[1] At the time when they wrote their monograph on the singer, Sophie’s Mémoires were in possession of the Goncourts; it is uncertain where they now are.

[2] Here is her acte de naissance, which also disposes of Castil-Blaze’s assertion that her real name was Anne Madeleine, and that she had adopted that of Sophie “as being more sweet and harmonious.”

“The year one thousand seven hundred and forty, 14th of February, Magdeleine Sophie, daughter of Jean Arnould, here present, and of Rose Marguerite Laurent, his wife, born yesterday, Rue Saint-Louis in this parish, has been baptized.

“Godfather: Louis Le Vasseur, manager of the King’s farms, Rue Coq-Héron, parish Saint-Eustache; godmother: Magdeleine Chevalier, spinster, Rue du Mail, of the above-mentioned parish.”

[3] When the Opera-house was burned down in April 1763, a lady of the Court asked Mlle. Arnould if she could give her any particulars about Cette terrible incendie. “All that I can tell you, Madame,” replied Sophie, “is that incendie is a masculine noun.”

[4] E. and J. de Goncourt, Sophie Arnould, p. 10.

[5] E. and J. de Goncourt, Sophie Arnould, p. 23.

[6] The song, it may be mentioned, began with the words, “Charmant amour,” a not inappropriate omen, remarks the lady’s latest biographer, Mr. Douglas, for one who was to become notorious for her gallantries.

[7] The opera, or rather its libretto, was an old one, having been first produced so far back as 1690, with music by Colasse, a pupil of Lulli. Fontenelle, who lived to be nearly a hundred, was still alive when Dauvergne informed him of his intention to write fresh music for the opera. “Monsieur,” he replied, “you do me too much honour. It is now well-nigh sixty years since that opera was first performed; it was a failure, but I never heard that that was the fault of the composer.”

[8] The music was by one composer, Mondonville, the choirmaster of the royal chapel at Versailles, but the three acts, which, as was not infrequently the case at this period, had little or no connection with one another, were by as many different pens; the first, entitled Vénus et Adonis, being by Collet; the second, called Bacchus et Érigone, by La Bruère; while the third, the title of which is not given, was believed to be the work of the Abbé de Voisenon.

[9] Catherine Nicole Le Maure (1704-1783). She made her début in 1724, in l’Europe galante, and at once took high rank as a singer. To an admirable voice she joined unusual talent as an actress, although she had received hardly any dramatic training. In 1743 she was imprisoned in For l’Évêque, for having refused to sing when ordered to do so, and, out of pique, quitted the stage, though she consented to reappear for a few evenings during the festivities in honour of the Dauphin’s first marriage in 1745.

[10] Journal et Mémoires, ii. 147.

[11] E. and J. de Goncourt, Sophie Arnould, p. 33.

[12] “As for my figure, truth compels me to admit that I am not tall, though I am slender and well-proportioned. I have a graceful frame, and my movements are easy. I have a well-formed leg and a pretty foot; hands and arms like a model; eyes well-set, and a frank, attractive, and intellectual face.”

[13] Jeze, L’État ou le tableau de Paris, 1760, cited by E. and J. de Goncourt.

[14] The Comédie-Française owed to him an improvement, the importance of which can hardly be over-estimated. He it was who first proposed the abolition of the custom of allowing the gens à la mode to occupy seats upon the stage itself, a custom which not only interfered with the movements of the actors, but was utterly destructive of all scenic illusion. The reconstruction of the auditorium which this change rendered necessary occupied nearly two months, and cost 40,000 livres, towards which the count himself subscribed 12,000 livres.

[15] Lauraguais, who affected Anglomania among his other eccentricities, may be said to have introduced horse-racing into France. The first race was run on February 28, 1766, on the Plaine de Sablons, at Neuilly. It was a match between Lauraguais and Lord Forbes, the former riding his own horse, and was witnessed by an immense crowd, which had the mortification of seeing the French champion vanquished. The contest led to a great deal of unpleasantness, for, a few days later, the count’s horse died, and the surgeons whom the disconsolate owner called in to dissect it declared that the animal had been poisoned. The English visitors were, of course, suspected, and so great was the outcry against them that another match, which had been arranged between the Prince of Nassau and Mr. Forth, was forbidden by the King.

[16] Collé, Journal et Mémoires, iii. 47 et seq. Collé declares that there was a scene in this play worthy of Molière himself. King Pétaud appears dressed as a cook, with a white cap on his head and a knife by his side. He has just made some pâtés, which he hands round to his obsequious courtiers, who pronounce them divine, delicious, inimitable, and so forth. One grey-haired old gentleman however refrains from joining in the general chorus of admiration, and when the King, piqued by his indifference, inquires the reason, replies: “Pardon me, Sire; the pâtés are indeed excellent. But, if your Majesty will permit me to speak without flattery, I would venture to observe that the woodcock-pie which you made the day before yesterday appeared to me infinitely superior to them.” Thereupon the King’s brow clears, and, clapping the astute old man on the shoulder, he exclaims: “That is right; I always like people to tell me the truth.” Louis XV., as every one knows, was very fond of preparing dishes with his own royal hands, and decidedly vain of his culinary skill, and no one with any acquaintance with the Court could possibly have missed the point of the satire.

[17] Diderot, Mémoires et Correspondance, ii. 62.

