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 AEsop’s fable of the lion put to flight by an ass.*

* An English wit some years afterward perpetrated the same witticism on the occasion of Edmund Burke’s leaving the House of Commons in a rage, because he was interrupted in one of his great speeches by a thick-witted country member.

It is pleasant to know that the Prince de Hennin was obliged to make a humble apology to Gluck, by order of Marie Antoinette.

Sophie Arnould appeared with no less success in Gluck’s operas of “Orphee” and “Alceste” than in the first, and rose again to the topmost wave of court favor.  When “Orphee” was at rehearsal at the opera-house, it became the fashion of the great court dignitaries and the young chevaliers of the period to attend.  Gluck instantly, when he entered the theatre, threw off his coat and wig, and conducted in shirt-sleeves and cotton nightcap.  When the rehearsal was over, prince and marquis contended as to who should act the part of valet de chambre.  The composer at this time was the subject of almost idolatrous admiration, for it was at a later period that the old quarrels were resumed again with even more acrid personalities, and Piccini was imported from Italy by the Du Barry faction to be pitted against the German.  Gluck returned from Germany, whither he had gone on a visit, to find the opposition cabal in full force, and the merits of the Italian composer lauded to the skies by the fickle public of Paris.  But the former’s greatest opera, “Iphigenie en Tauride,” was produced, and gave a fatal blow to Piccini’s ascendancy, though his own opera on the same subject was afterward given with great care.  On the latter occasion Mile.  Laguerre, the principal singer, appeared on the stage intoxicated, and was unable to get through the music successfully.  “This is not ’Iphigenia in Tauris,’” said witty Sophie Arnould, “but Iphigenia in Champagne.”  Through some intrigue Gluck was persuaded to substitute Mile.  Levasseur for Mile.  Arnould in the interpretation of his last great operas; so Sophie, enraged and disheartened, but to the gratification of the myriads of people whom she had offended by her cutting witticisms, which had been showered alike on friends and enemies, retired to private life, and thenceforward rarely appeared on the stage.