Contemporary with Sontag, Malibran, and Grisi, was Madame Schroeder-Devrient, who was one of the earliest and greatest interpreters of German opera. Though others have surpassed her in vocal resources, she stands high in the list of operatic tragediennes, and for a long time reigned supreme in her art. Her deep sensibilities and dramatic instincts, her noble elocution and stately beauty, fitted her admirably for tragedy, in which she was unrivalled except by Pasta. Her voice was a mellow soprano, which, though not specially flexible, united softness with volume and compass. Her stage career began at the age of six, but she was seventeen when she made her debut in opera. Her highest triumph was achieved as Leonora in the “Fidelio.”

Her marriage with M. Devrient, a tenor singer whom she met in Dresden, did not turn out happily. Madame Devrient retired in 1849, having amassed a considerable fortune by her professional efforts. Her retirement occasioned much regret throughout Germany, and the Emperor Francis I. paid her the unusual compliment of having her portrait painted in all her principal characters, and placed in the Imperial Museum. She died in 1860 at Cologne, and the following year a marble bust was placed in the opera house at Berlin.

Madame Devrient must be classed with that group of dramatic singers who were the interpreters of the school of music which arose in Germany after the death of Mozart, and which found its characteristic type in Carl Maria Von Weber, for Beethoven, who on one side belongs to this school, rather belongs to the world, than to a single nationality.

Fanny Persiani, who was contemporary with Grisi and Viardot, was the daughter of Tacchinardi, a tenor singer of no small reputation. Tacchinardi was a dwarf, hunchbacked and repulsive in appearance, yet he had one of the purest tenor voices ever given by nature and refined by art, which, together with extraordinary intelligence and admirable method of singing, and great facility of execution, elicited for him the admiration of the public.

His daughter Fanny showed a passion for music almost as an infant, and was carefully trained by her father. At eleven years of age she took part in an opera as prima donna at a little theatre which Tacchinardi had built near his country-place just out of Florence. She had a voice of immense compass, to which sweetness and flexibility were added by study and practice. She married Joseph Persiani, an operatic composer, at the age of twelve, for her father did not wish her to go on the stage, and thought that an early marriage would change her tastes. For several years she lived in seclusion at her husband’s house; but at last an opportunity offered to sing in opera, and she was unable to resist it. Madame Persiani belonged to the same style as Sontag, not only in character of voice but in all her sympathies and affinities. Moscheles, in his diary, speaks of the incredible technical difficulties which she overcame, and compares her performance with that of a violinist, for she could execute the most florid, rapid, and difficult music with such ease as to excite the wonder of her hearers. Aside from her wonderful executive art in singing, Madame Persiani will be remembered as having contributed, perhaps, more than any other singer to making the music of Donizetti popular. Her death occurred in 1867.

The name of Jenny Lind will be remembered when Malibran, Grisi, and many of the greatest singers have sunk into oblivion, because of her good works. Besides being one of the few perfect singers of the century, her life was characterized by deep religious principles and innumerable charitable works, of which not the least was the use of the fortune of over $100,000, which she made during her American tour, in founding art scholarships and other charities in Sweden, her native land.

Jenny Lind was born in 1820 at Stockholm, and was the daughter of poor but educated parents, her father being a teacher of languages and her mother a schoolmistress.

From her cradle she showed the greatest delight in music, and at the age of three she could sing with accuracy any song that she had heard. Her musical education began at the age of nine; but, notwithstanding the brilliant career predicted for her by her friends, her life for many years was a history of patient hard work and crushing disappointments.

When she was presented by her singing teacher to Count Puecke, the director of the court theatre at Stockholm, with a view to getting her admitted to the school of music connected with it, she made no impression on him, and it was only by great persuasion that he could be induced to accept her.

In this theatre she appeared in child’s parts while scarcely in her teens, but when she was about thirteen years old her voice suddenly failed. She continued patiently with her other musical studies, and in four or five years her voice returned as suddenly as it had left her.