[18] Mémoires et Correspondance, ii. 42.

[19] Campardon, Académie Royale de Musique au XVIII^e siècle: Article, “Arnould.”

[20] Here, according to that princess, was one of le Grand Monarque’s feats in gastronomy: “Four platefuls of different soups, a whole pheasant, a partridge, a plateful of salad, mutton hashed with garlic, two good-sized slices of ham, and afterwards fruit and sweetmeats.”

[21] Some writers declare that, in his passions, he would destroy everything breakable within his reach; others, that he went so far as to strike and even, occasionally, to bite the unfortunate Sophie.

[22] He had previously written a Clytemnestre, which Diderot, having had the privilege of hearing the author read it, tells us contained some very fine verses, the work, however, not of the count, but of a “ghost” in his employ, named Clinchant. This play Lauraguais endeavoured to prevail upon the Comédie-Française to produce. The actors found themselves in a somewhat embarrassing position, as the count had just subscribed the 12,000 livres already mentioned towards the alterations in the theatre necessitated by the removal of the seats on the stage, and, from motives of gratitude, they did not like to refuse. On the other hand, the tragedy was so utterly opposed to all the canons of dramatic art that to produce it would be to court not only failure but ridicule. Eventually, however, they persuaded him to withdraw his offer. Notwithstanding its rejection by the Comédie-Française, Lauraguais thought so highly of his Clytemnestre that he caused it to be printed, and sent a copy to Voltaire, who wrote back that his own Oreste was but “une plate machine” in comparison with M. le Comte’s superb masterpiece. The noble author, says Diderot, took the poet quite seriously, and his delight and pride knew no bounds.

[23] Diderot, Correspondance et Mémoires, ii. 69. Diderot, who had a high opinion of Sophie and was also a friend of Lauraguais, was much distressed by her conduct. Under date October 7, 1761, he writes to Mlle. Voland: “This affair displeases me more than I can tell you. This girl had two children by him (Lauraguais); he was the man of her choice; there had been no constraint, no self-interest, none of those things which go to make ordinary engagements. If ever there was a sacrament, this was one; so much the more so, since it is not in the nature of a man to espouse only one woman. She forgets that she is married. She forgets that she is a mother. It is not only a lover; it is the father of her children whom she is leaving. Mlle. Arnould is something more in my eyes than a little baggage.”

[24] Favart, Mémoires et Correspondance, i. 195. Several writers refuse to accept this letter as genuine, believing that Favart invented it. It must be admitted, however, that its dry humour is very characteristic of Sophie.

[25] Mr. Sutherland Edwards, in his “Idols of the French Stage” (vol. i. p. 181), falls into a singular error. He states that, on his return to Paris, Lauraguais found that Sophie “had placed herself under the protection of M. de Saint-Florentin, for whom, however, she had no affection.” Sophie did certainly place herself under the protection of Saint-Florentin; but it was not his private but his official protection, as Minister for Paris and Chief of the Police; a not altogether unnecessary precaution, since Lauraguais had threatened to poison her.

[26] Mémoires secrets de la République des Lettres.

[27] Grimm, Correspondance littéraire, iii. 297.

[28] Arnoldiana. According to another account, Choiseul came to Sophie’s dressing-room, on the conclusion of the performance, to compliment her and assure her of the great pleasure she had afforded the King. “Ah well!” she replied, “tell his Majesty that, if he is satisfied with Iphise, he should restore to her Dardanus!”

[29] Correspondance littéraire, v. 431.

[30] Correspondance littéraire, vi. 145. Mlle. Heinel seems also to have made a very favourable impression upon Horace Walpole, who mentions her several times in his letters, and always in terms of admiration. After seeing her for the first time, on the occasion of his visit to Paris, in 1771, he writes to the Earl of Strafford: “There is a finer dancer [than Mlle. Guimard], whom M. Hobart is to transplant to London; a Mademoiselle Heinel, or Ingle, a Fleming. She is tall, perfectly made, very handsome, and has a set of attitudes copied from the classics. She moves as gracefully slow as Pygmalion’s statue when it was coming to life, and moves her leg round as imperceptibly as if she was dancing in the Zodiac. But she is not Virgo.” The lady came to London that same winter, and danced for some months at Covent Garden, where she created as much enthusiasm as in Paris. On April 21, 1772, Walpole writes again: “I am just going to the Opera to hear Milice sing. I do not believe he will draw such audiences as Mlle. Heinel has done. The town has an idle notion that she made so much impression upon a very high heart, that it is thought prudent to keep it out of her way. She is the most graceful figure in the world, with charming eyes, beautiful mouth, and lovely countenance; yet I do not think we shall see a Dame du Barri on this side the Channel.”

The staid Dr. Burney was another of Mlle. Heinel’s admirers, and informs us that, besides the six hundred pounds salary she received from the management of Covent Garden, she was “complimented with a regallo of six hundred more from the Macaroni Club.”

[31] This prince is said to have had sixty acknowledged mistresses, besides occasional and “imperceptible” ones.

[32] In her Mémoires, Sophie writes: “The prince had, for a moment, the idea of devoting himself to me. But he wished me to be entirely his own, without any distraction or reserve. I never had any taste for exaggerated grandeurs, and am of the opinion of that philosopher who said that happiness is only to be found in moderation.”

