Her fame so increased that the Fräulein Schröder soon made an art-tour
through Germany. Her appearances at Cassel in the spring of 1823, in
such characters as _Pamina_ and _Agathe_, produced a great sensation.
At Dresden she also evoked a large share of popular enthusiasm, and her
name was favorably compared with the greatest lights of the German lyric
stage. While singing at this capital she met Carl Devrient, one of the
principal dramatic tenors of Germany, and, an attachment springing up
between the pair, they were married. The union did not prove a happy
one, and Mme. Schröder-Devrient had bitter occasion to regret that she
had tied her fortunes to a man utterly unworthy of love and respect.
She remained for several years at Dresden, and among other operas she
appeared in Weber's "_Euryanthe_," with Mme. Funk, Herr Berg-mann, and
Herr Meyer. She also made a powerful impression on the attention of
both the critics and the public in Cherubini's "Faniska," and Spohr's
"Jessonda," both of which operas are not much known out of Germany,
though "Faniska" was first produced at the Théâtre Feydeau, in Paris,
and contributed largely to the fame of its illustrious composer. The
austere, noble music is not of a character to please the multitude who
love what is sensational and easily understood. When "Faniska" was first
produced at the Austrian capital in the winter of 1805, both Haydn and
Beethoven were present. The former embraced Cherubini, and said to him,
"You are my son, worthy of my love"; while Beethoven cordially hailed
him as "the first dramatic composer of the age." The opera of "Faniska"
is based on a Polish legend of great dramatic beauty, and the unity of
idea and musical color between it and Beethoven's "Fidelio" has often
excited the attention of critics. It is perhaps owing to this dramatic
similarity that Mme. Schröder-De vrient made as much reputation by
her performance of it as she had already acquired in Beethoven's lyric
masterpiece.
In 1828 she went to Prague, and thence to Berlin, where her marriage was
judicially dissolved, she retaining her guardianship of her son, then
four years old. Spontini, who was then the musical autocrat of Berlin,
conceived a violent dislike to her, and his bitter nature expressed
itself in severe and ungenerous sarcasms. But the genius of the singer
was proof against the hostility of the Franco-Italian composer, and the
immense audiences which gathered to hear her interpret the chef-d'ouvres
of Weber, whose fame as the great national composer of Germany was
then at its zenith, proved her strong hold on the hearts of the German
people. Spontini's prejudice was generally attributed to Mme. Devrient's
dislike of his music and her artistic identification with the heroines
of Weber, for whose memory Spontini entertained much the same envious
hate as Salieri felt for Mozart in Vienna at an earlier date.
Our singer's ambition sighed to conquer new worlds, and in 1830 she went
to Paris with a troupe of German singers, headed by Mme. Fischer, a
tall blonde beauty, with a fresh, charming voice, but utterly Mme.
Schrôder-Devrient's inferior in all the requirements of the great
artist. She made her _début_ in May at the Theatre Louvois, as _Agathe_
in "Der Freischutz," and, though excessively agitated, was so impressive
and powerful in the impersonation as to create a great _éclat_. The
critics were highly pleased with the beauty and finish of her style.
She produced the principal parts of her _répertoire_ in "Fidelio," "Don
Giovanni," Weber's "Oberon" and "Euryanthe," and Mozart's "Serail."
It was in "Fidelio," however, that she raised the enthusiasm of her
audiences to the highest pitch. On returning again to Germany she
appeared in opera with Scheckner and Sontag, in Berlin, winning laurels
even at the expense of Mme. Sontag, who was then just on the eve of
retiring from the stage, and who was inspired to her finest efforts as
she was departing from the field of her triumphs.
