HOMAGE TO WEBER.
After performing seven times in _Norma_, and five in _Das Feldlager in
Schlesien_, Mdlle. Lind was announced to appear, on Tuesday, Feb. 7, in
_Euryanthe_, on a more than ordinarily interesting occasion.
Carl Maria von Weber had died, in London, at the house of his friend,
Sir George Smart, in Great Portland Street, on the night between the 4th
and 5th of June, 1826. He had been laid to rest, on the 21st, far away
from home and friends, in a vault beneath the floor of S. Mary’s Chapel,
Moorfields. But, in the autumn of 1844, the surviving members of his
family, aided by a few devoted friends and admirers—foremost among whom
were his pupil, Mr. (afterwards Sir Julius) Benedict,[46] and the then
almost unknown Richard Wagner—made a vigorous effort to treat his memory
with the homage which had been denied to him by his ungrateful
fellow-citizens during his life-time; and, at their expense, his remains
were exhumed, transported to Dresden, and, on the night of Dec. 14,
deposited in a vault in the Cemetery of Friedrichstadt in which his son
Alexander had been buried only a fortnight before. His widow and
surviving children, supported by Madame Schrœder-Devrient and a crowd of
sympathising fellow-artists, covered his coffin with laurels and
flowers, and it was proposed to erect over it a monument worthy of his
fame. Great efforts were made to collect sufficient funds for the
execution of this project, and a grand performance of _Euryanthe_ had
been promised at the Berlin Opera-House in aid of the pious purpose.
It was on this solemn occasion that, for the first time in the language
in which it was originally produced, Mdlle. Lind sang the part of
“Euryanthe.”
A prologue, written for the occasion by Herr Rellstab, was spoken by
Fräulein Charlotte von Hagen, and no pains were spared for the purpose
of rendering the performance worthy of its high intent. The whole
musical world took a vivid interest in the proceedings. Dresden had
nobly expiated the long course of neglect which had terminated so sadly,
and so fatally, eighteen years before. And now Berlin had taken up the
good cause, in the name and with the full consent of the whole
Fatherland.
The task assigned to her, in connection with this solemn festival, was,
beyond all doubt, the most difficult one that had ever been, or was ever
destined to be entrusted to her, during the whole of her artistic
career. And she inherited the difficulty from Weber himself.
From first to last, _Euryanthe_ had never been understood, either by the
critics, or by the public. The scope and purpose of its design had
escaped them all.
When the Opera was first produced at Vienna, in 1823, it soared so high
above the heads of the audience, that the brainless wits of the period
nicknamed it _L’Ennuyante_, and the stupid joke was accepted as a
miracle of _esprit_. When Madame Schrœder-Devrient afterwards undertook
the interpretation of the principal _rôle_, she sang the music superbly,
but utterly ignored the supernatural element, upon which Mdlle. Lind
seized as the leading motive of the whole impersonation. She penetrated
Weber’s meaning, though the critics did not. They could not withstand
the power of her conception—it would have been impossible to have done
so—but they utterly failed to comprehend its moving spirit.
The following quotation from a critique which appeared in the
_Berlinische Zeitung_ on Feb. 13 will explain this clearly enough:—
“In the first act, the singer presents before us all that she
possesses of loveliness and grace. The duet with Eglantine[47]—Madame
Palm-Spatzer—and the _finale_, are pearls of finished execution. But,
for us, the greatest achievement in this act is the narrative of the
apparition of Emma, which, in dramatic and vocal expression, fulfils
the highest demands of an Art-ideal.”
This is high praise, but it does not touch the vital point. At the
hundred-and-twenty-ninth bar of the Overture—which introduces the
wonderful _Largo_—Weber directed that the curtain should rise upon a
gloomy tableau, intended to prepare the spectator for the secret which
forms the mainspring of the plot. The stage represents a sepulchral
vault, in the centre of which lies Emma’s coffin, surmounted by a
medieval herse. This having been exposed to view for a few moments only,
the curtain slowly descends again, and the Overture proceeds with the
contrapuntal treatment of the bold subject which follows.
The audience is now fully prepared to understand the secret of
Eglantine’s treachery; and when, in the first act, Euryanthe narrates to
her the story of the ghostly “apparition,” the connection is kept up by
the recurrence of the weird harmonies already heard in the _largo_ of
the Overture.
In modern performances, this _tableau_ is almost always omitted. Whether
it was exhibited or not at the Berlin Opera-House we cannot say; but
however that may have been, it is certain that Mdlle. Lind penetrated
the composer’s idea, seized upon this salient point in his conception,
and brought it out so clearly that even Herr Rellstab, though so
strongly prepossessed in favour of another reading of the part, pointed
to this very scene as “fulfilling the highest demands of an Art-ideal.”