[33] E. and J. de Concourt, Sophie Arnould, p. 70. According to the Chronique scandaleuse, Sophie had a daughter by the Prince de Condé, who afterwards married the Comte de R***.

[34] He was the architect of Bagatelle, in the Bois de Boulogne, which he built for the Comte d’Artois, and designed the gardens of the Château de Meréville (Seine-et-Oise) and of Belœil, in Belgium, the seat of the Prince de Ligne. Extant specimens of his work are the hôtel built for Mlle. Contat, at the corner of the Rue de Berri, in the Champs-Elysées, and the dome of the old Halle aux Blés, now the Bourse du Commerce.

[35] One which accused her of practising the shameful vices of antiquity. See E. and J. de Goncourt’s Sophie Arnould, p. 86 et seq.

[36] Madame du Barry was, however, amply avenged. Sophie’s comrades of the theatre, scarcely one of whom but had suffered from her sarcastic tongue, were not slow to avail themselves of so excellent an opportunity of paying their tormentor back in her own coin, and, for some time afterwards, never failed to let fall the odious word “Hôpital” whenever Mlle. Arnould happened to be within earshot; a proceeding which, Bachaumont tells us, “no doubt greatly humiliated that superb queen of opera.”

[37] Mémoires secrets, vi. 136.

[38] Eighteenth-century composers appear to have been continually tinkering with this unfortunate opera, one of the most popular of the famous Lulli-Quinault series. When it was revived in January 1759, La Borde, Louis XV.’s musical valet-de-chambre, made various alterations in the music, “which disgusted equally the partisans of the old and the new schools.” In November 1771, Berton, one of the directors of the Opera, substituted some very inferior melodies of his own, which, if possible, were even less to the taste of the audience, and, eight years later, Johann Christian Bach, the eleventh son of the celebrated master, tried his hand at the score, likewise without success.

[39] This was one of the most successful of Sophie’s “creations.” The piece, the libretto of which had been adapted by Sedaine from a conte of the Chevalier de Boufflers, published in 1761, was played twenty-six times in succession, an unusually long run in those days.

[40] The Mercure is lavish in its praise of Sophie’s rendering of Colin, the boy’s part, in Jean Jacques Rousseau’s Devin du Village, in which she appeared in December 1767. But Mr. Douglas thinks that her performance was less successful than that rather partial organ declared it to be. At all events, he says, she did not repeat the experiment, and was always extremely sarcastic if any of her fellow actresses undertook masculine parts. Mlle. Allard, whose innumerable galanteries had astonished, and almost shocked, even the nymphs of the Opera, one day happened to remark, after playing such a part, that she believed that half the audience really thought she was a boy. “But the other half knew you were not, ma chère,” observed Sophie.

[41] Mr. Ernest Newman, “Gluck and the Opera,” p. 133.

[42] Gluck et Piccini, p. 89.

[43] Rousseau, La Nouvelle Héloïse.

[44] E. and J. de Goncourt, Sophie Arnould, p. 119.

[45] Desnoiresterres, Gluck et Piccini, p. 93.

[46] Mr. Ernest Newman, “Gluck and the Opera,” p. 139.

[47] The Mémoires secrets attribute much of the applause to “the desire of the public to please Madame la Dauphine, who did not cease to clap her hands, and thus compelled the Comtesse de Provence, the princes, and all the boxes to do likewise.”

[48] Mémoires secrets, vii. 185.

[49] Grimm, Correspondance littéraire, viii. 322.

[50] Métra, Correspondance secrète, i. 64.

[51] Mémoires secrets, viii. 321.

[52] Campardon, L’Académie royale de Musique au XVIII^e siècle: Article, “Levasseur.”

[53] Gluck et Piccini, p. 132.

[54] By the rules of the Opera, Sophie, as senior “actrice chantante seule” could have insisted, had she been so minded, on taking the part of Alceste. In 1774, Mlle. Duplant, who then occupied that position, claimed the title-part in Iphigénie, and considerable difficulty was experienced in persuading her to forego her claim, and be content with Clytemnestra.

[55] In October of that year, two successive issues of this worthy’s organ were confiscated by the police, on account of the scandalous attacks upon certain members of the theatrical profession which they contained.

[56] Mémoires secrets, ix. 230.

[57] La Harpe relates that in the scene where Iphigenia says to Achilles “Vous brûlez que je sois partie,” the pit applied the words to the actress and burst into ironical applause.

[58] See p. 170 infra.

[59] In addition to her pensions, she had 2000 livres a year from a settlement made upon her by Lauraguais, and owned a house at Port-à-l’Anglais, which she sold, some months after her retirement from the stage, for 20,000 livres. From a letter to Alleaume, written apparently during the winter of 1775-1776, we learn that she was then in receipt of allowances from at least two more of her noble lovers; 4250 livres from the Prince de Conti, and 3250 from the Prince de Condé; but how long these payments were continued it is impossible to say.

[60] The antiquary Millin, who annotated a copy of Arnoldiana which afterwards came into the Goncourts’ possession, asserts that she had had tender relations with the Comte d’Artois and “my lord” Stuart.

[61] Mr. R. B. Douglas, “Sophie Arnould: actress and wit,” p. 209.

[62] Cited by the Goncourts, Sophie Arnould, p. 132.

