Just before 6 p.m. on the afternoon of May 18, 1906, twenty-year-old Highland Park resident Elizabeth Beatty stepped onto the boardwalk of the newest amusement pier in Los Angeles County. Jutting out nearly a quarter of a mile west into the Pacific Ocean, the pier was alive with people, and there was an electricity in the air—a palpable feeling that something magic was going to take place. Beatty could see a towering cupola that marked her intended destination and picked up her pace as the elation of what lay ahead suddenly became real. Elizabeth, commonly known as Bessie, skipped past a noisy dance hall and what appeared to be a white Spanish Galleon docked alongside the southern length of the pier. The aroma of a seafood dinner emanated from the ship's portholes, and though the smell was inviting, dinner was not on Bessie’s itinerary. On the North side of the pier, just past the ship, was her intended destination: a massive auditorium sitting twenty feet above the crashing waves. As the building was only a year old, the ravages of the salty sea air had yet to deface its exterior, which was quite stunning as it gleamed in the waning afternoon light. In between the sounds of crashing waves, the cacophony of sea birds, and the boisterous crowd at her back, Beatty could hear the rapid-fire tempo of a muted but still quite audible Frenchman shouting in his native tongue. French, a language normally pleasant to her ears, was challenged by the abrasive tenor of this man’s roaring. It did, however, lead Beatty to what she had been looking for: the stage entrance. Crossing the threshold, Beatty spotted a familiar face, the friend she had invited to partake in what promised to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and ran over to join her. Surveying the room, the women locked eyes on a coarse-looking Frenchman that Beatty correctly surmised was the source of the sonic assault that allowed her to find the stage door. Under the assumption that his brash manner indicated authority, the women approached, identifying themselves. The gruff man, whom they would come to know as "Monsieur Peron," studied the women with a questioning eye before turning away and barking at another man in French. The object of Peron’s unpleasantness wrangled both Bessie and her buddy into the dressing room, where they were made up to look like ladies in waiting for the Queen of Spain. As ladies in waiting so often do, the pair waited.

It's at this point that I should tell you that Bessie Beatty was a fledgling columnist for the Los Angeles Herald. She would make a name for herself in ten years' time by covering the Bolshevik Revolution with a group of journalists that included Louise Bryant and John Reed, but in 1906, she was still in L.A. and eager to prove herself. As a female reporter, Beatty was relegated to 'society' reporting but managed to challenge those constraints by proposing scenarios that, while 'lightweight,' were also undeniably intriguing. On this day, Beatty had somehow arranged for herself and her buddy to appear as extras in a play that was set to begin at 8 p.m. Without fully comprehending the gravity of what lay ahead, Beatty planned to document the experience in a human interest piece for the Herald.

Standing around in a full costume that included a tight corset, heavy skirts, and an ungodly amount of makeup, Beatty described how the hubbub of the stagehands suddenly and very abruptly died. It was a disconcerting silence, and Bessie instantly grew self-conscious, wondering if she had inadvertently committed some theatrical faux pas. Realizing that no one seemed to be casting a raised eyebrow in her direction, Beatty began scanning the auditorium until she caught sight of a radiant haze of silk taffeta crowned by a large hat that was obscuring its owner’s face. Four massive ostrich plumes impaled the hat and swayed in unison as their owner floated across the auditorium posthaste. Locked into a state of incredulity, Beatty watched as the tiny woman under the hat "ascended the steps and crossed the stage to her dressing room, merrily chatting all the while in that most beautiful of all voices." Unable to avert her gaze, Beatty stared at the enigmatic woman, offering the simple explanation that "her presence was commanding." The woman eventually locked eyes with Beatty, offering a pleasant smile and a nod in Beatty’s direction. The woman continued past the Herald reporter, and the hollow thud of a dressing room door closing soon followed; it was a sound which seemed to give Beatty permission to exhale. Pulling at her corset, Beatty gasped for air while inhaling a lingering cloud of the woman’s Guerlain Parfum. When Beatty’s attention finally deviated from the constraints of said corset, she became aware that the hullabaloo of stagehands, actors, and cantankerous wardrobe women all resuming their respective vocations had returned to fill the auditorium. Beatty pondered the jarring silence surrounding the woman’s arrival, concluding that "while Madame Bernhardt was on the stage, no one spoke. It was Bernhardt the actress, Bernhardt the genius…the idol and wonder of the stage." It was then that Beatty realized she would be front and center for an occasion that would not only define Los Angeles Theater history in the aughts but set a precedent for a town that would come to be defined by the entertainment industry. The "divine" Sarah Bernhardt had returned to Los Angeles after fifteen long years, and, like Bessie Beatty, our city would be waiting with bated breath to witness Sarah Bernhardt resurrect her brand of alchemy.

