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
I solemnly declare that I never appear on any stage without receiving
the same treatment, and sometimes worse."
Gabrielli's closing years were spent at Bologna, where she won the
esteem and admiration of all by her charities and steadiness of life, a
notable contrast to the license and extravagance of her earlier career.
She died in 1796, at the age of sixty-six.