Part 3 (1/2)
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 pa.s.sion never distort the cla.s.sic 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 pa.s.sion. 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 amba.s.sadress, 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'Amba.s.sadrice_, 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 fas.h.i.+on, 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 fas.h.i.+on 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 flas.h.i.+ng 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 pa.s.sion, 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 pa.s.sion 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 cl.u.s.ter of Forget-me-not.
HENRIETTE SONTAG IN FRANKFORT.
BY
LOUIS BOERNE.
ONE of the most brilliant and influential names in German literature, for the last quarter of a century, is Louis Borne, a man whose genius, at once tender and sarcastic, and whose innate love for political freedom, were fitly refined and adorned by the most severe and delicate taste in art. In one of his happiest chapters, he describes a visit to his native city of Frankfort, made by Madame Sontag, who was then turning the heads of all Germany,--as she has done again within the past year. As this charming and accomplished artist is soon to appear in America, we know of no better means of satisfying the curiosity of our readers as to what they may expect from her, than by translating this article by so eminent and trustworthy a critic as Borne. It is as follows:
”A year ago Henriette Sontag, the gracious Muse of Melody, appeared at Weimar, and it seemed as if they all went crazy. Like pious priests and wors.h.i.+ppers of stars, they celebrated her advent as that of some great and glorious constellation, with music of harps and cymbals, in the quaintest Spanish, Moorish, languis.h.i.+ng, twilight strains, with hyacinthine perfumes and incense. Instead of simply saying, 'M'lle Sontag has supped with M. von Goethe,' they sang, 'The King of Poets has cherished the Wondrous Child with food and drink!' Since then I have gone mad at the foolish people, whose heads were turned in a night; before that, they had used the flame of Prometheus to boil their potatoes with, and now they had swallowed the fire itself; they had been used to conceal their moderate capacity for enjoyment under hard and bitter husks, but now, of a sudden, they began to grow sweet, and soft, and uncertain, and s.h.i.+ning as jelly.
”I had the bitterest sayings in my mind, and meant to print them all.
But it is well for me that I reflected and did it not. How people would have mocked at the inflexible Rhadamanthus when at last, pen and all, he became the va.s.sal of a girl!
”In truth, since I have myself heard the enchantress, I am bewitched like the others, and no longer know what I say. But as in the twilight of a dream I remember, that before my soul's transmigration I was of the opinion that we Germans, who are so hard to rouse to enthusiasm, who begin to be intoxicated when others are getting over the headache,--it was my opinion that we ought not to yield up our virgin hearts to the first charming apparition. For though beautiful, it is not unfading; though delightful, it does no solid good. I remember I held it to be thoughtless extravagance. But now I think otherwise, and I say: It is lovely; let us enjoy the moment, and why refuse to enjoy it? why sacrifice it to the future? Who knows how long it will be before we are again permitted thus loudly to utter our admiration and pay our homage to a divinity of our own free choice, and not imposed on us by accident?
And now I desire to praise this enchantress, who has transformed an entire nation; but where shall I find the words? Even the endless array of mere paper words that we have created in Frankfort since our senses were taken from us, even these are exhausted. One might offer a prize of a hundred ducats for the invention of a new adjective, never before employed, and n.o.body could gain the prize.
”They have called her the lovely, the incomparable, the heavenly, the adorable, the celestial maiden, the darling Henriette, the gracious child, the heroine of song, the daughter of the G.o.ds, the dear songstress, the Pearl of the German Opera. To all these epithets, I say, Yes, with all my heart. Even the severest judges have given their verdict; her charming person, her playing, her singing can be compared to everything that is lovely, for such a union of all these gifts of Nature and Art was never found in any other singer. To this, also, I a.s.sent, though the rareness of this union did not delude me; for with all my efforts, I could not see and hear her at the same time, and I had to think of her points of excellence one by one, together, in order to arrive at the sum of her worth. But of one thing I am certain, and that is that what could raise the whole of a German work-day city into such a festal excitement, without the command of either the almanac or the police, must be something admirable, something beautiful. To praise our songstress then, let me speak of the excitement she has produced, for such universal intoxication, even if not to the credit of the drinker, is to the glory of the wine.
”With a little variation, Henriette Sontag could say with Caesar: 'I came, they saw, I conquered.' But triumph went before her, and the battle was only a game for the celebration of the victory.
”The first compliment paid to her in subjugated Frankfort was the announcement in the published list of arrivals, 'M'lle Sontag, Singer to his Majesty the King of Prussia, with her suite and attendants.'
Princely personages travel 'with suite and attendants,' and by attributing the same to M'lle Sontag, she was raised to the very steps of the throne; and without rebellion, no higher honor could have been paid her.