Sarah Bernhardt’s sophomore engagement in the City of Angels would be wildly different from her first in 1891 and prove memorable for all the wrong reasons. Plagued by a litany of catastrophes, both natural and manufactured, this tour seemed to be fumbling towards calamity the minute Bernhardt set foot on American soil. Antitrust wars, natural disasters, circus tents, and, tangentially, the Spanish Inquisition all factored into one of the most dramatic theatrical tours in recorded history, but this was also the visit that showed Americans who Bernhardt was: a resilient, compassionate, and practical person worthy of admiration not merely for her artistry as an actress but for her humanity. For Los Angeles, this visit would be etched into the narrative history of one of its neighborhoods, with Sarah assuming the role of the proverbial siren to call Angelenos to this extraordinary locale. Bernhardt would help its founder showcase his vision of utopia and provide the neighborhood with a touchstone that would help define its own social and cultural milieu.

An Expensive Failure

Bernhardt returned to the United States for a tour during the 1900 theatrical season that Lois Foster Rodecape characterized as "an expensive failure." The 1900 tour took place in the aftermath of the Galveston Hurricane that devastated Texas and the horrific flood that followed, but even that proved to be the least of Bernhardt’s concerns. The biggest difference between this tour and her previous tour (1891) was that Sarah teamed with noted French actor Benoît-Constant Coquelin. Coquelin had immense success with Cyrano de Bergerac back in France, and evidently, Sarah thought everyone should see his performance; consequently, she ended up either sharing the limelight or taking a supporting part. Critics shared Bernhardt’s enthusiasm for Coquelin, but American audiences did not. Americans wanted to see Sarah Bernhardt and only Sarah Bernhardt, a miscalculation that may have hurt Bernhardt financially and spurred another tour for the 1905/06 theatrical season. At 61 years of age, Bernhardt fully intended this tour to be her last, and American audiences assumed this would be their final opportunity to see the world’s greatest actress perform, making tickets a much-coveted prize. The law of supply and demand would suggest that this tour would be easy and straightforward. In fact, it would prove to be the most difficult tour of Bernhardt’s career and one of the most trying periods in the history of the American theater.

The Theatrical Syndicate

The biggest impediment of Bernhardt’s 1905/06 tour was, without question, the Theatrical Syndicate. In 1896, a group of theatrical producers that included Marc Klaw and Abraham Erlanger, Charles Frohman, Al Hayman, Samuel Nixon, and Fred Zimmerman joined forces to create a chain of theaters that stretched from coast to coast, making it easy for companies to book touring routes and venues. The Syndicate would increase efficiency by eliminating the middleman (the manager) by managing details themselves. The group quickly became a monopoly as theater companies were prohibited from booking any theaters not owned by the Syndicate. Theater critics uniformly regarded the Syndicate’s actions as a form of heresy against the theater, and most were horrified that this slight was occurring in their country. In December 1904, long after Sarah had returned to France, one of the members of the Syndicate, Marc Klaw, was invited by The Cosmopolitan to defend himself over charges of greed. Klaw did not deny that money was their bottom line, insisting that the situation was merely "dog-eat dog methods" of a capitalist enterprise. Klaw was obstinate that the theater is simply another commercial venture and should be viewed as such, "the theater in the United States is not a public institution, and it is about time someone said so. An attempt is made now and then to draw a parallel between the theater and, for example, the railroad as illustrations of public institutions. There is a difference between them: the railroad takes up the public highway, which is yours and mine and everybody’s. The theater, on the other hand, does not take up one inch that it does not pay for, and in most cases, it pays twice as much as anybody else would pay for the same thing. In America, there are no governmental subsidies for theaters. Private capital has built every playhouse in the land." This theatrical monopoly was criticized by performers, agents, and independent producers, and though it would ultimately dissolve by 1910, in 1905, there was little that could be done. Many who tried to fight, most notably actress Minnie Maddern Fiske, went bankrupt in the process. The only names that seemed to have made any headway in getting around this blockade were the Shubert Brothers.

