Chapter X: Part 10

A prolific source of dispute between Madame Saint-Huberty and the administration of the Opera, and one in which the singer is certainly entitled to every sympathy, was her determination to wear the costumes appropriate to the parts she played. The chief objection on the part of the authorities to gratify her wishes in this respect was on the score of expense, for never was theatre conducted with such sordid, such cheeseparing, economy as the Paris Opera. In 1784, a special general meeting of the committee was considered necessary to examine the design of a costume which Madame Saint-Huberty desired for the part of Armide, and to decide whether she should be permitted to have it. “The committee,” says the report on the subject addressed to Amelot, “considering that this part, in which Madame Saint-Huberty has not yet been seen, might give to the work the charm of novelty and procure for the Opera advantageous receipts during several representations, believes that they ought to give to Madame Saint-Huberty the satisfaction she deserves, the more so since she has no objection to sharing the part with Mlle. Levasseur, it having been arranged that, in case she should be indisposed, the dress should be worn by the actresses who replace her.”

In the margin of this report, the Minister writes as follows: “Good for this time only, and without the establishment of a precedent. All the members, without distinction, must wear the costumes provided for them by the administration, so long as they are in a fit state to be worn.”[205]

But the authorities were seldom so complacent. Two years later, there was a sharp difference of opinion in regard to the necessity of certain costumes which Madame Saint-Huberty had demanded for the operas of _Pénélope_ and _Alceste_; and La Ferté wrote to the singer the following letter:

“It is not M. de la Laistic, Madame, who decides what dresses are to be made for the performances before the Court, but the persons appointed by the King to supervise the costumes and the expenses. I cannot disguise from you that at Fontainebleau there was much displeasure about the dress which you exacted, and which, almost on your sole authority, you had caused to be made for the part of Pénélope, which appeared in no way suitable either to the position of that princess, so long afflicted, or to the magnificence of the period, fabulous though it was. You must have noticed that it was not thought becoming for you to wear it in Paris.... To-day, you demand a simpler dress for Alceste.... Finally, I am going to send your letter to M. Bocquet,[206] that he may consult with M. Dauvergne and cause what is necessary to be done. You must be convinced of our desire to satisfy you in all reasonable things, and to be agreeable to you. But, at the same time, you ought to understand that you are obliged to conform, like all your comrades, and those who played the first parts before you, to the regulations and to the costumes selected for them. For, if each one desired to dress according to individual taste, the result would be inextricable confusion, and an expenditure both useless and ruinous for the King and the Opera....”[207]

Then, in September 1788, we find Dauvergne writing to La Ferté that fresh complications had arisen, because Madame Saint-Huberty had demanded two new dresses for the part of Chimène, in Sacchini’s opera of that name, and one for each of her four attendants. He finds comfort, however, in the reflection, that, in the event of the lady refusing to sing, owing to her request not being acceded to, he has provided himself with no less than four substitutes.

About the same time, there was a good deal of friction between Madame Saint-Huberty and the administration on the subject of a _chignon_, which the prima donna had taken upon herself to order, without apparently consulting the committee. The bill for this _chignon_, the design for which had been submitted to a number of experts, was pronounced by the committee “horribly dear,” and they unanimously decided that in future none must be ordered, unless the sketch and the estimate had first been approved by themselves.

* * * * *

The amours of the great actresses, _danseuses_, and singers of the eighteenth century occupy almost as much space in the memoirs and correspondence of the time as their professional triumphs. With a regularity and a wealth of detail which would be beyond all praise, if applied to some more worthy subject, the Bachaumonts and Métras recount day by day the private history of these courtesan-artistes, register the births and deaths of their fleeting attachments, and give us without interruption the long succession of noble and wealthy admirers who succumbed to their charms. But the career of Madame Saint-Huberty seems to have provided the chroniclers of contemporary scandal with singularly little which they deem worthy to be transmitted to posterity. Possibly, as one of the biographers suggests, this is to be accounted for by the humble social position occupied by those whom she honoured with her favours; for the _Vol plus haut_ credits the queen of the Opera with tender relations with several third-rate financiers and obscure concert-singers, to whom, of course, must be added the tenor Saint-Aubin. However, that may be, the only lover of any social distinction that we hear of is the Marquis de Louvois,[208] until, during the last years of her career at the Opera, the singer developed a sincere and lasting attachment for the Comte de Launai d’Antraigues.

Louis de Launai d’Antraigues--a very handsome man, according to Madame Vigée Lebrun--was born about 1755, at Ville-Neuve-de-Berg, in Le Vivarais. He claimed descent from the celebrated d’Antraigues, the companion-in-arms of Henri IV., to whom that monarch wrote, in 1588: “...I hope that you are by this time recovered of the wound that you received at Coutras, fighting so valiantly by my side; and, if it be as I hope, do not fail (for by God’s aid, in a little while, we shall have fighting to do, and, consequently, great need of your services) to start immediately to rejoin us.” Later, when the count was sitting in the States-General, as the representative of Le Vivarais, this claim, which would have entitled him to certain privileges, was contested; but he was indisputably of good family, and his mother was a Saint-Priest, sister to the Minister of that name. He appears to have begun life in the army in the Regiment du Vivarais, which, however, he soon quitted, according to one account, because he had declined to fight a duel. Afterwards, he spent several years in foreign travel, and on his return to France, divided his time between his country-seat and Paris, where he frequented the society of philosophers and men of science, among whom were Jean Jacques Rousseau and the Montgolfiers.

An ardent politician and possessed of considerable literary gifts, he, in 1788, made his _début_ as a publicist by a _Mémoire sur les états généraux, leurs droits et la manière de les convoquer_, which showed a marked predilection for republican government, and created no small sensation. However, his opinions underwent a sudden and startling transformation soon after he had taken his seat in the States-General, and thenceforth he combated with warmth the very doctrines of which he had once been the ardent advocate. So complete a _volte-face_ naturally excited the ridicule and contempt of his former political friends, and Mirabeau, in a published letter addressed to him, compared him to a weather-cock; but that he was animated by sincere conviction there can be no question.

At what period began the connection between the count and the singer, which was to end in so tragic a manner, is uncertain. But, according to a letter written by d’Antraigues to his wife, after their secret marriage in 1790, their first relations went back to 1783. However that may be, d’Antraigues did not immediately become the lady’s lover, for his early letters, several of which were in the possession of Edmond de Goncourt, at the time when he wrote his monograph on the actress, reveal him as still in the character of a _soupirant_, and a very humble one at that. “I beg you,” one of these epistles concludes, “to continue your kindness towards me, and to be well assured of the esteem and attachment with which you have inspired me.”

Gradually, however, the esteem and attachment develop into a warmer feeling, and we find him imploring her not to forget “a man who loves her heart and her virtues,” though two hundred leagues separate them. One of these later letters, written in answer to some complaints of Madame Saint-Huberty in regard to the envious and jealous persons by whom she was surrounded, is of interest, since it shows that at the height of her fame the great singer still led a simple life, and that, even if she were the abandoned woman that Dauvergne declared her to be, she did not stoop to venal amours:

“I have heard them (her enemies), it is true, seek to turn you into ridicule, accuse you of loving to save money, jeer at your simplicity, and laugh at you for driving about Paris in a hackney-coach. But I have also seen honest and excellent men love and admire you on account of this very simplicity. Do you think that one can see, without sympathy, without enthusiasm, an amiable and celebrated woman leave her house in a hackney-coach, when it would be easy for her to be drawn in the gilded chariot of vice and infamy? It is beautiful, it is noble, to exhibit honesty and virtue in the haunt of baseness, greed, and the most abject passions. It is sweet to see talent in all its brilliancy associated with the virtues of a noble soul. It is delightful, for those who can appreciate it, to be able to yield to the most true enthusiasm. It is glorious for the woman who inspires it not to excite in the heart of her admirers that regret which is occasioned by the sight of a sublime talent exercised by a man or woman who personally, is contemptible.”[209]

Madame Saint-Huberty, on her side, was far from insensible to the count’s devotion. Writing from Bordeaux, in September 1784, she informed him that she keeps his bust in her room, and that all the crowns she receives in the theatre from her enthusiastic admirers she places on his head. And, at length, three years later, comes a very tender and charming letter, which shows us that the thin dividing line between friendship and love has already been passed:

“Endeavour to make Cabanis love me a little, in order that he may cure me.[210] I fear to die, since thou hast told me that thou dost believe that thou canst love me always. I believe thee, so far as it is in me to believe that which does not depend on ourselves. See what it is to love people for themselves or their virtues. For myself, I am well assured that I shall love thee always, whatever may happen, because before I loved thee, I desired for thee all thy good qualities.... My beloved, when I think that nothing stands in the way of our happiness, my heart thrills with pleasure; but this thought does not render the present moment very agreeable. I am working to become independent, and I am killing myself.

“If I have lost, by the constant labours and fatigues which I have undergone, the freshness of youth, in which coarse-grained men find pleasure, I hope that, in forming my heart on that of the one I love, it will take the place of all that another than thyself might desire. I love thee with passion, and it is not blind; thou canst not change thy nature, and that is all that interests me in thee.”

* * * * *

Madame Saint-Huberty’s assertion that she was “killing herself” was merely a figure of speech; but, at the same time, there was no disputing the fact that the immense amount of work she voluntarily imposed on herself during her provincial tours had told heavily upon her, and was gradually destroying the freshness of her voice, so that she now never sang more than twice a week, and had been compelled to abandon several of her most famous rôles, which she dared no longer attempt. “Yesterday,” writes Dauvergne to La Ferté, “the demoiselle Saint-Huberty appeared to the public to have lost much of her voice. I predicted to you that this woman would not last another two years. I am persuaded that, if she makes another provincial tour, she will finish herself altogether.” Nevertheless, she still retained her hold on the affections of the public, and, on the evenings on which she was announced to sing, all Paris flocked to the Boulevard Saint-Martin.

It was well for the administration of the Opera that, in the splendid houses which Madame Saint-Huberty never failed to draw they were able to find some compensation for the lady’s insolence and insubordination which, in these later years, passed all bounds. At the beginning of October 1789, she, as usual at the eleventh hour, declined to sing the part of Chimène, in Sacchini’s opera of that name, on the ground of feeling too fatigued. The authorities, aware that this was merely an excuse, insisted on her appearing, when she replied that she would “make an effort,” on condition that an employé of the theatre, named Parisis, who had recently been discharged for drunkenness and insolence, should be at once reinstated. This, however, was too much even for the long-suffering Dauvergne to submit to; and the threat of mulcting her in a month’s salary saved the situation.

At the weekly meetings of the company, at which it was customary to settle the répertoire for the ensuing week, and where the administrative correspondence was read, Madame Saint-Huberty never failed to create some unpleasantness or other. Now, she would encourage some unruly actress or _danseuse_ to resist the authority of the director; now, she would punctuate the reading of the comminatory letters of La Ferté with bursts of derisive laughter (no wonder that the old Intendant alludes to her, in writing to Dauvergne as “_une impudente coquine_”); anon, she would object to the arrangements for the week. How was it possible, she would inquire, for her to sing Alceste on Friday, after singing Didon on Tuesday? Did they wish to kill her? Dauvergne would innocently suggest that another actress should sing Didon, and that Madame Saint-Huberty should rest, that her voice might be fresh for Alceste. What! Allow another actress to sing Didon!--her own rôle!--her own creation! No one but herself should sing it, so long as she remained a member of the company.

