A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

My Double Life

S >> Sarah Bernhardt >> My Double Life




Finally, when I was completely exhausted and subdued, I was taken off,
sobbing, in my aunt's carriage.

I stayed three days at her house, as I was so feverish that my life was
said to be in danger.

My father used to come to my aunt Rosine's, who was then living at 6 Rue
de la Chaussée d'Antin. He was on friendly terms with Rossini, who lived
at No. 4 in the same street. He often brought him in, and Rossini made
me laugh with his clever stories and comic grimaces.

My father was as "handsome as a god," and I used to look at him with
pride. I did not know him well, as I saw him so rarely, but I loved him
for his seductive voice and his slow, gentle gestures. He commanded a
certain respect, and I noticed that even my exuberant aunt calmed down
in his presence.

I had recovered, and Dr. Monod, who was attending me, said that I could
now be moved without any fear of ill effects.

We had been waiting for my mother, but she was ill at Haarlem. My aunt
offered to accompany us if my father would take me to the convent, but
he refused, and I can hear him now with his gentle voice saying:

"No; her mother will take her to the convent. I have written to the
Faures, and the child is to stay there a fortnight."

My aunt was about to protest, but my father replied:

"It's quieter there, my dear Rosine, and the child needs tranquillity
more than anything else."

I went that very evening to my aunt Faure's. I did not care much for
her, as she was cold and affected, but I adored my uncle. He was so
gentle and so calm, and there was an infinite charm in his smile. His
son was as turbulent as I was myself, adventurous and rather
hare-brained, so that we always liked being together. His sister, an
adorable, Greuze-like girl, was reserved, and always afraid of soiling
her frocks and even her pinafores. The poor child married Baron Cerise,
and died during her confinement, in the very flower of youth and beauty,
because her timidity, her reserve, and narrow education had made her
refuse to see a doctor when the intervention of a medical man was
absolutely necessary. I was very fond of her, and her death was a great
grief to me. At present I never see the faintest ray of moonlight
without its evoking a pale vision of her.

I stayed three weeks at my uncle's, roaming about with my cousin and
spending hours lying down flat, fishing for cray-fish in the little
stream that ran through the park. This park was immense, and surrounded
by a wide ditch. How many times I used to have bets with my cousins that
I would jump that ditch! The bet was sometimes three sheets of paper, or
five pins, or perhaps my two pancakes, for we used to have pancakes
every Tuesday. And after the bet I jumped, more often than not falling
into the ditch and splashing about in the green water, screaming because
I was afraid of the frogs, and yelling with terror when my cousins
pretended to rush away.

When I returned to the house my aunt was always watching anxiously at
the top of the stone steps for our arrival. What a lecture I had, and
what a cold look.

"Go upstairs and change your clothes, Mademoiselle," she would say, "and
then stay in your room. Your dinner will be sent to you there without
any dessert."

As I passed the big glass in the hall I caught sight of myself, looking
like a rotten tree stump, and I saw my cousin making signs, by putting
his hand to his mouth, that he would bring me some dessert.

His sister used to go to his mother, who fondled her and seemed to say,
"Thank Heaven you are not like that little Bohemian!" This was my aunt's
stinging epithet for me in moments of anger. I used to go up to my room
with a heavy heart, thoroughly ashamed and vexed, vowing to myself that
I would never again jump the ditch, but on reaching my room I used to
find the gardener's daughter there, a big, awkward, merry girl, who used
to wait on me.

"Oh, how comic Mademoiselle looks like that!" she would say, laughing so
heartily that I was proud of looking comic, and I decided that when I
jumped the ditch again I would get weeds and mud all over me. When I had
undressed and washed I used to put on a flannel gown and wait in my room
until my dinner came. Soup was sent up, and then meat, bread, and water.
I detested meat then, just as I do now, and threw it out of the window
after cutting off the fat, which I put on the rim of my plate, as my
aunt used to come up unexpectedly.

"Have you eaten your dinner, Mademoiselle?" she would ask.

"Yes, Aunt," I replied.

"Are you still hungry?"

"No, Aunt."

"Write out 'Our Father' and the 'Creed' three times, you little
heathen." This was because I had not been baptized. A quarter of an hour
later my uncle would come upstairs.

"Have you had enough dinner?" he would ask.

"Yes, Uncle," I replied.

"Did you eat your meat?"

"No; I threw it out of the window. I don't like meat."

"You told your aunt an untruth, then."

"No; she asked me if I had eaten my dinner, and I answered that I had,
but I did not say that I had eaten my meat."