[63] La Chronique scandaleuse, No. 29, cited by E. and J. de Goncourt, Sophie Arnould, p. 149.

[64] According to another account, to which the Goncourts and Mr. R. B. Douglas both give credence, it was a bust of Sophie herself, by Houdon, representing her as Iphigenia; and the agents of the revolutionary committee “mistook a sky-blue band on which was painted a quarter-moon and two stars for the scarf of Marat.” But is not this making rather a severe call upon our credulity?

[65] According to Castil-Blaze, during the Reign of Terror, Lauraguais disguised himself as a coachman and drove a fiacre.

[66] The official Republican name for the Opera.

[67] Cited by E. and J. de Goncourt, Sophie Arnould, p. 302.

[68] Campardon, Académie royale de Musique au XVIII^e siècle: Article, “Guimard.”

[69] Ibid.

[70] Arnoldiana.

[71] Edmond de Goncourt, La Guimard, p. 18.

[72] Castil-Blaze, Histoire de l’Académie de Musique, i. 267.

[73] Cited by Edmond de Goncourt, La Guimard, p. 304 note.

[74] The Archbishop of Sens.

[75] He was the author of Pensées et Maximes, published some years after his death, a work in the style of La Rochefoucauld, which reveals him as a keen observer of life and particularly of woman. Here are some of his reflections:

“Vouloir qu’on soit amoureux avec raison, c’est vouloir qu’on soit fou avec raison.”

“Une femme qui sait mal est moins supportable qu’une femme qui ne sait rien.”

“Le plaisir est comme une fleur, dont l’odeur est délicate, et qu’il faut sentir légèrement, si on veut toujours lui trouver le même parfum.”

“La plupart des femmes ressemblent à des énigmes qui cessent de plaire, dès qu’elles sont devinées.

“Qui aime est bien plus heureux que d’être aimé.

“On combat l’amour par la fuite et la colère par le silence.”

[76] Mémoires secrets, iii. 383.

[77] The titles of some of the pieces represented speak for themselves: Junon et Ganymède, comédie érotique; La Vierge de Babylone, comédie érotique; César et les deux Vestales, pièce érotique en un acte; Héloïse et Abailard, comédie érotique en un acte; Ninon et Lachatre, scène érotique; Minette et Finette, ou les Épreuves d’amour, and so forth.

[78] It was composed by Armand, concierge of the Hôtel des Comédiens, and author of several dramas, at the instance of La Borde, who had recommended him to make it as salacious as possible.

[79] Mlle. Guimard had, in point of fact, a third lover already, in the person of the dancer Dauberval; but he was a negligible quantity, so far as contributions to the lady’s revenues were concerned. A satirical print of the time entitled Concert à trois, shows us the ballerina holding a roll of music in her hand and about to sing, her chief protector, the Prince de Soubise, playing the violin, the sous-entreteneur, La Borde, beating time with the conductor’s bâton, and Dauberval playing the cornet.

[80] The Mémoires secrets attribute another source to the 6000 livres: “This actress, very celebrated by her talents, having had a rendezvous in an isolated faubourg with a man whose robe exacted the most profound mystery, had occasion to witness the misery, grief, and despair of the people of this neighbourhood, on account of the excessive cold. Her heart was moved with compassion at such a sight, and of the 2000 écus, the fruit of her iniquity, she herself distributed a part and carried the balance to the curé of Saint-Roch, for the same purpose.”

[81] Edmond de Goncourt, La Guimard, p. 89.

[82] Walpole, writing to Sir Horace Mann, on September 9, 1771, says of the Hôtel Guimard: “The salle-à-manger is to have des serres chaudes (sic) round it, with windows opening into the room; that it may have orange-flowers and odours all the winter.”

[83] Métra, Correspondance secrète, vol. viii. Edmond de Goncourt, La Guimard, p. 90.

[84] See note, p. 109, supra.

[85] Campardon, L’Académie royale de Musique au XVIII^e siècle: Article “Guimard.”

[86] Edmond de Goncourt, La Guimard, p. 226.

[87] Previous to this arrangement being arrived at, the Chevalier de Saint-George, the Creole, famous as a fencer and musician, offered, with the assistance of a society of capitalists, to undertake the direction of the Opera. But Mlle. Guimard, Sophie Arnould, and certain other nymphs, jealous of the honour of their profession, addressed a petition to the Queen, representing that their honour would not allow them to submit to the direction of a mulatto.

[88] Campardon, L’Académie royale de Musique au XVIII^e siècle: Article, “Dauvergne.”

[89] The dancer Nivelon, who escaped across the Belgian frontier, with the intention of making his way to England, was hotly pursued by a police-agent named Quidor, with orders to arrest him and bring him back to Paris. While, however, Quidor was endeavouring to obtain an extradition warrant from the authorities at Brussels, the dancer contrived to reach Ostende and escaped across the Channel.

[90] Mémoires de Fleury, ii. 119.

[91] Edmond de Goncourt, La Guimard, p. 254.