_Euryanthe_ was announced for repetition on the next Opera night, but in
consequence of the illness of Madame Palm-Spatzer, _Norma_ was
substituted for it; it was however repeated on the 11th and the 14th,
after which Mdlle. Lind was announced to appear, on Tuesday the 18th, in
_La Sonnambula_. In this ever-welcome Opera she created so profound a
sensation that, when a repetition of the performance was announced, the
price of the boxes rose to fifty, and even eighty thalers, and no places
could be obtained for less than three thalers,[48] even in the pit—a
price which was said, in the German theatrical world, to be absolutely
unprecedented.
The _rôle_ of “Amina” was always a special favourite with Mdlle. Lind.
The leading journal thus speaks of one of her later appearances in the
part:—
“She raises the art of singing to a glorious level. Everything that
the most cultivated _virtuosa_ can accomplish she scatters amongst us,
in richest profusion, in lavish prodigality. The first act is the
field in which these blossoms more especially flourish. For the
actress it furnishes an opportunity for displaying the most maidenly
gentleness, the most charming _naïveté_, and the merriest laughter of
love. Earnestness is reserved for the second act, in which dramatic
and vocal expression melt inseparably into each other. In the third
act, in which the sun of blessed joy alternates with the darkest
clouds of grief, the effect rises to its culminating point. Here we
see the artist in full command of the whole range of many-sided
feeling, and the rich picture, which is thus illuminated by the
dramatic completion given to the poem, leaves nothing more to be
unfolded.”
We have thought it desirable to insert these long quotations from Herr
Rellstab’s transcendental critiques, since they exactly represent the
feeling produced by Mdlle. Lind’s performances at the time they were
written. We must remember that, however extravagant or “high-flown”
their language might appear in an English critique at the present day,
it was not thought “high-flown” in German critiques in 1844. Moreover,
however glowing the phrases, they were but the echo of those that passed
from mouth to mouth, in the theatre, at the table, in the street, in
every corner of Berlin in which the discussion of artistic topics was
possible. Herr Rellstab only gave utterance to the opinions that were
openly expressed, on every side, by every one capable of forming an
opinion upon the subject.
But the long chain of successes suffered a temporary interruption.
“After appearing twice, in the part of ‘Amina,’ on the days already
mentioned,” says the Berlin journal, “Mdlle. Lind was announced, on
the 23rd February, to sing for the fourth time in that of ‘Euryanthe,’
but was seized with sudden indisposition at the close of the first
act, and compelled to omit a considerable portion of her _rôle_ as the
Opera proceeded. The audience, however, showed the greatest sympathy
throughout the evening with the beloved artist.”
The indisposition continued for more than a week, to the unspeakable
disappointment of the public. During this trying time the patient was
overwhelmed with visits of condolence, but prudence forbade the
admission of more than a few intimate friends, and these only at
favourable moments. Meyerbeer seems to have been unfortunate in his
choice of days or hours, and expressed his disappointment, on Feb. 28,
in the following letter, originally written in French:—
“Berlin, Feb. 28, 1845.
“MY DEAR MADEMOISELLE,
“Though I have called on you several times since your indisposition, I
have not been so fortunate as some of your other friends in seeing
you.
“It only remains, therefore, for me to express in writing my
congratulations and good wishes on the anniversary of your _fête_,
which Madame Reyer tells me occurs to-day, and to beg you at the same
time kindly to accept these few flowers, modest and pure as yourself.
“But what remains for your friends to wish, to-day, for you whom
Heaven has so richly endowed! It has given you that great and
sympathetic voice which charms and moves all hearts; the fire of
genius, which pervades your singing, and your acting; and, in fine,
those indelible graces which modesty and candour and innocence give
only to their favoured ones, and which bring every enemy into
subjection.
“One can, therefore, ask nothing more for you from Heaven, than relief
from those doubts in the power of your talent which turn even your
days of triumph into days of anxiety; the removal of that indecision
and irresolution which throw you into such continual agitation; and,
finally, the disappearance of that diffident temperament, which,
rendering you distrustful of the source of the sympathies you inspire,
may perhaps, in the end, deprive you of that most beautiful
consolation of human life, friendship.
“But whether Heaven grants you or not this little supplement to your
other precious qualities, you will always be, for me, my dear
Mademoiselle, one of the most touching and noble characters that I
have met with during my long artistic wanderings, and one to whom I
have vowed for my whole life the most profound and sincere admiration
and esteem.
“Your ever devoted,
“MEYERBEER.”
