On a pleasant summer evening in 1891, the Los Angeles Herald's theater critic attended a play that ran for exactly one night. The play was conservatively described by the critic as "interesting," but, based upon his reporting, it was clear that he had little interest in the storyline and, in fact, he went so far as to state that "the play matters very little." He was, however, effusive when describing the 47-year-old leading lady who, based on his reporting, seemed to emanate a kind of magic while onstage. Transfixed, the critic gushed that the lead was "without doubt, the greatest actress of her line that has ever commanded the attention of an audience,” and by the time the review closed, the reporter had exhausted every synonym for "magnificent" in the thesaurus. Summaries of the leading lady’s thespian mastery weren't limited to the Herald, however, and nearly every newspaper in the city lavished the kind of acclaim that was rarely extended to anyone who identified themselves as an actor. Praise in the form of 'gifts of genius,' 'marvelous,' 'breathtaking,' 'wonderful,' etc. seemed to flow from newspapers like an open faucet. The reports left little doubt that this particular performer was an extraordinary once-in-a-generation talent and, perhaps, the greatest actress of all time. Those with a critical eye may be skeptical of this assessment, but the sentiment regarding this woman’s skill was universal and unwavering, prompting even the great Mark Twain to remark that "there are five types of actresses: bad actresses, fair actresses, good actresses, great actresses—and then there is Sarah Bernhardt."

On September 14, 1891, Sarah Bernhardt, the most celebrated woman in the world, visited Los Angeles for a few hours, turning the town on its ear. The brouhaha surrounding the actress' 17-hour visit disrupted all municipal conventions as devotees and dilettantes alike scrambled to partake in a theatrical experience that promised to be unlike anything L.A. had seen before. Like some secular apparition, the "Divine Sarah" appeared, blessed Los Angeles with her gifts, and then vanished into the ether, leaving a fervent congregation behind. And for the man who summoned this goddess to the City of Angels, redemption from past failures and a rebirth as a master showman. This is the story of Sarah Bernhardt’s first visit to Los Angeles.

The Divine Sarah

Sarah Bernhardt was an actress who attained a level of notoriety in the late nineteenth and early twentieth Century that most contemporary performers can only dream of. To theater enthusiasts, the great French actress commands the utmost respect, but to the rest of the world, she may only elicit a vague recognition of a performer from a time that has long since passed, if she elicits any recognition at all. I’ve found that many contemporary identifications confuse Sarah Bernhardt with the closely-sounding name of performer Sandra Bernhard, who, it should be stated, bears no relation whatsoever to the subject of this essay. If Bernhardt’s name has faded in the public imagination, it is only because her reputation as an actress is predicated upon the ephemeral as her credentials were earned almost exclusively on the stage. Bernhardt’s performances live within lore, and the handful of reviews that tried to describe the alchemy of her stage presence, but these testimonials were trying to capture lightning in a bottle. As the Evening Express wrote the morning after Bernhardt’s first performance in Los Angeles, "All that remains is a recollection of an interesting performance…"

Quite literally, hundreds if not thousands of biographies in a multitude of languages have been committed to the life and times of Sarah Bernhardt, so I will leave her life story to the experts. For the purposes of this blog, the most important biographical information to understand is that within her own lifetime, and for many years following her passing, Bernhardt was regarded as the world’s greatest actress, and that moniker, however subjective, was embraced, and reiterated to the point that it might as well have been carved in stone. Her command of the art form reportedly led even the notoriously hard-to-please Oscar Wilde to bestow the nickname "the Divine Sarah" upon her, a title she would forever be known. At 52 years of age, Bernhardt would be described by the New York Times as "the greatest of all living actors," noting that she "is still in her prime, her art never finer, her acting never quite so earnest…" Bernhardt was not only at the apex of her profession, she was the apex of her profession.

Constructing a Celebrity

Vogue, Time, The Economist, the BBC, the Associated Press and an assortment of scholars have all christened Bernhardt "the first celebrity." Sources generally agree that Sarah’s skill as an actor was genuine and, though acting styles have changed dramatically since her heyday, she had mastered the skills that were appropriate for the era, and they were polished through performance. Bernhardt’s celebrity, however, was predicated upon her eccentricities and defiance of convention. People liked to talk about Sarah, and some of that discourse wasn’t positive. Even among a more liberal European society, she was often the center of gossip as she engaged in casual affairs, allegedly lived as a courtesan during lean years, had a child out of wedlock, and lived the kind of life that set both the tongues and fingers of zealots wagging. Bernhardt’s presence was regularly protested, condemned, and even banned in some cities, but fully subscribed to the idea that all publicity is good publicity, Sarah seemed to take this criticism in stride and even leaned into her 'peculiarities.' The silly gossip created by people who thought she was just plain weird was inconsequential to her, and she seemed aware that the resulting attention ultimately elevated her profile.

