My Double Life: The Memoirs of Sarah BernhardtBernhardt, Sarah
General
My Double Life: The Memoirs of Sarah Bernhardt
Bernhardt, Sarah
Actors -- France -- Biography; Bernhardt, Sarah, 1844-1923
I stayed a few days with my mother, but we were so cramped for room
there that I took a furnished flat in the Rue de l’Arcade. It was a
dismal house, and the flat was dark. I was wondering how I should get
out of my difficulties, when one morning M. C——, my father’s notary, was
announced. This was the man I disliked so much, but I gave orders that
he should be shown in. I was surprised that I had not seen him for so
long a time. He told me that he had just returned from Hamburg, that he
had seen in the newspaper an account of my misfortune, and had now come
to put himself at my service. In spite of my distrust, I was touched by
this, and I related to him the whole drama of my fire. I did not know
how it had started, but I vaguely suspected my maid Josephine of having
placed my lighted candle on the little table to the left of the head of
my bed. I had frequently warned her not to do this, but it was on this
little piece of furniture that she always placed my water-bottle and
glass, and a dessert dish with a couple of raw apples, for I adore
eating apples when I wake in the night. On opening the door there was
always a terrible draught, as the windows were left open until I went to
bed. On closing the door after her the lace bed-curtains had probably
caught fire. I could not explain the catastrophe in any other way. I had
several times seen the young servant do this stupid thing, and I
supposed that on the night in question she had been in a hurry to go to
bed on account of her bad headache. As a rule, when I was going to
undress myself she prepared everything, and then came in and told me,
but this time she had not done so. Usually, too, I just went into the
room myself to see that everything was right, and several times I had
been obliged to move the candle. That day, however, was destined to
bring me misfortune of some kind, though it was not a very great one.
“But,” said the notary, “you were not insured, then?”
“No; I was to sign my policy the day after the event.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the man of law, “and to think that I have been told you
set the flat on fire yourself in order to receive a large sum of money!”
I shrugged my shoulders, for I had seen insinuations to this effect in a
newspaper. I was very young at this time, but I already had a certain
disdain for tittle-tattle.
“Oh well, I must arrange matters for you if things are like this,” said
Maître C—— . “You are really better off than you imagine as regards the
money on your father’s side,” he continued. “As your grandmother leaves
you an annuity, you can get a good amount for this by agreeing to insure
your life for 250,000 francs for forty years, for the benefit of the
purchaser.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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