f that
great artist, has even remotely reminded me of her. My sister's voice is
not one of the finest I have heard; Miss Paton's is finer, Clara
Novello's (the most perfect voice I ever heard) is finer. Adelaide's
real voice is a high mezzo-soprano, and in _stretching_ it to a higher
pitch--that of the soprano-assoluto--which she has done with infinite
pains and practice, in order to sing the music of the parts she plays, I
think she has impaired the quality, the perfect intonation, of the notes
that form the joint, the hinge, as it were, between the upper and middle
voice; and these notes are sometimes not quite true--at any rate, weak
and uncertain. In brilliancy of execution, I do not think she equals
Sontag, Malibran, or Grisi; _but_ there is in other respects no possible
comparison, in my opinion, between them and herself, as a lyrical
dramatic artist; and Pasta is the only great singer who, I think,
compares with her in the qualities of that noble and commanding order
which distinguished them both. In both Madame Pasta and my sister the
dramatic power is so great as almost occasionally to throw their musical
achievements, in some degree, into the shade. But in their lyrical
declamation there is a grandeur and breadth of style, and a tragic depth
of passion, far beyond that of any other musical performers I have
known. In one respect Adelaide had the promise of greater excellence
than Pasta--the versatility of her powers and her great talent for
comedy.

How little her beautiful face was ever disfigured by her vocal efforts
you have seen; and noted, I know, that power of appealing to Heaven at
once with her lustrous eyes and her soaring voice; ending those fine,
exquisite, prolonged shakes on the highest notes with that gentle quiver
of the lids which hardly disturbed the expression of "the rapt soul
sitting in her eyes." She has a musical sensibility which comprehends,
in both senses of the word, every species of musical composition, and
almost the whole lyrical literature of Europe; in short, she belongs, by
organization and education, to the highest order of artists. But
why--oh, why am I giving you a dissertation on her and her gifts, for a
purpose which will never again challenge her efforts or their exercise?
(Quite lately, one who knew and loved her well told me that Rossini had
said of her, "To sing as she does three things are needed:
this"--touching his forehead,--"this"--touching his throat,--"and
this"