The finest piece of acting I ever saw from "Sarah" was at the répétition générale in Paris of Sardou's play Fédora. She rose to great heights, and held a brilliantly composed audience under a spell and in her grasp. Among those present, I remember well, were Alexandre Dumas, Alphonse Daudet, and Georges Ohnet; Got and Coquelin; Blanche Pierson and Maria Legault.
Edward Pigott, who was then the official Reader of Plays, wrote to me:
"The English version of Fédora is an admirable piece of literary workmanship. It reads almost like an English original. The part is all Sarah. It is written exactly to her measure—that electric play of feature and gesture, that nervous intensity, that range of power and variety of accent, and sudden changefulness of mood, which belong to the feline instinct or temperament."
Later on, when I saw that great actress—so soon to be a legend, a tradition—Eleanora Duse, play in Fédora I learnt that Sardou and Sarah had left some things unthought of.
Here is a little letter from the brilliant Frenchwoman:
"BIEN CHÈRE, MADAME,
"Je vous remercie mille fois pour vos si belles roses et l'aimable lettre de Monsieur Bancroft. Je suis très heureuse que vous ayez pris plaiser à m'entendre, et très touchée que deux artistes de votre valeur m'accordent du talent.
"Veuillez me croire reconnaissante, et agréez, Madame, je vous prie, mes meilleurs sentiments.
"SARAH BERNHARDT."