We stayed at St. Louis all the week from the 24th to the 31st of January. I must admit that this city, which was specially French, was less to my liking than the other American cities, as it was dirty and the hotels were not very comfortable. Since then St. Louis has made great strides, but it was the Germans who planted there the bulb of progress. At the time of which I speak, the year 1881, the city was repulsively dirty. In those days, alas! we were not great at colonizing, and all the cities where French influence preponderated, were poor and behind the times. I was bored to death at St. Louis, and I wanted to leave the place at once, after paying the indemnity to the manager, but Jarrett, the upright man, the stern man of duty, the ferocious man, said to me, holding the contract in his hand: “No, madame, you must stay; you can die of ennui here, if you like, but stay you must.”
By way of entertaining me, he took me to a celebrated grotto, where we were to see some millions of fish without eyes. The light had never penetrated into this grotto, and as the first fish who lived there had no use for their eyes, their descendants had no eyes at all. We went down and groped our way to the grotto, very cautiously, on all fours like cats. The road seemed to me interminable; but, at last, the guide told us that we had arrived at our destination. We were able to stand upright again, as the grotto itself was higher. I could see nothing, but I heard a match being struck, and the guide then lighted a small lantern. Just in front of me, nearly at my feet, was a rather deep natural basin: “You see,” remarked our guide phlegmatically, “that is the pond, but just at present there is no water in it, neither are there any fish; you must come again in three months’ time.”
Jarrett made such a fearful grimace that I was seized with an uncontrollable fit of laughter, of that kind of laughter which borders on madness; I was suffocated with it, and I hiccoughed and laughed till the tears came. I then went down into the basin of the pond in search of a relic of some kind, a little skeleton of a dead fish, or anything, no matter what. There was nothing to be found, though, absolutely nothing. We had to return on all fours as we came. I made Jarrett go first, and the sight of his big back in his fur coat as he walked along on hands and feet, grumbling and swearing as he went, gave me such delight that I no longer regretted anything, and I gave ten dollars to the guide to his ineffable surprise.
LIBRARY IN MADAME BERNHARDT’S HOUSE, PARIS.
We returned to the hotel, and I was informed that a jeweler had been waiting for me more than two hours. “A jeweler!” I exclaimed; “but I have no intention of buying any jewelry; I have too much as it is.” Jarrett, however, winked at Abbey, who was there as we entered. I saw at once that there was some understanding between the jeweler and my two impresarii. I was told that my ornaments needed cleaning, that the jeweler would undertake to make them look like new, repair them if they required it and, in a word ... exhibit them. I rebelled, but it was of no use. Jarrett assured me that the ladies of St. Louis were particularly fond of shows of this kind. He said it would be an excellent advertisement, that my jewelry was very much tarnished, that several stones were missing, and that this man would replace them for nothing. “What a saving,” he added; “just think of it!”
I gave up, for discussions of that kind bore me to death, and two days later the ladies of St. Louis went to admire my ornaments in this jeweler’s showcases under a blaze of light. Poor Mme. Guérard, who also wanted to see them, came back horrified:
“They have added to your things,” she said, “sixteen pairs of earrings, two necklaces, and thirty rings; a lorgnette all diamonds and rubies, a gold cigarette holder set with turquoises, a small pipe, the amber mouthpiece of which is encircled with diamond stars, sixteen bracelets, a toothpick studded with sapphires, and a pair of spectacles with gold mounts ending with small acorns of pearls.”
“They must have been made specially,” said poor Guérard, “for there can’t be anyone who would wear such glasses, and on them were written the words: ‘Spectacles which Madame Sarah Bernhardt wears when she is at home.’” I certainly thought that this was exceeding all the limits allowed to advertisement. To make me smoke pipes and wear spectacles was going rather too far, and I got into my carriage and drove at once to the jeweler’s. I arrived just in time to find the place closed. It was five o’clock on Saturday afternoon, the lights were out, and everything was dark and silent. I returned to the hotel and spoke to Jarrett of my annoyance: “What does it all matter, madame?” he said tranquilly; “so many girls wear spectacles, and as to the pipe, the jeweler tells me he has received five orders from it, and that it is going to be quite the fashion. Anyhow, it is of no use worrying about the matter, as the exhibition is now over, your jewelry will be returned to-night, and we leave here the day after to-morrow.” That evening the jeweler returned all the objects I had lent him, and they had been polished and repaired, so that they looked quite new. He had included with them a gold cigarette holder set with turquoises, the very one that had been on view. I simply could not make that man understand anything, and my anger cooled down when confronted by his pleasant manner and his joy.
This advertisement, though, came very near costing my life. Tempted by the thought of this huge quantity of jewelry, the greater part of which did not belong to me, a little band of sharpers planned to rob me, believing that they would find all these valuables in the large handbag which my steward always carried.