shrill clamor of the beautiful virago.  One day Don Ferdinand, justly suspecting her of gross unfaithfulness, assailed her with unusual fury, to which she replied by terming him a gobbo maladetto (accursed hunchback).  On this the Prince, carried beyond all control, had her imprisoned on some legal pretext, though Gabrielli found proofs of love struggling with his anger in the magnificence of the apartment and luxuriance of the service bestowed on her.  But he strove in vain to make his peace.  The offended coquette was implacable, and disdained alike his excuses and protestations of devotion.  One night she escaped from her prison, scaled the garden-wall, and fled, leaving her weak and disconsolate lover to cool his sighs in tears of unavailing regret.

The court of the Semiramis of the North, Catharine II. of Russia, who strove to expunge the contempt felt for her as a woman by Europe through the imperial munificence with which she played at patronizing art and literature, was the next scene of the fair Italian’s triumph.  Gabrielli was received with lavish favor, but the Empress frowned when she heard the pecuniary demands of the singer.  “Five thousand ducats!” she said, in amazement.  “Why, I don’t give more than that to one of my field-marshals.”  “Very well,” replied the audacious Gabrielli; “your Majesty may get your field-marshals to sing for you, then.”  Catharine, who, however cruel and unscrupulous when need be, was in the main good-natured, laughed at the impertinence, and instead of sending Gabrielli to Siberia consented to her demands, adding special gratuities to the nominal salary.  Two countrymen of the beautiful cantatrice, Pai-siello and Cimarosa, were afterward treated with equal honor and consideration by the imperial dilettante.  Catharine’s favor lasted unimpaired for several years, and it only abated when Gabrielli’s lust for conquest and the honor of rivalry with a sovereign tempted her to coquet with Prince Po-temkin.  An intimation from the court chamberlain that St. Petersburg was too hot for one of her warm southern blood, and that Siberia or some other place at her will would better suit her temperament, sufficed when backed by an imperial endorsement.  La Gabrielli returned from Russia, loaded with, diamonds and wealth, for Catharine did not dismiss her without substantial proofs of her magnificence and generosity.

At this period Gabrielli was invited to England; and after considerable haggling with the London manager, and compelling him to employ her favorite of the hour, Signor Manzoletto, as principal tenor, the negotiation was consummated.  Gabrielli still preserved all her excellence of voice and charm of execution; but her rare beauty, which had been as great a factor in her success as artistic skill, was on the wane.  The English engagement had been made with some reluctance; for the stern and uncompromising temper of the island nation had been widely recognized with exaggerations in Continental Europe.  “I should not be mistress of my own will,” she said, “and whenever I might have a fancy not to sing, the people would insult, perhaps misuse me.  It is better to remain unmolested, were it even in prison.”  She, however, changed her mind, and her experiences in London were such as to make her regret that she had not stood firm to her first resolution.