Life of Henriette Sontag, Countess de Rossi Part 3

Amid the dazzling vocal displays of all kinds which M'lle Sontag pours forth every evening before her admirers, attention is chiefly claimed by the limpidity of her chromatic scales and the brilliance of her trills which scintillate like rubies lying on velvet. Each note of these long descending flights stands out as if it alone was struck and is linked to the following note by a delicate and imperceptible transition; and all these marvels are accomplished with perfect grace, and without ever distorting the countenance by the least appearance of effort. The charming face of M'lle Sontag, the clearness and sweetness of her lovely eyes, her elegant outlines, and her figure lithe and slender as the stem of a young poplar, finish the picture and complete the enchantment.

M'lle Sontag has essayed all styles. Born in Germany at the commencement of this tumultuous era, she was developed by the vigorous and powerful music of the new German school, and achieved her first success in the masterpieces of Weber. At Paris she attempted successively the characters of _Desdemona_, _Semiramide_, and that of _Donna Anna_ in the _chef d'oeuvre_ of Mozart. In spite of the enthusiasm which she seems to have excited in her countrymen by the manner in which she was enabled to render the dramatic inspiration of Weber--an enthusiasm the echo of which is found in the works of Louis Boerne--in spite of the brilliant endowments which she displayed in the character of _Desdemona_, and above all in that of _Donna Anna_, which was forced upon her almost by the jealousy of Mad. Malibran--it is in light music and in the placid style that M'lle Sontag finds her true superiority. The music of _Rosina_ in _Il Barbiere de Seviglia_, that of _Ninetta_ in _La Gazza Ladra_, of _Amenaide_ in _Tancredi_, and _Elena_ in _La Donna del Lago_, have afforded her the fields for her greatest success.

The cry of pathos never escapes from those delicate lips on whose gently parted loveliness grace sits smiling; bursts of pa.s.sion never distort the cla.s.sic contour of that visage, or crimson the satin-like surface of that white and polished skin. No; in that elegant form, which flits before the eager eye like an airy cloud, nature never rouses the magnificent tempests of pa.s.sion. This is the reason why Mademoiselle Sontag consented to bow her lovely head under the yoke of matrimony, and to descend from a throne to which she had been elevated by the omnipotence of talent, to become the Countess de Rossi. Who knows if, after all, bitter regrets did not follow to disturb the repose which she had promised herself? Who can tell if the amba.s.sadress, in the midst of her sombre grandeur, has not turned a regretful glance upon those bright years of her youth, when a whole nation of admirers crowned her with roses and perennial wreaths? Have not Auber and Scribe, in their pretty opera _L'Amba.s.sadrice_, given us the story of Mademoiselle Sontag transformed into the Countess de Rossi?

Madame Sontag's voice is well preserved. If its lower notes have lost a little of their fulness and freedom, as is always the case with soprano voices, the upper notes still retain their roundness and their charm.

Her powers are hardly less exquisite than when she was twenty years old; her execution has lost nothing of that marvellous flexibility which was then its characteristic; and, with the slightest awakening of the imagination, we recognise to-day in Madame Sontag the finish, the charm, the placid and serene expression which have distinguished her among the eminent vocalists who have astonished Europe in the last half century.

Received with distinction by audiences of the highest fas.h.i.+on, who were drawn together by the rumor of her greatness and her misfortune, she has sung with great success many selections from her former _repertoire_.

Among these none have attracted more attention than Rode's Variations, a sort of musical tapestry, brought into fas.h.i.+on by Mad. Catalani, and upon which Mad. Sontag has embroidered the most intricate and charming arabesques. An ascending scale launched out at lightning speed and flas.h.i.+ng upon the ear like a ribbon of fire, has excited the liveliest transports.

The celebrated vocalists of the nineteenth century may be divided into three groups, very diverse from each other. In one we find those who have shone by the expression of strong pa.s.sion, and by elevation of style, such as Mad. Pisaroni, Mad. Pasta, and Mad. Malibran; in another, those wonderful syrens who exhale in a merry peal of radiant laughter, such as Marcolini, Mad. Persiani, and many others. It is between these two extreme groups that we place Mad. Maineville-Fodor and Mad. Sontag, who have possessed all the seductions of a rich and graceful vocalization, without exhibiting either the transports of pa.s.sion or the spontaneous outpourings of gaiety. Accordingly, they have flourished long, for they have never undergone those paroxysms which break and consume a feeble woman as a diamond is devoured in the crucible of the chemist. We delight to bring Mad. Sontag before our mind's eye decked in a white robe, listening to harmless thoughts, moving placidly through a leafy vista, and in her bosom a cl.u.s.ter of Forget-me-not.

