CHAPTER XIII.

AUF WIEDERSEHEN!

The first performance of _Les Huguenots_ took place on Thursday, Feb.

26, the second on Sunday, March 1. A third, announced for Friday, March

6, was prevented by a most unfortunate accident; Mdlle. Lind sprained

her foot on the Thursday so seriously that for three weeks she was

confined to the sofa.

The kindest sympathy was shown to the sufferer after this painful

misadventure; and Mendelssohn, who had been informed of the accident,

endeavoured, on March 18, to cheer her loneliness with a long and

delightful letter, half grave, half gay, in which the serious and the

playful were intermingled with an easy grace in which few adepts in the

art of letter-writing have ever been able to rival him.

We print this hitherto unpublished letter, in the belief that it cannot

fail to prove generally interesting to the reader.

“Leipzig, March 18, 1846.

“MY DEAR FRÄULEIN,

“The account that Taubert brought of the state of your health was not

so encouraging as I could have wished;[60] but as I used to like, on

days such as these, to sit down to the piano, and play to you, so now—

since, unhappily, I cannot come to you in person—I come, at least in

writing, and fancy to myself that I ask, in the entrance hall, whether

I can speak with you, and am told—‘yes’; and Mademoiselle Louise opens

the door for me, and I see in your hand one of the ten thousand

pictures and engravings with which you are now surrounded, and then I

sit down beside you and begin like this:—

“Shall I tell you about Marie?[61]

“She talks to me, all day long, about Fräulein Lind, and how she was

so kind to her; and when I went to the children, yesterday, in the

nursery, and found little fat Paul[62] practising his writing on a

sheet of paper, I saw that he had written ‘dear Fräulein Lind’ over

the whole page at least ten times. To-day he has finished a whole

letter, and he made me promise that I would send it to you—I was

absolutely obliged to promise it. Marie wanted to send her letter

first, but I explained that one letter would be enough, and she was

satisfied with signing it. Karl said he could not sign it as it was

not his own letter.

“A funny thing happened to us this evening. Cécile[63] said: ‘It is a

long time since we have had any Swedish bread; what a pity it is!’ I

said, ‘I will write to-day, and ask for some in your name.’ Marie

said, ‘But Paul has already written to Fräulein Lind to-day.’ I asked

to see the letter—the beautiful scrawl I enclose—and, as Paul came in

at one door, with his letter, the servant brought in your present of

Swedish bread at the other.

“The children think of you daily and hourly, and their parents also.

We long very much indeed to hear soon that you are better, and once

more free from all the weariness that such a long imprisonment brings

with it. May you soon send us, please God! an account of your complete

cure.

“To-day we had a very pleasant rehearsal. Taubert conducted his

symphony and made friends of the whole orchestra. To us, who are

artists, must certainly be conceded one very delightful prerogative,

in return for which we are willing to give up all other prerogatives

whatever: viz. that in one short half-hour a host of strangers can be

transformed into a host of good friends. That is a capital state of

things, and many would like it, though it is given but to few. To my

great joy, it was given very decidedly indeed to Taubert to-day; and

when he adds to this his playing of the Beethoven Concerto to-morrow,

he may build upon the Leipzig Musicians on both sides.

“That which is called ‘the Public’ is exactly the same here as

elsewhere and everywhere; the simple ‘Public,’ assembled together for

an instant, so fluctuating, so full of curiosity, so devoid of taste,

so dependent upon the judgment of the musician—the so-called

connoisseur. But against this we must set the great ‘Public,’

assembling together year after year, wiser and more just than

connoisseur and musician, and judging so truly! and feeling so

delicately!

“A grand new vocal composition by Gade was also rehearsed, with full

chorus, for performance next week. I hope it will turn out both

poetical and beautiful. The text is from Ossian; and Fingal, with his

warriors, and harps, and horns, and spirits, plays an important part

in it. But Taubert will tell you all this much better by word of

mouth.

“We also sang to-day, ‘Come cow, come calf,’[64] in such sort that it

was worthy to have been described as a noble work of Art! Taubert

sings better than I; but I pronounce Swedish better than he!

“You ask how things go with me.

“On the days when I was so quiet in my room, writing music without

interruption, and only going out from time to time for a walk in the

fresh air, they went very well indeed with me—or, at least, I thought

so. But, since the day before yesterday, when I had more to do with

the concert affairs and all sorts of correspondence connected with

them, and things of that kind, to which I could only give half my

attention because my own work lay so much nearer to my heart—since

then I have been a prey to such fatal excitement, and felt so

miserably out of spirits, that, while every one says, ‘How well you

look,’ _you_ would rather say, ‘What is the matter with you?’

“Happily, however, this is the last week, for this year, during which

I shall be concerned with these things; and then I mean to work very

hard, and after that I shall rejoice in the Rhine and the spring-time.

“Yes; I rejoice in the thought of the Rhine and the Musical Festival,

and the real true spring—for, for many days past, I have been fearing

that the winter would come back again, and that the spring would break

off altogether, as in my old song in your book. And farther on, I,

like yourself, rejoice very much indeed in thinking of the time when I

shall be able to put aside the duty of conducting music and promoting

Institutions, and quit this so-called ‘sphere of activity,’ and have

no other ‘sphere of activity’ to think of than a quire of blank

music-paper, and no need to conduct anything that I do not care for,

and when I shall be altogether independent and free. It will, indeed,

be a few years before this can take place, but I hope _not more than

that_; and in this we are very much alike. I believe, in good truth,

that this is because we both have the love of Art so deeply implanted

in our souls.

“But, I am fancying that I have been sitting by your side quite long

enough, and must now take my leave; or else that it is _Norma_

to-night, and that it has already chimed half-past three—in short, I

must say good-bye.

“I hope I may soon hear that you are able to walk, run, stand, jump,

dance, play at billiards, sing at Ries’s Concert, and play the parts

of ‘Proserpina’ and ‘Valentine,’ and that you have become free of all

farther enquiries.

“Your friend,

“FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.”[65]

Cheered by pleasant correspondence such as this, and still more pleasant

intercourse with the choice circle of sympathetic friends who enjoyed

the privilege of _entrée_ to the charmed _salon_ in the Hasenheger

Strasse, the three long weeks of dreary imprisonment passed more lightly

than would otherwise have been expected. And they were enlivened too,

from time to time, by another source of interest no less welcome and

agreeable. Professor Wichmann seized upon this excellent opportunity for

securing the “sittings” necessary for the modelling of a beautiful

medallion-portrait of her in profile, designed upon a circular plaque

fourteen inches in diameter, and eventually executed in white marble. It

is a charming work of Art, regarded, by all who have seen it, as a

valuable historical memorial.

When modelling this beautiful profile the Professor did not know that

his guest was herself preparing a welcome surprise for the family in

anticipation of his idea.

Wishing to present her host and hostess with a grateful memorial of the

happy time she had spent beneath their roof, she had commissioned

Professor Magnus to paint her portrait, on a large scale, in order that

she might present it to them before leaving Berlin. Professor Magnus had

accepted the commission, and made some progress with the work, when the

“sittings” were interrupted by the accidental sprain, which for a time

rendered the needful visits to his studio impossible. As soon as these

could be resumed, he proceeded with his work, and in process of time

produced a portrait not only valuable as a striking likeness of the

sitter, but precious also as a work of Art which may be fairly accepted

as a happy example of the best school of portrait-painting then existing

in Germany. That Professor Magnus himself regarded it in that light is

proved by the fact that, after it had been presented to Madame Wichmann,

and treasured for fifteen years as a precious family possession, he

consented, at the request of Mr. Goldschmidt, to execute an exact

_replica_, forming so perfect a reproduction of the picture, that the

Professor himself found it necessary to attach a certain mark to it, in

order that he might be able to distinguish the copy from the original.

By his desire, and that of the Prussian Government, this _replica_ was

exhibited, in 1862, in the Prussian Court of the Universal Exhibition at

South Kensington, as the acknowledged representative of this artist’s

style at his best period—and it fulfilled this intention perfectly and

to the satisfaction of all concerned.

The original picture remained in the Wichmann family until the year

1877, when the Professor’s eldest son, Herr Herrmann Wichmann, to whom

it had passed by inheritance after his mother’s death in the previous

year, consented to its removal, at the price of twelve thousand thalers,

to the Berlin National Gallery, where, having now become national

property, it is treasured as a valuable artistic and historical

monument. The sprain was healed, however, before the picture was

finished.

The public were perhaps more impatient at the duration of the

imprisonment than the prisoner herself. But it came to an end at last;

and, after a term of enforced captivity lasting for twenty-four days,

Mdlle. Lind reappeared on March 29 in _Norma_, before an audience who

welcomed her return to the Stage with every demonstration of

uncontrollable enthusiasm—an index of public opinion which might indeed,

by this time, have been expected as a matter of course every time she

appeared.

After this performance—the twenty-sixth in which she had taken part

during the then current season—she appeared once more in _Das Feldlager

in Schlesien_ on March 31; and on Thursday, April 2—her own

“benefit-night”—took leave of Berlin for the season.

The house, we need scarcely say, was crowded to the roof, and the

performance in the highest degree satisfactory. Herr Rellstab thus

feelingly describes the moment of the final parting:—

“The call before the curtain, which had already been anticipated at

the end of the preceding acts, was renewed at the close of the

performance, and with such increasing warmth as we have never before

witnessed in our lives. The entire mass of the audience took part in

the offering of applause: the profusion of flowers seemed

inexhaustible.

“A burning wish seemed to inspire the multitude—that for one farewell

word. Mdlle. Lind who, from a sense of shyness, combined with the

unaccustomed tones of the language, had always hitherto expressed her

thanks by dumb yet telling motions, yielded at last to this

well-understood though unspoken wish—(for how could it be spoken

amidst such a storm of applause!), and uttered, with deepest inward

emotion, the simple and almost inarticulate words, ‘_Ich danke Ihnen—

ich werde das in meinem ganzen Leben nicht vergessen!_’[66]

“And again the call was shouted by thousands of voices, and yet once

again she had no choice to respond to it; and then, at last, the

audience was satisfied.”

And thus was the second winter season at Berlin brought to an end, with

mutual regret and warmest good wishes on either side.

BOOK V.

PROGRESS.

CHAPTER I.

THE DÉBUT AT VIENNA.

The engagement at Vienna, vaguely alluded to in the letter to Madame

Erikson, and more decidedly in that to Herr Josephson, was now finally

arranged, and on the eve of fulfilment. The terms of this contract—five

hundred gulden[67] each, for five performances, with an extra benefit

night—had been carefully discussed, and gladly accepted, by Herr Franz

Pokorny, the then manager of the Theater an der Wien, during the latter

part of Mdlle. Lind’s stay at Berlin; and, as soon as she could

conveniently do so, after the exciting scene at the Royal Opera-House on

the evening of her benefit, she took leave of her kind host and hostess,

and started, with her companion, Mdlle. Louise Johansson, for Vienna,

_viâ_ Leipzig, in which last-named town she had been invited to spend a

few days, as the guest of Herr Heinrich Brockhaus, and had also decided

upon giving a concert, at the Gewandhaus, on her own account.

