It was in Paris, in 1830, that Mme. Malibran's romantic attachment to M.
Charles de Bériot, the famous Belgian violinist, had its beginning. M.
de Bériot had been warmly and hopelessly enamored of Malibran's rival,
Mdlle. Sontag, in spite of the fact that the latter lady was known to
be the _fiancée_ of Count Rossi. The sympathies of Malibran's warm and
affectionate heart were called out by her friend's disappointment, for
gossip in the musical circles of Paris discussed De Bériot's unfortunate
love-affair very freely. With her usual impulsive candor she expressed
her interest in the brilliant young violinist without reserve, and it
was not long before De Bériot made Malibran his confidante, and found
consolation for his troubles in her soothing companionship. The result
was what might have been expected. Malibran's beauty, tenderness, and
genius speedily displaced the former idol in the heart of the Belgian
artist, while she learned that it was but a short step between pity and
love. This mutual affection was the cause of a dispute between Maria and
her friend Mme. Naldi, whose austere morality disapproved the intimacy,
and there was a separation, our singer moving into lodgings of her own.
It was during her London engagement of the same year that Mme. Malibran
became acquainted with the greatest of bassos, Lablache, who made his
_début_ before an English public in the rôle of _Geronimo_, in "Il
Matrimonio Segreto." The friendship between these two distinguished
artists became a very warm one, that only terminated with Malibran's
death. Lablache, who had sung with all the greatest artists of the age,
lamented her early taking off as one of the greatest misfortunes of the
lyric stage. One strong tie between them was their mutual benevolence.
On one occasion an unfortunate Italian importuned Lablache for
assistance to return to his native land. The next day, when all the
company were assembled for rehearsal, Lablache requested them to join
in succoring their unhappy compatriot; all responded to the call, Mme.
Lalande and Donzelli each contributing fifty francs. Malibran gave the
same as the others; but, the following day, seizing the opportunity of
being alone with Lablache, she desired him to add to her subscription of
fifty francs two hundred and fifty more; she had not liked to appear to
bestow more than her friends, so she had remained silent the preceding
day. Lablache hastened to seek his _protégé_, who, however, profiting
by the help afforded him, had already embarked; but, not discouraged,
Lablache hurried after him, and arrived just as the steamer was leaving
the Thames. Entering a boat, however, he reached the vessel, went
on board, and gave the money to the _émigré_, whose expressions of
gratitude amply repaid the trouble of the kind-hearted basso. Another
time Malibran aided a poor Italian who was destitute, telling him to say
nothing about it. "Ah, madame," he cried, "you have saved me for ever!"
"Hush!" she interrupted; "do not say that; only the Almighty could do
so. Pray to him."
The feverish activity of Mme. Malibran was shown at this time in a
profusion of labors and an ardor in amusement which alarmed all her
friends. When not engaged in opera, she was incessant in concert-giving,
for which her terms were eighty guineas per night. She would fly to
Calais and sing there, hurry back to England, thence hasten to Brussels,
where she would give a concert, and then cross the Channel again, giving
herself no rest. Night after night she would dance and sing at private
parties till dawn, and thus waste the precious candle of her life at
both ends. She was haunted by a fancy that, when she ceased to live
thus, she would suddenly die, for she was full of the superstition
of her Spanish race. Mme. Malibran about this time essayed the same
experiment which Pasta had tried, that of singing the rôle of the Moor
in "Otello." It was not very successful, though she sang the music and
acted the part with fire. The delicate figure of a woman was not fitted
for the strong and masculine personality of the Moorish warrior, and
the charm of her expression was completely veiled by the swarthy mask
of paint. Her versatility was so daring that she wished even to out-leap
the limits of nature.
The great _diva's_ horizon (since Sontag's retirement from the stage she
had been acknowledged the leading singer of the age) was now destined to
be clouded by a portentous event. M. Malibran arrived in Paris. He had
heard of his wife's brilliant success, and had come to assert his rights
over her. Maria declined to see him, and no persuasions of her friends
could induce her to grant the _soi-disant_ husband, for whose memory she
had nothing but rooted aversion, even an interview. Though she finally
arrived at a compromise with him (for his sole interest in resuming
relationship with his wife seemed to be the desire of sharing in the
emoluments of her profession), she determined not to sing again in the
French capital while M. Malibran remained there, and accordingly retired
to a chateau near Brussels. The whole musical world was interested in
settling this imbroglio, and there was a final settlement, by the terms
of which the singer was not to be troubled or interfered with by her
husband as long as he was paid a fixed stipend. She returned to Paris,
and reappeared at the Italiens as _Ninetta_, the great Rubini being in
the same cast. The two singers vied with each other "till," observed a
French critic, "it seemed as if talent, feeling, and enthusiasm could go
no further." This engagement, however, was cut short by her frequent and
alarming illnesses, and Mme. Malibran, though reckless and short-sighted
in regard to her own health, became seriously alarmed. She suddenly
departed from the city, leaving a letter for the director, Severini,
avowing a determination not to return, at least till her health was
fully reestablished. This threatened the ruin of the administration, for
Malibran was the all-powerful attraction. M. Viardot, a friend who
had her entire confidence (Mlle. Pauline Garcia afterward became Mme.
Viardot), was sent to Brussels as ambassador, and he represented the
ruin she would entail on the operatic season of the Italiens. This plea
appealed to her generosity, and she returned to fulfill her engagement.
Constant attacks of illness, however, continued to disturb her
performances, and the Parisian public chose to attribute this
interruption of their pleasures to the caprice of the _diva_. She
so resented this injustice that she determined, at the close of
the engagement, that she would never again sing in Paris. Her last
appearance, on January 8,1832, was as _Desdemona_, and the fervency of
her singing and acting made it a memorable night, as the rumor had crept
out that Mme. Malibran was then taking a lasting leave of them as an
artist, and the audience sought to repair their former injustice by
redoubled expressions of enthusiasm and pleasure.
An amusing instance of her eccentric and impulsive resolution was
her hasty tour with La-blache to Italy which occurred a few months
afterward. The great basso, passing through Brussels _en route_ to
Naples, called at her villa to pay his respects. Malibran declared her
intention, in spite of his laughing incredulity, of going with him.
Though he was to leave at dawn the next morning, she was waiting at the
door of his hotel when he came down the stairs. As she had no passport,
she was detained on the Lombardy frontier till Lablache obtained the
needed document. At Milan she only sang in private concerts, and pressed
on to Rome, where she engaged for a short season at the Teatro Valle,
and succeeded in offending the _amour propre_ of the Romans by singing
French romances of her own composition in the lesson-scene of "Il
Barbiere." She learned of the death of her father while in Rome, news
which plunged her in the deepest despondency, for the memory of his
sternness and cruelty had long been effaced by her appreciation of the
inestimable value his training had been to her. She had often remarked
to her friend, Mme. Merlin, that without just such a severe system her
voice would never have attained its possibilities.
From Rome she went to Naples to fulfill a _scrittura_ with Barbaja, the
celebrated _impressario_ of that city, to give twelve performances at
one thousand francs a night. An immense audience greeted her on the
opening night at the Fondo Theatre, August 6, 1832, at first with a cold
and critical indifference--a feeling, however, which quickly flamed
into all the unrestrained volcanic ardor of the Neapolitan temperament.
Thenceforward she sang at double prices, "notwithstanding the
subscribers' privileges were on most of these occasions suspended, and
although 'Otello,' 'La Gazza Ladra,' and operas of that description were
the only ones offered to a public long since tired even of the beauties
of Rossini, and proverbial for their love of novelty."
Her great triumph, however, was on the night when she took her leave,
in the character of _Ninetta_. "Nothing can be imagined finer than the
spectacle afforded by the immense Theatre of San Carlo, crowded to the
very ceiling, and ringing with acclamations," says a correspondent of
one of the English papers at the time. "Six times after the fall of
the curtain Mme. Mali-bran was called forward to receive the reiterated
plaudits and adieux of the assembled multitude, and indicate by graceful
and expressive gestures the degree to which she was overpowered by
fatigue and emotion. The scene did not end within the walls of the
theatre; for a crowd of the most enthusiastic rushed from all parts
of the house to the stage-door, and, as soon as her sedan came out,
escorted it with loud acclamations to the Palazzo Barbaja, and renewed
their salutations as the charming vocalist ascended the steps."
Mme. Malibran had now learned to dearly love Italy and its impulsive,
warm-hearted people, so congenial to her own nature. She sang in
different Italian cities, receiving everywhere the most enthusiastic
receptions. In Bologna they placed a bust of their adored songstress
in the peristyle of the theatre. Each city vied with its neighbor in
lavishing princely gifts on her. She had not long been in London, where
she returned to meet her spring engagement at the King's Theatre in
1833, when she concluded a contract with the Duke Visconti of Milan for
one hundred and eighty-five performances, seventy-five in the autumn and
carnival season of 1835-'36, seventy-five in the corresponding season of
1836-'37, and thirty-five in the autumn of 1836, at a salary of eighteen
thousand pounds. These were the highest terms which had then ever been
offered to a public singer, or in fact to any stage performer since the
days of imperial Rome.