ourselves, heard from travellers, or collected from the many journals
and reviews of Germany. What we have recorded is but a very small
portion of the sum of constant happiness, of constant triumph, which
attended Madame de Rossi since she left the theatrical career. But at
last came the fatal year 1848, when a political eruption, unprecedented
for magnitude and extent, fell upon the whole fabric of human happiness
on the Continent, as unforeseen and as destructive as the volcanic
outburst which, in a past age, buried Pompeii. Madame de Rossi's
fortune, when the revolution broke out at Berlin, was placed partly with
bankers, partly in commercial securities; commerce ceased, public credit
was shaken, and private credit lost, and with the latter the fortune of
Madame de Rossi. Shortly afterwards followed the events in Sardinia, in
its turn deeply affecting the fortunes of her husband, and threatening
the Count Rossi with the loss of that office which he had so long and so
honorably held. On the first news of the losses experienced by Madame de
Rossi, knowing how perfectly she had preserved her voice, the Direction
of Her Majesty's Theatre made, in the most delicate manner that could be
devised, ample offers to the unfortunate lady, in case she should deem
it necessary to return to the scene of her former triumphs. The Count
and Countess Rossi did not contemplate then the necessity of so great a
sacrifice. Later offers of unlimited temptation were made by other
parties, and emissaries sent to Berlin secretly to treat with the great
vocalist of the golden age of the opera. But they were at once refused.
As events assumed a darker complexion, Madame de Rossi, the most
affectionate of mothers, grew more and more anxious for her children,
and used every endeavor to prevail on her noble husband to sacrifice the
privileges and prejudices of rank, and the sweets of high office, to the
future welfare of their children. An artist of European fame, who not
only commands admiration by his talents, his conversational powers, his
elegant and amiable manners, and his noble and elevated character--M.
Thalberg, happened some months since to be in Berlin, and he is said to
have seconded Madame de Rossi's efforts to persuade her husband.
Communications were resumed with the Direction of Her Majesty's Theatre,
although still in a problematical and conditional form, and the Count
Rossi repaired to Turin to endeavor to release himself from his duties.
After some delay, the Count obtained permission from his sovereign to
retire for a time from his career. When it was known later at Turin what
was the cause of his retirement, and that it was definitive, letters
were written, by order of the sovereign, in the highest degree cordial
and flattering, both to M. and Madame de Rossi. From Turin the Count
returned to Berlin; there Mr. Lumley had suddenly arrived--every
arrangement was made, and a week after he had left Berlin, the Count and
Countess Rossi arrived in London in a manner totally unforeseen. In a
week more she appeared on the stage, and although, unlike other great
singers, she had not, owing to the necessity of secresy, been preceded
by those announcements which habitually long beforehand herald forth a
_prima donna_, and work upon public expectation, her reception was one
never surpassed in enthusiasm.
When the circumstances in which Madame Sontag has once more appeared on
the horizon with undiminished glory are considered, a feeling of
something more than admiration takes possession of the observer. To
behold beings, of which there are not one in so many millions, whose
existence has scarcely been thought of, come in a critical hour,
interpose their power, uphold a noble establishment, and at once defeat
all the workings of intrigue, envy, and ingratitude, partakes of that
providential character of events to which all others are secondary. This
is the second time that such an interposition has occurred as regards
the greatest theatrical institution of the country. If there existed in
reality such a random power as _chance_, such events could scarcely be
reckoned amongst its casualties.
If there could be any one so devoid of love for what is really good and
really great, as not to be inspired by interest in the eventful life we
have so very superficially sketched, they need only to repair to the
theatre where our heroine appears, for them to change their disposition.
Nothing ever could resist, off the stage or on it, the sterling merit
either of Countess Rossi, or of Madame Sontag.
SKETCHES OF THE COUNTESS DE ROSSI,
BY VARIOUS CELEBRATED WRITERS.
PEN AND INK PORTRAIT
OF
HENRIETTE SONTAG,
BY
MARIE AYCARD.
TWO centuries ago, under the dominion of a great king, when intellect
and wit were the daily pastimes--at that brilliant period when gallantry
was a habit and politeness a duty--there was a charming fashion; which
was to reproduce in writing, the description of the character, person,
and talents of those who had any claim to celebrity. This fashion of
pen-and-ink portraits, consecrated by La Rochefoucauld, who sketched his
own--by Madame Lafayette, who sketched that of her illustrious
friend--has disappeared with the great names, the great sayings, and the
great doings of those days, when toil and money-getting were not the
only objects of life.
