none."

Henceforward, Mlle. Grisi alternated between London and Paris for many
years, her great fame growing with the ripening years. Of course, she,
like other beautiful singers, was the object of passionate addresses,
and the ardent letters sent to her hotel and dressing-room at the
theatre occasioned her much annoyance. Many unpleasant episodes
occurred, of which the following is an illustration, as showing the
persecution to which stage celebrities are often subjected: While she
was in her stage-box at the Paris Opera one night, in the winter of
1836, she observed an unfortunate admirer, who had pursued her for
months, lying in ambuscade near the door, as if awaiting her exit. M.
Robert, one of the managers, requested the intruder to retire, and, as
the admonition was unheeded, Colonel Ragani, Grisi's uncle, somewhat
sternly remonstrated with him. The reckless lover drew a sword from a
cane, and would have run Colonel Ragani through, had it not been for the
coolness of a gentleman passing in the lobby, who seized and disarmed
the amorous maniac, who was a young author of some repute, named
Dupuzet. Anecdotes of a similar kind might be enumerated, for Grisi's
womanly fascinations made havoc among that large class who become easily
enamored of the goddesses of the theatre.

Like all the greatest singers, Grisi was lavishly generous. She had
often been known to sing in five concerts in one day for charitable
purposes. At one of the great York festivals in England, she refused, as
a matter of professional pride, to sing for less than had been given
to Malibran, but, to show that there was nothing ignoble in her
persistence, she donated all the money received to the poor. She
rendered so many services to the Westminster Hospital that she was made
an honorary governor of that institution, and in manifold ways proved