Finally, the unfortunate administration, for the sake of peace and tranquillity, agreed that the lady should not be required to sing more than once a week, that is to say on Fridays, the fashionable night at the Opera.

In March 1790, the Comte d’Antraigues openly accused of apostacy, denounced by the revolutionary Press to public vengeance, and the recipient, every day, of violent anonymous letters threatening assassination, deemed it prudent to quit France. On April 3, Madame Saint-Huberty obtained a passport to Geneva and, accompanied by her _femme de chambre_ and two men-servants, set out for Switzerland, where she joined the count in the environs of Lausanne.

The two lovers remained for nearly three months at Lausanne, and then removed to a château, near Mindrisio, belonging to the Count Turconi, and here, on December 29, they were secretly married in the neighbouring church of Saint-Eusèbe.

For grave reasons known to himself, the Bishop of Como, in whose diocese the marriage took place, had granted to the officiating priest permission to perform the ceremony without inquiries or proofs, at whatever date, hour, or place the parties might select.

The day after the marriage, the count addressed to his wife the following letter:

“I may die, my dear wife, and cannot acquit myself too soon of the most sacred of duties.

“It is possible that there may be wanting to our union some of the formalities, which, according to the law of France, are required for the legalisation of marriages, and imperious circumstances may prevent me from fulfilling them for some time to come.

“If I happen to die before that time, I wish you to render to my memory the honour which you owe it, by rendering to yourself that which is due to you.

“I declare then that, after seven years of mutual confidence, I have united by marriage to my destiny the woman who has had the courage to wish to share my misfortunes; that, on December 29, 1790, after having obtained from the Bishop of Como a dispensation for the publication of banns, and permission for us to marry at any time and place that might please us, I married you in the Château of Castel San-Pietro, in the presence of two priests as witnesses.

“With several reasons for keeping this marriage secret, I did not conceal from you the most imperative of all: the grief it would cause my worthy and venerable mother. But I knew her; if she had only tears to give to my memory, she would forgive our secret union, and would see only the wife of her son in the woman who watched over his destinies, who softened their rigour, and who received the last sighs of his heart.”

* * * * *

Towards the end of the following year, the Comtesse d’Antraigues became _enceinte_. The marriage having been kept secret, the count was anxious that the birth of the child should not be known in the neighbourhood; and it was at a little village on the outskirts of Milan that, on June 26, 1792, the ex-singer presented him with a son, baptized two days later, under the names of Pierre Antoine Emmanuel Jules, born of the illustrious Emmanuel Louis Alexandre Henri de Launai, Comte d’Antraigues and of the dame Antoinette Clavel. So soon as the countess was sufficiently recovered to travel, she, with her husband and infant son, returned to Mindrisio.

From this quiet corner of Italian Switzerland, where he lived with the former queen of the Opera, the Comte d’Antraigues combated the men and things of the new France, in a series of very able brochures, wherein he constituted himself the speaking-trumpet of the counter-Revolution. But he was very far from being content with this warfare of the pen. He became the devoted servant of the Bourbons, the intermediary between them and the Courts of St. James’s, Madrid, Berlin, and Vienna, and rendered material assistance in weaving that network of secret intrigue, which, in spite of the successes of the French armies, for long rendered doubtful the establishment of the new order of things.[211]

In discharge of these diplomatic missions, he travelled incessantly, accompanied everywhere by his wife, who shared his fatigues and dangers, and received, in return, his full confidence. The count and countess were at Venice, in May 1795, when the city was occupied by the French troops. The count, who was at the time specially attached to the Russian legation, left with the Minister and his suite, accompanied by his wife and child; but at Trieste the party was stopped by orders of Bernadotte, who commanded the French there, and d’Antraigues arrested.

On being told that he was to be sent to Milan, the count begged the Russian Minister to take charge of Madame Saint-Huberty--for by that name she was still known--but the ex-singer insisted on sharing his captivity.

Touched by so much devotion, d’Antraigues explained to his captors that the lady was his lawful wife, and obtained permission for her to accompany him to Milan. “I declared at once to my tyrants,” he says, “that I was married, that I had a son, and that I desired to see him. They acceded to my request. She came, with that dear child of five years old, who threw himself upon me. That moment, which made her mine for ever, caused me to forget my foes, my persecutors, the future and the present. I owe that to my persecutors. To say how much I was indebted to my wife in these frightful circumstances is beyond my power. Never did there exist a courage more firm, a soul more mistress of itself, a character stronger in adversity; never did one behold more self-confidence in misfortune.”

At Milan, the count was at first imprisoned in a convent, where prisoners of war were confined, but, soon afterwards, taken to the citadel, and there placed in a dungeon, twelve feet long by six broad. Thanks, however, to the urgent representations of his wife, he was, some weeks later, liberated on parole, the understanding being that he was not to leave the city or even change his residence. But, in the early hours of the morning of August 25, he broke his parole and escaped, his flight, thanks to the ingenuity of his wife, who gave out that he was ill in bed, and went about the house preparing broth and other remedies, not being discovered till some days later.