The Shuberts

Nicknamed the "human dynamo" for his work ethic, Sam Shubert had managed to negotiate a detente with the Syndicate. Sam was well-liked in the theater community, and his peers seemed to view him as non-threatening. Theater magazine reported that "Mr. Shubert was not a member of the Theatrical Syndicate, nor was he openly affiliated with the independents. Officially he was neutral in the conflict, but more Syndicate attractions played in his houses than independent ones." His unexpected death on May 12, 1905, seemed to undermine that understanding and would impact his brother Lee, who had arrived in Europe the previous week to meet with performers who would be of interest to Americans, including Bernhardt. By the time Lee returned in June, he was not only dealing with his brother’s death, but he learned that the gentleman’s agreement Sam had established had imploded. On June 20, 1905, Lee Shubert, David Belasco, Minnie Maddern Fiske, her husband, Harrison Grey Fiske, and others made the announcement that they were joining forces in order to get around the Syndicate. Buried somewhere in all of this disorder was Lee Shubert’s announcement that he would be managing Bernhardt’s next tour of the United States.

Lee Shubert would have no problem finding independent theaters on the East Coast. However, parts of the Midwest, the South, and the West would prove problematic. The immediate concern was, in the absence of a theater, where could Sarah Bernhardt perform? The only workaround seemed to be the unthinkable for a performer of Bernhardt’s stature: a tent.

The Greatest Show on Earth?

Even today, entertainment taking place under a tent has a slight stigma attached, but, at the turn of the century, America, it was basically a step up from performing on a street corner for spare change. In the popular imagination, tents were meant for circuses and tent revivals, not the world’s greatest actress. Most newspapers were aghast at the prospect of Bernhardt appearing in a tent and assumed that an artist of her stature would flat-out refuse to perform in one. For someone who had headlined every major theatrical venue in every major city throughout Europe, North America, and South America, to suddenly be reduced to performing in a tent was tantamount to a slap in the face. Life magazine would write that "for Mme. Bernhardt to appear in a circus tent is, perhaps, not so great a hardship to her as it is a humiliation…" while Theater Magazine would assess that Bernhardt’s tour would be completely sullied by the "circus-like conditions under which American corporate greed has compelled her to travel."

Did Bernhardt feel insulted? It’s hard to say as she was very pragmatic at the time and only seemed to offer an ‘it is what it is’ response to reporters. She told the St. Louis Dispatch that,

"I have great managers. They will not be balked and I will aid them by appearing in a tent—yes a circus tent on a stage of pine boards. Maybe I shall enjoy it, maybe not."