In recent years, Sarah has been playfully characterized as 'the original goth' for embracing 'darker' aesthetics, and, in some respects, she was ahead of her time. Yes, Victorian England had a fascination with death, but even there, Sarah managed to raise a few eyebrows and, frankly, just took it to another level. In 1891, Harper’s Weekly wrote that "Madame Bernhardt has always had a morbid turn of mind" in reference to a tomb she had purchased, built, and maintained long before the Grim Reaper was anywhere in sight. She envisioned the bat as a spirit animal and adorned her hats with the taxidermied mammal while fashioning self-portraits of herself with bat wings. Bernhardt was reported to have slept in a coffin (to better understand death, she claimed). There were rumors that she owned a trinket box made from a human skull, that her boudoir was covered in floor-to-ceiling black velvet, and a myriad of other inconsequential nonsense intended to shock. Eccentricities like these seemed magnified when viewed through the lens of a more severe nineteenth-century American sensibility, not only making her seem unconventional but downright strange. But, at the end of the day, people were talking, and, more to the point, they were talking about her.  She seemed to know that for every newspaper that wrote something nasty and for every individual who protested her presence, there were hundreds who wanted to see her perform, and to meet that demand, she toured the world.

The United States

Bernhardt’s tours touched the shores of the United States nine times between 1880 and 1918. She made her American debut in New York on November 8, 1880, at Booth’s Theater and immediately won over both the critics and the public. The New York-based Daily Graphic wrote that:

"We have met Sarah, and we are hers. By the witchcraft of her wit and the glamour of her genius, she has conquered New York as she has conquered Paris and London, and the metropolis of the new world is, this morning, at her feet."

Thereafter, every visit seemed to turn into an event unto itself. From the Gilded Age theaters of New York and Chicago to dusty tents in Texas and Kansas, Bernhardt's presence heralded an artistic and social event like no other. It wasn’t uncommon that tickets were raffled or even scalped for exorbitant sums of money to see the actress perform. American society came out to see her and it became a badge of honor to include one’s self among the privileged few. Millionaires clamored to have Sarah Bernhardt as their guest while politicians took her arm and proudly escorted her around their cities. Both American men and women were in awe of her style, sophistication and glamor while her exploits were amplified by the press. The Sarah Bernhardt who toured the United States was not only gracious but was humble when situations were less than ideal for a performer of her stature and, on more than one occasion, she contributed to relief efforts helping Americans devastated by some of the worst natural disasters in American history.

While touring was ostensibly a means to satiate the public’s desire to see her perform and earn a living while doing so, it also functioned as a means to feed Bernhardt’s unending quest for adventure. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, Sarah explored her surroundings and did so with relish. Bernhardt was a true bon vivant, and her need to explore the world only seemed to grow more fervent as she matured.

Los Angeles?!?
Yes, Los Angeles…

Considering her professional status and worldly persona, it seems unbelievable that the great Sarah Bernhardt might have visited any place as rustic as nineteenth-century Los Angeles. Paris, London, Berlin, New York—of course! But L.A.? Bernhardt’s first tour of the United States (1880-1881) lasted seven months but never ventured beyond St. Louis, and, to be frank, it was unlikely that Bernhardt’s talents would have been appreciated enough in the 'west' to make the journey worthwhile. The State of California, however, would soon be impossible to ignore, and San Francisco would quickly take its place beside New York and Chicago as metropolitan centers for the arts. It would be a while before Los Angeles reached those heights, but eventually, it too would be impossible to overlook, and the world’s greatest actress would find herself in the City of the Angels a total of five times over a 27-year period (1891 to 1918) with each subsequent visit a bit longer, a bit more dramatic, and a bit more unpredictable than the last. While the adulation Angelenos extended Bernhardt ensured she would return, she also developed an affection for our city that was rooted in the excitement of transformation and the endless possibilities it offered a woman whose raison d’etre seemed to be exploring, savoring new experiences and celebrating whatever life had to offer. Admittedly, there is very little primary evidence left of Bernhardt’s first visit to Los Angeles, and, at least from Bernhardt’s perspective, that visit was largely unexceptional. That said, the frenzy it stirred among Angelenos was unlike anything the city had seen up to that point, and it marks a fascinating milestone in Los Angeles history.

I Left Mon Coeur in San Francisco

It would be impossible to tell the story of Bernhardt’s first visit to Los Angeles without factoring in San Francisco. The "City by the Bay" had become a beneficiary of Gold Rush wealth, and by 1890, it was a beautiful, sophisticated city effectively defining what became dubbed the "gay nineties." Early San Francisco was a spectacular destination that offered something to even the most jaded of travelers—including Mme. Sarah Bernhardt. The actress first visited San Francisco in 1887 while on tour and instantly fell in love, describing the city as "enchanting." Between 1887 and 1906, San Francisco was the primary reason she continued to return to California. Sarah seemed fascinated by the cultural diversity hiding in every nook of the city and the never-ending nightlife that seemed to be emanating from every alley, basement, and backroom throughout. The bohemian spirit of the city was perfectly aligned with Bernhardt's nonconformist outlook, and she always made the most of her time there.

One of the stories that illustrates why the city was so inviting for the actress comes from Sam Davis, a reporter for the San Francisco Examiner. In 1891 Davis followed Bernhardt and her small entourage (which included a city official) over two nights that saw the group attending a boxing match and a visit to Chinatown. The first night found a jubilant Sarah jumping from her seat to stand and cheer the bloody and swollen prizefighters. The following night, Sarah was much too energized after her performance to go back to her hotel room, so she opted to explore Chinatown instead. Sarah had poked around Chinatown in 1887 and enjoyed it immensely, so she was determined to return to this pocket of the city. Bernhardt dragged the group through an opium den where Davis reported that she "scattered gold among the opium fiends" before settling in a Chinese Opera House.