On April 8, 1846, Herr Brockhaus wrote in his Diary:—

“At home, I found all well, and in high good humour with an amiable

visitor—Fräulein Lind—who, early this morning, fulfilled a

long-standing promise to stay with us.

“I was heartily pleased to see, once more, the amiable and unaffected

girl, whose natural simplicity is so beautifully united to the

greatness of the Artist. She was sociable and cheerful throughout the

evening, which was still farther enlivened by the presence of

Mendelssohn.”

In a farther entry, on April 9, Herr Brockhaus continues:—

“Unhappily, Fräulein Lind can stay no longer with us, as she has met

with her friend from Hamburg, with whom she had made an appointment.

“We lunched with her, at Mendelssohn’s, where I also met Dr. Emanuel

Geibel, whom I had previously seen in Berlin. One must like the girl

from the very bottom of one’s heart. She has such a noble and

beautiful nature. And yet, she does not feel happy. I am convinced

that she would gladly exchange all her triumphs for simple homely

happiness. She sees that, in Mendelssohn’s house, where the wife and

children make his happiness complete.”

The “friend from Hamburg,” by whose arrival Herr Brockhaus’s

arrangements were thus unfortunately interrupted, was Madame Arnemann.

Mdlle. Lind had stayed in this lady’s house at Nienstädten, near Altona,

in the autumn of 1845; and had promised to travel with her as far as

Carlsbad, on her way to Vienna. She had now come to Leipzig, for the

purpose of putting her long-cherished design into execution; and the

visit to the Brockhaus family was necessarily shortened, in conformity

with the earlier arrangement.

But this change of plan did not prevent the welcome visitor from

thoroughly enjoying her brief stay in Leipzig, or from happy intercourse

with her most valued friends there. Among other incidents connected with

this memorable visit, the domestic happiness of Mendelssohn, whose

devotion to his wife and family were no less remarkable than his

artistic talent, made a deep impression upon her. She had been equally

impressed, at Berlin, by the charming pictures of home life daily

presented to her in the family circle at Professor Wichmann’s. Of such a

life her own early experience had taught her nothing. As a child, at

home, she had never been truly understood; and, in consequence of this,

had suffered cruelly from want of sympathy and domestic happiness. Who

can wonder, then, at the emotion she felt, when witnessing, in other

families, the peaceful effect of social relations to which her own

childhood had been an utter stranger? She alludes to this, in touching

terms, in a letter, written about this time, to Madame Wichmann:—

“Leipzig, April (8?), 1846.

“DEARLY BELOVED AMALIA,

“God bless you all, and give you, some day, tenfold the good that you

have given me! For, Amalia, I have felt, for the first time in my

life, as if I had tasted the blessedness of home. My heart now clings

to you so that nothing else can satisfy me.

“I am staying with the Brockhauses, and they are all so kind and

friendly.”

In the meanwhile, the necessary arrangements for the forthcoming concert

had been satisfactorily completed, under the superintendence of

Mendelssohn himself. The performance was fixed for Sunday, April 12;

and, as there was to be no orchestra, Mendelssohn had undertaken to

“preside at the pianoforte,” as well as to play at least one solo. His

friend, Herr Ferdinand David, had also promised to contribute a solo on

the violin; and, when these details had been finally decided upon, the

complete programme was issued to the public.

No sooner did the announcement make its appearance in the _Leipziger

Tageblatt_, than the usual rush for tickets began, with a vigorous

onslaught which exhausted the supply in the course of a few hours. The

most ardent music-lovers in the town lost not a moment in their

endeavours to secure the best places. It soon became evident that, had

the room been even much larger than it really was, it could easily have

been filled, over and over again. And it cannot be said that the

excitement was extravagant or unnatural; for it would be difficult to

recall to memory a concert, within the experience of the oldest musical

critic now living, in which three such artists united their forces for

the production of so attractive a programme—an entertainment in which

there was not one single weak point, one single piece falling short of

the highest level that Art, in the department of “chamber music,” could

reach.

Madame Clara Schumann (_née_ Wieck), who was then residing in Dresden,

came to Leipzig in the course of the afternoon, with the intention of

taking a seat among the audience. On arriving at the railway-station,

after her four hours’ journey, she drove at once to Mendelssohn’s house,

for the purpose of paying him a visit. She found him a little anxious

about his share in the duties of the evening, which was exceedingly

onerous, since, beside his own solos, he had accepted the responsibility

of accompanying every piece in the programme. Thus circumstanced, he

begged Madame Schumann to add to the interest of the performance by

taking part in it herself. She was tired with her journey; quite

unprepared to play, and not even provided with a suitable toilette for

the evening; but she unhesitatingly consented; and Mendelssohn well knew

that she would prove more than equal to the occasion, when the moment

for the fulfilment of her promise arrived.

Long before the appointed time, the room was crowded, to its remotest

corner. The _bénéficiaire_ sang—as she always did, when supported by

Mendelssohn’s matchless accompaniment—her very best. Mendelssohn played

Beethoven’s ‘Sonata in C♯︎ minor,’ as no one but he could play it; and,

when the point in the programme was reached, at which he was expected to

play some of his own ‘_Lieder ohne Worte_,’ he came down to the place in

which Madame Schumann was seated among the audience, and led her, in her

travelling dress, to the piano. She was received with an ovation; and

played two of the ‘_Lieder ohne Worte_’—Nos. I. and IV. in the Sixth

Book—and a “scherzo” of her own, with an effect which could scarcely

have been surpassed. The performance concluded, in accordance with the

previous announcement, with a selection of songs, by Mdlle. Lind,

accompanied by Mendelssohn, in his own inimitable manner; and the crowd

departed in raptures.

The audience little thought that the concert which had given it such

unclouded pleasure was fated to be the last but one at which Mendelssohn

would play, in public, at the Gewandhaus; or that the concluding

symphony of Mdlle. Lind’s last song would represent (with one exception)

his last touch upon the pianoforte, in the concert-room which, through

his influence, had become so justly celebrated.[68]

But we must not anticipate the day of sadness. No one foresaw it, then;

and, though the audience at the Gewandhaus was so soon to bid its last

farewell to the beloved composer who had so long represented its heart

and soul, Mdlle. Lind enjoyed the privilege of his friendship for a full

year and a half after this eventful evening.[69]

On the 13th of April—the day after the Concert—Mdlle. Lind left Leipzig,

in accordance with the arrangement previously made with Madame Arnemann,

and proceeded, first, to Carlsbad, where she remained until the 16th.

She then took leave of her friend, and, accompanied by Mdlle. Louise

Johansson, continued her journey to Prague; remained there for one

night; and started, the next morning, for Vienna, where she arrived on

Saturday, April 18.

In the meantime, accommodation had been prepared for her, at the house

of Dr. Vivanot, a physician of some repute, who occupied a

conveniently-situated residence in one of the principal streets of

Vienna—Am Graben.

The place was a convenient one, in every respect; and here she remained

_en pension_, until the termination of her engagement for the season,

perfectly satisfied with the arrangements made for her personal comfort;

but she knew no one in Vienna, and, except for the _prestige_ of her

artistic reputation, had no claim whatever upon the goodwill of the

people among whom she had come to reside. Her friends in the North of

Germany felt this strongly; and did their best to overcome the

difficulty. Madame Birch-Pfeiffer wrote a letter to a friend in Vienna,

which gives so true a delineation of her young friend’s character that

we need no apology for introducing it _in extenso_:—

“On Sunday,” she says, “our Angel fled from us: and to-day only have I

brought myself to introduce her to you by this letter.

“Jenny Lind, indeed, needs no introduction to a lady so truly artistic

as yourself; and I only venture to give you a few slight indications

of her northern proclivities, which your own fine tact would easily

have discovered without them.

“She is reserved, and self-contained; pure, through and through, and

sensitive to the last degree; so strangely tender, that she is easily

wounded, and thereupon becomes silent, and serious, when no reason for

it is apparent—and I have long studied this marvellous character, and

penetrated its profoundest depths.

“A word will often quickly shut her up in herself; and I tell you

this, in order that you may see how you stand with her. When she

suddenly becomes dumb to you, you may be certain that something has

wounded her delicate sensibility. She is a true _Mimosa_, that closes

itself at the lightest touch. Do not think, from this, that she is

intolerable. She is, by nature, a truly lovable creature. True, in

everything that she does. Do not suffer yourself to be misled, by her

persistent silence, into thinking that she is _sans ésprit_. She

speaks little, and thinks deeply. She is full of perception, and the

finest tact—a mixture of devotion, and energy, such as you have

probably never before met with.

“Free, herself, from the slightest trace of coquetry, she regards all

coquetry with horror. In short, she stands alone, of her kind, from

head to foot.

“I adjure you, tell all your _coterie_ that Jenny must be brilliantly

received; otherwise, she will never forgive me for having persuaded

her to perform in so large a theatre, for she fears that her voice

will not fill it. She stands alone in modesty, as in everything else.

“If you invite her to your house, and she does not sing, when first

you ask her, let it pass. Do not suffer any one to press her;

otherwise, it is possible that she may not come again. This has often

happened with her, here. She is passionately fond of dancing; and

cares but very little for the table. Nothing is more hateful to her

than sitting long at dinner.

“Here you have a little confidential description of her person. It is

well that you should be forewarned; for, every genius has its own

peculiarities.

“If you wish to make her really happy, invite her companion, Louise

Johansson, to accompany her to your parties. She is an excellent girl,

and Jenny looks upon her as a sister.

“Since she has left me, I have felt as if in my grave. I can listen to

no singing now. You will soon understand why.”

No one who really knew Mdlle. Lind will fail to recognise the fidelity

of this charming portrait; so conscientiously describing, in every

well-weighed word, the minutest traits of a character which needed so

liberal a share of philosophical discernment for its successful

analysis. That it helped to prepare the way for the cordial reception

that awaited Mdlle. Lind in Vienna we cannot doubt; and, in order that

nothing might be left undone which could conduce to that most desirable

end, Mendelssohn, on his part, foreseeing that she might possibly need

the assistance of an experienced adviser, should any unfortunate

misunderstanding occur in her dealings with the strangers by whom she

was surrounded, endeavoured to meet the difficulty by providing her,

when she left Leipzig, with the following letter to his friend, Herr

Franz Hauser:[70]—

“Leipzig, April 12, 1846.

“DEAR FRIEND,

“These lines will reach you, through my friend, Jenny Lind; and I beg

you, as soon as you receive them, to call upon her, and to be as

friendly and as useful to her as you possibly can during the time of

her residence in Vienna. For, I take it for granted that it will be

with you, as with me; and that you will never be able to look upon her

as a stranger, but as one of ourselves—a member of that invisible

Church,[71] concerning which you write to me sometimes. She pulls at

the same rope with all of us who are really in earnest about that;

thinks about it; strives for it; and, if all goes well with her in the

world, it is as pleasant to me as if it went well with me; for it

helps me, and all of us, so well on our road. And to you, as a singer,

it must be especially delightful to meet, at last, with the union of

such splendid talents, with such profound study, and such heartfelt

enthusiasm. But I will say no more. I only ask you to be friendly, and

helpful to her, whenever and wherever you can; and to let her depend

upon you; and, when she sings for the first time, write to me, on the

same day, and tell me how it all went off; for it is from you that I

particularly wish to hear about it.

