We left Sarah Bernhardt accepting a very lucrative offer to perform in Southern California, and despite reports to the contrary, it was not the only prospect—but it was the only realistic prospect. To recap, the Theatrical Syndicate had barred Bernhardt from performing in venues throughout the United States, prompting her to perform in either a tent or, if available, an independent theater, and Los Angeles was no exception. Most of the Downtown theaters were under the control of the Syndicate, but on April 4, the Los Angeles Times reported that a "war" between three independent venues, all eager to host Bernhardt's last (and only) Southern California appearance had broken out. The first venue was the Temple Auditorium on the corner of Fifth St. and Olive. Manager Sparks Berry desperately wanted Sarah to christen his new theater, an auditorium that would grow into one of L.A.'s most vibrant venues, but, at this point in time, it wasn't quite there—as the Times reported, "the walls of [Berry's] stage are scarcely half up and it will be months before the seats go in his house" The Times was correct, the venue would not be ready in time for Sarah's visit and wouldn't open officially until November 7, 1906. The next prospect was what we would call wishful thinking. Oliver Morosco was in the process of building his Majestic Theater when he declared in a February 1906 interview with the Times that he would have Bernhardt, Minnie Fiske, and others who were "too numerous to mention" at his theater. Morosco had recently signed a contract with the Shuberts, which, in his mind, added primacy to his insistence that Bernhardt would appear at his theater. That contract, however, wouldn't go into effect until October 1 (some reports said September), but, more importantly, the theater had not been built. Morosco's Majestic Theater wouldn't be built until 1908, only after it had to forfeit its original location. It's worth noting that Morosco and Berry evidently had a competitive relationship, so the "war" over Bernhardt may have been a matter of two loudmouth men blowing hot air in one another's direction. That left only one prospect, and it came from a guy known around town as "Bee." The only problem was that his venue, the Mason Opera House, was under the umbrella of the Syndicate. Bee, however, was smart, resourceful, and always wore more than one hat.

Busy Little "Bee"

Lynden Behymer (pronounced Bee-hymer), sometimes referred to as "Len" but more commonly known by the nickname, "Bee" is, perhaps, the most significant name in Los Angeles theater history and, his legacy has no equal. Though the passage of time has dimmed his name in the popular imagination, it would not be an overstatement to say that Lynden Behymer was an integral part of the cultural history of Los Angeles and was the lifeblood of both the theater and music scene in early L.A. Journalist Ed Ainsworth succinctly distilled this legacy into the statement that "in the ABCs of culture in Los Angeles "B" stands for Behymer." As both theatrical manager and programmer, Behymer was responsible for bringing the Metropolitan Opera Company to Los Angeles (its West Coast debut) as well as a host of notables that included Ignacy Jan Paderewski, Sergei Rachmaninoff, John Philip Sousa, Mark Twain, Will Durant, Adelina Patti, Edwin Booth, Isadora Duncan, Eleanora Duse, Ethel Barrymore, George Arliss, Helena Modjeska and countless others. Perhaps his most astonishing theatrical accomplishment was, however, working with H.C. Wyatt to bring the original production of Puccini's La Boheme to Los Angeles, where it made its American debut in 1897. But for the purposes of this essay, Behymer was the man who lured Sarah Bernhardt to Los Angeles for the second (and what was intended to be the final) time and found a venue worthy of the Divine Sarah's talent. It was an accomplishment in which he took great pride.

There was nothing in Lynden Beyhmer's childhood or early adulthood that indicated he would become the premiere impresario of Los Angeles. Born in New Palestine, Ohio, in 1862, Behymer grew up primarily in Illinois before relocating to the Dakota territory in 1886. On January 3, 1886, he married Menetta "Nettie" Sparks and sought to set up a general store, following in his father's footsteps. It was reported that six months into that enterprise, a cyclone wiped out everything but his work ethic. After that disaster, Lynden and Nettie left for Los Angeles with nineteen dollars and some change between them. In L.A., Behymer took on an assortment of jobs to make ends meet, including driving horse-drawn taxis up and down Fifth Street before landing a job as a bookseller at Stoll & Thayer. At night, he took a second job as an usher at the Grand Opera House while supplementing his income by editing and publishing their programs. It should be noted that this is the same Grand Opera House where Bernhardt would make her L.A. debut in 1891 (though it's not clear if Behymer and Bernhardt crossed paths at the time). Based upon reporting from the Santa Monica Outlook, Lynden essentially cut his teeth at the Grand Opera House, taking on any task that he was given and routinely asking for more. He was determined to learn the trade from the bottom up. Around this time, Behymer would land a gig as a book reviewer for the Los Angeles Herald, but the theater seemed to be his calling. Over the course of his career, he would find himself managing the Grand Opera House, Hazard's Pavilion, Simpson's Auditorium, and the venue he would be primarily associated with, the Philharmonic Auditorium (yes, the same auditorium that Sparks Berry was managing in 1906). In 1906, Lynden Behymer was wearing a number of occupational hats: primarily the Business Manager of the Mason Opera House, he also served as manager of the Los Angeles Symphony Orchestra and the Los Angeles Choral Society. As if this weren't enough, he also served as President of the Lyceum and Musical Bureau of Los Angeles, making him responsible for programming for a number of independent venues within Los Angeles County, including the auditorium inside a brand-new resort community—the crowning achievement of one Abbot Kinney.

Abbot Kinney

The name Abbot Kinney is deeply etched into Los Angeles history, so much so that it feels like he was always part of the city, but he was, in fact, a transplant. Unfortunately, Kinney didn't leave a substantial archive that would detail his interests, but based on the books he authored, they were eclectic. Kinney wrote books on topics as varied as the debate over tariffs, eucalyptus trees, forests, and even mortality. The 1890 voter registry identifies him as a "farmer," while Wikipedia identifies him as an "American conservationist," yet he seems to be best known as a real estate developer, and that is the role he occupies in this story.

Born in 1850 in Brunswick, New Jersey, Abbot Kinney didn't stay for very long, and by the age of sixteen, he was in Europe attending the University of Heidelberg and touring the great cities of the continent. Europe fostered his appreciation for the arts and, evidently, civic planning. The young man would return to the United States, but by 1877, his itch to explore was reignited, and he found himself poking around Australia, Hawaii, and the South Pacific. Kinney returned to the United States, intent on making his way to Florida, but found himself waylaid in San Francisco because of a particularly nasty winter. In an interview with George Wharton James, Kinney relayed that a friend had prescribed a lovely locale outside of Los Angeles where a hotel called Sierra Madre Villa had become Shangri-la for those stricken with respiratory ailments. Intrigued, Kinney explained, "I immediately bought a train ticket and hurried south to Los Angeles."

It has been reported that Kinney's struggle with asthma was the motivation for his trip south. The dry air of the foothills in the San Gabriel Mountains had been christened as a panacea for an assortment of respiratory problems, most notably tuberculosis. The pilgrims who made this trek often settled, leading to the development of a number of foothill communities like Pasadena and Monrovia. Kinney arrived in Los Angeles, just missing a torrential rainstorm that had turned the streets into a sticky, muddy mess. He made his way to the Sierra Madre Villa Hotel that afternoon, and despite having no vacancies, he spent the night. The legend goes that he declared himself cured of asthma the following morning. Whether or not this was the case, Kinney's self-diagnosis convinced him that Southern California was a destination that promoted health and would be an ideal locale, "I always had a dream of building an ideal city," he explained, "partly for study, partly for recreation, and partly for health" and he set about making that dream a reality. Kinney's initial entry into civic development, Kinneloa, was built not too far from the place he found his 'cure' and remains an exclusive enclave in the San Gabriel Foothills. Kinney's masterpiece, however, was still to come, and it was born out of love for an Italian city that made a particularly strong impression on a sixteen-year-old Kinney.