The Opera House was never identified but was probably the Shanghai Theater (aka Washington Street Chinese Theatre) as it was one of only two Chinese Theaters identified in an 1883 Harper’s Weekly story (but it is not clear how many there were in 1891). The proprietor of this particular opera offered Sarah a bowl of rice, and they all laughed as she fumbled with chopsticks before giving up. She was then shown the "stage" (essentially a bare platform) and met the musicians, who Harper’s described as being placed "behind the space occupied by the actors." Bernhardt greeted the musicians and asked permission to play the drums, which she was granted. Sarah had a grand time playing the drums with the Chinese musicians until the wee hours of the morning and made jokes that she, "like [Opera Singer Adelana] Patti" would be gauche and collect her fee of ten cents per person upfront. Seemingly unaware of the virulent racism against the Chinese population, she invited the musicians to watch her in La Tosca (from her private box at the Grand Opera House, no less) before heading to the Examiner’s press room to see the dailies being printed at 4 a.m. Bernhardt returned to her hotel before sunrise but would be back on stage performing in both a matinee and an evening performance that same day.

While this excursion was all in the name of fun, it’s also very telling that it was done with a local reporter in tow. Even in a foreign country, Sarah was quite aware of the power of the press and how to use the media to her advantage. But the love for San Francisco was genuine and, before leaving, she gave a note to Davis that she had asked to be published in his newspaper. Appearing on May 2nd, this communique read as follows:

"My heart beats with emotion at leaving this adorable and hospitable city. I cry au revoir to all and thanks to each."

Bernhardt’s affection for San Francisco and her desire to keep returning would ultimately allow the actress to be lured down to Los Angeles. San Francisco became an obligatory stop for most "name" performers by 1890, and, more often than not, Los Angeles was able to siphon that talent. L.A. had lured Edwin Booth and soprano singer Adelina Patti in 1887 and Lillie Langtry in 1888, so the prospect of Bernhardt’s appearance wasn’t entirely out of the question—but it wasn’t guaranteed either. With its population of just over 11,000 people in 1880, Los Angeles certainly would not have been enticing enough to coax the world’s greatest actress into performing at one of our city’s rather modest theaters. Flash forward ten years and our civic architects had started to realize a city that could serve as a terminus for the arts and a respectable destination for world-renowned artists to ply their trade. So, would Bernhardt actually come to Los Angeles? All someone had to do was ask, and that someone was named Martin Lehman.

In Lehman’s Terms

On March 16, 1891, Martin Lehman, co-manager of the Grand Opera House in Los Angeles, made the trip up to San Francisco to negotiate the terms of a prospective appearance in L.A. Bernhardt was at what was supposed to be the tail end of her American tour and preparing to leave for Australia when Lehman appeared at her hotel determined to bring her to Los Angeles. The Los Angeles Times wrote:

"One result of this trip …may be the coming of Sarah Bernhardt to this city for one or two performances, provided that our citizens will subscribe a sufficient guarantee. Judging from the good business done here of late by first-class companies that have visited us, there would seem to be little doubt of the success of this undertaking."

Martin Lehman was the man who moved this particular mountain. Born in New Orleans in 1851, his parents relocated to San Francisco while he was still a child in the hopes of siphoning some of the wealth that California’s Gold Rush had created. His family migrated to San Francisco via the Isthmus of Panama, a dangerous trek in an era before the Panama Canal (but one of the quickest routes available). Lehman was involved in a number of professions completely unrelated to theatrical management, most notably a furniture salesman before a brief stint as an actor. According to the St. Louis newspaper, the Jewish Voice, Lehman made his acting debut as "Mr. Poodles" in an 1873 production called An April Fool in, coincidentally, Los Angeles. He returned to San Francisco to continue his acting career by joining the James O’Neill (father of Eugene O'Neill) theater company. Upon making his debut with that company, he was seized by stage fright and unable to deliver his lines. It was reported that this was the incident that changed his professional direction, but in 1882, he married, and it stands to reason that he needed more vocational stability than the one acting would provide. Lehman was back in Los Angeles around 1883, where he connected with George McLain, a lumber machinist, and the two would take over managing the Turnverein Hall before moving to the Grand Opera House around 1885. While McLain would abandon theatrical management for civil service and eventually find his footing in local politics, Martin Lehman found his calling. A friend eulogizing Lehman explained that "destiny turned Mr. Lehman’s step to the box office and, as a theatrical executive, he was always singularly successful. Like [David] Belasco, he combined the temperament of the artist with shrewdness and keen managerial ability." Lehman seemed to have a particular skill in luring talent to Los Angeles, which earned him a reputation throughout the larger theater community; this reputation would lead the powers behind the Orpheum Circuit to recruit him to both open and manage an Orpheum Theater in Kansas City. He spent the remainder of his career in Kansas City and became an important figure in that city’s theatrical history; when he passed away in 1917, his loss was felt. But in 1891, Martin Lehman was in Los Angeles and working to make his venue, the Grand Opera House, the finest theater in the city.

