AT THE GEWANDHAUS.
We have spoken of Mdlle. Lind’s offer to assist Herr Josephson in his
project of carrying on his studies in Italy.
In the month of June, 1845, he wrote, at Vienna, in his Diary:—
“Through the care of Munthe, Jenny Lind’s _homme d’affaires_, I have
received a letter containing a cheque which guarantees my going to
Italy. And now I am looking hopefully towards the south. May it prove
of real use!”
Mdlle. Lind did not, however, write to him herself until the beginning
of December, when she sent him the following letter:—
“You poor boy! so far away in a strange country and for so dreadfully
long a time, without having heard a word, directly, from your friend
who is now writing to you, and who wishes you so well and has so
faithfully retained her friendship for you!
“Dear good Jacob! I cannot understand how it is possible that I have
left you so long without a word. But I have been travelling again
nearly the whole summer, and have really not been able to write.
“I have received your letters in due course, and hasten to answer the
last. My money matters are not just now in my own hands, and as you
need money only at the time of the new year, I write this to-day
before sending it. But it is coming soon.
“And now I suppose I must tell you everything about myself. In the
first place, I am splendidly well. I am enjoying myself very much. I
am very glad and very grateful for the kind treatment we—that is,
Louise and I—are receiving at Professor Wichmann’s, and we find it
very enjoyable there. Furthermore, my voice has grown twice as strong
as it was—the middle register quite clear. My acting is something
quite different, with much more vivacity and passion; stout and
broad-shouldered, and quite first-rate! if my success was great last
year, it is now quite furious. I have appeared here as ‘Donna Anna,’
and succeeded well. Yesterday also I appeared, for the first time in
Berlin, in _Der Freischütz_—and that also went well. Now guess what my
next part will be? _Die Vestalin._ After that, ‘Alice’ and
‘Valentine.’ Tithatschek will probably be here at the new year.
Meyerbeer is still in Paris, but is expected here soon. But, Jacob,
Mendelssohn is here! I see him almost every day at the Wichmanns’. And
he is quite an exceptional man. Dear! we are going, the day after
to-morrow, to Leipzig. Now, at least, I shall sing at a Gewandhaus
Concert under his direction!
“It is possible that I may go to Vienna next spring. True, I feel
restrained by nervousness, but the engagement is a good one.
“Well! I am quite ready to believe that Italy must be beautiful. It
would please me well to go there next spring, but I must first earn
some money.”
It is touching to see the great Artist longing for the beauties of
Italy, yet deferring the enjoyment of them until she could “earn some
money,” while she was really enabling the young student to whom she
wrote to prosecute his studies there with money she had previously
earned.
It is touching, too, to see how her Artist-nature expands at the thought
of a closer acquaintance with Mendelssohn—the composer whose genius was
in closer sympathy with her own than that of any other musician then
living,—and to mark how she revelled in the thought of singing to the
accompaniment of the orchestra he conducted, well knowing beforehand the
delight she would feel in being so perfectly and so effectually
accompanied. None but a really great singer can fully understand the
delight of singing to such an accompaniment, whether played by the
orchestra or on the pianoforte, and in this case the vocalist was
certainly not disappointed.
In a letter addressed to her guardian, Judge Munthe, on Jan. 12, 1846,
Mdlle. Lind writes:—
“Felix Mendelssohn comes sometimes to Berlin, and I have often been in
his company. He is a _man_, and at the same time he has the most
supreme talent. Thus should it be.”
The words are few, but weighty enough in their relation to the social
history of Art; for, taken into consideration in connection with the
expressions quoted in the preceding chapter from her letter to Herr
Josephson, they give us direct indication of a friendship which,
ripening with time, continued, with ever-increasing loyalty and warmth,
until the moment at which the composer of _Elijah_ entered into his
rest, on Nov. 4, 1847; a friendship the full value of which can be
understood by those only who enjoyed the inestimable privilege of
friendly intercourse, though in ever so humble a degree, with that truly
remarkable “_man_;” a friendship in which the world of Art itself was
interested. For it is absolutely certain that these two artistic spirits
exercised a notable influence over each other in all that concerned the
Art they worshipped; insomuch that the _Elijah_ itself owed something to
Mendelssohn’s familiarity with her ideal treatment of the voice, while
her interpretation of his loveliest melodies was undoubtedly penetrated
with the spirit he infused into the harmonies with which he accompanied
her on the pianoforte.
Though residing at this time in Leipzig, Mendelssohn came occasionally
to Berlin, and had evidently taken such opportunities as he could of
renewing the acquaintance first formed on Oct. 21, 1844, at the house of
Professor Wichmann. He was engaged, that winter, in conducting the
famous Gewandhaus Concerts at Leipzig, which were then universally
acknowledged to be the finest in Europe. Under his all-powerful _bâton_
they had met with unexampled success, and he eagerly seized this
opportunity of persuading his friend to assist him in his noble work.
The Intendant of the Opera-House seems to have granted the necessary
leave of absence without difficulty, and on Dec. 3—the day following the
second performance of _Der Freischütz_—the two great Artists proceeded
together to Leipzig.
