The next day in London the chief topic of conversation was the Bedlam that had been let loose at 77, Chester Square. So much was made of it that our dean, M. Got, came to beg me not to make such a scandal, as it reflected on the Comédie Française. I listened to him in silence and when he had finished I took his hands. “Come with me and I will show you the scandal,” I said. I conducted him into the garden. “Let the chetah out!” I said, standing on the steps like a captain ordering his men to take in a reef. When the chetah was free the same mad scene occurred again as on the previous day. “You see, M. le Doyen,” I said, “this is my Bedlam.” “You are mad,” he said, kissing me, “but it certainly is irresistibly comic,” and he laughed until the tears came when he saw all the heads appearing above the garden wall. The hostilities continued, though by means of scraps of gossip retailed by one person to another and from one set to another. The French Press took it up and so did the English Press. In spite of my happy disposition and my contempt for ill-natured tales, I began to feel irritated. Injustice has always roused me to revolt, and injustice was certainly having its fling. I could not do a thing that was not watched and blamed. One day I was complaining of this to Madeleine Brohan, whom I loved dearly. That adorable _artiste_ took my face in her hands, and looking into my eyes, said: “My poor dear, you can’t do anything to prevent it. You are original without trying to be so. You have a dreadful head of hair that is naturally curly and rebellious, your slenderness is exaggerated, you have a natural harp in your throat, and all this makes of you a creature apart, which is a crime of high treason against all that is commonplace. That is what is the matter with you physically. Now for your moral defects. You cannot hide your thoughts, you cannot stoop to anything, you never accept any compromise, you will not lend yourself to any hypocrisy, and all that is a crime of high treason against society. How can you expect under these conditions not to arouse jealousy, not to wound people’s susceptibilities, and not to make them spiteful? If you are discouraged because of these attacks, it will be all over with you, as you will have no strength left to withstand them. In that case I advise you to brush your hair, to put oil on it, and so make it lie as sleek as that of the famous Corsican, but even that would never do, for Napoleon had such sleek hair that it was quite original. Well, you might try to brush your hair as smooth as Prudhon’s,[4] then there would be no risk for you. I would advise you,” she continued, “to get a little stouter and to let your voice break occasionally, then you would not annoy anyone. But if you wish to remain _yourself_, my dear, prepare to mount on a little pedestal made of calumny, scandal, injustice, adulation, flattery, lies, and truths. When you are once upon