“For ever and ever yours,

“FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.”[72]

By a strange fatality Herr Hauser’s kind offices were needed before

Mdlle. Lind had even made her first appearance on the stage.

The Theater an der Wien, at which she was engaged to sing for Herr Franz

Pokorny, at the time of which we are now treating, was the largest and

handsomest Opera-House in Vienna. So large did it seem to the timid

_débutante_—still timid, and distrustful as ever of her own powers, in

spite of her triumphs at Berlin—that, when she entered it for the first

time, in order to take her part in the rehearsal of _Norma_, she was

appalled at the sight of its vast circumference; felt convinced that her

voice would prove insufficient to fill it; and, under the influence of

an utterly causeless terror, refused even to make the attempt.

Herr Pokorny was in despair. He could not understand the lady’s fears;

nor could she comprehend his remonstrances. Fortunately, he remembered

having seen her in company with Herr Hauser, to whom he sent a hurried

message, entreating him to come to the rescue, without the loss of a

moment. By great good fortune, the messenger found Herr Hauser at home.

He instantly responded to the appeal; and reached the theatre while

Mdlle. Lind was still standing on the stage, in an agony of nervousness

and indecision. As it was impossible to discuss the question, in

presence of the assembled artists, he led her to the “green-room,” where

he set the case so clearly before her, made her so plainly see that her

fears would be misunderstood, and her position as an artist ruined, that

the Viennese would treat the matter as a joke, and hold Herr Pokorny

responsible for having befooled them—spoke, in short, so sensibly and so

earnestly, that, with a great effort, she overcame her terror, returned

to the stage, where Herr Pokorny was anxiously awaiting her decision,

and at once took her part in the rehearsal, with every prospect of a

successful _début_ on the following evening.

How right Herr Hauser was in his judgment she never forgot; nor did Herr

Pokorny ever forget the kindness of his intervention. During the whole

remaining portion of the season, he reserved a box for Herr Hauser at

every performance, even when the prices were at their highest, and

applicants sent away, in crowds, for want of room. And this was no small

thing; for never, within the memory of the Viennese, had such crowds

assembled at the theatre, or such prices been demanded for admission.

The paralysing fear with regard to the size of the house proved, we need

scarcely say, entirely illusory. Mdlle. Lind’s voice was sonorous enough

to have filled the largest theatre in Europe; and the “Theater an der

Wien,” spacious as it was, was far from being that. The scene, on the

evening of the _début_—Wednesday, April 22, 1846—was simply a _replica_

of that which had taken place, in Berlin, on Nov. 9 in the previous

year. The same Opera—_Norma_—was wisely chosen as the work best

calculated to produce a favourable effect upon the general public; and

the result proved all that could possibly be desired, notwithstanding

the patent fact that a very unfair share of responsibility was thrown

upon the _débutante_. For, except by Herr Staudigl, the representative

of Oroveso, who was a host in himself, and Demoiselle Henriette Treffz,

who sang the part of “Adalgisa „ very charmingly, she was by no means

worthily supported. Concerning the tenor, who took the part of “Pollio”—

called “Sever,” in the German version—the _Wiener Musik-Zeitung_ could

find nothing better to say, than that “he sang no worse than usual.” The

chorus sang, not only without expression, but incorrectly; and the

orchestra fulfilled its functions very inefficiently indeed. At any

other time, such faults as these would have been very heavily visited

indeed upon the management of an Opera-House of such high repute as the

Theater an der Wien; but, in presence of Mdlle. Lind, all collateral

shortcomings were not only forgiven, but forgotten—if even noticed at

all; and the success of the performance could scarcely have been

exceeded. Herr August Schmidt, the editor of the _Wiener Allgemeine

Musik-Zeitung_—a journal by no means enthusiastically devoted to Mdlle.

Lind’s interests—after saying, in one part of his paper—

“For the initiated in music—those who listen, not with the ear only,

but with the soul, and the spirit—the appearance of Jenny Lind is an

event altogether exceptional; such as has never before been witnessed,

and will probably never be repeated,”

sums up his critique of _Norma_, with the words:—

“The appearance of Fräulein Lind is of the deepest significance, in

all its aspects; and her achievements in Art deserve, in the highest

degree, the universal acknowledgment that they have received. She is

the perfect picture of noblest womanhood; and has, through her

artistic aims, and the high perfection of her artistic cultivation,

united to her great and many-sided talents, already won the sympathy

of the entire public, on her first appearance, in a way in which few

other singers have won it before her. I count the moments that passed

at her _début_ among the most enjoyable artistic pleasures that I have

ever yet experienced; and eagerly look forward to her forthcoming

performances.”

For her second appearance, on Friday, April 24, Mdlle. Lind again

selected _Norma_, the reception of which was, if possible, still more

enthusiastic than that with which it had been greeted on the evening of

the _début_. The Viennese were delighted with the new reading of the

part, so full of passion and true womanly feeling, and so powerfully

dramatic in all its varied shades of expression. Even the recollections

of former triumphs—such as those of Mesdames Pasta, and Fodor, and

Malibran—were cited by old and experienced critics as telling rather in

her favour than otherwise.

It is true, there was a strong party against her. Three rival _prime

donne_—Mesdames Stœckel-Heinefetter, and Hasselt-Barth, and Fräulein

Anna Zerr—though bitterly jealous of each other’s triumphs at the

“Kärntnerthor Theater,” united their forces, in opposition to the rising

star, and formed what a certain section of the Press called a Kärntner

clique, for the purpose of preventing her from singing in Vienna.

But Mdlle. Lind triumphed over everything. In spite of these influences,

she created a profound impression, on Wednesday, April 29, in Bellini’s

_La Sonnambula_, by her inimitable union of the purest vocal method,

with acting so touching, that the coldest heart could not witness it

unmoved. It was this alone that could explain the secret charm to which

none who heard her in the part of “Amina” ever failed to yield. The

Viennese understood it at once; and sympathised with it, as unreservedly

as they had sympathised with, and thoroughly comprehended, the new

reading of “Norma.” No sooner had they heard and seen, than they rose,

one and all, to a pitch of enthusiasm in no degree inferior to that

which had been manifested, night after night, at the Royal Opera-House

in Berlin. She herself was more than satisfied with the reception she

met with; and, on the day after her first appearance in _Norma_, wrote

the following account of it to Madame Birch-Pfeiffer:—

“Wien, 23 April, 1846.

“DEAR FRIEND,

“It is over, at last—THANK GOD! and I hasten, good Mother, to describe

it to you, though I know that the kind-hearted Director, Pokorny, has

written all about it to you to-day.

“Well, then! Yesterday was the all-important day on which I appeared

here in _Norma_; and the good God did not desert me, though I deserved

it, for my unreasonable nervousness.

“Do not be angry with me, I beg you! I can do nothing with regard to

that, and I myself suffer enough for it. The three days beforehand

were dreadful. The idea of turning back was ever in my mind; and I

should have done it, if it would not have given offence to so many

people.

“But now, we shall be jolly here, for a little while, and sing nine

times; and then we can go on still farther!

“But, this Public! At the close, I was called back sixteen times, and

twelve or fourteen before that. Just count that up! And this

reception! I was quite astounded!

“The _salle_ is considerably smaller than that in Berlin—Ah! but I

shall always love my Berlin theatre, and my Berliners, immensely; they

have grown into my heart! Neither the Viennese, nor any others, can

weaken this impression.

“How are you all? A raging headache prevents me from writing more. I

have not yet been calmed down since yesterday.—Your truly loving

“JENNY.”

It is evident that this description of the excitement of the Viennese,

and the countless calls before the curtain, is not written in sportive

exaggeration; for, on the same day, Mdlle. Lind wrote a similar account

of the circumstances to Mendelssohn, from whom, a few days later, she

received the following reply:—

“Leipzig, May 7, 1846.

“MY DEAR FRÄULEIN,

“You are indeed a good, and excellent, and very kind Fräulein Lind.

That is what I wanted to say to you (and I have said it often enough,

in thought) after receiving your first letter from Vienna, written so

soon after your opening performance.

“That you wrote to me on the very next day; that you knew there was no

one to whom it would give greater pleasure than to myself; and, that

you found time for it, and let nothing hinder you, or hold you back—

all this was too good and kind of you!

“Your description of the first evening, and of the twenty-five times

you were called before the curtain, &c., &c., reminded me of an old

letter written to me by my sister, when I was in London, a long time

ago: and I looked for the old letter until I found it.

“It was the first time that I had left the shelter of the parental

roof, or had produced anything in public; and it had gone well, and a

stone had been lifted from my heart; and I had written an account of

it all to her. And, thereupon, she answered me thus:—

“There was nothing new to her, she said, in all that, for she had

known it all, quite certainly, beforehand; she could not, therefore,

very clearly explain to herself why, in spite of this, it had been so

very pleasant to her to hear it all confirmed—but it was very

pleasant, nevertheless.

“It was precisely so with me, when I received your letter. And then,

you write so well! In fact, when I get a letter like that from you, it

is just exactly as if I saw you, or heard you speak. I can see the

expression of your face, at every word that stands written before me;

and I understand all that took place on the first _Norma_ evening at

Vienna, almost as well as if I had been there.

“There came also a very pretty description from Hauser; a happier

letter than I ever before received from him. And in this way you give

me so much, and such great pleasure, even in a secondary form, through

the soul of my friends.

“But, tell me, now; how comes it that half the Berlin Opera is so

suddenly in Vienna, the Kapellmeister included? Hauser wrote to tell

me that your Viennese associates in _Norma_ were by no means

excellent; so, Bötticher and the others could, after all, give the

Viennese something worth hearing—if only Taubert beat time to it!

“I really feel, however, more pleasure in the enthusiasm of the

Viennese, and the twenty-five calls before the curtain, than these few

lines will perhaps express to you. It is great fun for me, too—not

because of what people call triumph, or success, or anything of that

kind, but, because of the succession of pleasant days and evenings

that it expresses, and the numbers of delighted and friendly faces

with which you are surrounded. You must tell me all about this, very

particularly; or rather, I must worm it out of you.

“You are, undoubtedly, quite right in what you say about Vienna, in

your second letter. Where, then, is there more than a little nucleus

that feels anything sincerely, or honestly rejoices about _anything at

all_?

“How pleased I am that you like Hauser! He is one who has crept very

much into my heart; and for whom I could, at no time, or for any

reason, feel diminished affection. And, how much good has he not done

to me!

“And now, let me send you a thousand thanks for what you have written

to me about _Antigone_. Yes; I should like to do that over again. But,

out of this, I must weave the material for a new letter, and a

consultation with Madame Birch-Pfeiffer—not, indeed, about _Antigone_

itself, but about something else of the same kind.

“But, my paper has come to an end. We are all well, here, and think of

you every day. I shall write once more, before long, to Vienna; and

then, please God, we shall see each other again, on the Rhine, and

make a little music together, and talk to each other a little, and I

think I shall enjoy myself a little over it! _Au revoir._

“Your friend,

“FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.”[73]

The allusion to Madame Birch-Pfeiffer, in the above letter, is connected

with an episode of some importance in Mendelssohn’s Art-life, concerning

the details of which the public has never been very fully informed.

