favorite lover to place himself in the principal seat of the pit, or the
front of a box, and, if they were on good terms - which was seldom the
case, however - she should address her tender airs to him, and exert
herself to the utmost. When Brydone was in Sicily, her lover promised
to give him an example of his power over her. "He took his seat
accordingly; but Gabrielli, probably suspecting the connivance, would
take no notice of him; so even this expedient does not always succeed."


II.

When Gabrielli left Vienna for Sicily in 1765, she was laden with
riches, for her manifold extravagances were generally incurred at
the expense of somebody else; and she continued at Palermo the same
eccentric, capricious, and flighty conduct which had made her name
synonymous with everything reckless and daring in contravening
propriety. She treated the highest dignitaries with the same insolence
which she displayed toward operatic managers. Even the Viceroy of
Sicily, standing in the very place of royalty, was made the victim of
wanton impertinence. The Viceroy gave a dinner in honor of La Gabrielli,
to which were invited the proudest nobles of the court; and, as she did
not appear at the appointed hour, a servant was sent to her apartments.
She was found _en déshabillé_ dawdling over a book, and affected to
have forgotten the viceregal invitation - a studied insult, hardly to be
endured. This insolence, however, was overlooked by the representative
of royal authority, and it was not till the proud beauty's caprices
caused her to seriously neglect her artistic duties that she felt the
weight of his displeasure. When he sent a remonstrance against her
singing _sotto voce_ on the stage, she said she might be forced to
_cry_, but not to _sing_. The exasperated ruler ordered her to prison
for twelve days. Her caprice was here shown by giving the costliest
entertainments to her fellow prisoners, who were of all classes from
debtors to bandits, paying their debts, distributing great sums among
the indigent, and singing her most beautiful songs in an enchanting
manner. When she was released she was followed by the grateful tears
and blessings of those she had so lavishly benefited in jail. This
fascinating creature seems all through life to have been good on impulse
and bad on principle. Three years after this Gabrielli was singing in
Parma, where she made a speedy conquest of the Infante, Don Ferdinand.
His boundless wealth condoned the ugliness of his person in the eyes of
the singer, and the lavish income he placed at her disposal gratified
her boundless extravagances, while it did not prevent her from being
gracious to the Infante's many rivals and would-be successors.
Bitter quarrels and recriminations ensued, and the jealous ravings
of Catarina's princely admirer were more than matched by the fierce
sarcasms and shrill clamor of the beautiful virago. One day Don
Ferdinand, justly suspecting her of gross unfaithfulness, assailed
her with unusual fury, to which she replied by terming him a _gobbo
maladetto_ (accursed hunchback). On this the Prince, carried beyond
all control, had her imprisoned on some legal pretext, though Gabrielli
found proofs of love struggling with his anger in the magnificence of
the apartment and luxuriance of the service bestowed on her. But he
strove in vain to make his peace. The offended coquette was implacable,
and disdained alike his excuses and protestations of devotion. One night
she escaped from her prison, scaled the garden-wall, and fled, leaving
her weak and disconsolate lover to cool his sighs in tears of unavailing
regret.

The court of the Semiramis of the North, Catharine II. of Russia, who
strove to expunge the contempt felt for her as a woman by Europe through
the imperial munificence with which she played at patronizing art and
literature, was the next scene of the fair Italian's triumph. Gabrielli
was received with lavish favor, but the Empress frowned when she heard
the pecuniary demands of the singer. "Five thousand ducats!" she
said, in amazement. "Why, I don't give more than that to one of my
field-marshals." "Very well," replied the audacious Gabrielli; "your
Majesty may get your field-marshals to sing for you, then." Catharine,
who, however cruel and unscrupulous when need be, was in the main
good-natured, laughed at the impertinence, and instead of sending
Gabrielli to Siberia consented to her demands, adding special gratuities
to the nominal salary. Two countrymen of the beautiful cantatrice,
Pai-siello and Cimarosa, were afterward treated with equal honor and
consideration by the imperial _dilettante_. Catharine's favor lasted
unimpaired for several years, and it only abated when Gabrielli's lust
for conquest and the honor of rivalry with a sovereign tempted her to
coquet with Prince Po-temkin. An intimation from the court chamberlain
that St. Petersburg was too hot for one of her warm southern blood,
and that Siberia or some other place at her will would better suit
her temperament, sufficed when backed by an imperial endorsement. La
Gabrielli returned from Russia, loaded with, diamonds and wealth,
for Catharine did not dismiss her without substantial proofs of her
magnificence and generosity.

