Pauline von Decker 1811-1882
My studio is ready, the pictures have been hung: Seb. Bach over the piano and as a counterpart to him Schätzel, then Beckchen next to Beethoven, then some Raphaels.
Letter from Felix Mendelssohn to Karl Klingemann, 4 July 1832
In 2001, when I began my PhD, my topic was as indefinite as PhD topics often are at the start. I knew that Fanny Hensel was a focus, and I knew that I was interested in the larger musical context in which she functioned. If truth be told, there wasn’t much more to work with. And in the end, my project took shape thanks to serendipity, rather than any particularly well thought-out methodology on my part.
A large part of my good luck was down to the old-style catalogue in the British Library and its subject search. Slightly random searches of the people and institutions that were central to Hensel’s life led me to Heinrich Lichtenstein’s fiftieth anniversary history of the Sing-Akademie zu Berlin, with its full membership lists to 1841. I checked every single woman’s name against the BL catalogue, and eventually against the card catalogue of the SBB, and to my great excitement, found scores by a significant number of female composers. Even more thrilling was the discovery that one of these long-neglected composers was Pauline von Decker, one of Hensel’s closest friends. I ordered that three scores that the BL holds, took one look, and was instantly captured by both the songs themselves and the composer behind them.
It’s rather easier to find information about Decker now than it was in the early 2000s, though she still tends to appear as background detail in someone else’s story. She was born Johanne Sophie Friederike Pauline von Schätzel on 27 August, 1811, into a line of sopranos all renowned for their appearances in the Königliche Oper Berlin. Her mother was Julie Schick, soprano with the Königliche Oper Berlin from 1807 until her marriage, known for her “full tone and pleasing voice”; Julie’s mother was Margarethe Schick, also with the Königliche Oper, and a colleague of Mozart’s. Margarethe and Pauline must have had similar voices, sharing core repertoire (e.g. Glück, Méhul and the ever-popular Winter) as they did - it’s a shame that the two were never to meet, as the grandmother died just over a year before the granddaughter’s birth.
Pauline studied first with Julie Schick, who had taken to teaching after marriage, and with Heinrich Stümer, a tenor who was himself a pupil of Righini, like Pauline’s mother. He was active in the Singakademie zu Berlin, and was doubtless a catalyst for Pauline’s early involvement with the renowned choir. Already in 1827, at the age of 16, she took a solo role in a performance of Handel’s Alexanderfest - the young Chopin was in the audience, and he later remarked in a letter to his mother and sisters that “Fräulein von Schätzel pleased me best in the Oratorio, but it may have been that I was in a better mood that evening for listening...” The very next year, Pauline took the second soprano part in the famous Singakademie performance of Bach’s St Matthew Passion under Felix Mendelssohn’ baton. She would remain a soloist for the Sing-Akademie for several years.
1828 was an eventful year for Pauline. Not only did she have the Bach performance, but she debuted at the Königliche Oper. Her first role was Agathe in Weber’s Der Freischütz, on 26 April (coincidentally her grandmother’s birthday). It was to be the start of a stellar but all too brief career on the operatic stage. In his 1861 dictionary of Berlin musicians, Ledebur summed up the young singer’s extraordinary achievements:
“In 1828, at the age of 16, she began her stage career; and already within four years she had reached the pinnacle of dramatic art, resulting in her being entrusted with the lead role in Fidelio. As well as large, dramatic roles, she also sang light, graceful ones, and she gradually took over all the soprano parts in many operas, e.g. Don Giovanni (D. Elvira, Anna and Zerlina); Oberon (the mermaid, Fatima, Rezia); der Freischütz (Agathe and Ännchen) etc. In these she possessed all the attributes that are especially necessary on stage: a beautiful, full voice, equally accomplished in legato and coloratura singing, charming manners, a beautiful figure, and superb acting.”
Other highlights included taking over the title role in the premiere of Spontini’s Agnes von Hohenstaufen at very short notice, and particularly good reviews of her appearance as Elvira in Don Giovanni. In 1832, this meteoric career was cut short by Pauline’s marriage to the court publisher, Rudolf von Decker. From all accounts it seems to have been a happy marriage. In her memoirs, Caroline Bauer offers a rosily romantic account of the influence of a Zauberflöte performance on the early courtship:
“To young Rudolf Decker, who had just (in January, 1826) returned from a lengthy sojourn in Paris and London for his education, the nineteen-year-old Papagena gave a little sugar bird with a motto. It was not till forty-five years later that I learned from the then aged friend of my youth, the kind publisher of my “Stage Life”, Rudolf Decker, the tenour of that motto, which ran, —
A boy who’s born in January
Is destined for prosperity ;
and how it had raised joy and hope in him who was a child of January — for even at that time he loved the charming nightingale, Pauline von Schätzel, whom he was permitted later on to lead home as his delightful spouse.”
