In the next letter, the Rev. W. Harris writes to Mrs. Harris thus:—
'I met Mr. Handel a few days since in the street, and stopped and put him in mind who I was; upon which, I am sure it would have diverted you to have seen his antic motions. He seemed highly pleased, and was full of inquiry after you. I told him I was very confident that you expected a visit from him this summer (at Salisbury). He talked much of his precarious state of health, yet he looks well enough.'
Handel recovered from the mental affection; and five years later (1750) we find the Earl of Shaftesbury writing of him as follows:—
'I have seen Handel several times since I came hither (to London), and I think I never saw him so cool and well. He is quite easy in his behaviour, and has been pleasing himself in the purchase of several fine pictures, particularly a large Rembrandt, which is indeed excellent. We have scarce talked at all about musical subjects, though enough to find that his performances will go off incomparably.'
Music appears to have held a more prominent place in public amusements a century ago than is generally imagined; and when Giardini undertook the management of the Opera 'at the great house in the Haymarket' in 1764, Mrs. Harris opines that he will meet with no small difficulty, because the 'greatest part of the orchestra, and almost all the dancers, are engaged at the play-houses.' Giardini—a Piedmontese violinist and composer, who, after residing thirty years in England, went to Russia, where he died in 1793—came to grief in this operatic venture, and afterwards started an Opera in 'Mrs. Cornely's' rooms. Indeed, the Haymarket house, great as its celebrity became in the present century, was by no means a famous place in those times. In the same year (1764) we read in one of the letters, 'Almack is going to build some most magnificent rooms behind his house—one much larger than that at Carlisle House,' i.e., Mrs. Cornely's. This latter was the favourite place of resort at that time, and for many years afterwards. It was a place where subscription-concerts were held (one series mentioned in 1764, consisted of twenty-one concerts, of Bach's music, Cocchi's, and Abel's, for five guineas), where the Opera for some time had its seat; and also where masquerade parties and other fashionable entertainments were held. In 1770, we read of 'fifteen or sixteen young men of fashion and fortune giving a masquerade at Cornely's, to 800 people;' and in the following year we have a full account of a masquerade given at the same place by 'the gentlemen of the Tuesday Nights' Club.' Mrs. Harris, writing to her son (the future Earl) at Madrid, says: 'Mr. Charles Fox has offered to supply us with tickets. Your sisters and I mean to go; 'tis the only masquerade I wish them to go to. I shall try my utmost to persuade Mr. Harris (her husband) to accompany us. One difficulty is in the way; that is, no gentlemen are admitted in dominos.' Mr. Harris could not be persuaded to join the fashionable assembly, but Mr. Fox—who had just commenced his official career, as a Lord of the Admiralty—was, at that time, more at home in such parties than in Parliament. Mrs. Harris was greatly delighted with it. The following is part of her account of it:—
'Gertrude (Miss Harris) was dressed as the Pythian, that is, priestess to the temple of Apollo, a dress which she wore in one of the private plays. Louisa was an Indian Princess; Mr. Cambridge borrowed a dress for her which was pretty and fine—the habit, muslin with green and gold sprigs, with a turban and veil. I never saw anybody enter so strongly into the spirit of a masquerade as she did. She talked to numbers all in French, and had disguised her voice so well that even some of her friends did not discover her. Towards the end, she said she was frightened by the Devil speaking to her sister. Mine was a white domino, with a Mary Queen of Scots cap and ruff.
'Lord Edgecombe was a shepherdess, with a little lamb under his arm, and a most excellent figure he was. Mr. Banbury was a most excellent friseur; Lord Berkeley, a charlatan. Mrs. Crewe[9] looked beautiful as a nun with a yellow veil. Several gentlemen in women's clothes, not as old women....
'On the whole we are greatly entertained, for it was the first masked ball I ever saw. We supped soon after one; and then everybody unmasked, and a number of acquaintances we found, though we had found out many before. We got home soon after five; and, old as I may be, I never left a public place with more regret.'
Mrs. Cornely's rooms soon became the object of a jealous, and let us hope unfounded, attack. Giardini had opened an Opera there, which was 'greatly injuring that of Mr. Hobart's in the Haymarket;' and the latter gentleman 'informed against them' as an unlicensed house. There was a strong party on either side, 'harmoniacs' and 'anti-harmoniacs,' and the latter party brought forward scandalous charges. Only a week after the above-mentioned masquerade, Mrs. Harris writes thus:—