Venice of America

Abbot Kinney's triumph is and remains Venice of America. Based upon the waterlogged Italian city that had captured teenage Abbot Kinney's imagination, he envisioned a more spectacular community that would take advantage of the sunshine and the 'healthy' air of early Los Angeles. Today, very little remains of Kinney's original Venice of America beyond truncated canals and a fenced-off gondola in a permanent state of dry-dock, but, at one point in time, it was a bustling resort community and among the more appealing options for family-oriented recreation in Los Angeles County. In developing the amusement area of Venice, Kinney was mindful that a residential community was the heart of this place and, frankly, Venice's raison d'etre. Kinney would write that "in the development of this pleasure park, everything that might tend to cheapen or deteriorate the residence section will be avoided and everything that will tend to make it a desirable adjunct to the city will be encouraged. Buildings will be in their groupings and architectural designs beautiful, and their amusement features will be such as will appeal to people of taste and refinement, including a theater for the production of comic opera…" The amusement pier began where Winward Avenue ended and had three notable features in 1906, including a dance hall, a restaurant named Cabrillo that resembled a Spanish Galleon, and, situated near the end of the pier, a gorgeous 3,000-seat auditorium.

"A Huge Barn of a Place..."

The Venice Auditorium was reportedly erected in twenty-eight days at a cost of $96,000 with Kinney's newspaper, the Los Angeles Saturday Post describing the building as "a substantial and beautiful building, perfect in acoustic qualities" emphasizing that it was "beautifully designed in the classic style of architecture." The auditorium was "surrounded by a promenade twenty-five feet wide, is closed with drop sashes, and can be converted into an open-air pavilion or an enclosed auditorium at will. By this means two thousand additional people can be accommodated when necessary. The interior arrangement is on the order of a modern theater but so arranged that the seats can be removed to leave floor space 126 x 175 feet that may be used for dances, receptions, etc." Another Post report stated that "all the latest devices necessary to perfect the most modern theater have been introduced in this building" and that "special attention has been given to the stage appurtenances which include the most perfect switchboard of any theater in the west." It was noted that a "specially made" $20,000 pipe organ was incorporated into the building for musical accompaniment. Herald reporter William Hamilton Cline quickly took the wind out of the Post's sails by describing the auditorium as "a huge barn of a place thrown together in twenty-eight days, with a flat floor and a horseshoe gallery, a huge stage, all ill-equipped…" Cline's snide comments aside, the few photos of the interior of the Venice Auditorium show a large, proud, and quite beautiful venue. [Author's note: a comprehensive history of the venue from beginning to end can be found at Bill Counter's "Los Angeles Theaters" blog].

To the best of my knowledge, the Venice Auditorium never hosted a comic opera. It did, however, host a series of educational lectures that were aligned with Kinney's pedagogical idealism, and it became a venue for individuals to exchange ideas and better understand the world around them. Kinney regularly expressed that "education should never stop while life lasts" while decrying that action to meet a demand of both mind and heart coming from the whole people of all ages does not exist in any system. Sermons, lectures, books, theaters, museums, gardens; acquaria etc., are found in different places, but these are either for show or amusement or connected with educational bodies dealing solely with the young people not yet entered in the competition of life. Or else the collections are only for specialists as in a herbarium, etc. We have no system of education available to those of all ages and useful and accessible to all. Such a system could be of great benefit to all, though the visit to the place of its work and exhibits but for a day." Kinney, like so many of his contemporaries, looked to Ancient Greece as a model for ongoing learning, "The Greeks had such a system from which our word academy is derived. Academy meant a grove, and the education given by the great Greek thinkers was not by rote or with examinations but by a more general and rational method for the general public." Kinney's admiration for "Greek thinkers" is aligned with a series of educational movements happening in the United States after the Civil War, i.e. the Chautauqua and the American Lyceum movements. In a nutshell, these movements were a precursor to today's TED talks and consisted of organized lectures on topics ranging from politics to the arts. Frequently, music recitals and, on occasion, theatrical performances or dramatic readings were featured. These movements proved quite popular and outside of academia, may have been the only venue for an average person to continue learning. Given the frequency of these lectures at the Venice Auditorium, it was clear that Abbot Kinney approved, but as President of the Lyceum and Musical Bureau of Los Angeles, it was Lynden Behymer who was the person responsible for bringing these programs to the Venice Auditorium.

By May 1906, the Venice Auditorium had played host to music recitals, lectures on literature, dances, Sunday worship services, and, interestingly enough, a significant number of talks connected to first-wave feminism in Los Angeles. The Venice Auditorium had hosted early feminist writer Charlotte Perkins Gilman (The Yellow Wallpaper) and a notable suffragist symposium where Susan B. Anthony was in attendance (as a side note, this meeting was how Anthony became involved in the furor following the firing of L.A. City Librarian, Mary L. Jones). However, the only significant theatrical productions to appear at the auditorium by the time Sarah Bernhardt appeared were adaptations of Helen Hunt Jackson's Ramona and a production of Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde starring Oscar Dane, but it was hardly the "recreative, social and intellectual center of the Pacific Coast" that Kinney had described in his newspaper. A big ticket performer, however, might change that, and no one was bigger than Sarah Bernhardt.

By early 1906, Abbot Kinney, like the rest of the United States, would have been aware of Bernhardt's "circus tent tour" as the circumstances were detailed in every major media outlet in the United States. As a morally and socially conscientious man, Kinney would have admired Bernhardt's grace under fire, her level-headed approach to the situation, and her selflessness in helping San Francisco's recovery. As a businessman, he would have also noticed that audiences would, quite literally, go anywhere to see her perform. Bernhardt was guaranteed to draw a crowd and, as this was advertised as her last tour, the urgency to witness these 'last' performances was at a fever pitch. A Bernhardt appearance would also have the added benefit of luring every important Angeleno out to Venice—even those who were hesitant to travel sixteen miles to a kitschy-themed resort community. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, build a better mousetrap, and the world will beat a path to your door; Sarah Bernhardt was Abbot Kinney's better mousetrap.

'Bee' Makes Honey…

The Times reported that the contracts for Bernhardt had been mailed to Behymer on April 3 from the Shubert Offices in New York and "only await his signature to complete the deal." Behymer played coy with the Times, telling them, "Contracts are not contracts, you know until they are signed by both parties." The Venice contract would offer Bernhardt $18,000 (nearly $650,000 in 2025 USD) for three plays over a two-day period: two evening performances and a matinee. It's not clear when the contracts were finalized, but the uncertainty kept the event in the news. On April 15, The Herald was still reporting that Bernhardt "may come" to Los Angeles and was advocating for the Venice Auditorium rather than a tent in a weed-filled lot somewhere; the paper also attempted to shut down the ongoing complaints about Venice's 16-mile distance: "will Sarah Bernhardt in a tent, accompanied by many discomforts and bad acoustics be more acceptable to the Los Angeles public than to her in a comfortable auditorium at Venice with all the lighting effects, music accessories, stage effects, etc?" Then, on the 18th, the San Francisco earthquake threw everything into disarray. There were contradictory reports regarding the cancelation of the Venice performances—On April 30, the Herald reported that the performances would happen, while as late as May 5th, the Times reported that the Venice performances had been canceled. The reason behind the contradictory reports are unclear, but Bernhardt's appearance occurred a full week before she was originally slated to appear (pre-earthquake), and that may have been behind the confusion.