At this period Gabrielli was invited to England; and after considerable
haggling with the London manager, and compelling him to employ her
favorite of the hour, Signor Manzoletto, as principal tenor, the
negotiation was consummated. Gabrielli still preserved all her
excellence of voice and charm of execution; but her rare beauty, which
had been as great a factor in her success as artistic skill, was on the
wane. The English engagement had been made with some reluctance; for
the stern and uncompromising temper of the island nation had been widely
recognized with exaggerations in Continental Europe. "I should not be
mistress of my own will," she said, "and whenever I might have a fancy
not to sing, the people would insult, perhaps misuse me. It is better
to remain unmolested, were it even in prison." She, however, changed her
mind, and her experiences in London were such as to make her regret that
she had not stood firm to her first resolution.


III.

Among the remarkable male singers of Gabrielli's time was Caffarelli,
whom his friends indeed declared to be no less great than Farinelli.
Though never closely associated with La Cuochet-tina in her stage
triumphs (a fact perhaps fortunate for the cantatrice), he must be
regarded as one of the representative artists of the period when she was
in the full-blown and insolent prime of her beauty and reputation. Born
in 1703, of humble Neapolitan parentage, he became a pupil of Porpora at
an early age. The great singing-master is said to have taught him in a
peculiar fashion. For five years he permitted him to sing nothing
but scales and exercises. In the sixth year Porpora instructed him in
declamation, pronunciation, and articulation. Caffarelli, at the end of
the sixth year, supposing he had just mastered the rudiments, began to
murmur, when he was amazed by Porpora's answer: "Young man, you may now
leave me; you are the greatest singer in the world, and you have nothing
more to learn from me." Hogarth discredits this story, on the ground
that "none but a plodding drudge without a spark of genius could have
submitted to a process which would have been too much for the patient
endurance even of a Russian serf; or if a single spark had existed at
first, it must have been extinguished by so barbarous a treatment."
Caffarelli did not rise to the height of his fame rapidly, and, when
he went to London to supply the place of Farinelli in 1738, he entirely
failed to please the English public, who had gone wild with enthusiasm
over his predecessor. Farinelli's retirement from the artistic world
about this period removed from Caffarelli's way the only rival who could
have snatched from him the laurels he soon acquired as the leading
male singer of the age. After Caffarelli's return from England, his
engagements in Turin, Genoa, Milan, and Florence were a triumphal
progress. At Turin he sang before the Prince and Princess of Sardinia,
the latter of whom had been a pupil of Farinelli, as she was a Spanish
princess. Caffarelli, on being told that the royal lady had a prejudice
in favor of her old master, said haughtily, "To-night she shall hear
two Farinellis in one," and exerted his faculties so successfully as
to produce acclamations of delight and astonishment. He always seems
to have had great jealousy of the fame of Farinelli, and the latter
entertained much curiosity about his successor in public esteem.
Metas-tasio, the friend of the retired artist, wrote to him in 1749 from
Vienna about Caffarelli's reception: "You will be curious to know
how Caffarelli has been received. The wonders related of him by his
adherents had excited expectations of something above humanity." After
summing up the judgments of the critics who were severe on Caffarelli's
faults, that his voice was "false, screaming, and disobedient," that
his singing was full of "antique and stale flourishes," that "in his
recitative he was an old nun," and that in all that he sang there was
"a whimsical tone of lamentation sufficient to sour the gayest allegro,"
Metastasio says that in his happy moments he could please excessively,
but the caprices of his voice and temper made these happy moments very
uncertain.

