A game of two halves

BATH

I recently went to the theatre to see a monologue about Sarah Bernhardt.

Exciting, I yelped, but no one agreed so I ended up there alone. No matter because when you’re geeking out, you don’t want company.

You see, I recently fell down a rabbit hole about artists who were SO famous in their lifetimes but are largely forgotten now… It’s the opposite Van Gogh effect, basically.

No surprise that there are a lot of women who’ve been erased from the history books by jealous little men with big rubbers. More on that to come in a future carte.

Bernhardt sort of fell into that category because, although she is still known in France, she was crazy famous all over the world in the late 19^th century. I lost hours to reading about her huge success, long career and eccentric life. If anyone ever knows anything about her, it’s usually just a vague notion that she had a wooden leg, poor woman…

Anyway, this play was at my local theatre and promised a deep-dive into Sarah’s life, so off I went. The theatre was about a tenth full but the audience were keen like me.

I sat in row B, next to a couple and a woman on the other side of them. All was going well in the first half.

It’s so relaxing going to the theatre alone, you don’t have to worry about what anyone else is thinking, I congratulated myself.

Then, at the interval, this exchange in row B:

Woman 1 to Woman 2: Are you enjoying the play?

Woman 2: Hmmm not really

Woman 1: Oh?

[Woman 2 mutters angrily about historical inaccuracies]

[Woman 1 turns away, realising she’s disturbed a hornet’s nest]

Woman 2 [conspiratorially]: I’m a direct descendant of Sarah, you know. I just can’t bear it when they say she had a wooden leg.

Woman 1: Erm

Woman 2 [agitated]: The fact is, she didn’t. It’s lies! I always correct people whenever I hear it…

Woman 1: Erm

Woman 2: I shall have to stand up and protest I’m afraid…

Omg, way to kill a second half. I wished I’d gone to the toilet and not overheard. I spent the second half waiting for Woman 2 to leap to her feet and Make Her Point.

I felt sick for the poor actor on the stage. I crossed my legs tightly and tried to breathe out through my toes.

My only consolation; at least my daughter wasn’t there – she feels these things greatly, she would have DIED.

I only began to relax when the play ended and the small crowd burst into applause. But then it came… the huge posh loud voice boomed: “No! It’s not true. None of it’s true!” It was like we were in the House of Lords or the Crown Court at judgement time.

I slid down in my seat and looked up pityingly at the actor/writer on stage.

When I got home, I did research about the wooden leg issue and found this great short piece in History Today which answers it fully. Particularly of note:

“The unstoppable Sarah tried several wooden legs, but irritably threw them away and bought a sedan chair to be carried about in. Before the year was out she was on stage in Paris again. She entertained French soldiers at the front, made numerous theatre appearances and a final tour of the US before she died in Paris aged 78 in 1923 and was buried in the Père Lachaise cemetery.”

So now you know. De rien.