"What punishment has she given you?"

"I am to write out 'Our Father' and the 'Creed' three times before going
to bed."

"Do you know them by heart?"

"No, not very well; I make mistakes always."

And the adorable man would then dictate to me "Our Father" and the
"Creed," and I copied it in the most devoted way, as he used to dictate
with deep feeling and emotion. He was religious, very religious indeed,
this uncle of mine, and after the death of my aunt he became a
Carthusian monk. As I write these lines, ill and aged as he is, and bent
with pain, I know he is digging his own grave, weak with the weight of
the spade, imploring God to take him, and thinking sometimes of me, of
his little Bohemian. Ah, the dear, good man, it is to him that I owe all
that is best in me. I love him devotedly and have the greatest respect
for him. How many times in the difficult phases of my life I have
thought of him and consulted his ideas, for I never saw him again, as my
aunt quarrelled purposely with my mother and me. He was always fond of
me, though, and has told his friends to assure me of this. Occasionally,
too, he has sent me his advice, which has always been very
straightforward and full of indulgence and common sense.

Recently I went to the country where the Carthusians have taken refuge.
A friend of mine went to see my uncle, and I wept on hearing the words
he had dictated to be repeated to me.

To return to my story. After my uncle's visit, Marie, the gardener's
daughter, came to my room, looking quite indifferent, but with her
pockets stuffed with apples, biscuits, raisins, and nuts. My cousin had
sent me some dessert, but she, the good-hearted girl, had cleared all
the dessert dishes. I told her to sit down and crack the nuts, and I
would eat them when I had finished my "Lord's Prayer" and "Creed." She
sat down on the floor, so that she could hide everything quickly under
the table in case my aunt returned. But my aunt did not come again, as
she and her daughter used to spend their evenings at the piano, whilst
my uncle taught his son mathematics.

Finally, my mother wrote to say that she was coming. There was great
excitement in my uncle's house, and my little trunk was packed in
readiness.

The Grand-Champs Convent, which I was about to enter, had a prescribed
uniform, and my cousin, who loved sewing, marked all my things with the
initials S.B. in red cotton. My uncle gave me a silver spoon, fork, and
goblet, and these were all marked 32, which was the number under which I
was registered there. Marie gave me a thick woollen muffler in shades of
violet, which she had been knitting for me in secret for several days.
My aunt put round my neck a little scapulary which had been blessed, and
when my mother and father arrived everything was ready.

A farewell dinner was given, to which two of my mother's friends, Aunt
Rosine, and four other members of the family were invited.

I felt very important. I was neither sad nor gay, but had just this
feeling of importance which was quite enough for me. Every one at table
talked about me; my uncle kept stroking my hair, and my cousin from her
end of the table threw me kisses. Suddenly my father's musical voice
made me turn towards him.

"Listen to me, Sarah," he said. "If you are very good at the convent, I
will come in four years and fetch you away, and you shall travel with me
and see some beautiful countries."

"Oh, I will be good!" I exclaimed; "I'll be as good as Aunt Henriette!"

This was my aunt Faure. Everybody smiled.

After dinner, the weather being very fine, we all went out to stroll in
the park. My father took me with him, and talked to me very seriously.
He told me things that were sad, which I had never heard before. I
understood, although I was so young, and my eyes filled with tears. He
was sitting on an old bench and I was on his knee, with my head resting
on his shoulder. I listened to all he said and cried silently, my
childish mind disturbed by his words. Poor father! I was never, never to
see him again.




III


CONVENT LIFE


I Did not sleep well that night, and the following morning at eight
o'clock we started by diligence for Versailles. I can see Marie now,
great big girl as she then was, in tears. All the members of the family
were assembled at the top of the stone steps. There was my little trunk,
and then a wooden case of games which my mother had brought, and a kite
that my cousin had made, which he gave me at the last moment, just as
the carriage was starting. I can still see the large white house, which
seemed to get smaller and smaller the farther we drove away from it. I
stood up, with my father holding me, and waved his blue silk muffler
which I had taken from his neck. After this I sat down in the carriage
and fell asleep, only rousing up again when we were at the heavy-looking
door of the Grand-Champs Convent. I rubbed my eyes and tried to collect
my thoughts. I then jumped down from the diligence and looked curiously
around me. The paving-stones of the street were round and small, with
grass growing everywhere. There was a wall, and then a great gateway
surmounted by a cross, and nothing behind it, nothing whatever to be
seen. To the left there was a house, and to the right the Satory
barracks. Not a sound to be heard--not a footfall, not even an echo.

"Oh, Mamma," I exclaimed, "is it inside there I am to go? Oh no! I would
rather go back to Madame Fressard's!"

My mother shrugged her shoulders and pointed to my father, thus
explaining that she was not responsible for this step. I rushed to him,
and he took me by the hand as he rang the bell. The door opened, and he
led me gently in, followed by my mother and Aunt Rosine.

The courtyard was large and dreary-looking, but there were buildings to
be seen, and windows from which children's faces were gazing curiously
at us. My father said something to the nun who came forward, and she
took us into the parlour. This was large, with a polished floor, and was
divided by an enormous black grating which ran the whole length of the
room. There were benches covered with red velvet by the wall, and a few
chairs and armchairs near the grating. On the walls were a portrait of
Pius IX., a full length one of St. Augustine, and one of Henri V. My
teeth chattered, for it seemed to me that I remembered reading in some
book the description of a prison, and that it was just like this. I
looked at my father and my mother, and began to distrust them. I had so
often heard that I was ungovernable, that I needed an iron hand to rule
me, and that I was the devil incarnate in a child. My aunt Faure had so
often repeated, "That child will come to a bad end, she has such mad
ideas," &c. &c. "Papa, papa!" I suddenly cried out, seized with terror;
"I won't go to prison. This is a prison, I am sure. I am frightened--oh,
I am so frightened!"

On the other side of the grating a door had just opened, and I stopped
to see who was coming. A little round, short woman made her appearance
and came up to the grating. Her black veil was lowered as far as her
mouth, so that I could scarcely see anything of her face. She recognised
my father, whom she had probably seen before, when matters were being
arranged. She opened a door in the grating, and we all went through to
the other side of the room. On seeing me pale and my terrified eyes full
of tears, she gently took my hand in hers and, turning her back to my
father, raised her veil. I then saw the sweetest and merriest face
imaginable, with large child-like blue eyes, a turn-up nose, a laughing
mouth with full lips and beautiful, strong, white teeth. She looked so
kind, so energetic, and so happy that I flung myself at once into her
arms. It was Mother St. Sophie, the Superior of the Grand-Champs
Convent.

"Ah, we are friends now, you see," she said to my father, lowering her
veil again. What secret instinct could have told this woman, who was not
coquettish, who had no looking-glass and never troubled about beauty,
that her face was fascinating and that her bright smile could enliven
the gloom of the convent?

"We will now go and see the house," she said.

We at once started, she and my father each holding one of my hands. Two
other nuns accompanied us, one of whom was the Mother Prefect, a tall,
cold woman with thin lips, and the other Sister Séraphine, who was as
white and supple as a spray of lily of the valley. We entered the
building, and came first to the large class-room in which all the pupils
met on Thursdays at the lectures, which were nearly always given by
Mother St. Sophie. Most of them did needlework all day long; some worked
at tapestry, others embroidery, and still others decalcography.

The room was very large, and on St. Catherine's Day and other holidays
we used to dance there. It was in this room, too, that once a year the
Mother Superior gave to each of the sisters the _sou_ which represented
her annual income. The walls were adorned with religious engravings and
with a few oil paintings done by the pupils. The place of honour,
though, belonged to St. Augustine. A magnificent large engraving
depicted the conversion of this saint, and oh, how often I have looked
at that engraving. St. Augustine has certainly caused me very much
emotion and greatly disturbed my childish heart. Mamma admired the
cleanliness of the refectory. She asked to see which would be my seat at
table, and when this was shown to her she objected strongly to my having
that place.

"No," she said; "the child has not a strong chest, and she would always
be in a draught. I will not let her sit there."

My father agreed with my mother, and insisted on a change being made. It
was therefore decided that I should sit at the end of the room, and the
promise given was faithfully kept.

When mamma saw the wide staircase leading to the dormitories she was
aghast. It was very, very wide, and the steps were low and easy to
mount, but there were so many of them before one reached the first
floor. For a few seconds mamma hesitated and stood there gazing at them,
her arms hanging down in despair.

"Stay down here, Youle," said my aunt, "and I will go up."

"No, no," replied my mother in a sorrowful voice. "I must see where the
child is to sleep--she is so delicate."

My father helped her, and indeed almost carried her up, and we then went
into one of the immense dormitories. It was very much like the dormitory
at Madame Fressard's, but a great deal larger, and there was a tiled
floor without any carpet.

