Chapter III

Among the remarkable male singers of Gabrielli's time was Caffarelli, whom his friends indeed declared to be no less great than Farinelli. Though never closely associated with La Cuochet-tina in her stage triumphs (a fact perhaps fortunate for the cantatrice), he must be regarded as one of the representative artists of the period when she was in the full-blown and insolent prime of her beauty and reputation. Born in 1703, of humble Neapolitan parentage, he became a pupil of Porpora at an early age. The great singing-master is said to have taught him in a peculiar fashion. For five years he permitted him to sing nothing but scales and exercises. In the sixth year Porpora instructed him in declamation, pronunciation, and articulation. Caffarelli, at the end of the sixth year, supposing he had just mastered the rudiments, began to murmur, when he was amazed by Porpora's answer: "Young man, you may now leave me; you are the greatest singer in the world, and you have nothing more to learn from me." Hogarth discredits this story, on the ground that "none but a plodding drudge without a spark of genius could have submitted to a process which would have been too much for the patient endurance even of a Russian serf; or if a single spark had existed at first, it must have been extinguished by so barbarous a treatment." Caffarelli did not rise to the height of his fame rapidly, and, when he went to London to supply the place of Farinelli in 1738, he entirely failed to please the English public, who had gone wild with enthusiasm over his predecessor. Farinelli's retirement from the artistic world about this period removed from Caffarelli's way the only rival who could have snatched from him the laurels he soon acquired as the leading male singer of the age. After Caffarelli's return from England, his engagements in Turin, Genoa, Milan, and Florence were a triumphal progress. At Turin he sang before the Prince and Princess of Sardinia, the latter of whom had been a pupil of Farinelli, as she was a Spanish princess. Caffarelli, on being told that the royal lady had a prejudice in favor of her old master, said haughtily, "To-night she shall hear two Farinellis in one," and exerted his faculties so successfully as to produce acclamations of delight and astonishment. He always seems to have had great jealousy of the fame of Farinelli, and the latter entertained much curiosity about his successor in public esteem. Metas-tasio, the friend of the retired artist, wrote to him in 1749 from Vienna about Caffarelli's reception: "You will be curious to know how Caffarelli has been received. The wonders related of him by his adherents had excited expectations of something above humanity." After summing up the judgments of the critics who were severe on Caffarelli's faults, that his voice was "false, screaming, and disobedient," that his singing was full of "antique and stale flourishes," that "in his recitative he was an old nun," and that in all that he sang there was "a whimsical tone of lamentation sufficient to sour the gayest allegro," Metastasio says that in his happy moments he could please excessively, but the caprices of his voice and temper made these happy moments very uncertain.

Caffarelli's arrogant, vain, and turbulent nature seems to have been the principal cause of his troubles. The numerous anecdotes current of him turned mainly on this characteristic, so different from the modesty and reticence of Fari-nelli. Metastasio, in a lively letter to the Princess di Belmonte, describes an amusing fracas at the Viennese Opera-House. The poet of the house, Migliavacca, who was also director of rehearsals, became engaged in altercation with the singer, because the latter neglected attendance. He rehearsed to Caffarelli in bitter language the various terms of reproach and contempt which his enemies throughout Europe had lavished on him. "But the hero of the panegyric, cutting the thread of his own praise, called out to his eulogist, 'Follow me if thou hast courage to a place where there is none to assist thee,' and, moving toward the door, beckoned him to come out. The poet hesitated a moment, then said with a smile: 'Truly, such an antagonist makes me blush; but come along, since it is a Christian act to chastise a madman or a fool,' and advanced to take the field." Suddenly the belligerents drew blades on the very stage itself, and, while the bystanders were expecting to see poetical or vocal blood besprinkle the harpsichords and double basses, the Signora Tesi advanced toward the duelists. "Oh, sovereign power of beauty!" writes Metastasio with sly sarcasm; "the frantic Caffarelli, even in the fiercest paroxysms of his wrath, captivated and appeased by this unexpected tenderness, runs with rapture to meet her, lays his sword at her feet, begs pardon for his errors, and, generously sacrificing to her his vengeance, seals, with a thousand kisses on her hand, his protestations of obedience, respect, and humility. The nymph signifies her forgiveness with a nod, the poet sheathes his sword, the spectators begin to breathe again, and the tumultuous assembly breaks up amid sounds of laughter. In collecting the numbers of the wounded and slain, none was found but the poor copyist, who, in trying to part the combatants, had received a small contusion in the clavicula of the foot from an involuntary kick of the poet's Pegasus."

Once, while Caffarelli was singing at Naples, he was told of the arrival of Gizzielo, a possible rival, at Rome. Unable to check his anxiety, he threw himself into a post-chaise and hastened to Rome, arriving in time to hear his young rival sing the _aria d'entrata_. Delighted with Gizzielo's singing, and giving vent to his emotion, he cried in a loud voice: "_Bravo, bravissimo, Gizzielo! E Caffarelli che te lo dice_." So saying, he rushed out and posted back to Naples, arriving barely in time to dress for the opera. By invitation of the Dauphin, he went to Paris in 1750, and sang at several concerts, where he pleased and astonished the court by his splendid vocalism. Louis XV. sent him a snuff-box; but Caffarelli, observing its plainness, said disdainfully, showing a drawerful of splendid boxes, that the worst was finer than the French King's present. "If he had only sent me his portrait in it," said the vain' artist. "That is only given to ambassadors and princes," was the reply of the King's gentleman. "Well," was the reply, "all the ambassadors and princes in the world would not make one Caffarelli." The King laughed heartily at this, but the Dauphin sent for the singer and presented him with a passport, saying, "It is signed by the King himself--for you a great honor; but lose no time in using it, for it is only good for ten days." Caffarelli left in high dudgeon, saying he had not made his expenses in France.

Mr. Garrick, the great actor, heard Caffarelli in Naples in 1764, when he was turned of sixty, and thus writes to Dr. Burney: "Yesterday we attended the ceremony of making a nun; she was the daughter of a duke, and everything was conducted with great splendor and magnificence. The consecration was performed with great solemnity, and I was very much affected; and, to crown the whole, the principal part was sung by the famous Caffarelli, who, though old, has pleased me more than all the singers I ever heard. He _touched_ me, and it is the first time I have been touched since I came to Italy." At this time Caffarelli had accumulated a great fortune, purchased a dukedom, and built a splendid palace at San Dorato, from which he derived his ducal title.

Over the gate he inscribed, with characteristic modesty, this inscription: "_Amphion Thebas, ego domum._" * A wit of the period added, "_Ille cum, sine tu_." ** Caffarelli died in 1783, leaving his title and wealth to his nephew, some of whose descendants are still living in enjoyment of the rank earned by the genius of the singer. By some of the critics of his time Caffarelli was judged to be the superior of Farinelli, though the suffrages were generally on the other side. He excelled in slow and pathetic airs as well as in the bravura style; and was unrivaled in the beauty of his voice, and in the perfection of his shake and his chromatic scales, which latter embellishment in quick movements he was the first to introduce.

* "Amphion built Thebes, I a palace."

** "He with good reason, you without."