My good friend and correspondent, Mr: Hutton, called here last week in good health and spirits, and was as droll, and affectionate, and odd, as ever. My father read to him his Dedication to the Queen, which mightily pleased him, for he almost adores her Majesty.
In regard to Mr. Barlow, I have not seen him for many months; but I hear of him very often, from a certain Mrs. O’Connor, who was an old friend and favourite of my poor grandmother, and continues to be so of my aunts. It was by her means that he became acquainted with bur family. This gentlewoman and I never meet without her most officiously telling me tales of his goodness, worth, and so forth, and expatiating on my cruelty, and my own loss, and his broken heart, and such sort of stuff. I have, however, sent her a message by my aunt Anne, desiring her to forbear these attacks, and letting her know in as civil words as possible, that I was too much determined for them to answer any possible purpose. She has thought fit to make an apology, and I hope she will desist in future. My father, thank heaven, has not once mentioned his name since the tragical tragedy which I gave you a hint of.
As to any other person — my dear Mr. Crisp your wishes for me are very kind, but I am a queer sort of character, and, without particular inducements, cannot bear the thought of uniting myself for life with one who must have full power to make me miserable, and perhaps none to make me happy, — for it is such a chance! — and, as the constable says, there are gifts which God gives and do not fall to the lot of every one.
But though I am difficult and saucy, as you call me, in regard to giving another the sole power of settling my fate, yet I am by no means difficult to be pleased and happy as I am, on the contrary I neither want spirits nor pliability of temper to enjoy all the good that I can meet with: and as to the bad, though I am sometimes tempted to think I can never in one point have more, yet upon the whole perhaps I shall never have less; and the more sensible I am of the comforts I actually possess the more careful it makes me of foregoing them.
[Miss BURNEY TO MR. CRISP.]
St. Martin’s Street, Monday [endorsed by Mr. Crisp, “Novr 1775.”]
The best apology I can make for the indolence you accuse me of, is by shewing more alacrity in future. Don’t you allow of that reparation? As to my correspondence with the Huttons, the Brooks, or so forth, it was only occasional, and neither did, or could, or can interfere with one which gives me a thousand times more real satisfaction and pleasure. Besides, compared to what I write to you, all my other letters are mere notes. So you are angry with Gabrielli for making Signor Onofrio ill? What would you have been had you gone last Tuesday to the Opera House after seeing Didone advertised in all the papers and then been told there was no opera? Every one of our family but my mother went. The crowd was prodigious. They gave us hand-bills on which were written—” There can be no opera this evening on account of the indisposition of the two Capital Serious Singers.” People were in horrid passions. Some said it was scandalous; others that it was a shame; others called for the managers; one gentleman blustered furiously, vowing he had come twenty miles since dinner on purpose to hear Signora Gabriella. Poor Yates, the manager, was obliged to stand at the door from 5 till past 7 o’clock to appease the rage of the disappointed public; though every person he sent away caused him a pang, as he could not but say—” There goes three shillings! — there five! — there half-a-guinea!” Yet if he had not been there the house would have been probably pulled down.
We all came home horribly out of humour, and as to Hetty she determined from that moment not to like her, and prayed most devoutly that she might be hissed whenever she should honour England with the sound of her voice. After this we heard that she refused to let herself be heard even by the subscribers to the opera, and would not sing at any rehearsals, except at her own house. The next news was that all the band complained, that when they assembled to accompany her, she would only give them recitative.