The outpouring of adulation on Pauline’s retirement was rather extraordinary, if perhaps unsurprising for a 21 year old who had sung more than 60 roles in four years, while maintaining an active presence in oratorio and song performances as well as being the dedicatee of several works including Lieder by both Schumanns. No modern singer would dream of attempting the range of Fachs she covered, from the spinto of Leonora to the coloratura of Queen of the Night. Her final appearance as Rosina in Barbara of Seville was reported far and wide, and there were even poems written about her:
“Der Grazie Kind, ein Liebling der Kämonen,
Unstrahlt Dein Haupt der Jugend Rosenglanz,
Mit Deiner Stimme zauberischen Tönen
Ward Dir schon früh ein reicher Lorbeerkranz.
Und so geschmückt, der Herrlichste von allen,
Die für die Kunst in diesem Tempel glühn,
Willst Du entfliehen mit den Nachtigallen,
Willst mit den Rosen, Holde, Du verblühn?
Du kehrst nicht wieder, wie des Lenzes Sänger,
Bist Du entflohen aus Euterpe’s Hain;
Doch weilt Dein Sang beglückender und länger,
Denn in die Herzen grub Dein Ton sich ein!
[Child of grace, darling of the spirits,
The rosy glow of youth shines about your head,
With the magical tones of your voice
A laurel wreath was given to you.
And thus adorned, most wonderful of all,
Who burns for art in this temple,
Will you escape with the nightingales,
Sweetheart, will you fade with the roses?
You will never again return, like the singer of spring,
You have fled from Euterpe’s grove;
Yet your song remains, longer and more delightful,
Because your sound has buried itself in our hearts!]”
From this point, it becomes more difficult to trace Decker’s path. She remained active with the Singakademie, being listed as one of their main soloists during the 1850s, and a member until her death. She also became a close friend of Fanny Hensel’s, often performing in her musicales. They gave benefit concerts together at the Singakademie, which drew good reviews. It is Hensel who informs us of Decker’s pregnancy in 1839, writing that she is “as big as a house” at one rehearsal - sadly, this first son, Julius, did not survive the birth. Decker would go in to have two more sons in 1840 and 1845. Shortly afterwards, the Deckers would move to Eichberg (now in Poland), where they had a large estate that became known for its cultural *. Decker herself ran a salon series, while her husband collected artworks from contemporary and historical artists, a collection that would eventually be bequeathed to Silesia as being of national importance. His publishing business was a link to many important names of the time.
The next time Decker appears in print is in 1874, when we discover that she has been quietly composing songs as part of her musical life. A review of ten opus numbers appeared in the Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung - curiously, this starts at Op.5. A little digging reveals that this is because Pauline published her first four opuses under the pseudonym of Paul Friedrich Merxhausen - the first two of these remain to be uncovered. It is clear from the first sentence of the review that Decker had indeed been absent from the public gaze for some time:
“Pauline v. Decker, née v. Schaetzell, without doubt the acclaimed singer who remains unforgettable to us as a virginal memory, has published a series of songs, Op. 5-14, which we would recommend to our friends as really musical and singable.”
The reviewer goes on to examine the scores in some musical detail, before concluding with a rallying cry against the scourge of feminine creativity:
“If one were to make a critical judgement about the overall spiritual configuration of these ten opus numbers, it would be the same as that asserted by more knowledgeable critics in similar cases: The feminine nature is a receiving one, therefore it is more sympathetic than originally creative. We have experienced this in the best and most sublime of the maternal sex. Clara Schumann, too, whose intimate lieder and improvisatory outpourings we hold dear in our heart and certainly prefer to many masculine miscarriages, is no exception to this rule: they are wonderful imitations, not original ore, from which one can strike the fire of the soul. And our heroines are European, German women, not transatlantic bloomers who can do everything – but try as they might to study counterpoint or play the double bass, they will still not produce anything of genius.”
The review of the remaining three opus numbers, which follows in April 1876, is much in the same vein.
Most of the opus numbers are single songs, with one set of three, and one pair of duets. They range from the lengthy Warnung vor dem Rhein to the one-page Das Blatt im Buche. You can find scores for this latter lied, along with Damendienst and Morgenlied, in the Salon score library. Decker died on 16 September 1882, and I have been unable to find any performances of her songs since, besides mine. Seemingly simple at first glance, they offer a richer content that one might think, and deserve a modern airing.