From Queens of song  by Ellen Creathorne Clayton, Vol. II, pages 81 to 103:

Henrietta Sontag

Henrietta Sontag, or Sonntag, born May 13, 1805, at Coblentz, was a graceful und vivacious child, with a lovely silver-toned voice, and the darling of her father, who was an actor of genteel comedy.
From her cradle she was destined by her parents for their own profession, and when six years old, appeared for the first time on the stage, at the Court theatre of Hesse Darmstadt, in an opera entitled Donau Weibchen (the Daughter of the Danube).
Her infantine prettiness, her naïveté, her joyousness, her silver-toned voice, and the accuracy of her intonation made her a pet at once.
In her eighth year, her voice had already acquired much steadness, and to grafity neighbours and friends, Henrietta’s mother would place her on the table and bid her sing.
A distinguished traveller relates having seen her sing in this manner the grand aria of the “Queen of Night”, in the Zauberflöte, “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.”
In her ninth year, Henrietta lost her father, when the widowed Madame Sontag took her daughters to Prague, where Henrietta played the parts of children under the direction of Weber, then chef-d’orchestre of the theatre.
These early successes obtained for her, as a very special favour, permission to attend the courses of the Conservatoire of Prague, although she had not yet attained the prescribed age – twelve – she being only eleven.
During four years she here studied vocal music, the pianoforte, and the elements of harmony.
Pixis, for whom she always retained a lively affection, taught her the piano; Bayer, the celebrated flutist, and Madame Czezka instructed her in vocalization; and the maître de chapelle, Tribensée, taught her the rudiments of music; and she successively won the prize in every class of this great school of music.
A sudden indisposition of the prima donna gave Henrietta an unexpected opportunity of appearing in the rather important part of the Princesse de Navarre, in Boieldieu’s opera of Jean de Paris.
She was then only fifteen, and being very small, the little vocalist was supplied with heels four inches high, so when the little prodigy appeared on her cork pedestals, the house was filled with cheers and acclamations; but the emotion which agitated her did not injure her success.
Her next part was the far more difficult one of the heroine in Paer’s fine opera, Sargino.
The brilliant success she had achieved decided her career, and, leaving the Conservatoire, she went to Vienna, where she had an opportunity of hearing Madame Fodor, who was engaged at the theatre there.
Admiring the talents of the French cantatrice, Henrietta endeavoured to impress on her mind the practical lessons which she thus received, and which were as profitable as all the studies she had pursued in the Conservatoire.
The admiration was reciprocated by Madame Fodor, who, on hearing the young girl sing for the first time, exclaimed “Had I her voice, I should hold the entire world at my feet!”
Singing alternately in German and Italian opera, with the most experienced colleagues, Rubini amongst others, Henrietta Sontag was perfected in the two languages, and was enabled at the same time to choose between the brilliancy of Italian music and the sober profundity of the German school.
The English Ambassador, Earl Clanwilliam, became one of her most ardent admirers; he followed her to the theatre, to concerts, and even in her walks to church.
Sontag, in German, means Sunday, and the Viennese wits nicknamed the ambassador Earl Montag, as Monday follows Sunday.
In November, 1823, Weber produced his Euryanthe, at the Kärnthnerthor Theater, Mdlle. Sontag taking the leading part; but the public were so little pleased that they called the opera L’Ennuyante.
With the exception of the chorus of huntsmen, the music was not liked.
Mdlle. Sontag, in 1824, was engaged to sing in German opera at the theatre of Leipzig. She gained great applause by the manner in which she interpreted the Freischütz and the Euryanthe of Weber, then almost in their flush of novelty.
Her young sister Nina performed at the same time in children’s characters.
Here commenced the serious part of her art life.
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 marvellous: in the high octave, from F to C in alt, her notes rang out like the tones of a silver bell.
The clarness 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 Madame Fodor that Mdlle. 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 pianoforte 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 was the firmness and the neatness that appertain to the pianoforte, while she would go through a scale staccato with the precision of the bow.
Her great art, howewer, 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.”
Mdlle. Sontag was of middle stature, neither full nor slender, with a face expressive of delicacy, sensibility, and modesty united; she had light hair (between blonde and auburn), fair complexion, large blue eyes, softly pencilled lips, and regular white teeth, and an aspect of sweetness and good-humour; but her features were by no means striking, or capable of vivacious or tragic expression.
Her elegant form, the delicacy of her features, the exquisite proportion of her hands and feet, and her beautiful and soft expressive eyes, completed the enchantment exercised by this fair cantatrice.