"Oh, this is quite impossible!" exclaimed mamma. "The child cannot sleep
here; it is too cold; it would kill her."

The Mother Superior, St. Sophie, gave my mother a chair and tried to
soothe her. She was pale, for her heart was already very much affected.

"We will put your little girl in this dormitory, Madame," she said,
opening a door that led into a room with eight beds. The floor was of
polished wood, and this room, adjoining the infirmary, was the one in
which delicate or convalescent children slept. Mamma was reassured on
seeing this, and we then went down and inspected the grounds. There were
three woods, the "Little Wood," the "Middle Wood," and the "Big Wood,"
and then there was an orchard that stretched along as far as the eye
could see. In this orchard was the building where the poor children
lived. They were taught gratis, and every week they helped with the
laundry for the convent.

The sight of these immense woods, with swings, hammocks, and a
gymnasium, delighted me, for I thought I should be able to roam about at
pleasure there. Mother St. Sophie explained to us that the Little Wood
was reserved for the older pupils, and the Middle Wood for the little
ones, whilst the Big Wood was for the whole convent on holidays. Then
after telling us about the collecting of the chestnuts and the gathering
of the acacia, Mother St. Sophie informed us that every child could have
a small garden, and that sometimes two or three of them had a larger
one.

"Oh, can I have a garden of my own?" I exclaimed--"a garden all to
myself?"

"Yes, one of your own."

The Mother Superior called the gardener, Père Larcher, the only man,
with the exception of the chaplain, who was on the convent staff.

"Père Larcher," said the kind woman, "here is a little girl who wants a
beautiful garden. Find a nice place for it."

"Very good, Reverend Mother," answered the honest fellow, and I saw my
father slip a coin into his hand, for which the man thanked him in an
embarrassed way.

It was getting late, and we had to separate. I remember quite well that
I did not feel any grief, as I was thinking of nothing but my garden.
The convent no longer seemed to me like a prison, but like paradise. I
kissed my mother and my aunt. Papa drew me to him and held me a moment
in a close embrace. When I looked at him I saw that his eyes were full
of tears. I did not feel at all inclined to cry, and I gave him a hearty
kiss and whispered, "I am going to be very, very good and work well, so
that I can go with you at the end of four years." I then went towards my
mother, who was giving Mother St. Sophie the same instructions she had
given to Madame Fressard about cold cream, chocolate, jam, &c. &c.
Mother St. Sophie wrote down all these instructions, and it is only fair
to say that she carried them out afterwards most scrupulously.

When my parents had gone I felt inclined to cry, but the Mother Superior
took me by the hand and, leading me to the Middle Wood, showed me where
my garden would be. That was quite enough to distract my thoughts, for
we found Père Larcher there marking out my piece of ground in a corner
of the wood. There was a young birch tree against the wall. The corner
was formed by the joining of two walls, one of which bounded the railway
line on the left bank of the river which cuts the Satory woods in two.
The other wall was that of the cemetery. All the woods of the convent
were part of the beautiful Satory forest.

They had all given me money, my father, my mother, and my aunt. I had
altogether about forty or fifty francs, and I wanted to give all to Père
Larcher for buying seed. The Mother Superior smiled, and sent for the
Mother Treasurer and Mother St. Appoline. I had to hand all my money
over to the former, with the exception of twenty sous which she left me,
saying, "When that is all gone, little girl, come and get some more from
me."

Mother St. Appoline, who taught botany, then asked me what kind of
flowers I wanted. What kind of flowers! Why, I wanted every sort that
grew. She at once proceeded to give me a botany lesson by explaining
that all flowers did not grow at the same season. She then asked the
Mother Treasurer for some of my money, which she gave to Père Larcher,
telling him to buy me a spade, a rake, a hoe, and a watering-can, some
seeds and a few plants, the names of which she wrote down for him. I was
delighted, and I then went with Mother St. Sophie to the refectory to
have dinner. On entering the immense room I stood still for a second,
amazed and confused. More than a hundred girls were assembled there,
standing up for the benediction to be pronounced. When the Mother
Superior appeared, every one bowed respectfully, and then all eyes were
turned on me. Mother St. Sophie took me to the seat which had been
chosen for me at the end of the room, and then returned to the middle of
the refectory. She stood still, made the sign of the cross, and in an
audible voice pronounced the benediction. As she left the room every one
bowed again, and I then found myself alone, quite alone, in this cage of
little wild animals. I was seated between two little girls of from ten
to twelve years old, both as dusky as two young moles. They were twins
from Jamaica, and their names were Dolores and Pepa Cardaños. They had
only been in the convent two months, and appeared to be as timid as I
was. The dinner was composed of soup made of everything, and of veal
with haricot beans. I detested soup, and I have always had a horror of
veal. I turned my plate over when the soup was handed round, but the nun
who waited on us turned it round again and poured the hot soup in,
regardless of scalding me.