My father called on the managers to know the reason why the opera was deferred on such short notice. They doubted much whether Gabrielli was really ill, but told him that she had declared she could not sing. When they represented the fury of an English audience upon such sort of disappointments, she told them, very easily, that if that was the case she would dress herself and make her appearance, — that the opera might be performed, — but that, for herself, she would make a curtsie, and point to her throat to excuse her singing. You may be sure they knew too well the genius of our nation to trust the safety of their theatre to such a trial of the forbearance of an audience, so big with expectation. Therefore the opera was put off to Saturday. The managers added that she addressed them in the mildest terms and with the most obliging softness, prefacing her refusal with—” Mais, Madame, écoutez! — je donnerai très volontiers deux operas la semaine prochaine — but the deuce a bit has she kept her word Mr. Bromfield, the surgeon, called here last week, and said he had heard her in a trio, and that though she did not exert herself, he never heard such singing before l He was so proud of it that he could talk of nothing else, and he owned that he had not thought of anything but her ever since he heard her. He had had a note from her and he shewed me her hand-writing, which was indeed a miserable scrawl, and her own name signed by her own hand. As to my father, he met with no opportunity of hearing her till Saturday night at the theatre. She requires more attendance and courting than he has time to give.
Now for Saturday. My mother partly from fear of the crowd and, partly from indifference to music, would not go. My father went in the pit. Mr. Burney, Hetty, Sukey, Charles, Charlotte, Bessy Allen and me, all sat in the front row of the 2nd gallery.... There was a prodigious house, such a one as November can scarce ever have seen before, unless indeed it was formerly more the fashion to come to town before Christmas than it is at present.
Well, Sir, expectations being raised so very high — can you wonder they were not answered? In the first scene, Rauzzini and Sistini entered with the sister, Franscesca Gabrielli; they prepared us for the approach of the blazing Star, who appeared in the second. Nothing could be more noble than her entrance. She took a sweep from the full length of the stage, amidst peals of applause, which seemed as if they would shake the foundation of the theatre. She walked with great majesty. Her person is rather short but charmingly proportioned. Her face is rather plump, but very pretty, and her air is all dignity. Though the applause was so violent she never deigned to make the slightest acknowledgement till she had finished her career, and marched from the farthest extremity of the stage, which was open to the end, quite up to the orchestra, when, finding the applause drowned the music, not a note of which could be heard she made an Italian curtsie, alias a bow. They continued to clap, however, and made her make two more bows, whether she would or not, before they were silent enough to listen to her voice. Expectation was kept on the rack long after her appearance, because she did not sing till after every other performer had had an air and then came Son Regina, and Sono Amante.
And now I know not what to write. Opinions vary so much that I would to heaven you would come and hear and judge for yourself. In the case of Agujari, I spoke boldly of her talents because there was but one mind among us; at present I think I must speak separately of every one’s sentiments, and leave you to suppose what you can.
This first song was the only one of any consequence that she sang, all the rest being mere bits. The trio and the duets were really charming. The difficulties in the Son Regina were all in the Davis style, in so much that one would think Miss Davis had been Gabrielli’s pupil.
To tell you I was not disappointed is impossible. You must already have perceived that your Tribunal has pronounced well, for AGUJARI is still alone and unrivalled!
Mr. Burney said that he was prodigiously let down; that she was not within ten degrees of Agujari. Hetty, because she was not an Agujari, would allow her nothing; declared that she would not quit her room to hear her; that she did not care whether she went to another opera the whole season. [But Hetty’s warm admiration has be
en so won by Agujari that she looks upon Gabrielli as a sort of usurper, in coming upon a throne that ought to be sacred to its first Queen. You know her honest vivacity, and love her for it. Indeed, who does not?] Susy was rather more pleased with her. For my part I was overborne by the torrent; but though I by no means could compare her with Agujari, I thought the tone of her voice was extremely sweet, that she sung in a masterly manner, acted judiciously and gracefully, and was only second to Agujari. My father, who has at once more indulgence and more judgement than any of us, came home in much better humour with her than his saucy children. He pronounces her, upon the whole, taking perfections and imperfections together, a very capital singer.
Disappointed as we were, there is no possibility, as yet, of knowing whether she would not, or could not do more, for she was most impertinently easy, visibly took no pains, and never in the least exerted herself. All that can excuse her, is that she had really a bad cold, coughed often, and was even hoarse at times.
She has very little voice though sweetly toned and polished. She never gave us one shake, nor an idea of one, though I have heard that she has a very fine one. What could possibly put her out of humour, if in reality she did not want the power but the will to do greater things? Nothing could be more flattering than her reception, and she had the most striking applause the whole night.
