a banker of Vienna. She filled a long engagement in Berlin, which was
generously patronized by the public, not merely out of admiration of
the talents of the artist, but with the wish of repairing in some small
measure her great losses. After 1841 Pasta retired from the stage,
spending her winters at Milan, her summers at Lake Como, and devoting
herself to training pupils in the higher walks of the lyric art.
We can not better close this sketch than by giving an account of one of
the very last public appearances of her life, when she allowed herself
to be seduced into giving a concert in London for the benefit of the
Italian cause. Mme. Pasta had long since dismissed all the belongings
of the stage, and her voice, which at its best had required ceaseless
watching and study, had been given up by her. Even her person had
lost all that stately dignity and queenlfness which had made her stage
appearance so remarkable. It was altogether a painful and disastrous
occasion. There were artists present who then for the first time were
to get their impression of a great singer, prepared of course to believe
that that reputation had been exaggerated. Among these was Rachel, who
sat enjoying the humiliation of decayed grandeur with a cynical and
bitter sneer on her face, drawing the attention of the theatre by her
exhibition of satirical malevolence.
Malibran's great sister, Mme. Pauline Viardot, was also present,
watching with the quick, sympathetic response of a noble heart every
turn of the singer's voice and action. Hoarse, broken, and destroyed as
was the voice, her grand style spoke to the sensibilities of the great
artist. The opera was "Anna Bolena," and from time to time the old
spirit and fire burned in her tones and gestures. In the final mad scene
Pasta rallied into something like her former grandeur of acting; and in
the last song with its roulades and its scales of shakes ascending by a
semitone, this consummate vocalist and tragedienne, able to combine form
with meaning - dramatic grasp and insight with such musical display as
enter into the lyric art - was indicated at least to the apprehension
of the younger artist. "You are right!" was Mme. Viardot's quick and
heartfelt response to a friend by her side, while her eyes streamed with
tears - "you are right. It is like the 'Cenacolo' of Leonardo da Vinci at
Milan, a wreck of a picture, but the picture is the greatest picture in
the world."
HENRIETTA SONTAG.
The Greatest German Singer of the Century. - Her Characteristics as an
Artist. - Her Childhood and Early Training. - Her Early Appearances in
Weimar, Berlin, and Leipsic, - She becomes the Idol of the Public. - Her
Charms as a Woman and Romantic Incidents of her Youth. - Becomes
affianced to Count Rossi. - Prejudice against her in Paris, and her
Victory over the Public Hostility. - She becomes the Pet of Aristocratic
_Salons_. - Rivalry with Malibran. - Her _Début_ in London, where she is
welcomed with Great Enthusiasm. - Returns to Paris. - Anecdotes of her
Career in the French Capital. - She becomes reconciled with Malibran in
London. - Her Secret Marriage with Count Rossi. - She retires from the
Stage as the Wife of an Ambassador. - Return to her Profession after
Eighteen Years of Absence. - The Wonderful Success of her Youth
renewed. - Her American Tour, - Attacked with Cholera in Mexico and dies.
I.
The career of Henrietta Sontag, born at Cob-lenz on the Rhine in 1805,
the child of actors, was so picturesque in its chances and changes that
had she not been a beautiful and fascinating woman and the greatest
German singer of the century, the vicissitudes of her life would have
furnished rich material for a romance. Nature gave her a pure soprano
voice of rare and delicate quality united with incomparable sweetness.
Essentially a singer and not a declamatory artist, the sentiment of
grace was carried to such a height in her art, that it became equivalent
to the more robust passion and force which distinguished some of her
great contemporaries. As years perfected her excellence into its mellow
prime, emotion and warmth animated her art work. But at the outset Mile.
Sontag did little more than look lovely and pour forth such a flood
of silvery and delicious notes, that the Italians called her the
"nightingale of the North." The fanatical enthusiasm of the German youth
ran into wild excesses, and we hear of a party of university students
drinking her health at a joyous supper in champagne out of one of her
satin shoes stolen for the purpose.
