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STEPHEN H. BRANCH’S “ALLIGATOR” CAN BE obtained at all hours, (day or
night,) at wholesale and retail, at No. 128 Nassau Street, Near Beekman
Street, and opposite Ross & Tousey’s News Depot, New York.
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Supervisor Blunt, and Paul Julien—My Last Interview with Madame Sontag.
When I taught Alderman Orison Blunt the English branches at his elegant
residence in Murray street, I gave instruction to Paul Julien, the
juvenile Paganini, and to Rocco, and also to Madame Sontag in elocution,
in anticipation of her appearance in English Opera at Niblo’s, on her
return from Mexico. At the close of a long and interesting lesson,
Sontag opened her great heart to me, and disclosed her career from her
earliest recollection. Her narrative was eloquent and exciting, and as
she sat before me at the parlor lattice, in alternate tears and smiles,
with the moon rolling like a ball of silver through the air, she seemed
too pure and beautiful for earth. Her tears were the very soul of
sorrow, and none could resist their overwhelming influence,—her smiles
were irresistibly enchanting,—her voice in conversation was full of
entrancing melody,—her cavern dimples were the emblems of purity and
charity, and her entire expression was divine. And as her blood warmed,
and her bosom rose and fell, and her voice trembled and darted from the
faintest whisper to its highest intonation, her glorious eyes reflected
gorgeous temples in her soul, filled with sinless angels, breathing
sweet music to millions of her species. And the beauteous Sontag told
me, as we sat together in our last communion as human pilgrims, that her
childhood, and girlhood, and early womanhood were all devoted to the
cultivation of music for the enjoyment of the world more than herself,
which rendered her early years an utter sacrifice, and had deprived her
of the pastimes enjoyed by all her sex in the morning of life; that from
the hour she was called “_The little Daughter of the Danube_,” there was
no happiness for her; that she was early beset by lovers from nearly
every nation of Europe; that kings and queens lavished their choicest
treasures upon her; that princes besought her affections in tearful
supplications; that all France prostrated herself at her feet; that amid
the flattery and adulations of all classes and kingdoms, she was
induced, in a thoughtless hour, to cast herself into the eternal
embraces of a being who proved a jealous and savage tyrant, and a
heartless gamester; that ere her emergence from the brief hours of bliss
that should follow the marriage vow, he became odious in her eyes, and
she beheld a life of misery in all her future; that after years of
torture in his demon fangs, and after he had squandered her splendid
fortune of four millions of dollars, he dragged her from the sacred
precincts of private life, and from the pleasing society of her
children, into the public arena, to toil for his subsistence; that he
forced her to exchange hemispheres, and leave her tender offspring, when
they most required a mother’s protection; that he often brandished a
dagger in her eyes, when she refused to fill his purse for bibbling and
gaming purposes; that she was in fear of his poignard throughout her
long confinement in his hideous clutches; that for his traduction and
persecution of Alboni in her early years, she resolved to pursue her to
America to annoy, and, if possible, ruin her, for his sake, by singing
against her in the leading cities; that on the very day she publicly
announced her intention to visit America, Alboni went to the Cathedral,
and knelt at the altar, and swore that she would pursue her through all
latitudes, and cut the grass beneath her feet, to avenge herself on
Count Rossi, who strove to blight the buds and blossoms of her youth and
indigence; that she kept her oath, and followed her through city, town,
and village, and allured her choristers, through extravagant salaries
and donations, and sang on the evenings of her Concert and Opera
entertainments, and greatly reduced her receipts; that Rossi seized her
funds, as they accrued, and deposited them in banks unknown to her; that
her children often wrote in vain for means to defray their domestic
expenses; that Rossi, and Maretzek, and Ullman received all the benefit
of her arduous labors; that her lovely daughters were in the care of
strangers in Europe, and exposed to all the snares of life; that their
education was fatally neglected in her absence; that she was a slave to
Rossi, Maretzek, and Ullman, all of whom she thoroughly despised, and
that she had very seriously contemplated suicide. And thus did this
celestial being breathe her pensive music in my soul, and bathe my
vision with nature’s hallowed waters. And amid our mutual tears, and
smiles, and cheerful tones, and lingering glances, she enters the dismal
cars, and the bell proclaims the parting signal, and she penetrates the
deep perspective, until she is forever buried from my melancholy view.
She gives concerts on the borders of the northern lakes, and visits
Cincinnati, and quarrels and separates from Ullman, and goes to New
Orleans, and performs in Opera, and enters Mexico, amid the revengeful
maledictions of Ullman, who, as Rocco told me, dug her early grave, by
arousing the fearful jealousy of Rossi, to whom Ullman wrote from New
York, that he would find letters in her trunk from Pozzolini, the young
and fascinating tenor; that Rossi did find letters in her trunk from
Pozzolini, (filled with the most enthusiastic love,) which Rocco said
were doubtless placed there by Ullman, prior to her departure for
Mexico, to revenge himself on Sontag, for her refusal at Cincinnati to
give more Concerts under his direction; that Rossi belched words of
fire, and threatened her with instant death; that herself and Pozzolini
were seized with violent pains, on their return from the Mexican
festivals; that during her confinement, Rocco daily called, but was not
permitted to see her; that Rossi paced the balcony as a sentinel for
days and nights, and would let no one visit her; that he permitted Rocco
to enter her apartment only one hour before she died, when he found her
in the wildest delirium. And Rocco told me that Sontag and Pozzolini
were doubtless poisoned by Count Rossi, and that Ullman was the
instigator. Rossi artfully attributed their sudden death to cholera, but
the rumor flew on the wings of lightning, that Rossi was their murderer,
and he fled for his life to New York, with all her jewels, and went to
Europe. And Rocco sorely grieved to see her borne to her sepulchre
without kindred mourners in a far distant land; and when he saw her form
exhumed, and borne through mud and stones, and deposited as luggage in
the filthy suburbs of Vera Cruz, and exposed for weeks to the heat and
rain of those withering latitudes,—when he gazed at the remains of a
being who had been the pride and glory and adoration of all civilised
nations, and who had long been his own dear friend, poor Rocco
prostrated himself beside her coffin, and wept for hours in loneliness
and utter desolation. And now, dear Sontag, I can see thy pure and
genial spirit in its happy home, beyond the pretty stars. And while I
indite these melancholy words, thy sweet face smiles upon me from my
parlor wall, as you appeared in the immortal _Somnambulist_. It is the
likeness you gave me at our final interview, and represents _Amina_, in
the joyous bridal scene with _Elvino_, among her native cottagers in the
mountains. All! Sontag! I often think of thee, and my highest solace is
in gazing at thy bewitching smile, and laughing eyes, and lovely
dimples, and even teeth, and classic temples, as depicted in thy
likeness, which I shall keep while I linger in the dreary paths of
earth. And I will part with fame and fortune and with life itself, ere I
will separate from the precious picture of my adored Sontag. And my last
prayer to God shall be, that I may join my Parents and Kindred and
Sontag in the realms of eternal bliss.
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James Gordon Bennett’s Editorial Career.