[92] He was the son of a musician of the Opera, and was born on August 31, 1746. He became a dancer at the theatre in 1764, where he quickly distinguished himself by his skill in “la danse haute,” his performances in the ballets introduced into Les Amours de Ragonde (1773), Iphigénie en Aulide (1774), Philémon et Baucis (1774), and La Chercheuse d’esprit (1778), being particularly admired. In 1781, owing to an injury to one of his feet, he retired from the active exercise of his profession, and was appointed maître des ballets. In the following year, he received from the King a pension of 1500 livres, for his services as a dancer in ballets represented before the Court. A facile and graceful poet, Despréaux was the author of several parodies of operas: Christophe et Pierre Luc, parody of Castor et Pollux; Momi, parody of Iphigénie; Syncope, reine de Mic-Mac, parody of Pénélope, and Berlingue, parody of Ernelinde, which so pleased Louis XVI. when played before the Court, at Choisy, in 1777, that he granted the author a pension.—Campardon, Académie royale de Musique au XVIII^e siècle, i. 146.

[93] The marriage contract states that the property of the bride consisted of (1) an annuity of 12,000 livres; (2) a pension of 2600 livres on the King’s Privy Purse; (3) a pension of 6000 livres on the Royal Treasury; (4) a pension of 3000 livres on the treasury of the Opera; (5) a sum of 110,000 livres, partly in cash and partly in furniture, jewellery, linen, and wearing apparel.

[94] In a manuscript collection of his chansons preserved in the Bibliothèque de l’Opéra, he describes himself in the following terms:

[95] Edmond de Goncourt, La Guimard, p. 276.

[96] A. F. Didot, Souvenirs de Jean Étienne Despréaux, p. 34.

[97] Edmond de Goncourt, La Guimard, p. 301.

[98] Among the writers who have fallen into this error may be mentioned: Lemazurier (Galerie historique des acteurs du Théâtre-Français), M. de Manne (Galerie historique de la troupe de Voltaire and Biographie générale: Article, “Raucourt”), Émile Gaboriau (Les Comédiennes adorées), Mr. Sutherland Edwards (“Idols of the French Stage”), and Mr. Frederick Hawkins (“The French Stage in the Eighteenth Century”).

[99] Mlle. Clairon subsequently wrote to Larive: “Mlle. Raucourt has made her début with the greatest success. All Paris dotes on her, and, although Brizard may be her only recognised master, people name, at each verse which they hear her utter, the person of whom she has taken lessons. She is only sixteen and a half; she is beautiful as an angel, sensible, noble. She will be, I hope, a charming subject, and I dare believe that Madame Vestris will gnaw her fingers, more than once, at having disobliged me.... This woman is the first person whom I have really hated. Mlle. Raucourt is worthy of all the pains that I am taking to form her, but I confess that I find it very sweet, while serving her, to avenge myself for all the ingratitude and insolence of the other.” Cited by Edmond de Goncourt, Mademoiselle Clairon, p. 285.

[100] Brizard played the part of fidus Achates in Didon.

[101] Correspondance littéraire, Supplementary volume, p. 352.

[102] Mercure de France, January 1773.

[103] Mémoires secrets, vi. 288.

[104] Gaboriau, Les Comédiennes adorées, p. 73. Manne, Galerie historique de la troupe de Voltaire.

[105] Grimm writes: “The Princesse de Beauvau, the Princesse de Guéménée, and the Duchesse de la Vallière have also made her presents of superb dresses. The greater part of those which the ladies of the Court had had made for the Dauphin’s marriage will go to enrich the theatrical wardrobe of Mlle. Raucourt, which will soon be of considerable size.”

[106] The name is frequently written Saint-Val.

[107] Mémoires secrets, vi. p. 297.

[108] Correspondance littéraire, Supplementary volume, p. 356.

[109] Mémoires secrets.

[110] He was the author of a highly successful comedy, called Le Séducteur, produced at the Comédie-Française, November 8, 1783.

[111] For further information concerning this unpleasant subject, into which we naturally do not care to enter, see Edmond de Goncourt’s Maison d’un artiste, ii. 60, and the same writer’s Sophie Arnould, p. 86. A similar charge was brought against Sophie Arnould, though, apparently, with less reason.

[112] Correspondance littéraire, ii. 282.

[113] The expelled actress may have derived some little consolation from perusing the following criticism of her successor in the Nouvelles à la main: “July 9.—Mlle. Sainval the younger made her first appearance yesterday, in Zaïre, on her return to the Comédie. She is ugly, and particularly hideous when she weeps, ungraceful, flat-breasted, and has a doleful and monotonous voice.”

[114] Campardon, Les Comédiens du Roi de la Troupe française, p. 251.

[115] Ibid. p. 255.

[116] La Harpe, Correspondance littéraire, ii. 415.

[117] Hawkins, “The French Stage in the Eighteenth Century,” ii. 250 et seq.

[118] La Harpe, Correspondance littéraire, iii. 3 et seq.

[119] Mémoires secrets, xiv. 214 et seq.

[120] Mémoires secrets, xix. 103.

[121] La Harpe, Correspondance littéraire, iii. 327. La Harpe states that a rumour was current that Mlle. Raucourt had only lent her name to the play, and that it was really the work of either Durosoy or Monvel. This rumour, however, is indignantly repudiated by the Mémoires secrets, which declare it to be nothing but a malicious invention of the lady’s enemies.

[122] Mercure de France, March 1782.

[123] Hawkins, “The French Stage in the Eighteenth Century,” 339.

[124] Mémoires de Fleury, v. 228, et seq.