HENRIETTE SONTAG IN FRANKFORT.

BY

LOUIS BOERNE.

ONE of the most brilliant and influential names in German literature, for the last quarter of a century, is Louis Borne, a man whose genius, at once tender and sarcastic, and whose innate love for political freedom, were fitly refined and adorned by the most severe and delicate taste in art. In one of his happiest chapters, he describes a visit to his native city of Frankfort, made by Madame Sontag, who was then turning the heads of all Germany,--as she has done again within the past year. As this charming and accomplished artist is soon to appear in America, we know of no better means of satisfying the curiosity of our readers as to what they may expect from her, than by translating this article by so eminent and trustworthy a critic as Borne. It is as follows:

"A year ago Henriette Sontag, the gracious Muse of Melody, appeared at Weimar, and it seemed as if they all went crazy. Like pious priests and wors.h.i.+ppers of stars, they celebrated her advent as that of some great and glorious constellation, with music of harps and cymbals, in the quaintest Spanish, Moorish, languis.h.i.+ng, twilight strains, with hyacinthine perfumes and incense. Instead of simply saying, 'M'lle Sontag has supped with M. von Goethe,' they sang, 'The King of Poets has cherished the Wondrous Child with food and drink!' Since then I have gone mad at the foolish people, whose heads were turned in a night; before that, they had used the flame of Prometheus to boil their potatoes with, and now they had swallowed the fire itself; they had been used to conceal their moderate capacity for enjoyment under hard and bitter husks, but now, of a sudden, they began to grow sweet, and soft, and uncertain, and s.h.i.+ning as jelly.

"I had the bitterest sayings in my mind, and meant to print them all.

But it is well for me that I reflected and did it not. How people would have mocked at the inflexible Rhadamanthus when at last, pen and all, he became the va.s.sal of a girl!

"In truth, since I have myself heard the enchantress, I am bewitched like the others, and no longer know what I say. But as in the twilight of a dream I remember, that before my soul's transmigration I was of the opinion that we Germans, who are so hard to rouse to enthusiasm, who begin to be intoxicated when others are getting over the headache,--it was my opinion that we ought not to yield up our virgin hearts to the first charming apparition. For though beautiful, it is not unfading; though delightful, it does no solid good. I remember I held it to be thoughtless extravagance. But now I think otherwise, and I say: It is lovely; let us enjoy the moment, and why refuse to enjoy it? why sacrifice it to the future? Who knows how long it will be before we are again permitted thus loudly to utter our admiration and pay our homage to a divinity of our own free choice, and not imposed on us by accident?

And now I desire to praise this enchantress, who has transformed an entire nation; but where shall I find the words? Even the endless array of mere paper words that we have created in Frankfort since our senses were taken from us, even these are exhausted. One might offer a prize of a hundred ducats for the invention of a new adjective, never before employed, and n.o.body could gain the prize.

"They have called her the lovely, the incomparable, the heavenly, the adorable, the celestial maiden, the darling Henriette, the gracious child, the heroine of song, the daughter of the G.o.ds, the dear songstress, the Pearl of the German Opera. To all these epithets, I say, Yes, with all my heart. Even the severest judges have given their verdict; her charming person, her playing, her singing can be compared to everything that is lovely, for such a union of all these gifts of Nature and Art was never found in any other singer. To this, also, I a.s.sent, though the rareness of this union did not delude me; for with all my efforts, I could not see and hear her at the same time, and I had to think of her points of excellence one by one, together, in order to arrive at the sum of her worth. But of one thing I am certain, and that is that what could raise the whole of a German work-day city into such a festal excitement, without the command of either the almanac or the police, must be something admirable, something beautiful. To praise our songstress then, let me speak of the excitement she has produced, for such universal intoxication, even if not to the credit of the drinker, is to the glory of the wine.

"With a little variation, Henriette Sontag could say with Caesar: 'I came, they saw, I conquered.' But triumph went before her, and the battle was only a game for the celebration of the victory.

"The first compliment paid to her in subjugated Frankfort was the announcement in the published list of arrivals, 'M'lle Sontag, Singer to his Majesty the King of Prussia, with her suite and attendants.'

Princely personages travel 'with suite and attendants,' and by attributing the same to M'lle Sontag, she was raised to the very steps of the throne; and without rebellion, no higher honor could have been paid her.