Though the dimensions of this quaint old town were greatly inferior, in
1845, to those of which it now boasts, it exercised a greater and far
more healthy influence upon the development of Music than either Berlin
or Vienna. The audience, at the Gewandhaus, though severely critical,
was prone to bursts of genuine enthusiasm; and when the good burghers
who dominated the society of the town heard of the treat that was in
store for them, their excitement knew no bounds. Though the prices of
admission were instantly raised from two-thirds of a thaler to one
thaler and a third—_i.e._ from two shillings to four—the tickets were
all sold off at once, and their lucky possessors were able to command
any price they liked to ask for them at second-hand. The “free list” was
stopped, of course, and even the students of the Conservatorium,[55] who
enjoyed prescriptive right of admission, were politely told that their
prescriptive right would not be recognised on the evening of the eighth
concert.
This arbitrary resumption of vested privileges provoked an “indignation
meeting” at the rooms of one of the offended brotherhood, at which it
was resolved that a firm but respectful protest should be addressed to
the most active of the Directors—a gentleman of severe aspect, but not,
it was hoped, of absolutely stony heart. The difficulty was, to find a
mouse to bell the cat. A victim was, however, selected and sacrificed,
and in the course of the day he reappeared before the adjourned conclave
with a face which distinctly showed that he had been received with the
gentle courtesy usually accorded by College dons to students too keenly
alive to encroachments upon their privileges.[56]
The rush for tickets was, in fact, so great that, had the Saal des
Gewandhauses been four times as large as it really was, it could have
been filled over and over again. Through the kindness of Herr Julius
Kistner, the well-known music publisher, the writer, maddened with the
excitement of the moment, was fortunate enough to obtain a seat in the
front row, close to the orchestra, between the places occupied by the
heroic presenter of the protest and the late Mr. Joseph Ascher, another
member of the “Indignation Committee.” The room was crowded to
suffocation and the audience breathless with suspense.
Herr Heinrich Brockhaus, in his Diary, describes the events of the
evening in terms which exactly correspond with our own recollection of
them:—
“1845. Leipzig, Dec. 4. Jenny Lind has fulfilled the promise she made,
in the summer, to sing at one of the subscription-concerts, to my
great enjoyment and truly heartfelt pleasure.
“Luise[57] wrote to Fräulein Lind to offer her our hospitality, so I
am actually living under the same roof with our charming visitor.
“The expectations of the Leipzigers—who pride themselves somewhat on
their musical taste and are sometimes a little hypercritical—were
raised very high indeed; but the first air, from _Norma_, at once won
everything for the Singer, and the enthusiasm rose higher and higher
through a duet with Miss Dolby from _Romeo and Juliet_, through a
recitative and air from _Don Juan_, and, finally, through some songs
by Mendelssohn and some Swedish national airs, to a quite
extraordinary pitch.
“And with good reason.
“She is a most extraordinary singer: a musical nature through and
through; in full command of the most beautiful means; and, besides
that, so penetrated and spiritualised with the singing of everything
which she renders, that a song sung by her goes straight to the heart.
“Soul and expression, so intimately associated with so beautiful a
voice and so perfect a method, will never be met with again; the
appearance of Fräulein Lind is, therefore, truly unique.
“And with all that, what noble and beautiful simplicity pervades her
whole being! free from all fictitious coquetry, though, all the same,
she takes delight in the effect she produces. One can only wonder, and
love her. And this affectionate appreciation of her is universal—the
same with young and old, with men and with women. And again, there is
something so thorough and consistent; a noble and beautiful nature; a
manifestation of the genius of the noblest womanhood and the highest
art.
“Who can sing either German or Italian music as she does? Who is so
great a mistress of National Song as she? In the case of other singers
people are often influenced by a critique, and astuteness prides
itself upon the discovery of some weak point. With Fräulein Lind one
rejoices one’s self at her success, and feels with her until the
applause bursts forth.”[58]
Instead of following up her success by giving a “benefit” on her own
account, and filling the room to suffocation, as she might easily have
done at any prices she liked to demand, she announced her intention of
singing, the next night, at the concert which she determined to give in
aid of the _Orchester-Wittwen-Fond_—an institution for the maintenance
of the widows of deceased members of the Gewandhaus Orchestra.
Herr Heinrich Brockhaus has included a minute description of this
Concert also in his published Diary; but the account given in the
unpublished note-book of his youthful son, Edouard, is so charmingly
unaffected and natural, that we insert it in preference to the more
mature remarks of the elder gentleman.
“On Friday, Dec. 5, the Lind was to sing at a concert for the
_Orchester-Wittwen-Fond_. Every one was delighted, but I most of all,
as I hoped that I also might get a chance of hearing her; and,
luckily, at dinner-time, mother gave me a ticket, which I kept in my
hand all the afternoon, for fear of losing it. Tickets were very rare
just then, and, though they only cost 1 Rthl., 10 Ngr., I know that
some were sold for 3 Rthl., and even 5 Rthl. The concert was to begin
at half-past six o’clock, and I was at the Gewandhaus by half-past
five; it took me, however a good quarter of an hour to get up the few
steps leading to the hall. For the steps were crammed with people,
including many ladies, and there was scarcely room to stand, much less
to turn round. So we moved slowly forwards, and thought ourselves
lucky when we mounted a single step. The hall was soon so full that
not another creature could be squeezed in, and many had to stand the
whole evening in the little room where the _buffet_ is; but, luckily,
I got a seat in the third row in the gallery, where I could see and
hear everything.
