“I heard that upon one occasion Dr. Johnson knocked a man down with a heavy book, but I cannot imagine his ever firing a pistol,” remarked Mrs. Burney, who had been used, when the wife of a straightforward merchant of Lynn, to take every statement literally, and had not yet become accustomed to the involved mode of speaking of the brilliant young Burneys.
“You mean that Rauzzini—I don't quite perceive what you do mean by your reference to Dr. Goldsmith's apt humour,” said Esther.
“I only mean that among such a company as assembled at the Duchess's, if he missed fire with his singing, he glanced around with those dark eyes of his and the ladies went down before him by the score,” replied James. “Do not I speak the truth, Fanny?” he added, turning quickly to where Fanny was searching with her short-sighted eyes close to her work-basket for some material that seemed to be missing.
But she had clearly heard her brother's question, for she did not need to raise her head or to ask him to repeat it.
“Oh, we are all the slaves of the nobil' signor,” she said, and continued her search in the basket.
“From the way he talked to us last night it might be fancied that it was he who was the captive,” said Esther.
“And I do not doubt that he is living in a state of constant captivity,” laughed James. “Ay, or I should rather term it inconstant captivity, for I dare swear that those black eyes of his do a deal of roving in the course of a year—nay, in the course of a day. These singer fellows feel that 'tis due to their art, this moving the hearts of their hearers, by moving their own affections from heart to heart. The Rauzzini is, I fancy, like one of the splendid butterflies we came upon in the Straits, fluttering from flower to flower.”
“I have heard no stories of his inconstancy, even from the Gabrielli when she was most envious of his plaudits,” said Esther, and she glanced at her sister, who was earnestly threading a needle.
“You goose!” cried James to Esther. “Do you suppose that Gabrielli would tell you anything so greatly complimentary to him? In these days you cannot pay a man a greater compliment than to compare him to the fickle butterfly. You see that suggests a welcome from every flower.”
“I protest that it is to sailors I have heard most compliments of that sort paid,” laughed Esther, and then, putting herself in a singing attitude before him, she lilted most delightfully: