WITH THE DANES.
The short visit to Frankfort had been a genuine success, but a far more
brilliant one was at hand.
After singing two nights at Darmstadt, at raised prices, and to crowded
houses, Mdlle. Lind prepared to renew her acquaintance with the kindred
spirits with whom she had entered into so close an intellectual
communion in the autumn of the year 1843.
With the delights of her first visit still green in their memory, the
grateful and appreciative Danes went forth to meet her with
demonstrations of enthusiastic welcome.
For the moment their hopes were held in abeyance, under the
circumstances narrated in the following communication, addressed by Herr
Schoeltz von Schrœder, the Prussian Envoy at Copenhagen, to His
Excellency Graf von Redern, in charge of the Hofmusik at Berlin:—
“YOUR EXCELLENCY,
“The fêted heroine of the day, Mdlle. Jenny Lind, was expected here
yesterday by the steam-packet said to be arriving from Hamburg.
Expectant worshippers without number were assembled on the strand;
there was no lack of wreaths and flowers; the poet Andersen had
prepared a beautiful ‘Welcome’—but, alas! all fell through; and
instead of the Singer came an apologetic letter, which destroyed all
hope of seeing her here....
“&c., &c., &c.,
“SCHOELTZ VON SCHRŒDER.
“Copenhagen, September 25, 1845.”
“Destroyed all hope”—the writer should have said—“for that particular
day;” for she was positively announced to appear, three days afterwards,
and arrived in ample time to fulfil her engagement. Her appearances were
necessarily few in number, for her time was limited, and on one of the
appointed nights the theatre was unavoidably closed, on account of her
indisposition. But her stay was sufficiently prolonged to create a
profound and lasting impression among all classes of society.
She sang three times in _Norma_, twice in _La Figlia del Reggimento_,
and also at a concert given on Oct. 10 at the Court Theatre, in the
palace at Christiansborg, in aid of the Association for the Rescue of
Neglected Children.
So great was the success of this charitable entertainment that, on the
following day, the governors of the Association sent her the following
gratifying address:—
“MADEMOISELLE,
“During the years that the under-mentioned Association has carried on
its work, the object of which is the prevention of crime through the
education of children in need of moral training, the aid received from
private persons has never represented a richer contribution than that
for which the Association begs permission to express to you its
heartfelt thanks.
“By using the rare talents you possess in such abundance for the
benefit of the Association, at last night’s performance at the Court
Theatre, you have procured for it an income which will render possible
a considerable development of its means of doing good.
“On leaving Denmark you will take with you the pleasant consciousness
of having rescued, from dens of vice, many a child, who now, through
your active charity, will be brought up to a useful and virtuous life,
the blessings of which will follow you wherever you go.”
(_Here follows a long list of signatures._)
“Association for the Rescue of Neglected Children,
“October 11, 1845.
“_To Fröken Jenny Lind._”
Truly, this was a worthy beginning of the work which afterwards reached
so noble a consummation at Brompton, at Norwich, and Manchester, and now
evokes a blessing from the lips of every loyal and patriotic Swede in
Stockholm itself.
Mdlle. Lind—though she caught a serious cold—was delighted, not only
with her reception by the Danish public, but by the hearty and able
co-operation of the artists with whom she was associated in her arduous
duties. Writing to Madame Birch-Pfeiffer, on Oct. 14, she says:—
“Ah! people are here more than ordinarily kind to me. The ladies of
the chorus have decorated my room so beautifully; and the whole
orchestra and chorus have been so friendly. On my birthday they
brought me a _Vivat!_ and a serenade. Ah, yes! I am quite at home
here!
“But the weather has been frightfully bad; so stormy that, up to this
time, I have not dared to venture upon a voyage by sea, for several
ships have been lost. However, as I am giving concerts here to four
thousand people—for they have so large a room—I have stayed on a few
days longer. But—alas!—I have caught a horrible cold; had to put off
the performance the day before yesterday; and feel myself so much
knocked up that I can only sing in my farewell concert, and dare not
risk any more singing this month, if I wish to preserve my voice; and,
as I shall have to use that voice for another year, I have been
obliged to write to Hanover, Bremen, Cassel, and Leipzig, to say that
I cannot come—to my very great regret, for nothing in the world
grieves me so much as not being able to keep my promise.
“It was particularly unfortunate with regard to Hanover, as the King
had evidently looked forward to it. I have promised to go there as
soon as my engagement in Berlin expires, and my _répertoire_ will then
be more extensive. But it would really not have been right of me to
sing any more now, as I must so soon be in Berlin; for, as you know,
Mother, I need all my strength there.”