Shortly after this, she sang at a concert the part of Alice, in the fourth act of “Roberto,” and made such a favorable impression that she was immediately given the part of Agatha, in “Der Freischuetz,” and made her first appearance in opera. She soon became a great favorite in Stockholm, where she remained for nearly two years.

Filled with ambition, she now went to Paris and sought the celebrated teacher, Manuel Garcia, whose first advice to her was not to sing a note for three months. Garcia never expected great things of her, although he was pleased with her diligence and her musical intelligence. Meyerbeer, on the contrary, who heard her about a year later, at once recognized in her voice “one of the finest pearls in the world’s chaplet of song,” and through his influence she obtained a hearing in the salon of the Grand Opera. This did not result in an engagement, and Jenny Lind was so mortified that years afterwards, when her reputation was established, and she was offered an engagement in Paris, she declined it without giving any reason.

She now returned to Stockholm, where she was received with the greatest enthusiasm; but soon afterwards she appeared at Copenhagen, and then, through Meyerbeer again, she procured an engagement at Berlin, where, in the part of Alice in “Roberto,” she made a profound impression. She next sang in Vienna, where she made a veritable triumph. On the last night of her engagement her carriage was escorted home by thousands. Thirty times she was obliged to appear at the window of her hotel, and the crowd scrambled for the flowers which she threw them in acknowledgment of their applause, and carried them home as treasures.

She became the talk of musical circles throughout Europe, and prices rose enormously whenever she was to sing.

She sang in London for the first time in 1847, and, through judicious advertising, the public were worked up to a great state of expectation. Tickets were held at fabulous prices, and since the days of Mrs. Siddons’s seventh farewell, nothing like the excitement had been known. Many ladies sat on the stairs of the opera house, unable to penetrate to the auditorium.

Her operatic career in London was short as it was brilliant, for she sang for the last time on the operatic stage in the season of 1849, after which she appeared only in concerts and oratorio. Concerning the charm of her singing, one may judge from a sentence written by Chorley, the well-known critic, who least of all men was likely to be carried away by emotion. “It was a curious experience,” he says, “to sit and wait for what should come next, and to wonder whether it was really the case that music had never been heard till the year 1847.” On the other hand, Mr. Chorley wrote later on to the effect that she invariably sang somewhat sharp, and that he could not consider any prima donna to be a great artist who was only positively successful in four operas, “Roberto,” “La Sonnambula,” “La Figlia del Reggimento,” and “Le Nozze di Figaro.” In Norma she was a failure.

But again Chorley may well be quoted: “Of all the singers whom I have ever heard, Mlle. Lind was perhaps the most assiduous. Her resolution to offer the very best of her best to the public seemed part and parcel of her nature, and of her conscience. Not a note was neglected by her, not a phrase slurred over. Her execution was great, and, as is always the case with voices originally reluctant, seemed greater than it really was. Her shake was true and brilliant, her taste in ornament was altogether original. She used her pianissimo tones so as to make them resemble an effect of ventriloquism.”

Jenny Lind’s tour in America was eventful. It began with a serenade by a band of one hundred and thirty musicians, preceded by seven hundred of the firemen of New York. The demonstration occurred at one o’clock in the morning, and was witnessed by a crowd of thirty thousand people. The tickets for the concerts were sold by auction, and the highest price paid was $225, by an enterprising business man. During her stay in America, Jenny Lind was followed by crowds eager to see her; receptions were arranged, and everything was done to keep up the excitement. She was under the management of Mr. P. T. Barnum, from whom she later obtained her release on payment of a forfeit of $30,000.

In 1851 Mlle. Lind put herself under the management of Mr. Otto Goldschmidt, a pianist of considerable ability, whom she married in Boston. In 1852 she returned to Europe with her husband and settled in Dresden, but eight years later they came to England and resided in London, whence they moved after several years to Malvern Wells. In 1887 Madame Lind Goldschmidt died. She is remembered as one of the sweetest singers and most charming women of her time.