[125] Souvenirs, i. 82.

[126] M. Gaston Maugras, Les Comédiens hors la loi, p. 460 et seq.

[127] Gaboriau, Les Comédiennes adorées, p. 151.

[128] Campardon, Les Comédiens du Roi de la Troupe italienne: Article, “Dugazon.”

[129] Mes Récapitulations, i. 124.

[130] Souvenirs, i. 94.

[131] Thurner, Les Reines de Chant, p. 66.

[132] Correspondance littéraire, xi. 417.

[133] Correspondance littéraire, xii. 261. At the conclusion of the piece on the first evening, Madame Dugazon was called before the curtain, “an honour,” say the Mémoires secrets, “which had never yet been accorded to any actress at this theatre or any other.”

[134] Campardon, Les Comédiens du Roi de la Troupe italienne: Article, “Dugazon.”

[135] Mes Récapitulations, i. 125.

[136] Correspondance littéraire, xiii. 132.

[137] Thurner, Les Reines du Chant, p. 65.

[138] Gaboriau, Les Comédiennes adorées, p. 163.

[139] Gaboriau, Les Comédiennes adorées, p. 165.

[140] Madame Dugazon’s feelings were probably intensified by the fact that her husband had espoused the popular side with enthusiasm, and had been appointed aide-de-camp to the notorious Santerre. After the 9th Thermidor, the actor was, for some time, the object of hostile demonstrations whenever he appeared on the stage. But he courageously refused to bow before the storm, and, little by little, the public forgave him. In 1807 he retired from the stage, and, two years later, died, “a raving madman,” on an estate which he had bought near Orléans.

[141] Souvenirs.

[142] He composed three operas: Marguerite de Waldemar (1812), la Noce écossaise (1814), and le Chevalier d’industrie (1818); and two ballets: les Fiances de Caserte and Alfred le Grand. But none of these pieces seem to have been at all favourably received. He died in 1826, five years after his mother.

[143] Gaboriau, Les Comédiennes adorées, p. 170.

[144] In Louise Contat’s acte de naissance, which bears date June 16, 1760, her father, Jean François Contat, describes himself as “soldat de la maréchaussée et marchand de bas privilégié à Paris.”—Jal, Dictionnaire de Biographie et d’Histoire, article “Contat.”

[145] Hawkins, “The French Stage in the Eighteenth Century,” ii. 209.

[146] Mémoires de Fleury, ii. 217.

[147] The critic of the Mercure wrote: “What respect can they (men of letters) hope to inspire, when they themselves become the first to denounce their own secret vices, and, to sum up all in one word, when their mind seems to make a jest of calumniating their heart?”

[148] For an account of this affair, see the author’s “Queens of the French Stage,” p. 324 et seq.

[149] La Harpe, Correspondance littéraire, iv. 51.

[150] The friendship between Beaumarchais and the Comte de Vaudreuil had its origin in the following incident. The latter had had a dispute, at one of the Court theatres, with a M. de Miromesnil, a distinguished amateur actor, as to the manner in which drunkenness should be depicted on the stage. Some of the company jestingly ascribed the count’s remarks to personal experience. “Nay,” answered Vaudreuil, “they are not my own. I borrow the lesson from the great Garrick, who gave it on the Boulevards to Préville, who acted upon it before a few working men, and caused them to take the mimicry for reality.” Miromesnil disputed the authenticity of the anecdote, and, on being assured that it was true, offered to lay a heavy wager that a Boulevard was not the place. Beaumarchais happened to be standing by. “Take the wager,” he whispered to the count; “it is yours.” Vaudreuil did so. Beaumarchais left the theatre, and shortly afterwards returned with a letter, in which Garrick himself stated that the incident occurred on the Boulevards. From that moment, the count evinced a warm interest in the dramatist’s fortunes.—Hawkins, “The French Stage in the Eighteenth Century,” ii. 291.

[151] Gabriel Henri Gaillard (1726-1806). His chief works were: L’Histoire de François I^er, dit le Grand Roi et le Père des Lettres (1766-1769); L’Histoire de la Rivalité de la France et de l’Angleterre (1771-1777), which procured him admission to the Academy; and L’Histoire de la Rivalité de la France et de l’Espagne (1800).

[152] Loménie, Beaumarchais et son temps, iv.

[153] Souvenirs, i. 100.

[154] Mémoires de Fleury, ii. 413.

[155] Mémoires de Fleury, ii. 415 et seq.

[156] Cited by Gaboriau, Les Comédiennes adorées, p. 180.

[157] And well he deserved his triumph, for surely never had actor been at more pains to secure a perfect resemblance to the character he was to impersonate! “In the first place,” he tells us, in his Mémoires, “I sought to imbue myself with the idea that my apartments were in Potsdam, instead of in Paris; and I resolved to retire to rest, to take my meals, to move, and speak, during two whole months, in the full persuasion that I was Frederick the Great. The better to identify myself with the character, I used every morning to dress myself in the military coat, hat, boots, &c., I had ordered for the part. Thus equipped, I would seat myself before my looking-glass, at one side of which hung Ramberg’s picture of the King. Then, with the help of hair pencils and a palette spread with black, white, red, blue, and yellow, I endeavoured to paint my face to the resemblance of the picture.”

[158] Gaboriau, Les Comédiennes adorées, p. 191.

