwing out long feelers to reach me. I had never seen an octopus, and I did not even know of the existence of these horrible beasts.
During the ascension, which seemed to me interminable, I imagined I saw these beasts along the walls, and my teeth were chattering when I was drawn on to the green hillock.
I immediately told the guardian the cause of my terror, and he crossed himself, saying: “Those were the eyes of the shipwrecked ones. No one must stay there!”
I knew very well that they were not the eyes of shipwrecked ones, but I did not know what they were. For I thought I had seen some strange beasts that no one had ever seen before.
It was only at the hotel, with Père Batifoulé, that I learned to know the octopus.
Only five more days of holiday were left to me, and I passed them at the Pointe du Raz, seated in a niche of rock which has been since named “Sarah Bernhardt’s armchair.” Many tourists have sat there since, and many have sent me verses.
I returned to Paris when my holiday was finished. But I was still very weak and could not take up my work until toward the month of November. I played all the pieces of my répertoire, and I was annoyed at not having any new rôles.
One day Perrin came to see me in my sculptor’s studio. He began to talk at first about my busts; he told me that I ought to do his medallion, and asked me, incidentally, if I knew the rôle of Phèdre. Up to this time I had played only Aricie, and the part of Phèdre seemed formidable to me. I had, however, studied it for my own pleasure.
“Yes, I know the rôle of Phèdre. But I think if ever I had to play it I should die of fright.”
He laughed with his silly little laugh and said to me, squeezing my hand (for he was very gallant): “Work it up; I think that you will play it.”