One of the great dignitaries of the Papal Court during the middle of the
eighteenth century was the celebrated Cardinal Gabrielli. He was one day
walking in his garden, when a flood of delicious, untutored notes burst
on his ear, resolving itself finally into a brilliant _arietta_ by
Ga-luppi. The pretty little nymph who had poured out these wild-wood
notes proved to be the daughter of his favorite cook. Catarina's beauty
of person and voice had already excited the hopes of her father, and he
frequently took her to the Argentina Theatre, where her quick ear caught
all the tunes she heard; but the humble cook could not put the child
in the way of further instruction and training. When Cardinal Gabrielli
heard that enchanting but uncultivated voice, he called the little
Catarina and made her sing her whole stock of arias, a mandate she
willingly obeyed. He was delighted with her talent, and took on himself
the care of her musical education. She was first placed under the charge
of Garcia (Lo Spagnoletto), and afterward of Porpora. The Cardinal kept
a keen oversight of her instruction, and frequently organized concerts,
where her growing talents were shown, to the great delight of the
brilliant Roman society. Catarina's training was completed in the
conservatory of L'Ospidaletto at Venice, while it was under the
direction of Sacchini, who succeeded Galuppi.
"La Cuochettina," as she was called from her father's profession, made
her first appearance in Galuppi's "Sofonisba" in Lucca, after five
years of severe training. She was beautiful, intelligent, witty, full
of liveliness and grace, with an expression full of coquettish charm and
_espieglerie_. Her acting was excellent, and her singing already that of
a brilliant and finished vocalist. It is not a marvel that the excitable
Italian audience received her with the most passionate plaudits of
admiration. Her stature was low, but Dr. Burney describes her in the
following terms: "There was such grace and dignity in her gestures and
deportment as caught every unprejudiced eye; indeed, she filled the
stage, and occupied the attention of the spectators so much, that they
could look at nothing else while she was in view." No indication of
her mean origin betrayed itself in her face or figure, for she carried
herself with all the haughty grandeur of a Roman matron. Her voice,
though not powerful, was of exquisite quality and wonderful extent,
its compass being nearly two octaves and a half, and perfectly equable
throughout. Her facility in vocalization was extraordinary, and her
execution is described by Dr. Burney as rapid, but never so excessive as
to cease to be agreeable; but in slow movements her pathetic tones, as
is often the case with performers renowned for "dexterity," were not
sufficiently touching.
The young chevaliers of Lucca were wild over the new operatic star; for
her talent, beauty, and fascination made her a paragon of attraction,
and her capricious whims and coquetries riveted the chains in which she
held her admirers. Catarina, however she may have felt pleased at lordly
tributes of devotion, and willing to accept substantial proofs of
their sincerity, lavished her friendship for the most part on her own
comrades, and became specially devoted to the singer Guardagni, whose
rare artistic excellence made him a valuable mentor to the young prima
donna. Three years after her _début_ her reputation had become national,
and we find her singing at Naples in the San Carlo. The aged poet
Metastasio, a name so imperishably connected with the development of the
Italian opera, became one of her bond slaves. Gabrielli was wont to use
her admirers for artistic advantage, and she learned certain invaluable
lessons in the delivery of recitative and the higher graces of her art
from one whose experience and knowledge were infinitely higher and more
suggestive than those of a mere singing-master. The courtly poet, the
pet of rank and beauty for nearly fifty years, sighed in vain at the
feet of this inexorable coquette, and shared his disappointment with a
host of other distinguished suitors, who showered costly gifts at the
shrine of beauty, and were compelled to content themselves with kissing
her hand as a reward.
Metastasio's interest, unchecked by the disdain of the capricious
beauty, succeeded in obtaining for her the position of court singer at
Vienna, where the Emperor, Francis I., was one of her admirers. She soon
created as great a furor among the gallants of the Austrian capital as
she had in Italy. Swords were drawn freely in the quarrels which she
delighted to foster, and dueling became a mania with those who aspired
to her favor. The passions she instigated sometimes took eccentric
courses. The French Ambassador, who loved her madly, suspected the
Portuguese Minister of being more successful than himself with the
lovely Gabrielli. His suspicions being confirmed at one of his visits,
he drew his sword in a transport of rage, and all that saved the
operatic stage one of its most brilliant lights was the whalebone
bodice, which broke the point of the furious Frenchman's rapier. The
sight of the bleeding beauty--for she received a slight scratch--brought
the diplomat to his senses. Falling on his knees, he poured forth his
remorse in passionate self-reproaches, but only received his pardon on
the most humiliating terms, namely, that he should present her with
the weapon which had so nearly pierced her heart, on which was to be
inscribed this memento of the jealous madness of its owner: "_Epée de
M------, qui osa frapper La Gabrielli_." Only Metastasio's persuasions
(for Gabrielli prized his friendship and advice as much as she trifled
with him in a different _rôle_) persuaded her to spare the Frenchman the
insufferable ridicule which her retention of the telltale sword would
have imposed on one whose rank and station could ill afford to be made
the laughing-stock of his times.
The siren's infinite caprices furnished the most interesting _chronique
scandaleuse_ of Vienna. Brydone in his "Tour" tells us that it was
fortunate for humanity that the fair cantatrice had so many faults; for,
had she been more perfect, "she must have made dreadful havoc in the
world; though, with all her deficiencies," he says, "she was supposed to
have achieved more conquests than any one woman breathing." Her caprice
was so stubborn, that neither interest, nor threats, nor punishment had
the least power over it; she herself declared that she could not command
it, but that it for the most part commanded her. The best expedient to
induce her to sing when she was in a bad humor was to prevail upon her
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."