William Connor, Sarah’s American manager, explained that he was behind the tent. The tent may not have been ideal, but it allowed Sarah and her company to continue working, and her decision to move forward with the tour had less to do with standing up to the Syndicate than it did with her personal responsibility to the men and women who worked for her. Sarah was painfully aware that she was responsible for the livelihood of an entire company (not to mention doctors, maids, and a menagerie of pets) that was touring in a foreign land, and she took that responsibility seriously. As writer Frances Fay of Theater Magazine explained, "All the members of her company are her children. Fay stated plainly that the work with her is hard and strenuous, but how could they think of complaining since Madame herself works harder than all of them put together." Mindful of Bernhardt’s personal obligations, Connor proposed the tent, and Bernhardt agreed; she didn’t have the luxury of being an egotist in this situation. In later years, Sarah pointed to this event as the glue that ultimately bonded Connor and herself, and she continued to employ him as her American manager even without a formal contract in place. The 1905/06 tour would move forward, and though brick-and-mortar venues that were independent of the Syndicate could be found, they were few and far between. The general public’s reaction to this tent-as-theatrical-venue is unclear as first-hand criticism from everyday people are scarce however, one segment of the public that was incensed by this indignity and had a platform to express it were journalists who had no shortage of venom for the Syndicate.

Anything to Beat a Woman

One fascinating social dynamic that shaped the Bernhardt vs. the Theatrical Syndicate narrative in the press was gender. Gender and traditional gender roles were invoked throughout the press to shame the Syndicate during Bernhardt’s tour. Life Magazine, for example, stated outright that there was an element of sexism in the action, and in the provocatively titled article "Anything to Beat a Woman" that ran in the January 4 edition, the magazine said that the organization is notoriously not a respecter of women and Mme. Bernhardt, woman, and artist that she is could not expect to fare better than others of her sex and calling at the hands of this ruffian band. Playing on ‘Southern romanticism,’ the magazine stated that It is safe to predict that Southern chivalry will resent this persecution of a woman and that wherever she has to play in a circus tent, she will receive patronage and a welcome which will assure her that Americans are not in sympathy with the arrogance and mean methods of these sharpers. As there is no byline, it's not clear who was behind this article, but it follows tenets of first-wave feminism, including a moral primacy that colored feminist discourse from the period. It's also a time when women's voices were increasingly present within media that was classified as ‘society’ reporting (i.e. Bessie Beatty's reporting mentioned in the introduction to this essay). Women were also a key part of Bernhardt’s audience, and no doubt, reporting like that found in the Life article were directed towards women.

Bernhardt reached out to Jean Jules Jusserand, the French Ambassador to the United States, for help. A wire story stated that she had sent her lawyer, Charles Strine, to Washington to meet with Jusserand, explaining that commercial interests were against the actress because of the opposition of her managers to the so-called syndicate and that alleged discrimination barring her from theaters in Texas and Louisiana not only affected her but a large number of French people in New Orleans. Jusserand promised to look into the matter with a view of possible instructions to the French consul in New York to take any action that the latter may deem expedient. New York District Attorney William Travers Jerome would file an antitrust case against the Syndicate, but it would be years before the matter could be resolved through the courts.

Jokes were made throughout the press at both Lee Shubert and Bernhardt’s expense, but the situation also generated an avalanche of publicity for the tour. The most absurd story being circulated was that Lee Shubert had rented a circus tent from none other than Barnum and Bailey to go forward with the tour. Borrowing Barnum and Bailey’s tent certainly sounded good in print and like something P.T. Barnum might have conjured up if he hadn’t died fifteen years earlier but it wasn’t true. A February 21 wire story from the Associated Press stated: "Bernhardt today has purchased a new, fully equipped circus tent which will be used in those cities of Texas and probably of California in which first-class theaters cannot be obtained…The tent is 220 feet long and 130 feet wide and will seat 4750 people. The seats are canvas chairs arranged in sections as in a theater, numbered and reserved with three-foot aisles." Photos of the tent in Chicago show Bernhardt’s name painted on the exterior, which, if it was Barnum and Bailey’s tent, they wouldn’t have been too happy about. The false story persisted because it sounded more exciting, and Bernhardt rarely contradicted any kind of publicity, so the story persisted. It should be noted that it wasn’t just circus tents that served as makeshift venues; it was (almost) any converted space—as the Los Angeles Herald explained: "She has appeared in theaters and in tents, in stables and in parks, in sheds and in gardens and even in a temple of worship."