She is the universal subject of conversation, and no two people think alike of her. In the gallery every one seemed to think that she gave herself airs, and would not sing. In the pit, near my father, every lady was delighted with her. So you see you must come and hear her yourself. Others aver that she was in a terrible fright, and lost her steadiness and powers from fear. Indeed, she actually told Mr. Bromfield that she was sure she should be terrified to death. Upon the whole there is no knowing what to say. So I will say no more, but change the subject, and come to yesterday, to give you an account of a little concert we had, at which assisted a most superb party of company. It was occasioned by the desire of Dr. King to have Prince Orloff, of Russia, hear Mr. Burney and my sister in a duet before he left England.
Prince Orloff is the identical man who was the reigning favourite with the Empress of Russia at the time the Czar was murdered. He is said to have seized the Emperor, but he is known to have immediately succeeded to the good will of the Czarina. This Prince was sent to negotiate peace at Constantinople some little time since; but, in his absence, he was unfortunately supplanted in the favour of the Empress, by some other Adonis, and though loaded with honours, preferment, and all sorts of orders, he chose to travel a little while, when, upon his return to Russia, he found that the Empress had received another friend into her good graces. He is now therefore in England, where he lives in great splendour, is perpetually at Court, and has had entertainments made for him by all the Ministers of State, &c. Dr. King had him, when in Russia, for his patron, and now proposed his coming here yesterday. We had no performers but Mr. Burney and Hetty, but a good deal of company. I will introduce them to you as they entered, and hope to make my peace with you in relation to indolence by being as minute as I can.
Rat, tat, tat! Enter the Dean of Winchester. The Dean is a man of drollery, good humour, and sociality; but he is very severe at times in his characters of men, though perfectly free from any narrowness or contraction. He disdains submitting to the great or Lording it over the little, and was equally at his ease with Prince Orloff — or
Hetty - Burney.
Miss Sukey - Burney.
Fanny - Burney.
Dr. Burney. Was you at the Opera last night Mr. Dean?
Dean of W. No, Sir. I made an attempt, but I hate a crowd — as much as the ladies love it. I beg pardon! (Bowing to us).
Mama then entered into a defensive argument, which lasted till another — Tat, Tat, at the door. Enter Dr. King.
He was as fade and as imposing, and as consequential, and as insipid as usual. He told us that the Prince was to dine with Lord Buckingham and a multitude of others, and begged the concert might not wait for him, as he was obliged to go in for a few minutes to Lady Harrington’s before he came, it being her Rout Day.
Tat, tat, tat, tat, tat, two! — Enter Lady Edgecumbe. We were all introduced to her, and were honoured with a most gracious reception. She began a very animated conversation with my father, and was all condescension, repartee {andyet) good humour.
Dr. Burney. Your Ladyship was doubtless at the Opera last night?
Lady Edge. O Yes! But I have not heard the Gabrielli! — that is all I can say, I have not heard her! I wont allow that I have!
Dr. B. Your Ladyship expected a greater and more powerful voice?
Lady Edge. Why no; not much. But the shadow tells me what the substance must be. However, I have not yet heard her. She had really a terrible cold.
Dr. B. It is most fair not to judge of her yet Lady Edge. She cannot have acquired the fame of the first singer in the world for nothing. But for me — I have heard Monticelli — I have heard Mingotti — and I have heard Manzoli! — and I shall never hear them again!
Dr. King {pushing himself forward). But I humbly submit to your Ladyship, whether Gabrielli has yet done herself justice? (N.B. — He knows nor cares a fig for music.)
Lady Edge. Certainly not. But Dr. Burney, I have also heard Agujari — and I shall never hear HER again!
Hetty, Fanny, Susey. O, Agujari!
Dr. B. Your Ladyship wins all their hearts by naming Agujari. But I hope you will hear her again.
Lady Edge. Do pray, Dr. Burney, speak about her to Mrs. Yates. Let her know that Agujari wishes to sing at the theatre.
