My Double Life: The Memoirs of Sarah Bernhardt Part 55

"Are you not Madame Hessler?" she continued, looking earnestly at me.

"No, Madame," I answered; "my name is Sarah Bernhardt."

She stepped back and drawing herself up, her face very pale and her brows knitted, she said in a mournful voice, a voice that was scarcely audible, "I am the widow of President Lincoln."

I too stepped back, and a thrill of anguish ran through me, for I had just done this unhappy woman the only service that I ought not to have done her--I had saved her from death. Her husband had been a.s.sa.s.sinated by an actor, Booth, and it was an actress who had now prevented her from joining her beloved husband.

I went back again to my cabin and stayed there two days, for I had not the courage to meet the woman for whom I felt such sympathy and to whom I should never dare to speak again.

On the 22nd we were surprised by an abominable snowstorm. I was called up hurriedly by Captain Jouclas. I threw on a long ermine cloak and went on to the bridge. It was perfectly stupefying and at the same time fairy-like. The heavy flakes met each other with a thud in their mad waltzing provoked by the wind. The sky was suddenly veiled from us by all this whiteness which fell round us in avalanches, completely hiding the horizon. I was facing the sea, and as Captain Jouclas pointed out to me, we could not see a hundred yards in front of us. I then turned round and saw that the ship was as white as a sea-gull: the ropes, the cordage, the nettings, the port-holes, the shrouds, the boats, the deck, the sails, the ladders, the funnels, the ventilators, everything was white. The sea was black and the sky black. The ship alone was white, floating along in this immensity. There was a contest between the high funnel, spluttering forth with difficulty its smoke through the wind which was rushing wildly into its great mouth, and the prolonged shrieks of the siren. The contrast was so extraordinary between the virgin whiteness of this ship and the infernal uproar it made that it seemed to me as if I had before me an angel in a fit of hysterics.

On the evening of that strange day the doctor came to tell me of the birth of a child among the emigrants, in whom I was deeply interested. I went at once to the mother, and did all I could for the poor little creature who had just come into this world. Oh, the dismal moans in that dismal night in the midst of all that misery! Oh, that first strident cry of the child affirming its will to live in the midst of all these sufferings, of all these hardships, and of all these hopes! Everything was there mingled together in this human medley--men, women, children, rags and preserves, oranges and basins, heads of hair and bald pates, half open lips of young girls and tightly closed mouths of shrewish women, white caps and red handkerchiefs, hands stretched out in hope and fists clenched against adversity. I saw revolvers half concealed under the rags, knives in the men's belts. A sudden roll of the boat showed us the contents of a parcel that had fallen from the hands of a rascally-looking fellow with a very determined expression on his face, and a hatchet and a tomahawk fell to the ground. One of the sailors immediately seized the two weapons to take them to the purser. I shall never forget the scrutinising glance of the man; he had evidently made a mental note of the features of the sailor, and I breathed a fervent prayer that the two might never meet in a solitary place.

I remember now with remorse the horrible disgust that took possession of me when the doctor handed the child over to me to wash. That dirty little red, moving, sticky object was a human being. It had a soul, and would have thoughts! I felt quite sick, and I could never again look at that child, although I was afterwards its G.o.dmother, without living over again that first impression. When the young mother had fallen asleep I wanted to go back to my cabin. The doctor helped me, but the sea was so rough that we could scarcely walk at all among the packages and emigrants. Some of them who were crouching on the floor watched us silently as we tottered and stumbled along like drunkards. I was annoyed at being watched by those malevolent, mocking eyes. "I say, doctor," one of the men called out, "the sea water gets in the head like wine. You and your lady look as though you were coming back from a spree!" An old woman clung to me as we pa.s.sed: "Oh, Madame," she said, "shall we be shipwrecked with the boat rolling like this? Oh G.o.d! Oh G.o.d!" A tall fellow with red hair and beard came forward and laid the poor old woman down again gently. "You can sleep in peace, mother," he said. "If we are shipwrecked I swear there shall be more saved down here than up above."

