Countess Rossi was never entirely forgotten in her brilliant retirement.
Her story, gossips said, was intended to be shadowed forth "with a
difference" in "L'Ambassadrice" of Scribe and Auber, written for Mme.
Cinti Damoreau, whose voice resembled that of Sontag. Travelers, who got
glimpses of the august life wherein she lived, brought home tales of her
popularity, of her beauty not faded but only mellowed by time, and of
her lovely voice, which she had watched and cultivated in her titled
leisure. It can be fancied, then, what a thrill of interest and surprise
ran through the London public when it was announced in 1848 that the
Countess Rossi, owing to family circumstances, was about to resume her
profession. A small, luxuriantly bound book in green and gold, devoted
to her former and more recent history, was put on sale in London, and
circulated like wildfire. The situation in London was peculiar. Jenny
Lind had created a furor in that city almost unparalleled in its musical
history, and to announce that the "Swedish nightingale" was not the
greatest singer that ever lived or ever could live, before a company of
her admirers, was sufficient to invite personal assault. Mlle. Lind had
just departed for America. It was an adventure little short of desperate
for a singer to emerge from a retirement of a score of years and measure
her musical and dramatic accomplishments against those of a predecessor
whose tantalizing disappearance from the stage had rendered her on so
many grounds more than ever the object of fanatical worship.
The political storm of 1848 had swept away the fortune of Countess
Rossi, and when she announced her intention of returning to the stage,
the director of Her Majesty's Theatre was prompt to make her an offer
of seventeen thousand pounds for the season. She had not been idle or
careless during the time when the Grisis, the Persianis, and the
Linds were delighting the world with the magic of their art. She had
assiduously kept up the culture of her delicious voice, and stepped
again before the foot-lights with all the ease, steadiness, and _aplomb_
of one who had never suffered an interregnum in her lyric reign. She
came back to the stage under new and trying musical conditions, to an
orchestra far stronger than that to which her youth had been accustomed,
to a new world of operas. The intrepidity and industry with which she
met these difficulties are deserving of the greatest respect. Not merely
did she go through the entire range of her old parts, _Susanna, Moslna,
Desdemona, Donna Anna_, etc., but she presented herself in a number of
new works which did not exist at her farewell to the stage--Bellini's
"Sonnambula," Donizetti's "Linda," "La Figlia del Reggimento," "Don
Pasquale," "Le Tre Nozze" of Alary, and Ilalévy's "La Tempesta";
indeed, in the latter two creating the principal _rôles_. Her former
companions had disappeared. Malibran had been dead for thirteen years,
Mme. Pisaroni had also departed from the earthly scene, and a galaxy of
new stars were glittering in the musical horizon. Giulia Grisi, Clara
Novello, Pauline Viardot, Fanny Per-siani, Jenny Lind, Maretta Alboni,
Nantier Didier, Sophie Cruvelli, Catherine Hayes, Louisa Pyne, Duprez,
Mario, Ronconi, and others--all these had arisen since the day she had
left the art world as Countess Rossi. Only the joyous and warmhearted
Lablache was left of her old comrades to welcome her back to the scene
of her old triumphs.
Her reappearance as _Linda_, on July 7, 1849, was the occasion of a
cordial and sympathetic reception on the part of a very brilliant
and distinguished audience. The first notes of the "polacca" were
sufficient to show that the great artist was in her true place
again, and that the mature woman had lost but little of the artistic
fascinations of the gifted girl. Of course, time had robbed her of one
or two upper notes, but the skill, grace, and precision with which she
utilized every atom of her power, the incomparable steadiness and finish
with which she wrought out the composer's intentions, the marvelous
flexibility of her execution, she retained in all their pristine
excellence. The loss of youthful freshness was atoned for by the deeper
passion and feeling which in an indefinable way permeated all her
efforts, and gave them a dramatic glow lacking in earlier days. She was
rapturously greeted as a dear friend come back in the later sunny days.
