_Chesington._
_October, 1775._
“My dear Mr. Crisp,
“‘Tis so long since I have written, that I suppose you conclude we are
all gone fortune-hunting to some other planet; but, to skip apologies,
which I know you scoff, I shall atone for my silence, by telling you
that my dear father returned from Buxton in quite restored health, I
thank God! and that his first volume is now rough-sketched quite to the
end, Preface and Dedication inclusive.
“But you are vehement, you say, to hear of Gabrielli.
“Well, so is every body else; but she has not yet sung.
“She is the subject of inquiry and discussion wherever you go. Every
one expects her to sing like a thousand angels, yet to be as ridiculous
as a thousand imps. But I believe she purposes to astonish them all in
a new way; for imagine how sober and how English she means to become,
when I tell you that she has taken a house in Golden-square, and put a
plate upon her door, on which she has had engraven, “Mrs. Gabrielli.”
“If John Bull is not flattered by that, he must be John Bear.
“Rauzzini, meanwhile, who is to be the first serious singer, has taken
precisely the other side; and will have nothing to do with his Johnship
at all; for he has had his apartments painted a beautiful rose-colour,
with a light myrtle sprig border; and has ornamented them with little
knic-knacs and trinkets, like a fine lady’s dressing-room.
My father dined with them both the other day, at the manager’s,
Mrs. Brookes, the author, and Mrs. Yates, the _ci-devant_ actress.
Rauzzini sang a great many sweet airs, and very delightfully;
but Gabrielli not a note! Neither did any one presume to ask for
such a favour. Her sister was of the party also, who they say cannot
sing at all; but Gabrielli insisted upon having her engaged, and
advantageously, or refused, peremptorily, to come over.
“Nothing can exceed the impatience of people of all ranks, and all ways
of thinking, concerning this so celebrated singer. And if you do not
come to town to hear her, I shall conclude you lost to all the Saint
Cecilian powers of attraction; and that you are become as indifferent
to music, as to dancing or to horse-racing. For my own part, if any
thing should unfortunately prevent my hearing her first performance,
I shall set it down in my memory ever after, as a very serious
misfortune. Don’t laugh so, dear daddy, pray!
_Written the week following._
“How I rejoice, for once, in your hard-heartedness! how ashamed
I should have been if you had come, dearest Sir, to my call! The
Gabrielli did not sing! And she let all London, and all the country
too, I believe, arrive at the theatre before it was proclaimed
that she was not to appear! Every one of our family, and of every
other family that I know,—and that I don’t know besides, were at the
Opera House at an early hour. We, who were to enter at a private door,
per favour of Mrs. Brookes, rushed past all handbills, not thinking
them worth heeding. Poor Mr. Yates, the manager, kept running from
one outlet to another, to relate the sudden desperate hoarseness
of la Signora Gabrielli; and, supplicate patience, and, moreover,
credence,—now from the box openings, now from the pit, now from the
galleries. Had he been less active, or less humble, it is thought the
theatre would have been pulled down; so prodigious was the rage of the
large assemblage; none of them in the least believing that Gabrielli
had the slightest thing the matter with her.
“My father says people do not think that singers have the capacity of
having such a thing as a cold!
“The murmurs, ‘What a shame!’—‘how scandalous!’—‘what insolent
airs!’—kept Mr. Yates upon the alert from post to post, to the utmost
stretch of his ability; though his dolorous countenance painted his
full conviction that he himself was the most seriously to be pitied of
the party; for it was clear that he said, in soliloquy, upon every one
that he sent away: ‘There goes half a guinea!—or, at the least,
three shillings,—if not five, out of my pocket!’
“We all returned home in horrible ill-humour; but solacing ourselves
with a candid determination, taken in a true spirit of liberality, that
though she should sing even better than Agujari, we would not like her!
My father called upon the managers to know what all this meant; and
Mrs. Brookes then told him, that all that had been reported of the
extraordinary wilfulness of this spoilt child of talent and beauty, was
exceeded by her behaviour. She only sent them word that she was out of
voice, and could not sing, one hour before the house must be opened!
They instantly hurried to her to expostulate, or rather to supplicate,
for they dare neither reproach nor command; and to represent the utter
impossibility of getting up any other opera so late; and to acknowledge
their terror, even for their property, upon the fury of an English
audience, if disappointed so bluffly at the last moment.