It will be remembered that it was under the superintendence of this lady

that Mdlle. Lind resumed those studies in the German language which had

been interrupted, at Dresden, by her recall to Stockholm, for the

Coronation of King Oscar I. While prosecuting this course of study, she

had met with frequent opportunities of observing, and appreciating at

their true value, Madame Birch-Pfeiffer’s literary talent and thorough

acquaintance with what is known, in dramatic circles, as “the business

of the stage.” And this experience led to negotiations, which, though

they afterwards broke down completely, seemed, at the time, to promise

very important results indeed.

During their conversations, Mdlle. Lind and Mendelssohn had frequently

discussed the possibility of a union of forces, which, had it not been

interrupted by his early death, would probably have exerted a marked

effect upon the future of the Musical Drama. The scheme was, the

production of a serious Opera, for which he should compose the music,

with special reference to the character and scope of Mdlle. Lind’s vocal

and dramatic talent. The one great difficulty with which the project was

threatened, was that of procuring a really good _libretto_ suitable for

the purpose. On this point, Mendelssohn was well known to be severely

_exigeant_. But both he and Mdlle. Lind thought that they had found, in

Madame Birch-Pfeiffer, a colleague on whom they could thoroughly depend;

and, as we shall see, from the following letter—written a week later

than that just quoted—Mendelssohn was already in active correspondence

with the lady upon this engrossing topic; and, while his friend was

gathering new laurels in Vienna, was endeavouring to open a still wider

field for the exercise of her talents in the future.

“Leipzig, May 15, 1846.

“MY DEAR FRÄULEIN,

“If I am not mistaken, my last letter to you must have seemed very

stupid—with absolutely nothing in it. Moreover, I fear it will not be

very different with the present one; and that the two together will

mean no more than just a hearty greeting.

“You must have been suffering severely from home-sickness! I can see

that, plainly enough, from your last letter; and Hauser also wrote

something to me about it. But, I hope this has long since passed away;

and, that you are again fresh and cheerful, and make music, and

gladden the hearts of the people by means of the many noble gifts with

which God has endowed you, and which you yourself have now made your

own.

“Will you not, then, sing ‘Donna Anna’ at Vienna? I have long been

looking for news of it; but it has never come.

“How happy you have again made my dear good Hauser! Such a delightful

letter came from him, after you had been to his house for the second

time. And, about this, I am always thinking—what if, of all the true

joy that you shed around you, the brightest rays could fall back upon

yourself, and could as thoroughly warm and quicken you as you warm and

quicken others! But this is not to be. And, when we meet again, I will

show you a passage from Goethe, in which it stands written why it is

not to be. Yet, how I wish it could be!

“You must know, my dear Fräulein, that I have now again good hope of

coming to a satisfactory arrangement with Madame Birch-Pfeiffer. We

have lately exchanged several letters; and, as it seems to me, she has

had a very lucky find, and, out of it, will work up a subject that

speaks to me strongly, and unites in itself a great deal of that which

you like so much in _Antigone_. And yet it is not archaic. However, I

will not write to you about it, but describe it, _vivâ voce_, when we

meet again. We have quite given up the subject of the _Peasant War_;

and I have no other wish than, (1) that the whole idea may please you;

(2) that Madame Birch-Pfeiffer may put it together dramatically and

truthfully; and, (3) that I may write really good music for it. Apart

from these little matters, all is in order.

“I write these stupid letters, because, for the last fortnight, I have

been kept at home by a very bad cold; and, still more, because I have

been working very hard, and without intermission. To-morrow, or the

day after to-morrow, the first part of my Oratorio[74] will be quite

finished; and many pieces out of the second part are already finished

also. This has given me immense pleasure during these last weeks.

Sometimes, in my room, I have jumped up to the ceiling, when it seemed

to promise so very well. (Indeed, I shall be but too glad if it turns

out only half as good as it now appears to me.) But I am getting a

little confused, through writing down, during the last few weeks, the

immense number of notes that I previously had in my head, and working

them backwards and forwards upon the paper into a piece, though not

quite in the proper order, one after another. Would that the Opera

were already as far advanced as this! I would then play some of it to

you. But, what if it should not please you at all!—Sometimes it seems

to me as if it were an imperative duty to compose an Opera for you,

and to try how much I could accomplish in it—and it is, in fact, a

duty. However, it does not altogether depend upon me, and it will

certainly not be my fault, if only the thing be possible. If it were

but possible! _Au revoir._

“Ever your friend,

“FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.”[75]

It is evident, from passages in this letter, that the difficulties in

the way of obtaining a satisfactory _libretto_ for the projected Opera

were very grave indeed. In fact, it is impossible to read the

correspondence which passed, at this time, between Mendelssohn and

Madame Birch-Pfeiffer, without arriving at the conclusion that the case

was all but hopeless. Mendelssohn’s ideal was too high to be easily

satisfied. Moreover, the search for a suitable subject was wearying in

the extreme, both to the composer and the librettist; and, though it is

clear that Madame Birch-Pfeiffer worked at it as hard and as

enthusiastically as Mendelssohn himself, the results were far from

satisfactory. She seems to have been strongly in favour of the story of

_Genofeva_, as told by Tieck, and, in a different form, by Hebbel; and

of this, on May 19, 1846, she furnished Mendelssohn with a complete

_scenario_, filled with situations of powerful dramatic character, and

elaborated with infinite care, guided by the experience of a practised

dramatic authoress. This was, beyond all doubt, the subject which, in

his letters of May 7 and 15, 1846, Mendelssohn compared with _Antigone_,

though, unlike that, it was “not archaic.” But it was so far from

satisfying him, that even while these negotiations were pending, he

resumed the previously rejected story of the _Bauernkrieg_—the “Peasant

War” of history—in consultation with his friend Edward Devrient, and the

legend of _Loreley_, in conjunction with that gentleman and Dr. Geibel.

All this worried Mdlle. Lind, no less than Mendelssohn. It was evident

that she was far less happy in Vienna than she had been at Berlin;

though she could not close her eyes to the fact that her visit to the

Kaiserstadt had been successful, beyond the wildest expectations of her

most sanguine admirers.

The following passage, from a letter written to Madame Wichmann nine

days after her arrival in Vienna, describes her then frame of mind with

epigrammatic force:—

“Hitherto, all has gone here splendidly. I have appeared twice in

_Norma_; and was called so many times before the curtain that I was

quite exhausted. Bah! I do not like it. Everything should be done in

moderation; otherwise it is not pleasing.”

And again, yet nine days later, she writes:—

“Vienna, May 6, 1846.

“ÄLSKADE,

“I think of you, daily, and hourly; and it goes badly with me, since I

parted from you, my beloved friends.

“I have been so home-sick, that I scarcely knew whether I should live

or die; and so frightfully melancholy, and sad, that it is a long long

time since I have felt anything like it. Do you understand me? I never

felt this anguish while I was with you.

“But, I am better, now; and the day before yesterday, Taubert came.

Ah! This joyful surprise!—this reminiscence of the past existence!—all

now comes so brightly before me!

“And, now, I must tell you a little about the theatre, and things of

that sort.

“Dearest, dearest lady!

“Do you know, I have been placed in the very worst, and the most

unfavourable circumstances; and yet, I never had a greater triumph!

Just think of this!

“To begin with; Herr Pokorny actually had the rashness to demand such

frightful prices, that a single reserved seat cost eight gulden, and a

box forty! So that, since the time of Catalani, such a thing has never

been heard of; and the public were furious about it.

“Secondly; with these high prices, Pokorny engaged, for the first ten

performances, a tenor, at whom everyone laughed. Everything depended

upon me; so I was made the sacrifice. And all this I had to bear, and

do penance for.

“In the third place; the whole Italian faction was opposed to me; and

was determined to hiss, if there was the slightest thing that could be

found fault with. Nevertheless, everything has gone well; and my

success is only so much the greater.

“Taubert is sitting with me, now, and playing to me; and I persuade

myself that I am with you, and live in quietness and peace, and am

assured that you all know with what deep and true love I cling to you,

and how impossible it would be for me ever to love you less.”

Though it contains no allusion to the circumstance, this letter is

proved, by its date, to have been written exactly a week after the first

performance of _La Sonnambula_. This was followed, on May 8, by _Der

Freischütz_—an immense success; and, on the 15th, by _Die Ghibellinen in

Pisa_, a German version of Meyerbeer’s _Les Huguenots_, the music of

which had been tortured into pretended association with a new and wholly

incongruous _libretto_, the failure of which was a real gain to the

cause of true Art. Mdlle. Lind never sang in it again, and the blame of

its cold reception was certainly not visited upon her; for, on May 20—

the night fixed for her benefit—she received an ovation, accompanied by

circumstances, which, even among the brilliant triumphs to which she was

now so well accustomed, can only be described as altogether exceptional.

On this occasion _La Sonnambula_ was again chosen, as the Opera most

likely to please the public, who had been delighted with it, on its

first presentation, and flocked, in crowds, to hear it a second time.

Every available seat in the house was filled with the _élite_ of the

Austrian capital. The noblest representatives of Art and Literature, the

highest of the nobility, and the various members of the Imperial family,

assembled, _en masse_, to do honour to the occasion. Each act of the

Opera, each scene in which the _bénéficiaire_ took part, was received

with acclamation; and when the curtain fell, after the last _Finale_,

and she was recalled before it, to receive the grateful acknowledgments

of the audience for the pleasure she had given them, while flowers were

falling in showers upon the stage, the Empress-Mother dropped a wreath,

with her own hand, at Mdlle. Lind’s feet.

Such a favour, involving so bold a departure from the severity of Court

etiquette, had never before been granted, by a member of the Imperial

family, to any artist of any rank whatever, though Vienna had not been

slow to acknowledge the claims of true genius, or to crown it with

well-earned laurels.

As at Berlin, the audience seemed bent upon obtaining a spoken word of

farewell; and, when silence had been obtained, Mdlle. Lind came forward,

to the foot-lights, and said, in German: “Sie haben mich recht

verstanden. Ich danke Ihnen aus meinem Herzen.”[76] These few heartfelt

words were received with a shout of sympathetic recognition; and it was

only when that had subsided, that the audience, quite overcome with

excitement, consented at last to disperse.

And, this was not all.

When, after the performance was over, the heroine of the evening

prepared to return to her temporary home, _Am Graben_, a band of

enthusiastic young men unharnessed the horses, and would have dragged

the vehicle, with its occupant, through the crowded streets, to the door

of Dr. Vivanot’s house, had they not been prevented from doing so by a

detachment of cavalry. Fortunately, the military force arrived in time

to prevent a serious disturbance; but, even with this protection, the

carriage was escorted to the Graben by a crowd of excited spectators,

who insisted upon walking by its side; and, when Mdlle. Lind reached her

hand out of the lowered window, those who were near enough rushed up, in

the hope of respectfully kissing it.

Unhappily, the excitement produced a very serious accident. The

man-servant, Görgel, either fell, or was accidentally dragged from his

place behind the carriage, while the enthusiasm was at its highest, and

so severely crushed, that he was unfit to travel for some considerable

time, in consequence of which the departure from Vienna was seriously

delayed, at a time when the hindrance proved of the greatest possible

inconvenience.

