Part 11 (2/2)

How little did those who listened to her in London that summer foresee that with the close of the season they were to hear her in the capital no more, and that in little over a year her life was to be brought to a tragic end! Yet such was to be the case.

After the close of the London season the contralto retired to Brussels for a rest, and then in the early autumn set out for Naples.

Immediately on her arrival she received an urgent visit from Giovanni Gallo, the director of the little theatre of ”St Jean Chrysostome.” The interview led to a delightful episode.

The unhappy impresario was on the verge of bankruptcy, and came to beg her aid. Maria Malibran refused, but offered to sing for him at his theatre for a fee of three thousand francs.

The company and orchestra, who had already half dispersed, were hastily rea.s.sembled, and de Beriot himself directed the rehearsals for ”Somnambula.” The announcement of the forthcoming performance created tremendous excitement,--seats fetched incredible prices; and on the night itself the hall was crammed to overflowing. The tenor was so affected that he suddenly stopped short, and for some minutes could not sing a note. The public began to murmur, and the whole success of the evening was in jeopardy, until Malibran came to the rescue. She at once commenced to sing the tenor music, and rendered it with such virility of accent and gesture that the public shouted with enthusiasm. What was more to the purpose, the tenor was able to recover himself after a few moments and take up his _role_ again. At the fall of the curtain the ovation was tremendous,--indeed it seemed as if the applause would never come to an end.

Her generous action had been noised abroad throughout Venice, and when she went out people fought over bits of her shawl, her gloves, even her handkerchief, while all the gondolas formed a guard of honour as far as the Barbarigo Palace where she was staying. Scarcely had she entered when the Syndic of the gondoliers was announced. On being shown in, he presented a golden cup filled with wine, and begged her to touch it with her lips. From her balcony she saw the cup pa.s.sed from hand to hand down that long flotilla, stretching away down to the ”Riva del Carbone.”

Each boatman took a sip, but so small a one, fearing lest the wine should be exhausted before it had circulated among all his comrades, that when it came back into the hands of the Syndic it was still half full: seeing which, he poured the rest of the wine into the Grand Ca.n.a.l as a libation.

The total receipts of the performance were 10,500 francs, but nothing less than 15,000 could save the unhappy Gallo from bankruptcy. When he presented himself next day with the 3000 francs, as arranged, the tender-hearted artist discovered his predicament, and not only let him off her fee, but provided him with the further sum necessary for the settlement of his debt. Perhaps Alfred de Musset was thinking of this act of generosity when he wrote the lines--

”Cet or deux fois sacre qui payait ton genie Et qu'a tes pieds souvent laissa ta charite.”

In remembrance of this memorable performance, the munic.i.p.ality of Venice decided that the Theatre of Saint Jean Chrysostome should be called henceforth the Theatre Malibran.

The ensuing winter the prima donna spent at Milan, where the Duke of Visconti, director of La Scala, had offered her a contract for 185 performances, spread over two and a half years, for which she was to receive 450,000 francs. This visit to Milan marked the zenith of her fame, and is still referred to as ”the glorious year.” Here she pursued still further the studies, which she had already commenced, with regard to the reform of costume and scenery. Towards the realisation of her dreams she was supported by the Duke of Visconti, who, besides his connection with the opera house, was superintendent of the Academy of Art and Science. Reviving the ideas of Talma, she wished to introduce in the theatre artistic and archaeological truth, and, with this aim in view, she had copies made of a quant.i.ty of costumes from the archives of Venice, and from the miniatures in some old ma.n.u.scripts. From these designs dresses were made for many of the operas, notably ”Otello.” So great an interest did she take in the carrying out of this reform, that she always used to refer to it as ”la grande affaire.”

There are still extant not only a great number of the designs, which were copied by her orders, but several alb.u.ms of sketches for which she was herself responsible, and these exhibit considerable dexterity, besides giving proof of the deep interest which she took in the scheme.

In the midst of all this work, and of numberless receptions at which she was ever the princ.i.p.al attraction, she made frequent appearances at the Scala in ”Otello,” ”I Capuletti,” ”Norma,” ”Somnambula,” and ”Giovanna Grey.” The enthusiasm of the public had never reached such a pitch before, and it is from this year that those stamps dated which bore her head, and were used to close letters: specimens of these are still to be seen, but they are extremely rare.

On the day of her departure her comrades at the theatre presented her with a finely executed medal of gold, in which she was depicted in the costume of ”Norma”; while the governor expressed the hope of seeing her quickly back again. But it was never to be consummated.

On March 26, 1836, the contralto's marriage with Monsieur Malibran was finally annulled by the courts of Paris. This unworthy husband, soon after her return to Europe, had heard of her success in the French capital and followed her thither, demanding a share of her professional emoluments. With this claim she very properly refused to comply. He had obtained her hand by means of deception, and she had acquitted herself of any claim he might have had as her husband, by resigning in favour of his creditors the property which had been settled on her.

Three days after the marriage had been annulled, she was wedded to Charles de Beriot, the violinist, and we read that ”the Queen of France presented the bride with a costly agraffe, embellished with pearls.”

Next day de Beriot and his wife arrived at Brussels, and shortly afterwards were heard there for the first time together at a concert given for the benefit of the Polonais, and in another performance at the Theatre Royal.

Then came that fatal day in April when the singer had a terrible fall from her horse, being dragged some distance along the road and receiving injuries to her head from which she never recovered, though her wonderful energy enabled her to disregard the results for a time. She retired to Brussels, and went thence to Aix-la-Chapelle, where she gave two concerts with de Beriot.

In September they made a rapid journey from France, arriving at Manchester on Sunday the 11th, where she had been engaged as the princ.i.p.al attraction for the Festival. The same evening she sang no less than fourteen pieces in her room at the hotel to please some Italian friends. On the Monday she took part in the opening performance. Next day she was weak and ill, but nevertheless sang afternoon and evening.

On the Wednesday her condition became still more critical, but she managed to render ”Sing ye to the Lord” with thrilling effect; and this was the last sacred piece she ever sang, for that same evening brought her grand career to its tragic close.

The scene was one which none forgot who were present on that fatal night.

Before Maria Malibran had even reached the hall she had already fainted several times. Yet with an indomitable courage she nerved herself to go through the coming ordeal. With tears in their eyes, her friends begged her to return without attempting the strain for which she was so ill-prepared. But no; Maria Malibran refused to break faith with the public whom she had served so long, so gloriously. Even though her heart was chilled with presage of impending doom, she forced herself to enter on her self-appointed task, and carried it through with such success that when her final duet had been sung, ”Vanno se alberghi in petto,”

none who had listened to that rich contralto voice guessed that they had been present at the closing scenes of their favourite's career.

Her task was over, she had fought in an unequal combat and prevailed.

But still an enraptured audience clamoured to hear her yet again, and the noisy demand grew ever more insistent, until Maria Malibran came forward to repeat the closing movement.

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