Occupied, however, Madam, like all other people, as I am, I shall find
time to trace, with a rapid and truthful pen, those eminent qualities
which all admire in you. Endowed with beauty which attracts, grace which
fascinates, you also possess _esprit_ and native refinement, without
which every other quality loses its charm. You have a marvellous
talent--how shall I describe this! How can we explain by what natural
refinement, by what intellectual labor, you have made it at once so
grand and so touching! That ineffable voice, which goes directly to the
heart, and dwells for ever in the memory of those who hear it--those
ever-changing shades of expression--those bold and brilliant
embellishments created by good taste, softened by grace, and made
inimitable by art--you possess all. Oh, music of the spheres, of which
we dream but never hear!--you alone have revealed it, for you alone
possess that touching language, at once radiant and heart-thrilling, yet
penetrating, like all real beauty, like that divine essence whence you
emanate. When you appear on the scene, which you instantly transform
into a brilliant saloon, one would think he had been admitted by special
favor to one of those courtly representations given to indulge the
caprice of some great princess desirous of obtaining those numerous
wreaths you know so well how to wear.
How much admiration have you not excited in the different parts you have
filled, with equal inspiration and science! How have eyes and ears both
been charmed at the "Daughter of the Regiment"--a creation understood
and interpreted by yourself alone!--where, in spite of yourself, the
harmony of your gestures, the grace of your movements, give to the whole
character a mysterious poetry, which infects the very air around you!
With what inimitable art you represent that inimitable _Rosina_, at once
so innocent and so cunning, committing with such reckless grace those
little sins which make youth so happy, and revealing at the same time
the woman who attracts us by the qualities we love and the faults we
adore. Ah, whether you express either joy or sorrow, you charm
equally--like those privileged natures, you can feel everything, because
you can understand everything. You are merciful and
charitable--misfortune has never applied to you in vain--never has the
cry of the sufferer been listened to by you without reply. Succoring the
one, consoling the other, you give to misfortune at once your heart and
your gold. Benevolent, obliging, and generous, all those who come to you
are received with a gracious modesty which spares them many pangs. You
have so much memory for what is required of you--you forget so soon what
you give--you appear so happy to oblige--that you seem to be indebted to
those whom you serve. Artist and accomplished woman, you possess the
two endowments so rare in this world--immense talent and unlimited
appreciation. Heaven has given you two nobilities--that of ancestry and
that of the soul.
I have nothing more to say--except that I am seeking in vain for an
expression to portray so admirable a character. This is your portrait,
Madam--and I leave the world to determine whether it is correct.
HENRIETTE SONTAG
(COUNTESS DE ROSSI)
BY MR. SCUDO,[A]
(_Member of the Institut Francais._)
AMONG the rare consolations which have lately been vouchsafed to the
devotees of music, is the reappearance upon the world's stage of a
celebrated artist who had been its ornament. Mademoiselle Sontag, after
having enchanted Europe by the beauty of her voice, by her marvellous
vocalization, and the charms of her person, suddenly disappeared from
the eyes of her numerous admirers, and hid the splendor of an
incontestable and painfully acquired reputation under the veil of
matrimony. Mademoiselle Sontag became Madame de Rossi. She exchanged a
diadem for the coronet of a countess, and the graceful Muse became an
humble ambassadress. A political revolution, which overturned society,
was necessary to restore to us the eminent vocalist whom we have so much
admired. Madame de Rossi, who, most happily for our enjoyment, has lost
her embassy and a part of her fortune, as we are assured, has again
become Mademoiselle Sontag. After having astonished the fashionable
world of London, which received her during the past winter with great
distinction, Mademoiselle Sontag has determined to present herself also,
after a silence of twenty years, before that Parisian public whose
discriminating acclamations formed then the most brilliant portion of
her fame. We have heard her at six concerts which she has given at the
Conservatoire; but before expressing our appreciation of a talent yet so
admirable, we may be permitted, perhaps, to speak briefly of the youth
of this celebrated woman, who has been so tried by destiny.