It has been suggested that, for reasons of their own, the French authorities at Milan connived at the count’s escape; but it seems more probable that he fled through fear of being sent to Paris, where he would certainly have been brought to trial and very possibly executed. Such was undoubtedly the opinion in Royalist circles, and, to recognise the countess’s courage and devotion and her services to the “cause,” the Comte de Provence, in his theoretical character of King of France, sent her the order of Saint-Michel.[212]

Successively we find the adventurous couple at Vienna, Berlin, and Dresden, in which last-named city they seemed to have passed the greater part of the year 1804, the whole of the year 1805, and the first months of the year 1806, the count, who had been nominated a Counsellor of State by the Emperor Alexander of Russia, corresponding with Sweden, through Alopeus, the Swedish Minister in London, and working generally to bring about a European coalition against Napoleon. In September 1806, driven from Dresden by Napoleon’s victories, and unable to find an asylum on the Continent, they quitted Germany and established themselves in England. Here they resided in a pretty cottage at Barnes, and lived in good style on the various pensions which they had received. The count lost no time in entering into negotiations with the English Government, to whom he is said to have communicated the articles, real or imaginary, of the Treaty of Tilsit, though how he contrived to obtain particulars of a treaty drawn up with so much privacy is somewhat difficult to understand.

However, that may be, it is certain that d’Antraigues was employed by the Foreign Office in certain delicate negotiations and that he received a pension in return for his services; and it was this which, according to a legend which still finds acceptance with some French writers, brought about the tragic end of both himself and his wife, on the morning of July 22, 1812.

The story went that Fouché, desirous of discovering what was going on between d’Antraigues and the English Government, despatched two trusted agents to London, with orders at all costs to intercept the correspondence. The agents succeeded in bribing the count’s Piedmontese servant Lorenzo, to tamper with the letters which passed between his master and the Foreign Office; and that this man, finding that his treachery was certain to be discovered, through a visit which the count was on the point of making to Canning, in a moment of frenzied despair, assassinated both his master and mistress, and then took his own life. From the evidence given at the inquest, however, it would appear that Lorenzo committed the crime, in a fit of frenzy, due simply to his having received notice to leave the count’s service.

The _Times_ of July 23, 1812, contained the following account of the tragedy:

“The Count and Countess d’Antraigues, French noblesse, and distantly related to the unfortunate family of the Bourbons, resided on Barnes Terrace, on the banks of the Thames. They lived in a style which, though far from what they had formerly moved in, yet was rather bordering on high life than the contrary. They kept a carriage, coachman, footman, and a servant out of livery. The latter was an Italian or Piedmontese, named Lawrence, and it is of this wretch that we have to relate the following particulars. The Count and Countess, intending to visit London as yesterday, ordered the carriage to be at the door by eight in the morning, which it accordingly was; and, soon after that hour, they were in the act of leaving the house to get into it, the Countess being at the door, the Count coming downstairs, when the report of a pistol was heard in the passage, which, it has since appeared, took no effect, nor was it then ascertained by whom it was fired. Lawrence was at the time in the passage, and, on the smoke subsiding, was seen to rush past the Count and proceed with great speed upstairs. He almost immediately returned, with a dirk in his hand, and plunged it up to the hilt into the Count’s left shoulder; he continued his course and made for the street door, where stood the Countess, whom he instantly despatched by plunging the same dirk into her left breast. This last act had scarcely been completed when the Count appeared also at the door, bleeding, and following the assassin, who made for the house and ran upstairs. The Count, though extremely weak and faint, continued to follow him; but so great was the terror occasioned that no one else had the same resolution. The assassin and the Count had not been upstairs more than a minute when the report of another pistol was heard, which satisfied those below that Lawrence had finally put an end to the existence of his master. The alarm was now given, and the cry of ‘Murder, murder!’ resounded from every mouth. The Countess was still lying at the front door, by which the turnpike road runs, and at length men of sufficient resolution were found to venture upstairs, and, horrible to relate, they found the Count lying across his own bed, groaning heavily and nearly dead, and the bloodthirsty villain lying by his side a corpse. He had put a period to his own existence by placing a pistol that he found in the room in his mouth and discharging its contents through his head. The Count only survived about twenty-five minutes after the fatal blow, and died without being able to utter a single word.

“The Countess had by this time been brought into the house; the wound was directly on her left breast, extremely large, and she died without uttering a single word. The servants of the house were all collected last night; but no cause for so horrid an act was at that time known; all was but conjecture.

“The following circumstance, in so extraordinary a case, may be, however worth while relating. The Count it appears, always kept a brace of pistols loaded in his bedroom, and a small dirk. About a month ago the Countess and the servants heard the report of a pistol upstairs, and were, in consequence, greatly alarmed; when one of the latter, a female, went upstairs and looked into her mistress’s room, it was full of smoke and she screamed out. On its clearing away, she saw Lawrence standing, who told her nothing was the matter: he had only fired one of his master’s pistols. It afterwards appeared that he had fired into the wainscot; it was loaded with ball, and the ball from the pistol is yet to be seen.

“The Count and Countess were about sixty years of age. The latter was highly accomplished, a great proficient in music, and greatly admired for her singing in fashionable parties. There is no reason whatever to believe that Lawrence was insane. Only about ten minutes previous to his committing this deed of blood, he went over to an adjoining public-house and took a glass of gin. He had lived only three months in the family, and, report says, was to be discharged in a few days.

“The Count and Countess had resided in Barnes for four or five years, and have left an only son, who, we understand, is at present in this country, studying the law.

“Besides his house on Barnes Terrace, Count d’Antraigues had a town establishment, No. 7 Queen Anne Street, W. He was fifty-six, and the Countess fifty-three years of age. The Count had eminently distinguished himself in the troubles which have convulsed Europe for the past twenty-two years. In 1789, he was actively engaged in favour of the Resolution, but during the tyranny of Robespierre he emigrated to Germany, and was employed in the service of Russia. At Venice, in 1797, he was arrested by Bernadotte, who pretended to have discovered in his portfolio all the particulars of the plot upon which the 18th Fructidor was founded. The Count made his escape from Milan, where he was confined, and was afterwards employed in the diplomatic mission of Russia at the Court of Dresden. In 1806 he was sent to England, with credentials from the Emperor of Russia, who had granted him a pension, and placed great dependence upon his services. He received here letters of denization, and was often employed by the Government. The Countess was the once celebrated Madame Saint-Huberty, an actress at the Théâtre-Français.[213] She had amassed a very large fortune by her professional talents.”[214]

And the same impression of the _Times_ contained this other account:

“The Count d’Antraigues, a very eminent political character, formerly a deputy of the nobility of Vivarais to the States-General, author of many eloquent tracts, who had married the celebrated singer and actress of the Royal Academy of Music at Paris, Madame Saint-Huberty, was murdered yesterday morning at seven o’clock, along with his lady, in their summer residence on Barnes Terrace, by one of their servants named Lorenzo, a Piedmontese, aged twenty-five years, who had been only a few months in their service, and whom they had no reason to suspect of such a diabolical design.

“Both the Count and Countess d’Antraigues were preparing to come to town, as they usually did every Wednesday. The Count had an appointment (as we understand) with his particular friend Mr. Canning, to meet him at ten o’clock, and had actually taken his papers in his hat and proceeded down the staircase from his bedroom, his lady, who went before, being at the door waiting, and calling for the servant to open the carriage. Lorenzo at that moment took from the bed of his master a pistol and a most superb Turkish poignard, which the Count d’Antraigues had brought with him from Constantinople. He discharged the pistol at his master, at six paces distance, on the staircase, and missed him, the ball passing between the Count and Countess.

“The murderer, seeing that the ball had not taken effect, took to the poignard, and stabbed his master in the shoulder. Though the blow was mortal, the Count had still strength to walk to his room. The servant then ran to the Countess, who was shrieking, and plunged, in the most audacious manner, the poignard into her breast. She fell, and died instantly, without any groans, saying only, ‘Lorenzo! Lorenzo!’

“It appears that the Count died, as soon as he re-entered his room, from an effusion of blood in his chest. The murderer, bewildered and frantic after his ferocious deed, came to the room where his master was lying, and, seizing on another of the four pistols which the Count kept constantly for his protection at his bedside, with the poignard, under the presentiment that one day or other his life would be attempted, discharged the contents into his mouth, and shattered his head in the most fearful manner. He died on the spot, and fell dead by the side of his master.[215]

“The alarm was given by the coachman, who was standing at the door, and the other servants. Two professional men came instantly, but no assistance could prevail. The house was besmeared with blood, and presented a most shocking spectacle, the three bodies being extended in such a small space. The coachman drove to town to fetch the doctor and the lawyer who was generally employed by the Count, and to convey the melancholy tidings to the house of the deceased in Queen Anne Street, W., where a great crowd of people were collected during the whole of the day. Dr. Chavernac of Gerrard Street, the surgeon, and Mr. Trickey, the solicitor, both the intimate friends of the deceased, went post-haste to Barnes Terrace. The papers, jewels, and other effects of the Count and Countess were put under seal in their presence, and in that of a magistrate and several respectable neighbours. A coroner’s inquest is to take place this day at Barnes on the three bodies.

“No cause is yet known for the atrocious act which has deprived of life two persons, who, by their talents, knowledge, amiable manners, and powerful connections, ranked very high in society. The Count was a man of colossal stature and imposing countenance, only fifty-eight years of age, and his lady fifty-two.

“Mr. Vansittart, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the particular friend of the Count, was informed of the lamentable event early yesterday, and Lord Sidmouth commissioned Mr. Brooks of the Alien Office to take, conjointly with the Count La Châtre, Commissary of his Majesty Louis XVIII., the proper measures to secure the papers and property of the deceased, who had been formerly Commissary of his Most Christian Majesty in Italy, and till his death an agent and correspondent of the Emperor of Russia.”

REPORT OF THE INQUEST.

(From the _Times_, July 24, 1812.)

“An inquest was held yesterday at the ‘White Hart,’ Barnes Terrace,
before Charles Jemmett, Esq., Coroner for the County, after a view
of the bodies of the Count and Countess d’Antraigues, and of
Lawrence, who murdered them.