[159] M. Victor du Bled, Les Comédiens français pendant la Révolution, Revue des Deux Mondes, vol. cxxiv.

[160] Les Comédiennes adorées, p. 194.

[161] See pp. 182 et seq., supra.

[162] M. Victor du Bled, Les Comédiens français pendant la Révolution, Revue des Deux Mondes, vol. cxxiv.

[163] M. Victor du Bled, Les Comédiens français pendant la Révolution, Revue des Deux Mondes, vol. cxxiv.

[164] Many amusing anecdotes are told of Lemercier’s wit. Here is one, which Ernest Legouvé relates in his Soixante ans de souvenirs: “One evening, he (Lemercier) was seated on a low stool in the gangway of the first gallery of the Théâtre-Français. Enter a young officer, making a great deal of noise, slamming the door violently behind him, and taking his stand right in front of M. Lemercier. ‘Monsieur,’ says the poet, very gently, ‘you prevent my seeing anything.’ The officer turns round and, staring from his towering height at the little, inoffensive-looking civilian, humbly seated on his low stool, resumes his former position. ‘Monsieur,’ repeats M. Lemercier, more emphatically, ‘I have told you that you prevent me from seeing the stage, and I command you to get out of the way.’ ‘You command!’ retorts his interlocutor, in a tone of contempt; ‘do you know to whom you are speaking? You are speaking to a man who brought back the standards from the army of Italy!’ ‘That is very possible, Monsieur, seeing that it was an ass which carried Christ!’ As a matter of course, there was a duel, and the officer had his arm broken by a bullet.”

[165] Ducis’s adaptation—or distortion—of Othello, first produced on November 26, 1772, differed materially from the original play. “Iago’s villainy,” says Mr. Hawkins, in his “French Stage in the Eighteenth Century,” “was thought too deep and patent, especially for a Parisian audience. Pesare, as the ancient is called here, is accordingly transformed into something like an ordinary confidant, to all appearance full of sincere bonhomie, and with his devilish purpose hidden until he has been seen for the last time. Ducis, it has been well remarked, was extremely afraid of arousing too much emotion among his auditors. Another essential difference lay in Cassio being really in love with Desdemona (re-named Hédelmone).” Changes of minor importance were the substitution of a letter for the handkerchief, and a poniard for the pillow. Ducis also adapted—or distorted—Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth, and Lear.

[166] Journal de Paris, March 7, 1809.

[167] Antoine Dubois (1756-1837), the leading obstetric surgeon of the time. He assisted at the accouchement of the Empress Marie Louise, and was made a baron of the Empire. His son, Paul Dubois, was also a celebrated accoucheur, and the author of several able works on obstetrics.

[168] A character in the Joueur of Regnard.

[169] Gaboriau, Les Comédiennes adorées, p. 207.

[170] Edmond de Goncourt, Madame Saint-Huberty, d’après sa correspondance et ses papiers de famille, p. 12.

[171] Cited by Edmond de Goncourt, Madame Saint-Huberty, d’après sa correspondance et ses papiers de famille, p. 14.

[172] If one is to believe a little brochure of the time, bearing the title of Chronique scandaleuse des théâtres, ou Aventures des plus célèbres actrices, chanteuses, danseuses, et figurantes, the lessons given by Gluck to Madame Saint-Huberty were not entirely gratuitous. “In one of those moments of incontinency to which the greatest men often yield, the celebrated Gluck recognised in her talents which had not even been suspected and which attached him to her. He resolved to make of her an actress. In like manner, the famous Champmeslé was formed by the care and counsels of Racine. However, one ought not to compare the German Orpheus to the French Euripides. Gluck sought less to teach the sentiments of which he taught her the expression, than to inspire her with the fire of his genius, and, as he had always preserved the rusticity of his German manners, he did not often fail to commit himself to it in his lessons....”

[173] All the critics were not so kind as the scribe of the Mercure, and one went so far as to declare that the débutante was “very ugly, very bad,” and that “she could not possibly long retain her position on the lyric stage.”

[174] Edmond de Goncourt, Madame Saint-Huberty, p. 20.

[175] It is not clear what papers are referred to, but, in all probability, they were those relating to the separation of her goods from those of her husband which she had obtained at Warsaw, in March 1777.

[176] Cited by Campardon, L’Académie royale de Musique au XVIII^e siècle: Article, “Saint-Huberty.”

[177] Edmond de Goncourt, Madame Saint-Huberty, p. 42.

[178] Émile Gaboriau, Les Comédiennes adorées, p. 210.

[179] Edmond de Goncourt, Madame Saint-Huberty, p. 45.

[180] This multiplicity and exaggeration of gestures appears to have been Madame Saint-Huberty’s principal fault in the early part of her career. On another occasion, she was reproached with her resemblance to a woman “persecuted by internal convulsions.”

[181] Rosalie Levasseur had sung charmingly on the opening night; but on the second, she was so intoxicated as to be almost incapable of struggling through the part. At the conclusion of the performance she was arrested and conveyed to For l’Évêque.

[182] Adolphe Jullien, L’Opéra secret au XVIII^e siècle: Madame Saint-Huberty.

[183] Recherches sur les costumes et sur les théâtres de toutes les nations, i. 35.

[184] Ginguéné, Notice sur la vie et les ouvrages de Nicolas Piccini.

