Great Singers, Second Series | Page 8

which have their
root in the art temperament, she was a sort of Admirable Crichton. She
played the piano-forte with great skill, and, with no special knowledge
of drawing, possessed marked talent in sketching caricatures, portraits,
and scenes from nature. She composed both the music and words of
songs and romances with a felicitous ease. She excelled in feminine
works, such as embroidery, tapestry, and dressmaking, and always
modeled her own costumes. It was a saying with her friends that she
was as much the artist with her needle as with her voice. She wrote and
spoke five languages, and often used them with different interlocutors
with such readiness and accuracy that she rarely confused them. Her
wit and vivacity as a conversationalist were celebrated, and her mots

had the point as well as the flash of the diamond. Her retorts and
sarcasms often wounded, but she was quick to heal the stroke by a
sweet and childlike contrition that made her doubly fascinating.
Impassioned, ardent, the prey of an endless excitement, her restless
nature would quickly return from its flights to the every-day duties and
responsibilities of life, and her instincts were so strong and noble that
she was eager to repair any errors into which she might be betrayed.
Lavish in her generosity to others, she was personally frugal, even
penurious. A certain brusque and original frankness, and the
ingenuousness with which she betrayed every impression, often
involved her in compromising positions, which would have been fatal
to a woman in her position less pure and upright in her essential nature.
Fond of dolls, toys, and trifles, she was also devoted to athletic sports
and pastimes, riding, swimming, skating, shooting, and fencing.
Sometimes her return from a fatiguing night at the opera would be
marked by an exuberance of animal spirits, which would lead her to
jump over chairs and tables like a schoolboy. She was wont to say,
"When I try to restrain my flow of spirits, I feel as if I should be
suffocated." Her reckless gayety and unconventional manners led to
strange rumors. She would wander over the country attired in boy's
clothes, and without an escort, and a great variety of innocent
escapades led a carping world to believe that she indulged excessively
in stimulants, but the truth was that she never drank anything but a little
wine-and-water.
Maria could not long endure the frowning tutelage of M. Malibran's
sister, whom she at first selected as her chaperon, and so one day she
decamped without warning, in a coach, and established her "household
gods" with Mme. Naldi, an old friend of her father, and a woman of
austere manners, whom she obeyed like a child. Her protector had
charge of all her money, and opened all her letters before Maria saw
them. When her fortune was at his height, Mme. Mali-bran showed her
friend and biographer, Countess do Merlin, a much-worn Cashmere
shawl, saying: "I use this in preference to any that I have. It was the
first Cashmere shawl I ever owned, and I have pleasure in remembering
how hard I found it to coax Mme. Naldi to let me buy it."

In 1828 the principal members of the operatic company at the Italiens
were Malibran, Sontag, Donzelli, Zuchelli, and Graziani. Malibran sang
in "Otello," "Matilda di Shabran," "La Cenerentola," and "La Gazza
Ladra." Jealous as she was by temperament, she always wept when
Madamoiselle Sontag achieved a great success, saying, naively, "Why
does she sing so divinely?" The coldness between the two great singers
was fomented by the malice of others, but at last a touching
reconciliation occurred, and the two rivals remained ever afterward
sincere friends and admirers of each other's talents. There are many
charming anecdotes of Madame Malibran's generosity and quick
sympathy. At the house of one of her friends she often met an aged
widow, poor and unhappy, and strongly desired to assist her; but the
position and character of the lady required delicate management.
"Madame," she said at last, "I know that your son makes very pretty
verses." "Yes, madame, he sometimes amuses himself in that way. But
he is so young!" "No matter. Do you know that I could propose a little
partnership affair? Troupenas [the music publisher] has asked me for a
new set of romances. I have no words ready. If your son will give them
to me, we could share the profits." Mme. Malibran received the verses,
and gave in exchange six hundred francs. The romances were never
finished.
She performed all such acts of charity with so much refined delicacy,
such true generosity, that the kindness was doubled. Thus, at the end of
this season, a young female chorister, engaged for the opening of the
King's Theatre, found herself unable to quit Paris for