JENNY LIND.
(1841-1842.)
The year 1841 may be looked on as the most important in Manuel Garcia's
career as a teacher of singing, for it saw the arrival of the soprano
who was to become the greatest of all his pupils--Jenny Lind. For this
reason it is my intention to devote a chapter to the events which led up
to her coming to him for lessons, to the period of study which she spent
under his guidance, and to the success which followed on the completion
of this training. For much of the material I am indebted to the
interesting memoir of the prima donna's career written by Canon Scott
Holland, through whose courtesy I have been enabled to quote from the
volume in question.
Born in Stockholm in 1820 of humble parentage, Jenny Lind, at the age of
nine, was admitted to the school of singing attached to the Royal
Theatre. Of the incident which brought about her removal and fixed for
ever the lines of her future career, it is possible for us to read in
her own words, as they were taken down by her son, to whom she told the
story at Cannes in the spring of 1887.
"As a child," writes Canon Holland, "she would sing with every step she
took: one of the forms which the perpetual song assumed was addressed to
a blue-ribboned cat, of which she was very fond. Here is the rest of the
story as Jenny Lind related it:--
"'Her favourite seat was in the window of the steward's room, which
looked out on the lively street leading up to the church of St Jacob.
Here she sat and sang to the cat; and the people passing in the street
used to hear and wonder. Amongst others was the maid of Mdlle. Lundberg,
a dancer at the Royal Opera House, and this girl on her return told her
mistress that she had never heard such beautiful singing as that of this
little one when she sang to her pet.
"'Mdlle. Lundberg thereupon found out her name and sent a note to the
mother, who was in Stockholm at the time, asking her to bring the child
to sing to her; and when she heard her voice, she cried, "The girl is a
genius! you must have her educated for the stage." But Jenny's mother,
as well as her grandmother, had an old-fashioned prejudice against the
stage, and would not hear of such a thing. "Then you must, at any rate,
have her taught singing," said the dancer; and in this way the mother
was persuaded to accept a letter of introduction to Herr Croelius, the
Court secretary and Singing-master, at the Royal Theatre.
"'Off with the letter they started; but as they went up the broad steps
of the Opera House, the parent was again troubled by her doubts and
repugnance. She had, no doubt, all the inherited dislike of the burgher
families for the dramatic life. But little Jenny eagerly urged her to go
on; and so they entered the room where the teacher sat. The child sang
him something out of an opera composed by Winter. When he heard her,
Croelius was moved to tears, and said that he must take her in to the
Count Puke, the head of the Royal Theatre, and tell him what a treasure
he had found.
"'Having been admitted to the manager's sanctum, the first question
asked was, "How old is she?" and Croelius answered "Nine years." "Nine!"
exclaimed the Count; "but this is not a _crêche_--it is the King's
Theatre;" and he would not look at her, she being, moreover, at that
time what she herself has called "a small, ugly, broad-nosed, shy,
gauche, under-grown girl." "Well," said the other, "if you will not hear
her, then I will teach her gratuitously myself, and she will astonish
you one day." With that Count Puke consented to hear her sing; and when
she sang he, too, was moved to tears. From that moment she was accepted,
being taught to sing, educated, and brought up at the Government
expense.'"
Thus did Jenny Lind tell the crucial event of her life in her own
graphic manner.
At eighteen she came out as an opera singer, appearing as Agatha in "Der
Freischütz," Alice in "Robert le Diable," and many other parts. During
the two years that followed, she caused considerable damage to her
voice, partly through overstrain, partly through ignorance of the true
principles of voice-emission. As soon as she realised what had happened
she determined to go to Paris, for she had been long convinced that
there was one man alone from whom she could learn all those
technicalities of the art of singing of which she knew so little and
longed to know so much. And the name of that man was Manuel Garcia,
whose fame as a teacher had, even at that early period of his career,
already travelled to Sweden.
It was not long before her project was put into execution. On Thursday,
July 1, 1841, Mdlle. Lind, now in her twenty-first year, embarked on the
steamship _Gauthiod_ for Lübeck.
After a few days of rest and enjoyment she proceeded to Hâvre by
steamboat and thence by diligence to Paris.