Caffarelli's arrogant, vain, and turbulent nature seems to have been the
principal cause of his troubles. The numerous anecdotes current of him
turned mainly on this characteristic, so different from the modesty and
reticence of Fari-nelli. Metastasio, in a lively letter to the Princess
di Belmonte, describes an amusing fracas at the Viennese Opera-House.
The poet of the house, Migliavacca, who was also director of rehearsals,
became engaged in altercation with the singer, because the latter
neglected attendance. He rehearsed to Caffarelli in bitter language
the various terms of reproach and contempt which his enemies throughout
Europe had lavished on him. "But the hero of the panegyric, cutting the
thread of his own praise, called out to his eulogist, 'Follow me if
thou hast courage to a place where there is none to assist thee,' and,
moving toward the door, beckoned him to come out. The poet hesitated
a moment, then said with a smile: 'Truly, such an antagonist makes me
blush; but come along, since it is a Christian act to chastise a madman
or a fool,' and advanced to take the field." Suddenly the belligerents
drew blades on the very stage itself, and, while the bystanders were
expecting to see poetical or vocal blood besprinkle the harpsichords
and double basses, the Signora Tesi advanced toward the duelists. "Oh,
sovereign power of beauty!" writes Metastasio with sly sarcasm; "the
frantic Caffarelli, even in the fiercest paroxysms of his wrath,
captivated and appeased by this unexpected tenderness, runs with rapture
to meet her, lays his sword at her feet, begs pardon for his errors,
and, generously sacrificing to her his vengeance, seals, with a thousand
kisses on her hand, his protestations of obedience, respect, and
humility. The nymph signifies her forgiveness with a nod, the poet
sheathes his sword, the spectators begin to breathe again, and the
tumultuous assembly breaks up amid sounds of laughter. In collecting the
numbers of the wounded and slain, none was found but the poor copyist,
who, in trying to part the combatants, had received a small contusion
in the clavicula of the foot from an involuntary kick of the poet's
Pegasus."

Once, while Caffarelli was singing at Naples, he was told of the arrival
of Gizzielo, a possible rival, at Rome. Unable to check his anxiety, he
threw himself into a post-chaise and hastened to Rome, arriving in
time to hear his young rival sing the _aria d'entrata_. Delighted with
Gizzielo's singing, and giving vent to his emotion, he cried in a loud
voice: "_Bravo, bravissimo, Gizzielo! E Caffarelli che te lo dice_." So
saying, he rushed out and posted back to Naples, arriving barely in time
to dress for the opera. By invitation of the Dauphin, he went to Paris
in 1750, and sang at several concerts, where he pleased and astonished
the court by his splendid vocalism. Louis XV. sent him a snuff-box;
but Caffarelli, observing its plainness, said disdainfully, showing a
drawerful of splendid boxes, that the worst was finer than the French
King's present. "If he had only sent me his portrait in it," said the
vain' artist. "That is only given to ambassadors and princes," was
the reply of the King's gentleman. "Well," was the reply, "all the
ambassadors and princes in the world would not make one Caffarelli." The
King laughed heartily at this, but the Dauphin sent for the singer
and presented him with a passport, saying, "It is signed by the King
himself - for you a great honor; but lose no time in using it, for it is
only good for ten days." Caffarelli left in high dudgeon, saying he had
not made his expenses in France.

Mr. Garrick, the great actor, heard Caffarelli in Naples in 1764, when
he was turned of sixty, and thus writes to Dr. Burney: "Yesterday we
attended the ceremony of making a nun; she was the daughter of a duke,
and everything was conducted with great splendor and magnificence. The
consecration was performed with great solemnity, and I was very much
affected; and, to crown the whole, the principal part was sung by the
famous Caffarelli, who, though old, has pleased me more than all the
singers I ever heard. He _touched_ me, and it is the first time I
have been touched since I came to Italy." At this time Caffarelli had
accumulated a great fortune, purchased a dukedom, and built a splendid
palace at San Dorato, from which he derived his ducal title.

Over the gate he inscribed, with characteristic modesty, this
inscription: "_Amphion Thebas, ego domum._" * A wit of the period added,
"_Ille cum, sine tu_." ** Caffarelli died in 1783, leaving his title
and wealth to his nephew, some of whose descendants are still living in
enjoyment of the rank earned by the genius of the singer. By some of
the critics of his time Caffarelli was judged to be the superior of
Farinelli, though the suffrages were generally on the other side. He
excelled in slow and pathetic airs as well as in the bravura style; and
was unrivaled in the beauty of his voice, and in the perfection of his
shake and his chromatic scales, which latter embellishment in quick
movements he was the first to introduce.

