some time before he could be persuaded to sing; but, when he did, he excited as much admiration in Gabrielli’s breast as that fair cantatrice had done in his own.  Pac-chierotti is the third in the great triad of the male soprano singers of the eighteenth century, and the luster of his reputation does not shine dimly as compared with the other two.  He commenced his musical career at Palermo in 1770, at the age of twenty, and when he went to England in 1778 expectations were raised to the highest pitch by the accounts given of him by Brydone in his “Tour through Sicily and Malta.”  His first English season was very successful, and he returned again in 1780, to remain for four years and become one of the greatest favorites the London public had ever known, his last appearance being at the great Handel commemoration.  The details of Pacchierotti’s life are rather scanty, for he was singularly modest and retiring, and shrank from rather than courted public notice.  We know more of him from his various critics as an artist than as a man.

“Pacchierotti’s voice,” says Lord Mount Edgcumbe, who contributed so richly to the literature of music, “was an extensive soprano, full and sweet in the highest degree; his powers of execution were great, but he had far too good taste and good sense to make a display of them where it would have been misapplied, confining it to one bravura song in each opera, conscious that the chief delight of singing and his own supreme excellence lay in touching expression and exquisite pathos.  Yet he was so thorough a musician that nothing came amiss to him; every style was to him equally easy, and he could sing at first sight all songs of the most opposite characters, not merely with the facility and correctness which a complete knowledge of music must give, but entering at once into the views of the composer and giving them all the spirit and expression he had designed.  Such was his genius in his embellishments and cadences that their variety was inexhaustible....  As an actor, with many disadvantages of person—­for he was tall and awkward in his figure, and his features were plain—­he was nevertheless forcible and impressive; for he felt warmly, had excellent judgment, and was an enthusiast in his profession.  His recitative was inimitably fine, so that even those who did not understand the language could not fail to comprehend from his countenance, voice, and action every sentiment he expressed.”

An anecdote illustrating Pacchierotti’s pathos is given by the best-informed musical authorities.  When Metastasio’s “Artaserse” was given at Rome with the music of Bertoni, Pacchierotti performed the part of Arbaces.  In one place a touching song is followed by a short instrumental symphony.  When Pacchierotti had finished the air, he turned to the orchestra, which remained silent, saying, “What are you about?” The leader, awakened from a trance, answered with much simplicity in a sobbing voice, “We are all crying.”  Not one of the band had thought of the symphony, but sat with eyes full of tears, gazing at the great singer.