When Mile. Sontag commenced her brilliant career the taste of operatic
amateurs was excessively fastidious. Nearly all outside of Germany
shared Frederick the Great's prejudice against German singers. Yet when
she appeared in Paris, in spite of hostile anticipation, in spite of her
reserve, timidity, and coldness on the histrionic side of her art, she
soon made good her place by the side of such remarkable artists as
Mme. Pasta and Maria Malibran. She never transformed herself into
an impassioned tragedienne, but through the spell of great personal
attraction, of an exquisite voice, and of exceptional sensibility,
taste, and propriety in her art methods, she advanced herself to a high
place in public favor.
Her parents designed Henrietta for their own profession, and in her
eighth year her voice had acquired such steadiness that she sang minor
parts at the theatre. A distinguished traveler relates having heard her
sing the grand aria of the _Queen of the Night_ in the "Zauberflote" at
this age, "her arms hanging beside her and her eye following the flight
of a butterfly, while her voice, pure, penetrating, and of angelic tone,
flowed as unconsciously as a limpid rill from the mountain-side." The
year after this Henrietta lost her father, and she went to Prague with
her mother, where she played children's parts under Weber, then _chef
d'orchestre_. When she had attained the proper age she was admitted to
the Prague Conservatory, and spent four years studying vocalization, the
piano, and the elements of harmony. An accident gave the young singer
the chance for a _début_ in the sudden illness of the prima donna, who
was cast to sing the part of the _Princesse de Navarre_ in Boïeldieu's
"Jean de Paris." The little vocalist of fifteen had to wear heels four
inches high, but she sang none the less well, and the audience seemed
to feel that they had heard a prodigy. She also took the part of the
heroine in Paer's opera of "Sargino," and her brilliant success decided
her career, as she was invited to take a position in the Viennese Opera.
Here she met the brilliant Mme. Fodor, then singing an engagement in the
Austrian capital. So great was this distinguished singer's admiration of
the young girl's talents that she said, "Had I her voice I should hold
the whole world at my feet."
Mlle. Sontag had the advantage at this period of singing with great
artists who took much interest in her career and gave her valuable hints
and help. Singing alternately in German and English opera, and always an
ardent student of music, she learned to unite all the brilliancy of
the Italian style and method to the solidity of the German school. The
beautiful young cantatrice was beset with ardent admirers, not the least
important being the English Ambassador Earl Clan William. He followed
her to theatre, to convents, church, and seemed like her shadow. Sontag
in German means Sunday; so the Viennese wits, then as now as wicked
and satirical as those of Paris, nicknamed the nobleman Earl Montag, as
Monday always follows Sunday. It was during this Vienna engagement that
Weber wrote the opera of "Euryanthe," and designed the principal
part for Sontag. But the public failed to fancy it, and called it
"L'Ennuyante." The serious part of her art life commenced at Leipsic in
1824, where she interpreted the "Freischutz" and "Euryanthe," then in
the flush of newness, and made a reputation that passed the bounds
of Germany, though foreign critics discredited the reports of her
excellence till they heard her.
"Henrietta's voice was a pure soprano, reaching perhaps from A or B to D
in alt, and, though uniform in its quality, it was a little reedy in the
lower notes, but its flexibility was marvelous: in the high octave, from
F to C in alt, her notes rang out like the tones of a silver bell. The
clearness of her notes, the precision of her intonation, the fertility
of her invention, and the facility of her execution, were displayed in
brilliant flights and lavish fioriture; her rare flexibility being a
natural gift, cultivated by taste and incessant study. It was to the
example of Mme. Fodor that Mile. Sontag was indebted for the blooming
of those dormant qualities which had till then remained undeveloped. The
ease with which she sang was perfectly captivating; and the neatness and
elegance of her enunciation combined with the sweetness and brilliancy
of her voice and her perfect intonation to render her execution
faultless, and its effect ravishing. She appeared to sing with the
volubility of a bird, and to experience the pleasure she imparted." To
use the language of a critic of that day: "All passages are alike to
her, but she has appropriated some that were hitherto believed to
belong to instruments - to the piano-forte and the violin, for instance.