"To this first compliment the last she received here was perfectly suited. The landlord at whose house she was lodged for a fortnight, at her departure refused all compensation, and thereby renewed and enn.o.bled the old hotel of the Roman Emperor into a Prytaneum, where, in the name of the Fatherland, famous Germans are entertained. Between these two compliments extend a countless wilderness of others. Even the Jews experienced a slight dizziness, and when at the Exchange you heard them speak of Eighths and Quarters, you were doubtful whether they meant musical beats or per cents. The price of tickets to the theatre was doubled, a thing unheard of, for we Frankforters, rich as we are, regard every unusual expense as intolerable. Spectators poured along in vast crowds, not merely the inhabitants of the town, not merely the people of the neighboring cities; but from a distance, from Cologne and Hanover, came flocks of strangers. It was like the Olympian games. An Englishman, who could not get a place in the boxes, wanted to take the entire parquette, and when told it was impossible, gave loud vent to his astonishment at this strange Continental scrupulosity. A young man came on foot from Wiesbaden, a distance of sixteen miles, and arrived just as the house was opened; with great difficulty he procured a seat, but was good enough to give it up to a wearied lady; he stood up, fainted before the performance began, and, as there was no place for him to fall, he was carried lifeless in the fainting-fit, from hand to hand, to the door; he recovered just as the curtain fell on the last act, and walked back to Wiesbaden the same night. An inhabitant of the city was so exhausted by the closeness and the heat, that he had to go home, and died the same evening. We have heard of other injuries and maladies, and of persons who were obliged to keep their beds for many days. Through the whole time, the _Intelligencer_ was filled with advertis.e.m.e.nts of lost chains, rings, bracelets, veils, and other articles which ladies lose in a crowd. On the first day of Sontag's appearance, I went to the optician's to get my opera gla.s.s, which had been left to be repaired, and he had to look for it among fifty others, left there for the same purpose. There was a universal arming of the eyes of the entire masculine gender in Frankfort, and under the gleam of the new chandelier, hundreds of gla.s.ses, directed at a weak girl, offered a terribly warlike aspect. But never was artillery so poorly served, for it was the unskilful artillerists who were injured and not the enemy.

"The house was opened two hours earlier than usual, but long before that, the great square in front was crowded and jammed with people.

Expectation was raised to its highest apex; the excitement was intense and keen. Until I experienced the reality it seemed impossible that such extravagant antic.i.p.ations could be satisfied. But all who were there confessed that M'lle Sontag far exceeded all they had looked for. And in such a case, where the appearance and the reality belong together, and are one and the same thing, what room was there for deception and illusion? A magical, indescribable grace accompanies all the movements of this singer, and we are in doubt whether to regard her acting or her singing as the lovely ornament of a perfect beauty. In comic parts she always preserves that womanly tact, which is so easily violated on the boards, and in serious ones a dignity which is at once touching and commanding. On that first night we forgot the senseless text of Rossini's _Otello_, we saw and heard the Desdemona of Shakspeare. In a simple ballad which speaks to the heart she is admirable, as in the most ornate Cavatina, which delights the ears. We saw old men weeping--something which no trick of artificiality, though never so unequalled and incomparable, could produce. Her low notes, her wonderful trills, runs, and cadenzas, resemble the charming, childlike ornaments on a Gothic edifice, which serve to moderate the solemnity of lofty arches and pillars, to combine the joy of the heavens with the joy of the earth, but never violate or degrade that solemnity. The inspiration produced by Henriette Sontag as Desdemona, resembles the Greek fire that could not be extinguished, and----. But let me cling to the rock of cool reflection and save myself. Perhaps it was the whirlpool that carried me away, perhaps it was not a mere figure of speech, when I said; 'I know not what I say.' If this be the case, if I have experienced a human weakness, why then I will not alive yield myself to mocking pity, but will mingle with my s.h.i.+p-wrecked companions in misfortune. All the critics and poets here and in Darmstadt have gone crazy also, and have done nothing but declaim, sing, and rave about Sontag. What poems, what fables, what flights of fancy! All Olympus was mustered into the service, and the children, grey-beards, and veterans of mythology had to come up and pay their tribute. Critical old women made declarations of pa.s.sion to the songstress, and bloodless reviewers glowed with life in her praise. I am dizzy; I have seen Germans drunk, not with wine, but with enthusiasm. There has been no end to the prose and still less to the verse, expressive of their boundless delight. All seasons, all times, all emotions, all forms of expression, have been evoked to pay her honor. But I must end, lest I provoke some reader to exclaim:

"Not all are free, who dare to sport with chains."

PAST AND PRESENT.

