excitement. From eleven o’clock in the morning the box-offices were
besieged by an immense concourse of people, and it was found necessary
to double and treble the ordinary guard, to prevent disorder. The public
interest was no doubt stimulated by rumours that the Anti-Gluckists were
planning a hostile demonstration; and Marie Antoinette, in great alarm
for the success of her _protégé_, sent orders to the Lieutenant of
Police to take measures to nip any such attempt in the bud. The
Dauphiness herself, accompanied by her obedient husband, the Comte and
Comtesse de Provence, the Duchesses de Chartres and de Bourbon, and the
Princesse de Lamballe, entered the theatre before the public was
admitted, and was followed by most of the Ministers and practically the
whole Court; indeed, but for the absence of Louis XV.--who scarcely ever
visited Paris during the later years of his reign--and Madame du Barry,
the spectators might have imagined themselves at Versailles or
Fontainebleau.
The opera was very cordially received,[47] though, according to Grimm,
parts pleased more than the ensemble. Both he and the _Mémoires secrets_
are very severe upon the ballets, “the airs of which had been absolutely
neglected”; while the latter declare that “the decorations were
pitiable.” The second representation did not take place until three days
later, when the crowd was even greater than on the first night, and a
brisk and remunerative business was done by certain speculators, who had
bought up the two-franc _parterre_ tickets and retailed them at from
three to seven times their value.[48] During the interval, certain
improvements appear to have been made in the ballets, scenery, and
accessories, for the opera was now “applauded to the skies, and, when
the curtain fell, the calls for the author lasted for half an hour.”[49]
The author, however, did not appear, being ill in bed, a fact which,
considering all the worry and anxiety he had suffered during the past
few weeks, will hardly occasion much surprise.
All the leading performers distinguished themselves, and Sophie covered
herself with glory. “Mlle. Arnould,” says the _Mercure_, “charms as much
as she astonishes us in the rôle of Iphigénie, by her dignified and
sympathetic acting, by the animation and correctness of her singing, by
an expression always true and delicate; by her voice itself, which seems
in this opera to possess more variety, power, and extent.” Grimm, a far
less partial observer, where Sophie is concerned, than the musical
critic of the _Mercure_, is equally enthusiastic: “She renders the part
of Iphigénie as it has perhaps never been rendered at the
Comédie-Française, and she sings not only with all the charm that we
have found in her for a long time past, but with an infinite precision,
which is less common with her. It seems that the Chevalier Gluck has
exactly divined the character and range of her voice and has assigned to
it all the notes of her part.”[50]
_Iphigénie_ grew in favour with each repetition and soon became quite
the rage, as a proof of which may be mentioned the fact that the ladies
began to wear a “headdress in the form of a coronet surmounted by the
crescent of Diana, whence escaped a kind of veil that covered the back
of the head; it was called _à l’Iphigénie_.”
Encouraged by the success which had attended _Iphigénie_, Gluck at once
set to work to adapt _Orfeo_, the most successful of the operas he had
produced in Italy, for the Paris stage. A good many alterations were
necessary, as the title-part had originally been written for a
contralto, the celebrated Guadagni, and it had now to be cast for
Legros. That gentleman, whose head would appear to have been slightly
turned by the applause he had received as Achilles, when handed his
part, informed the composer that he should decline to sing it, unless he
had an opportunity of making a brilliant exit in the first act; and this
necessitated further alterations. However, the rest of the troupe were
by this time far more amenable to reason than they had been during the
rehearsals of _Iphigénie_, and by the end of July the opera was ready
for production.
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.