To this she answered very coolly, but with smiles and politeness, that
if _le monde_ expected her so eagerly, she would dress herself, and let
the opera be performed; only, when her songs came to their symphony,
instead of singing, she would make a courtesy, and point to her throat.
“‘You may imagine, Doctor,’ said Mrs. Brookes, ‘whether we could trust
John Bull with so easy a lady! and at the very instant his ears were
opening to hear her so vaunted performance!’
* * * * *
“Well, my dear Mr. Crisp, now for Saturday, and now for the real
opera. We all went again. There was a prodigious house; such a one,
for fashion at least, as, before Christmas, never yet was seen. For
though every body was afraid there would be a riot, and that Gabrielli
would be furiously hissed, from the spleen of the late disappointment,
nobody could stay away; for her whims and eccentricities only heighten
curiosity for beholding her person.
“The opera was Metastasio’s Didone, and the part for Gabrielli was new
set by Sacchini.
“In the first scene, Rauzzini and Sestini appeared with la Signora
Francesca, the sister of Gabrielli. They prepared us for the approach
of the blazing comet that burst forth in the second.
“Nothing could be more noble than her entrance. It seemed
instantaneously to triumph over her enemies, and conquer her
threateners. The stage was open to its furthest limits, and she
was discerned at its most distant point; and, for a minute or two,
there dauntlessly she stood; and then took a sweep, with a firm, but
accelerating step; and a deep, finely flowing train, till she reached
the orchestra. There she stopt, amidst peals of applause, that seemed
as if they would have shaken the foundations of the theatre.
“What think you now of John Bull?
“I had quite quivered for her, in expectation of cat-calling and
hissings; but the intrepidity of her appearance and approach, quashed
all his resentment into surprised admiration.
“She is still very pretty, though not still very young. She has small,
intelligent, sparkling features; and though she is rather short, she
is charmingly proportioned, and has a very engaging figure. All her
notions are graceful, her air is full of dignity, and her walk is
majestic.
“Though the applause was so violent, she seemed to think it so simply
her due, that she deigned not to honour it with the slightest mark of
acknowledgment, but calmly began her song.
“John Bull, however, enchained, as I believe, by the reported vagaries
of her character, and by the high delight he expected from her talents,
clapped on,—clap, clap, clap!—with such assiduous noise, that not a
note could be heard, nor a _notion_ be started that any note was sung.
Unwilling, then,
“To waste her sweetness on the clamorous air,”
and perhaps growing a little gratified to find she could “soothe the
savage breast,” she condescended to make an Italian courtesy, _i.e._ a
slight, but dignified bow.
“Honest John, who had thought she would not accept his homage, but
who, through the most abrupt turn from resentment to admiration,
had resolved to bear with all her freaks, was so enchanted by this
affability, that clapping he went on, till, I have little doubt, the
skin of his battered hands went off; determining to gain another gentle
salutation whether she would or not, as an august sign that she was not
displeased with him for being so smitten, and so humble.
“After this, he suffered the orchestra to be heard.
“Gabrielli, however, was not flattered into spoiling her flatterers.
Probably she liked the spoiling too well to make it over to
them. Be that as it may, she still kept expectation on the rack, by
giving us only recitative, till every other performer had tired our
reluctant attention.
“At length, however, came the grand bravura, ‘_Son Regina, e sono
Amante_.’
“Here I must stop!—Ah, Mr. Crisp! why would she take words that had
been sung by Agujari?
“Opinions are so different, you must come and judge for yourself.
Praise and censure are bandied backwards and forwards, as if they were
two shuttlecocks between two battledores. The _Son Regina_ was the only
air of consequence that she even attempted; all else were but bits;
pretty enough, but of no force or character for a great singer.
“How unfortunate that she should take the words, even though to other
music, that we had heard from Agujari!—Oh! She is no Agujari!
“In short, and to come to the truth, she disappointed us all
egregiously.
However, my dear father, who beyond any body tempers his judgment with
indulgence, pronounces her a very capital singer.
“But she visibly took no pains to exert herself, and appeared so
impertinently easy, that I believe she thought it condescension
enough for us poor savage Islanders to see her stand upon the stage,
and let us look at her. Yet it must at least be owned, that the tone
of her voice, though feeble, is remarkably sweet; that her action is
judicious and graceful, and that her style and manner of singing are
masterly.”