BY

THEOPHILE GAUTIER.

SONTAG! A thousand delightful memories are a.s.sociated with that name;--memories which it is ever pleasant to recall. Years, years ago we heard her delicious voice, and its beauty never left us. We were present at the few last performances of Sontag before she retired from a world that almost wors.h.i.+pped her, to the joys and honors of private life. We heard her, and we thought that nature had never before endowed a human soul with such exquisite musical organization, or a voice in which heart and melody were so beautifully and intimately blended. We were young then, and our admiration of the beautiful in art was, perhaps, stronger than our judgment; for, in youth, enthusiasm is but rarely under the control of reason; and in good truth the beauty of Mademoiselle Henriette Sontag was something so _spirituelle_, seemingly, to us, so far elevated above common mortality, that reason was the slave of sensation--a double entrancement of the eye and the ear.

The last part that we saw her in was _Agathe_ in _Der Freyschutz_. Her singing of the _Grand Aria_ was something perfectly unique, different in conception and execution from any artiste who had preceded her in that celebrated _scena_. It was a combination of purity and innocence, with earnest and holy love. The conception was full of dramatic force, and the execution was nature without exaggeration or counterfeit. In the _Andante_, which is a prayer for the safety of her lover, her impa.s.sioned, but innocent heartfelt earnestness, was as though a seraph was pleading for an erring mortal. We have seen nor heard anything like it since: it will be to us a life-long memory of delight.

We remember well how loud, indignant, and regretful were the universal exclamations at the presumption of any one man appropriating to himself one in whom the whole civilized world held so dear an interest. But the fiat had gone forth; Love pleaded and Hymen sanctioned the engagement; the world looked on wonderingly, scarcely realizing the extent of the loss. The star that but yesterday beamed in all its radiant effulgence, had suddenly set, and would appear no more. And so Sontag disappeared; a blaze of glory circling that young brow, o'er which scarce twenty summers had set their seal. She disappeared, and by and by a new star arose, and the many wors.h.i.+pped, and the past was, if not forgotten, but rarely remembered.

From time to time, however, the court gossips and the telltales of fas.h.i.+onable life vouchsafed us slight glimpses of the private life of the Countess Rossi--the peerless Sontag. Beloved and admired in that high circle to which her husband's position had called her, it was a theme of general remark with what modest womanly dignity she ornamented the society in which she moved. That same truthful earnestness which, aided by her supernatural gifts, rendered her the idol of the stage, secured her the love and esteem of all who met her in private life.

After many years of undimmed happiness and prosperity, changes take place, and by one of those extraordinary freaks of fortune by which the highest and the lowest reverse their positions, we find the Countess Rossi--the Sontag of our youth--compelled to have recourse to that profession of which she had been so immaculate an ornament, to retrieve a broken fortune and re-erect the altars of her home. No false scruples troubled her; she had a duty to perform, and she set herself with bold and hopeful spirit to the work. How entirely she has succeeded, her career for the two past years bears witness. A few more years of labor and her n.o.ble exertions will have procured for her a second large fortune.

And how has time worked upon Sontag? To our mind it has but matured her glorious powers, and added to her loveliness a charm, which is doubled by our interest in and our sympathy for her present position.

Her voice has still that exquisite purity and _spirituelle_ quality which make it a perfect luxury to listen. We have heard louder voices, but never one that fell so soothingly upon the heart--nor one that left us so perfectly satisfied while longing eagerly for more. She was always a thorough and conscientious _artiste_, and she has not changed. To describe her powers minutely would occupy too much s.p.a.ce, but they are all summed up in one short sentence. Sontag _sings_!

HOW SONTAG SINGS.

BY

HECTOR BERLIOZ.

IN these days, when music has become one of the _necessities_ of civilized life, each party and each clique has its own particular favorite, and denies even common justice to those artists, who are not members of that _camaraderie_ which Mr. Scribe has so cleverly portrayed in his witty play. In that respect Madame Sontag has been extremely fortunate; criticism has handled her more tenderly, and she had to suffer less than any other singer from the venom of party spirit, from the simple reason, that she united all the qualities--although not in an equal degree--all like to find in an artist: sweetness never surpa.s.sed, agility almost fabulous, expression, and the most perfect intonation. On she carols, higher and higher, like a lark at "heaven's gate," so soft, so clear, so wonderfully distinct that, like the silver bell from the altar, it is heard through the pealing organ. But her princ.i.p.al merit, in our eyes, is the absence of 'rant'--the subst.i.tute of genius--in any shape whatever. She always SINGS, and does not depend on mere strength of lungs--erroneously called "power." She never strains her delicate organ--that sweet instrument so susceptible of every shade of expression. How fortunate for our young singers that, like the nuns in Meyerbeer's _Robert le Diable_, she left the tomb of the seven ancestors, bestowed by the King of Prussia upon the Countess de Rossi, to teach them the wide difference between singing and screaming, and to show how we all, during the last ten years, have been listening to and adoring _false_ prophets.