“Susannah Black, the first witness, deposed that, on July 22nd
inst., she was ordered by the Countess, about eight o’clock in the
morning, to take some books, &c., to the carriage door; that she
followed the Countess to the door, and saw Lawrence near the
carriage with his face to the door, and ordered him to open the
carriage door for his mistress, instead of which he walked into the
house, and as he passed her mistress a pistol was fired, but she
did not know who discharged it. She saw the Count on the stairs,
and Lawrence going up the stairs. Did not see anything in his
hand. She afterwards saw Lawrence coming downstairs with a pistol
in his right hand, and his left hand behind him, but could not see
whether he had anything in it or not; that she ran into the garden
alarmed; and that, on her return into the house by the hall, she
went to the front door and saw her mistress lying on the ground, in
the footpath of the street, near the carriage. She called for
assistance, and another servant and the coachman, David Hebditch,
came to her, and they took the Countess into the house. There was a
great deal of blood about her, and she was alive, though
speechless. Mr. Ball, a surgeon, was sent for, who attended
immediately. But her mistress died in a few minutes after the same.
Witness stated that one day, about three weeks ago, when the Count
was absent, she was with the Countess in her bedroom, when they
heard a loud report, and she ran downstairs, thinking it was a rap
at the door. But finding no one there, she called ‘Lawrence,’ but
no one answered. She then returned upstairs. The Countess met her
at the door of the bedroom, and said it was the report of a pistol.
Witness ran upstairs to the Count’s room, and on coming to the
door, she saw some smoke issue from it, and saw Lawrence in the
room. She asked him what he was doing and he answered, ‘Nothing.’
She then went to her mistress, and told her Lawrence had fired off
a pistol. The Countess went upstairs, and witness followed her, and
heard her talk to Lawrence very coolly, but could not tell what she
said, as she spoke French or Italian; but the Countess told her
afterwards that he said he had been handling the pistol and it went
off. When Lawrence came to the kitchen, she asked him how he dared
to meddle with his master’s pistols in his absence, and he
answered it went off by chance as he was handling it. She never
knew of any quarrel or anger between the Count and Lawrence. Said
Lawrence was a sober man, but latterly had been more passionate
than before. Yesterday morning, the wind having blown the parlour
door to with a great noise, the Count spoke rather sharply to
Lawrence, thinking he banged it, and would wake his mistress.
Lawrence had lived in the family about three months. Believed the
dagger produced to be her master’s, having many times seen it
hanging in his room.

“Elizabeth Ashton, another servant of the Count and Countess,
deposed that when the Countess came first downstairs, she was
standing at the street door to wait on her mistress. The carriage
was at the door. Her mistress passed her and went towards the
carriage--the Count was coming downstairs. Witness heard the report
of a pistol, was stunned by it, said she was a dead woman, turned
round and said, ‘Lawrence! Lawrence!’ When, looking up, she saw
Lawrence coming downstairs, with a pistol in one hand, and a dagger
in the other. She screamed out, and ran into the street, crying
‘Murder murder!’ went over to the public-house to give the alarm
and, on her return, found her mistress lying on the footpath of the
street near the carriage, and, being so affected that she found she
could not give any assistance, she went away.

“David Hebditch, coachman to the Count and Countess, deposed that
he received orders from Lawrence to have the carriage ready
yesterday morning, July 22, at five minutes before eight; that he
was at the door with the carriage before the clock struck eight;
that, as soon as he arrived there, Lawrence came to the coach,
opened the door, and put into the carriage a tin can filled with
oil; that he then went into the house, and soon afterwards
returned; that when the Countess came down and was proceeding to
the carriage, Lawrence went into the house, and soon after he
passed his mistress, the report of a pistol was heard; that the
Countess asked him, the coachman, what was the matter, and he
answered it was from the inside of the house, that in a few minutes
afterwards, as he was sitting on his box before the door, he saw
Lawrence come downstairs, and, with a sharp instrument he held in
his hand, which the witness believed to be a dagger, strike it into
the shoulder of the Count--he saw the dagger under his shoulder;
that Lawrence then passed the Count and proceeded towards the
street-door; that he, the coachman got off the box as quickly as he
could, and, as he was going towards his master, the Countess passed
him, going towards the carriage, and, on turning round, to follow
her, he saw her staggering, and she fell, exclaiming: ‘It was
Lawrence! it was Lawrence!’ He saw blood about her, and some on the
ground, but could not tell exactly what part it came from. Did not
see Lawrence afterwards, but in about three minutes more heard
report of another pistol, which appeared to come from upstairs.
Soon after the Count came to the door, and blood ran out of his
sleeve. Left him there, and went to assist the Countess into the
house. On surgeon coming and desiring her to be stripped, went out
of the room to look after his master, and found him sitting on the
bed in his own room, in a reclining posture, with his feet on
floor. Was then alive, but speechless. At the same time, saw
Lawrence, with his face lying on the floor, apparently dead, with
some blood near his mouth. Mr. King, a surgeon, then came and
desired the Count might be stripped. Witness assisted to do so, and
held him while they got a sponge and some water, and washed the
wound. After that he went away and drove carriage to town. Believed
Lawrence was sober. He spoke very correct to him, the coachman,
when he gave him his order, and did not appear at all mentally
deranged.

“William Hitchin, master of the ‘Sun’ public-house, at Barnes,
deposed that yesterday morning, about eight o’clock, coming along
the street, he saw Lawrence put a tin can into the Count’s
carriage, and return into the house. When he got opposite the door,
he heard the report of a pistol. Turned immediately round, and saw
the Count and Countess just within the door. The Countess said
something to the coachman, who answered, ‘It is indoors, my lady.’
The Count and lady returned into the house. He then heard some
persons screaming, and was going to get some weapon, but coachman
begged him not to go, and he did not. The coachman and he were
going into the house, when the Countess came out of the house,
passed them and fell down. Thought she had only fainted, and, while
standing by her, saw the Count come out of the house, with blood
streaming from his shoulder. The Count instantly returned into the
house, and immediately afterwards witness heard the report of a
pistol in one of the upper rooms; this report occurred before the
Count could possibly get to his own room. Some people came up, and
he accompanied them into the house. The first thing he saw on the
floor of the passage was a dagger, bloody and with some silk on it,
as if it came from a shawl; on desiring a person to go upstairs
with him, he refused without having a weapon, on which witness
gave him the dagger, and himself took a poker. The coachman
followed, and the witness desired him to go first into the room,
which he did. On entering the room, he saw the Count sitting on a
bed, alive, but speechless, and Lawrence lying on the floor dead,
with a brass double-barrelled pistol close to him.

