happy memory in arbitrary changes and embellishments, and a clear and
quick judgment in giving to words their full value and expression. In
her action she was very happy; and as her performance possessed that
flexibility of muscles and face-play which constitute expression, she
succeeded equally well in furious, tender, and amorous parts. In short,
she was born for singing and acting."

Faustina's amiability would have kept her on good terms with a rival;
but Cuzzoni's malice and envy ignored the fact that their respective
qualities were rather adapted to complement than to vie with each other.
Handel, who had a world of trouble with his singers, strove to keep them
on amicable terms, but without success. The town was divided into two
parties: the Cuzzoni faction was headed by the Countess of Pembroke, and
that of Faustina by the Countess of Burlington and Lady Delawar, while
the men most loudly declared for the Venetian beauty.

At last the feud came to a climax. On the 20th of June, 1727, a
brilliant gathering of rank and fashion filled the opera-house to hear
the two _prime donne_, who were to sing together. On their appearance
they were received with a storm of mingled hissing and clapping of
hands, which soon augmented into a hurricane of catcalls, shrieking,
and stamping. Even the presence of royalty could not restrain the
wild uproar, and accomplished women of the world took part in these
discordant sounds. Dr. Arbuthnot, in alluding to the disgraceful scene,
wrote in the "London Journal" this stinging rebuke: "Æsop's story of the
cat, who, at the petition of her lover, was changed into a fine woman,
is pretty well known; notwithstanding which alteration, we find that
upon the appearance of a mouse she could not resist the temptation of
springing out of his arms, though it was on the very wedding night.
Our English audience have been for some time returning to their cattish