The orchestra, the symphony finished, refrained from proceeding, as though to give time for the enthusiastic reception which was Alboni’s right, and which it was natural to suppose Alboni would receive.  But you may imagine my surprise and the feelings of the renowned contralto when not a hand or a voice was raised to acknowledge her!  I could see Alboni tremble, but it was only for an instant.  What was the reason of this unanimous disdain or this unanimous doubt? call it what you will.  She might perhaps guess, but she did not suffer it to perplex her for more than a few moments.  Throwing aside the extreme diffidence that marked her entree, and the perturbation that resulted from the frigidity of the spectators, she wound herself up to the condition of fearless independence for which she is constitutionally and morally remarkable, and with a look of superb indifference and conscious power she commenced the opening of her aria.  In one minute the crowd, that but an instant before seemed to disdain her, was at her feet!  The effect of those luscious tones had never yet failed to touch the heart and rouse the ardor of an audience, educated or uneducated.”  Alboni’s triumph was instantaneous and complete; it was the greater from the moment of anxious uncertainty that preceded it, and made the certainty which succeeded more welcome and delightful.  From this instant to the end of the opera, Alboni’s success grew into a triumph.  During the first act she was twice recalled; during the second act, thrice; and she was encored in the air “In si barbara,” which she delivered with pathos, and in the cabaletta of the second duet with Semiramide.  She followed in “La Cenerentola,” and it may easily he fancied that her hearers compensated in boisterous warmth of reception for the phlegmatic indifference shown on the first night.

The English engagement of Mlle. Alboni the following year at Covent Garden was at a salary of four thousand pounds, and the popularity she had accomplished in England made her one of the most attractive features of the operatic season.  Her delicious singing and utter freedom from aught that savored of mannerism or affectation made her power of captivation complete in spite of her lack of dramatic energy.  She sang in the same company with Grisi, Persiani, and Viardot, while Mario and Tamburini added their magnificent voices to this fine constellation of lyric stars.  When she returned to London in 1849, Jenny Lind had retired from the stage where she had so thoroughly bewitched the public, and Mlle. Alboni became the leading attraction of Her Majesty’s Theatre, thus arraying herself against the opera organization with which she had been previously identified.  Among the other members of the company were Lablache and Ronconi.  Mlle. Alboni seemed to be stung by a feverish ambition at this time to depart from her own musical genre, and shine in such parts as Rosina, Ninetta, Zerlina ("Don Giovanni “) and Norina ("Don Pasquale").  The general public applauded her as vehemently as ever, but the judicious grieved that the greatest of contraltos should forsake a realm in which she blazed with such undivided luster.