Mdlle. Lind mentions the circumstance, in a letter addressed to Madame

Birch-Pfeiffer:—

“Wien, 23 May, 1846.

“DEAR GOOD FRIEND,

“I really do not know whether I am dead, or alive—so you must just ask

the Director, Pokorny, who will, no doubt, tell you all about it.

“It is four o’clock on Saturday morning. Two hours ago, I came from

Herr Pokorny; and, think of my horror! my poor Görgel has been almost

crushed to death! He was brought home in a frightful condition; and it

does not look at all well with him. I have already postponed my

journey four hours later. God grant that it may not turn out to be

anything dangerous.

“Except for this, I have spent delightful days here. I have never met

with such kind people as the Viennese in general. I can find no words

in which to describe my stay in Vienna. Enough! Thank Heaven for

helping me so much! Yet I have had much to fight against, here. Some

day, I will tell you all about it.”

The style of this letter sufficiently shows the haste and excitement

amidst which it was despatched; but no surrounding circumstances,

however trying, could make the writer forget her affection for those

whom she loved.

CHAPTER II.

THE LOWER RHINE MUSICAL FESTIVAL.

Herr Hauser had not forgotten Mendelssohn’s wish to be kept _au courant_

with regard to the events which took place at the _Theater an der Wien_.

He had written more than one account of the various occurrences we have

described; and, on the morning after the “benefit,” he wrote again,

giving his friend a brief general description of the events of the

evening. To the first and second of these letters Mendelssohn sent the

following reply, containing much that will interest the reader:—

“Leipzig, 11th May, 1846.

“MY DEAR FRIEND,

“I well knew how pleased you would be with Jenny Lind—I never for a

moment doubted it; and I was pleased indeed to find, from your letter,

that I had not been mistaken, and that you had been so truly refreshed

and encouraged by an artistic nature so splendid and so thoroughly

genuine.

“Tell her that no day passes on which I do not rejoice anew that we

are both living at the same epoch, and have learned to know each

other, and are friends, and that her voice sounds so joyous, and that

she is exactly what she is, and, with that, give her my heartiest

greetings.

“And accept my best thanks for your two good letters. I should,

indeed, have thanked you long ago, had not my time been so wholly

absorbed by music that writing was impossible, for I sit, over both my

ears, in my _Elijah_, and if it only turns out half as good as I often

think it will, I shall be glad indeed! The first part will be quite

finished within the next few days, and a goodly portion of the second

part also. I like nothing more than to spend the whole day in writing

the notes down, and I often come so late to dinner that the children

come to my room to fetch me, and drag me out by main force.

“But, really, I must come some day to Vienna. I hear so much said

about it, right and left, and you all say such kind things about my

music, and give me such extraordinary accounts of your performances,

that you make my mouth water. Perhaps I may bring my _Elijah_, while

it is quite new, about the winter-time—for, naturally, it cannot be

given at Aix-la-Chapelle, since it is barely half finished; or,

perhaps I may wait until I have found a subject for my Opera, and

composed the music—if Jenny Lind is still there—and this last would be

the best. But, in some way or other, I hope to see our Imperial City:

and I shall not then make my first visit to the tower of S. Stephen’s,

or to the Sperl, but to the Bärenmühle. But perhaps you no longer live

there, in which case I shall come wherever you do live.

“But it is getting late, and I must leave off. Do you know whether

Jenny Lind is going to sing the part of ‘Donna Anna’ in Vienna? I

should like you to hear it. If she does not sing it, ask her to sing

the last or the first _aria_ to you in your room; and, when you greet

her, from me, tell her that I will write to her this week, but she

must forgive me if my letter is stupid, for, just now, I cannot do

anything better.

“Let me soon hear from you again. What happened at the second

performance of _Antigone_? And how are your sons, and your wife? Greet

them all many times, and continue kind to

“Thine,

“FELIX.”[77]

Herr Hauser’s letter of May 21—the day after the benefit—was, in some

sort, an answer to this. He renews the invitation to Vienna, though

complaining that he is not living so comfortably as in his former house

in the Bärenmühle. He says that he duly reported to Mdlle. Lind

Mendelssohn’s thankfulness that they were both born in the same epoch,

and he himself hopes that they will all long continue to give thanks to

God for so artistic a nature—and not without grave reason, for there are

some still living who thank God heartily that they were, to a certain

extent, contemporary with Mendelssohn.

Mdlle. Lind sang, with her usual success, at Herr Taubert’s _matinée_ in

Streicher’s Konzert-Salon on May 10, contributing to the programme two

of Taubert’s songs, and a northern melody; and, on the 21st, she sang,

for the last time that season, at a grand orchestral concert, given for

an institution for the support of little children at the _Theater an der

Wien_, under the patronage of His Imperial Highness the Archduke Franz

Carl.

And thus ended the first short season in Vienna. It had been, for all

concerned, a tentative one, for no one could predicate, until trial had

been made, the temper in which the Viennese might feel inclined to

accept it. But the experiment had proved eminently successful, and there

could be no possible doubt on the mind of any one as to the result of a

similar enterprise undertaken during the ensuing winter. If the Viennese

critics had seemed somewhat more cautious in their expressions than

those of Berlin, the public had certainly been very much less so in

their actions.

And, now, the scene of the long succession of triumphs was changed.

As early as the month of January, 1846, the committee of the “Lower

Rhine Musical Festival” entered into negotiations with Mdlle. Lind in

the hope of obtaining her assistance at the twenty-eighth meeting of the

Association, which was appointed to take place, that year, on May 31,

and June 1 and 2, at Aix-la-Chapelle.

The Association was, and still is, one of the most important in Europe,

and one of the oldest also. First suggested in 1811, and regularly

organised in 1818, it had, since that year, given an annual festival at

Whitsuntide, either at Cologne, Düsseldorf, or Aix-la-Chapelle, each

town taking upon itself the responsibility of arrangement, in its

regular turn. Up to the year 1833 two concerts had been given annually,

on Whitsunday and Whitmonday; but Mendelssohn, who that year had been

for the first time appointed conductor, proposed an additional concert

on the Tuesday morning; and, as the programme was on that day

miscellaneous, it was called “The Artists’ Concert,” under which title

it has ever since been annually repeated. The festival was held that

year at Düsseldorf. Mendelssohn again conducted, in 1835, at Cologne;

and in 1836 he produced his _Saint Paul_, at the eighteenth festival at

Düsseldorf. Since then he had conducted three times; and now he was

engaged again for 1846.

Many hindrances had arisen, and many changes been made with regard to

the arrangements, chiefly in consequence of the difficulty of engaging

an efficient company of artists to support Mdlle. Lind; for, unlike Herr

Pokorny, the committee had determined that she should not be asked to

sing with vocalists of inferior merit. But all was satisfactorily

arranged before she left Berlin in April, and the programmes for the two

first days finally decided upon.

The first grand rehearsal was fixed for Wednesday, May 27, and it had

been arranged that Mdlle. Lind should leave Vienna on the 23rd, meet

Mendelssohn at Frankfort on the evening of the 26th, and proceed with

him down the Rhine to Aix-la-Chapelle on the 27th. But when the hour

fixed for the departure from Vienna arrived, it was found that the

injured man-servant was quite unfit to travel.

Always thinking of others, before caring for herself, Mdlle. Lind

consulted with the doctors, and found that they demanded twelve hours

longer in order that the sufferer might be comfortably bandaged and

prepared, in so far as was possible under such circumstances, for the

fatigues of the journey. To this delay she consented, in preference to

leaving him friendless in Vienna. It was a great risk, and involved a

terrible increase of fatigue for her at a time when she needed all her

physical powers, as well as those of the mind, in preparation for the

responsibilities devolving upon her at the festival. But she did not

hesitate; though, in consequence of the lateness of the hour at which

she was obliged to start, it was nearly midnight on Tuesday, May 26,

before she arrived at Frankfort, where Mendelssohn had been awaiting her

all the afternoon at the well-known hotel _Der Weisse Schwan_, in an

agony of anxiety and suspense.

It was, indeed, a desperate venture. If, through any accidental

hindrance, either of them had failed to appear at the rehearsal on

Thursday the 28th, the success of the entire festival would have been

endangered. But all fear of that was now at an end; and, leaving Görgel

the wounded man-servant under careful medical attendance in Frankfort,

the two friends, accompanied by Mdlle. Louise Johansson, started down

the Rhine, on Wednesday the 27th, by the steamboat, and in due time

reached Aix-la-Chapelle, where Mdlle. Lind, in accordance with the

previous arrangement, became the guest of the Marquis and Marquise de

Sassenay, and Mendelssohn occupied an apartment provided for him by the

committee at the principal hotel—the _Grand Monarque_.

The festival was declared by all present to have been the best that had

taken place within the memory of the public. The two principal songs in

Haydn’s oratorio, _On Mighty Pens_ and _With Verdure Clad_, and the solo

and chorus, _The Marvellous Work_, were calculated to display Mdlle.

Lind’s powers, whether of voice, method, or poetical conception, to the

greatest possible advantage—indeed, they became great favourites

everywhere in later years. And yet it was undoubtedly in the third part

of the oratorio that her ideal conception of the work reached its

culminating point, for she threw the whole poetry of her womanly nature

into the part of Eve, and emphasised its importance in a way which

attracted the attention of every deep thinker among the audience. There

can be no doubt that her interpretation of it coincided with Haydn’s, in

every particular. Both saw that the whole interest of the work must of

necessity concentrate itself upon the point at which the purpose of the

Almighty Creator is consummated—the creation of man. And it was in

closest sympathy with this conception that Haydn composed, and his

careful interpreter sang, the music assigned to “the mother of us all.”

Can we believe that their joint ideal was a false one?

Mdlle. Lind’s part in _Alexander’s Feast_ was also a very important one,

demanding the combined powers of _virtuosa_ and poetess. But her

greatest success, perhaps, was achieved on the Tuesday morning, at the

“Artists’ Concert,” in Mendelssohn’s _Auf Flügeln des Gesanges_ and

_Frühlingslied_, in which, say the critics of the period, “she produced

an effect wholly unparalleled, insomuch that the meeting of 1846 was

afterwards known as the “_Jenny-Lind-Fest_.””

Many dear friends, both of the conductor and the singer, assembled that

year at Aix-la-Chapelle to do honour to the occasion; and it was

altogether a very happy time, as some letters, fortunately preserved,

sufficiently prove.

It will interest the reader to glance at three descriptions of the same

pleasant Whitsuntide holiday, drawn from three different points of view—

like P. de Champaigne’s threefold portrait of the great Cardinal de

Richelieu in the National Gallery—less gorgeously toned, indeed, and by

no means so grandly modelled; but certainly not less true to nature,

though only in playful miniature.

Among the sympathetic friends who flocked to Aix-la-Chapelle, and

certainly not among the least welcome of these, were Professor Geijer of

Upsala and his wife, who had not breathed a word to any one of their

intention to come. Their presence in the town was a surprise indeed; and

Madame Geijer thus describes the meeting, in a letter forwarded to us by

her son-in-law Count Hamilton, the Lord-Lieutenant of the province of

Upland.

“Aachen, Whitsunday, 1816.

