On April 27, 1875 came the revival of Emile Augier’s _Gabrielle_, in which Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt appeared with Coquelin. She was reproached with making the character allotted to her into an ideal, poetic, and romantic woman, quite in opposition to the author’s conception. She re-studied the part, and in December of the same year she created quite another Gabrielle. M. Sarcey, who went to see her, was astonished to observe that she had effected a complete transformation. When the Salon opened, Sarah Bernhardt gave her rivals another unpleasant surprise by exhibiting busts of Emile de Girardin and Busnach. Her new departure excited a great sensation. It was impossible to set a foot behind the scenes of any Paris theatre without being assailed by such questions as-- “Have you seen the busts? What do you think of them? Are they really very good?” Portraits of Mlle. Bernhardt were exhibited at the Salon by Clairin and Louise Abbéma. The latter painted her sitter in a black cashmere bodice with an iron-grey skirt, black _guipure_ chemisette, black hat and black feathers--the costume worn by her as Mrs. Clarkson in _L’Etrangère_. M. Clairin’s Sarah Bernhardt was in a white cashmere _peignoir_, trimmed with white feathers, and with lace ruffles at the sleeves and neck; black satin slippers, sky-blue stockings, and a large feather screen: the actress lying on a cerise velvet divan, with a many-coloured cushion under her head. [Illustration: Mme. Sarah Bernhardt in her coffin.] Sarah Bernhardt was now a full-blown Parisian celebrity, and her fame was destined to go on increasing. Curiosity began to be felt concerning even the most insignificant details of her daily life. This public curiosity stimulated her, as an independent and original person, to brave the gossip of the city and its _bourgeois_ hypocrisy. All sorts of more or less true tales of her eccentricities were told about this time. She was constantly haunted by ideas of death, her frail organization being, no doubt, still incomplete. From time to time she fainted on the stage, and her unruly imagination promptly led her to expect the most direful consequences, but her extraordinary elasticity of temperament soon supplied her with renewed strength and vitality, and the complete prostration of to-day was always followed on the morrow by the most sanguine anticipations. One day she caused herself to be measured for a coffin, and had it brought to her house. This coffin, which she courageously keeps at the foot of the bed, is made of pear-wood. The only ornament consists of the artiste’s initials S. B., with the motto _Quand-même_! The inside is lined with white satin, and is provided with a mattress, bolster, and cushions--a bed fit for the most charming of coquettes. But for the spectacle of the lid, always ready to be screwed down, any one would readily lie on this pleasant, perfumed couch. Unfortunately, the lid is a stern reality. There is something else to note.