THE

PRIMA DONNA AND THE COUNTESS.

OF all the artists there is none who so appeals to our hearts and our imaginations as Henriette Sontag. Her romantic history, her recent and great misfortunes, her far-famed beauty, her supreme talent, and her untarnished reputation, make her certainly one of the most remarkable women of the present century. Madame Sontag has had, as it were, two lives; twice she has achieved--what so few are ever destined to achieve at all--fame and fortune. When a mere girl, at eighteen, when others of her age are just entering on the world and existence, Henriette Sontag had already acquired European fame, seen the n.o.blest and richest of many lands at her feet, refused even a royal hand offered for her acceptance, and, true to woman's nature, bestowed herself and her fortune (already considerable) where she had given her heart. The Count Rossi, one of the _attaches_ of the Sardinian emba.s.sy, in every way merited this preference, and many years of uninterrupted happiness, during which time he became the representative of Sardinia at various courts, giving to the prima donna the rank of Amba.s.sadress, which was never more gracefully filled, have justified her choice. What Henriette Sontag was when she first appeared, cannot be better described than by an extract from a work of Travels to St. Petersburg, by the celebrated Dr.

Granville, which, at the time, was translated into French and German, and extracted into all the public papers. Dr. Granville, an Italian by birth, and an accomplished musician, was in every way qualified to judge of a musical talent, and time has proved the correctness of his criticism.

"* * * The orchestra (such an orchestra, composed of _premiers talens_ all playing as one) began the overture to Winter's 'Interrupted Sacrifice,' _Das Unterbrechene-Orperfest_, and even though waiting in feverish excitement for the appearance of that wonderful girl (for she is no more) all had come to see, it was impossible not to be carried away by the exquisite manner in which this orchestra (perhaps the finest in the world) executed this fine composition. At length _Mirrha_ entered; the star, the comet, the attraction, the Henriette Sontag, of whom sonnet-writers, poets, newspaper compilers, prose composers, travellers, had raved so much, stood before us. She is slender, rather _pet.i.te_ and _mignonne_. Her countenance, like that of Canova's nymphs, belongs more to the ideal than to mortal reality. I should say that her hands are the prettiest things I ever saw, if her feet were not prettier still. She is faultless as to teeth, which the sweetest smile, for ever playing round her mouth, sets off at every warble in all their glory.

Her _chevelure_, between auburn and blonde, is magnificent; and, to conclude with the essential part, the quality of her voice is beyond measure pleasing, and she possesses remarkable facility. M'lle Sontag's voice is a soprano of a sonorous, sweet, and clear _timbre_. She can reach the E above the lines without screaming. The flexibility of her organ has seduced her into that peculiar style of singing, which made Madame Catalani, for some few years, the musical wonder of Europe. It is this quality of voice, united to the personal gifts so profusely lavished by nature on one of her favorite daughters, that brought M'lle Sontag forward as a miracle, on the German stage, and at once, and without any premonitory step, made her a prima donna at the age of sixteen. But the first station at the opera cannot be had on such easy terms. The time necessary for acquiring declamation, expression, and pathos, has been spent by this prodigy in receiving unbounded applause for this one dazzling gift of nature, a flexible and brilliant voice, rendered irresistible by great personal beauty. The part of _Mirrha_ is suited to Henriette Sontag in all but the last two scenes, where she is required to represent acute feeling and distress of mind. Her unalterably sweet and girlish face is ever the same, and the extent of the expression of her large, beautiful blue eyes consists in lowering them with the bashfulness of one of Carlo Dolce's madonnas, or raising them with the tenderness of a Cleopatra. The part of Rosina, in the _Barbiere_, is one which exquisitely suits both the voice and person of M'lle Sontag. Never was there so fascinating a Rosina.

"Her _sostenuto_ is firm, clear, and sonorous; the silver tone of her voice unsurpa.s.sed; her method excellent. She is daring, and launches at all hazards into a sea of flourishes, the result of which is always successful, particularly as she concludes them, by darting towards the audience one of those glances which have called down in Berlin, as they will in Paris and London, thunders of applause."