She could not command, but she won admiration by her easy quiet, and reserved, yet artless and unaffected, lady-like demeanour.
As an actress, though not great, she justly claimed applause.
Neither in her action nor in her singing did she display any grandeur or depth of feeling; but while she could not aspire to be a tender and impassionate Leonora, a thrilling Medea, she was a captivating Rosina, a bewitching Susanna.
In light and elegant comedy, whether as actress or singer, she has rarely been excelled.
She possessed all the originality of her own nation, while emulating the flexibility of the Italians.
With equal skill she could render the works of Rossini, Mozart, Weber, and Spohr, joining to the verve and power of the German the volubility and facility of French and Italian singers.
Such was her success in Leipzig that she was called to Berlin, to sing in the Koenigstadt Theater.
Her studies at Vienna had prepared her to sing in the operas of Rossini; but the music of this illustrious maestro, which was enthusiastically admired in the capital of Austria, was not duly estimated at Berlin.
Mdlle. Sontag was therefore chiefly heard in some German operas, in which she gained great renown throughout Germany, and she made the fortune of the theatre which possessed her.
It was not merely admiration and delight which she inspired, but an enthusiasm which manifested itself in the most extravagant demonstrations of rapture whenever she appeared.
The old King of Prussia received her at his Court with paternal kindness.
About this time Mdlle. Sontag became acquainted with Count Rossi, a Piedmontese nobleman, then secretary to the Legation of Sardinia at Berlin, and their marriage was arranged to take place.
After a sojourn of two years at Berlin, Mdlle. Sontag determined to visit Paris.
When she announced her intention, the Berlin public were very angry; they told her she might either go or stay, for they didn’t care in the least, while they vented their spleen in very unequivocal marks of resentment, and, to spite her, petted a rival singer.
Such conduct was not calculated to induce her to forego her intentions, and at the end of May, 1826, she profited by a congé, which was granted her, to go to the French capital.
In the Parisian salons, in the daily papers, in the cafés and restaurants, people laughed at the idea of la petite Allemande, who was daring enough to appear in the part of Rosina in Il Barbiere di Seviglia.
What audacious self-confidence this Sontag – this German Frau must be endowed with, to dare to step on a scene where Pasta, Cinti, and Fodor had shone! It was ridiculous! What could M. le Vicomte Sosthène de la Rochefoucauld be dreaming of?
On the 15th June, Mdlle. Sontag appeared, and curiosity to hear how the German vocalist would maltreat the music of  Rossini caused the theatre to be filled to overflowing.
The audience expected to see a bold, robust songstress with a harsh voice.
What was their amazement when there flitted on to the stage, in all her shy, blushing beauty, a young girl of scarce twenty summers, whose aspect at once disarmed criticism.
The first silvery tones of her voice in recitative produced a reaction in her favour; thunders of applause broke forth, and the singer’s courage, which had wavered for a moment, was now assured.
Her execution of the air with Rode’s variations, in the second act, distanced even Madame Catalani, who had till then been invincible.
The enthusiasm of the Parisian public rose to its full height, and was undiminished by twenty-three subsequent representations; and she immediately received the appropriate sobriquet of the Nightingale of the North.
The principal operas in which she appeared were, Il Barbiere, La Donna del Lago, and L’Italiana in Algieri.
In this last, the leading airs were transposed for a soprano voice.
On the occasion of her benefit she was crowned on the stage, and elegant devices of a complimentary kind were thrown at her feet.
The charming young German was petted and caressed by the Parisian aristocracy, and, through the Prussian Ambassador, she was honoured with a state dinner.
She was presented to Alexander von Humboldt and to the Princess Dalbergischen, and required no letters of introduction to render her welcome in the highest circles.
At the house of Talleyrand, the young cantatrice being introduced, by the Duchess of Dino, to Madame de Baudemont the strong-minded Duchess von Lothringen, was thus complimented: “I would not desire that my daughter were other than you.”
The society of a German singer – a thing before unheard of – was now sedulously courted by ladies of the highest fashion in Paris; and Benjamin Constant and his wife (the Countess Hardenberg) made her acquainted with the élite of the Republican party.
Madame Catalani, it is reported, declared of her “Elle est la première de son genre, mais son genre n’est pas le premier;” and a professor of great reputation and experience introduced a celebrated flute-player to her in these words – “Ecco il tuo rivale!”
Mdlle. Sontag was always supposed to be on the point of marriage, and princes, musicians, romantic young heroes, were imagined by turns to aspire to the honour of her hand, and to be dying of love for her.
No singer was ever rumoured to have so many honourably disposed lovers at her feet.