Arpeggios and chromatic scales, passages ascending and descending,
she executed in the same manner that the ablest performers on these
instruments execute them. There were the firmness and the neatness
that appertain to the piano-forte, while she would go through a scale
_staccato_ with the precision of the bow. Her great art, however, lay
in rendering whatever she did pleasing. The ear was never disturbed by
a harsh note. The velocity of her passages was sometimes uncontrollable,
for it has been observed that in a division, say, of four groups of
quadruplets, she would execute the first in exact time, the second and
third would increase in rapidity so much that in the fourth she was
compelled to decrease the speed perceptibly, in order to give the band
the means of recovering the time she had gained."
Mile. Sontag was of middle height, beautifully formed, and had a face
beaming with sensibility, delicacy, and modesty. Beautiful light-brown
hair, large blue eyes, finely molded mouth, and perfect teeth completed
an _ensemble_ little short of bewitching. Her elegant figure and
the delicacy of her features were matched by hands and feet of such
exquisite proportions that sculptors besought the privilege of modeling
them, and poets raved about them in their verses. Artlessness and
_naivete_ were joined with such fine breeding of manner that it seemed
as if the blue blood of centuries must have coursed in her veins instead
of the blood of obscure actors, whose only honor was to have given
to the world one of the paragons of song. Sontag never aspired to the
higher walks of lyric tragedy, as she knew her own limitation, but in
light and elegant comedy, the _Mosinas_ and _Susannas_, she has never
been excelled, whether as actress or singer. It was said of her that she
could render with equal skill the works of Rossini, Mozart, Weber,
and Spohr, uniting the originality of her own people with the artistic
method and facility of the French and Italian schools. From Leipsic
Mile. Sontag went to Berlin, where the demonstrations of delight which
greeted her singing rose to fever-heat as the performances continued.
Expressions of rapture greeted heron the streets; even the rigid
etiquette of the Prussian court gave way to receive the low-born singer
as a royal guest, an honor which all the aristocratic houses were prompt
to emulate. It was at Berlin that Sontag made the acquaintance of Count
Rossi, a Piedmontese nobleman attached to the Sardinian Legation. An
ardent attachment sprang up between them, and they became affianced.
Not content with her supremacy at home, she sighed for other worlds to
conquer, and after two years at Berlin she obtained leave of absence
with great difficulty, and went to Paris. French connoisseurs laughed
at the idea of this German barbarian - for some of the critics were rude
enough to use this harsh term - becoming the rival of Pasta, Cinti,
and Fodor, and the idea of her singing Rossini's music seemed purely
preposterous. On the 15th of June, 1826, she made her bow to the French
public. The victory was partly won by the shy, blushing beauty of the
young German, who seemed the very incarnation of maidenly modesty and
innocence, and when she had finished her first song thunders of applause
shook the house. Her execution of Rode's variations surpassed even
that of Catalani, and "La Petite Allemande" became an instant favorite.
Twenty-three succeeding concerts made Henrietta Sontag an idol of the
Paris public, which she continued to be during her art career. She also
appeared with brilliant distinction in opera, the principal ones being
"Il Barbiere," "La Donna del Lago," and "L'Italiani in Alghieri." Her
benefit-night was marked by a demonstration on the part of her admirers,
and she was crowned on the stage.
II.
The beautiful singer became a great pet of the Parisian aristocracy, and
was welcomed in the highest circles, not simply as an artist, but as a
woman. She was honored with a state dinner at the Prussian Ambassador's,
and the most distinguished people were eager to be presented to her.
At the house of Talleyrand, having been introduced to the Duchess von
Lothringen, that haughty dame said, "I would not desire that my daughter
were other than you." It was almost unheard of that a German cantatrice
without social antecedents should be sedulously courted by the most
brilliant women of rank and fashion, and her presence sought as an
ornament at the most exclusive _salons_. It was at this time that
Catalani met her and declared, "_Elle est la première de son genre, mais
son genre n'est pas le premier_," and a celebrated flute-player on her
being introduced to him by a musical professor was accosted with the
words, "_Ecco il tuo rivale_."
In Paris, as was the case afterward in London, the most romantic stories
were in circulation about the adoration lavished on her by princes
and bankers, artists and musicians. The most exalted personages were
supposed to be sighing for her love, and it was reported that no singer
had ever had so many offers of marriage from people of high rank and
consideration. Indeed, it was well known that about the same time
Charles de Beriot, the great violinist, and a nobleman of almost
princely birth, laid their hearts and hands at her feet. Mile. Sontag,
it need not be said, was true to her promise to Count Rossi, and refused
all the flattering overtures made her by her admirers. A singular
link connects the careers of Sontag and Malibran personally as well as
musically. It was during the early melancholy and suffering of De
Beriot at Sontag's rejection of his love that he first met Malibran.