But, the remembrance of the artistic tone which had made her visit to
Copenhagen so thoroughly enjoyable, remained long after the cold, and
the loss of voice, and the stormy weather, had been forgotten. Many
years afterwards she wrote to Madame Bournonville:—
“I shall never forget the joy with which I sang at Copenhagen; for
never since have I found more cultivated artists anywhere.”
It was a happy time, in spite of the threatened loss of voice; but it
owed its brightest charm far less to the applause of a genuinely
appreciative public than to the atmosphere of poetry and high
intellectual culture with which the young priestess of Art found herself
surrounded on every side. Thorwaldsen, whom she had known on her first
visit to Copenhagen, had died in the previous year; but her “brother,”
Hans Christian Andersen—as she delighted to call him, in obedience to
the homely Scandinavian custom—was there to greet her with the ‘Welcome’
mentioned in the letter of Herr Schoeltz von Schrœder. Œhlenschläger
wrote a poem also, and Geheimrath Jonas Collin. Music was represented by
Niels W. Gade, the friend of Mendelssohn and Schumann, and the composer
of _Comala_, _Im Hochlande_, and many other works of undoubted merit.
The two visits to Copenhagen seem to have made a deep impression upon
the mind of Hans Christian Andersen, for not only did he celebrate them
in verse, but in the autobiographical sketch entitled ‘_Das Märchen
meines Lebens_,’ he speaks of them at considerable length and in a very
enthusiastic tone indeed.
“The youthfully-fresh voice,” he says, “forced itself into every
heart. Here reigned Truth and Nature. Everything was full of meaning
and intelligence.
“‘Yes, yes,’ said she, ‘I will exert myself; I will endeavour; I will
be better qualified, when I come to Copenhagen again, than I now am.’
“‘There will not be born, in a whole century, another being so gifted
as she,’ said Mendelssohn, in speaking to me of Jenny Lind; and his
words expressed my own full conviction.
“There is nothing which can dwarf the impression made by Jenny Lind’s
greatness on the stage except her own personal character at home. An
intelligent and childlike disposition here exercises its astonishing
power. She is happy—belonging, as it were, no longer to the world. A
peaceful quiet home is the object of her thoughts; yet she loves Art
with her whole soul, and feels her vocation in it. A noble, pious
disposition like hers cannot be spoiled by homage. On one occasion
only did I hear her express her joy in her talent and in her sense of
power. It was during her last visit to Copenhagen. Almost every
evening she appeared, either in Opera or at concerts. Every hour was
in requisition. She heard of a society the object of which was to
assist unfortunate children and to take them out of the hands of their
parents by whom they were ill-treated, and compelled either to beg or
steal, and to place them in other and better conditions. Benevolent
people subscribed annually a small sum each for their support;
nevertheless, the means for this excellent purpose were small.
“‘But have I not still a disengaged evening?’ said she. ‘Let me give a
performance for the benefit of these poor children, and we will have
doubled prices.’
“The performance was given, and its proceeds were large. When she was
told of this, and that by this means a large number of poor children
would be benefited for several years, her countenance beamed and her
eyes were filled with tears.
“‘Is it not beautiful,’ she said, ‘that I can sing so?’
“I feel towards her as a brother, and I think myself happy that I can
know, and understand, such a spirit. God give to her that peace, that
quiet and happiness, that she desires for herself.
“Through Jenny Lind I first became sensible of the holiness of Art.
Through her I learned that one must forget one’s self in the service
of the Supreme. No books, no men, have had a more ennobling influence
upon me as a poet than Jenny Lind; and therefore have I spoken of her
so fully and warmly.”[52]
“She is happy,” says the Danish poet, “belonging, as it were, no longer
to the world.” Yet even then the world intruded itself into the
happiness of the moment, however little the “sensitive young girl”
belonged to it. The nest of the “Swedish Nightingale” was overshadowed—
or, at least, seemed to her to be so—by a “sable cloud,” which
obstinately refused to “turn forth its silver lining on the night.”
Not even her intercourse with the master-minds, in communion with whom
she spent so many pleasant hours during her second visit to Copenhagen,
could free Mdlle. Lind from the nightmare of her dreadful London
engagement. The remembrance of it haunted her everywhere, and in the
midst of her brightest triumphs, oppressed her sensitive and
unsophisticated nature with a quite unreasonable terror, which, as time
wore on, sensibly undermined her health, and caused her a world of
unhappiness.