A musician of celebrity * (*Charles de Bériot) and a gentlemen of high rank, asked her in marriage about this time: but she rejected both offers, without reserve, yet with kindness and delicacy; her troth had been already pledged.
Her health failed for a time, but the sea-bathing of Boulogne restored her, and she was in blooming health when she started at the end of September, 1826, on her return to Berlin.
She was offered fabulous terms in Paris if she would give up Berlin, but her heart and her duty steeled her against every temptation.
On her route she made large sums by singing, and received numerous handsome testimonies to the esteem in which she was held.
Just before she left Paris, Ebers wrote offering her 2,000 L. and a benefit for the season.
This offer it was impossible for her to accept, as she was under a contract for Berlin; he wrote again, volunteering to pay the forfeit which she might incur by the breach of her contract; but, not wishing to break her faith with the Berlin public, she refused.
She received a hearty welcome in Weimar and Frankfort.
In Hainz, the home of her parents, she went to see her grandmother, and she also visited her father’s grave, and gave her needy relatives proofs of her generosity; she sang in the theatre for the poor, sought out the gry-headed Mathison, that she might receive the last blessing of the aged poet, and left the home of her father laden with love and kind wishes.
The Berlin people did not prove ungrateful fot the preference their favourite had shown for them; though on her first reappearance in L’Italiana in Algieri, they affected to be still very cross, in order that they  might be coaxed a little.
There was a brilliant company of singers assembled that season in Berlin, and Madame Catalani and Mdlle. Sheckner shared the glory ot the day with Sontag.
The King of Prussia engaged her for his chapel at a yearly salary of 20,000 francs; about 840 L.
Early in 1828 she was again in Paris, at the same time with Malibran, who had reigned the preceding season.
Mdlle. Sontag appeared, as a novelty, in La Cenerentola; but the music of this opera suffered very much from being transposed for a soprano voice.
The Parisian public, which always had a penchant for fomenting musical rivalries and jealousies, put in direct opposition the cool, placid German, and the ardent, passionate Spaniard; yet, excepting that they both could sing, there was very little in common between the two: however, the war waged long and hotly, occasioning ill-feeling and discord.
Mdlle. Sontag appeared in London at the King’s theatre, April 16, as Rosina in Rossini’s Il Barbiere, a character which affords every opportunity for the display of lightness and gaiety; and of all modern operas, it is the best adapted to her style.
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 ot 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.
Amongst other stories in circulation was one of a duel between two imaginary rival candidates dor 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.
Mdlle. 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 ot 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 obbligato passages which the part of Rosina presents, never, in her hands, appeared overcharged; and she sang the cavatina, “Una voce poco fa,” 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 ot 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.
Mdlle. Sontag appeared successively in the Cenerentola, La Gazza Ladra, as Zerlina in Don Giovanni, and as Elena in La Donna del Lago, in which she achieved a new success.
The part of Elena abounds in opportunities for the display of vocalization, and the tranquil situations do not demand energy or dramatic power.
She also performed Palmide in Il Crociato for Velluti’s benefit.
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 endeavour 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 accompaniments.
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 3,000 L.
Mdlle. Sontag was engaged by Laurent at the Théâtre Italien at a salary of 50,000 fr. per annum and a congé of three months in the year.
She reappeared as Desdemona, but the part was not suited to her.
She, however, turned her attention seriously towards the study of sentiment and passion, and the manner in which she afterwards performed the part of Donna Anna in Don Giovanni, of Semiramide, and many other tragic characters, showed that she had to a certain extent inspiration as well as taste and grace.
The rivalry between Malibran and Sontag now broke out afresh with redoubled vehemence, and reached such a height that they would not even meet in the same salon; the partisans of each, as it always happens, contributed to give to this rivalry an aspect of vindictiveness, and on the stage, when they sang in the same opera, their jealousy was scarcely disguised.
An Italian gentleman, the firmest item of whose musical creed was that none but Italians could sing, refused to admit that Sontag (whom he had never heard) could by any possibility be equal to the singers of Italy.
With great difficulty he was induced to hear her; when listening for five minutes, he suddendly quitted his seat. “Do stay,” urged his friend. “You will be convinced presently.” “I know it,” replied the Italian, “and therefore I go.”
One evening, at the termination ot fhe opera, the rival singers were called for, and a number of wreaths and bouquets were flung on the stage.
One of the coronals fell at the feet of Malibran, who, considering it was meant for her, stooped and picked it up; when a stern voice from the pit cried out – “Rendez-la: ce n’est pas pour vous!”
“I would not deprive Mdlle. Sontag of the coronal,” answered Malibran, somewhat scornfully: “I would sooner bestow one on her.”