The Grand Opera House, sometimes called the Child’s Opera House after the man who financed its construction, Orzo Childs (1824-1890), was completed in 1884. Located near the corner of First and Main St., the architectural firm of Kysor and Morgan (the Herald identified the architect as Col. A.M. Gray) designed the opera house, and the site would serve as one of the leading venues in Los Angeles during the late nineteenth and early twentieth century before it was razed in 1936. [Author’s note: Bill Counter over at the "Los Angeles Theaters" blog has done a phenomenal job of tracing the history of the opera house from beginning to end, and I would recommend seeking out that blog for a comprehensive history of the venue]. Management history of the opera house is maddeningly difficult to follow, with McLain & Lehman there as early as 1885 only to be replaced by Henry Wyatt around 1887. By late 1890, McLain & Lehman had returned, and it was during this tenure that Martin Lehman made his way to San Francisco to call upon the Divine Sarah Bernhardt.

Lehman was determined to coax Sarah into coming to Los Angeles, and he played all of his cards: He not only agreed to meet Bernhardt’s standard fee of $3,000 (adjusted for inflation, that would be approximately $101,000 today), he also agreed to pay her travel expenses. Maybe it was the money, maybe Bernhardt was still basking in the afterglow of her San Francisco adventures, or maybe it was Lehman's charm—whatever the clincher, she agreed to the offer and consented to appear in Los Angeles for the first time. By March 20, the Los Angeles Times confirmed that Bernhardt would appear in L.A. for a single performance following her return from Australia and additional San Francisco dates. The Herald stated that:

"Madame Sarah Bernhardt will, in three hours at the opera house, earn more money than most men in Los Angeles can make in a year."

It would be a costly endeavor for the Grand Opera House, but Lehman did what was unthinkable a decade prior—he got the biggest name in theater to agree to come to Los Angeles.

In what was an obvious attempt to whet appetites for the biggest spectacle of the year, an essay about Bernhardt was published in programs for the Grand Opera House in the months prior to her engagement. The essay describes Bernhardt as a "once in a generation" talent and a "genius" whose gifts are so substantial that "adjectives seem out of place." The essay drew parallels between Bernhardt’s mastery of acting to Shakespeare’s mastery of writing and Beethoven’s mastery of music, noting "her genius has not the confines of any speech and becomes a duty wherever art is worshiped, the exercise of that genius carries full, supreme satisfaction like to perfect harmony in music." But the most important part was to give both the venue and its proprietors their due for making the unimaginable happen, "it is with peculiar pleasure that McLain and Lehman announce the engagement at their theater of Mme. Bernhardt for the 14th of September, and have no hesitation in believing that somewhere will her surroundings, the appreciation to be shown, or the satisfaction to be realized, be more fitting and appropriately concomitant to her genius than at the Grand Opera House."

"They Expected to Make Money, and They Have Succeeded"

As predicted, interest in Bernhardt had created a frenzy throughout Southern California, resulting in management at the Grand Opera House to limit tickets exclusively to seasonal subscribers; then, from those subscribers, a lottery: "...it behooves all those who desire to take advantage of the opportunity to register their names without delay. The managers promise that the utmost impartiality will be observed in the distribution of seats, the intention being to draw lots for deciding the order of choice among subscribers." Still, it was clear that "there will be a much larger demand for good seats than can be met for a single night’s performance." On August 30 the Times reported that:

"Subscriptions are pouring in, not only from residents of the city, but apparently from all the country round. The opportunity of seeing and listening to the greatest actress now upon the boards is going to be availed of, not only by our citizens at home, but the denizens of San Diego, Santa Barbara, Ventura, Santa Monica, and Anaheim down to the smallest burg in Southern California appear to be resolved to send their representatives…"

The Herald commended Lehman and McLain for their "boldness" in assuming that Angelenos would pay such a high ticket fee to see Bernhardt. Bernhardt was guaranteed to be paid even if Lehman and McLain were unable to sell tickets, so it was a very big gamble for them that, mercifully, paid off. The Herald noted that "Managers McLain and Lehman did not assume the risk of loss consequent to the big guarantee they were obliged to give Madame Bernhardt, from any desire for managerial glory. They did it solely because they expected to make money, and they have succeeded. Nonetheless, they deserve to be commended for the boldness they displayed and for giving the public entertainment that will be enjoyed in a few cities the size of Los Angeles. The theater-going public will be glad to know that a portion of the immense sum taken in for seats will remain in the manager's pockets and, by Tuesday morning, will be thoroughly grateful for the privilege of having seen the greatest actress of today." In the end, McLain and Lehman ended up with a profit of $1,154.05 (adjusted for inflation, that’s approximately $40,000 in 2024 USD). In addition to their profit, McLain and Lehman were the toast of the town. The Herald wrote that "this evening’s performance will go down in local history as an event" and offered a tip of the hat to McLain and Lehman:

"[they] will have the satisfaction of knowing that they will tonight play the greatest double bill ever put on in this city. The show in front will all but eclipse that on stage."

