She
was by no means handsome, being short and insignificant, with a rather
agreeable, good-natured countenance, the leading feature of which
was--terrible defect in a singer--a set of irregular teeth, which
projected, in defiance of order, out of their proper places. Her manner,
however, was prepossessing, though she was an indifferent actress.
But her voice atoned for everything: its compass was from G to E in
altissimo, which she ran with the greatest ease and force, the tones
being at once powerful and sweet. Both her _portamento di voce_ and
her volubility were declared to be unrivaled. It was remarked that she
seemed to take difficult music from choice, and she could sing fluently
at sight--rather a rare accomplishment among vocalists of that day.
Nothing taxed her powers. Her execution was easy and neat; her shake was
true, open, and liquid; and though she preferred brilliant, effective
pieces, her refined taste was well known. "Her voice, clear, sweet,
and distinct, was sufficiently powerful," remarked Lord Mount Edgcumbe
afterward, "though rather thin, and its agility and flexibility rendered
her a most excellent bravura singer, in which style she was unrivaled."
"Mara's divisions," observes another critic, "always seemed to convey
a meaning; they were vocal, not instrumental; they had light and shade,
and variety of tone."

Frederick was highly pleased with his musical acquisition, but a
more potent monarch than himself soon appeared to disturb his royal
complacency. Mlle. Schmaeling, placed in a new position of ease and
luxury, found time to indulge her natural bent as a woman, and fell in
love with a handsome violoncellist, Jean Mara, who was in the service of
the King's brother. Mara was a showy, shallow, selfish man, and pushed
his suit with vigor, for success meant fortune and a life of luxurious
ease. The King forbade the match, so the enamored couple eloped, and,
being arrested by the King's guards, they were punished by Fritz with
solitary confinement for disobedience. At last the King relented, and
sanctioned the marriage which he suspected opposition would only delay,
probably fully aware that the lady would soon repent her infatuation.
Jean Mara did all in his power to effect this result, for the honeymoon
had hardly ended before he began to beat his bride at small provocation
with all the energy of a sturdy arm. Poor Mme. Mara had a hard life of
it thenceforward, but she never ceased to love Mara to