It will be seen from the closing paragraphs of this most kind and
sympathetic letter that Meyerbeer, like so many others at this period,
was sincerely grieved, and even pained, by the diffidence for which
Mdlle. Lind’s character was so remarkable. We shall have more to say on
this subject hereafter, but at the moment at which the above letter was
written more than one cause of uneasiness was at work of which neither
Meyerbeer nor any one else in Berlin entertained the slightest
suspicion—more than one element of anxiety quite serious enough to have
originated the illness which the world, and probably the doctors
themselves, mistook for the natural result of over-study and fatigue.
For instance, the reader will readily understand that, since the unhappy
moment in which the “Bunn contract” was signed in the box of the British
Ambassador, Mdlle. Lind had never failed to reflect upon it, in secret,
even at a time when her mind was so fully occupied with her work upon
the stage.
She had, in fact, written to Mr. Bunn, informing him that, for reasons
which to her appeared quite unanswerable, she found it impossible to
fulfil the terms of her engagement with him; and by a coincidence which
it is difficult to believe accidental, her letter is dated on Feb. 22—
the day previous to that on which she was so suddenly taken ill in the
middle of the fourth performance of _Euryanthe_.
For a whole week the indisposition continued, to the equal
disappointment of the subscribers and the public. Mdlle. Lind was,
however, able to reappear in _La Sonnambula_, on March 2, with
undiminished powers, and on the 11th made her last appearance for the
season in _Norma_, on the occasion of her own benefit. She speaks of her
reason for choosing that Opera, in preference to another which had been
suggested, in a letter to Madame Birch-Pfeiffer:—
“Berlin, March 7, 1845.
“DEAR MOTHER,
“I hesitate no more. All is settled, and I adhere to _Norma_ for my
benefit, and sing on Sunday in _La Sonnambula_. Why? do you ask?
Because I have no time for reflection, and I cannot and will not
appear before the public in a state of uncertainty. So I have begged
to be let off _Der Freischütz_, and to sing the part of ‘Agathe’ on my
return; and all has been conceded. Only, dearest, kindest, best Frau
Mutter, do not be angry with me; but—I am really delighted not to be
obliged to sing, act, and talk in _Der Freischütz_, on Sunday.
Greetings, a thousand times (what lovely German!), to the Aunt, and my
best-beloved little sister, and two tickets for Nanni, from
“Your heartily devoted,
“JENNY.”[49]
The announcement of this was followed by so frantic a demand for places
that, long before the performance took place, it was found necessary to
issue an official notice to the effect that no more tickets could be
given out; and it was agreed on all hands that on the evening itself she
surpassed herself in the part she had already made so famous.
“The artist reached, at the close of her performance,” says the Berlin
journal, “the highest triumph that had been yet attained. The stage
was covered with flowers and wreaths thrown from the boxes in the
proscenium; even the ladies, carried away by the enthusiasm of the
moment, heightened the meed of applause with eyes, hearts, and hands.
The wreath that they gave her was not of laurel, but of roses; a
sister’s gift for the artist, who, among the difficulties of her
calling, appears as so fit a guardian of the Palladium of Womanhood
and Purity. As for her thanks, the threefold summons before the
curtain could win no word from the firmly closed lips; but the eye
overflowed and blotted out the shortcomings of the mouth.
“The artist appears to-night for the last time. She leaves us—but we
shall see her again, and we hope in the full possession of her gifts;
yes, in fresher, richer unfolding of her spring-blossoms! And may the
mild sun of this spring be the omen of a long, long continuance!”
And with this touching _Auf Wiedersehen_ the Berlin public took leave of
the actress. But the singer was yet again to be heard in the
Concert-room.
We have recorded, in a former chapter, the impression produced upon the
Countess of Westmorland by Mdlle. Lind’s singing at a reception which
took place in the apartments of the Princess of Prussia, not long after
her arrival in Germany.
This, however, was not the only concert in which the young singer took
part during her first visit to Berlin.
On Thursday, Feb. 13, 1845, she made her first public appearance in the
Concert-room at a _Soirée_ given by the brothers Ganz; and, if we may
accept the verdict pronounced by the critics of the day as a fair and
unbiassed one, her triumph on this occasion was not a whit less
brilliant than that which she had achieved two months previously at the
Opera-House.
The same high praise was awarded to the accomplished vocalist on the
occasion of her next appearance, at Herr Nehrlich’s concert on March 10.
Of the Court-concerts in which she took part about this time the
journals gave, of course, no published account.
Apart from the private reception given by the Princess of Prussia, and
already described, she sang, on Dec. 18, 1844, at a Court performance,
in memory of which the King and Queen presented her with a valuable
bracelet. And again, soon after the beginning of the new year, she
assisted at two more Court-concerts—the last of the season. The
impression made upon the Royal Family by these performances and the
personal interest taken in her by Queen Elizabeth, were well known in
Berlin, and it is pleasant to know that the feeling was a lasting one
and not the result of a mere evanescent burst of artistic enthusiasm.