He then came closer to me and continued in a defiant tone: "The rich folks--first-cla.s.s--into the sea! The emigrants and the second-cla.s.s in the boats!" As he uttered these words I heard a sly, stifled laugh from everywhere, in front of me, behind, at the side, and even from under my feet. It seemed to echo in the distance like the laughing behind the scenes on the stage. I drew nearer to the doctor, and he saw that I was uneasy.

"Nonsense," he said, laughing; "we should defend ourselves."

"But how many _could_ be saved," I asked, "in case we were really in danger?"

"Two hundred--two hundred and fifty at the most, with all the boats out, if all arrived safely."

"But the purser told me that there were seven hundred and sixty emigrants," I insisted, "and there are only a hundred and twenty pa.s.sengers. How many do you reckon with the officers, the crew, and the servants?"

"A hundred and seventy," the doctor answered.

"Then there are a thousand and fifty on board, and you can only save two hundred and fifty?"

"Yes."

"Well then, I can understand the hatred of these emigrants, whom you take on board like cattle and treat like negroes. They are absolutely certain that in case of danger they would be sacrificed!"

"But we should save them when their turn came."

I glanced with horror at the man who was talking to me. He looked honest and straightforward and he evidently meant what he said. And so all these poor creatures who had been disappointed in life and badly treated by society would have no right to life until after _we_ were saved--we, the more favoured ones! Oh, how I understood now the rascally-looking fellow, with his hatchet and tomahawk! How thoroughly I approved at that moment of the revolvers and the knives hidden in the belts. Yes, he was quite right, the tall, red-haired fellow. We want the first places, always the first places. And so we should have the first places in the water.

"Well, are you satisfied?" asked the captain, who was just coming out of his cabin. "Has it gone off all right?"

"Yes, captain," I answered; "but I am horrified."

Jouclas stepped back in surprise.

"Good Heavens, what has horrified you?" he asked.

"The way in which you treat your pa.s.sengers----"

He tried to put in a word, but I continued:

"Why--you expose us in case of a shipwreck----"

"We never have a shipwreck."

"Good. In case of a fire, then----"

"We never have a fire----"

"Good! In case of sinking----"

"I give in," he said, laughing. "To what do we expose you, though, Madame?"

"To the very worst of deaths: to a blow on the head with an axe, to a dagger thrust in our back, or merely to be flung into the water----"

He attempted to speak, but again I continued:

"There are seven hundred and fifty emigrants below, and there are scarcely three hundred of us, counting first-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers and the crew. You have boats which might save two hundred persons, and even that is doubtful----"

"Well?"

"Well, what about the emigrants?"

"We should save them before the crew."

"But after us?"

"Yes, after you."

"And you fancy that they would let you do it?"

"We have guns with which to keep them in order."

"Guns--guns for women and children?"

"No; the women and children would take their turn first."

"But that is idiotic!" I exclaimed; "it is perfectly absurd! Why save women and children if you are going to make widows and orphans of them?

And do you believe that all those young men would resign themselves to their fate because of your guns? There are more of them than there are of you, and they are armed. Life owes them their revenge, and they have the same right that we have to defend themselves in such moments. They have the courage of those who have nothing to lose and everything to gain in the struggle. In my opinion it is iniquitous and infamous that you should expose us to certain death and them to an obligatory and perfectly justified crime."

The captain tried to speak, but again I persisted:

"Without going as far as a shipwreck, only fancy if we were to be tossed about for months on a raging sea. This has happened, and might happen again. You cannot possibly have food enough on board for a thousand people during two or three months."

"No, certainly not," put in the purser dryly. He was a very amiable man, but very touchy.

"Well then, what should you do?" I asked.

"What would _you_ do?" asked the captain, highly amused at the annoyed expression on the purser's face.

"I--oh, I should have a ship for emigrants and a ship for pa.s.sengers, and I think that would be only just."