Despite the inconvenience, performances in the makeshift venue proved lucrative and earned thousands of dollars at each stop—$11,000 outside Joplin, Missouri; $9,100 in Beaumont, Texas; $6,300 in Ponca City, Oklahoma, and $8,600 for a performance at a race track outside Little Rock, Arkansas. Americans wanted to see Sarah Bernhardt and did not care if it was a tent, racetrack, or converted skating rink. In response, Bernhardt was humbled by the fact that people were willing to come to these makeshift venues just to watch her perform. Years later, when asked if Americans were appreciative audiences, she pointed to this moment:

"More than any other people! Who, other than Americans, would come see me when I was forced to play in a tent! I love those dear Americans for that!"

The jokes, however, came to a screeching halt in the Spring of 1906 when one of the most cataclysmic events in American history ravaged one of America's most vibrant cities weeks before Bernhardt was scheduled to appear.

April 18, 1906

For Bernhardt, San Francisco was an oasis of cosmopolitan charm and beauty in a desert of podunk towns peppering the western United States. San Francisco at the turn of the century was vibrant, joyous, and alive, and Bernhardt would write that "out of France the only Sundays worth living in are yours here in San Francisco." By 1905, Sarah had visited on multiple occasions, staying weeks at a time and often returning even after she had completed an engagement. Her affection for San Francisco and the city’s admiration for her talents ensured that she would return during the 1905/06 "farewell" tour. As early as January 1906, the local newspapers reported that Bernhardt would be back in San Francisco "after Easter" and was slated to appear at the Majestic Theater. The San Francisco Bulletin reported that she would perform a number of plays during her residency, including Camille, Fedora, Sappho, La Tosca, and her most recent success, La Sorciere; those performances, however, never happened. At 5:12 a.m. on April 18, 1906, San Francisco was rocked by an earthquake measuring somewhere between 7.9 to 8.3 on the Richter scale. It left the city in shambles, and whatever the earthquake didn’t destroy, the ensuing fire did.

In my previous blog on Sarah Bernhardt, I explained that Bernhardt's desire to return to San Francisco was the primary reason Martin Lehman was able to entice the actress into her first appearance in Los Angeles. Bernhardt and her company were slated to appear in Los Angeles following the San Francisco engagement but the earthquake left everything in the air with the Herald explaining that "nothing is now known regarding the Bernhardt engagement…She was to have played San Francisco, but, of course, this is out of the question…it is doubtful if she will come to the coast without the San Francisco dates."

The uncertainty of a second Los Angeles visit escalated when Bernhardt and company made a sharp pivot away from the Southwest, headed towards Chicago. Bernhardt had agreed to help raise funds for San Francisco’s recovery by performing in the Windy City. It was not the first time Bernhardt stepped up to help out American disaster recovery efforts, nor would it be her last. She had raised funds in 1900 for survivors of the Galveston hurricane/flood and would do so again in 1913 to aid victims of the Dayton, Ohio flood. The difference between those charity performances and this one was the venue or lack thereof. Sarah was again forced to perform in a tent, as the Syndicate would not allow her to perform in a theater under their control; they refused to bend even in this circumstance. In Chicago Bernhardt helped to raise a reported $17,000 for her beloved City by the Bay. Though it was evident that a San Francisco engagement was impossible, by May, Bernhardt was in California.

In lieu of San Francisco performances, Bernhardt arranged for benefit performances in surrounding cities. Sarah would appear at the Ye Liberty Playhouse in Oakland on May 15 and 16 before moving on to Berkeley on May 17. Sarah arrived in Oakland shortly after the Chicago charity performances, and because hotels were largely inhabited by earthquake survivors, Bernhardt opted to live in her private car. In his autobiography, photographer Arnold Genthe recalled that he and theater critic Ashton Stevens served as Bernhardt’s welcoming committee, "She asked us to have luncheon with her in her car and take her on a trip through the ruins. Conveyances were at a premium. She refused to consider an automobile."

