Daily evening star. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1852-1854, 1854-06-29
lani, though she loved both these young

lani, though she loved both these young
successors to her honors, would caressing-
~ smooth the glistening braids of MALI
bran s brown hair, and tenderiy call her
mon e'ydnt. And 50 they sat and wiled
away the time till morning broke; and
then they participated with q tear in
the eve and a smile on the lin. Mali.
bran was going to London; Sontae to
Turin to take her state in her husbands
court, and Catalani was to remain in
Paris, near her children. And so they
parted, as they thought, for q few brief
months: but they never all three met
again ON earth. And now. where are
they2 Each in grave, by ocean, earth,
and mountain divided. One, the child Of
genius, while yet the strains of that soul
searching voice echoed through the cathe-
drai isles, yields up her ardent spirit and
becomes immortal. They laid her in
English ground that her dust might
mingle with that of her adopted country:
but husband claimed her, and now she
sleeps in the green church-yard of Laaken,
near Brussels. Marble columns rear their
heads above her grave. and round twine
many q flower and plant. That grave
is never without some offering of rare
and fragrant flowers from some pilgrim
to the shrine of genius and harmony.
Though years and years have passed.
and that bounding form is now but ashes,
Marie Malibran still lives in the hearts of
many-for good deeds and generous ten
der acts are never forgotten when those
who did them ask no return but tears and
regrets.
The next who went was the older of
all, Angelica Oatalani. She had left Paris
and her splendid hotel, driven by the
extravaganza of her husband to the Quiet
retirement of her villa on the Arno. Here
she lived, happy, respected, serene, and
still rich enough to do good still happy
enough to welcome with smiles the many
visitors who thronged around her. But
like her whose clay is scarce vet cold,
the other fair and gifted woman, who sat
round the cheerful table in the Rue de
Clichy, cholera, with its cold purple
hand came, and in few rapid hours laid
her in her grave. She rests in the Campo
Santo, of Florence. Her name is on the
stone that covers her remains and Eng
lish tourists love to gaze upon the spot.
Her daughter and grand children bring
yearly offerings of wreaths and flowers to
her tomb; but she sleeps in peace and
solitude, for Italians love not death or
tombs.
And now she, too, is gone-the fair,
young, blushing bride, the stately pol
ished countess, who but yesterday was
amongst us. On her brow no evil pas
sion had ever traced a furrow. Time
had dealt gently with the woman, who
had fulfilled so well all the duties of her
varied life.
The child of an actor, born to the stage.
the idol of the four artistic capitals of
the world-London, Paris, Berlin, and
Vienna-she had passed unscathed, like
innocence, over the burning ploughshares.
A favorite of kings, the friend Of princes;
young, beautiful, celebrated; slander
never breathed upon that smooth, calm
brow. Who would have thought that
fifty-six years had passed over those fair
redundant locksz Some years of suffer-
ing, too, and some of toll; but her task
---s VIII uign done.
Another year, and round her in security
and plenty, she would gather her child
rem, giving to each that portion escfr
should need, and nesting closely to her
heart her youngest born-a little fair
girl of eight, who in the convent in Paris
sings to the nuns, in her bird-like tones,
the songs she heard her mother sing
How the poor mother must have thought,
in her few short hours of agony, of this,
her darling, to whom no words of con-
ISOLATION could now be added to the
dire sentence" Your mother is dead.'
Poor Henriette Sontag. She sleeps far,
far away from all who ever knew, who
ever loved her. A few days, and those
who mourn her will have gone arSYMx
weep DER the turf which shelters her, or
gaze upon the name which has with fame
and honor resounded through two hemis-
pheres.
So, in graves far, far apart, now rest
those three who once divided the worlds
applause-Catalani, Malibran, and Son.
tag.