connoisseurs into opposing and embittered camps, in which the most
distinguished wits, poets, and philosophers ranged themselves, and
pelted each other with lampoons, pamphlets, and epigrams, which often
left wounds that had to be healed afterward by an application of cold
steel. In this contest Sophie Arnould, who had speedily emerged from her
retirement, took an active part, for Gluck had selected her to act the
part of his heroines. The dramatic intensity and breadth of the German
composer's conceptions admirably suited Sophie, whose genius for acting
was more marked than her skill in singing. The success of Gluck's
"Iphigenie" gave the finishing stroke to the antiquated operas of
Rameau, in which the singer had made her reputation, and offered her a
nobler vehicle for art-expression. On her association with Gluck's music
Sophie Arnould's fame in the history of art now chiefly rests.

Gluck, like all others, yielded to the magic charm of the beautiful and
witty singer, and went so far as to permit rehearsals to be held at her
own house. On one occasion the Prince de Hennin, one of the haughtiest
of the grand seigneurs of the period, intruded himself, and, finding
himself unnoticed, interrupted the rehearsal with the remark, "I
believe it is the custom in France to rise when any one enters the
room, especially if it be a person of some consideration." Gluck's eyes
flashed with rage, as he sprang threateningly to his feet. "The custom
in Germany, sir, is to rise only for those whom we esteem!" he said;
then turning to Sophie, who had been stopped in the middle of an air, "I
perceive, madame, that you are not mistress in your own house. I leave
you, and shall never set foot here again." Sophie is credited with
having commented on this scene with the remark that it was the only case
where she had ever witnessed a personal illustration of Æsop's fable of
the lion put to flight by an ass.*