Here we can take up the narrative as it is told by Canon Holland:--
"On leaving Sweden she had brought with her a letter of introduction to
the Duchesse de Dalmatie (Madame la Maréchale Soult) from her relative,
Queen Desideria, the wife of Maréchal Bernadotte, who had become King of
Sweden and Norway in the year 1818, under the title of Karl XIV. Johann.
"As a result of the letter she received an invitation, soon after her
arrival, for a reception at Madame Soult's house. It was understood that
she would be asked to sing, and Signor Garcia was specially requested by
the Duchess to be present that he might hear the new arrival.
"She gave some Swedish songs, accompanying herself on the pianoforte,
but either through nervousness or fatigue she does not appear to have
done herself justice, and her singing did not produce a very favourable
effect upon the assembled guests. Her voice was worn not only from
over-exertion but from want of that careful management which can only be
acquired by long training under a thoroughly competent master.
"Such training she had never had. She had formed her own ideal of the
difficult _rôles_ that had been entrusted to her at the Royal Theatre in
Stockholm, and had tried to reach that ideal by the only means she knew
of--very pernicious means indeed. The result was that the voice had been
very cruelly injured. The mischief had been seriously aggravated by the
fatigue consequent upon a long and arduous provincial tour; and the
effect was a chronic hoarseness, painful enough to produce marked
symptoms of deterioration upon the fresh young voice which had never
been taught either the proper method of singing or the cultivation of
style necessary for the development of its natural charm.
"Manuel Garcia was not slow to perceive all this, and he afterwards told
a lady who questioned him upon the subject that the Swedish soprano was
at that time altogether wanting in the qualities needed for presentation
before a highly cultivated audience.
"Soon after this Mademoiselle Lind called by appointment upon the
maestro, who then occupied a pleasant _deuxième étage_ in a large block
of houses in the Square d'Orleans, near the Rue Saint Lazare. It was a
handsome residence, built around a turfed courtyard, with a fountain in
the centre and a large tree on each side.
"As on this occasion she formally requested the great teacher to
receive her as a pupil, he examined her voice more carefully than he had
been able to do at Madame Soult's party.
"After making her sing through the usual scales and forming his own
opinion of the power and compass of her organ, he asked her for the
well-known scena from 'Lucia di Lammermoor'--'Perchè non ho.' In this,
unhappily, she broke down completely--in all probability through
nervousness, for she had appeared in the part of Lucia at the Stockholm
Theatre no less than thirty-nine times only the year before, and the
music must therefore have been familiar to her. However, let the cause
have been what it might, the failure was complete, and upon the strength
of it the maestro pronounced his terrible verdict: 'It would be useless
to teach you, mademoiselle; you have no voice left.'
"It is necessary that these words should be distinctly recorded, for
their misquotation in the newspapers and elsewhere has led to a false
impression, equally unjust to master and pupil. The exact words
were--'Vous n'avez plus de voix,' not 'Vous n'avez pas de voix.' Jenny
Lind had once possessed a voice, as Garcia realised perfectly clearly,
but it had been so strained by over-exertion and a faulty method of
emission that for the time being scarcely a shred of it remained.
"The effect of this sentence of hopeless condemnation upon an
organisation so highly strung as hers may be readily conceived. But her
courage was equal to the occasion, though she told Mendelssohn, years
afterwards, that the anguish of that moment exceeded all that she had
ever suffered in her whole life. Yet her faith in her own powers never
wavered for an instant. There was a fire within her that no amount of
discouragement could quench. Instead, therefore, of accepting his
verdict as a final one, she asked, with tears in her eyes, what she was
to do. Her trust in the maestro's judgment was no less firm than that
which she felt in the reality of her own vocation. In the full
conviction that if she could only persuade him to advise her, his
counsel would prove invaluable, she did not hesitate to make the
attempt, and the result fully justified the soundness of her
conclusions.
"Moved by her evident distress, he recommended her to give her voice six
weeks of perfect rest,--to abstain during the whole of that time from
singing even so much as one single note, and to speak as little as
possible. Upon condition that she strictly carried out these
injunctions, he gave her permission to come to him again when the period
of probation was ended, in order that he might see whether anything
could be done for her. Intense indeed must have been the relief when
these six weeks had at last expired.