A singer who replaced Fanny Persiani and surpassed her in popularity, who sang in the same roles and in the same theatres as Grisi, and who, according to Chorley, was the most ladylike person he had seen on the stage of the Italian opera, except Madame Sontag, was Angiolina Bosio. Born at Turin in 1830, and belonging to a family of artists, both musical and dramatic, she made her first appearance at the age of sixteen, and scored a decided triumph. In 1848 she sang at Paris, but without her customary success, and she immediately made a tour of the West, visiting Havana, New York, Philadelphia, and Boston, in all of which places she was greatly admired. In 1851 she returned to Europe, and married a Greek gentleman named Xindavelonis.

She returned to the stage, but was not favorably received until, at the end of the season of 1852, she sang in “I Puritani,” in the place of Grisi. This was the turning-point in her fortune, and her popularity increased rapidly, until she died suddenly in St. Petersburg, where the rigorous climate was too severe for her delicate constitution. At St. Petersburg she was nominated premiere cantatrice, an honor never previously bestowed.

Madame Bosio was possessed of much taste in the matter of dress, together with a graceful condescension of manner. Her features were irregular, and yet she was extremely pleasing, so much so, in fact, that the critics wrote of “her gay, handsome face.” Her most remarkable performance was in “La Traviata,” in which she sang with the tenor Gardoni and the bass Ronconi, both singers of great renown.

The greatest contralto of the middle of the century was undoubtedly Marietta Alboni, the daughter of a custom-house officer of Casena, Romagna. She was born in 1822, and, like most of the great singers, showed her talent early. She was placed under good teachers, and attracted the attention of Rossini by her beautiful voice. He took so much interest in her that he gave her instruction in some of her parts. Thus she had the honor of being Rossini’s only pupil.

In 1842 she made her first appearance in opera, and was soon after engaged at La Scala, Milan, where she remained for four years. After this she appeared at Vienna, and then she travelled through Europe, creating a general furore.

Alboni was not an actress, she was a singer simply and absolutely, and her singing was such as to carry everything before it. The tones of her voice were rich, full, mellow, and liquid, sumptuous, they have been called, and of a pure and sympathetic quality. It was not even, for the upper register was thin. Her articulation was perfectly clear and fluent, even in the most difficult passages, and her style and method were considered models. Her figure, though large, was graceful and commanding, and her disposition was amiable. She was both independent and dignified. While in Germany, and comparatively unknown, she declined to seek the favor of the press, preferring to trust to the judgment of the public.

Once upon a time, when Madame Alboni was at Trieste, she was informed of the existence of a plot to hiss her off the stage. Having ascertained the names of her detractors and where they were to be found, she donned male attire, in which her short hair and robust figure helped to complete her disguise, and went to the cafe at which the conspirators met. Here she found them in full consultation, and, taking a seat at a table, she listened to their conversation for a time. After awhile she addressed the leader, saying: “I hear that you intend to play a trick upon some one. I am very fond of a little practical joke myself, and should be glad if you would allow me to join you on this occasion.”

“With pleasure,” was the reply; “we intend to hiss an opera singer off the stage this evening.”

“Indeed, and of what is she guilty?”

“Oh, nothing except that, being an Italian, she has sung in Munich and Vienna to German audiences, and we think she ought to receive some castigation for her unpatriotic conduct.”

“I agree with you, and now please tell me what I am to do.”

“Take this whistle,” said the leader. “At a signal to be given at the conclusion of the air sung by Rosina, the noise will begin, and you will have to join in.”

“I shall be very glad to do so,” replied the singer, and put the whistle in her pocket.

In the evening the house was packed, every seat was occupied, and the audience warmly applauded the opening numbers of the opera. In due course Madame Alboni appeared, and at the point at which she was about to address her tutor, a few of the conspirators began to make a disturbance, not waiting for the signal.

Without showing any concern, Madame Alboni walked down to the footlights, and holding up the whistle, which was hung to her neck by a ribbon, she exclaimed: “Gentlemen, are you not a little before your time? I thought we were not to commence whistling until after I had sung the air.”

