On Monday evening, November 8th, at 8.30, the curtain rose for the first performance of “Adrienne Lecouvreur.” The house was crowded and the seats, which had been sold to the highest bidders and then sold by them again, had fetched exorbitant prices. I was awaited with impatience and curiosity, but not with any sympathy. There were no young girls present, as the piece was too immoral. (Poor _Adrienne Lecouvreur_!) The audience was very polite to the _artistes_ of my company, but rather impatient to see the strange person who had been announced to them. The curtain fell at the end of the first act and Adrienne had not appeared. One of the audience, very much annoyed, asked to see Mr. Henry Abbey. “I want my money back,” he said, “as _la Bernhardt_ is not in every act.” Abbey refused to return the money to the extraordinary individual and as the curtain was going up he hurried back to take possession of his seat again. My appearance was greeted by several rounds of applause, which I believe had been paid for in advance by Abbey and Jarrett. I commenced and the sweetness of my voice as in the fable of the “Two Pigeons” worked the miracle. The whole house this time burst out into hurrahs. A current of sympathy was established between my public and myself. Instead of the hysterical skeleton that had been announced to them, they had before them a very frail-looking creature with a sweet voice. The fourth act was applauded and _Adrienne’s_ rebellion against the _Princesse de Bouillon_ stirred the whole house. Finally, in the fifth act, when the unfortunate _artiste_ is dying, poisoned by her rival, there was quite a manifestation and everyone was deeply moved. At the end of the third act all the young men were sent off by the ladies to find all the musicians they could get together, and to my surprise and delight on arriving at my hotel a charming serenade was played for me while I was at supper. The crowd had assembled under my windows at the Albemarle Hotel and I was obliged to go out on to the balcony several times to bow and to thank this public, which I had been told I should find cold and prejudiced against me. From the bottom of my heart I also thanked all my detractors and slanderers, as it was through them that I had had the pleasure of fighting, with the certainty of conquering. The victory was all the more enjoyable as I had not dared to hope for it. I gave twenty-seven performances in New York. The plays were “Adrienne Lecouvreur,” “Froufrou,” “Hernani,” “La Dame aux Camélias,” “Le Sphinx,” “L’Etrangère.” The average receipts were 20,342 francs for each performance, including matinées. The last performance was given on Saturday, December 4th, as a matinée, for my company had to leave that night for Boston and I had reserved the evening to go to Mr. Edison, at Menlo Park, where I had a reception worthy of fairyland.