"Once more Mdlle. Lind sought an interview with the master, and this
time her hopes were crowned with success. Signor Garcia found the voice
so far re-established by rest that he was able to give good hope of its
complete restoration, provided that the faulty methods which had so
nearly resulted in its destruction were abandoned. With the view of
attaining this end he agreed to give her two lessons of an hour each
regularly every week--an arrangement which set all her anxieties at
rest.
"The delight of the artist at being once more permitted to sing may be
readily imagined. Though discouraged sometimes by the immense amount she
had to learn--and, with still greater difficulty, to unlearn--she never
lost heart; and so rapidly did the vocal organs recover from the
exhaustion from which they had been suffering, that before long she was
able to practise her scales and exercises daily for the fullest length
of time which a singer could manage without over-exerting the voice."
The lessons were commenced about the 25th of August, and were continued
without a break from then until the month of July, 1842.
Jenny Lind thus describes her first introduction to the new system in a
letter to her friend, Fröken Marie Ruckman:--
"PARIS, _Sept. 10, 1841_.
"I have already had five lessons from Signor Garcia, the brother of
Madame Malibran. I have to begin again from the beginning, to sing
scales up and down slowly and with great care, then to practise the
shake--awfully slowly, and to try to get rid of the hoarseness if
possible. Moreover, he is very particular about the breathing. I
trust I have made a happy choice. Anyhow, he is the best master,
and expensive enough--twenty francs for an hour! But what does that
signify if only he can teach me to sing?"
A fortnight later she writes to Madame Lindblad:--
"I am well satisfied with my singing-master. With regard to my weak
points especially, he is excellent. I think it very fortunate for
me that there exists a Garcia. And I believe him also to be a very
good man. If he takes but little notice of us apart from his
lessons, well--that cannot be helped; but I am very much pleased,
nay, enchanted, with him as a teacher."
And again to Herr Forsberg:--
PARIS, _February 1, 1842_.
"Garcia's method is the best of our time, and the one which all
here are striving to follow."
In a still later letter she writes:--
PARIS, _March 7, 1842_.
"To-day, four years ago, I made my _début_ in 'Der Freischütz.'
"My singing is getting on quite satisfactorily now. I rejoice
heartily in my voice,--it is clear and sonorous, with more
firmness, and much greater agility. A great, great deal still
remains to be done; but the worst is over. Garcia is satisfied with
me."
The teaching she now received was evidently the exact thing she needed;
for of the management of the breath, the emission of the voice, the
blending of its registers, and other technical details upon which even
the most perfect singers must depend in great measure for success, she
knew nothing.
We have seen Jenny Lind's opinion of her master: what of Garcia's
opinion of his pupil? During my own lessons with him he would often
speak of the Swedish Nightingale, and hold her up as an example in the
most embarrassing way. Among other things he remarked that he had never
heard her sing even a hair's-breadth out of tune, so perfect was her
natural ear. Moreover, when she made a mistake, he only had to point it
out once, explain the cause of the error, and show how it could be
rectified: the fault would never be repeated.
Mdlle. Lind's course of study under Garcia lasted in all ten months, by
which time she had learned all that it was possible for any master to
teach her. After this period she had improved so wonderfully under his
magical tuition that, as he himself picturesquely expressed it, she was
able to look down on her former efforts as from a mountain to a plain.
The result for which she had so ardently longed, so patiently waited, so
perseveringly laboured, was attained at last. Her voice, no longer
suffering from the effects of the cruel fatigue and the inordinate
amount of over-exertion which had so lately endangered, not merely its
wellbeing, but its very existence, had now far more than recovered its
pristine vigour,--it had acquired a rich depth of tone, a sympathetic
sweetness, a bird-like charm in the silvery clearness of its upper
register, which at once impressed the listener with the feeling that he
had never before heard anything in the least degree resembling it.