For a moment a deathlike stillness prevailed. Then, suddenly, the house broke into thunders of applause, which was led by the conspirators themselves.

Alboni visited the United States in 1852, just after the visit of Jenny Lind, and received what was considered a cordial welcome. Nevertheless she is said to have expressed some disappointment. In 1853 she married the Count of Pepoli, and soon after retired. She did not again sing in public, except in 1871, when she sang the contralto part in Rossini’s Mass, a part which the composer had desired, before his death, that she would take when it was produced.

In social life the Countess of Pepoli was as much the idol of her friends as she had previously been of the public. In 1877 she married a second time, taking Major Zieger for her husband. Her death took place at the Ville d’Avray, Paris, in 1894.

For several years the favorite tenor on the French stage was Gustave Hyppolite Roger, a man of amiable and benevolent disposition, who was educated for the legal profession. He was born in 1815, at La Chapelle St. Denis, Paris, and entered the Conservatoire in 1836, carrying off, the following year, the first prizes for singing and comic opera. His debut was made in February, 1838, and he remained at the Opera Comique for ten years, after which he went to the Academie, and created a great sensation with Madame Viardot, in “Le Prophete.” His acting was good both in tragic and comic parts, and he created many new roles.

In 1859 he met with an unfortunate accident, and lost his right arm by the bursting of a gun, and this put an end to his operatic career in Paris. He continued, however, to sing in provincial towns and in Germany, until 1861, when he reappeared at the Opera Comique. But it was evident that the time for his retirement had come, and he took pupils, becoming a professor of singing at the Conservatoire in 1868, and holding the position until his death in 1879.

The mantle of Braham, the greatest English tenor of his day, descended to John Sims Reeves, the son of a musician, who was born at Shooter’s Hill, Kent, in 1822. Reeves, we are told, received the traditions of Braham, and refined them.

He obtained his early musical instruction from his father, and at fourteen held the position of organist at North Gray Church. Upon gaining his mature voice he determined to be a singer, and at first sang baritone and second tenor parts, making his debut in opera, at Newcastle-on-Tyne, as Count Rudolpho in “La Sonnambula.” Before long his voice developed into a tenor of an exceptionally beautiful quality, and, in 1847, when he appeared at Drury Lane, he at once took a position as a singer of the first rank. His acting, too, was natural and easy, manly, and to the purpose, exhibiting both passion and power without exaggeration.

His greatest triumph, however, was achieved in oratorio, and his performance of “The Enemy Said,” in “Israel in Egypt,” at the Crystal Palace, in 1857, was of such a nature as to electrify his hearers.

In England the name of Sims Reeves was for many years sufficient to draw an audience large enough to fill any auditorium to overflowing, although he frequently disappointed the public by non-appearance. It was known that he considered it wiser to disappoint the public than to risk losing his voice, and, as a result, people soon realized that to hear him once was sufficient to atone for several disappointments. To the general public Sims Reeves endeared himself chiefly by his exquisite ballad singing; and, just as Patti is associated with “Home, Sweet Home,” his name is coupled with “Come into the Garden, Maud.”

Up to the age of seventy, Sims Reeves appeared occasionally in concerts, and even at the present day he can secure an audience, although his powers have long since passed away.

Enrico Tamberlik, who flourished during the middle of the century, was a tenor of high rank. He belonged to the class of “tenore di forza,” and used to make a tremendous effect with his high C, which he produced with immense power. His voice was one of great richness of tone and volume, but his singing was marred by the persistent use of the vibrato, a fault all too common.

Tamberlik, like Sims Reeves and Jean de Reszke, sang originally as a baritone, and developed later into a tenor. His delivery was grand and noble, his phrasing perfect, and he sang with a great depth of expression. His elocution was so fine that every word was delivered with full effect, and his dramatic power was unusually great. He was seen to best advantage in heroic parts, in which his fine figure and majestic bearing, together with the power and resonance of his voice, were displayed.

