"That night I was at the theatre, and witnessed the wild, frantic reception of this _cavatina_, and also saw the point Scudo alludes to, which Adelaïde made that night for the first time, in the duo between Tancredi and Argirio, '_Ah, se de' mali miei_,' in the passage at the close of '_Ecco la tromba_,' at the repeat of '_Al campo_.' She looked superbly, and, as that part of the duo ended, she advanced a step, drew up her fine form to its full height, flashed her sword with a gesture of inspiration, and exclaimed, in clear, musical diction, '_Il vivo lampo di questa spada_.' The effect was electric. The duet could not proceed for the cries and shouts of enthusiasm; the whole theatre rose in one mass, and shouted aloud their ecstasy in one voice, as if they had but one common ear and heart.
"The instant the cries lessened, Adelaïde gave the sign to Argirio, and they took up the duo, '_Splenda terribile_,' before the orchestra, equally electrified with the audience, were prepared for it, so that Adelaïde's clear ringing '_Mi_' soared out like a mellow violoncello note, and she sang the three following measures unaccompanied. The short symphony which follows this little bit was not heard for the cries of applause, which were silenced only by the grand finale, '_Se il ciel mi guida_.'
"_Gran Dio!_ the bare memory of that night is a joy," said my friend, walking rapidly up and down the room.
"I had to leave for my Russian home a few days after that, and saw Adelaïde only once; it was the morning of my departure. Her _salon_ was crowded, and she was leaning on her husband's arm, looking very proud and happy. 'Who could have been in that music-room?' I asked myself, while I looked at them; then in an instant I felt reproached at my suspicions, as the thought flashed across my mind, that it might have been her husband. What more likely? I bade her good-bye, and told her, laughingly, as she gave me a cordial grasp of her hand, that I hoped to renew our friendship in St. Petersburg.
"She never wrote to me after that. Marked differences in pursuits and a continued separation will dissolve the outward bonds of the truest friendships. Adelaïde's time was now completely occupied; it was one round of brilliant success for the poor woman. 'Such triumphs! such intoxication!' as Scudo says; but the glory was that of a shooting star. In eight short years after that brilliant season at Venice, Adelaïde Montresor, better known as 'La Malanotte,' the idol of the European musical public, the short-lived infatuation and passion of the celebrated Rossini, was a hopeless invalid, and worse, _presque folle_.