in a heap on the stage.  The gentlemen Mohocks, who signalized themselves on this occasion, did damage to the amount of nearly one thousand pounds, though it is said they made it up to the manager afterward by subscription.  The theatre was closed for a week; and when it reopened, so great was the magnificent Italian’s power over the audience that, though they came prepared to condemn, they received her with the loudest demonstration of applause.  But still such conduct toward audiences, if followed up, could not but beget dissatisfaction and wrangling, and the growing impatience of her managers as well as the more judicious public could not be mistaken.

In spite of the fact that several brilliant singers were in England, and of the desire of the public that the splendid talents of Catalani should be appropriately supported, her jealousy and her exorbitant claims prevented such a desirable combination.  She offered to buy the theatre and thus become sole proprietor, sole manager, and sole performer; but, of course, the proposition was refused, luckily for the enraged cantatrice, who would certainly have paid dearly for her experiment.

Catalani on closing her English engagement proceeded to Paris.  She had been known as an ardent friend of the Bourbon exiles, and so, during the occupation of Paris by the Allies in 1814, she found herself in great favor.  After the Hundred Days had passed and the royal house seemed to be firmly seated, she received a government subvention of one hundred and sixty thousand francs and the privilege of the Opera.  Catalani’s passion for absorbing everything within the radius of her own vanity and her jealousy of rivals operated against her success in Paris, as they had injured her in London; and she was obliged to yield up her privilege in the course of three years, with the additional loss of five hundred thousand francs of her own private fortune, and the loss of good will on the part of the Paris public.

Her grand concert tour through Europe, undertaken with the purpose of repairing her losses, was one of the most interesting portions of her life.  Everywhere she was received with abounding enthusiasm, and the concerts were so thronged that there was rarely ever standing-room.  She sang in nearly every important city on the Continent, was the object of the most flattering attention everywhere, and was loaded down with the costliest presents, jewels, medals, and testimonials, everywhere.  Sovereigns vied with each other in showing their admiration by gorgeous offerings, and her arrival in a city was looked on as a gala-day.  In the midst, however, of these the most trying circumstances in which a beautiful and captivating woman could be placed, surrounded by temptation and flattery, her course was marked by undeviating propriety, and not the faintest breath tarnished her fair fame.  Such an idol of popular admiration would be sure to exhibit an overweening vanity.  When in Hamburg in 1819, M. Schevenke, a great musician, criticised her vocal feats with severity.  Mme. Catalani shrugged her beautiful shoulders and called him “an impious man.”  “For,” said she, “when God has given to a mortal so extraordinary a talent as I possess, people ought to applaud and honor it as a miracle; it is profane to depreciate the gifts of Heaven.”