Dr. B. Their present engagements with the Gabrielli must be first over; and then. I hope we shall bring Agujari back again.
Lady Edge. O! then I shall be quite crazy!
Dean of W. But, Lady Edgecumbe, may not Gabrielli have great powers, and yet not voice sufficient to fill a theatre?
Lady Edge. O, Mr. Dean, our theatre is nothing to what she has been used to abroad. Agujari would greatly fill the Theatre — indeed she could fill the Pantheon. By Gabriellif Rauzzini seemed to have a great voice; by Agujari he appeared a child.
Tat, tat, tat. — Enter Mr. Charles Boone. Salutations over —
Dr. B, You were at the Opera last night?
Mr. Boone. No, my cold was too bad. But I am told by Mr. Cooper, an excellent judge, that he heard enough to pronounce her the greatest singer in the world.
Tat, tat, tat, tat. — Enter Mr and Mrs. Brudenal Mr. Brudenal is second brother to the Duke of Montague. His lady was the Hon. Miss Legge, a great lady singer, and scholar of Mingotti. She is a soft, obliging, pretty sort of woman.
The introduction over, the Question of the Night was repeated — How do you like Gabrielli?
Mrs. Brudenal. O, Lady Edgecumbe and I are exactly of one mind; we both agree that she has not sung yet.
Tat, tat, tat. — Enter Mr. Charnier. Mr. Charnier who is the most gallant of men, immediately seated himself by Susey and me, and began a most lively and agreeable conversation; and from this time the company being large divided into parties. But I am resolved you shall hear every body’s opinion of Gabrielli.
Mr. Charnier. Well, ladies, I hope you were entertained at the Opera? I had the happiness of sitting next Dr. Burney.
Susy. I believe I saw you.
Mr. Charnier. I was very sorry I could not see you. I looked for you.
Fanny. O, we were at an humble distance! — in the gallery.
Susy. I rather think we were at an exalted distance.
Mr. Charnier. I heard where you were, for though I had not the pleasure of seeing you, I enquired of the Doctor where you were. Was not the Gabrielli charming?
Susy. O, y — e — s.
Fanny. I never expected so much in my life — I was really in an agitation — I could not listen to the overture — I could hardly breathe till I had heard her.
Mr. Charnier. Well, I am sure she did not disappoint you! —
Fanny. I mu
st confess my expectations were too high raised to be answered.
Mr. Charnier, O, she was not in voice; you must regard this as a mere échantillon, Hetty, A very feeble and bad one! (N.B. — Between her teeth.)
Mr, Charnier. I was kept at the theatre a full hour after the last dance before I could get to a chair, for the crowd. However we got into a party in the Coffee Room, and settled the affairs of the opera, Fanny. Then I am sure there could be no dearth of conversation, for the opinions of every one concerning Gabrielli are so various.
Mr. Charnier. O, I beg your pardon! I find it is the ton to be dissatisfied—” C’est peu de chose,” was echoed and reechoed partout!
Tat, tat, tat. — Enter M. le Baron de Demidoff. He is a Russian nobleman who travels with the Prince. He is very musical, and subscribed to my father’s History of Music before he left Russia. He brought news that the Prince was detained at Lady Harrington’s rout, but would be with us as soon as possible.
Lady Edgecumbe was engaged at the same place, but said she would defer her visit to the last moment. My father, followed by her Ladyship, then went into the library, and Mr. Burney seated himself at the harpsichord. We all followed. He was very much admired; but I can tell you nothing new upon that subject.
Tat, tat, tat. — Enter Mr. Harris of Salisbury. He is a most charming old man, and I like him amazingly. Lady Edgecumbe arose and went to meet him, saying he was an old and particular friend of hers and she rejoiced to meet him. When he [had paid her his compliments,] he very civilly renewed acquaintance with us. I told him we were all afraid he would be tired of so much of one thing, for that there was nothing for him again but the Duet. “That is the very reason I come,” answered he, “because I was never so much entertained as when I heard it before, and wish to renew the same pleasure.”
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 489