On September 8, the Herald reported that George McLain began calling names for the ticket lottery outside the Grand Opera House. A number of famous names belonging to boxers like Jack Dempsey, John L. Sullivan, and Charley Mitchell were called, which left the crowd puzzled and scanning the crowd for these celebrities. The Times reported that former boxer and local scallywag Billy Manning "responded to each of these [names] and got twenty coupons for some of the finest seats in the house." The cost of a ticket to see Bernhardt was a jaw-dropping $5. Nevertheless, the performance was completely sold out.

Aloha to OZ

Sarah’s tour of Australia went off without a hitch, and it was reported that she earned £60,000 (or approximately $12,091,102 in 2024 USD) for the engagement. The Sydney Morning Herald reported that Bernhardt left Australia on August 12, 1891, and the San Francisco Examiner reported that she was scheduled to return to San Francisco on September 4, 1891, but severe weather conditions off the coast of Hawaii delayed her one full day. Maurice Bernhardt, Sarah’s son, and his wife, Princess Terka Jablonowska, had arrived in San Francisco on September 2 in anticipation of the elder Bernhardt’s arrival and checked into the California Hotel. Sarah joined them on the 5th and began the process of fulfilling her San Francisco engagements. On September 13, The San Francisco Examiner reported that Sarah encountered the only thing that ever really bothered her about the United States—a fictitious relative, and there seemed to be at least one for each of her visits. In this case, a Tulare County woman, Estella Bell, claimed Sarah was her long-lost sister (from Rochester, New York, no less), leaving Sarah to exclaim, "What folly is this!?" Annoyed, Sarah stated that "nearly everywhere I go, I hear of someone who claims me as a relation. As a rule, however, they have been uncles. This sister experience is a new one!" Sarah would leave the Bay Area soon after, headed for Los Angeles.

Divinity in the City of Angels

On September 9, 1891, the Los Angeles Herald reported that Dan Willoughby, Bernhardt’s manager, had arrived in Los Angeles to make arrangements for the company’s upcoming appearance. Five days later, on September 14, 1891, at 7:25 a.m., Sarah Bernhardt and her entourage in eight train cars—three passenger cars and five baggage cars—materialized in Los Angeles for the first time. Considering that Bernhardt’s name had been blasted throughout the local newspapers for months, there seemed to be little fanfare for her arrival. It’s unclear if the press or any public officials greeted her at the Southern Pacific Arcade Depot, nor did there appear to be any photographers that documented the occasion for posterity. It's not totally clear why. Sarah’s company checked into the Westminster Hotel, a few blocks south of the theater, while Sarah stayed in her private car with explicit instructions that she was not to be disturbed until 11 a.m. At that point, Bernhardt and her family were spirited off to the home of Elias "Lucky" Baldwin in what became Arcadia; Bernhardt had played his eponymous theater in San Francisco and, upon learning that she would be in Los Angeles, it stands to reason that he had invited her to his ranch. Unfortunately, in keeping with the rest of her visit, there is little to no documentation as to what Bernhardt did during her visit to Baldwin’s ranch, but the group returned to Los Angeles before 8 p.m. so Bernhardt could take the stage in one of her most famous plays.

Not the Opera…

The play performed that night, La Tosca, debuted on November 24, 1887, in Paris, with Bernhardt originating the part. Written by Victorien Sardou, La Tosca would serve as the basis of the much-loved Giacomo Puccini opera, Tosca, and like the opera, Sardou’s play was a favorite of audiences—juicy and scandalous with murder, lust, intrigue, and a dramatic, unforgettable ending. The theater critic for the London Era was at the opening night in Paris and described the play as a work of art and an “enormous success”, noting that he had been so absorbed by the drama that he was startled when the curtain finally came down. The Daily Telegraph’s theater critic wrote that “I had not time last night to do justice to the admirable manner in which M. Sardou’s new tragedy has been put upon the stage…”

The reception in the United States was mixed and seemed contingent upon the city it played. More conservative cities like Boston and their newspapers tended to dislike the scenarios presented within play. The play was shunned by the Boston Evening Gazette’s theater critic, who wrote that "no lesson is taught; no principle of life is illustrated; nothing profitable to thought is evolved." Boston was notoriously orthodox and regularly banned "objectionable content," hence the popular phrase "banned in Boston." The Evening Gazette’s review led Life magazine to write in the April 2, 1891 issue that:

"If this gentleman insists on going to the theater, it is perhaps our duty to warn him against saying too much about it afterward. It is also our duty to state in justice to Sara[h] that, in visiting Boston, she probably had no intention of entering into direct competition with local clergy."

For those who didn’t need a moral lesson in their theatrical experience, the play was devoured like candy. The scenario gave the leading lady full command of the stage and left the audience on the edge of their seats.

"Her Acting was Everything" (La Tosca spoiler alerts from here on)

While the play itself had its detractors, notably those who questioned the morality within the story, Bernhardt’s performance was unilaterally praised. The London Era wrote that Bernhardt demonstrated "marvelously powerful acting in the principal part" while the Pall Mall Gazette described the performance as "a personal triumph secured by Sarah Bernhardt." It wasn’t just Europe that was seduced by Bernhardt’s magic. When Bernhardt landed in the United States with the play, the New York Times described the play as "Sardou’s lurid drama" but praised Bernhardt, noting that "her acting was everything." The paper continued to heap on the praise, writing that:

"...the distinction, grace, facility, and force of her acting in this role are unparalleled. The scenes of coquetry, of petulance, of half-awakened jealousy are as marvelous in their way as a simulation of agony in the episode of Mario’s torture, or the graphic display of quickly changing emotions in the scene in which ends with the killing of Scarpia."

