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.