On Oct. 14 she wrote to Madame Birch-Pfeiffer, in a letter which has
already been partly quoted in an earlier chapter:—
“What do you say to Mr. Bunn, who has lately announced that I must
make my _début_ at Drury Lane on the 19th of October!! otherwise I
shall have shamefully broken my contract? Ah! ah! mother! More foul
weather is in store! But he can do me no harm, for I shall never in my
life go to London. And—is it true?—have I dreamed it?—or was not the
contract signed with my name only, and his name not appended to it?
Was it not so? I do not know where that horrid thing (the contract)
is. Is it with you? or is it in Sweden? In either case, give me
comfort! Dear mother, give me comfort, and write to me once more
before I return to Berlin, as I shall stay a few days in Altona with
Madame Arnemann.”
Strange as it may seem, this suspicion as to the omission of Mr. Bunn’s
signature was found to be perfectly justified. Why the manager did not
append his own name to a document so important it is difficult to
understand; but he certainly did not append it—at least to the copy left
in Mdlle. Lind’s possession—as we learn from another letter written by
her to the same lady, from Nienstädten, on Oct. 28, 1845:—
“I have, only to-day, found the English contract; and I was quite
right—the name of Mr. Bunn is wanting, and therefore, I am told, the
contract is not valid. Altogether, since I received the letter from my
good mother, I have been much easier; and I am easier still now, in
every way, than I was. And for that I have to thank my firm
determination to leave the stage. _Mon Dieu!_ This happiness will be
too much for me.”
While Mdlle. Lind’s mind was thus agitated by mingled hope and fear,
Mrs. Grote was doing her best to remove the difficulty, by persuading
Mr. Bunn to cancel the unhappy “contract,” upon payment of £500, as
forfeit money. But, in the meantime, the most unfounded rumours were
spread on every side. It is doubtful whether Mr. Bunn, even now, gave up
all hope of securing his prize. One section of the English public, at
any rate, did not give up all hope of hearing the coveted _prima donna_
at Drury Lane, while another felt equally certain of enjoying that
pleasure at Her Majesty’s Theatre. For the idea that Mdlle. Lind
contemplated the acceptance of an engagement at the last-named house—
which, at that period, she most certainly did not—was mentioned
everywhere—and, of course, after the manner of reports in general, and
utterly unfounded ones in particular, it was mentioned with the
assurance that it was absolutely and most incontrovertibly true. Each
repetition was based on “certain private intelligence” which no one but
the narrator possessed; and in process of time the story was told so
well that no one dreamed of questioning its veracity. In all probability
it first found utterance in the mysterious _on dit_ of some imaginative
journalist. But it is quite possible that it may have obtained increased
consistency from the fact that, in the hope of doing the best she could
for her friend, Mrs. Grote asked advice on the subject from Mr. Lumley—
who was her great friend also. If—as is more than probable—Mr. Bunn
discovered this, the step between giving advice concerning one
engagement and proposing another one in its place would have seemed to
him so microscopically small that, although Mr. Lumley did not really
propose an engagement for Her Majesty’s Theatre until long after this,
it would have been difficult to convince the manager of Drury Lane that
no sort of intrigue had ever been introduced into the business. For
intrigue is the natural atmosphere of the Theatre, in England, as on the
Continent; and in this case Mdlle. Lind, who was ignorant of its
simplest rudiments, was accused of being its instigator when she was in
reality its victim. It was her ignorance of the machinations to which
the Stage is chronically subject that caused her so much needless
anxiety. She did not know that Mr. Bunn’s threats were absolutely
nugatory; that damages could no more be claimed from her in Berlin than
they could be claimed, at this present moment, in Paris, from a French
composer against whom they had been awarded in England: that she was as
safe in Prussia as if the contract had never been signed.
She was as inexperienced in all such matters as a child. Had she been
less so she would never have written an unfortunate letter—dated,
“Copenhagen, Oct. 18, 1845”—in which she entreated Mr. Bunn, “as a
favour,” not to consider her signature “as a contract,” but, “to be
generous enough to disengage” her “from an unconsidered promise.” But
she had a reason for this which, at the time, seemed to her imperative.
She never spoke of it to Mrs. Grote; but, in a subsequent conversation
with Mr. Grote, she said that she did not at that time possess £500 in
the world. Mr. Bunn taunted her with the “enormous salary” she had
“accepted at Berlin,” yet she assured Mr. Grote that, up to the moment
of her engagement at Frankfort, her earnings had been entirely absorbed
by her expenses—including, be it fully understood, the maintenance of
her parents, and her munificent gifts to Herr Josephson and others—and
that consequently she was “in absolute want of pecuniary means to fulfil
the conditions proposed.”[53]
This, then, was the state of affairs when, in the last week of October,
1845, she took leave of her friends at Copenhagen, and returned to
Berlin to fulfil her renewed engagement at the famous Opera-House.