No film what so ever!

Cecilia was so vivid and attractive in this role!(I was sitting on the last orchestra row yet I did not miss one note or gesture of that vivid and brilliant artist! but the photo is far cast!)
Here she is with Lang-Lang and Vadim Repin. A dream trio really!
This living legend has been on our collective imagination for nearly two centuries and yet no one had any photos, recordings,or films!Beautiful paintings of La malibran can be seen: they are artists'interpretations of a living legend! Very precious reminders indeed... I sometimes think that had all these technics of reproduction existed, her myth would have faded, poets and writers would have lost their Muse, Cecilia Bartoli would not have tried to be her living legend for a spring day in Paris last year on March the 24th to celebrate the 200 birthday anniversary in Paris!-1808 March the 24th! Amazing day with three major parts, in the morning, like it was the fashion , the salon romantique, Cecilia sang melodies, some written by La Malibran, then, Rossini's Cenerentola, as he wrote the role for her, and in the evening the formal recital. (I did not attend that last part, but really enjoyed the first two performances at Pleyel). La Malibran used to face days like that, rather exceptional for modern singers now!
La Malibran is still the Muse and it will be possible to write and extend her myth, whereas simple pictures, records, films , dvds of her would have destroyed her mysterious aura and killed imagination and creativity of her eternal belovers, and belovers to come.
Her portraits, fine paintings, her billboards through theaters in Europe, her hand writing on some letters and programmes,paybills, then her personal props, dainty garments,silky shawls, precious jewels and handbags, some china with her portrait on it, fans, all collected by this admiring singer who acquired these objects and made a great mobile exhibition which followed her on her singing tour! Paris being La Malibran's birthplace was on the list with this incredible day and evening which was planned to be the end of the tour on this special date! Very clever and thoughtful programme. Salle Pleyel was packed and rain was celebrating spring arrival in Paris!
I could not help thinking of that memorable day last night when I started watching Arte liveweb.
The direct filming of la Boheme from a huge social block of flats in Berne.
When I saw Mimi knocking at Rodolfo's door I really laughed,she was holding the famous blown-off candle while the ugly ceiling electric light in the corridor of the basement flat was shining behind her back,ridiculous situation! For sure kids watching that scene, especially our very quick- minded ones these days must have burst out laughing. Well, this is the kind of paradox we are facing , perhaps all these people who live and work in this huge lit-up boat would have prefered to be taken out of this place and offered a true change with all the money spent, a visit to a museum, or a free ticket to a night at a proper opera-house with real La boheme being performed, perhaps meeting the singers,getting accustomed to the music with arranged talks to the orchestra, any type of cultural event which would be faithful to the work and respectful to the people with real opportunity for culture and change of mind out of ordinary surroundings.
I felt sorry for all the people involved faced with such an absurd situation. But this is the actual cutural trend: modernize,film, take culture to the 'masses' where they live, and convince the media with massive advertizing that it is the best form of art. I am not at all convinced. Only education will bring art where it is missing, classical music, opera, ballet dancing,the art of painting,these should be ambitious parts of educational programmes.
After that scene, I stopped watching. I could not cope any longer.
Stances à La Malibran: (beginning ones and the end: a monumental poem on her death)
Alfred de Musset (1810–†1857)


I

SANS doute il est trop tard pour parler encor d’elle;
Depuis qu’elle n’est plus quinze jours sont passeés,
Et dans ce pays-ci quinze jours, je le sais,
Font d’une mort récente une vieille nouvelle.
De quelque nom d’ailleurs que le regret s’appelle,
L’homme, par tout pays, en a bien vite assez.

II

Ô Maria-Félicia! le peintre et le poète
Laissent, en expirant, d’immortels héritiers;
Jamais l’affreuse nuit ne les prend tout entiers.
A défaut d’action, leur grande âme inquiéte
De la mort et du temps entreprend la conquête
Et, frappés dans la lutte, ils tombent en guerriers.
And the end of this momumental poem for her grave:
XXV

Oui, oui, tu le savais, qu’au sortir du théâtre, 145
Un soir dans ton linceul il faudrait te coucher.
Lorsqu’on te rapportait plus froide que l’albâtre,
Lorsque le médecin, de ta veine bleuâtre,
Regardait goutte à goutte un sang noir s’épancher,
Tu savais quelle main venait de te toucher. 150

XXVI

Oui, oui, tu le savais, et que, dans cette vie,
Rien n’est bon que d’aimer, n’est vrai que de souffrir.
Chaque soir dans tes chants tu te sentais pâlir.
Tu connaissais le monde, et la foule, et l’envie,
Et, dans ce corps brisé concentrant ton génie, 155
Tu regardais aussi la Malibran mourir.

XXVII

Meurs donc! ta mort est douce et ta tâche est remplie.
Ce que l’homme ici-bas appelle le génie,
C’est le besoin d’aimer; hors de là tout est vain.
Et, puisque tôt ou tard l’amour humain s’oublie, 160
Il est d’une grande âme et d’un heureux destin
D’expirer comme toi pour un amour divin!