* "Amphion built Thebes, I a palace."

** "He with good reason, you without."


IV.

When Gabrielli was on her way to England in 1765, she sang for a few
nights in Venice with the celebrated Pacchierotti, a male soprano singer
who took the place of Caffarelli, even as the latter filled that vacated
by Farinelli. Gabrielli was inspired by the association to do her
utmost, and when she sang her first _aria di bravura_, Pacchierotti gave
himself up for lost. The astonishing swiftness, grace, and flexibility
of her execution seemed to him beyond comparison; and, tearing his hair
in his impetuous Italian way, he cried in despair, "_Povero me, povero
me! Vuesto e un portento!_" ("Unfortunate man that I am, here indeed is
a prodigy!") It was some time before he could be persuaded to sing; but,
when he did, he excited as much admiration in Gabrielli's breast as that
fair cantatrice had done in his own. Pac-chierotti is the third in the
great triad of the male soprano singers of the eighteenth century, and
the luster of his reputation does not shine dimly as compared with the
other two. He commenced his musical career at Palermo in 1770, at the
age of twenty, and when he went to England in 1778 expectations were
raised to the highest pitch by the accounts given of him by Brydone in
his "Tour through Sicily and Malta." His first English season was very
successful, and he returned again in 1780, to remain for four years and
become one of the greatest favorites the London public had ever known,
his last appearance being at the great Handel commemoration. The details
of Pacchierotti's life are rather scanty, for he was singularly modest
and retiring, and shrank from rather than courted public notice. We know
more of him from his various critics as an artist than as a man.

"Pacchierotti's voice," says Lord Mount Edgcumbe, who contributed so
richly to the literature of music, "was an extensive soprano, full and
sweet in the highest degree; his powers of execution were great, but he
had far too good taste and good sense to make a display of them where
it would have been misapplied, confining it to one bravura song in each
opera, conscious that the chief delight of singing and his own supreme
excellence lay in touching expression and exquisite pathos. Yet he was
so thorough a musician that nothing came amiss to him; every style was
to him equally easy, and he could sing at first sight all songs of the
most opposite characters, not merely with the facility and correctness
which a complete knowledge of music must give, but entering at once into
the views of the composer and giving them all the spirit and expression
he had designed. Such was his genius in his embellishments and cadences
that their variety was inexhaustible.... As an actor, with many
disadvantages of person - for he was tall and awkward in his figure, and
his features were plain - he was nevertheless forcible and impressive;
for he felt warmly, had excellent judgment, and was an enthusiast in his
profession. His recitative was inimitably fine, so that even those who
did not understand the language could not fail to comprehend from his
countenance, voice, and action every sentiment he expressed."

An anecdote illustrating Pacchierotti's pathos is given by the
best-informed musical authorities. When Metastasio's "Artaserse" was
given at Rome with the music of Bertoni, Pacchierotti performed the
part of Arbaces. In one place a touching song is followed by a short
instrumental symphony. When Pacchierotti had finished the air, he turned
to the orchestra, which remained silent, saying, "What are you about?"
The leader, awakened from a trance, answered with much simplicity in a
sobbing voice, "We are all crying." Not one of the band had thought
of the symphony, but sat with eyes full of tears, gazing at the great
singer.


V.

