Later Queens of the French Stage

by H. Noel Williams

Her apartment in the Rue du Dauphin not being large enough to accommodate all the distinguished persons who desired to pay homage to her, Sophie, about this time, removed to a more commodious one in the Rue des Petits-Champs. This, in its turn, becoming too small for her requirements, she made up her mind to have an hôtel built, and selected a site in the Chaussée-d’Antin, immediately adjoining the hôtel of Mlle. Guimard—the “Temple of Terpsichore,” as it was called—the erection of which had half-ruined more than one of the adorers of “la squelette des Grâces.”

In the Bibliothèque Nationale may be seen a drawing of the façade of the proposed house, and plans of the rez-de-chaussée and the first and second floors. The drawing of the façade bears the following inscription:

“Façade of a projected house for Mlle. Arnould in the Chaussée-d’Antin. The house to be constructed side by side with that of Mlle. Guimard, and to be of the same dimensions.—Bélanger.”

On the portico, which is supported by two Doric columns, may be seen the figure of the Muse Euterpe, with the features of Sophie Arnould. The plan of the second floor is inscribed: “Plan of the second floor of Mlle. Arnould’s projected house, in which there are to be four small rooms for the accommodation of the children.”

This palace never got beyond the paper stage, for Sophie fell in love with the architect and the architect with her, in consequence of which, we may presume, the Prince d’Hénin, or whatever wealthy admirer was to have defrayed the expenses, declined to have anything further to do with the scheme.

François Joseph Bélanger, the architect in question, was a charming man. He was then about thirty years of age, handsome, good-tempered, witty, and one of the most rising members of his profession.[34] Sophie loved him dearly—for a time at least—though this did not prevent her indulging in various passing fancies. Once, when he was temporarily out of favour, she sent him his congé, and, at the same time, wrote to an actor named Florence, inviting him to take the vacant place in her affections. Bélanger, however, happening to call at her house at a time when she was not at home, found the two letters on her desk, read them, and promptly changed the envelopes. The result was that Florence received the congé, instead of the avowal of love, and naturally became very cold in his manner towards Sophie, who, deeply mortified, turned for consolation to her faithful architect.

At one time a rumour was current that Sophie was about to become Madame Bélanger, and, when questioned on the matter, the lady replied: “What would you have? So many people are endeavouring to destroy my reputation that I need some one who can restore it. I could not make a better choice, since I have selected an architect!” The marriage, however, did not take place, though that would not appear to have been the fault of Bélanger. Notwithstanding the fact that a lady with so romantic a past, and three fine children to prevent people forgetting it, was hardly the kind of wife for a rising professional man, the architect would have been only too willing to regularise their connection. But Sophie had no mind to marry any one who was unable to satisfy all her caprices; and it is probable that the rumour referred to was started and circulated by her with the object of giving the lie to another, which was occasioning her intense annoyance.[35]

Sophie’s insolence and pride in this the heyday of her prosperity knew no bounds. She insulted the Lieutenant of Police and was, in consequence, placed under arrest for twenty-four hours; she made biting epigrams about Ministers and other distinguished persons, which, no doubt, duly reached her victims’ ears; she behaved with such “unexampled audacity” and “essential want of respect” towards Madame du Barry, on the occasion of a performance before the Court, at Fontainebleau, that, but for the intervention of the injured lady—the most sweet-tempered left-hand queen who ever degraded a throne—she would have spent the next six months as a prisoner in the Hôpital,[36] and she drove the unfortunate directors of the Opera to the verge of distraction with her whims and caprices.

The race of prime donne is proverbially a capricious one; the profession of an impresario one of the most trying which can fall to the lot of man. Yet, it may be doubted whether any queen of song since opera was invented can have occasioned her managers anything approaching the anxiety and annoyance caused by Mlle. Sophie Arnould. She knew she was necessary, well-nigh indispensable, and she abused her position. Dearly did the administration pay for the increased receipts which her popularity brought them. Every day she had some new grievance, some unexpected whim. She wished to sing and she did not wish to sing, she retired and she reappeared. Sometimes she would create a part in an opera, sing divinely to crowded houses for three or four nights, then suddenly discover that it was unsuited to her or made too great demands upon her strength, and insist upon another singer taking her place for the remainder of the run of the piece. A few evenings later, jealous perhaps of the applause which her successor was receiving, she would come down to the theatre and announce her intention of resuming her part, only to throw it up again so soon as she considered that she had asserted her superiority.

To revive an opera in which she had scored a success was often as risky a venture as to produce a new one, since it might, and very often did, happen, that Mlle. Arnould—who, it should be mentioned, unlike the majority of public performers, cared very little for applause—would be indisposed, that is to say, indisposed to exert her full powers, with the result that the once popular piece would be received in comparative silence. In February 1769, Dardanus was revived. Iphise, the heroine, was one of Sophie’s greatest rôles, but on the first night she either could not or would not sing, and the opera became, in consequence, “almost a burlesque.”