“Matthew Ball, Surgeon, of Barnes, deposed that, about a quarter
past eight o’clock in the morning, a woman came to his house, and
desired him to come immediately to Count d’Antraigues, for the
Count and Countess were both murdered; immediately went, and when
he came into the house, saw the Countess lying on the floor of the
parlour, and a great deal of blood both on the floor and on her
clothes. Then examined and found a large lacerated wound on her
right breast, made by a sharp instrument, which had passed through
the third and fourth ribs to the cavity of the chest, from which a
great effusion of blood had proceeded. As soon as he found the
wound was mortal, and that she could not live many minutes, witness
went up to the Count, to assist Mr. King, a surgeon, who had
previously gone up to dress his wound, and found the Count had
received a wound on the shoulder from a sharp instrument, which had
penetrated four inches. He was motionless and speechless, and died
in about a quarter of an hour after his (Mr. B.) seeing him. Saw
two small leaden bullets in the string-board of the stairs, which
appeared to have been shot from a pistol. When he entered the
Count’s room, saw Lawrence lying on the floor on his belly, with a
quantity of blood under his face; on examination, found a loaded
pistol had been discharged into his mouth, the contents of which
had very much lacerated and torn his mouth, and from which wound he
had instantly died, the bullet being still lodged in the vertebra
of the neck.

“The Coroner then told the jury that, as they had not only heard
what the witnesses had sworn, but also the depositions read over to
them, it was unnecessary for him to go into a recapitulation
thereon. He should, therefore, leave them to determine whether,
from the evidence they had heard, they believed, first that
Lawrence had murdered the Count and Countess; and, secondly,
whether he had committed suicide, being in his senses.

“In about five minutes, the jury returned a verdict that Lawrence
had murdered the Count and Countess, and had afterwards committed
suicide, being in his senses.”

“Thus perished,” says M. Adolphe Jullien, “the greatest lyric _tragédienne_ whom France has possessed. But she did not wholly die: the recollection of her remains graven in the mind of her admirers, and she left behind her a luminous trace of her passage across the stage of the Opera. Her generous influence continued to make itself felt throughout long years; her triumphs excited many ambitions, inflamed many resolutions. She remained an object of admiration and emulation for all the artistes, for those who had seen her, as for those who, in later times, knew her only by renown. She united, in fact, in the highest degree, two qualities usually disconnected: the rarest talent of the singer and the greatest art of the _tragédienne_. She was in every sense of the word an artiste of genius.”[216]

INDEX

A

_Adèle de Ponthieu_, incident during a representation of, 69

Aiguillon, Duc d’, his _galanterie_ with Mlle. Raucourt, 159

_Alceste_, Gluck’s, 69-75, 78

Alembert, d’, 4, 79, 96, 159

_Alexis et Justine_, Madame Dugazon’s appearance in, 210

Allard, Mlle, (_danseuse_), 105, 265

Alleaume (notary), Sophie Arnould’s letters to him, 80-82

Alopeus (Swedish Minister in London), 330

Amelot (Minister of the King’s Household), 292, 294, 300, 305, 312, 313, 315, 322

_Amis des Lois, les_, scene during the performance of, 183

_Amours des Dieux, les_, Sophie Arnould’s appearance in, 15

Antraigues, Comte d’, his ancestry, 320;
his early life, 321;
his political writings, 321;
changes his politics, 321;
his relations with Madame Saint-Huberty, 322;
his letter to her, 322;
takes refuge in Switzerland, 326;
joined by Madame Saint-Huberty, 326;
marries her secretly, 327;
an active agent of the counter-revolution, 328 and note;
arrested at Trieste, 328;
escapes from Milan, 329;
establishes himself with his wife in England, 330;
employed by the Foreign Office, 330;
assassinated, with his wife, by their Piedmontese servant, Lorenzo, 331-337;
inquest upon, 337-343

Antraigues, Comtesse: d’, _see_ Saint-Huberty, Madame

_Ariane dans l’Île de Naxos_, Madame Saint-Huberty’s appearance in, 286, 287, 299, 300

_Armide_, Gluck’s, 107, 266, 275, 313, 317

Arnaud, Abbé, 46

Arnault, 257

Arnould (daughter of Sophie Arnould), Alexandrine Sophie, birth, 43;
marries André de Murville, 82, 83;
her character, 83 and note;
ill-treated by her husband, 83, 84;
wishes to join the Opera, 84;
divorces her husband and marries again, 89

Arnould, Jean (father of Sophie Arnould), a worthy man, 4;
declines to force his daughter to marry M. de Malézieux, 13;
in financial straits, 21;
takes the Hôtel de Lisieux, 21;
deceived by the Comte de Lauraguais, 21-23;
reconciled to his daughter after her elopement, 24

Arnould, Madame (mother of Sophie Arnould), affects literary society, 4;
takes her daughter to visit Madame de Pompadour, 9;
dreads Sophie joining the Opera, 11;
favours the suit of the Chevalier de Malézieux, 13;
sends Sophie to take lessons from Mlles. Fel and Clairon, 18;
a vigilant guardian, 20, 21;
deceived by the Comte de Lauraguais, 21-23;
in despair at her daughter’s elopement, 23;
reconciled to her dishonour, 24