Tamberlik was born at Rome in 1820, made his debut at Naples in 1841, and soon built up a great reputation. In 1850 he appeared in London, and became so great a favorite that he was engaged there every season until 1864. In 1874 he made a tour of the United States, and he is said to have been the first tenor of importance who visited South America, singing at Rio Janeiro, Buenos Ayres, and Montevideo.

One of his most notable performances was in 1871, when he took the part of Otello, in Rossini’s opera of that name, with Faure as Iago, and Nilsson as Desdemona.

Tamberlik was a shrewd man of business, but an excellent companion. His conversational powers were immense, and as he had come in contact with, and known intimately, many men and women famous in the world of fashion, art, and literature, he had an endless fund of interesting anecdotes. In 1877 he retired from the stage, having the good sense to seek private life before his powers had faded. He settled in Madrid, and became a manufacturer of arms. While in retirement he had the rare experience of reading his own obituary notices, for, in 1882, a rumor of his death went forth into Italy and France. Though it was entirely without foundation, the press at once teemed with eulogistic biographies of the great tenor, which were copied throughout Europe. As they were highly complimentary, the subject was much pleased, and made a collection of them which he pasted into an album and enjoyed for seven years. He died in 1889.

During the same period there flourished Karl Formes, one of the most remarkable bassos of his time, who was popular in spite of the fact that he frequently offended by false intonation.

Formes was the son of a sexton of Muhlheim on the Rhine, and was born in 1810. He gained the greater part of his musical education by singing in the choir of the church. He grew up with a strong love for the drama, as well as for music, and at the age of sixteen his enthusiasm was such that when Essler, the actor, visited Cologne, young Formes, not having sufficient money to pay both for the ferry and his ticket, tied his clothes around his neck, and swam the Rhine, rather than miss the performance. When Staudigl, the bass singer, visited the same city, Formes listened to his singing with awe, and the next season he begged to be allowed to sing the part of Bertram at the opera. This was one of Staudigl’s favorite roles. Staudigl, who heard the performance, was so pleased that he introduced Formes as his successor.

Formes, however, first came into notice by singing at some concerts given for the benefit of the Cathedral fund, at Cologne, in 1841. In the following year he made his operatic debut, his success leading to an engagement for three years. He then sang in Vienna, and in 1849 appeared in London with a German company, taking the part of Zarastro in the “Zauberfloete,” at Drury Lane Theatre. The next year he was engaged for Italian opera, at Covent Garden, and sang there every season for some fifteen years.

He had a voice which, for volume, compass, and quality, was one of the most magnificent ever heard, a stage presence handsome and attractive, and exceptional dramatic ability.

Formes was a man of unsettled, roving disposition, and spent much of his time in Russia and in Spain, but in 1857 he visited the United States, and eventually began a wandering life in this country, going wherever fancy took him, and singing in almost all the larger cities.

In 1882 he, being then seventy-two years of age, married a Miss Pauline Greenwood, who had been one of his pupils in Philadelphia. Shortly afterwards the happy couple settled in San Francisco, where he frequently sang in concerts, and where he had a number of pupils. His voice was wonderfully well preserved, and he was strong and active, giving some fifteen lessons daily, until his death in 1889.

Niemann is authority for a story about Formes. Once when he was in Germany, Formes was very anxious to sing at court, and Niemann succeeded in securing for him the opportunity. According to Niemann’s ideas of art, Formes sang atrociously, bellowing and shouting in stentorian tones. Niemann was in an agony throughout the performance, thinking of his responsibility; but, to his surprise, when the song was over, the old Emperor William I. applauded loudly, and seemed highly delighted, and demanded an encore. He probably thought what a fine dragoon officer Formes would have made, shouting commands with his great voice.

At about the same time there flourished another tenor of high rank, whose career was confined almost entirely to Germany, Joseph Alois Tichatschek. He was born in 1807, at Ober Weckelsdorf, in Bohemia, and became a chorus singer in 1830, rising in his profession until, in 1837, he made his debut as a soloist at Dresden. In 1841 he sang for a few nights in London, at Drury Lane, during a season of German opera; also at Liverpool and Manchester, and was described as “young, prepossessing, and a good actor; his voice is excellent, and his style, though not wanting in cultivation, is more indebted to nature than to art.” He was also said to have proved himself “the hit of the season.” Tichatschek died in 1886.