“Geijer was informed that ‘Fräulein’ Lind and Dr. Mendelssohn were at

home, so he went to Madame la Marquise de Sassenay’s, where Jenny Lind

was staying during her visit to Aachen.

“Jenny, however, was at rehearsal, so he went to the theatre and

enquired for her there.

“Soon afterwards Jenny came out, and could hardly believe her eyes.

She did not know whether she was dreaming, whether she was in Germany

or Sweden!

“She put her hands to her forehead, and was ready to cry. Later on,

she followed Geijer to the hotel at which we were staying. She was

joyous, excited, and exceedingly interesting and animated. She asked

with warmth and emotion after friends and acquaintances at home, and

more particularly after the Lindblads. Geijer told her that Lindblad

was engaged on an Opera. ‘Well,’ she cried, ‘and who is to sing it?’

Geijer answered, ‘You had better say who.’ ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I may

help him to bring out an Opera, both at home, and here in Germany;

there is no doubt about that.’

“She spoke of the great success she had had in Vienna, and told him

how, after her last appearance, an attempt had been made to draw her

carriage, in consequence of which her man-servant had been severely

injured, so much so that she had been obliged to leave him behind.

“Jenny promised to get tickets for us for the concert, adding ‘I shall

tell them that I will not sing, if they do not give me tickets for

you.’ She also promised that she would arrange for Mendelssohn to play

to us; and, since the world now turns round according to her wishes

and commands, one may feel quite safe when she has pronounced her

_fiat_ in one’s favour.

“In the evening we were present at the rehearsal of the _Creation_,

and we then heard the good news that Mendelssohn had declared his

willingness to play to us, and that he would have a piano sent to our

rooms for that purpose.

“So, in the evening, Jenny and Mendelssohn came to us. Jenny sang some

_Lieder_, and I need neither describe nor praise them. Geijer was

quite beside himself with delight and pleasure.

“Mendelssohn thought Agnes and Jenny so like each other that they

might be taken for sisters.”

Five days after his departure from Aix-la-Chapelle Mendelssohn, who was

then in Düsseldorf, sent the following account of the Festival to his

friend Franz Hauser, at Vienna:—

“Düsseldorf, June 8, 1848.

“You wish me to tell you about the musical festival at Aachen. Well,

it was very good, very splendid, towering above all the others, and

chiefly owing to Jenny Lind; for, as to the orchestra, I have heard it

perhaps better on some other occasions, and the chorus, though

splendid, has been equally so at previous festivals. But they were all

so uplifted, so animated, so artistically moved by Lind’s singing and

manner, that the whole thing became a delight, a general success, and

worked together as it never did before.

“I had the clearest evidence of this at the last rehearsal, when I had

begged of her, for once, not to be the first and most punctual in

attendance, but to take some rest and come in towards the end of the

rehearsal. To this she agreed, and it was quite a misery to notice how

feebly things went—so devoid of swing that even I became listless,

like all the others, until, thank God! Jenny Lind appeared, when the

needful interest and good humour came back to us, and things moved on

again.

“There were, of course, wreaths, and poems, and fanfares, again and

again, and the audience was seized with that excitement which

manifests itself wherever she goes. The manner of its manifestation is

of no consequence.

“After the festival, we went together a little way on the Rhine; spent

a very pleasant day at Cologne, Bonn, up the Drachenfels, at

Königswinter, and back (to Cologne), and on the following day she left

for Hanover, and I for this place, where I took part yesterday in a

concert which also would have been a fine one if Jenny Lind had been

there.

“To-morrow I leave for Liège, in order to hear the _Lauda Sion_, which

I have composed for the festival of _Corpus Christi_ there.”

Finally, Mdlle. Lind recorded her own impressions of this Whitsuntide

holiday—for earnest work in the cause of Art is really a holiday to

earnest artists, however hard it may be—in the following letter to Herr

Rudolph Wichmann, the Professor’s second son:—

“Aachen, June 2, 1846.

“MY DEAR RUDOLPH,

“My pleasure in Aachen will soon come to an end, for all will be over

to-day, and early to-morrow we leave. But I believe Mendelssohn means

to accompany us a little way, and we hope to see the view from the

Drachenfels, which will be very nice.

“How well everything went with me in Vienna! only my man-servant was

very nearly crushed to death, owing to the enthusiasm, so that I had

to leave him behind in Frankfort, and he has only just now rejoined

me.

“Farewell, my dear boy. Greetings from

“THY SISTER.”

It had been a happy time for all; but for Mendelssohn, with _Elijah_ not

yet finished, though on the eve of production, and some hard days’ work

still waiting for accomplishment in Düsseldorf, Cologne, and Liège, the

fatigue was dangerously heavy, and the amount of excitement with which

it was accompanied more disproportioned still to the then condition of

his mental and physical powers, which sorely needed the rest he was

nevermore able to accord to them.

But when did Prudence ever come to the front, to calm the suicidal

eagerness of Genius?

CHAPTER III.

THE CONTRACT WITH MR. LUMLEY.

The view from the Drachenfels answered all the bright expectations that

had been formed of it; and, after supplementing it with an afternoon at

Königswinter, and a pleasant day at Cologne, Mdlle. Lind proceeded to

Hanover, where she was engaged for four performances at the Court

Theatre, and a concert. The success, on each occasion, was that to which

all concerned had so long been accustomed, that it was now looked for as

a matter of course. But, of far greater importance than any amount of

local enthusiasm was the fact, that, during this visit to Hanover,

Mdlle. Lind was brought into immediate relations with the then Crown

Prince and Princess—afterwards King George V. and Queen Marie—who,

amidst the heavy trials destined afterwards to fall upon them, never

forgot the friendship with which they then learned to regard her; a

friendship which remained undiminished until the day of her death, and

which, even since then, has been most touchingly alluded to by Her

Majesty, Queen Marie.

After fulfilling this engagement, and singing once at a concert at

Bremen, Mdlle. Lind proceeded to Hamburg, where she was engaged for a

series of twelve “Guest-performances” at the Stadt Theatre, supplemented

by a benefit in aid of the “Theatrical Orchestra Pension Fund,” another

for herself, and a concert for the poor.

During this visit, she did not reside in Hamburg itself, having accepted

an invitation to the house of her friend, Consul Arnemann, at

Nienstädten, near the neighbouring township of Altona. Here she spent

many pleasant weeks with her host and hostess and their family, who had

invited another friend—Mdlle. Mina Fundin—to keep her company, and had

also sent a pressing invitation to Mendelssohn, in the hope that he

would be able to take Nienstädten on his way to England, whither he was

bound, in August, for the purpose of producing his _Elijah_ at the

Birmingham Festival. This project, however, failed entirely. Though

Mendelssohn would have been pleased indeed to have availed himself of so

pleasant an opportunity for refreshing himself with a brief rest, before

his heavy work began, it was quite impossible for him to do so. He was

working beyond his strength, as he himself well knew; and let the

consequences be what they might, there was no help for it.

During her second season at Hamburg, Mdlle. Lind’s performances were

received with even greater enthusiasm than those of the previous year.

Indeed, if a local journal of the period may be trusted, her horses were

again unharnessed, after the concert on Aug. 1, and her carriage drawn

home, as at Vienna, by the admiring crowd. She prolonged her visit at

Nienstädten—with interruptions—for some considerable time, after the

termination of her engagement at the theatre. Like Mendelssohn, she had,

for some time past, been working far beyond her strength, and the

fatigue was now beginning to tell upon her with serious effect. She

herself saw this very plainly; and her project for retiring from the

stage was forced into greater prominence, just at this time, by the

inroads that excessive fatigue was making upon her health and strength.

Indeed, one can only look on in wonder at the amount of work she was

able to accomplish, without actually breaking down. But it had to be

continued, for the present at least, whatever the sacrifice might be.

In the meantime, the correspondence with Mendelssohn was not allowed to

languish. Towards the end of July, he wrote thus:—

“Leipzig, July 23, 1846.

“MY DEAR FRÄULEIN,

“As usual, I come to you, to-day, asking a favour. I mean, that I am

anxious to know how matters stand, with regard to your travelling

arrangements, both now, and in the future—and I hope you will explain

them to me. In your last letter, you told me that you were going to

Switzerland, with the Wichmanns, on Aug. 1. Does this plan still hold

good? And, is it true, or not, that you will be at Frankfort in

September? Also, are you going straight from Hamburg to Berlin, to

fetch the Wichmanns? All this I want to know. And it is because I want

to know this, that I ask you to tell me of your plans, both before and

after your journey to Switzerland and Vienna; and whether you still

adhere both to the one and the other intention. The reason is, that,

since my return from the Rhine, I have lived the life of a marmot. I

was rather frightened, when, on coming back, I saw the amount of work

that lay unfinished, and compared it with the time that remained to

me. Then, I made up my mind not to write to you until my Oratorio was

quite complete;[78] but, for the last few days I have not been well

(you will find it out, sooner or later), so now I shall not be ready

till August, and I dare not delay my letter so long as that, or it

will be brought to you while on the back of some mule or other, to

some cow-herd’s hut.

“Madame Arnemann has written me a very friendly letter, and invited me

to Nienstädten. As yet, I have not been able even to thank her for it;

and yet, how gladly would I have accepted the invitation! But I cannot

get away from here before the middle of August; and, even then, I must

make haste, in order to reach England in time. To-day, however, I

really will write to Madame Arnemann, or she will be vexed—and with

good cause.

“Is it true that you have been singing the ‘_Regimentstochter_’ in

German? If so, I should have liked to have been one of the audience.

And, do you know that the Geijers have lately been here? and, that

they invited me to go to Sweden, to feast on a roasted reindeer? (I

can get rice-milk at your house!) And, that Fräulein Geijer sang

‘_Vorwärts so heisst des Schicksals Gebot_’ to me again? and the song,

by Lindblad, in C major.

“But, I will leave off, for to-day. My letter is tiresome, and stupid,

and will continue so to the end. Only, grant my requests. And tell me

all about yourself, and how you are getting on, and whether you are

having much music, and whether you are in good spirits, and in

first-rate voice?

“We are all well, at home, and often remember you.

“Your friend,

“FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.”

Mendelssohn’s letters were always welcome; and we have felt it necessary

to present them to our readers without any abbreviation; but the events

which took place between this period and the beginning of September need

no detailed record. It was a time of rest, much needed, and hardly

earned. We shall, therefore, resume our history, with the return to a

more active Art-life, in the autumn.

Soon after the middle of September, Mdlle. Lind, accompanied by Mdlle.

Louise Johansson, arrived at Frankfort, where the business of the season

began.

She had by this time acquired a thoroughly methodical and business-like

way of keeping records, and one of her first acts, on arriving at

Frankfort, was the purchase of a thick and sturdy memorandum-book, a

square bulky volume, of quarto size, labelled, “Annotation-Book of Jenny

Lind,”[79] and filled with ruled “sermon-paper,” in which she entered

every one of her engagements, from that time forward, up to the moment

of her marriage, in America, in the year 1852.

The value of this document to her biographers may be imagined.

Henceforward we shall no more have to send to Berlin, or to Vienna, for

official lists of the various performances with which we are concerned.