Two years later Mme. Schröder-Devrient accepted a proposition made to
her by the manager of the Théâtre Italiens to sing in a language and
a school for which she was not fully qualified. The season opened with
such a dazzling constellation of genius as has rarely, if ever, been
gathered on any one stage--Pasta, Malibran, Schröder-Devrient, Rubini,
Bordogni, and Lablache. Mme. Pasta's illness caused the substitution of
Schröder-Devrient in her place in the opera of "Anna Bolena," and the
result was disastrous to the German singer. But she retrieved herself
in the same composer's "Pirata," and her splendid performance cooperated
with that of Rubini to produce a sensation. It was observed that she
quickly accommodated herself to the usages and style of the Italian
stage, and soon appeared as if one "to the manner born." Toward the
close of the engagement Mme. Devrient appeared for Malibran's benefit
as _Desdemona_, Rubini being the Moor. Though the Rossinian music is a
_genre_ by itself, and peculiarly dangerous to a singer not trained in
its atmosphere and method, the German artist sang it with great skill
and finish, and showed certain moments of inspiration in its performance
which electrified her hearers.
Mme. Schrëder-Devrient's first appearance in England was under the
management of Mr. Monck Mason, who had leased the King's Theatre in
pursuance of a somewhat daring enterprise. A musical and theatrical
enthusiast, and himself a composer, though without any experience in
the practical knowledge of management, he projected novel and daring
improvements, and aspired to produce opera on the most extensive and
complete scale. He engaged an enormous company--not only of Italian
and German, but of French singers--and gave performances in all three
languages. Schröder-Devrient sang in all her favorite operas, and also
_Desdemona_, in Italian. Donzelli was the _Otello_, and the performance
made a strong impression on the critics, if not on the public. "We know
not," wrote one, "how to say enough of Mme. Schrëder-Devrient without
appearing extravagant, and yet the most extravagant eulogy we could
pen would not come up to our idea of her excellence. She is a woman
of first-rate genius; her acting skillful, various, impassioned, her
singing pure, scientific, and enthusiastic. Her whole soul is wrapped
in her subject, yet she never for a moment oversteps the modesty of
nature." It was during this season that Mr. Chorley first heard her.
He writes in his "Musical Recollections" a vivid description of her
appearance in "Fidelio": "She was a pale woman. Her face, a thoroughly
German one, though plain, was pleasing from the intensity of expression
which her large features and deep, tender eyes conveyed. She had profuse
fair hair, the value of which she thoroughly understood, delighting in
moments of great emotion to fling it loose with the wild vehemence of
a Mænad. Her figure was superb, though full, and she rejoiced in its
display." He also speaks of "the inherent expressiveness of her voice
which made it more attractive on the stage than a more faultless organ."
Mme. Schröder-Devrient met a warm social welcome in London from the
family of the great pianist, Moscheles, to whom she was known of old.
Mme. Moscheles writes in her diary: "Our interesting guests at dinner
were the Haizingers, he the admirable tenor singer of whom the German
opera company here may well be proud, she pretty and agreeable as
ever; we had, too, our great Schröder and our greater Mendelssohn. The
conversation, of course, was animated, and the two ladies were in such
spirits that they not only told anecdotes, but accompanied them with
dramatic gestures; Schröder, when telling us how he (the hero of her
anecdote) drew his sword, flourished her knife in a threatening manner
toward Haizinger, and Mendelssohn whispered to me, 'I wonder what John
[the footman] thinks of such an English vivacity? To see the brandishing
of knives, and not know what it is all about! Only think!'" A comic
episode which occurred during the first performance of "Fidelio" is
also related by the same authority: "In that deeply tragic scene where
Mme. Schröder (_Fidelio_) has to give Haizinger (_Florestan_) a piece of
bread which she has kept hidden for him three days in the folds of her
dress, he does not respond to the action. She whispers to him with a
rather coarse epithet: 'Why don't you take it? Do you want it buttered?'
All this time, the audience, ignorant of the by-play, was solely intent
on the pathetic situation." This is but one of many instances which
could be adduced from the annals of the stage showing how the exhibition
of the greatest dramatic passion is consistent with the existence of a
jocose, almost cynical, humor on the part of the actors.