Arnould, Sophie, birth and parentage, 3 and note, 4;
education, 4;
taken by the Princesse de Conti to live with her, 5;
sings in the choir of the Ursulines of Saint-Denis, 5;
receives a letter from Voltaire, 5, 6;
sings at the Abbey of Panthémont, 7;
visits Marie Leczinska, 8, 9;
and Madame de Pompadour, 9-11;
appointed a singer of the Queen’s Chamber, 11;
ordered to join the Opera, 11;
receives an offer of marriage from the Chevalier de Malézieux, 12-14;
her _début_ at the Opera, 12-14;
her success in _La Provençale_, 15;
in _Énée et Lavinie_, 15, 16;
and in _Les Fêtes de Paphos_, 16, 17;
her voice, 17, 18;
her acting, 18;
her personal appearance, 19 and note, 20;
surrounded by _soupirants_, 20, 21;
her elopement with the Comte de Lauraguais, 21-24;
her _liaison_ with him, 28, 29;
the idol of the public, 30;
her wit, 30-34;
leaves Lauraguais, 35-37;
“comes to an arrangement” with the financier Bertin, 37, 38;
bestowing her favours freely, 38;
discards Bertin and returns to Lauraguais, 39;
stormy character of their relations, 40;
procures Lauraguais’s release from prison, 43;
has a daughter by him, 43;
supplanted in his affections by Mlle. Heinel, 45;
receiving great attention from the Prince de Conti, 45 and note;
leading an unedifying life, 46;
accepts the “protection” of the Prince d’Hénin, 46, 47;
her projected hôtel in the Chaussée-d’Antin, 47;
falls in love with the architect Belanger, 47, 48;
insults the Lieutenant of Police, 49;
behaves with “unexampled audacity” towards Madame du Barry, 49 and note;
her caprices a source of much tribulation to the
administration of the Opera, 49-52;
her triumphs as a singer, 53, 54;
insufferably bored by the Prince d’Hénin, 54, 55;
wishes to retire from the Opera, 56;
her vocal powers and popularity declining, 56, 57;
chosen by Gluck for the name-part in _Iphigénie en Aulide_, 57;
claims the right to take liberties with the time when singing, 59-61;
her success in _Iphigénie en Aulide_, 65;
quarrel between Gluck and the Prince d’Hénin at her house, 66;
her performance in _Orphée_, 68;
shocks the audience during a performance of _Adèle de Ponthieu_, 69;
passed over by Gluck in favour of Rosalie Levasseur, 70-72;
believed to have joined a cabal to ensure the failure of _Alceste_, 72, 73;
her letter to the _Nouveau Spectateur_, 73, 74;
the object of hostile demonstration at the Opera, 75, 76;
interference of Marie Antoinette in her favour, 75, 76;
refuses to bow to the storm, 77;
insulted in the garden of the Palais-Royal, 77, 78;
retires from the stage, 78;
her house a rendezvous for men of letters, 78;
Voltaire’s visit to her, 79;
failure of Mesmer to cure her dog, 79, 80;
her letters to the notary Alleaume, 81, 82;
marriage of her daughter Alexandrine, 82, 83;
goes to live at Clichy-la-Garenne, 83;
her life there, 84, 85;
in financial difficulties, 85;
declines to prosecute a burglar, 85, 86;
attack of Champcenetz upon her in _La Chronique scandaleuse_, 86, 87;
removes from Clichy to Luzarches, 87;
her description of her new home, 87;
receives a domiciliary visit from the local revolutionary
committee, 87, 88 and note;
her _bon mot_ on
the occasion of her daughter’s second marriage, 89;
becoming poorer and poorer, 89, 90;
befriended by Belanger, 90;
her letter to him, 90, 91;
returns to Paris, 91;
her letter to Lauraguais, 92, 93;
her generosity the cause of her poverty, 93;
her letter to Lucien Bonaparte, 94, 95;
in a pitiable condition, 95;
Belanger’s letter to Lucien Bonaparte on her behalf, 96, 97;
her death, 97;
her kindness to Mlle. Raucourt, 170, 171;
deserted by the Prince d’Hénin for that actress, 177

Artois, Comte d’, casts a “benevolent glance” on Sophie Arnould, 69;
credited with a desire to participate in the favours of Mlle. Raucourt, 177;
witnesses the performance of the _Mariage de Figaro_, at Gennevilliers, 235;
become the _amant en titre_ of Mlle. Contat, 243;
indulges in a practical joke at her expense, 244;
obtains for her an authorisation to play _biribi_ at her house, 244;
refuses to recognise his daughter by her, 245;
sends her three thousand louis to pay her debts, 246

Ashton, Elizabeth, her evidence at the inquest upon
the Comte and Comtesse d’Antraigues, 339

_Atys_, Piccini’s, 288, 313

B

Bachaumont, 319;
(cited) 49 note, 52, 53, 111

_Bajazet_, Mlle. Contat’s appearance in, 226

Balbatri (musician), 6

Ball, Matthew (surgeon), his evidence at the inquest
on the Comte and Comtesse d’Antraigues, 342, 343

_Barbier de Seville_, Beaumarchais’s, 188, 231

Beaumarchais, a visitor at Sophie Arnould’s house, 79;
his manœuvres to stimulate public interest in his _Mariage de Figaro_, 230;
enables the Comte de Vaudreuil to win a wager, 230 note;
chooses Mlle. Contat for the part of Suzanne, 231;
performance of his _Mariage de Figaro_ at Théâtre
des Menus-Plaisirs forbidden by Louis XVI.;
his diplomacy, 233;
his play performed at Gennevilliers, 235;
reads it to an audience selected by the Baron de Breteuil, 236, 237;
production of the _Mariage de Figaro_ at Comédie-Française, 237-240

Beaumesnil, Mlle, (singer), 33, 52

Beaumesnil, Christophe de (Archbishop of Paris) objects to the opening of
Mlle. Guimard’s private theatre in the Chaussée-d’Antin, 121;
persuades Louis XVI. to forbid a fête at her hôtel, 121, 122

Beauvau, Princesse de, 152 note, 157