The World Has Never Known Such a Cemetery

Bernhardt had been urged to avoid the city because it was still quite dangerous with partially collapsed buildings everywhere, Genthe wrote that "fires were still smoldering, and there was some dynamiting where the firemen were razing dangerous walls and chimneys." Stray gunfire and robberies were also reported, but they would not deter Bernhardt. Bernhardt stated that

"My friends tried to keep me from coming. No, no, no, I said. I have to go to San Francisco at this time. I must go. If there had not been the fire, it would not have mattered. But now, I said, is the time for me to take San Francisco by the hand and tell her that what little of art I have to give is hers."

When the group reached the site of her favorite hotel, the Palace, she seemed to completely break down. Stevens wrote that:

"Sara[h] Bernhardt clasped her white-gloved arms across her breast, lowered her head and cried and sobbed while the tears ran across her cheeks and her nose turned frankly pink. "My God! My God! It is too terrible...It makes me ill, it makes my heart ill! That hotel many times was a home for me…"

Genthe would reiterate what Stevens said, writing that "her reactions to the devastation were such that, by the time we reached the Palace Hotel where she was to have stayed, it was apparent that she had taken the catastrophe to herself. Ordering the driver to stop, she stood up, tears streaming down her face. Heaving with sobs and with arms extended, in her golden voice, she delivered an apostrophe to the city that had been, the city that next to Paris was "the darling of her heart." The cynic may question the fact that this was done in the presence of a member of the press and a photographer, but Stevens believed it was genuine, writing that “I have seen actresses weep off the stage as well as on. I have quite impersonally admired the splendid plasticity of their emotions. But I have never seen an actress—and this includes Bernhardt herself—weep as Sarah Bernhardt wept yesterday afternoon when the wreck of San Francisco struck her fairly between the eyes." Shaking her head, Bernhardt said softly, "The world has never known such a cemetery. And this is what is left of San Francisco—sweet San Francisco."

"Life Opens Before You…"

Genthe recalled that, before she left, Bernhardt asked the photographer to send a telegram to her son Maurice in Paris. Genthe recalled the contents: "Have just completed a tour through the ruins of this once beautiful city. Sights are indescribable. In many sections, the fire is still burning, walls collapsing dangerously near us. Thank God, I’m safe." He noted that she would continue to speak of old San Francisco for years for years to come, often embellishing the grandeur of pre-earthquake San Francisco and the danger she, herself, faced from the quake. Before parting ways, Genthe showed Bernhardt a contact sheet of the photographs he had taken, and she responded in a letter:

My dear Mr. Arnold Genthe, Thank you for your beautiful and painful photographs. You, too, lost everything in the horrible catastrophe, but your youth and your courage are assets that remain with you. Go and start again. Life opens before you, fortune tugs at your arm. Take courage, my young friend. I feel, I guess, that everything is going to be beautiful for you. This is my wish.

[Author’s note: the quality of the scans for the Genthe images that are held by the Library of Congress leaves something to be desired. The poor quality may be the result of early digitization efforts or poor quality of the original resource.]

Greek Theaters Bearing Gifts

Sarah would make her Berkeley debut to a sold-out crowd at the 8,500-seat Hearst Greek Theater. In a career with countless triumphs, the Berkeley performance of Phèdre would go down as one of Bernhardt’s career highs and, more than a century later, is still regarded as one of the Greek Theater's milestones. The theater was, of course, filled with an overwhelming number of San Francisco refugees who seemed intent on having a day where they could disconnect, and Sarah’s performance seemed to be feeding on this energy. Writing for the October 1906 edition of Sunset Magazine, journalist Edward Emerson Jr. was at the Greek Theater when Sarah performed,

"I saw her play Phèdre to an audience of six thousand persons, an overwhelming majority of who were women in gay summer dresses, full of flutter and enthusiasm, yet as Madame Bernhardt marked to me in wonder, most of these people had only just lost their homes and all their belongings so that they could scarcely be expected to enjoy a play." Emerson seemed to take pride in responding, "Yet they did…in the pleasure of the moment they forgot their misfortunes. Anyone who saw that impressive scene could never doubt the spirit of San Francisco."