Few human organs are perfect. It is quite possible that other voices
may have possessed qualities which this did not--for voices of
exceptional beauty are nearly always characterised by an individuality
of expression which forms by no means the least potent of their
attractions. But the listener never stopped to analyse the qualities of
Mdlle. Lind's voice, the marked individuality of which set analysis at
defiance. By turns full, sympathetic, tender, sad or brilliant, it
adapted itself so perfectly to the artistic conception of the song it
was interpreting, that singer, voice, and song were one.
"With such rare power at command, she was able, without effort, to give
expression to every phase of the conception which she had originally
formed by the exercise of innate genius alone. Her acting had grown up
with her from infancy, and formed part of her inmost being. She had
found no one in Paris capable of teaching her anything that could
improve that, though she thought it necessary to take lessons in
deportment. The rest she had studied for herself, though she had
naturally gained experience by observation of others.
"She had acted to herself the part of Norma, which had been the last
_rôle_ she had undertaken in Stockholm before setting out for Paris, and
calmly passed judgment upon her own performance. That she was satisfied
with it one cannot doubt, for she had studied the difficult character of
her heroine to such good purpose that she had reconciled all its
apparent incongruities, and elevated it into a consistent whole,
dramatic and musical, breathing poetry and romance from beginning to
end, yet as true to nature as she was herself, and no longer fettered by
the fatal technical weakness which had so long stood between her ideal
and its perfect realisation. There was no weakness now. The artist was
complete."
When Jenny Lind was drawing near the close of her studies under Garcia,
the crucial question arose, Should the finished artist make her _début_
in Paris? Or should she return at once to Sweden, and reappear in all
the glory of her newly acquired powers in her beloved Stockholm? There
were arguments to be brought forward on both sides. The problem was no
new one. It had been frequently discussed, but her own feeling on the
subject was very strong indeed. She could not reconcile herself to
Paris. From the very first she had suspected the hollowness of its
social organisation. In the September of 1841 she writes--
"There might be much to say about Paris, but I put it off until I
am better able to judge. This much, however, I will say at once,
that if good is sometimes to be found, an immeasurable amount of
evil is to be found also. But I believe it to be an excellent
school for any one with discernment enough to separate the rubbish
from that which is worth preserving--though this is no easy task.
To my mind the worst feature of Paris is its dreadful selfishness,
its greed for money. There is nothing to which the people will not
submit for the sake of gain. Applause here is not always given to
talent, but often enough to vice,--to any obscure person who can
afford to pay for it. Ugh! It is too dreadful to see the
_claqueurs_ sitting at the theatre, night after night, deciding the
fate of those who are compelled to appear,--a terrible
manifestation of original sin."
Six weeks later she writes: "All idea of appearing in public here has
vanished. To begin with--I myself never relied upon it; but people said
so many silly things about just one performance, that at last I began to
feel as if I were in duty bound to try. But monstrous and unconquerable
difficulties are in the way. In any case I want to go home again. But if
I can arrange to sing at a concert before leaving, I will do so, in
order that I may not return home without having at least done
something."
All through the ensuing months she was still tortured by doubts as to
the best course to pursue. In the following May she received from the
directors of the Royal Theatre at Stockholm the offer of a definite and
official engagement at the Opera House in which her early triumphs had
been made, but this was not at once accepted.
At the end of June her studies with Garcia came to an end.
During this month it happened that Meyerbeer was in Paris on business
connected with the production of "Le Prophète." Of the first performance
of this opera Garcia retained a vivid memory, and, in speaking of it to
me one day, recalled how, during the preliminary rehearsals, the singers
all grumbled at its great length. Yet for the memorising and rehearsing
of this, previous to its being put on the stage, they were given only
eighteen days,--the same period as for that other lengthy work, "William
Tell."
On June 15 Herr Lindblad arranged an interview with Meyerbeer, and Jenny
Lind sang for him the aria from "Roberto" and from "Norma." The composer
was much pleased with her voice, but seems to have entertained doubts as
to whether it was powerful enough to fill the auditorium of the Grand
Opera.
Garcia himself considered her voice still somewhat _fatiguée_, and not
quite attained to the quality of which in a few months it would be
capable.