”To this first compliment the last she received here was perfectly suited. The landlord at whose house she was lodged for a fortnight, at her departure refused all compensation, and thereby renewed and enn.o.bled the old hotel of the Roman Emperor into a Prytaneum, where, in the name of the Fatherland, famous Germans are entertained. Between these two compliments extend a countless wilderness of others. Even the Jews experienced a slight dizziness, and when at the Exchange you heard them speak of Eighths and Quarters, you were doubtful whether they meant musical beats or per cents. The price of tickets to the theatre was doubled, a thing unheard of, for we Frankforters, rich as we are, regard every unusual expense as intolerable. Spectators poured along in vast crowds, not merely the inhabitants of the town, not merely the people of the neighboring cities; but from a distance, from Cologne and Hanover, came flocks of strangers. It was like the Olympian games. An Englishman, who could not get a place in the boxes, wanted to take the entire parquette, and when told it was impossible, gave loud vent to his astonishment at this strange Continental scrupulosity. A young man came on foot from Wiesbaden, a distance of sixteen miles, and arrived just as the house was opened; with great difficulty he procured a seat, but was good enough to give it up to a wearied lady; he stood up, fainted before the performance began, and, as there was no place for him to fall, he was carried lifeless in the fainting-fit, from hand to hand, to the door; he recovered just as the curtain fell on the last act, and walked back to Wiesbaden the same night. An inhabitant of the city was so exhausted by the closeness and the heat, that he had to go home, and died the same evening. We have heard of other injuries and maladies, and of persons who were obliged to keep their beds for many days. Through the whole time, the _Intelligencer_ was filled with advertis.e.m.e.nts of lost chains, rings, bracelets, veils, and other articles which ladies lose in a crowd. On the first day of Sontag's appearance, I went to the optician's to get my opera gla.s.s, which had been left to be repaired, and he had to look for it among fifty others, left there for the same purpose. There was a universal arming of the eyes of the entire masculine gender in Frankfort, and under the gleam of the new chandelier, hundreds of gla.s.ses, directed at a weak girl, offered a terribly warlike aspect. But never was artillery so poorly served, for it was the unskilful artillerists who were injured and not the enemy.
”The house was opened two hours earlier than usual, but long before that, the great square in front was crowded and jammed with people.
Expectation was raised to its highest apex; the excitement was intense and keen. Until I experienced the reality it seemed impossible that such extravagant antic.i.p.ations could be satisfied. But all who were there confessed that M'lle Sontag far exceeded all they had looked for. And in such a case, where the appearance and the reality belong together, and are one and the same thing, what room was there for deception and illusion? A magical, indescribable grace accompanies all the movements of this singer, and we are in doubt whether to regard her acting or her singing as the lovely ornament of a perfect beauty. In comic parts she always preserves that womanly tact, which is so easily violated on the boards, and in serious ones a dignity which is at once touching and commanding. On that first night we forgot the senseless text of Rossini's _Otello_, we saw and heard the Desdemona of Shakspeare. In a simple ballad which speaks to the heart she is admirable, as in the most ornate Cavatina, which delights the ears. We saw old men weeping--something which no trick of artificiality, though never so unequalled and incomparable, could produce. Her low notes, her wonderful trills, runs, and cadenzas, resemble the charming, childlike ornaments on a Gothic edifice, which serve to moderate the solemnity of lofty arches and pillars, to combine the joy of the heavens with the joy of the earth, but never violate or degrade that solemnity. The inspiration produced by Henriette Sontag as Desdemona, resembles the Greek fire that could not be extinguished, and----. But let me cling to the rock of cool reflection and save myself. Perhaps it was the whirlpool that carried me away, perhaps it was not a mere figure of speech, when I said; 'I know not what I say.' If this be the case, if I have experienced a human weakness, why then I will not alive yield myself to mocking pity, but will mingle with my s.h.i.+p-wrecked companions in misfortune. All the critics and poets here and in Darmstadt have gone crazy also, and have done nothing but declaim, sing, and rave about Sontag. What poems, what fables, what flights of fancy! All Olympus was mustered into the service, and the children, grey-beards, and veterans of mythology had to come up and pay their tribute. Critical old women made declarations of pa.s.sion to the songstress, and bloodless reviewers glowed with life in her praise. I am dizzy; I have seen Germans drunk, not with wine, but with enthusiasm. There has been no end to the prose and still less to the verse, expressive of their boundless delight. All seasons, all times, all emotions, all forms of expression, have been evoked to pay her honor. But I must end, lest I provoke some reader to exclaim: