nter Gailhard had negotiated and secured my services for a
special spring season, so that after the Metropolitan season I was to
realize another cherished ambition and appear in the regular repertoire
of the Paris Opera.

With these plans for the spring, Berlin in the autumn, and New York all
winter, I was running perilously near the danger line of overwork. My
physician advised caution, less work and more absolute rest, not to take
my career so strenuously, as even my exuberant spirits would not
indefinitely respond to my madly driven energy.

But I could not then call a halt. My star was waxing. I must go on. I
would pay the penalty later--and I did!

My Paris debut was effected under difficulties. The steamer was delayed;
my trunks went astray; and, to add to my distress, three polite
gentlemen took the trouble to meet me at Cherbourg, to tell me I had a
day to arrive in, one day to rehearse, and the third day in which to
persuade "La Ville Lumiere" of my artistic worth. But the occasion was
like a whip to a race-horse. It never occurred to me to refuse, despite
my consternation.

Fortunately that shrewd dressmaker of mine, with admirable foresight
(and second-sight as well, perhaps!) had "completed a whole 'Juliet'
outfit for immediate use--don't worry," read the telegram. I could have
hugged her!

I hummed a few scales on the dock, and, with a sigh of relief that all
was in order (for I had constant nightmares that I should lose my voice
some day unexpectedly), I clambered into the overcrowded express and
slumbered peacefully till our early morning arrival. That day I went
gayly to the rehearsal, and the following evening (not without much
nervous anguish) was greeted with the greatest enthusiasm by a
representative audience.

An interested listener was Gounod's son, who afterward paid me such
delicate and charming compliments as made my ears burn.

I had become a Parisian personage, and I allowed myself to enjoy
childishly the adulation and pretty attentions that were showered on me.
My woman's vanity was pleased enough at the lovely chiffons and bonnets
these ingenious people of the rue de la Paix evolved for my special
pleasure. What with fashionable soirees at which I was petted and
spoiled, and the parties and teas where my presence seemed to evoke
whispers of admiration and envy, I might well have had my youthful head
turned to a dizzy angle.

[Illustration: PHOTO OF SARAH BERNHARDT

Signed, A la