A New York-based magazine, The Critic, wrote, "she is supreme, and has never been seen to greater advantage, perhaps than as the heroine of La Tosca, a part designed for her by Sardou with a marvelously shrewd appreciation of her most striking talents. She is now in the ripest and richest period of her artistic prime…the performance, in short, was a masterpiece throughout."

Floria Tosca

For contemporary audiences who are only familiar with the opera, Sarah Bernhardt seems like an unusual casting choice for the part of Floria Tosca. Giacomo Puccini’s phenomenal opera has eclipsed the play that gave birth to it; frankly, it shaped ideas about the type of actress that is suited to the part. Thus Tosca is often associated with a brand of fiery volatility that is well outside of Bernhardt’s persona. Bernhardt’s contemporary, the imposing English actress Ellen Terry, whose interpretation of Lady Macbeth was world renowned, seems better suited to the part than Bernhardt, whom Terry accurately described as having the "transparence of an azalea with even more delicacy, the lightness of a cloud with less thickness. Smoke from burning paper…" Why on earth did Sardou imagine Bernhardt in the part? As it turns out, Bernhardt wasn’t all that different from the initial concept of Floria Tosca. Historian Susan Vandiver Nicassio describes Floria Tosca’s 'type' of opera diva as "bewitching, infuriating, transcendent performers processed in triumph from opera house to opera house accompanied by adoring retinues and shimmering with the aura of glamour, power, and glory. Audiences rioted, men fought duels, girls yearned to emulate them, and impresarios, cursing them, dug deep into their pockets to pay their ruinous fees. This is the sort of diva on which Sardou based the character of Tosca." Sound like anyone? Nicassio goes on to explain that "in the translation from play to opera, the action was tightened, the characters were 'Italianized,' and most of the political motivation was cut." Throughout her career Bernhardt often challenged expectations about her type and was usually met with unilateral praise whether portraying Medea, Queen Elizabeth, Lucrecia Borgia, or even Hamlet.

In anticipation of the Los Angeles performance, the Western Graphic magazine would write that:

"La Tosca is a play designed to afford Bernhardt an opportunity to display her tremendous intensity, her marvelous power in expressing in the minutest detail and without the suspicion of what is called rant the fiercest passions that torture and disfigure humanity. It is a marvel of structural skill in the delineation of the worst side of the worst type of humanity merely touching a better side in order to deepen the shading of the bad."

La Tosca was a surefire crowd-pleaser, and it was the perfect choice to make her Los Angeles debut. If only it hadn’t already debuted in L.A. three years prior…

Parlez-vous français?

Most L.A. theatergoers had already seen La Tosca as it had been performed at the Grand Opera House in 1888 with English actress Fanny Davenport in the lead. Davenport often debuted in English-language translations of plays that Bernhardt originated, and, much to one another’s chagrin, the two women often overlapped with productions. La Tosca proved so popular that Davenport and company returned for a repeat engagement one year later in 1889. Bernhardt’s production, coming to Los Angeles just two years after Davenport’s, would seem thoroughly redundant, but, as the Herald noted, "interest was centered on the star" rather than the play. What confirms the assertion that Bernhardt was the draw was the fact that, while Davenport’s production was in English, Bernhardt’s version was performed entirely in French. Outside of a handful of words and rudimentary phrases, Bernhardt did not speak English, nor did she want to perform in a language she had little command of, explaining that "I prefer to play in good French rather than in bad English." What might prove to be a challenge for English-speaking audiences, interestingly enough, didn’t seem to be a problem. Of the language barrier, the Herald explained that Bernhardt’s acting skill and ability to emote overrode any language barrier, "nine out of ten people who enjoyed [Bernhardt’s] performance last night did not possess that familiarity with the French tongue which would enable them to follow the dialogue closely…the enjoyment of the immense throng was therefore largely referable to the purely histrionic and magnetic power of the great artiste." Bernhardt was indeed the draw and, as the Ventura Weekly Democrat noted, tickets were being scalped for four times their worth and people were actually paying, "the house was literally crammed, $20 being offered for seats and none to be found."

"Simply, Divinely Wonderful…"

The Evening Express dubbed Bernhardt’s appearance as "the theatrical event of the year" and even the Times couldn’t help but acknowledge (albeit, a backhanded acknowledgment) that the Bernhardt engagement was the event of the season, writing that "The world recognizes Bernhardt's genius if not her morals, and is ready to do homage to it…" By all accounts, Bernhardt exceeded expectations; as the Evening Express explained:

"Every movement of Bernhardt was watched with intense interest…Her facial expressions were carefully studied, and they were worthy of study.” The Herald’s review was even more lavish, writing that “in the grand climactic of the play, it would have been difficult for the muse of tragedy itself to have exceeded the Bernhardt in the lively play of emotion that verified in expression with every passing moment. The Medusa herself could have scarcely had a more transfixing eye than she directs upon Scarpia in the critical scene, and throughout the whole throng of vividly enacted horrors, there is not one overstrained tone or one gesture that is not instinct with directiveness, grace, and majesty. At times, her face presents, with striking verisimilitude, some of the most poignant expressions of agony of the Christ of great masters, with the thorns pressing into his brow and the eyes upturned to unspeakable woe. It is dramatic realism to the acme of the highest wrought expectation."