It is true that, up to this date, such lists have been furnished to us

through the intervention of Mr. Goldschmidt, with never-failing

courtesy, by the officers in whose charge the archives of the different

theatres are placed. The information for which we have asked, whether at

Berlin, Vienna, Stockholm, Copenhagen, Hamburg, or elsewhere, has never

once been refused to us, and as much care has been bestowed upon the

verification of a date as if the welfare of the theatre itself had

depended upon its correctness. For this we tender our best and most

sincere thanks; but henceforth every date, in whatever country, will be

given on the authority of Mdlle. Lind’s own handwriting, and the

advantage of this is manifest.

The first entries in the book are:—

“Frankfort a/M. 1846.

_Sonnambula_ Sept. 25

_Norma_ „ 28

_Figlia_ „ 30

_Figlia_ Oct. 2

_Sonnambula_ „ 5

_Vestale_ (50 Louis d’or for the members of the chorus) x „ 7

_Figlia_ (benefit for the orchestra pension-fund) x „ 10

We subjoin a fac-simile of the first page. The little cross means that

the performance was given wholly, or in part, for charitable or

benevolent purposes, and the number of such crosses in a single page is

sometimes very remarkable. In the present case fifty _Louis d’or_ of the

proceeds, on Oct. 7, were given to the chorus, and on the 10th the whole

was devoted to the “Orchestra Pension Fund” of the Frankfort Stadt

Theatre.

[Illustration:

FACSIMILE PAGE OF ENGAGEMENT BOOK.

[_To face p. 228._

]

The performances were crowned with the usual success, and followed by

the usual demonstrations of enthusiastic admiration; but this visit to

Frankfort was memorable for reasons quite unconnected with its

individual triumphs, for it was here that the idea of an engagement at

Her Majesty’s Theatre, in London, first took a definite and palpable

form.

Some of her London friends—including Mrs. Grote, who herself mentions

the fact in the MS. “Memoir” from which we have so frequently quoted—had

“urged Mr. Lumley to make efforts in this direction,” and he had, in

fact, “made more than one tentative to obtain the services of the

celebrated songstress for Her Majesty’s Theatre.” Hearing of this—as no

doubt he did—Mr. Bunn, looking at the circumstance from his own point of

view, put the worst possible construction upon it, and took it for

granted that his correspondent was cognizant of all that took place—

which was not true. She did not know of it, until the period affected by

Mr. Bunn’s contract had long been overpassed. It was not until long

after that date that Mr. Lumley made her a definite and tangible offer

for Her Majesty’s Theatre; and, when the offer came, she refused even to

think of it. She was so terrified at the penalties, the law-suits, and

the disgrace with which Mr. Bunn had threatened her, that her dearest

and most trusted friends could not persuade her to entertain the idea of

appearing at an English theatre under any circumstances, or upon any

terms whatever.

And yet her destiny seemed to be weaving a net round about her, from

which no way of escape was visible. She was brought, apart from her own

will entirely, under the steadily increasing influence of English

friends. Mrs. Grote was most anxious that she should come to London. Her

brother, Mr. Edward Lewin—of whom more will be said in a future chapter—

saw no insurmountable difficulties in the way of an engagement at Her

Majesty’s Theatre. Mr. Lumley was unceasing in his endeavours to induce

her to rescind her decision; and, while she was still in Frankfort, the

musical correspondent of one of the most influential art journals in

England turned aside from his travels, in the hope of hearing her sing,

and begged an introduction to her, from a quarter whence he well knew

that it would be favourably received.

The following letter from Mendelssohn, which arrived in Frankfort almost

simultaneously with Mdlle. Lind herself, will explain the situation

exactly:—

“Leipzig, Sept. 23, 1846.

“MY DEAR FRÄULEIN,

“If you will do me a real favour, and if you are not too much occupied

and worried during your stay in Frankfort, let me beg of you to

receive the bearer of these lines, Mr. Chorley (an acquaintance of

mine of long standing, and a great lover of music), with your usual

kindness, and to sing him one of my songs.[80]

“He is an excellent listener, and you will make him very happy if you

grant my wish. I believe he is going to Frankfort solely on this

account, so that I have really no choice but to come to you with this

new request.

“Many thanks for your last letter, which I only received after I had

left London, and at the moment of starting for Ostend.

“I have so much to say about England, and your journey thither, that I

really do not know how I am to write it. In any case, everything

depends upon the way in which one establishes oneself there; or,

rather, upon the way in which _you_ establish _yourself_, for you have

the whole thing entirely in your own hands, and English lovers of

music are expecting you, in a frame of mind, and speaking of you, in

terms, which please me very much indeed—a thing which very seldom

happens—when I hear you spoken of. So you can manage it exactly _as

you will_; though, for that very reason, you alone are in a position

to decide upon it.

“Till we meet again, merry, happy, unchanged,

“FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.”

Thus prepared for Mr. Chorley’s visit, Mdlle. Lind received him when he

called, a few days later, with the friendly courtesy which she felt it

no less a pleasure than a duty to extend to the friends of those with

whom she was herself on terms of intimacy. He repeated his visit more

than once, heard her sing in _La Figlia del Reggimento_, and afterwards

in _La Sonnambula_ and _Die Vestalin_, and wrote, on Oct. 4, to Mrs.

Grote, describing, in the most enthusiastic terms, the pleasure he had

felt in hearing her sing. “And now let me tell you,” he says, “how

thoroughly, with my whole heart, I like her as a singer, more, by twenty

times, than I had expected.... I was really delighted to find that I am

not past the old thrill, or the old beating of the heart, and that I

could not go to bed till I had written a note (in horrible French) to

say ‘Thank you.’”

On the same day (Oct. 4th) he also wrote to Mendelssohn, to thank him

for “the very very intense pleasure” that had made him “laugh and cry

like a child again,” after “a fear of disappointment” which he “hardly

liked to describe,” ending his letter with the words, “She says _she

will not_ come to London,”[81]—from which it is evident, that, if he did

not endeavour to persuade her to come, he had, at least, discussed the

subject with her.

The next engagement was at Darmstadt, where Mdlle. Lind sang three times

at the Court Theatre,—in _La Sonnambula_, _Norma_, and _La Figlia del

Reggimento_. The memory of the previous performances in Sept. 1845 were

still green and flourishing, and the success of the second visit was

greater than that of the first.

In the meantime, Mr. Lumley had not been idle. He had now abundant hope—

having gained the all-powerful support of Mendelssohn—and the engagement

of Mdlle. Lind was a matter of such vital importance to him that he

could not afford to let the subject drop. Since the close of the

previous season, the affairs of Her Majesty’s Theatre had been in the

utmost possible disorder. The company, with Mesdames Grisi and Persiani

at their head, had revolted, and there was no one to take their place.

Mr. Lumley’s friends saw, in the proposed engagement, his only chance of

escape from absolute ruin, and urged him to leave no stone unturned that

might help to bring the matter to a successful issue. By their advice,

he followed Mdlle. Lind from Frankfort to Darmstadt, and there again

presented himself to her, armed, this time, with a letter from

Mendelssohn, whom he had seen in Leipzig, and to whom he had taken a

letter from herself.

Feeling sure that the missive with the delivery of which he was

entrusted was a very valuable one, and not at all likely to be written

in opposition to his own interests, Mr. Lumley lost no time in

presenting it in person; and thus it ran:—

“Leipzig, October 12, 1846.

“MY DEAR FRÄULEIN,

“I intended to write to you on the day on which your first letter

arrived; but a few hours afterwards came your second letter, and Mr.

Lumley, who brought it. All that he said to me, and all that passed

through my mind in connection with it, and the different thoughts that

crossed each other hither and thither, made it impossible for me to

write to you until to-day; and I told Mr. Lumley that, if he should be

coming here again after his journey to Berlin, I would meanwhile think

it all carefully over, and would then tell him whether I could advise

you to go to London or not.

“Upon that—_i.e._, upon my advice—he seems to set great store, and I

have already told you in my former letter that the whole success of

his undertaking depends upon your coming.

“In short, I can only repeat what I then wrote—I should like you, as

far as is humanly possible, to arrange, _as completely as one could

wish_, for your own comfort, and, when that has all been settled, I

should like you to go there.

“I should have strongly urged Mr. Lumley—at least, on his return here—

to speak clearly and exactly about money matters; because that is a

very serious point, in England; and because you could, and ought, to

make such terms as no one else could at this moment, since you are the

_only_ one upon whom alone the whole thing depends. But—do not be

angry with me!—I had not the courage to do this: not even for you,

though I know that you understand that kind of thing even less than I

do—in other words, not at all. But it is such a very sore point with

me, and I rejoice so much when I have nothing to hear or say about it,

that I could not bring the words to my lips. And, at last, I thought,

‘It is not my province,’ and so, after all, I let it pass.

“Therefore I can only repeat, it must all be as is just and right to

you.

“Nevertheless, you will certainly meet with such a reception there,

that you will be able to think of it with pleasure throughout the

whole of your future life. When the English once entertain a personal

liking for anyone, I believe that no people are more friendly, more

cordial, or more constant; and such a feeling you will find there.

For, as I told you before, I have noticed that they entertain this

true feeling there, not only about your singing, but about your

personality, and your whole being, and upon this last they even set

more store than upon the singing itself. And this is as it should be.

“In my opinion, therefore, it cannot for a moment be doubted that you

will be received there as you deserve—more warmly, enthusiastically,

and heartily, perhaps, than in all your former experience: and you

have experienced a great deal in that way. You will therefore give

your friends great pleasure if you go there; and I, for my part,

should be very glad indeed if you were to go.

“Insist upon all possible conditions that can in the least degree make

things agreeable to you, and insist upon them very firmly, and

strictly, and clearly. Do not forget anything that may be pleasant for

you, and have nothing to say to anything that may be unpleasant. Going

to London, and singing there, can, in itself, be nothing but pleasant—

of that I am firmly persuaded. Everything else depends only upon the

manner in which this is done, and all that you have in your own hands.

“I am selfish, too, in my advice; for I hope that we shall there meet

in the world again. While still in England, I had half promised to

return there next April; had I only known that you would be there at

that time, or would be going there, you may imagine how much more

willingly I should have settled it. Mr. Lumley, also, in the kindest

manner, proposed that I should compose an Opera for him next May, and

I could only answer, that, on the self-same day on which I succeeded

in getting a good _libretto_, on a good subject, I would begin to

write the music; and that, in doing so, I should be fulfilling my

greatest wish. He hopes soon to be able to procure such a _libretto_,

and has already taken some decided steps with regard to it. God grant

that some good results may follow. From Madame Birch-Pfeiffer, I have

not heard a single word, for a long time. In the meantime, I have

music-paper and finely-nibbed pens lying on the table—and wait.

“But, apart from this, I hope, as I have told you, to visit London

again next spring, and what a pleasure it will be to me to witness

there the most brilliant and hearty reception that can possibly fall

to an artist’s lot! For I know full well that that is what your

reception will be, and it will be great fun for me that you yourself

will be the fêted artist.

