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I
Victorien Sardou was born in Paris on September7, 1831. His father, a native of the vicinityof Cannes on the Mediterranean, came to Parisin 1819 and followed a variety of scholastic pursuits.His mother was a resident of the ancientcity of Troyes. Victorien’s father finally engagedin literary work, edited text books and taughtin schools. His interesting personality made forhim many friends. He never became well-to-do;on the contrary, he became so entangled in indebtednessthat he gave up Paris and returned to his olivegroves in the south with the hope of being able tosatisfy his creditors. He left behind him Victorien,aged twenty-two, who was struggling to displacewith studies in surgery and medicine his dreams ofbecoming a poet and dramatist. But he could notchange his gods. A youth who had read beforehe was twelve years old the works of Molière,who had enthusiastically studied archæology andimportant periods of the world’s history andwho had delved deeply into all literature, especiallyinto the works of master poets and playwrights,was not made of stuff moldable into somethingother than his true self. Saddened by thedeath of two sisters and left alone by his father,Sardou continued his medical studies, meanwhileresiding in a garret. His existence would havebeen extremely miserable had he not been able tosee an occasional play by Hugo, and to satisfy infrequentlyhis great passion for the opera. In referringto those days of struggle, he said:
“Ah, don’t talk to me of music; that is one ofmy passions. I remember a long time ago when Iwent to the opera—not in a box of stalls, but rightup in the gallery—to hear ‘Les Huguenots’ or ‘LeProphèté’—I delighted in Meyerbeer—the seatswere four francs apiece. I had probably pawnedmy best coat to get there; but there I was, and Inever think of those costly evenings without rememberinghow I enjoyed them, and felt a certainsense of gratification that I have never experiencedsince.”
Sardou’s inspiration to follow literature beganwith an incident which has often been related. Ina mood of wretchedness caused by poverty and thecaging of his ambitious soul in a bleak garret, hestood in a doorway near the College of Medicineto escape the rain and his thoughts turned to suicide.Obsessed with this desire, he walked intothe storm. A water-carrier, who instantly took hisplace of shelter, exclaimed:
“Ah, my friend, you do not know when youare well off.”
An instant later a block of granite fell from thebuilding—which was under construction—andkilled the water carrier. Sardou accepted his escapefrom death as an omen that he was destinedto live and to become great. Immediately he beganthose several years of desperately hard work inwhich he served apprentice