Sophie Arnould (a charming name, which the bearer thereof owed in part to her own good taste, and in no way to her godfathers and godmothers, who christened her Anne-Madeleine) made her début in the year 1757, at the age of thirteen. She wore a lilac dress, embroidered in silver. Her talent, combined with her wonderful beauty, ensured her immediate success, and before she had been on the stage a fortnight, all Paris was in love with her. When she was announced to sing, the doors of the Opera were besieged by such crowds that Fréron declared he scarcely thought persons would give themselves so much trouble to enter into paradise. The fascinating Sophie was as witty as she was beautiful, and her mots (the most striking of which are quoted by M. A. Houssaye in his Galerie du 18me. Siècle), were repeated by all the fashionable poets and philosophers of Paris. Her suppers soon became celebrated, but her life of pleasure did not cause her to forget the Opera. She is said to have sung with "a limpid and melodious voice," and to have acted with "all the grace and sentiment of a practiced comédienne."[40] Garrick saw her when he was in Paris, and declared that she was the only actress on the French stage who had really touched his heart.[41]
As an instance of the effect her singing had upon the public, I may mention that in 1772, Mademoiselle Arnould refused to perform one evening, and made her appearance among the audience, saying that she had come to take a lesson of her rival, Mademoiselle Beaumesnil; that the minister, de la Vrillière, instead of sending the capricious and facetious vocalist to For-l'Evèque, in accordance with the request of the directors, contented himself with reprimanding her; that a party was formed to hiss her violently the next night of her appearance, as a punishment for her impertinence; but that directly Sophie Arnould began to sing, the conspirators were disarmed, and instead of hissing, applauded her.
On the 1st of April, 1778, the day of Voltaire's coronation at the Comédie Française, all the most celebrated actresses in Paris went to compliment him. He returned their visits directly afterwards, and his conversation with Sophie Arnould at the opera, is said to have been a speaking duet of the most marvellous lightness and brilliancy.
When poor Sophie was getting old she continued to sing, and the Abbé Galiani said of her voice that it was "the finest asthma he had ever heard." This remark, however, belongs to the list of sharp things said during the Gluck and Piccinni contests, described at some length in the next chapter but one, and in which Sophie Arnould played an important part.
Mademoiselle Arnould's mots seem to me, for the most part, not very susceptible of satisfactory translation. I will quote a few of them in Sophie's own language.
SOPHIE ARNOULD.
Of the celebrated dancer, Madeleine Guimard, concerning whom I shall have something to say a few pages further on, Sophie Arnould, reflecting on Madeleine's remarkable thinness, observed "ce petit ver à soie devrait être plus gras, elle ronge une si bonne feuille."[42]
Sophie was born in the room where Admiral Coligny was assassinated, and where the Duchess de Montbazon lived for some time. "Je suis venue au monde par une porte célèbre," she said.
One day, when a very dull work, Rameau's Zoroastre, was going to be played at the Académie, Beaumarchais, whose tedious drama Les deux amis had just been brought out at the Comédie Française, remarked to Sophie Arnould that there would be no people at the opera that evening,
"Je vous demande pardon," was the reply, "vos deux amis nous en enverront."