These disputes were chiefly with the lady members of the troupe, though the male singers did not fail to occasion the composer an infinity of trouble. Legros, who had been cast for the part of Achilles, had an admirable voice, but his singing was totally lacking in expression, while his movements on the stage were stiff and awkward; and though Gluck laboured unceasingly to remedy these faults, it was some months ere he succeeded. Larrivée, to whom had been entrusted the rôle of Agamemnon, was even more difficult to deal with, being so obstinate and self-opinionated that to remonstrate with him seemed almost waste of breath. Once the composer was forced to tell him that he seemed to have no comprehension of his part, and to be unable to enter into the spirit of it. “Wait till I put on my costume,” answered the singer complacently; “you won’t recognise me then.” At the general rehearsal Gluck took his seat in a box. Larrivée reappeared, in the costume of Agamemnon, but his interpretation remained the same. “Ah, my friend!” cried the composer, “I recognise you perfectly!”[45] Finally, Gluck had to contend with the ballet, and, in particular, with its chief, the celebrated Gaetano Vestris--“_le dieu de la danse_”--who once observed that there were only three great men in Europe: Frederick II., Voltaire, and himself! Vestris naturally considered the dancing by far the most important feature of an opera, and, although there were already several ballets in _Iphigénie_, wanted yet another. Gluck angrily refused. “_Quoi!_” stammered Vestris; “_moi! le dieu de la danse!_” “If you are the God of Dancing, Monsieur,” replied the composer, “dance in heaven, not in my opera!”[46] When, some months later, _Orphée_ was being rehearsed, the ballet-master asked Gluck to write him the music of a chaconne. The latter, who had strongly objected to the introduction of any dancing whatever into _Orphée_, being of opinion that it would interfere with the seriousness and pathos of the general action, was horrified. “A chaconne!” he cried. “Do you suppose, Monsieur, that the Greeks, whose manners I am endeavouring to depict, knew what a chaconne was?” “Did they not?” rejoined the God of Dancing. “Then they are much to be pitied!”