It may have been this which Meyerbeer noticed. At any rate, in order to
satisfy himself upon the point, he wished to hear her sing on the stage
of the theatre itself. Accordingly, on the 24th an _audition_ took
place, in which she gave the three grand scenes from "Der Freischütz,
"Robert le Diable," and "Norma." Meyerbeer was delighted, and made such
comments as, "Une voix chaste et pure, pleine de grâce et de
virginalité," while the next day he spoke of her to Berlioz with the
greatest enthusiasm. He was anxious for her to make her appearance in
London soon. Garcia, however, feared that the fame of Grisi would hinder
his pupil from receiving a real chance. He therefore prevented her from
making her _début_ there till five years later, when she achieved a
veritable triumph.
On October 10, 1842, the prima donna opened at the Stockholm theatre
with a performance of "Norma,"--the very opera in which she had closed
her appearances on June 19, 1841.
It must have been a direct challenge to the critical world of Stockholm,
to recognise the change that had intervened between the two
performances. What that change was we learn from an estimate supplied by
a most competent and judicious critic, who sang with her often, both
before and after her visit to Paris. He writes as follows:--
"When, during the years 1838-40, Jenny Lind enraptured her audience
at Stockholm by her interpretation of the parts of Agathe, Pamina,
Alice, Norma, or Lucia, she succeeded in doing so solely through
her innate capacity for investing her performances, both musically
and dramatically, with truthfulness, warmth, and poetry.
"The voice and its technical development were not, however, in
sufficiently harmonious relation with her intentions.
"In proof of this it was noticed that the artist was not always
able to control sustained notes in the upper register--such, for
instance, as the A flat above the stave in Agathe's cavatina, 'Und
ob die Wolke'--without perceptible difficulty; and that she
frequently found it necessary to simplify the _fioritura_ and
_cadenza_ which abound in florid parts like those of Norma and
Lucia.
"Nay, there were not wanting some who, though they had heard her in
parts no more trying than that of Emilia in Weigl's 'Swiss
Family,'--a _rôle_ which, in many respects, she rendered
delightfully,--went so far as to doubt the possibility of training
the veiled and weak-toned voice in a wider sense.
"Yet, in spite of this, Jenny Lind, when resuming her sphere of
action at the Stockholm theatre, proved not only to have acquired a
soprano voice of great sonority and compass, capable of adapting
itself with ease to every shade of expression, but to have gained
also a technical command over it great enough to be regarded as
unique in the history of the world. Her _messa di voce_ stood
alone--unrivalled by any other singer.
"In like manner, in her shake, her scales, her legato and staccato
passages, she evoked astonishment and admiration no less from
competent judges than from the general public; and the more so
since it was evident that, in the exercise of her wise
discrimination, the songstress made use of these ornaments only in
so far as they were in perfect harmony with the inner meaning of
the music.
"The incredibly rapid development of her voice and technique caused
many people to question the value of the instruction she had
originally received before going to Garcia. Such doubts, however,
must be dismissed as unjustifiable. The true reason why Jenny
Lind's singing before she went abroad could not be said to flow in
the track which leads to perfection is undoubtedly to be found in
the fact that she was a so-called _theatereler_--a pupil educated
at the expense of the directors of the theatre itself--and, as
such, was unable to escape from the necessity of appearing in
public before her preparatory education was completed,--a
proceeding no less disastrous to the pupil than contrary to the
good sense of the teacher."
Such, then, was the transformation that had come over her rendering of
Norma. No wonder that Stockholm went wild with enthusiasm, and that from
that time on her career was one long crescendo of success.
Jenny Lind had the priceless power of taking pains, added to which hers
was a glorious voice, properly developed under her master's tender care.
The combination of these gifts, mental and physical, enabled her to
overcome every obstacle which crossed her path, and to reach the lofty
position which she retained up to the time of her retirement from public
life. Her career was the pride of her fellow-countrymen, and the name by
which she became known, the Swedish Nightingale, acted as a constant
reminder of her nationality.
The Swedish people paid their tribute to Garcia by making him a
correspondent of the University of Stockholm, while the Swedish king
created him "Chevalier de l'Ordre de Mérite (Gustavus Vasa)."
But the thing which the maestro prized more than all else was the
undying gratitude of his pupil.