The Herald did, however, find fault in Bernhardt's company of actors writing that "If an American star was to appear with as incompetent, poor set of actors as form the support of Madame Sarah Bernhardt, they would have a brief inglorious career…"

It wasn’t just the press that was enthralled, however. The Ventura Weekly Democrat reported that Leon Cerf, the proprietor of Ventura’s largest department store, drove to Los Angeles with his wife and his business partner to see Bernhardt perform. The paper wrote that "to say that they were enchanted by the acting of the divine Sarah would be putting it mildly." Cerf said it was the "grandest performance he had ever witnessed…" Conversations before and after the performance (and during intermission) were recorded by Herald reporters and gave the impression that Angelenos were trying to sound as worldly as possible. Many of the attendees were peppering their language with French words, phrases, and idioms that bordered on corny. Banker Joseph Lynch exclaimed that Bernhardt was "simply sans peril" while Edward Preuss remarked that Bernhardt was "tres bien." Senator Frank McGowan told George Peck, "She is not only great in tragedy but so polished. How shall I express my meaning—savoir vivre, are the words." City Councilman John Wheeler told James Lankershim that "it may be niaiserie on my part, but Bernhardt is simply, divinely wonderful." The Hotel Redondo in Redondo Beach reported an exodus of guests the night of Bernhardt’s performance, as did hotels in Long Beach, Santa Monica, and Terminal Island. Most guests made a night of it, staying the night in Downtown Los Angeles and returning to their respective resorts the following morning.

Sadly much of what was reported seemed determined to undermine Fanny Davenport’s performance, noting that Bernhardt was "vastly superior" in the role. John Gaffey was reported to have asked City Common Council (predecessor of the City Council) President Walter Moore what he thought of Bernhardt in the role compared to Davenport and Moore responded that "no comparison whatever, Davenport is but a counterfeit of Sara[h]. The latter is so degage." Gaffey, one of the few in the audience who actually spoke French, was still feeling the pinch of the ticket cost and responded with "le coûte en ote le gout" [the cost takes away the taste]. The Herald added to the downgrading of Davenport’s acting, adding that "The people of Los Angeles now have an opportunity of contrasting a woman of genius with merely a clever actress. The Bernhardt impersonation was spirituelle and dramatic of the highest degree. That of Davenport was very good, as acting goes nowadays. But the difference between the two is as great as that between day and night…" Davenport either did not read this review or chose to ignore it as she returned to the Grand Opera House with a production of Cleopatra just two months later.

Violent Amazons Smothered in Rose Leaves

Bernhardt and Davenport did, in fact, have a contentious relationship that the Los Angeles Herald described as a "merry war" and the friction was palpable. In early 1891, the two actresses had been in New York appearing in competing productions of Sardou’s Cleopatra and, for whatever reason, Davenport felt the need to write to the New York Herald to critique Bernhardt’s interpretation of the Egyptian Queen as being coy and far too amorous. Bernhardt responded writing:

I have only one remark to make in reply to Mme. Davenport. It is this: I play Sardou and Emile Moreau’s piece as I played it in Paris, adding no word to it and taking no word from it. Mme. Davenport has put before the American Public a piece which has not been revised by the authors. As to the conception of my part, my views are opposed to Fanny Davenport’s. Cleopatra was an amorous and delicate woman. She has lived through the ages not because she was a great queen but because she was ideality womanly woman. She remains a type of love and witchery…In Plutarch’s portrait of her, I see no trace of the strapping woman or the violent Amazon who Mme. Davenport pictures. Sardou and Emile Moreau regard me as their ideal Cleopatra. Mme. Davenport will permit me to rest satisfied with their opinion.

When the San Francisco Examiner interviewed Bernhardt later that year, she was asked about some of her contemporaries, notably Ellen Terry ("the greatest English actress") and Helena Modjeska ("perfect in art…so sweet and womanly") but with Davenport the writer noted that she "bit her under lip and her face was drawn into all sorts of shapes in an unsuccessful effort to keep the corner drawn out straight" and eventually offered the statement, "don’t mistake what I say about Davenport. I will smother her with rose leaves…" she then turned to her manager and dryly asked, "won’t I, Maurice?" It’s a very slight, almost unnoticeable, turn of phrase, but it’s very likely that Bernhardt was employing a double entendre. The fact that Bernhardt said "rose leaves" instead of ‘rose petals’ or, more simply, 'roses' in combination with the word "smother" suggests that there might have been a tinge of shade within the comment. It’s also possible that Bernhardt’s limited command of English was to blame for the awkward phrase. You decide. The "merry war" would end in 1898 when Davenport unexpectedly died but in 1891, if Bernhardt managed to see the morning reviews in L.A. newspapers, she took some delight in the fact that Los Angeles seemed to prefer her interpretation of Floria Tosca.