It's hard to say who exactly was the driving force behind Bernhardt’s appearance in Venice, Kinney or Lynden Behymer? Kinney, of course, had the final say, but Behymer doggedly pursued Bernhardt's management. Behymer was also incredibly ambitious in securing his theatrical legacy, and knowing he couldn’t host Bernhardt at the Mason Opera House (the venue he managed at the time), he seemed to take consolation in being the man who arranged Bernhardt’s "final" Southern California appearance. Behymer seemed to realize that this would be a milestone in his career, and we see this in the fact that Behymer’s name is on every advertisement connected to Sarah’s 1906 visit, and this event would be recounted in every biography about Behymer for years to come. Behymer would receive a resounding commendation from the local theater community for bringing the Divine Sarah back to L.A., with the Graphic magazine writing that "the large majority of the play-going public were anxious to see Bernhardt and willing to pay a good price for doing so was amply proved by the pecuniary success that attended Mr. Behymer’s efforts to place this attraction before his patrons. On every side, there have been expressions of great satisfaction at the work done by the untiring and indefatigable "B[ee]. Few people on the outside know the difficulties of placing a big attraction with a monstrously heavy guarantee before an uncertain public so many hundreds of miles away from its base of supplies." Curiously, found among Behymer’s business effects that were donated to the Los Angeles Public Library are Bernhardt’s contract for her 1891 appearance in Fresno (the town she played immediately after her first visit to Los Angeles) and the corresponding box office statement. Behymer was not involved with the Fresno performance, though the two documents had been matted and framed, indicating some reverence. One can only assume they were gifted to Behymer as fan memorabilia by someone who was aware of his connection with the actress. At the end of the day, it's safe to say that Kinney and Behymer were both responsible for bringing Sarah to Venice, with Behymer doing the 'heavy lifting' a feat that would help secure his legacy in Los Angeles.

Once it was finally confirmed, news of Bernhardt’s engagement was blasted throughout the Los Angeles press, and interest immediately materialized. As the engagement approached, business began to swell in both Ocean Park and Venice. Many attendees chose to make it a full holiday weekend, and hotels in both neighborhoods were at capacity. Early arrivals were seen inspecting the auditorium and exploring the amusements days before Bernhardt’s performances.

The Los Angeles Examiner noticed that Bernhardt’s appearance has "afforded a holiday for hundreds, reaching into the thousands of persons, who, in preference to going late to the performances have donned outing attire, made their way early to Venice, eaten at the Cabrillo, St. Mark’s and the Winward Hotels and have gone leisurely to witness the art of the great actress."

The Santa Monica Outlook said it best, "believing that this is the last chance they will have to hear this great artist all Los Angeles is making a pilgrimage to the great auditorium at Venice and pay their respects and dollars to the greatest woman on the modern stage." The Los Angeles Public Library stocked up on English translations of the three plays Bernhardt was slated to perform, while the Women’s Club of Santa Monica hosted a series of lectures about Bernhardt and the plays she had chosen.

To alleviate the distance complaints, Kinney arranged for the Pacific Electric car to make additional trips to Venice on the days Bernhardt was performing "so that the great number of patrons will have no inconvenience whatever in reaching Venice in an expeditious and comfortable manner" and a two-way fare was included with each ticket. The Los Angeles Post Record would commend this action, writing that "though the trip to Venice is a necessary feature of attendance at any of the three Bernhardt performances, the difficulty was largely overcome by the extra service provided by the Pacific Electric. Commencing at 6 o’clock Friday and Saturday evening there will be a two minute service from this city to Venice." In her biography of her husband, Menetta Behymer remembered, "I sold tickets for that attraction at the usual Behymer box office, and with those tickets, I also sold a round trip ticket to Venice."

On May 12, the Herald reported that a carpenter, electrician and "company men" (probably managers) involved with Bernhardt’s entourage had arrived in Los Angeles to survey the auditorium and assess any needs before Bernhardt arrived. No doubt the tent and converted venues in the past months had compounded their workload, so a fully-equipped, modern venue was a welcome sight to behold.

May 18, 1906

Divinity Returns to the Angels

At 3 p.m. on Friday May 18, 1906, Bernhardt and her company arrived in Los Angeles. The actress’ private train car was brought onto the pier through an adjacent track making it only a few yards away from the Auditorium. Constance Skinner of the Los Angeles Examiner reported that she could see Bernhardt peering out the window of the car as it approached the end of the track. Skinner described the crowd as "a French charge" that “ascended upon the great and only Sarah as her blonde—so very blonde head appeared at the window.” Bernhardt waved to the crowd and caused quite a commotion. Skinner wrote that "streams of mellifluous French, shrugs, gesticulation filled the streets and the long pier. Little French screams greeted the approach of the train." When Bernhardt finally emerged from her car, she found herself surrounded by the local press corps as well as an army of loyal fans and onlookers curious to see a global celebrity in their midst. The actress was immediately inundated with a barrage of questions before she could even step outside. Skinner noted that "she was tired from her journey but still full of enthusiasm, she was approachable but not enthusiastic about reporters. Still, she was courteous and would talk, which, after all, is the main thing." Reporters asked a barrage of inane questions like "what did you eat?" or "how did you sleep?" which Sarah found boring but answered out of courtesy. She was then asked about her impressions of the American West and thoughtfully responded with "this west is a marvelous country" and seemed to really search for a thoughtful follow-up, "It has such possibilities. It is to me like a great being, asleep as yet but oh so powerful when it shall waken." One question that seemed to resonate was about San Francisco. Asked what she thought of the state of the city, she sighed, shook her head and could only offer a crestfallen response of "C’etait navrant!" (it’s heartbreaking).

Among those who greeted her were a number of L.A.’s French and Québécois community—most notably Josephine and Paul de Longpre and sometime French Vice-Consul Jacquard Auclair, as well as members of the local Alliance Francaise (who presented her with a bouquet of roses). Bernhardt invited the group, along with Abbot Kinney and his wife Margaret, into her private car, where she entertained by having her dog demonstrate a variety of tricks.

Retail Therapy

After entertaining her visitors, Bernhardt and her entourage explored shops along the boardwalk, with Kinney serving as a tour guide. Theater Magazine gave a vivid description of Bernhardt’s descent from her private car—"she wore a morning gown of changeable taffeta in a grayish mulberry shade with long dust cloak to correspond with the swirling skirt and triple capes, of which inflated the stiff breezes from the sea, made her appearances even more commanding. Her face, with its halo of light, fluffy hair, was shaded by an immense picture hat of mulberry red chip upon which drooped four large ostrich plumes confined with a knot of gold lace." In nearly every corner, she found something that delighted her and she packed in as much sightseeing as possible before she would have to eat and take the stage. The 'Japan Exhibit' of the "Oriental Exposition" (brought over from the St. Louis Exposition) caught Bernhardt's attention, and it was reported that she spent between $1,200 to $1,500 on kimonos, jewelry (mostly necklaces of jade, amber and turquoise), art prints, souvenirs and incidentals in less than ten minutes. Theater Magazine noted that the Japanese merchant who sold the kimonos was so grateful to the actress that he presented her a kimono embroidered with butterflies that seemed to have special significance to him (though the magazine did not elaborate). Bernhardt would wear the Kimono on stage the following morning while performing in Camille as a means to acknowledge the special gift. She was described as giddy when she witnessed people fishing out of the portholes in the Cabrillo Ship restaurant and made up her mind that she would catch her own breakfast the following morning.

Sarah then retired to her private car for dinner. Writing for the Herald, William Hamilton Cline noted that the crowd that had gathered were eventually peering through her open windows to get a glimpse of her. Cline wrote that "those of us who went early and avoided the rush, lined up outside of La Sarah’s private car, out on the sand, all in our fine clothes and patent leathers and white satin slippers and watched her feed her artistic face on inartistic substantials…" Bernhardt eventually tired of this particular audience and closed her curtains. Meanwhile, auditorium management reported that a young man in the crowd began using a "jackknife" to whittle shavings of Sarah’s private car as keepsakes, explaining that the slivers of wood were cheaper than postcards for his family in Iowa. Constance Skinner reported that at 7 p.m., Bernhardt opened the drapes and emerged from her car headed into the theater "with all Venice and part of Los Angeles lining her way."