In an article that appeared in the August edition of Sunset, Lucille Vivian Pierce was also present for the performance and was astonished at what was happening, "that atmosphere was electrical…[Jean] Racine anticipated Sarah in writing it, some critic has said, and certainly this Greek Theater has been waiting for her since its building. The abandon and perfection of her Phèdre were wonderful with a whole new magnetic splendor, that came wholly from the actress’ sympathy with her perfect setting, of her appreciation of the great colorful multitude, 7,000 people mad with gratitude and affection. None that saw that performance could forget it." Pierce would go on to write that by the end of the play, the crowd did not want to let go of Bernhardt, "and when the heavy golden-green curtains whirled finally behind that tragic creature in clinging white and gold, with her purple and crimson cloaked train, the great place went mad. The shouts of thousands tore the air, and handkerchiefs fluttered like myriad signals. Again and again, Sarah came back, smiling and kissing her hands like the happy, volatile child she will always be at heart. They would not leave. Hundreds waited among the hills, packing close about the actress’ carriage; and when she finally appeared—Sarah, not Phèdre, now in a shimmer of rose glowing silk, her arms full of La France roses, the crowd burst into cheers cut sharply by the University yells; and Madame Bernhardt struggled to her carriage, shaking hands with all of the crowd who could reach… Never in all that life of adulation was such a reception. To her very car followed the half-tearful, shaken crowd."

Better known today as the uncle of film director George Stevens, Ashton Stevens was one of the most distinguished drama critics of his time. He had known Sarah since her first visit to San Francisco, and they had become close over the years. He was still with the San Francisco Examiner when Sarah played Berkeley, and. like Pierce, Emerson, and Genthe, He was awestruck by what he saw that day. Stevens summarized the event as "seven thousand unfrench persons, most of whom are actually homeless and penniless, virtually kissed Sara[h] Bernhardt’s sandals at the Greek Theater yesterday afternoon. They had never seen such acting." Fully aware of the magic in the air, Stevens wrote that "I lived in the theater of earthquake and fire: I lived yesterday in this immortal performance of Sara[h] Bernhardt’s. And I am sure that I shall remember hers longer than I shall remember nature’s. There will be a greater San Francisco; there will never be a greater Sara[h] Bernhardt. I have known her acting for some fifteen years, I have seen her Phèdre in younger days but this is the last and the best. The blue sky of Berkeley will never again, in our time at least, give roof to such acting. It was immortal."

It was around this time that a theatrical programmer in Los Angeles approached William Connor (Bernhardt’s American manager) with the intent of bringing Sarah Bernhardt to the City of Angels for the first time in fifteen years. In addition to a substantial amount of money, the man was offering the world’s greatest actress the only thing her artistic soul may have had a hankering for at this point—a fully equipped brick-and-mortar theater independent of the Syndicate. After the indignities of tents, converted skating rinks, plywood stages, and the destruction of her beloved San Francisco, this denouement must have felt like a godsend. There was one hitch to the offer—it wasn’t exactly in Los Angeles; in fact, it was 16 miles west of L.A. in a themed resort community. The stage where she would perform was situated twenty feet above and one-quarter of a mile over the Pacific Ocean. For Bernhardt, who touring not only served as a means to earn a living but to feed a never-satiated hunger for new experiences, this was tantalizing. The woman who had performed on every major stage throughout Europe, South America, and North America had never performed in a venue that placed her directly over the ocean. Moreover, the Divine Sarah was intrigued by something that was virtually unheard of in Europe: a brand new city—and this one happened to be styled in the manner of one of Europe’s most breathtaking destinations. So, with the entirety of Los Angeles following this lady pied piper, Sarah Bernhardt was about to take Venice of America by storm.