His profound dejection aroused her sympathy, and she exerted herself to
soothe him and rouse him from his state of languor and lassitude. The
result can easily be fancied. De Beriot's heart recovered from the
shock, and was kindled into a fresh flame by the consolations of the
beautiful and gifted Spanish singer, whence ensued a connection which
was consummated in marriage as soon as Malibran was able to break the
unfortunate tie into which she had been inveigled in America.
The Parisian managers offered the most extravagant terms to keep the
new favorite of the public, but her heart and duty alike prompted her to
return to Berlin. On the route, at the different towns where she
sang, she was received with brilliant demonstrations of admiration and
respect, and it was said at the time that her return journey on this
occasion was such a triumphal march as has rarely been vouchsafed to
an artist, touching in the spontaneity of its enthusiasm as it was
brilliant and impressive in its forms. Berlin welcomed her with great
warmth, and, though Cata-lani herself was among the singers at the
theatre, Sontag fully shared her glory in the German estimation.
The King made her first singer at his chapel, at a yearly salary of
twenty-four thousand francs, and rich gifts were showered on her by her
hosts of wealthy and ardent admirers.
She sang again in Paris in 1828, appearing in "La Cenerentola" as a
novelty, though the music had to be transposed for her. Malibran was
singing the same season, and a bitter rivalry sprang up between the
blonde and serene German beauty and the brilliant Spanish brunette. It
was whispered afterward, by those who knew Malibran well, that she never
forgave Henrietta Sontag for having been the first to be beloved by De
Beriot. The voices of the two singers differed as much as their persons.
The one was distinguished for exquisite sweetness and quality of tone,
and perfection of execution, for a polished and graceful correctness
which never did anything alien to good taste and made finish of form
compensate for lack of fire. The other's splendid voice was marred by
irregularity and unevenness, but possessed a passionate warmth in its
notes which stirred the hearts of the hearers. Full of extraordinary
expedients, an audience was always dazzled by some unexpected beauties
of Malibran's performance, and her original and daring conceptions gave
her work a unique character which set her apart from her contemporaries.
The Parisian public took pleasure in fomenting the dispute between the
rival queens of song, and each one was spurred to the utmost by the hot
discord which raged between them.
On April 16th of the same year Mile. Sontag made her first appearance
before the London public in the character of _Mosina_ in Rossini's "Il
Barbiere," a part peculiarly suited to the grace of her style and
the _timbre_ of her voice. One of her biographers thus sketches the
expectations and impressions of the London public:
"Since Mrs. Billington, never had such high promise been made, or so
much expectation excited: her talents had been exaggerated by report,
and her beauty and charms extolled as matchless; she was declared to
possess all the qualities of every singer in perfection, and as an
actress to be the very personification of grace and power. Stories
of the romantic attachments of foreign princes and English lords were
afloat in all directions; she was going to be married to a personage of
the loftiest rank - to a German prince - to an ambassador; she was pursued
by the ardent love of men of fashion. Among other stories in circulation
was one of a duel between two imaginary rival candidates for a ticket
of admission to her performance; but the most affecting and trustworthy
story was that of an early attachment between the beautiful Henrietta
and a young student of good family, which was broken off in consequence
of his passion for gambling.
