Caroline did dressmaking by the day at Mme. Guérard’s and she had offered her services to me as lady’s maid. She was agreeable and rather daring, and she now accepted my offer at once. But as it would not do to arouse the suspicions of the concierge it was decided that I should take her dresses in my trunk, and that she should put her linen into a bag that ma petite dame should lend her. Poor, dear Mme. Guérard had given in. She was quite conquered and soon began to help in my preparations, which certainly did not take me long. The next thing was that I did not know how to get to Spain.
“You go through Bordeaux,” said Mme. Guérard.
“Oh, no!” exclaimed Caroline, “my brother-in-law is a skipper and he often goes to Spain by Marseilles.”
I had saved nine hundred francs and Mme. Guérard lent me six hundred. It was perfectly mad, but I felt ready to conquer the world and nothing would have induced me to give up my plan. Then, too, it seemed to me as though I had been wishing to see Spain for a long time. I had got it into my head that my Fate willed it, that I must obey my star, and a hundred other ideas, each one more foolish than the other, strengthened me in my plan. I was destined to act in this way, I thought.
I went downstairs again. The door was still ajar. With Caroline’s help I carried the empty trunk up to Mme. Guérard’s, and Caroline emptied my wardrobe and drawers and then packed the trunk. I shall never forget that delightful moment. It seemed to me as though the world was about to be mine. I was going to start off with a woman to wait on me. I was about to travel alone, with no one to criticise what I decided to do. I should see an unknown country about which I had dreamed, and I should cross the sea. Oh, how happy I was! Twenty times I must have gone up and down the staircase which separated our two flats. Everyone was asleep and the flat was so constructed that not a sound of our going in and out could reach my mother. I could go through the kitchen from my bedroom without any difficulty.
My trunk was at last strapped, Caroline’s valise fastened, and my little bag crammed full. I was quite ready to start, but the fingers of the clock had moved along by this time, and to my horror I discovered that it was eight o’clock. Marguerite would be going down from her bedroom at the top of the house to prepare my mother’s coffee, my chocolate, and bread and milk for my sisters. In a fit of despair and wild determination I kissed Mme. Guérard with such violence as almost to stifle her and rushed once more to my room to get my little Virgin Mary which went with me everywhere. I threw a hundred kisses to my mother’s room, and then, with wet eyes and a joyful heart went downstairs. My petite dame had asked the man who polished the floors to take the trunk and valise down, and Caroline had fetched a cab. I went like a whirlwind past the concierge’s door. She had her back turned toward me and was sweeping the floor. I sprang into the cab and the driver whipped up his horse. I was on my way to Spain. I had written an affectionate letter to my mother begging her to forgive me and not to be grieved. I had written a stupid letter of explanation to Montigny, the manager of the Gymnase Theater. The letter did not explain anything though. It was written by a child whose brain was certainly a little affected, and I finished up with these words: “Have pity on a poor, crazy girl.”
Sardou told me later on that he happened to be in Montigny’s office when he received my letter.
“I had been talking to Montigny for over an hour,” he said, “about a piece I was going to write. The conversation was very animated, and when the door was opened Montigny exclaimed in a fury: ‘I had given orders that I was not to be disturbed!’ He was somewhat appeased, however, on seeing old Monval’s troubled look and he knew there was some urgent matter. ‘Oh, what’s happened now?’ he asked, taking the letter that the old stage manager held out to him. On recognizing my paper, with its gray border, he said: ‘Oh, it’s from that mad child! Is she ill?’”
“No,” said Monval, “she has gone to Spain.”
“She can go to the deuce!” exclaimed Montigny. “Send for Mme. Dieudonnée to take her part. Bernhardt has a good memory, and half the rôle must be cut. That will settle it.”