“One objection, however, and a rather serious one, against her walking the stage, is that she limps.”
Two following letters of the authoress refer, first to disappointment in going to the Opera, when Gabrielli was advertised but did not sing; and secondly, to disappointment when she did sing. The next letter, giving an account of a concert at Dr. Burney’s house, immediately after the appearance of Gabrielli, we insert entire, as a fair medium specimen of the authoress’s style and talent in that species of writing. The concerts held at Dr. Burney’s appear to have been honoured by the presence of some very high company, though the performances appear to have been confined to the pianoforte, and a little singing, and the performers limited to the Doctor’s family and a few amateurs of rank. Not even a flute or violin is heard of, nor a single professional musician (out of the family) once mentioned as present:—
“You reproach me, my dear Mr. Crisp, for not sending you an account of our last two concerts. But the fact is, I have not anything new to tell you. The music has always been the same: the matrimonial duets are so much à la mode, that no other thing in our house is now demanded.
“But if I can write you nothing new about music—you want, I well know you will say, to hear some conversations.
“My dear Mr. Crisp, there is at this moment, no such thing as conversation. There is only one question asked, meet whom you may, namely; ‘How do you like Gabrielli?’ and only two modes, contradictory to be sure, but very steady, of reply: either, ‘Of all things upon earth!’ or, ‘Not the least bit in the whole world!’
“Well, now I will present you with a specimen, beginning with our last concert but one, and arranging the persons of the drama in the order of their actual appearance.
“But, imprimis, I should tell you, that the motive to this concert was a particular request to my father from Dr. King, our old friend, and the chaplain to the British—something—at St. Petersburgh, that he would give a little music to a certain mighty personage, who, somehow or other how, must needs take, transiently at least, a front place in future history,—namely, the famed favourite of the Empress Catherine of Russia, Prince Orloff.
“There, my dear Mr. Crisp! what say you to seeing such a doughty personage as that in a private house, at a private party, of a private individual, fresh imported from the Czarina of all the Russias,—to sip a cup of tea in St. Martin’s street?
“I wonder whether future historians will happen to mention this circumstance? I am thinking of sending it to all the keepers of records.
“But I see your rising eyebrow at this name—your start—your disgust—yet big curiosity.