Gabrielli's career, which will now be resumed, had been full of romantic
adventures, _affairés d'amour_, and curious episodes, and her vanity
looked forward to the continuance in England of similar social
excitements. She had accepted the London engagement with some scruple
and hesitation, but her anticipation of brilliant conquests among
the _jeunesse dorée_ of Britain overcame her fear that she would find
audiences less tolerant than those to which she had been accustomed in
her imperious course through Europe. But the beautiful Gabrielli was
then a little on the wane both in personal loveliness and charm of
voice; and, though her fame as a coquette and an artist had preceded
her, she met with an indifference that was almost languor. The young
Englishmen of the period, though quick to draw blade as any gallants in
Europe, did not feel inspired to fight for her smiles, as had been the
case with their compeers in the Continental cities, which rang with the
scandals, controversies, and duels engendered by her numerous conquests.
This sort of social stimulus had become necessary from long use as
an ally of professional effort; and, lacking it, Gabrielli became
insufferably indolent and careless. She would not take the least trouble
to please fastidious London audiences, then as now the most exacting in
Europe. She chose to remain sick on occasions which should have drawn
forth her finest efforts, and frequently sent her sister Francesca to
fill her great parts. One night her manager, mistrusting her excuses of
illness, proceeded to her apartments, and found them ablaze with light
and filled with a large company of gay and riotous revelers. Of course
this condition of affairs could not long be endured. Stung by the slight
appreciation of her talents in England, and not choosing to endure the
want of patience which made the public grumble when she chose to sing
badly or not at all, she quitted England after a very brief stay. Lord
Mount Edgcumbe saw her in the opera of "Didone," and avows bluntly that
he could see nothing more of her acting than that she took the greatest
possible care of her enormous hoop when she sidled out of the flames of
Carthage. Dr. Burney, on the other hand, is a more chivalrous critic, or
else he was unduly impressed with the lady's charms; for she appeared to
him "the most intelligent and best-bred _virtuoso_ with whom he had
ever conversed, not only on the subject of music, but on every subject
concerning which a well-educated female, who had seen the world, might
be expected to have information." Furthermore, he extols the precision
and accuracy of her execution and intonation, and the thrilling quality
of her voice.

Brydone, who appears to have been fascinated with this siren, has an
amusing apology for her carelessness of her duties in England, which he
insists was not caprice, but inability to sing. He says: "And this I can
readily believe, for that wonderful flexibility of voice, that runs
with such rapidity and neatness through the most minute divisions, and
produces almost instantaneously so great a variety of modulation, must
surely depend on the very nicest tones of the fibers; and if these are
in the smallest degree relaxed, or their elasticity diminished, how is
it possible that their contractions and expansions can so readily obey
the will as to produce these effects? The opening of the glottis which
forms the voice is so extremely small, and in every variety of tone its
diameter must suffer a sensible change; for the same diameter must ever
produce the same tone. So _wonderfully_ minute are its contractions and
dilatations, that Dr. Kiel, I think, computed that in some voices its
opening, not more than the tenth of an inch, is divided into upward
of twelve hundred parts, the different sound of every one of which is
perceptible to the exact ear. Now, what a nice tension of fibers must
this require! I should imagine even the most minute change in the air
causes a sensible difference, and that in our foggy climate fibers would
be in danger of losing this wonderful sensibility, or, at least, that
they would very often be put out of tune. It is not the same case with
an ordinary voice, where the variety of divisions run through and the
volubility with which they are executed bear no proportion to that of a
Gabrielli."

Gabrielli sang in various cities of Italy for several years more, still
retaining her hold on the hearts of her countrymen. In 1780 she finally
retired from the stage and began to live a regular and orderly life,
though still extravagant and lavish in her indulgence both of freaks of
luxury and generosity. During her residence at Rome the noblesse of
that city held her in high esteem, and her concerts gathered the most
distinguished and wealthy people. Her prodigality had considerably
reduced her income, and when she retired from her profession it amounted
to little more than twenty thousand francs. The state in which Gabrielli
had lived suited a princess of the blood rather than an operatic singer.
Her traveling retinue included a little army of servants and couriers,
and, both at home and at the theatre, she exacted the respect which was
rather the due of some royal personage. A Florentine nobleman paid her
a visit one day, and tore one of his ruffles by catching in some part of
her dress. Gabrielli the next day, to make amends, sent him six bottles
of Spanish wine, with the costliest rolls of Flanders lace stuffed into
the mouths of the bottles instead of corks. But, if she was extravagant
and luxurious, she was also generous; and, in spite of the cruel
caprices which had marked her life, she always gave tokens of a
naturally kind heart. She gave largely to charity, and provided
liberally for her parents, as also for her brother's education. Of this
brother, who appeared at the Teatro Argentina in Rome as a tenor,
but who sang as wretchedly as his sister did exquisitely, an amusing
anecdote is narrated. The audience began to hoot and hiss, and yells of
"Get out, you raven!" sounded through the house. With great _sang-froid_
the unlucky singer said: "You fancy you are mortifying me by hooting me;
you are grossly deceived; on the contrary, I applaud your judgment, for