File:Bust of Victorien Sardou, by Sarah Bernhardt.jpg

Identifier: memoriesofmylife00bern (find matches)
Title: Memories of my life : being my personal, professional, and social recollections as woman and artist
Year: 1907 (1900s)
Authors: Bernhardt, Sarah, 1844-1923
Subjects:
Publisher: New York : D. Appleton
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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but I do not want any guarantee.Success will depend on Victorien Sardou, and after him on me.So I sign and thank you for your confidence. At my afternoon teas I showed the new contract to myfriends, and they were all of opinion that luck was on my sidein the matter of my resignation. Only three days remained to me in Paris. My heart wassore at the idea of leaving France, for many sorrowful reasons. . . But in these memoirs I have put to one side all that touchesthe inner part of my life. There is one I which lives an-other life, and whose sensations, sorrows, joys, and griefs areborn and die for a very small number of hearts. But I felt the need of another atmosphere, of vaster space,of other skies. I left my little boy with my uncle who had five boys of hisown. His wife was a rigid Protestant, but kind, and my cousinLouise, their eldest daughter, was witty and highly intelligent.She promised me to be on the lookout and to let me know atonce if there was anything I ought to know. 366
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BUST OF VICTORIEN SARDOU, BY SARAH BERNPIARDT. PREPARATIONS FOR AMERICA Up to the last moment, people in Paris did not believe thatI would really go. I had such uncertain health that it seemedfolly to undertake such a journey. But when it was quitecertain that I was going, there was a general outburst from myenemies and the hue and cry after me was in full swing. I havenow under my eyes the specimens of insanity, calumnies, lies,and stupidities, burlesque portraits, doleful pleasantries, good-bys to the darling, the idol, the star, the zimm! boum! bourn!etc., etc. ... It was all so absolutely idiotic that I was con-founded. I had not read the greater part of these articles, butmy secretary had orders to cut them out and paste them inlittle notebooks, whether favorable or unfavorable. It was mygodfather who had commenced doing this when I entered theConservatoire and after his death I had it continued. Happily I find, in these thousands of lines, fine and noblewords—words written by

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