i Curiazi"), and justified her right to wear the
crown of Pasta and Malibran, she was obliged by considerations of health
to return to the balmier climate of Southern Europe.

While traveling in Spain, the native land of her parents, she was
induced to sing in Madrid, where she was welcomed with all the warmth of
Spanish enthusiasm. Her amiability was displayed during her performance
of _Desdemona_, the second opera presented. Pleased with the
unrestrained expressions of delight by the audience, she voluntarily
sang the _rondo finale_ from "Cenerentola." There was such a magic spell
on the audience that they could not be prevailed upon to leave, though
Mme. Viardot sang again and again for them. At last the curtain fell and
the orchestra departed, but the crowd would not leave the theatre.
The obliging cantatrice, though fatigued, directed a piano-forte to be
wheeled to the front of the stage, and sang, to her own accompaniment,
two Spanish airs and a French romance, a crowning act of grace which
made her audience wild with admiration and pleasure. An immense throng
escorted her carriage from the theatre to the hotel, with a tumult of
_vivas_. During this Spanish tour she appeared in opera in several
towns outside of the capital, in the important pieces of her repertoire,
including "Il Barbiere" and "Norma," operas entirely opposed to each
other in style, but in both of which she was favorably judged in
comparison with the greatest representatives of these characters.

When this singer first appeared, every throne on the lyric stage seemed
to be filled by those who sat firm, and wore their crowns right regally
by the grace of divine gifts, as well as by the election of the people.
There seemed to be no manifest place for a new aspirant, no niche
unoccupied. But within three years' time Mme. Viardot's exalted rank
among the great singers of the age was no less assured than if she had
queened it over the public heart for a score of seasons, and in her
endowment as an artist was recognized a bounteous wealth of gifts to
which none of her rivals could aspire. Her resources appeared to be
without limit; she knew every language to which music is sung, every
style in which music can be written with equal fluency. All schools,
whether ancient or modern, severe or florid, sacred or profane,
severely composed or gayly fantastic, were easily within her grasp.
Like Malibran, she was a profoundly scientific musician, and possessed