still more; upon which the Vice-Chancellor said that it was always the
rule for every vocalist to join in the choruses. Miss George, one of the
singers, explained this to the prima donna, who, staring in bewilderment
and vexation, exclaimed, "Oh! me does not know his rules; me vill go
home"; which resolution she immediately carried into effect.

This great singer's numerous quarrels and controversies in England were
very amusing. Yet, in spite of the personal bitterness growing out of
her own irritable temper and professional rivalry, she remained a great
artistic favorite with the public. Underneath the asperity and obstinacy
of her character there was a vein of deep tenderness and generosity,
which she showed in various cases, especially in forwarding the
interests of struggling artists. Michael Kelly, the Irish composer, in
his "Reminiscences," gives the following instance. He himself, then a
young man, had aroused Mara's dislike by some inadvertent praise of
a rival. Watching his opportunity, he brought into the greenroom
one night, when she came off the stage fatigued and panting with her
efforts, a pot of foaming porter, which she drank with a sigh of deepest
pleasure. Touched by the young Irishman's thoughtfulness, she pledged
herself to help him whenever the opportunity came, and soon after sang
at his benefit. Mara had resolved not to sing again on the lyric stage,
and her condescension was a godsend to Kelly, who was then very much out
at elbows. Speaking of her proffer, he says: "I was thunderstruck at her
kindness and liberality, and thankfully accepted. She fixed on _Mandane_
in 'Artaxerxes,' and brought the greatest receipts ever known at that
house, as the whole pit, with the exception of two benches, was railed
into boxes. So much," he adds sententiously, "for a little German
proficiency, a little common civility, and a pot of porter."