We have mentioned that Rosalie Levasseur was the mistress of
Mercy-Argenteau, the Austrian Ambassador at the French Court. Shrewd and
capable though Mercy was in everything relating to his professional
duties--the manner in which he had succeeded in keeping the peace, and
all that it involved, between Marie Antoinette and Madame du Barry,
during the last years of the late King’s reign was a perfect masterpiece
of diplomacy--in love, he appears to have been as foolish as any of the
gilded youths who haunted the _coulisses_ of the Opera and the
Comédie-Française. The fair Rosalie exercised the most absolute
ascendency over him--a fact which was the more astonishing, as all Paris
knew that she had an _amant de cœur_, in the person of Nicolet, the
clown. Mercy, in fact, could deny her nothing, and even carried his
infatuation so far as to purchase for her a barony of the Holy Roman
Empire, with a considerable revenue; while, on another occasion, he
condescended to bribe Larrivée, whose singing in a certain opera the
young lady found was quite eclipsing her own, not to put forth his full
powers.[52]
Now, Rosalie had set her heart upon supplanting Sophie and filling the
principal part in the forthcoming opera, and called upon her lover to
assist her to realise her ambition. First, she suggested--or persuaded
Mercy to suggest--that Gluck should take up his quarters in her house,
in the Rue des Fossoyeurs-Saint-Germain, and give her singing-lessons; a
proposal to which the composer, who, besides being an Austrian subject,
was under considerable obligations to the Ambassador, who, with Marie
Antoinette, had been mainly instrumental in bringing him to Paris,
readily consented. Next, she induced him to teach her the music of
_Alceste_ and took care to show herself a docile as well as an
industrious pupil. Finally, she hinted pretty plainly that he ought to
entrust her with the title-part when the opera was produced, pointing
out that, though she might lack the histrionic ability of Mlle. Arnould,
her voice was fresher and more powerful, to say nothing of the advantage
which the composer would derive from having the part rendered exactly as
he desired, whereas the elder actress would very probably insist on
rendering it in conformity with her own ideas.
These arguments were, it is needless to say, warmly seconded by Mercy;
and Gluck, who was anxious to please the amorous diplomatist, and in
whose mind the insult he had received from Sophie’s titular protector
perhaps still rankled, after some hesitation, yielded to their wishes.
“Gluck,” says the composer’s French biographer, Desnoiresterres, “was
wanting in gratitude towards Mlle. Arnould, so charming, so passionate
in _Iphigénie_, so pathetic still, though somewhat eclipsed by Legros,
in _Orphée_.” At the same time, he points out that Gluck would never
have superseded Sophie had he thought that the change would prejudice
his work, and that the event proved that he had not over-estimated the
talents of Rosalie Levasseur, who, in the part of Alceste, “displayed
much art and sensibility.”[53]
Poor Sophie seems to have borne her disappointment, notwithstanding that
she could hardly have failed to see in it the end of her own dramatic
career, with praiseworthy equanimity, merely observing when she heard
the news: “Rosalie ought certainly to have the part; she has the voice
of the people.” This remark was duly repeated to her triumphant rival,
who retaliated by a disgusting lampoon, composed by one of her admirers
named Guichard, copies of which were printed and circulated in the
theatre, while others were sent to Sophie’s friends. The injured lady,
however, was equal to the occasion; she sent certain copies which had
fallen into her hands to the journals, and turned the tables very
adroitly on Mlle. Levasseur and her ally, all decent-minded persons
combining to condemn such methods of warfare.
Although the dethroned prima donna wisely refrained from giving public
expression to her feelings, others were not prepared to imitate her
discretion. The Prince d’Hénin, who could be very bold indeed when there
was no likelihood of his being called upon to fight a duel, having heard
that there was some talk of giving Sophie’s dressing-room at the Opera
to Rosalie Levasseur, went down to the theatre and threatened to flog
the unfortunate directors within an inch of their lives, if they dared
to inflict such a slight upon a lady whom he honoured with his
protection; the few critics who still remained faithful to the waning
star condemned in unmeasured terms the selection of Mlle. Levasseur for
so important a rôle in place of an actress “who had so long been, and
still was, the delight of the Opera”; while the Anti-Gluckists, only too
delighted to find so stout a stick wherewith to belabour the composer,
raised a perfect howl of indignation.