"Mile. Sontag, before she appeared at the opera, sang at the houses of
Prince Esterhazy and the Duke of Devonshire. An immense crowd assembled
in front of the theatre on the evening of her _début_ at the opera. The
crush was dreadful; and when at length the half-stifled crowd managed
to find seats, 'shoes were held up in all directions to be owned.' The
audience waited in breathless suspense for the rising of the curtain;
and when the fair cantatrice appeared, the excited throng could scarcely
realize that the simple English-looking girl before them was the
celebrated Sontag. On recovering from their astonishment, they applauded
her warmly, and her lightness, brilliancy, volubility, and graceful
manner made her at once popular. Her style was more florid than that
of any other singer in Europe, not even excepting Catalani, whom she
excelled in fluency, though not in volume; and it was decided that she
resembled Fodor more than any other singer - which was natural, as she
had in early life imitated that cantatrice. Her taste was so cultivated
that the redundancy of ornament, especially the obligato passages
which the part of _Rosina_ presents, never, in her hands, appeared
overcharged; and she sang the cavatina 'Una voce poco fà ' in a style as
new as it was exquisitely tasteful. 'Two passages, introduced by her in
this air, executed in a _staccato_ manner, could not have been surpassed
in perfection by the spirited bow of the finest violin-player.' In the
lesson-scene she gave Rode's variations, and her execution of the second
variation in arpeggios was pronounced infinitely superior to Catalani's.
"At first the _cognoscenti_ were haunted by a fear that Sontag would
permit herself to degenerate, like Catalani, into a mere imitator of
instrumental performers, and endeavor to astonish instead of pleasing
the public by executing such things as Rode's variations. But it was
soon observed that, while indulging in almost unlimited, luxuriance
of embellishment in singing Rossini's music, she showed herself a good
musician, and never fell into the fault, common with florid singers,
of introducing ornaments at variance with the spirit of the air or the
harmony of the accomplishments. In singing the music of Mozart or Weber,
she paid the utmost deference to the text, restraining the exuberance of
her fancy, and confining herself within the limits set by the
composer. Her success was tested by a most substantial proof of her
popularity - her benefit produced the enormous sum of three thousand
pounds."
Laurent, the manager of the Theatre Italien, succeeded in making a
contract by which Sontag was to sing in Paris for fifty thousand francs
a year, with a _congé_ of three months. It was at this period that she
commenced seriously to study tragic characters, and, though she at first
failed in making a strong impression on her audiences, her assiduous
attention to sentiment and passion wrought such fruits as to prove
how far study and good taste may create the effect of something like
inspiration, even on the part of an artist so cool and placid as the
great German cantatrice. Her efforts were stimulated by the rivalry of
Mali-bran, and this contest was the absorbing theme of discussion in the
Paris salons and journals. It reached such a height that the two singers
refused to meet each other socially, and on the stage when they
sang together their jealousy and dislike showed itself in the most
undisguised fashion. Among the incidents related of this interesting
operatic episode, the following are specially worthy of mention: An
Italian connoisseur, who had never heard Sontag, and who firmly believed
that no German could sing, was induced to go one night by a friend to
a performance in which she appeared. After listening five minutes he
started up hastily in act to go. "Stay," urged his friend; "you will be
convinced presently." "I know it," replied the Italian, "and therefore I
go."
One evening, at the termination of the performance, the two rivals
were called out, and a number of wreaths and bouquets were flung on the
stage. Malibran stooped and picked up one of the coronals, supposing it
designed for her, when a stern voice cried out: "Rendez-la; ce n'est pas
pour vous!" "I would not deprive Mlle. Sontag of a single wreath," said
the haughty Spaniard in a loud voice which could be heard everywhere
through the listening house. "I would sooner bestow one on her!"
This quarrel was afterward made up between them when they were engaged
together in London the following year, 1828. This reconciliation was
brought about by M. Fetis, who had accompanied them from Paris. He
proposed to them that they should sing for one of the pieces at a
concert in which they were both engaged, the _duo_ of _Semiramide_ and
_Arsace_, in Rossini's opera. For the first time in London their voices
were heard together. Each outdid herself in the desire to excel, and the
exquisite fusion of the two voices, so different in tone and character,
was so fine that the hearts of the rivals melted toward each other, and
they professed mutual friendship. The London public got the benefit of
this amity, for the manager of the King's Theatre was able to produce
operas in which they sang together, among them being "Semiramide," "Don
Giovanni," "Nozze di Figaro," and "Romeo e Giulietta" - Malibran playing
the hero in the latter opera. The following year Sontag also sang
with Malibran in London, her greatest success being in _Carolina_, the
principal character of Cimarosa's "Il Matrimonio Segreto."
Mile. Sontag was now for the first time assailed by the voice of
calumny. Her union with Count Rossi, consummated more than a year
before, had been kept secret on account of the dislike of his family