Memories of My Life: Being My Personal, Professional, and Social Recollections as Woman and ArtistBernhardt, Sarah
General
Memories of My Life: Being My Personal, Professional, and Social Recollections as Woman and Artist
Bernhardt, Sarah
Actors -- Biography; Bernhardt, Sarah, 1844-1923; Women -- Biography
She was very clever, this charming Mlle. Soubise, and her little speech
had the desired effect. To see the child again was my aim and object. I
calmed down and vowed that I would not allow myself to get angry during
this journey, which promised to be fertile in incidents, and I almost
kept my word. I left the station master’s office and found the poor
Alsatian waiting at the door. I gave him a couple of louis which he hid
away quickly, and then shook my hand as though he would break it off.
“You ought not to have that so visible, madame,” he said, pointing to
the little bag I had hanging at my side. “It is very dangerous.”
I thanked him, but did not pay any attention to his advice. Just as the
train was about to start we entered the only first-class compartment.
There were two young German officers in it. They saluted, and I took
this as a good omen. The train whistled, and I thought what good luck we
had had, as no one else would get in! Well, the wheels had not turned
round ten times when the door opened violently, and five German officers
leaped into our carriage.
We were nine then, and I thought, What torture! The station master waved
a farewell to one of the officers, and both of them burst out laughing
as they looked at us. I glanced at the station master’s friend. He was a
surgeon major and was wearing the _ambulance_ badge on his sleeve. His
wide face was congested, and a ring of sandy, bushy beard surrounded the
lower part of it. Two little bright, light-colored eyes in perpetual
movement lit up this ruddy face and gave him a sly look. He was broad
shouldered and thick-set, and gave one the idea of having strength
without nerves. The horrid man was still laughing when the station and
its station master were far away from us, but what the other one had
said was evidently very droll. I was in a corner seat, with Soubise
opposite me, and the two young German officers on the other side of each
of us. They were both very gentle and polite, and one of them was quite
delightful in his youthful charm. The surgeon major took off his helmet.
He was very bald and had a very small, stubborn-looking forehead. He
began to talk in a loud voice to the other officers. Our two young
bodyguards took very little part in the conversation. Among the others
was a tall, affected young man whom they addressed as Baron. He was
slender, very elegant, and very strong. When he saw that we did not
understand German, he spoke to us in English. But Soubise was too timid
to answer, and I speak English very badly. He therefore resigned himself
regretfully to talking French. He was agreeable, too agreeable; he
certainly had not bad manners, but he was deficient in tact. I made him
understand this by turning my face toward the scenery we were passing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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