[A] Scudo was a pupil of the great Choron, an intimate of
Rossini, and has had the entree of all the most distinguished musical
circles on the continent for the past thirty years. He is a prominent
contributor to the _Revue des Deux Mondes_, the _Revue de Paris_, and
the _Revue Independant_, from one of which publications this article is
taken.--_Note of the Translator._
Henriette Sontag was born at Coblentz in Prussia, of one of those
families of German comedians of which Goethe has given us such a poetic
description in his _Wilhelm Meister_. Coming to the light like the
halcyon, upon the crests of stormy waves, she early knew the
vicissitudes and trials of an artist's life. At the age of six years she
made her first appearance at Darmstadt in _Das Donauweibchen_ (The
Daughter of the Danube), an opera very popular in Germany, where, in the
character of _Salome_, she won admiration for her childish grace and
just intonation. Three years afterwards, having lost her father,
Henriette Sontag went to Prague with her mother, where she played
children's parts, under the direction of Weber, who was then director of
the orchestra of the theatre. Her precocious success obtained for her,
by singular favor, permission to enter the Academy of Music of that
City, although she had not yet reached the age required by its rules.
There, for four years she studied vocal music, the piano-forte, and the
elements of vocalization. An indisposition of the _prima donna_ of the
theatre gave her the opportunity to appear for the first time in a part
of some importance, that of the _Princess of Navarre_ in Boildieu's
opera, _John of Paris_. She was then fifteen. The flexibility of her
voice, her budding charms which announced her future beauty, the
agitation which stirred her heart and filled it with mysterious
presentiments, secured for her a success which augured well for the
future of her professional life. From Prague, Henriette Sontag went to
Vienna, where she met Madame Mainville-Fodor, whose example and good
counsels developed the rich gifts which she had received from nature.
Singing alternately German and Italian opera, she was able to prove her
powers in these two strongly contrasting languages, and to choose with
deliberation between the dazzling caprices of Italian music and the
sober and profound accents of the new German school. An engagement
having been offered her, to sing in German opera, at the theatre of
Leipzig, she went to that city, the centre of the philosophical and
literary discussion, and acquired a great reputation by the manner in
which she interpreted Weber's _Der Freyschutz_ and _Euryanthe_.
The admirers of the genius of this great composer were chiefly the young
men of the Universities, and all those ardent and generous spirits who
wished to disenthral Germany from foreign rule, as well in the realm of
fancy as in that of politics; they sounded with enthusiasm the praises
of Mademoiselle Sontag, whose name was known throughout Germany as that
of a virtuoso of the first order, born to renew the marvels of Mara. It
was at Leipzig that Mara, that famous German singer of the close of the
eighteenth century, was educated under the care of the venerable
Professor Hiller. It was vouchsafed to M'lle Sontag to dedicate a
magnificent organ and a vocalization almost unknown on that side of the
Rhine, to the performance of the vigorous and profound music of Weber,
Beethoven, Spohr, and all those new German composers who, severing all
alliance with foreign scepticism, had given freedom to the national
genius. Overwhelmed with homage, celebrated by all the brilliant men of
the day, the students singing her praises, and followed by the _hourras_
of the German press, Mademoiselle Sontag was called to Berlin, where she
appeared with immense success at the theatre of Koenigstadt. It was at
Berlin, it will be remembered, that _Der Freyschutz_ was represented for
the first time. It was at Berlin, a protestant and rationalistic city,
the centre of an intellectual and political movement which sought to
concentrate within itself the life of Germany, at the expense of
Catholic Vienna, in which reigned the spirit of tradition, sensuality,
the gaiety and the light melodies of Italy; it was at Berlin, we say,
that the new school of dramatic music founded by Weber, had taken
foothold. Mademoiselle Sontag was received with enthusiasm as an
inspired interpretress of the national music. The Hegelian philosophers
found in her a subject for their learned commentaries, and they
recognised in her limpid and sonorous voice "_the subjective blended
with the objective in an absolute unity_." The old King of Prussia
received her at court with parental kindness. It was there that
diplomacy had occasion to make approaches to M'lle Sontag, and to effect
a breach in the heart of the muse.