There also commenced between Sontag and Madame Pisaroni one of those vindictive contests of which musical history has so many instances; though no two vocalists could possibly be more different in voice and style as well as in person.
Having performed during 1827 almost exclusively in Berlin, Mdlle. Sontag appeared again in London in May, 1828, as Angelina, in Rossini’s Cenerentola.
She was charming, as she always was, her execution was brilliant as ever, and she looked unusually lovely in her splendid costume in the last scene.
She also appeared in Il Barbiere, and as Semiramide for Madame Pisaroni’s benefit; but there was a want of majesty and royal dignity in her deportment as the Assyrian Queen, which detracted greatly from her performance.
Malibran was performing at the same time, on alternate nights, and a reconciliation hat taken place between the two rival artistes; this had been brought about, but not without much trouble, by  M. Fétis, who was the in London.
His benevolent purpose was aided by an unexpected circumstance.
The had both promised to sing at a concert to be given at the house of Lord Saltoun, for the benefit of Mr. Ella.* (* Now the director of the “Musical Union.”)
Fétis, who was engaged to accompany the two singers, proposed to them to sing together the duo of Semiramide and Arsace.
They agreed, and for the first time their voices were heard in combination; each strove to surpass the other, and the effect of the fusion of the two voices, so different in tone, character, and expression, was so fine, that a complete triumph sealed their reconciliation.
In consequence of this, Laporte brought forward operas in which they could play togheter.
They first appeared in Semiramide, and then in Don Giovanni, when Malibran took the part of Zerlina.
Malibran’s Zerlina was original and sprightly; and Sontag, who had already performed the arduous part of Donna Anna, in London, executed it in a most brilliant manner, delightful to the ear, if not so satisfactory to the judgement.
They also appeared toghether in the Nozze di Figaro, on the occasion of Malibran’s benefit.
Mdlle. Sontag, as the Countess, performed with appropriate dignity, and the celebrated letter duet between the Countess and Susanna was sung by them in a style which was not to be surpassed.
Sontag also appeared with her rival in the second act of Romeo e Giulietta, but the part of Giulietta was not suited to her.
Her sister, Nina, appeared ad Mdlle. Sontag’s benefit, in the Zauberflöte.
The sisters bore a strong resemblance, both in person and in voice, but as a performer Nina was very inferior to Henrietta.
On the 29th January, 1829, she made her reappearance at the Théâtre Italien, as Rosina; she also performed during the summer in London, with Malibran.
Her most remarkable performance was Carolina in Il Matrimonio Segreto, which she gave with great feeling and occasional comic humour; she also performed Desdemona several times.
She reappeared in Paris, September 16, in Semiramide, Madame Pisaroni being the Arsace; and in October in Matilda di Shabran.
Mdlle. Sontag had now been for more than a year married to the Count Rossi, buth the union was preserved a secret for a long time; his family not choosing to recognize a singer, and one who could not boast of descent from nobility.
Count Rossi was a native of Corsica, a relative of Buonaparte by the Romalino family, and his sister was married to the Prince de Salm.
The secrecy of Henrietta’s marriage was unfortunate, and calumny for the first time assailed her, until at last the fact of her marriage transpired, when she determined to undertake an art tour through Europe und then retire.
She had been ennobled by the King of Prussia under the title of Mdlle. de Lauenstein.
She made her adieux to the Parisian public in January, 1830, and, returning to Berlin, she there closed the first portion of her dramatic career, May the 19th, by the performance of the Semiramide of Rossini.
The enthusiasm of the public was not to be described.
From the Prussian capital she went to Russia, singing at St. Petersburg, Moscow, and Warsaw, with incredible success.
On arriving at Hamburg, on her return from Russia, she was received with every mark of distinction by the principal inhabitants of that city, and by the hereditary Prince of Mecklenburg, who happened to be on a visit there wit his princess.
She received an invitation from the citizens of Bremen, who offered carte blanche as to terms; but, gratefully declining the offer, she stated decisively her resolve to retire altogether from public life.
At a supper given in compliment to her by a distinguished English merchant at Hamburg, she announced herself for the first time as the Countess Rossi.
At Hamburg she sang for the last time in public, but only at concerts; in which she showed that her powers, far from having declined, had gained in compass, in execution, and above all in expression.
The Countess Rossi lived first at the Hague, then for a short time at Frankfort-on-the-Maine.
In 1835, she was at the latter place, where, as a matter of etiquette, she took precedence of all the ladies of the corps diplomatique, her husband being Minister Plenipotentiary to the Germanic Diet.