Nobody Expects the Spanish Inquisition!

La Sorciere was the first play slated to be performed at the Venice engagement. Relatively new to Bernhardt’s repertoire, the plot, set during the Spanish Inquisition, concerns Zoraya, a young woman of Moorish descent who raises the ire of the church when she uses her knowledge of holistic medicine to heal the sick. Her healing powers are interpreted as witchcraft, and she is forced into a false confession in order to save the man she loves. Written by Victorien Sardou, the play premiered in Paris on December 15, 1903, with Bernhardt originating the part of Zoraya. Sardou confessed that he did not have Bernhardt in mind when writing it, and considering that Bernhardt was old enough to be the character’s grandmother, one can understand why. Bernhardt, however, didn’t seem to care, making the part her own with surprisingly few criticisms regarding the discrepancy between the age of the character and the actress portraying her. The play was resoundingly praised, with Bernhardt singled out for admiration; British periodical The King wrote that "of Mme. Sarah Bernhardt in "La Sorciere," one can only say what one has said so many times before, that she is marvelous… that it provides her with a part eminently suited to her methods is beyond all doubt."

Bernhardt remained steadfast in her preference to perform in French. Unlike La Tosca, an English language version of the play had never been performed in Los Angeles and, with the death of her frenemy and rival Fanny Davenport in 1898, it was unlikely that a translation would happen anytime soon. This left many Angelenos to wonder if they would be able to follow the plot. Two days before the play premiered in Los Angeles, the Herald ran a synopsis of all five acts with the headline, "La Sorciere is a Masterpiece. Sardou says is his greatest." A nearly identical synopsis ran in the Times with markedly less fanfare, while booklets featuring translations of the plays with the disclaimer that these translations were authorized by Bernhardt as "the only correct version of my plays translated and printed from my own prompt books" were sold for 35 cents in the weeks leading up to the performance.

La Sorciere was scheduled to start at 8 p.m., but, as Cline noted, there was a delay that nobody seemed to care about. The house orchestra led by Manfredi Chiaffarelli had been engaged to "render the incidental music," and Cline noted that the electrical lights were flickering before they finally dimmed. Bernhardt took to the stage at 8:45 that night and immediately had the audience in the palm of her hand.

Pretty Girl Supers

This is the point where Elizabeth "Bessie" Beatty, the Los Angeles Herald reporter mentioned in the introduction, returns to the proceedings. Beatty’s article was published in the May 20 edition of the Herald under a title that was probably not her choice: "Pretty Girl Supers, Meet Flirtatious Men" [super is an archaic term for extras]. Beatty’s article is a unique record of Bernhardt’s time in Venice and this performance in particular. Beatty explained that she and six others whom she never identified (or explained how they had been chosen) had managed to get parts as extras in La Sorciere. The others appear to have been largely men and were shamelessly flirting with the two women. Beatty noted that one of the extras, ironically dressed as a monk, was holding a flower and offering it as an incentive to join him, Beatty wrote, "I looked suspiciously at that somber garb, thought of my experiences and declined the invitation." Beatty’s friend received a bold advance as one of the extras tried to hold her hand; she pulled the offended hand away, responding with, "I guess you have made a mistake!"

The latter part of the play required more religious figures in the background, so Beatty and her friend shed their lady-in-waiting costumes and became nuns. "It was nice to be a nun," Beatty noted, "You cannot help but have a feeling of the superiority of your goodness. We practiced rolling our eyes heavenward when the stage manager was not looking, and I am sure we looked very saintlike." Beatty went on to describe the wardrobe mistress as having "a vocabulary of French swear words that could only have been acquired with years of practice in dressing supers" but noted her efficiency, "she hustled us in and out of our dresses in a remarkably short time, and she never forgot to demand that everything be put back in its proper place."

Beatty, however, saved her most profound observations for the star of the production. Beatty witnessed Bernhardt’s stunning transformation into the character first-hand, describing her as bewitching. The cheerful, ‘chatty Cathy’ in the ostrich feather hat that crossed the auditorium and disappeared into her dressing room was not the same person who emerged: "We saw the Sorceress long before the audience did. It was the Sorceress that came from that dressing room in that clinging robe of white." Beatty found Bernhardt’s acting so absorbing that she was more attentive to the leading lady’s performance than the stage instructions from M. Peron:

"... when she came to the great climax in the fourth act, we began pressing nearer and nearer to the danger point in order to hear better. I looked at the eyes of the watchful manager upon me, but the power of that wonderful voice was too much. I could not resist it. I was drawn nearer and nearer until I felt the hand of one of the regular members of the company placed detainingly on my shoulder just in time to save me from the wrath of the stage manager."

In Beatty’s mind, Bernhardt’s salient virtue was her voice, and this sentiment has been reiterated many times by people who witnessed the actress first-hand. It’s not entirely clear what aspect of Bernhardt’s voice made it so unique, but it has often been described as "pure as crystal," and even Les Miserables writer Victor Hugo referred to Sarah’s voice as a "golden voice"—and it seems Bessie Beatty would concur. Beatty wrote, "My impression? The deepest and most lasting one: the one that will always cling in memory is that wonderful voice. Nothing can describe it to those who have not heard it; to them, I need but to say it was Bernhardt’s voice." "The acting of a voice." Constance Skinner of the Examiner wrote after watching La Sorciere, "oh the rise and fall, the swell and lull of that glorious voice, now full and vibrant as a myriad-stringed harp, now far and faint as a sighing, dying wind. All throughout the first act, in the moonlight, the divine voice murmurs and caresses. It weaves spells indefinable, intangible, unbreakable round the audience…it speaks of love and suggests the depth of passion unfathomable…"

Age Ain't Nothing but a Number

Bernhardt’s age was, predictably, scrutinized and not without cause. Bernhardt’s character, Zoraya, as written, was a young "maiden" of Moorish descent, and, at 61 was old, Bernhardt was old enough to be the character's grandmother. Herald reporter Cline had familiarized himself with the play and wondered how Bernhardt would conquer what was, undoubtedly, her biggest obstacle. Cline noted that he had seen a number of performers during their "farewell" years, and, more often than not, it had been painfully obvious that they were on the decline. Not Bernhardt—Cline noted that when she took the stage, she completely transformed and seemed to defy age, "when she appeared in that first act, stealing in as softly as bewitchingly as the moonlight which flooded the scene, it was a young girl…not a wrinkle, not a flabby eye, nor a drooping chin, not a toddle of decrepitude, not a symptom of age… she has made the years stand still and time pauses in his own career to admit himself conquered." It was not just Cline, however, that expressed concerns about Bernhardt’s age only to get lost in the magic of her performance, the Los Angeles Express wrote, "Even those who, in the earlier part of the play fancied they could detect in the actress the marks of her advancing age later forgot the physical in their contemplation of the spiritual and, with one mind and simultaneous impulse all voiced their tribute to this rare genius. Such an ovation has never before been accorded to a histrionic star." Even the Times, which had been quite cold and, frankly, bitchy during Bernhardt’s 1891 visit, concurred with these sentiments writing that "in the compulsion of youth that is gone, Bernhardt achieves a feat that brought Ponce De Leon to a despairing end, for as far as the stage is concerned, she is young again." The Times went on to extol Bernhardt, writing what was, perhaps, the most effusive, glowing description of the actress coming from any of the Los Angeles newspapers:

Two thousand people went fifteen miles last night to see a historic face, to hear a voice of a single register, to be dominated by the intellect of a genius. The face and the voice are Bernhardt’s. The intellect is Bernhardt. Bernhardt is a tincture of passionate Latin blood with the persistence and endurance of the Semitic. The mixture is wonderful. It is an elixir that may never be placed again. It answers the strange question of Bernhardt’s perpetuity and explains why at 62, she is as soulful as at 32.

The Los Angeles press unilaterally praised Bernhardt for her performance in La Sorciere. William Cline confessed that he was struggling to find adjectives that would accurately convey what, exactly, it was that Bernhardt did on stage, "the magnificence of her art enthralls, the superb quality of it entrances, the magnificence of it appalls…" The Examiner reported that Bernhardt received twenty curtain calls following La Sorciere while the Santa Monica Outlook reported that it was only ten. Let’s split the difference and say it was 15. After the performance, Sarah invited Abbot Kinney and his wife to dine with her in her private car. Like her 1891 visit to Lucky Baldwin’s ranch, there is no known record of what transpired.

"Send One Little Kiss of Love…"

The following morning, in the hours before Bernhardt’s matinee performance, journalist Grace Pierce reported that Bernhardt had a rather touching encounter with an elderly man. As recounted in the Times Sunday Magazine, the man somehow found his way into the Venice Auditorium as stagehands were setting up. He approached the men asking to see Sarah Bernhardt, but they were more concerned with the task at hand, dismissing the man and continuing to set up the stage. Tired from walking, the man sat in a collapsible chair set up in the auditorium when an usher approached him and asked if he needed help. The man explained that he wished to see Sarah Bernhardt and, assuming that he was just overly eager to see the show, the usher explained that the performance would begin at 2 p.m. The man then relayed his story, explaining that he was there on behalf of his wife. "For thirty years my wife and I set out to see Sarah Bernhardt. Mother used to take part in private theatricals when she was a girl and the fever got into her blood; the seeing Bernhardt got to be a kind of mania with her. First time we ever had the chance, the crops failed and we couldn’t go. It took more money than I could spare. We hadn't been married long then and my wife took it hard. The next time was a good many years after. Sarah came to the nearest city but just a month before our baby died and mother didn’t feel like going anywhere for a good while. Last year, mother took sick and the doctor said I’d have to bring her to California, so I did. When we heard that Sarah Bernhardt was coming to Venice, mother said, "Now John I’m going to get well enough to go and we’ll see the great actress at last." Her health, however, did not improve, but she insisted that her husband see Bernhardt for the both of them. He had kept his promise, purchased a $2 ticket, and was at the Venice Auditorium to see Bernhardt perform, but he was also determined to obtain some sort of memento for his wife. From the usher, the story made its way to Bernhardt’s maid and, eventually, Bernhardt herself. Pierce wrote that "the woman of warm heart, the mercurial temperament, had heard the story—her marvelous French eyes were filled with tears. With one of those stage effects which is only nature to Sarah Bernhardt, she snatched the handkerchief of delicate lace from her bosom, kissed it, and pressed it into the hand of the old man." Pierce reported that Bernhardt then spoke to him in broken English, "say to ze woman of America, ze woman of France appreciate—she send one little kiss of love."

May 19, 1906

Death Becomes Her

That afternoon, Bernhardt would give what many considered to be her finest performance as Marguerite Gautier in La Dame aux Camélias. The play, written by Alexander Dumas fils, is painfully dated though it was a sentimental favorite for decades. Every 'name' actress in Europe and the United States had tackled the role at some point in their career, but not every performer was lauded for their interpretation the way Bernhardt, Eleanora Duse, and Vivien Leigh were. The play would be filmed on a number of occasions, notably with Theda Bara in 1917, Alla Nazimova in 1921, and Greta Garbo in 1936. In 2001, Baz Luhrman lifted the main story of La Dame aux Camélias and dropped it into his frenetic musical Moulin Rouge! (2001), earning its star, Nicole Kidman her first Oscar nomination for essentially playing Marguerite Gautier. The year after the play premiered, Giuseppe Verdi adapted it into the beloved, perennially performed opera La Traviata. La Dame aux Camélias concerns a fickle French courtesan named Marguerite Gautier who finds true love only to have to sacrifice it in the name of honor. When her beau, Armand, discovers the truth, he rushes to her side, promising his undying love, devotion, and a long life of happiness for the pair. Marguerite, however, is at death’s door and succumbs to consumption in the arms of her one true love.

Camille

In the United States, the play was known as "Camille," something Bernhardt found confounding, "we played La Dame aux Camélias—in America, "Camille," why, no one was ever able to tell me." The name change appears to be related to American prudery surrounding the topic of courtesans. In keeping with common knowledge in France, the character would wear a red camellia to make it clear that she was unavailable for sexual intercourse, as the red camellia denoted menstruation while a white camellia denoted sexual availability. Needless to say, this tidbit of information, in conjunction with the still largely murky understanding of the life of a courtesan, was likely to make American audiences uncomfortable. According to Barbara Wallace Grossman’s book A Spectacle of Suffering, when the play had its American premiere in 1853, the actress playing the lead, Jean Davenport, opted to change Marguerite’s name to Camille and the character was neutered changing her from a courtesan to a coquette. The American title became Camille: the Fate of a Coquette and this can still be seen on older English language editions of the book and play. Marguerite, the courtesan, eventually returned to the proceedings and, as Bernhardt explained, "this play, which the public rushed to see in crowds, shocked the over-strained Puritanism of the small American towns. The critics of the large cities discussed this modern Magdalene, but those of the small towns began by throwing stones at her. This stilted reserve on the part of the public, prejudiced against the impurity of Marguerite Gautier, we met with from time to time in the small cities." Most reviews of the play often referred to it as "Camille" while advertising in Los Angeles unilaterally provided its original title, although no one but Bernhardt seemed aware of this discrepancy.

Bernhardt had grown weary of Marguerite as she didn’t find much of a challenge in playing the character. As Carol Ockman explained, Bernhardt preferred men’s roles, with the actress explaining that women’s roles did not make "any great intellectual demand" and Marguerite "with all her pathos and passion, is an easier study for a woman than L’Aiglon [playing Napoleon III] with his heroic aspirations." Bernhardt would rather have played Hamlet (and she did!,) but her performance as Marguerite had become legendary as the Riverside Enterprise explained, "for thirty years she has reigned as queen of Camilles, and probably more women have raved and wept over her Camille than all the others put together." In the face of popular demand, Bernhardt always obliged and used her divine power to resurrect Marguerite Gauthier from the dead before returning the courtesan’s theatrical ghost to its literary heaven.

For many Angelenos, particularly female Angelenos, this performance was a 'must see' and the main reason for coming to the Venice Auditorium. Had it been a film, contemporary terminology would probably label La Dame aux Camélias a 'chick flick' (although it must be stated that it would be the grand dowager of so-called 'chick flicks') and women were typically (though not exclusively) the audience who clamored to see this famous tearjerker. Women found Bernhardt's interpretation of Marguerite Gautier a powerhouse and were unrepentant about their emotional responses to it. Constance Skinner of the Examiner called it, quite simply, "a luxury of tears" and opened her review with, "Perhaps when I have mopped the tears out of my eyes, I may be able to give a coherent account of Mme. Bernhardt’s Camille." Though the Times essentially glossed over reviewing La Dame aux Camélias, they were aware of the feminine energy that was alive during the performance, writing that "hundreds of women who knew not a line of French followed her every sentence with sighs and tears, while the equally passionate expression of the other players, well-voiced as a rule, fell unheeded." Did this fervor and sympathy for La Dame aux Camélias have something to do with urban women being more attuned to the social inequities stacked against women like Marguerite? Did the Bernhardt persona and her interpretation of the character annul the 'questionable' moral character of Marguerite that had offended small-town America? Or was it, more simply, an entertaining yet tragic story that offered a cathartic cry to urban women who had a sophisticated view of the world? Skinner’s review was particularly insightful, suggesting that it may have been a combination of all of these:

"Mme. Bernhardt’s Camille is the woman Dumas drew—a butterfly with a heart. She is a creature who has fluttered all her young life in the sun of the garden, in the blaze of its flowers. Love touches her once and awakens a soul that is strong enough to sacrifice itself to that love. Dumas did not create a woman who could be redeemed by an unhappy love. Nor does Bernhardt suggest such a woman. Her Camille is, frankly, of the half-world, yet a woman with a heart, a woman who could have been virtuous in happiness but never in poverty… Her Camille is moulded by fate. She can love, this Bernhardt Camille, love passionately and selfishly, and it is through that one great quality in her nature that she is destroyed. In the modern day, the morality of Dumas’ play is as irritating as it was always false. But however irritating, we know that it was the tradition, the rule in the times, and the land where the story of La Dame aux Camélia is laid. The acting of Bernhardt makes the irritation give way to pity and tenderness for poor Marguerite Gauthier."

Skinner, owning her emotional response to Bernhardt and refusing to apologize for it, would write, "let those whose eyes were dry cry shame upon themselves for their woodenness."

Naturally praise was lavished on the production but on Bernhardt in particular. Skinner seemed to be at a loss for words, writing that "where all seems perfect, it is difficult to pick out details, scenes for special mention," yet she managed to write the most extensive review from any of the local newspapers. Needless to say, she loved it. The Times seemed to have written the least about La Dame aux Camélias but wrote favorably about Bernhardt, "the wonderful convincing power of her acting was shown in the emotional sway which she exercised in Camille." The Herald lauded Bernhardt, writing that "the great actress of yore held the audience in the hollow of her hand from the first act to the last…they could not but yield to the tender appeal for pity and sympathy that Sarah Bernhardt made upon their sensibilities." Continuing to heap on the praise, the Herald wrote “the delicate tenderness, the melting languor of the love scenes with Armand, when wooing him with that voice of pure music she half swoons with the intoxication of her passion; the hoarse cry of despair wrung from her by Armand’s repudiation as she cowers under his crushing denunciation, and, again the heartrending pathos of her death agony as she struggles against her doom, clinging desperately to her lover, expiring at last in his arms…" It was reported that Bernhardt received "7 or 8 curtain calls" following this performance in La Dame aux Camélias.

One of the more amusing stories centered on the female infatuation with La Dame aux Camélias comes from Opera Prima Donna, Lottie Kendall, who was, herself, performing in Downtown Los Angeles. Determined to see Bernhardt in Venice, Kendall surmised that she could see the 2 p.m. matinee and be back at her own theater in time to perform. Kendall purchased a ticket, rode the Pacific Electric down to Venice, and witnessed Bernhardt’s performance as Marguerite. After the final curtain call, Kendall left the auditorium and boarded the Pacific Electric car, assuming that it would take her back to Los Angeles. Unfortunately, the New Orleans native was unfamiliar with Los Angeles and boarded the wrong car, ending up hopelessly lost. After spending time trying to backtrack, only to become even more lost, she managed to find a phone and called her stage manager, who drove out to the beach to rescue Kendall. Kendall’s understudy went on that night.

Grace Tower

Grace Hortense Tower is one of those names that has been lost to time, but in her day, she was a creditable journalist with a substantial resume. Based in the Pasadena area, Tower was the society editor at the Pasadena News and freelanced for both local and national publications like Sunset and Good Housekeeping. On the afternoon of Saturday, May 19, Tower traveled down to Venice to profile Bernhardt for Theater Magazine. The resulting profile shows Tower had prepared for the interview, but it’s clear that showbusiness was not her forte. Most of Tower’s questions were centered on Bernhardt’s acting technique, and it becomes evident that Sarah found the questions tedious, providing short, somewhat dismissive answers. Throughout the interview, Sarah redirects the conversation to talk about her short time in Venice and the fun she was having. Bernhardt was excited to tell Tower that it was the first time she had ever performed in a venue that was over the sea, noting that "it has been very entertaining." She explained that she had started her morning, taking breakfast at the ship and was intrigued by people fishing through the portholes of the ship. Sarah was determined to try her hand at fishing as well but had limited success, explaining that "not many fish came," however, she was able to catch one small fish of an undetermined species. Tower wrote, "At least Mme. Bernhardt’s wish has been gratified. She has fished in the Pacific Ocean. To be sure, she didn’t have much luck, and only one small representative of the finny tribe gave up his life on her hook, but she has known the pleasure of casting her line into the trembling green water, has felt the joy of that tug on the other end, has tasted the literal fruit of her endeavors in a preliminary course at dinner. This wonderful Bernhardt fish was caught through a porthole in the unique ship hotel, "the Cabrillo," at Venice on the morning of May 19th, a few hours before the great actress walked across the wharf to the theater for her farewell production of Camille."

The timeline of the interview is, at times, contradictory, but it appears that Tower interviewed Bernhardt both before and after her performance in La Dame aux Camélias, though that is never made quite clear. Tower would also write that "the last thunderous applause and mad cries of 'Bravo! Bravo!' and 'Vive Sarah! Vive Sarah' were scarcely stilled" when she entered Bernhardt’s makeshift boudoir. Tower relayed that Bernhardt "graciously extended a white hand with a cordial smile of welcome, [and] had bade me to sit near her." Tower noted a pile of Kimonos with embroidered butterflies on the floor of her train car while Bernhardt’s maid was fluttering about packing the actress’ trunks. A tan and white terrier was faithfully nestled at his mistress’ feet while she wiped cold cream from her face. Seeing the actress for the first time not on the stage, Tower noted that:

"Bernhardt off the stage is a very different woman from Bernhardt on the stage. Though smooth and fair, her face betrays, if not her entire age, at least a goodly part of it. Off the stage she gives the impression of a much larger woman than when seen in the glow of the footlights, and the long lines of the lithe and sinuous figure are quite lost beneath the voluminous draperies of her street clothes."

Tower noted that "though her form has lost much of its suppleness and lithe, panther-like grace, the eyes and the voice are still the same, say those who saw her twenty years ago." It’s not clear when Tower left Bernhardt, but it appears that she didn’t stay for the evening performance of La Tosca.

"Not Always at Concert Pitch" to "Perfect Technique"

At 8 p.m., Sarah Bernhardt performed La Tosca for the second (and what she supposed would be the final) time in Los Angeles. In 1891, following her performance of La Tosca, the Times committed the following to print: "The reception accorded Mme. Bernhardt appeared to be more in the nature of a gratified curiosity than a real appreciation of the genius displayed in her acting. This may be heresy but it is difficult on any other ground to explain the perfunctory character of the applause that greeted the actress’ efforts…of the performance itself, it is useless to go into details. The ablest writers in both hemispheres have descanted upon the merits of Bernhardt’s portrayal of La Tosca, and nothing but eulogy has been uttered. It would be difficult for it to be otherwise on the part of any writer possessed of fair perceptions and gifted with an ability to speak the truth. Of course, there must be occasions when genius is at its best, and it may readily be conceived that the tragedienne is not always at concert pitch." In 1906, there was a distinct about-face. The Times review of La Tosca, appearing on May 20, 1906, read as follows, "Sarah Bernhardt's acting is the triumph of perfect technique, with now and then flashes of powerful feeling which reveal her at the height of her power." The Times practically blew kisses at the actress this time, writing "Aideu Sarah Bernhardt! For two glorious days, you have been with us, and you go leaving behind the memory of three great artistic triumphs—La Sorciere, Camille, and La Tosca. Any one of them would place you in a position of honor in our hearts." All accounts of La Tosca point out that the audience had thinned out with the Times writing that "La Tosca concluded the engagement with an audience inferior to the preceding two but still a creditable representation of the local theatergoing community." No doubt those who were unable to see the play in 1891 like the Times' owner, Harrison Gray Otis, were the ones who filled the Venice Auditorium on Saturday night.

