Later Queens of the French Stage

by H. Noel Williams

It was while Orphée was in preparation that an incident occurred which was not without its effect upon Sophie Arnould’s connection with the operas of Gluck. After her triumph in the part of Iphigénie, Sophie had, of course, been entrusted with that of Eurydice, and had persuaded the composer to hold some informal rehearsals in her apartment in the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs. Now, for some reason, the prima donna’s titular protector, the Prince d’Hénin, had conceived a strong antipathy to Gluck (Mr. Douglas supposes that he was displeased at the frequency of the composer’s visits to his mistress’s house, though, as jealousy was certainly not one of his failings, this seems to us hardly probable), and had on several occasions let fall very disparaging remarks about the German musician, which had in due course reached the latter’s ears. One day, in the midst of a rehearsal, the Prince d’Hénin was announced. All rose from their seats and bowed—all, that is to say, save Gluck, who settled himself more firmly in his chair and took not the slightest notice of the distinguished visitor.

“I was under the impression,” remarked the Prince, when he had recovered from his first astonishment, “that it is the custom in France to rise when any one enters the room, especially if it be a person of consideration.”

Gluck sprang from his seat, walked up to the speaker, and, looking him full in the face, replied: “It is the custom in Germany, Monsieur, to rise only for those whom one esteems.” Then, turning to Sophie, he added: “Since I perceive, Mademoiselle, that you are not mistress in your own house, I leave you and shall return no more.” With which he picked up his hat and stalked out.

Gluck wanted to challenge the prince to a duel, but, being assured that such a step would be useless, as the latter would certainly shelter himself behind his rank and refuse to fight with a musician, took counsel with his friend and admirer the Duc de Nivernais. That nobleman, whom Lord Chesterfield had once held up to his son as a model for him to form himself upon, was now in his sixty-eighth year, notwithstanding which he at once constituted himself the composer’s champion, and informed M. d’Hénin that he must either apologise to Gluck or fight him (the duke). In the meanwhile, the story had reached Marie Antoinette—now Queen—who sent a peremptory order to the prince to make reparation to her injured protégé, under pain of her displeasure. The latter, reflecting that even if he escaped the sword of the duke, who handled one as neatly as he composed verses, he would undoubtedly be exiled, had no choice but to obey, and, with a very bad grace, called upon Gluck and made the amende honorable.

Orphée et Eurydice was produced on August 2 and met with a success surpassing even that of Iphigénie. The same, unfortunately, cannot be said of Sophie. The friendly critic of the Mercure declares that “she acted and sang with much soul, intelligence, and correctness”; but the general opinion seems to have been that her display was decidedly inferior to that which she had given in the previous opera. This impression is, no doubt, partly to be accounted for by the fact that she was on this occasion somewhat overshadowed by Legros, who, Grimm tell us, “sang the principal rôle with so much fire, taste, and sentiment, that it was difficult to recognise him.” At the same time, it is evident that her voice was no longer equal to the strain of any very exacting part, especially if, as was now very frequently the case, she happened to be in indifferent health.

In the early days of January 1775, Iphigénie, in which Gluck had made several alterations, was revived and received with even more enthusiasm than on its first production. All the artistes resumed their old parts, and Sophie’s rendering of the heroine was again loudly applauded. She did not, however, enjoy her success for long, as, after a few performances, she resigned her part to Mlle. Laguerre, who in March fell ill and was, in her turn, replaced by Rosalie Levasseur.

Sophie’s health, at this time, would appear to have been far from satisfactory. Any way, she did not sing again for more than ten months, and thus took no part in Cythère assiégée, a light opera first produced in 1759, and now reconstructed by Gluck, at the request of Marie Antoinette. The libretto was by Favart, and the incongruity between his light and playful style and the solemn and pathetic music of the composer caused the piece to be very coldly received.

At the beginning of December, Sophie reappeared in the rôle of Adèle in Adèle de Ponthieu, a part which she had successfully created three years before, and might have repeated the triumph she had then secured, but for an unfortunate incident which occurred on the first night.

Louis XVI.’s younger brother, the Comte d’Artois (afterwards Charles X.)—a very different person in those days from the gloomy and Jesuit-ridden old monarch of 1830—attended the performance, and, from the shelter of his private box, proceeded, as was his wont, to ogle and make signs to the actresses upon the stage. Presently he cast “a benevolent glance” upon Mlle. Arnould, when that lady so far forgot the respect due to the visitor’s exalted rank as to smile familiarly in his direction, “exactly as she might have done to a comrade or a lover.” The audience, the chronicler tell us, was inexpressibly shocked at the lady’s behaviour, and “testified its indignation in a manner that was humiliating to her.”[51]

Meanwhile, Gluck was at work upon his Alceste, and Sophie had every reason to believe that, after her brilliant triumph in Iphigénie and her very successful rendering of the part of Eurydice, she would again be cast for the principal rôle. But alas! a bitter disappointment was in store for her.