[Illustration: SOPHIE ARNOULD
From an engraving by PRUD’HON after the drawing by CŒURÉ in the
Collection of M. Godfrey Meyer]
The result of all this was most unfortunate for Sophie. The contest
between the Gluckists and their opponents had now reached a very acute
stage, and it was the general belief of the composer’s admirers that the
partisans of the old school were prepared to employ the most
questionable methods in order to counteract the ever-increasing
popularity of the German. A rumour spread that a cabal had been formed
to ensure the failure of _Alceste_, and that Sophie and her friends had
joined it. There seems to have been little truth in this report, the
best refutation of it being the fact that, although _Alceste_ was
somewhat coldly received at first, its success grew with each
performance, and none at all, so far as it concerned Sophie, who, in a
letter to a theatrical journal, _Le Nouveau Spectateur_, in
acknowledgment of some sympathetic references to herself which had
appeared in a previous issue, expressly disclaimed all hostility to
Gluck or Rosalie Levasseur:
“I await with impatience your judgment on the opera of _Alceste_,
which is about to interest and divide all Paris. Your views will
confirm those which I myself have formed from witnessing the
rehearsals only. If the success which I obtained in _Iphigénie_
might have predisposed me in favour of the authors, their want of
consideration, I even venture to say their bad conduct, towards me
might have served to alter my opinion of them. But I have too much
respect for myself to join (as these gentlemen would have people
believe) in any cabal which may be formed for or against the new
work. Such things I have always considered beneath me; the former
savours of _charlatanerie_, the latter of baseness. I have confined
my vengeance to not asserting my right to the principal rôle.[54]
But no personal reason will make me underrate genius, nor prevent
me from rendering justice to that of M. Gluck. He is, I proclaim it
aloud, the musician of the soul and master of all the modulations
that express sentiment and passion, especially grief.
“As to the author of the words, I leave to the public the task of
judging him. If I belonged to the Académie-Française, my opinion
would carry as much weight as that of any other of the Forty. But I
belong to the Académie Royale de Musique. I acknowledge my
incompetence and my motto is: _tacet_. I will merely permit myself
to say that one does not always find subjects as interesting as
Iphigenia, nor models as sublime as Racine.
“In regard to the performers, if I may be allowed to speak of them,
I should praise the acting of M. Gros [Legros], in the part of
Admetus, and the singing of Mlle. Rosalie, in the part of Alceste.
“I have the honour to be, very perfectly, Monsieur,
“Your very humble and very obedient servant,
“SOPHIE ARNOULD.”
The good effect which this letter might have produced was, unhappily,
entirely discounted by a series of bitter attacks upon _Alceste_, Gluck,
and Rosalie, which appeared in subsequent issues of the same journal. On
the day after the first performance of the new opera, the _Nouveau
Spectateur_ published an anonymous letter, containing the following
choice morsel of criticism:
“It seemed as if the music was being sung by invalids who had just
swallowed half a pint of emetic and were making futile efforts to
vomit.”
This was soon followed by a second letter reproaching Gluck for having
taken “a girl like Rosalie to play the part of Alceste,” and several
articles declaring that the opera was “more mournful than affecting,”
and that, in preferring Mlle. Levasseur to Mlle. Arnould, the composer
showed that he “misunderstood the taste of the nation in music as well
as in acting.”
These letters, there can be little doubt, were the work of Lefuel de
Méricourt, the editor of the journal in question, a libellous scribe of
the school of Pidansat de Mairobert.[55] But the admirers of Gluck and
the friends of Rosalie believed, or affected to believe, that, if not
written, they had, at any rate, been inspired by Sophie, and thirsted
for revenge.
Their opportunity arrived at the beginning of the following October,
when Sophie, in the vain hope of counterbalancing the success of Rosalie
in _Alceste_, created the part of Lyris in _Euthyme et Lyris_, an opera
by a very mediocre composer named Desormery. The theatre became the
battlefield of the contending factions. The Anti-Gluckists and the
personal friends of Sophie crowded to the Palais-Royal and loudly
acclaimed the singer; but the opposition came in even greater numbers,
and the applause was drowned in a tempest of groans, hisses, and
cat-calls.
Marie Antoinette heard of the scenes which were nightly taking place at
the theatre, and, though herself an enthusiastic supporter of Gluck, was
indignant at the treatment accorded an actress whose talent she had
often admired. She determined to come to her assistance and, therefore,
visited the Opera on two or three occasions and warmly applauded Sophie.
