Perrin gave me the rôle of the Aventurière to study. I detested the piece and did not like the part, and I considered the lines of “L’Aventurière” very bad poetry indeed. As I cannot dissimulate well, in a fit of temper I said this straight out to Emile Augier, and he avenged himself in a most discourteous way on the first opportunity that presented itself. This was on the occasion of my definite rupture with the Comédie Française, the day after the first performance of “L’Aventurière” on Saturday, April 17, 1880. I was not ready to play my part and the proof of this was a letter I wrote to M. Perrin, April 14, 1880.

I regret very much, my dear Monsieur Perrin, but I have such a sore throat that I cannot speak and am obliged to stay in bed. Will you kindly excuse me? It was at that wretched Trocadéro that I took cold on Sunday. I am very much worried, as I know it will cause you inconvenience. Anyhow, I will be ready for Saturday, whatever happens. A thousand excuses and kind regards.

Sarah Bernhardt.

I was able to play, as I had recovered from my sore throat, but I had not studied my part during the three days, as I could not speak. I had not been able to try on my costumes, either, as I had been in bed all the time. On Friday I went to ask Perrin to put off the performance of “L’Aventurière” until the next week. He replied that it was impossible, that every seat was booked, and that the piece had to be played the following Tuesday for the subscription night. I let myself be persuaded to act, as I had confidence in my star.

“Oh!” I said to myself, “I shall get through it all right.”

I did not get through it, though, or rather I came through it very badly. My costume was a failure: it did not fit me. They had always jeered at me for my thinness and in this dress I looked like an English teapot. My voice was still rather hoarse, which very much disconcerted me. I played the first part of the rôle very badly and the second part rather better. At a certain moment during the scene of violence I was standing up, resting my two hands on the table on which there was a lighted candelabrum. There was a cry raised in the house, for my hair was very near to the flame. The following day one of the papers said that, as I felt things were all going wrong, I wanted to set my hair on fire so that the piece should come to an end before I failed completely. That was certainly the very climax of stupidity. The press did not praise me and the press was quite right. I had played badly, looked ugly, and been in a bad temper, but I considered that there was nevertheless a want of courtesy and indulgence toward me. Auguste Vitu, in the Figaro of April 18, 1880, finished his article with the phrase: “The new Clorinde (the Adventuress) in the last two acts made some gestures with her arms and movements of her body which one regrets to see taken from Virginie of “L’Assommoir” and introduced at the Comédie Française.”

The only fault which I never have had, which I never shall have, is vulgarity. That was an injustice and a determination to hurt my feelings. Vitu was no friend of mine, but I understood from this way of attacking me that petty hatreds were lifting up their rattlesnake heads. All the low-down little viper world was crawling about under my flowers and my laurels. I had known what was going on for a long time, and sometimes I had heard rattling behind the scenes. I wanted to have the enjoyment of hearing them all rattle together and so I threw my laurels and my flowers to the four winds of heaven. In the most abrupt way I broke the contract which bound me to the Comédie Française, and through that to Paris.

I shut myself up all the morning, and after endless discussions with myself, I decided to send in my resignation to the Comédie. I therefore wrote to M. Perrin, this letter:

To the Director:

You have compelled me to play when I was not ready. You have accorded me only eight rehearsals on the stage and the play has been rehearsed entirely only three times. I was very unwilling to appear before the public. You insisted absolutely. What I foresaw has happened. The result of the performance has surpassed my anticipations. A critic pretended that I played Virginie de l’Assommoir instead of Doña Clorinde de “l’Aventurière.” May Emile Augier and Zola absolve me! It is my first rebuff at the Comédie and shall be my last. I warned you the day of the general rehearsal. You have gone too far. I keep my word. By the time you receive this letter I shall have left Paris. Will you kindly accept my immediate resignation and believe me, yours sincerely,