John Mcewen comments on Portrait of Sarah Bernhardt

THERE are ‘bad actresses, fair actresses, good actresses, great actresses—and then there is Sarah Bernhardt,’ said Mark Twain. No one in showbusiness has combined publicity and business with such success in Europe and the US than Bernhardt—the most famous, richest actress of her time. Unloved illegitimacy is used to explain her motto, ‘quand même’ (variously, ‘even so’, ‘no matter what’, ‘anyway’) and notorious fabrications. Alexandre Dumas fils said of her fabled slimness: ‘She’s such a liar, she may even be fat!’

She began at the top in 1862, with the title role of Racine’s Iphigenia at 18, played male roles (Hamlet), the 19-year-old Joan of Arc at 46, was a pioneer film star and continued, despite a leg amputation, until her death in 1923, performing for soldiers during the First World War and completing nine sell-out tours of the US speaking solely in French.

No portrait conveyed her character better than this sensation of the 1876 Salon, provocatively posed in her newly bought Parisian house. ‘Vulgar sensuality’ was Zola’s rare dissenting opinion. Bernhardt slept with dozens of men: Victor Hugo (70, she 27) and probably the Prince of Wales (Edward VII), who once shared her stage as a corpse. It is likely that Clairin was yet another lover; he was her most persistent portraitist, taught her to paint and remained a lifelong friend. His Orientalist style suited her own.

Proust immortalised her as ‘Berma’, Freud found her ‘enchanting’. Chekhov and Shaw were detractors, but, when she died, the play in the theatre named in her honour closed mid flow and the audience and cast walked silently to pay tribute outside her house.