[185] L’Opéra secret au XVIII^e siècle: Madame Saint-Huberty.

[186] “Madame Saint-Huberty played the part of Rosette with an intelligence, a sensibility, and a fervour of expression, which proves the extent and the variety of her talent, equally well calculated to render every rôle and to sing all kinds of music.”—Mercure de France, December 1782.

[187] Adolphe Jullien, L’Opéra secret au XVIII^e siècle: Madame Saint-Huberty.

[188] Edmond de Goncourt, Madame Saint-Huberty, p. 5.

[189] Edmond de Goncourt, Madame Saint-Huberty, p. 75 et seq. Adolphe Jullien, L’Opéra secret au XVIII^e siècle: Madame Saint-Huberty.

[190] Adolphe Jullien, L’Opéra secret au XVIII^e siècle: Madame Saint-Huberty.

[191] Mémoires de Marmontel (edit. 1804), iii. 224 et seq.

[192] See the author’s “Queens of the French Stage” (London: Harpers’; New York: Scribners’. 1905), p. 314 et seq.

[193] The train of an ordinary actress was held by a page dressed in black and white, but actresses representing queens were entitled to two trains and two pages, who followed them everywhere they went. “Nothing is more diverting,” writes a critic of the time, “than the perpetual movement of these little rascals, who have to run after the actress when she is rushing up and down the stage in moments of great distress. Their activity throws them into a state of perspiration, whilst their embarrassment and blunders invariably excite laughter. Thus a farce is always going on, which agreeably diverts the spectator in sad or touching situations.”

[194] Adolphe Jullien, L’Opéra secret au XVIII^e siècle: Madame Saint-Huberty.

[195] On December 6, which was an off-day at the Opera, Madame Saint-Huberty attended a performance of the Fausse Lord, music by Piccini, words by Piccini fils, at the Comédie-Italienne. At the conclusion of the piece, when she was leaving her box, the whole audience rose, and burst into a tumult of applause, shouting: “Vive la reine de Carthage!” If, remarks Grimm, the public had been aware that, on that very day, by the exercise of rare delicacy and tact, the artiste had succeeded in reconciling Piccini and Sacchini, who had long been at variance, their enthusiasm would have been, if it were possible, even greater.

[196] Notice sur la vie et les ouvrages de Nicolas Piccini.

[197] Les Comédiennes adorées, p. 217.

[198] Grimm, Correspondance littéraire, xii. 10.

[199] Grimm, Correspondance littéraire, xii. 10.

[200] Adolphe Jullien, L’Opéra secret au XVIII^e siècle: Madame Saint-Huberty. M. Jullien says “in less than five months.” He forgets that Didon, although not seen at the Opera until December 1 1783, had been performed at Fontainebleau in the previous October.

[201] Adolphe Jullien, L’Opéra secret au XVIII^e siècle: Madame Saint-Huberty.

[202] See p. 128 note, supra.

[203] Mémoires secrets, December 20, 1786.

[204] Cited by Campardon, Académie royal de Musique au XVIII^e siècle: Article, “Saint-Huberty.”

[205] Cited by Edmond de Goncourt, Madame Saint-Huberty, p. 190.

[206] The superintendent of the wardrobe of the Opera.

[207] Cited by Edmond de Goncourt, Madame Saint-Huberty, p. 171.

[208] It is true that Métra writes, under date March 24, 1783, as follows: “Mlle. Laguerre had been for a long time the mistress of the Duc de Bouillon. Madame Saint-Huberti has replaced her in the heart of this prince and in her rights on his fortune. He has just purchased her favours, so many times cheaply disposed of, by a contract of one hundred thousand écus.” But Edmond de Goncourt is inclined to think that Métra is here drawing upon his very vivid imagination with more than his usual freedom.

[209] Cited by Edmond de Goncourt, Madame Saint-Huberty, p. 186.

[210] Cabanis was the Comte d’Antraigues’s physician in Paris. Shortly before this letter was written, Madame Saint-Huberty had placed herself under his care and presumably he was still prescribing for her.

[211] All sorts of legends have gathered round the Comte d’Antraigues, who is depicted as a kind of Royalist Marat, ready to demand, on the return of the Bourbons, “his four hundred thousand heads.” One story is to the effect that, when in Venice, he had been heard to boast that he had caused several agents of the French Republic to be poisoned.

[212] This was not the only reward of her services which the ex-singer received. In 1804, the Emperor of Austria accorded her a pension of 1000 ducats, “in memory of the services rendered by her to her late Majesty Marie Antoinette of France, as superintendent of the music of that august princess.” As for the Comte d’Antraigues, he was, for some years, in receipt of a handsome pension from the various European Courts, and, in May 1800, received from the king of the Two Sicilies the royal order of Constantine, together with a pension.

[213] Madame Saint-Huberty had, of course, never appeared at the Théâtre-Français. Such is fame!

[214] As a matter of fact, her savings only amounted to some 80,000 francs, the whole of which had been lost during the Revolution.

[215] The Times of July 28, 1812, states that it had been ascertained that Lorenzo was an intimate friend of Sellis, who, after attempting to assassinate the Duke of Cumberland, committed suicide.

[216] L’Opéra secret au XVIII^e siècle: Madame Saint-Huberty.