In "La Figlia del Reggimento," which Jenny Lind had brought to England
and made her own peculiar property, Mme. Sontag was adjudged to be by
far the greater, both vocally and dramatically. As a singer of Mozart's
music she was incomparably superior to all. Her taste, steadiness,
suavity, and solid knowledge suited a style very difficult for a
southern singer to acquire. Chorley repeated the musical opinion of
his time in saying: "The easy, equable flow demanded by Mozart's
compositions, so melodious, so wondrously sustained, so sentimental
(dare I say so rarely impassioned?); that assertion of individuality
which distinguishes a singer from a machine when dealing with singers'
music; that charm which belongs to a keen appreciation of elegance, but
which can only be perfected when Nature has been genial, have never been
so perfectly combined (in my experience) as in her." If Sontag did not
possess the highest genius of the lyric artist, she had un-equaled grace
and sense of artistic propriety, and with that grace an untiring desire
and energy in giving her very best to the public on all occasions when
she appeared. Her constancy and loyalty to her audience were moral
qualities which wonderfully enhanced her value and charm as a singer.
During this season Mme. Sontag appeared in her favorite character of
_Rosina_, with Lablache and Gardoni; she also performed _Amina_ and
_Desdemona_. Had it not been that the attention of the public was
absorbed by "the Swedish Nightingale" and the "glorious Alboni," Mme.
Sontag would have renewed the triumphs of 1828. The next season she
sang again at Her Majesty's Theatre as _Norina, Elvira_ ("I Puritani"),
_Zerlina_, and _Maria_ (in "La Figlia del Reggimento"). The chief
novelty was "La Tempestà," written by Scribe, and composed by Halévy
expressly for Her Majesty's Theatre, the drama having been translated
into Italian from the French original. It was got up with extraordinary
splendor, and had a considerable run. Mme. Sontag sang charmingly in
the character of _Miranda_; but the greatest effect was created by
Lablache's magnificent impersonation of _Caliban_. No small share of the
success of the piece was due to the famous danseuse Carlotta Grisi, who
seemed to take the most appropriate part ever designed for ballerina
when she undertook to represent _Ariel_.
At the close of the season of 1850 Mme. Sontag went to Paris with Mr.
Lumley, who took the Théâtre Italien, and she was warmly welcomed by
her French audiences. "Even amid the loud applause with which the crowd
greeted her appearance on the stage," says a French writer, "it was easy
to distinguish the respect which was entertained for the virtuous lady,
the devoted wife and mother."
Before her acceptance of the offer to go to America, in 1852, she
appeared in successive engagements at London, Vienna, and Berlin, where
her reception was of the most satisfying nature both to the artist and
the woman. On her arrival in New York, on September 19th, she commenced
a series of concerts with Salvi and Signo-ra Blangini. At New York,
Boston, Philadelphia, and the larger cities of the South, she quickly
established herself as one of the greatest favorites who had ever sung
in this country, in spite of the fact that people had hardly recovered
from the Lind mania which had swept the country like wildfire, a fact
apt to provoke petulant comparisons. Her pecuniary returns from her
American tour were very great, and she was enabled to buy a château and
domain in Germany, a home which she was unfortunately destined never to
enjoy.
In New Orleans, in 1854, she entered into an engagement with M. Masson,
director of opera in the city of Mexico, to sing for a fixed period
of two months, with the privilege of three months longer. This was
the closing appearance in opera, as she contemplated, for the task of
reinstating her family fortunes was almost done. Fate fulfilled her
expectations with a malign sarcasm; for while her agent, M. Ullman,
was absent in Europe gathering a company, Mme. Sontag was seized
with cholera and died in a few hours, on June 17, 1854. Such was the
lamentable end of one of the noblest women that ever adorned the
lyric stage. Her funeral was a magnificent one, in presence of a great
concourse of people, including the diplomatic corps. The service was
celebrated by the orchestras of the two Italian theatres; the nuns of
St. Francis sang the cantata; the prayer to the Virgin was intoned by
the German Philharmonic Society, who also sang Lindpainter's chorus,
"Ne m'oubliez pa "; and the leading Mexican poet, M. Pantaleon Tovar,
declaimed a beautiful tribute in sonorous Spanish verse. The body was
taken to Germany and buried in the abbey of Makenstern, in Lausitz.