The Los Angeles Times

Sarah’s personal eccentricities may seem mild in contemporary Los Angeles but she managed to raise a few eyebrows in Los Angeles of yore, particularly the eyebrows that were employed by the Los Angeles Times. The Times had a love-hate relationship with Bernhardt and, unlike the Herald, the Times seemed determined to take Bernhardt down a peg. The Times was one of the few newspapers to express dissatisfaction with Bernhardt’s performance and their review was particularly nasty, committing the following to paper: "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." The written evisceration continued with "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." While tearing her down the paper also managed a compliment, noting that “it is also unquestionably true that her eminent gifts of genius and magnetic power are alone sufficient to account for her position in the artistic world today” and “it would seem that her apparent spontaneity and perfect naturalness are the foundation stones of her high position as an artiste.” This contradictory reporting is both fascinating and strange at the same time, characterizing nearly every piece the Times ever wrote about Bernhardt.

It’s worth noting that the Times’ owner, Harrison Gray Otis, was not named among the listed attendees that night and it was likely that he was not able to wrangle a ticket from the Grand Opera House lottery. He would, however, be in the audience for Bernhardt’s subsequent visits to Los Angeles suggesting that the rather salty review that the Times gave Bernhardt may have been tantamount to sour grapes. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time the newspaper had done something along those lines.

The Los Angeles Times' nastiness towards Bernhardt did not, however, begin there. Nearly five months earlier, the Times ran the exact same Sam Davis story that the San Francisco Examiner had published about Sarah’s adventures in Chinatown; the title of the story, however, was changed to one that was much meaner in spirit. The original Examiner story ran on April 26, 1891, and was entitled "Bernhardt Goes Slumming." The subtitle read as follows: "The Great Actress plays a new role at the Chinese theater. An Extraordinary Performance. One of the characteristic diversions of the divine Sarah—a performance not on the bills—she plays the orchestra and all at the Celestial Theater visiting the dens of Chinatown." By the time the Los Angeles Times got a hold of the story, the title was changed to "Sara[h] in the Cellars" with the following subtitle: "The Great Actress astonishes the Celestials. Acting in a Chinese Theater. She plays orchestra as well as Prima Donna in the opium dens. Queer Freak of a queer woman." Other than tacking on "suppose says the San Francisco Examiner" (to avoid plagiarism claims, perhaps?) to the front of the story, the remainder of the Examiner story was reprinted verbatim.

Like some runaway Cinderella at the stroke of midnight, Bernhardt and her company left the Grand Opera House immediately after the curtain went down. Bernhardt’s train, scheduled to leave at 10:40 p.m., had been held for one hour to allow the actress to finish her performance. Not even a full 24 hours had passed before the "Divine" Sarah Bernhardt had departed the City of Angels.

"Perfect Success."

L.A.'s 17-hour benediction courtesy of the 'Divine Sarah' was, to be frank, less about the world’s most famous actress than it was about the City of Los Angeles. Bernhardt's visit was so brief that there was no way our city could have made any real impression on the actress but her visit spoke volumes about the civic aspirations of Angelenos and the visions of what they wanted Los Angeles to become. With its population of a little over 50,000 people in 1890, Los Angeles had earned social cache by enticing the biggest star in the world to perform in this tiny town on the periphery. The Divine Sarah's appearance was Los Angeles' sacramental rite into a mecca that would be dominated by show business. Her presence not only created an air of excitement throughout the city, it allowed Los Angeles' upper caste to peacock their finery and, once again, consume the rarified air of the cosmopolitan cities that so many of them had abandoned to resettle in Los Angeles. Bernhardt's presence helped Los Angeles to highlight its growing wealth and sophistication and, as the Evening Express explained:

"...no metropolitan city could have turned out a more interesting audience than the one that greeted Sara[h] Bernhardt. Box, loge, parquette, dress circle, balcony, and gallery fairly dazzled with beaming faces. Costly jewels sparkled in the brilliant light, elegant costumes were to be seen everywhere and when the play opened with the church scene, a buzz of expectancy prevailed."

The Herald was quick to mention City Assessor Ben Ward who had spent the previous year in Europe; the paper implied that this sabbatical somehow made him more of an ‘expert’ on sophistication by explaining that he "takes a good deal of stock in French art." Ward was quoted as stating that he "was pleased with the performance, but more pleased with the audience" and he went on to say that "this is what I like to see, an audience en grand tenue."  Without naming names, the Express wrote that "there were gentlemen present who figure their worldly possessions at a million. There were rich ladies there—rich in culture, beauty, and costume. Every profession, every type of womanly beauty could be seen." Astonishingly, even the Times had to tip its hat, writing that it was "a fashionable gathering, probably the most brilliant of the kind ever assembled in the operahouse" the writer conceded that "as a society affair it was a perfect success."

Fifteen years after this "perfect success" Bernhardt would return to Los Angeles under very different circumstances. Her return engagement would not only prove to be longer but much more dramatic as a litany of catastrophes, both natural and manufactured, seemed to follow her. Within this maelstrom, Sarah came face-to-face with one of the worst disasters in recorded history, learned a kind of humility that few stars of her stature would ever know, and helped out one of the most important names in Los Angeles history to sell his dream of utopia.

Stay tuned for the story of Bernhardt's second visit to Los Angeles.