new singer's voice, but
there was little interest felt when her engagement was announced. The
"Jenny Lind" mania was at its height, and in the company in which
Alboni herself was to sing there were two brilliant stars of the first
luster, Grisi and Persiani. So, when she made her bow to the London
public as _Arsace_, in "Semiramide," the audience gazed at her with a
sort of languid and unexpectant curiosity. But Alboni found herself the
next morning a famous woman. People were astounded by this wonderful
voice, combining luscious sweetness with great volume and capacity. It
was no timid _debutante_, but a finished singer whose voice rolled out
in a swelling flood of melody such as no English opera-house had heard
since the palmiest days of Pisaroni. Musical London was electrified,
and Grisi, who sang in "Semiramide," sulked, because in the great
duet, "Giorno d'orrore," the thunders of applause evidently concerned
themselves with her young rival rather than with herself. Another
convincing proof of her power was that she dared to restore the
beautiful aria "In si barbara," which had been hitherto suppressed for
lack of a contralto of sufficient greatness to give it full effect. In
one night she had established herself as a trump card in the manager's
hand against the rival house, an accession which he so appreciated that,
unsolicited, he raised her salary from five hundred to two thousand
pounds.

Mlle. Alboni's voice covered nearly three octaves, from E flat to C
sharp, with tones uniformly rich, full, mellow, and liquid. The quality
of the voice was perfectly pure and sympathetic, the articulation so
clear and fluent, even in the most difficult and rapid passages, that
it was like a performance on a well-played instrument. The rapidity
and certainty of her execution could only be compared to the dazzling
character of Mme. Persiani's vocalization. Her style and method were
considered models. Although her facility and taste in ornamentation were
of the highest order, Alboni had so much reverence for the intentions of
the composer, that she would rarely add anything to the music which she
interpreted, and even in the operas of Rossini, where most singers
take such extraordinary liberties with the score, it was Alboni's pride
neither to add nor omit a note. Perhaps her audiences most wondered at
her singular ease. An enchanting smile lit up her face as she ran the
most difficult scales, and the extreme feats of musical ex