A singer who was much more widely known, and who belonged to the time of Grisi, Mario, Lablache, and the great operatic representations of those days, was Georgio Ronconi, the baritone. He had a reputation extending throughout Europe and into America, and he owes his celebrity rather to histrionic powers than to his voice, for we are told by Chorley that “there are few instances of a voice so limited in compass (hardly exceeding an octave), so inferior in quality, so weak, so habitually out of tune. The low stature, the features unmarked and commonplace, when silent, promising nothing to an audience, yet which could express a dignity of bearing, a tragic passion not to be exceeded, or an exuberance of the wildest, quaintest, most whimsical, most spontaneous comedy. These things we have seen, and have forgotten personal insignificance, vocal power beyond mediocrity, every disqualification, in the spell of strong, real sensibility.” It was one of the many cases in which dramatic talent has made up for lack of voice.

Ronconi sang for many years in London, in all the great comic operas. He retired in 1874, and became a teacher of singing. He died in 1890.

In 1849 two stars of importance appeared on the operatic horizon, Madame Marie Caroline Felix Miolan Carvalho, and Mlle. Theresa Carolin Johanna Tietiens.

Madame Carvalho became the foremost lyric artist on the French stage, and was engaged for many years at the Opera Comique and at the Grand Opera in Paris, but she also sang frequently in London, Berlin, St. Petersburg, and other cities of Europe. Her first public appearance was made at a performance for the benefit of Duprez, her teacher, and she sang in the first act of “Lucia,” and in the trio in the second act of “La Juive.” Her last appearance, which took place in 1887, two years after her retirement from the stage, was also at a benefit, a concert in aid of the sufferers by the fire at the Opera Comique. On this occasion she sang with Faure.

Madame Carvalho was the daughter of an oboe player named Felix Miolan, who educated her musically until she entered the Paris Conservatoire, and studied with Duprez, gaining, in 1847, the first prize for singing. Her voice was high and thin, but was used with consummate skill and delicacy, and her interpretation of the role of Marguerite, in “Faust,” was considered a most complete and delightful personation.

She was a native of Marseilles, born in 1827. In 1853 she married Leon Carvaille, more generally known as Carvalho, who became director of the Opera Comique. He held this position at the time of the fire; and, as the accident was judged to have been due to the carelessness of the management, Carvalho was fined and imprisoned. Madame Carvalho died in 1895, at Puys, near Dieppe.

Tietiens has been called the last of the great race of dramatic singers made splendid by such as Pasta, Malibran, Grisi, and Viardot-Garcia. Never was so mighty a voice so sweet and luscious in its tone. It had none of the soprano shrillness, but was more of a mezzo-soprano quality throughout, and softer than velvet. Her style of singing was noble and pure, her acting was earnest, animated, and forcible, her stage presence was imposing. Such parts as Norma and Lucretia Borgia are said to have died with her, so grand was her interpretation of them, and she sang the part of Ortrud in “Lohengrin” so finely that, in all probability, she would have become noted as a Wagnerian singer had not death snatched her away in her prime. No singer ever became more popular in England, where she lived for many years, and where her death was considered as a national loss. Mlle. Tietiens was born in Hamburg, in 1831, of Hungarian parents, and first appeared in opera in that city at the age of eighteen. She sang in London every season from 1859 till 1877, the year of her death, and was as great an oratorio singer as she was operatic artist. Mlle. Tietiens was tall, massive, and dignified, and dominated the stage with her presence. In 1876 she visited the United States, and made a concert tour, but none could have a full conception of her power who did not see her in one of her great parts. Like other singers who have for years maintained their popularity in England, her private life was most admirable, and her kind and charitable nature endeared her to the nation.