she ever sang in that city, Gallo, proprietor of the Teatro Emeronnitio,
came to entreat her to sing once at his establishment. He had a wife and
several children, and was a very worthy man, on the verge of bankruptcy.
"I will sing," answered she, "on one condition--that not a word is
said about remuneration." She chose the part of _Amina_; the house was
crammed, and the poor man was saved from ruin. A vast multitude followed
her home, with an enthusiasm which amounted almost to a frenzy, and the
grateful manager named his theatre the Teatro Garcia. On Ash-Wednesday,
March 13, 1835, Mme. Malibran bade the Neapolitans adieu--an eternal
adieu. Radiant with glory, and crowned with flowers, she was conducted
by the Neapolitans to the faubourgs amid the _éclat_ of _vivats_ and
acclamations.

The Neapolitans adored Malibran, and she loved to sing to these
susceptible lovers of the divine art. On one occasion when she was
suffering from a severe accident, she appeared with her arm in a sling
rather then disappoint her audience. During all her Italian seasons,
especially in Naples, where perfection of climate and delightful scenery
combine to stimulate the animal spirits, she pursued the same wild
and reckless course which had so often threatened to cut off her frail
tenure of life. A daring horsewoman and swimmer, she alternated these
exercises with fatiguing studies and incessant social pleasures. She
practiced music five or six hours a day, spent several hours in violent
exercise, and in the evenings not engaged at the theatre would go
to parties, where she amused herself and her friends in a thousand
different ways--making caricatures, doggerel verses, riddles,
conundrums, _bouts-rimes_, dancing, jesting, laughing, and singing. Full
of exhaustless vivacity, she seemed more and more to disdain rest as her
physical powers grew weaker. The enthusiasm with which she was received
and followed everywhere was in itself a dangerous draught on her nervous