In 1838, Madame Rossi paid a visit to Berlin, where she had the honour of dining with the Royal family; and after the repast she joined in several duets and concerted pieces with the princes and princesses.
She devoted herself on her retirement from the stage to the study of composition.
At Vienna, and at the houses of Prince Esterhazy and Prince Metternich, in 1841, she executed a cantata entitled Il Naufragio Fortunato, for a soprano voice and chorus, of which she wrote a portion during a sojourn in Hungary.
This work was received with the greatest enthusiasm by a brilliant and numerous company, and Madame Rossi received from the Empress an autograph letter, begging of her to sing her cantata in the concert which her Imperial Majesty was about to give in her apartments, to which were invited the Imperial family and all the court.
The political storm which swept over Europe in 1848 reduced the family of Count Rossi to ruin, and when the revolution broke out at Berlin Madame Rossi’s fortune was lost.
With a real nobility of soul the Countess firmly breasted the sorm: she announced her intention of reappearing once more on the stage, and accepted an offer of 17,000 L. from Mr. Lumley, of Her Majesty’s Theatre.
On the 7th July, 1849, she made her reappearance in Linda di Chamouni, as “Madame Sontag.”
Her reception was cordial and enthusiastic, and the most eager interest was evinced in this fresh début.
Her voice had suffered little during a repose of seventeen or eighteen years; and still possessed its “exquisite purity and spirituelle quality,” which rendered it a luxury to hear her.
If her lower notes had lost a little of their fulness and freedom, the upper tones still retained their roundness and beauty; and her execution had lost nothing of that marvellous flexibility which was its characteristic.
She still possessed “the finish, the charm, the placid and serene expression,” which had formerly pre-eminently distinguished her; and always a thorough and conscientious artist, she still remained so, although she found herself in presence of a new public, who had become accustomed to a different style of singing.
All her former companions had long vanished from the scene.
The brilliant Malibran had been dead for thirteen years; Madame Pisaroni had disappeared for the same lenght of time; and the “stars” who now shone on the musical world had not appeared when Henrietta Sontag left the stage in 1830.
Giulia Grisi, Clara Novello, Pauline Viardot, Fanny Persiani, Jenny Lind, Marietta Alboni, Nantier Didier, Sophie Cruvelli, Catherine Hayes, Louisa Pyne, Duprez, Mario, Ronconi, Tagliafico, Gardoni – this brilliant galaxy of musical genius had arisen since the day she announced herself as the Countess Rossi; and Bellini, Donizietti, and Meyerbeer, had written their best operas since that day.
Lablache – the good-hearted, kind, joyous, dear old comrade of earlier days – was perhaps the only familiar friend she recognized on returning to Her Majesty’s Theatre.
Even the King’s Theatre had been metarmphosed.
Madame Sontag appeared in her favourite 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,” Madame Sontag would have renewed the triumphs of 1828.
The next season she sang again at Her Majesty’s as Norina, Elvira (I Puritani), Zerlina, and Maria (in La Figlia del Reggimento), characters which she performed for the first time.
The chief novelty was La Tempesta, 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 splendour, and had a considerable run.
Madame 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.
With the exception of Carlotta, all have passed avay like a dream – Halévy, Scribe, Lablache, Henrietta Sontag.
When, at the close of 1850, the Théâtre Italien of Paris opened under the management of Mr. Lumley, Madame Sontag, as the prima donna, was welcomed with a new ovation.
Respect, admiration, and deferential sympathy, animated the audience.
“Even amid the loud applause with which the crowd greeted her reappearance 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.”
In 1851, Madame Sontag was again at Her Majesty’s Theatre.
She was next heard in Vienna and Berlin.
In 1852 she accepted an offer to go to America.
She appeared at Her Majesty’s Theatre for a limited number of nights previous to her departure.
On her arrival at New York, September 19, she commenced a series of concerts at the Metropolitan Hall, with Salvi and Signora Blangini.
From New York she went to Boston and Philadelphia.
Her course was a triumphant one, and she became one of the greatest favourites that had ever visited the New World.
A portion of the capital realized by her entertainments was devoted by her to the purchase of a château and domain in Germany.
In New Orleans, in 1854, she entered into an engagement with M. Masson, director of the principal theatre in the city of Mexico, to sing in opera for a fixed period of two months, with the privilege on his part of continuing the arrangement for three months longer, at a salary of 7,000 dollars.
Madame Sontag despatched her agent, Mr. Ullman, to Europe, to secure a company, and he had nearly concluded his mission when news arrived from America that she had died in Mexico  on the 17th June, on an attack of cholera.