“At that time the beauty of sound was more remarkable (in such passages as I have just spoken of) than the depth of feeling.  When the passion of the actress was roused—­as in ‘La Gazza,’ during the scene with her deserter father—­with the villainous magistrate, or in the prison with her lover, or on her trial before sentence was passed—­her glorious notes, produced without difficulty or stint, rang through the house like a clarion, and were truer in their vehemence to the emotion of the scene than were those wonderfully subdued sounds, in the penetrating tenuity of which there might be more or less artifice.  From the first, the vigor always went more closely home to the heart than the tenderness in her singing; and her acting and her vocal delivery—­though the beauty of her face and voice, the mouth that never distorted itself, the sounds that never wavered, might well mislead an audience—­were to be resisted by none.”

Henceforward, Mlle. Grisi alternated between London and Paris for many years, her great fame growing with the ripening years.  Of course, she, like other beautiful singers, was the object of passionate addresses, and the ardent letters sent to her hotel and dressing-room at the theatre occasioned her much annoyance.  Many unpleasant episodes occurred, of which the following is an illustration, as showing the persecution to which stage celebrities are often subjected:  While she was in her stage-box at the Paris Opera one night, in the winter of 1836, she observed an unfortunate admirer, who had pursued her for months, lying in ambuscade near the door, as if awaiting her exit.  M. Robert, one of the managers, requested the intruder to retire, and, as the admonition was unheeded, Colonel Ragani, Grisi’s uncle, somewhat sternly remonstrated with him.  The reckless lover drew a sword from a cane, and would have run Colonel Ragani through, had it not been for the coolness of a gentleman passing in the lobby, who seized and disarmed the amorous maniac, who was a young author of some repute, named Dupuzet.  Anecdotes of a similar kind might be enumerated, for Grisi’s womanly fascinations made havoc among that large class who become easily enamored of the goddesses of the theatre.

Like all the greatest singers, Grisi was lavishly generous.  She had often been known to sing in five concerts in one day for charitable purposes.  At one of the great York festivals in England, she refused, as a matter of professional pride, to sing for less than had been given to Malibran, but, to show that there was nothing ignoble in her persistence, she donated all the money received to the poor.  She rendered so many services to the Westminster Hospital that she was made an honorary governor of that institution, and in manifold ways proved that the goodness of her heart was no whit less than the splendor of her artistic genius.