Mara were
the most perfect pieces of execution I ever heard," said Lord Mount
Edgcumbe. One of the most pathetic experiences of Mara's life was her
passage through Paris in 1792 on her way to Germany, when she saw her
former patroness Marie Antoinette, whom she remembered in all the glory
of her youth, popularity, and loveliness, seated in an open chariot,
pale, wan, and grief-stricken, surrounded by a guard of troopers with
drawn swords and hooted at by a mob of howling _sans-culottes_. Better
far to be a mimic queen than to be hurled from the most radiant and
splendid place in European royalty, to be the scorn and plaything of the
ragged ruffians of Paris, and to finish with the guillotine in the Place
de la Greve! About this time she was freed from the _bete noire_ of her
life, her drunken worthless husband, who agreed to trouble her no more
if she would settle an annuity on him. Thenceforward they never met,
though she always spoke of him with affection.

Harris, of the Theatre Royal of Dublin, engaged Mara to sing in English
opera in 1797. Despite the fact that her English was so faulty, that her
person was unprepossessing, and that the part was associated with
some of the most beautiful and accomplished singers on the stage, her
performance of _Polly Peachum_ in the "Beggars' Opera" was a masterpiece
of delicious simplicity and archness. The perfection of her art
vanquished all obstacles, and she was acknowledged the equal of Mrs.
Crouch, and even of the resplendent Billington, in the part. Dr. Arnold
records that, in spite of the dancing and violent action of the _role_,
her tones were as free, smooth, and perfect as if she had been standing
in the orchestra. Mrs. Billington, who was just to her professional
rivals, said she regarded Mara's execution as superior to her own in
genuine effect, though not in compass and complication. If the rapid
vocalization of a singer was praised, Mara would significantly ask, "Can
she sing six plain notes?"

As time passed, Mme. Mara's voice began to decline, and in 1802 she
took advantage of an annoying controversy to bid farewell to the English
public; for the artist who could sing solemn music with such thrilling
effect had the temper of a shrew, though it was easily placated. Mrs.
Billington generously offered her services to assist at her farewell
concert; and Mara, bursting into tears, threw her arms about the neck
of the greatest of her professional rivals. She did not s