Aideu? Au Revoir? à Bientôt?

Sarah Bernhardt had, once again, won Los Angeles over. The Herald wrote that "We were lavish in our applause, our shouts and our bravos and even to a degree we knew what it was all about…and what more could even La Sarah ask?" The Evening Express called it "the best dramatic treat offered to Los Angeles in many years," and The Graphic would say it best, "Sarah Bernhardt has come and gone. In all human probability it is the last visit to the Pacific Coast that this renowned actress will make. She came, we saw, and she conquered." As Bernhardt packed up to leave Los Angeles for Salt Lake City, she must have contemplated the warmth, reverence, and dignity that Abbot Kinney and the rest of Los Angeles had afforded her. This tour had, no doubt, tested her both her patience and endurance so the star treatment was a welcome change and helped to endear Venice to the actress. In fact, Bernhardt did not leave immediately following the performance, as she normally did, and chose to remain overnight in Venice. Did she get a good night’s sleep? Did she partake in the late-night amusements Venice had to offer? No one can say.

The following morning at 5 a.m., Bernhardt and company left for Utah. By the second week of June, she had wrapped up her tour, and on June 15, the New York Times reported that Bernhardt had returned to New York and was ready to return to France. William Connor, Bernhardt’s American manager, a gaggle of reporters, and approximately 50 French expatriates met Bernhardt at the pier to bid bon voyage to the actress. The press fired off a litany of questions, including a question about her thoughts on the Theatrical Syndicate, to which Bernhardt snapped, "Ah! Do not mention the Trust! It is a negligible!" Asked if she would return to the United States, Bernhardt responded, "Never, I fear." Connor countered by asking, "But suppose a theater in New York is named for you? Would you come back then?" Giving a pregnant pause, Bernhardt smiled and responded with, "Ah! Under those circumstances I could not refuse. Yes, on that condition I would return." Just before boarding the S.S. La Touraine, she turned to convey her gratitude, "Before I go, I want to thank all of the American people for their great kindness and generous treatment of me. I shall always remember them. Goodbye." After 277 performances that had earned her more than $600,000 (approximately $21.5 Million in 2025 USD), Sarah Bernhardt left convinced she would never again perform in the United States.

Awakening to Her Vast Possibilities...

For Abbot Kinney, the Bernhardt engagement did exactly what it was supposed to—shine a spotlight on Venice of America and keep it aligned with his vision for this development. Kinney had seen Venice of America as much more than a themed resort; he saw it as a center for high art and culture in the manner of its namesake. Bernhardt’s visit certainly elevated the prestige level of Venice of America, a fact everyone in Los Angeles would have to concede. The Herald would write approvingly that "in the short space of two weeks, Venice has made a name for herself" and added events to its resume, including a Shriner’s conference, a press association meeting, and "last but not least, came a two days engagement of Mme. Sarah Bernhardt at the auditorium. So rapidly have these events taken place that the public is just beginning to realize that Venice has done all this and done it single-handed and alone…Venice is just awakening to her vast possibilities and resources, and ere her star reaches its zenith, it is believed she will be a close rival to her namesake on the slopes of sunny Italy." The Santa Monica Outlook managed to wiggle Santa Monica into the congratulatory conversation by extending the scope from Venice to "Santa Monica Bay country." In their May 28th edition, the Outlook wrote that "the praises of Santa Monica Bay country, and particularly of Venice, have been sung all over the civilized world within the past ten days is too apparent for argument, and that the entire section will benefit proportionately from the untold thousands of dollars worth of free advertising which it has received, seems to be a logical, and generally accepted conclusion… the engagement of Mme. Sarah Bernhardt, whose three performances at the famous sea auditorium were attended by approximately 10,000 people, called for the most widespread publicity that has ever attended any event coming off in Southern California."

Kinney’s biggest victory, however, was luring "society" Angelenos who might, otherwise, turn their noses at the prospect of visiting hokey Coney Island-like resort sixteen miles away. Most of these people had described Venice as "Kinney’s Folly" and avoided the place like the plague, but not this time. Even the most snobbish Angelenos had to make the journey if they wanted to see Bernhardt’s only Southern California performances of her "final" tour. The Los Angeles Graphic acknowledged the grandiosity of the event while mocking the snobs and dilettantes who were there purely as a status symbol, writing that "all the world and his (or some other fellow’s) wife will be speeding down to Venice this weekend to hear the greatest emotional tragedienne of the world. This will be an excellent opportunity to discover how much use is our "acquired French." "Have you the hat of my Aunt?" "No, but I have the knife of my father" will not help us much when the divine one gets a-talking. Her French, if the purest in the world, is to the ordinary American school girl the least intelligible."

A myriad of names were identified as attendees, and though most of these names have been lost to the ages, many were the "Dons" of L.A., men and women deeply etched into Los Angeles history. The Times, the Herald, and the Examiner all fired off a list of names that included the Lankershim family; Moses Sherman and his family; Eli Clark, his wife Lucy and their daughters; Boyle Workman and his wife Martha; Homer Laughlin (namesake of the building where Grand Central Market resides); Mary Banning; Annis (Annie) Van Nuys; Harry and Marian Chandler (Los Angeles Times); A.C. Vroman (Vroman’s Bookstore); Lucinda Foy (mother to former City Librarian Mary Foy) and her daughters Cora and Edna; the Corson Family (Pasadena); John and Amelia Bartle of Monrovia (First National Bank of Monrovia); the Hamburger family (Hamburger Department Store); the Wheat family of Santa Monica (Judge J.A. Wheat, Walter Wheat, and Miss Edith Wheat) who joined Abbot Kinney and his wife in their box seats and, as the Times was quick to point out, Harrison Gray Otis. What their individual impressions of Venice of America remains to be seen, but, they all made the journey even with their noses in the air.

Among the crowd was the man who made Bernhardt’s appearance possible: Lynden Ellsworth Behymer. Behymer, his wife Nettie, and their two oldest daughters were in the audience for La Sorciere and Camille (though it’s unclear if they stayed for La Tosca). Behymer, already at the top of his game, would solidify his reputation as the greatest programmer in Southern California, if not the Western United States, largely (but not exclusively) because of this event. "Manager Behymer deserves great praise and our thanks as well for giving us this treat," Constance Skinner wrote, "He did it under great difficulties…it was no easy matter to "boom" the Bernhardt season, arrange transportation and instruct the people of Southern California on the subject of the Venice Auditorium and make the affair a success…No other manager in town was willing to risk the presentation of Bernhardt and we owe much to Mr. Behymer that he was willing." Though she fails to state outright, the last sentence seems to allude to Behymer finding a way to go around the Theatrical Syndicate. One thing that remains unclear is the question of Behymer meeting Bernhardt. One safely might assume Abbott Kinney introduced the,m and Behymer regaled her with a story of watching her perform in 1891 at the Grand Opera House while he was only an usher. Or, perhaps, he reminded her that they met briefly in 1891 while he was working, but I haven’t been able to find a primary source that would definitively confirm that a meeting took place…but I'd like to think that it did.

For a time, Sarah's appearance seemed to give a seal of approval to the Venice Auditorium as a legitimate theatrical venue. The auditorium had proved its durability and earned cache with the Herald noting that "the sufficiency of the Venice Auditorium will commend it to all other attractions worth traveling eighteen miles to witness… the great crowd last night was handled without delay or discomfort." The next two years would see reputable theatrical productions of George Bernard Shaw’s Candida, Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice, and Augustus Thomas’ Alabama open at the auditorium, but it never received another performer with a profile as high as Bernhardt’s, and by the end of 1920, the Venice Auditorium was gone for good.