On the evenings on which she was present the opposition was silent, but
the next the hissing and hooting broke out with redoubled violence,
rather intensified than otherwise by the Queen’s intervention. “To-day,”
we read in the _Mémoires secrets_, “the Queen being no longer present
to intimidate the pit, the partisans of the Chevalier Gluck arrived in
force and completely overwhelmed Mlle. Arnoux (_sic_) with the hisses
which they had spared her at the previous performance. She also sang
badly. One does not believe that she will dare to continue to present
herself to the eyes of the public, and especially to its ears; and
perhaps this humiliation will mark the period of a definite retirement,
to which the weakness of her voice ought to have determined her ere
this.”[56]
The writer of the above paragraph was, no doubt, actuated by personal
hostility to the actress; but, at the same time, it was only too true
that Sophie’s voice was failing rapidly. Early in March 1777, _Iphigénie
en Aulide_ was again revived, and Sophie reappeared in the part which
she had created so brilliantly. She was now, however, manifestly unequal
to the effort required of her, and seemed to have altogether lost her
old power of holding the audience enthralled. “The public,” she had once
observed, “behaves to actresses like Love to warriors; it has no
consideration for an old soldier”; and she herself is a particularly
painful illustration of the truth of her own axiom, at least, so far as
it concerns the Parisian playgoers of the eighteenth century. Forgetting
the many triumphs of the woman who had for nearly twenty years been its
idol, the public seemed to see before it only a performer who had
committed the unpardonable offence of disappointing its expectations,
and joined with the Gluckists and the personal enemies of the actress in
expressing its disgust. Sophie was relentlessly hissed.[57]
Again the Queen attempted to stem the tide of public feeling by
attending the theatre and applauding the unfortunate singer. But Marie
Antoinette was now fast losing what popularity she had once enjoyed with
the Parisians, and even her presence and example “did not prevent the
malcontents from continuing their indecent manœuvres.”
It is not easy to understand why Sophie, who, in the heyday of her
success, had often absented herself from the theatre for months
together, merely from indolence or caprice, should have continued to
appear on the stage, in the face of these hostile demonstrations. The
only explanation which her biographers can find is that she had recently
concluded with the directors of the Opera a fresh arrangement, whereby,
in lieu of the regular salary which she hitherto received, she was to be
paid the sum of five louis for each performance, and that, since she is
known to have been at this time in pecuniary difficulties, she endured
the taunts of the public for the sake of the money.
For our own part, we are inclined to think that, though financial
considerations may not have been without their effect upon her decision,
her chief reason was a very different one. Sophie was a courageous and
high-spirited woman; she knew that the demonstrations against her were
prompted far more by personal animosity than by the failure of her
powers, and she was determined not to allow her enemies the satisfaction
of boasting that they had driven her from the stage.
The malice of her foes, however, pursued her even outside the theatre.
She was hissed while performing at a concert given by the Duc and
Duchesse de Chartres. She was driven, one day, from the garden of the
Palais-Royal, by an ill-bred youth, who, on recognising her, began to
sing the air from _Alceste_: “_Caron t’appelle, entends sa voix!_” Even
Lefuel de Méricourt abandoned her, and in an article in his precious
journal, “regretted the loss of a part of her physical gifts by an
actress who had been so long the idol of the public.”
At length, at the beginning of June 1778, Sophie decided to retire from
the stage. She continued to sing from time to time at the Concerts of
Sacred Music, at benefit performances, and in private theatres; but at
the Opera her name was definitely placed on the retired list. For her
services at the theatre, she received a pension of 2000 livres, and one
of the same amount in her quality as Court singer. This, as pensions
went in those days, must be considered liberal treatment and compares
very favourably with the lot of the actors and actresses of the
Comédie-Française, who, even after thirty years’ service, only received
a pension of 1500 livres. Mlle. Clairon, the greatest _tragédienne_ of
her time, on her retirement in 1766, after twenty-two years on the
stage, had to rest content with one of 1000 livres.
* * * * *