“The Lind first sang the scena and air from _Figaro_, and I can really
find no adequate expression to apply to her singing. The power of the
voice, even in the highest notes, the feeling, when she sang
_pianissimo_, and, above all, the perfection of her execution, cannot
be described in words. The shake, and all the finer _nuances_, sounded
so perfectly natural, and she sang with such life and expression, that
she had to hold back continually, to keep herself from acting. And the
people seemed as if they would never leave off applauding.
“In the second part she sang the well-known scene and air from _Der
Freischütz_, and here again, from every gesture, one could see that it
was as much as ever she could do to hold herself in check so as not to
act it. And the expression she gave to every word, and the swelling of
the tones and the feeling and the execution, were really
unsurpassable.
“After Mendelssohn had played a beautiful solo on the pianoforte, in
the most masterly style, the Lind sang, last of all, three songs. The
first was Mendelssohn’s ‘Frühlingslied,’ and the two others extremely
original Swedish _Volkslieder_. Mendelssohn accompanied them on the
pianoforte, and with them the Concert came, all too soon, to an end.
“The Lind had promised to spend the evening with us, and when we got
home we found everything made ready for her reception. As she had
begged that no company might be invited, mother had only asked Tante
Luise, with the rest of the family, and the Mendelssohns.
“About nine o’clock our courtyard was suddenly filled with a crowd of
people, mostly students, who had come, with torches, to serenade the
Lind. When a circle had been formed, by torch-light, Weber’s _Jubilee
Overture_ was first played; then a song was sung; and afterwards they
sang and played alternately. The Lind was quite taken by surprise, and
kept on asking father what she should do and how she should thank the
people.
“While she was peeping out of the window there came a pause, and a lot
of Concert directors, with Concertmeister David and Dr. Haertel at
their head, came into the room, and, in the name of the musicians,
presented her with a beautiful silver salver, on which were engraved
the words:—
“‘To Fräulein Jenny Lind, from the grateful musicians.’
“On the salver was placed a beautiful wreath of laurel and camellias.
It was given to her by the musicians as a mark of thankfulness,
because she had sung for the institution for the benefit of the widows
of members of the orchestra. David accompanied the gift with a few
words, and the Lind was so surprised that she could only look at him
while he was speaking, and thank him with a silent gesture.
“During all this time I got the champagne ready, and many healths were
drunk—naturally, hers first of all. Father then filled a great tankard
and brought it to her, that she might first taste it herself, and then
send it round to the gentlemen; but she would not do this—why, I
cannot imagine. She passed it on, however, to David, saying, ‘Drink to
your own health!’
“During the music she stood, for the most part, at the east window, in
the corner, and listened to it eagerly; but one could see that the
crowd of people was painful to her. When the students had left off
singing—there were two hundred singers, besides a multitude of others—
Mendelssohn led the Lind into the courtyard. I followed her, with
Tante Luise; and Mendelssohn said that the honourable task of
conveying to them Fräulein Lind’s thanks for this had fallen to his
lot, and that he fulfilled it with pleasure; but that, in addition,
and in his own person as ‘Leipziger Musikdirector,’ he wished long
life to Fräulein Lind.[59]
“All joined, naturally, in shouting ‘Long life to Fräulein Lind!’ And
we then tried to get back into the house, but found it very difficult
to do so, so closely did the crowd press round, on every side, to
catch a glimpse of the Lind.
“In going away, they sang the beautiful ‘Waldlied.’ The gentlemen who
had presented the silver _plateau_ then took their leave after the
Lind had duly thanked them, and the Mendelssohns did not stay very
much longer.
“No sooner were the doors closed behind them than she embraced mother
and Marie, and all who were standing near her, and jumped up like a
child. The presence of so many people had worried her, and it was not
until they were gone that her joy broke forth.
“We now sat round a table and enjoyed ourselves very much. The Lind
showed us, among other things, her bracelets, two of which were
particularly beautiful. One, in the form of a serpent, was given to
her by the late King of Sweden, and the other, which was very
splendid, by the present King of Prussia. At the top of this last was
a cover, with three real pearls as large as peas; and under this
cover, which was made to lift up, was a little cylinder-watch, the
size of a four-groschen piece. She looked with great pleasure at our
pictures and engravings, while I held the lights for her, and at about
eleven o’clock she went down to her apartments.”
The graphic and life-like picture, thus charmingly painted by the bright
youth of sixteen, forms a fitting conclusion to our narrative of Mdlle.
Lind’s memorable visit to Leipzig.
She might well have retired to her rooms, tired out with fatigue and
excitement, at eleven o’clock; for on the next day—Saturday, Dec. 6—she
was to return to Berlin, where she was announced to reappear, for the
fourth time, in _Don Juan_ on the following Tuesday.