Availing herself of a leave of absence which had been granted her, M'lle
Sontag came finally to Paris, and appeared at the Italian Theatre on the
fifteenth of June, 1826, in the part of _Rosina_ in _Il Barbiere di
Seviglia_. Her success was brilliant, especially in Rode's variations,
which she introduced in the second act during the singing lesson. This
success she at once confirmed and increased in _La Donna del Lago_ and
_L'Italiana in Algieri_; many passages of which, written for a contralto
voice, she was obliged to transpose. Upon her return to Berlin she was
received with redoubled manifestations of interest. She remained in this
city until the close of the year 1826; when, abandoning Germany, and the
school which had formed her in the very sanctuary of its nationality,
she fixed herself at Paris. M'lle Sontag first appeared in the character
of _Desdemona_ in the opera _Otello_, on the second of January, 1828.
She was one of that constellation of admirable virtuosos who at that
epoch charmed Paris and London; and among whom Madame Pasta, Mad.
Pisaroni, Mad. Malibran, and M'lle Sontag shone as stars of the first
magnitude.
Between the last two vocalists, so different in their styles, there was
declared one of those fruitful rivalries of which Hoffman has given us
so dramatic a picture. This rivalry was pushed so far between the
imperious Juno and the blonde Venus that they could not remain together
in the same room. Upon the stage, when they sang in the same opera,
which happened in _Don Giovanni_ or _Semiramide_, their stupendous
jealousy manifested itself by malicious cadenzas and rockets of sound
which inflamed their hearers. Now it was the Trojans burst all bonds,
and now the Greeks. The parterre rose and fell like the waves of the sea
under the touch of the divinities of Olympus. At last, one day Mad.
Malibran and M'lle Sontag having to sing a duett at a princely mansion,
the fusion of two voices so different in quality and in the character of
their expression, produced so grand an effect that the success of the
two great vocalists worked their reconciliation. From that moment a calm
rested _sul mare infido_.
Even in the midst of such successes and festivals of art, a black spot
shows itself upon the horizon: diplomacy labored secretly to work
confusion--its protocols became menacing, and it was suddenly announced
that M'lle Sontag was about to quit the stage to devote herself to more
serious duties. For a year past she had been secretly married to a Count
de Rossi, who was no longer willing to share his happiness with the
world. M'lle Sontag took leave of the Parisian public at a performance
for the benefit of the poor, which was given at the opera, in January of
1830. Upon her return to Berlin, her friends and numerous admirers won
her consent to give a few representations, and she quitted the stage
definitively two months before the revolution of July. But before
entering upon the new path of life which she had chosen, and before
laying aside the brilliant renown which had been so justly acquired,
M'lle Sontag went a journey to Russia, giving at Warsaw, Moscow, St.
Petersburgh, and afterwards at Hamburg and other principal cities of
Germany, concerts equally brilliant and profitable.
It was after this journey that, under the name of the Countess de Rossi,
following the fortunes of her husband, she passed successively many
years at Brussels, the Hague, Frankfort, and Berlin, heard only in those
assemblies of the distinguished societies of Europe which the revolution
of February has shaken to its very foundations.
Mademoiselle Sontag possesses a soprano voice of unusual compass, of
great equality, and of a marvellous flexibility. From the middle _Do_ to
that in _alt_, this voice has the sweet ring of a silver bell, and never
need we fear either a doubtful intonation or an ill-balanced phrase in
her wonderful displays of vocalization. This rare flexibility of organ
is the result of incessant labor, judiciously directed to the
development of the munificent gifts of nature. Until her arrival at
Vienna, where she had opportunity to hear the great virtuosos of Italy,
M'lle Sontag had been guided only by her own happy instincts, and the
tastes, more or less cultivated, of the public before whom she sang. It
is to the counsels of Madame Maineville-Fodor, and yet more to the
example which the admirable talent of this exquisite singer set daily
before her, that M'lle Sontag owes the expanding of those native powers
which till then had rested, folded as it were, within their bud. The
contest with such rivals as Mad. Pisaroni and Mad. Malibran--those
heroic combats which she had to sustain upon the stages of Vienna,
Paris, and London--accomplished for her talent that degree of full and
satisfying maturity which has made M'lle Sontag one of the most
brilliant singers of Europe.
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 passion never
distort the classic 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 passion. 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 ambassadress, 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'Ambassadrice_, 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 fashion, 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 fashion 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
flashing 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 passion, 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 passion 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 cluster of Forget-me-not.
HENRIETTE SONTAG IN FRANKFORT.
BY
LOUIS BOERNE.