"You must eat your soup," whispered my right hand neighbour, whose name
was Pepa.

"I don't like that sort and I don't want any," I said aloud. The
inspectress was passing by just at that moment.

"You must eat your soup, Mademoiselle," she said.

"No, I don't like that sort of soup," I answered.

She smiled, and said in a gentle voice, "We must like everything. I
shall be coming round again just now. Be a good girl and take your
soup."

I was getting into a rage, but Dolores gave me her empty plate and ate
up the soup for me. When the inspectress came round again she expressed
her satisfaction. I was furious, and put my tongue out, and this made
all the table laugh. She turned round, and the pupil who sat at the end
of the table and was appointed to watch over us, because she was the
eldest, said to her in a low voice, "It's the new girl making grimaces."
The inspectress moved away again, and when the veal was served my
portion found its way to the plate of Dolores. I wanted to keep the
haricot beans, though, and we almost came to a quarrel over them. She
gave way finally, but with the veal she dragged away a few beans which I
tried to keep on my plate.

An hour later we had evening prayers, and afterwards all went up to bed.
My bed was placed against the wall, in which there was a niche for the
statue of the Virgin Mary. A lamp was always kept burning in the niche,
and the oil for it was provided by the children who had been ill and
were grateful for their recovery. Two tiny flower-pots were placed at
the foot of the little statue. The pots were of terra-cotta and the
flowers of paper. I made paper flowers very well, and I at once decided
that I would make all the flowers for the Virgin Mary. I fell asleep, to
dream of garlands of flowers, of haricot beans, and of distant
countries, for the twins from Jamaica had made an impression on my mind.

The awakening was cruel. I was not accustomed to get up so early.
Daylight was scarcely visible through the opaque window-panes. I
grumbled as I dressed, for we were allowed a quarter of an hour, and it
always took me a good half-hour to comb my hair. Sister Marie, seeing
that I was not ready, came towards me, and before I knew what she was
going to do snatched the comb violently out of my hand.

"Come, come," she said; "you must not dawdle like this." She then
planted the comb in my mop of hair and tore out a handful of it. Pain,
and anger at seeing myself treated in this way, threw me immediately
into one of my fits of rage which always terrified those who witnessed
them. I flung myself upon the unfortunate sister, and with feet, teeth,
hands, elbows, head, and indeed all my poor little body, I hit and
thumped, yelling at the same time. All the pupils, all the sisters, and
indeed every one, came running to see what was the matter. The sisters
made the sign of the cross, but did not venture to approach me. The
Mother Prefect threw some holy water over me to exorcise the evil
spirit. Finally the Mother Superior arrived on the scene. My father had
told her of my fits of wild fury, which were my only serious fault, and
my state of health was quite as much responsible for them as the
violence of my disposition. She approached me as I was still clutching
Sister Marie, though I was exhausted by this struggle with the poor
woman, who, although tall and strong, only tried to ward off my blows
without retaliating, endeavouring to hold first my feet and then my
hands.

I looked up on hearing Mother St. Sophie's voice. My eyes were bathed in
tears, but nevertheless I saw such an expression of pity on her sweet
face that, without altogether letting go, I ceased fighting for a
second, and all trembling and ashamed, said very quickly, "She commenced
it. She snatched the comb out of my hand like a wicked woman, and tore
out my hair. She was rough and hurt me. She is a wicked, wicked woman."
I then burst into sobs, and my hands loosed their hold. The next thing I
knew was that I found myself lying on my little bed, with Mother St.
Sophie's hand on my forehead and her kind, deep voice lecturing me
gently. All the others had gone, and I was quite alone with her and the
Holy Virgin in the niche. From that day forth Mother St. Sophie had an
immense influence over me. Every morning I went to her, and Sister
Marie, whose forgiveness I had been obliged to ask before the whole
convent, combed my hair out in her presence. Seated on a little stool, I
listened to the book that the Mother Superior read to me or to the
instructive story she told me. Ah, what an adorable woman she was, and
how I love to recall her to my memory!

Copyright (c) 2007. famouswriterz.com. All rights reserved.