Venice After Kinney

During his lifetime, Abbot Kinney managed to keep the development buoyed, but his death in 1920 effectively scuttled Venice of America’s ascent towards a Southern California utopia. Nearly a month after Kinney died, the pier, auditorium where Sarah Bernhardt performed, and the restaurant where she proudly caught her own meal was consumed by a fire. Though the pier was rebuilt, the neighborhood had changed, and not for the better—crime and vice were ubiquitous, and the neighborhood would gain a reputation that it has yet to shake. The fact that Venice convincingly stood in for a seedy border town in Orson Welles’ film Touch of Evil (1958) is sadly telling of what had happened to Kinney’s masterpiece community but crime was only one of the problems facing Venice post-Kinney. Between 1910 and 1920, the population of Venice more than tripled, leading to an assortment of civic infrastructure problems which, by 1925, seemed to propel its annexation into the City of Los Angeles. Los Angeles, in "fixing" all that was wrong with Venice, also managed to sever ties with Abbot Kinney’s vision of utopia. Over the decades, this divide has grown more pronounced, but that has only fed into a nostalgia for Venice of yore—something that has lingered for more than a century, and Sarah Bernhardt is part of that.

Cherchez la femme

Standing alongside nostalgia for lost canals, Italian gondoliers, and the Winward lagoon is the two-day visit made by the world’s greatest actress. Bernhardt’s appearance represents an apogee in Venice of America’s timeline, and she has been weaved into the mythology of Venice of America because she is the manifestation of Abbot Kinney’s cultural aspirations for his city. The most celebrated woman in the world came to this corner of Los Angeles to conjure her brand of magic, and whatever the circumstance that led to it, her participation at such an early juncture provided Venice with the cache it needed to stand alongside its neighbors. At this point, nearly every history of Venice includes the 1906 Bernhardt visit, and the details so often become muddled. In the 1930s, Charles Gottlieb wrote a number of nostalgia pieces for the Venice Vanguard, including one that appeared on December 12, 1935, that played fast and loose with some of the facts: "The Divine Sarah Bernhardt selected the old Venice Auditorium for her drama. She loved Venice and did not care to play any other theater in Southern California. She even had her private railroad car sidetracked on the Venice Pier and lived in it during her theatrical engagements." Four years later, Gottlieb would decry the neighborhood’s decline, summarizing it as "exit Sarah Bernhardt, enter hoochie koochie" in reference to the bawdy atmosphere that replaced Abbot Kinney’s Venice. In October 1946, when the pier was razed (it was rebuilt after the 1920 fire only to be torn down in the 1940s), the Los Angeles Times noted that the Ship Cafe was the place where "the Immortal Sarah Bernhardt personally complimented the chef on his ragout of spring lamb when she died there playing an engagement at the beach." In the 1970s, Tom Moran wrote a serial about Bernhardt’s visits for the Marina Del Rey paper, the Argonaut, and later wrote a book on Venice that devoted a page to the 1906 visit. Venice anniversaries would come and go—50th, 60th, 75th, etc. with Sarah’s ghost making a cameo and details becoming fuzzier with each passing decade until culminating in at least one bonafide urban legend.

Fishy Urban Legends

The Sarah Bernhardt urban legend goes like this: Bernhardt was determined to catch a fish while she was dining at the Cabrillo Ship. Her fishing pole was hanging outside the porthole, but she could not catch a fish. To appease the actress, local boys were paid to paddle out to the end of the pier and attach a sizable fish to the line. The story has changed over the years, often alternating between portraying Sarah as a fickle, daffy, dowager-like character, excited by her catch only to forget once the initial thrill had subsided or, Sarah is portrayed as a tantrum-throwing diva who refused to perform until she caught her own dinner. Either scenario forces someone to intervene with boys and a pre-hooked fish. The financier of this trickery often changes and has been identified as either 1) the manager of the Cabrillo, 2) Lynden Behymer, or 3) Abbot Kinney. The Times insisted it was Kinney, while Menetta Behymer believed it was her husband and the incident occurred in 1911, not 1906. Menetta wrote that "Mme. Bernhardt enjoyed herself the day before the show, fishing off the pier. She was quite surprised at the ease with which she caught such fine fish. Mr. Behymer had stationed a fisherman with his boat and plenty of still flopping fish under the pier who transferred one at short intervals to the divine Sara’s dangling hook. Mr. Behymer told that story to me. He also told it to the newspapers. A new and true fish story! Mr. Behymer could never bear to have his artists disappointed and would go to any lengths to have his artists satisfied and happy." Grace Tower’s interview with Bernhardt in 1906 notes that the actress was fishing at the Cabrillo but was only able to catch a puny fish and not the bounty that appeared in subsequent reports. So when did this urban legend start? The earliest instance of this story seems to be a 1934 article by William Hamilton Cline (who was present for Sarah’s 1906 visit and reported on it) written for the Los Angeles Times Magazine. Cline’s timeline is off throughout the article, and he mixes up details from Bernhardt’s five visits, leaving the veracity of the story in doubt. The story would be recycled by Times columnist Harry Carr (who never let truth stand in the way of a good story) one year later in his 1935 book Los Angeles: City of Dreams with that book proving to be the proverbial 'superspreader' of this tale. The story would even resurface in what is, perhaps, the best available book on Venice history, Abbot Kinney’s Venice of America by Carolyn Alexander. Alexander’s footnote to the story leads to an article in the Santa Monica Outlook (April 30, 1906) that announces Bernhardt’s impending arrival but has no mention of fish or fishing. Did the fishy fake catch story happen? We may never know for sure, but it's a cute and, ultimately, harmless story that serves to amplify the relationship between the actress and Venice.

A darker story can also be traced back to Cline and Carr, though it's nowhere near as benign as the fish story. This tale concerns a car accident on Washington Blvd that has been erroneously identified as the source of an injury that led to Bernhardt's leg amputation in 1915. Cline suggests that this accident was the turning point in Bernhardt’s mortality, and she began a 'decline' soon after. This story is filled with holes that I will elaborate on in a future essay, but suffice it to say that Bernhardt lived a full decade following this particular accident and continued to tour, so it's hard to say that "Sarah Bernhardt’s Death Began at Venice." Cline, yet again, does not supply a linear timeline in his reporting, and events related to her visits after the 1906 Venice visit are mixed in with no clear delineation. Is this the product of a scattered recollection looking back over thirty years or simply an Angeleno trying to make Sarah’s time in L.A. have more gravitas in her timeline?

It’s difficult to look to contemporary Venice and say that it has maintained Abbot Kinney’s vision of utopia. The landmarks that made Venice unique have (mostly) been purged, with only fragments of this Shangri-la left. Indeed, Kinney's Venice of America is gone in all respects but one: its spirit. The soul of Kinney's Venice of America remains alive, and Kinney's reverence for education, learning, recreation, and a commitment to furthering the arts continues, though it has materialized in unorthodox ways. Venice has evolved over the decades into a hub of counterculture—politically, socially, artistically, and spiritually. In the mid-century, the neighborhood became the center of L.A.'s Beat movement and, later, a haven for new-age spiritualism while recreational pastimes like skateboarding, surfing, and bodybuilding flourished. Shifting social, cultural, and economic demographics may have changed the veneer of the neighborhood but, at its heart, Venice is still a place where art is valued, where people remain appreciative of eccentricities and respectful of spirituality in all forms, making the pairing of Venice and Sarah Bernhardt undeniably appropriate. For a woman who challenged convention, battled orthodoxy, reveled in her own eccentricity, and refused the constraints imposed by philistines, Venice, both the Venice of yesteryear and the contemporary incarnation of the neighborhood, flaws and all, embody the values that the Divine Sarah Bernhardt held dear. This 'divine' kinship would continue to beckon the actress in subsequent visits and, over time, has bonded Sarah Bernhardt and Venice in a union that only seems to grow stronger with the passage of time.