The actual farewell for the season took place on March 13, at a concert
given, in the hall of the _Sing-Akademie_, in aid of the “Asylum for
Blind Soldiers.” The room was so crowded, that not only was the space
usually devoted to the orchestra filled by the audience, but it was only
with great difficulty that room could be found for the soloists and the
accompanying pianoforte. It is pleasant to find Fräulein Tuczec highly
praised on this occasion.
“Every artist,” says the journal we have so often quoted, “contributed
his part with the best possible good will, and thus deserved the
liveliest thanks of the public. Before all, however, these thanks were
won by the beloved and modest Singer who took leave of us in this
concert. She sang the grand air, ‘_Robert, toi que j’aime_,’ from
_Robert le Diable_, with expression as intense as her execution was
brilliant, and completed the cycle of her artistic achievements in our
capital city by the performance of some of those simple Swedish songs,
which overcame us with so irresistible a charm. The first—‘_Am
Aarensee rauscht der viel-grüne Wald_’—she sang in German; the two
others—one a very tender one, dying away in the softest scarcely
audible tones—in the original Swedish; so that her last notes seemed
already vanishing in the distance.
“Amidst the loud outbreak of applause which followed, place was found
for a silent sign of acknowledgment. While Mdlle. Lind was singing, a
lady had deposited a wreath and a garland of flowers upon the
pianoforte. The artist now took them up, with a look of eloquent
thanks, and, retreating backwards, greeted the audience repeatedly,
while the shouts of applause continued until she had vanished beyond
the last steps of the platform.
“Many heartfelt blessings accompany her into her retreat, where she
needs must take with her the rich satisfaction that she has done so
much and been so thoroughly appreciated.”
And many heartfelt blessings most certainly did accompany her, not only
from the grateful public, but from dear ones with whom she had formed
true, and, as later events proved, lasting bonds of friendship.
King Frederick William IV., Queen Elizabeth, and the various members of
the Royal Family, behaved to her as true friends, not only then, but in
after years also.
By Lord and Lady Westmorland she was never forgotten, and among the
members of their family her memory is still held precious.
She has told us, in her own words, of her pleasant intercourse with the
aged poet Tieck, and the innocent little family party at Frau Bettina
von Arnim’s. Madame Reyer and her sister, Baroness von Ridderstolpe,
were kind and home-like friends; and through their acquaintance with the
family of Herr von Waldenburg, a gentleman of position in Berlin, she
was first introduced to the well-known sculptor, Professor Ludwig
Wichmann, who, with his wife and family, received her, a little later
on, into bonds of closest intimacy. Professor and Madame Wichmann had
been delighted with _Norma_, and had begged Madame von Waldenburg to
bring her to their house, in the Hasenheger Strasse, which was then a
favourite resort for artists and persons of culture; and this first
interview led to the formation of so intimate a friendship between
herself and Madame Wichmann that their affection for each other never
afterwards cooled for a moment. The reader will not have forgotten that
it was at Professor Wichmann’s house that she first met Mendelssohn on
Oct. 21, 1844; and here also, in March, 1845, she met for the first time
Herr Heinrich Brockhaus, the then head of the great publishing firm of
that name in Leipzig, a man of high cultivation and great influence, of
whom we shall have occasion to speak again.
But, notwithstanding the sympathy she met with on every side, the great
artist seems—if we may trust Herr Josephson’s opinion—to have been
rather dazed than rejoiced, rather bewildered than delighted, with her
almost miraculous success. He speaks with evident anxiety of the sudden
transitions of her moods.
“She is oscillating,” he says, “between heaven and earth, not knowing,
as yet, on what terms she is with either.”
This state of mind may perhaps be partly accounted for by the
home-sickness to which, as we have known from the very beginning of her
wanderings, she was so constantly subject.
She herself justifies us in arriving at this conclusion in a letter
written to her guardian, Judge Munthe, just before the first performance
of _Euryanthe_:—
“Everybody is so kind to me,” she says, “that it is only through my
unbounded love for home that, in the midst of all these splendours, my
whole soul goes out, all the same, in longing for Sweden. There is an
inexplicable home-sympathy in the depths of my soul, and I look upon
its possession as an unspeakable happiness; for to feel so warmly as
this for one’s country is a divinely elevating sentiment.”
Surely this is a sigh of longing—not of bewilderment. And surely this,
added to the ceaseless worry of the Bunn-contract, may have done a good
deal towards producing the “oscillation” that gave Herr Josephson so
much concern, and may, possibly, furnish a key to the mysteries of
changing humour which seemed to puzzle him so cruelly.
Let us bear this last sad sigh for home carefully in mind, while we take
leave, for a time, of the turmoil of Berlin, and accompany her on a tour
which certainly brought her nearer to her beloved Sweden.