she had been passionately attached for some time, but shortly
afterwards she was thrown from her horse, while attending a hunt in
England. She sustained severe internal injury which eventually proved
fatal, though not until she had made heroic efforts to continue her
career, and fill all her engagements. Her death produced a painful shock
throughout all Europe, for she had been as much admired and beloved as a
woman, as she was worshipped as an artist.

The genius of the Garcia family shone not less in Madame Malibran's
younger sister, Pauline, than in herself. Pauline was thirteen years the
junior of Maria, and did not become celebrated until after the death of
her sister. In the meantime, Grisi and other great singers had appeared.

Pauline was the favorite child of Garcia. "Pauline," he would say, "can
be guided by a thread of silk, but Maria needs a hand of iron."

At the age of six she could speak fluently in French, Spanish, Italian,
and English, and to these she afterwards added German. She also learned
to play the organ and piano as if by instinct. In her early days she
went with her father to Mexico, where they met with many strange
adventures, notably on one occasion, when they were seized by bandits,
who plundered Garcia of his savings, bound him to a tree, and made him
sing for his life.

Pauline was seven years old on her return to Europe, and three years
later she became one of the pupils of Franz Liszt. When she was eleven
her father died, and she began to study voice with Adolph Nourrit, the
tenor, who had been one of her father's favorite pupils.

Her first public appearance was made in Brussels, at the age of sixteen,
and it was the first occasion on which De Beriot appeared after the
death of Madame Malibran, his wife.

Pauline Garcia's voice was like that of her sister in quality. It
combined the two registers of contralto and soprano, from low F to C
above the lines, but the upper part of an originally limited
mezzo-soprano had been literally fabricated by an iron discipline,
conducted by the girl herself with all the science of a master. Her
singing was expressive, descriptive, thrilling, full, equal and just,
brilliant and vibrating, especially in the medium and lower notes.
Capable of every style of art, it was adapted to all the feelings of
nature, but particularly to outbursts of grief, joy, or despair.

M. Viardot, the director of the Paris Opera, went to London to hear
her, and was so