“For myself, I am doing well; but, during the three weeks that have

elapsed since I returned here, I have done scarcely anything but rest,

so tired was I—and still am, sometimes—with the work that preceded the

journey to England, and the journey itself. The performance of my

_Elijah_ was the best first performance that I have ever heard of any

one of my compositions. There was so much go, and swing, in the way in

which the people played, and sang, and listened. I wish you had been

there. But I have now fallen back into the concert trouble, and can

neither get true rest, nor quietness here. So I have built myself a

grand castle in the air; namely, to travel, next summer, with my whole

family, in my favourite country—which, as you know, is Switzerland—and

then to study uninterruptedly for two months on one of the lakes,

living in the open air. If God gives us health, we will carry out this

plan; and when I think of such a quiet time in the country after all

the hurry and bustle, and all the brightness of a London season, and

remember how dear both of them are to me, and how well they please me,

I almost wish that the spring were already here, and that I was taking

my seat in the travelling carriage.

“And now, to-day, I have still a request to make. Write to me, _at

once_, when you have come to a decision concerning England; and tell

me everything, with all the details: for you know how much it all

interests me. Before all things, then, write to me, from time to time;

and think kindly of me, sometimes.

“As for myself, you know that I am, and remain,

“Your friend,

“FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.”

The result of Mendelssohn’s advice will be most clearly manifested by a

letter which Mr. Lumley wrote to him after his interview with Mdlle.

Lind—a letter which is all the more interesting, inasmuch as it treats,

also, of the long hoped-for _libretto_ in such sort as to show that the

manager had already begun to look upon it as “a matter of business.”

“Darmstadt, Oct. 17.

“DEAR MR. MENDELSSOHN,

“I am delighted to tell you that your letter has had its effect; and

that the lady has signed an engagement.[82]

“Your letter charmed her so much. It was a most pleasing picture—her

countenance, when reading it. No sun could have infused more joy into

a beautiful landscape, than your letter did on her.

“To give her peace of mind, I added clauses to the engagement, which,

if known by persons not intimately acquainted with her charming

character and feeling of honour, would perhaps incur for me the charge

of folly. But, I know I can depend on her honour; and I am perfectly

happy and contented on that head. I have prepared the engagement

wholly in her favour; but I proposed to her to add anything else that

you might think advisable, and I added a clause to that effect.

“She would not enter into the question of money; but I am quite sure

you will be satisfied that I have done everything right in that way.

“I need not tell you how truly grateful I am to you. The English, as a

nation, will owe you a debt of gratitude; for I look upon the

engagement of Lind as a new era in the progress of Art in England. Her

success will be transcendent. Independently of her great genius, she

has that purity and chastity of manner which none but a really good

person can possess, and which, in England, will gain her partisans on

all sides. I say ‘on all sides,’ because, even with the vile, there is

that in real goodness and virtue which _commands_ admiration.

“Pray remember me most kindly to Madame Mendelssohn, and to her

mother, and permit me to send my love to your children, not forgetting

the baby, and that beautiful boy Carl, who, though suggestive of the

pictures of Raphael, and Correggio, reminds us that there is an Artist

far above the greatest of human artists, and that the real is

frequently more beautiful than the ideal.

“My joy on the completion of the affair is not unsullied. I am fearful

that she may, for a time, at least, tease herself with fears, which,

though entirely groundless, may equally torment her. I will venture to

entreat you to assure her of the absolute certainty of her great

success to give her encouragement.

“I shall lose no time in occupying myself, immediately, with the

_libretto_ for our grand affair; and I do not despair of providing you

with a _libretto_ which shall give you pleasure and ensure your

valuable aid.

“It is of importance that this affair of Lind should be kept private

for the present. I shall lose no time in occupying myself about the

‘_affaire Bunn_.’

“I need not say that it will give me great pleasure to hear from you.

“Yours most truly,

“B. LUMLEY.”[83]

Without wearying our readers with a literal transcript of the “Lumley

Contract,” with its endless circumlocutions and technical legal

phraseology, we may briefly say that it provided:—

(1) An _honorarium_ of 120,000 francs (£4800) for the season, reckoned

from April 14th to August 20th, 1847.

(2) A furnished house, a carriage, and a pair of horses, free of

charge, for the season.

(3) A farther sum of £800 if Mdlle. Lind wished to spend a month in

Italy before her _début_, for the purpose of studying the

language, or for rest.

(4) Liberty to cancel the engagement, if, after her first appearance,

she felt dissatisfied at the measure of its success and wished

to discontinue her performances.

(5) Mdlle. Lind was not to sing at concerts, public or private, for

her own emolument.

So, the question of appearing at Her Majesty’s Theatre was decided at

last; and, when Mdlle. Lind left Darmstadt, for Munich, she had bound

herself to the most important dramatic engagement, and prepared the way

for the most solid artistic triumph that ever had been, or was ever

destined to be, associated with her name.

BOOK VI.

WORK AND FRIENDS.

CHAPTER I.

SOUTH GERMANY.

On the 1st of August, 1846, Mdlle. Lind proceeded from Darmstadt to

Munich, where, between the 23rd of October, and the 8th of November, she

sang six times at the Opera; besides taking part in a Concert given for

the benefit of the Orchestra.

Before leaving Frankfort, she had sent the following account of her

probable movements to Madame Birch-Pfeiffer:—

“Frankfort-on-the-Maine, Oct. 6, 1846.

“To-day, I am twenty-six years old! dear Mother Birch! that is no

light matter; and therefore it is that I feel such a desire to write

to you to-day, and to thank you heartily for your last letter.

“Your letters are so motherly, and filled with such good wishes, that

I thought I heard you speaking, and saw your face quite clearly,

exactly as it used to be in Berlin, when we were discussing anything

particular. So I thank you my good friend for this your sympathy.

“I have never thought otherwise than to go to Vienna; let what will

happen, I shall sing in the _Feldlager_, and all the more, because it

has fallen through in London. This is really my wish—only, you

yourself know what is to be expected from Pokorny, and whether one has

not everything to fear there from a man who understands absolutely

nothing about the matter.

“I will, and must, keep my promise with the public; and I shall be

quit of this promise if I sing in Meyerbeer’s Opera. With regard to

the performance, the first thing is, that a good tenor should be

engaged, and that the others should be passable. As for what concerns

me, I shall make my arrangements in Vienna according to circumstances.

If I am not pleased, I shall leave immediately after the _Feldlager_.

“I am longing, above all measure, to get away from the stage. I think,

now, that I shall be ready in six months. I cannot do otherwise. It is

stronger than I!

“Lumley, the Director of the Italian Opera in London, came here; but I

have sent him to Italy, to look for a singer there. But, he still

hopes to get me; and, if you should hear that I have really gone mad,

I may then go to London.”[84]

In the meantime, Mdlle. Lind’s visit to Munich was a great success. An

introduction to the family of Professor Wilhelm von Kaulbach, the famous

Bavarian painter, had resulted in an invitation to his house, where she

was received, during the time of her visit, with warm hospitality;

treated, by the Professor, and his wife, as a beloved daughter; and made

no less happy than she had been, in Berlin, at the house of Professor

Wichmann.

And so it happened, that the visit to Munich was a very happy, as well

as a very successful one. But there were anxieties with regard to the

Lumley Contract; and, especially, with reference to the clause which

provided for an increased _honorarium_, if Mdlle. Lind felt it necessary

to pass a month in Italy, for the purpose of studying the language. She

herself thought the plan desirable. Mendelssohn, however, did not

approve of it; and stated his objection to this, and some other clauses

in the “Lumley Contract,” in a letter, dated “Leipzig, October 31,

1846.”

“MY DEAR FRÄULEIN,

“A thousand thanks for the trust you place in me. I have many times

wished that I were wise and shrewd enough to be able to respond to

this trust by something better than goodwill and the best wishes; but,

unfortunately, with regard to contracts, and all sorts of

law-business, I am the stupidest creature that can possibly be.

“Once, I thought I would show the contract to some one or other who

could give me good advice, and tell me of all sorts of clauses that

might possibly be added to it. In the end, however, this did not seem

to me to be wise; and I have preferred not showing your contract to

any lawyers at all, and have taken no good advice at all upon it. For,

I think, if you had wished for _finesse_ of this kind, you would not

have applied to me. And, besides this, I think that you will be

greeted, in England, musically and personally, with such love, and

jubilation, and rapture, as has seldom fallen even to you; and I think

that you will pass pleasant days there; and that this is the chief

purport of the contract, and the chief point of the whole business.

“A few things, certainly, do not seem to me to be right; but, as these

are chief points in the contract, and as you have already signed, I do

not see how anything can be altered.

“Finally, it seems to me that I could have nothing to do with

modifying anything in the engagement, but only with adding something

that might occur to me. I should, indeed, have gladly seen that Lumley

had contented himself with four months. (That he always spoke to me of

four months, here, I well remember.) And that, instead of ten times in

each month, you had insisted upon eight, at most. And, when I think of

all this, and of your personal reputation in England at the present

moment, it seems to me that something ought also to be altered on the

score of money.

“But all this must, I believe, be looked upon as settled, now and for

ever, since you have signed. And, from this moment, in my opinion,

none of these points—which really are, and must remain, the chief

points of the contract—can in any way be brought into question.

“Also, I am convinced that you will enjoy being in England; and, if

so, the twenty-one days in August might perhaps, in any case, have

been conceded by you. And, more than that, you will sing ten times

there with less exertion than eight times in Germany, where the

journeys, the frequently inadequate support, and, above all, the

hundred thousand shameful and shameless demands with which you are

beset, tire you a great deal more than the singing itself—and all this

you will, in great part, get rid of there.

“Moreover, you will not, I think, find it very expensive there, since

the two most costly items are provided for in the contract, and will

not fall to your charge. But, in any case, this, as I have already

said, can no longer be brought into question, since it is already

decided.

“To set against this, there is one little thing that I do not like to

give in to; namely, when it says that ‘_Mdlle. Lind ne chantera dans

aucun autre Théâtre ou Concert publique ou particulier_.’ I find, ‘_ne

chantera dans aucun Théâtre ou Concert publique_,’ quite reasonable;

and this is, in fact, all the pleasanter for you; but, as you very

properly say in your letter, that ‘_particulier_’ may, in the end, be

made to extend to the Queen. Above all, then, if it is to please me,

great freedom and latitude must prevail with regard to that not

‘_publique_’ but ‘_particulier_.’ I should be most pleased if the two

words, ‘_ou particulier_,’ were struck out altogether; but that, I

fear, would create difficulty, since you yourself have sanctioned them

by your signature. Still, as the sense of them satisfies me so little,

I should like, if the two words cannot be struck out, to add the

following, at the end:—

“_Il est bien entendu, que sous le terme, ‘Concerts particuliers’

(dans lesquels Mdlle. Lind a renoncée de chanter), ne sont compris que

les Concerts qui se donnent dans les appartements particuliers (comme

cela se fait souvent à Londres), et où l’on entre en payant; mais que

pour toutes les_ SOIRÉES _ou_ SOCIÉTÉS _particulières où Mdlle. Lind

sera invitée, et où_ PERSONNE _ne peut entrer en payant, elle doit se

réserver la liberté de faire tel usage de son talent qui lui plaira._

“Lastly, there is still something to which I object—that you should

promise to spend the month during which you study the Italian

language, in some Italian city. Could not this be done just as well in

Vienna? And would not the journey to Italy, and thence to England

immediately afterwards, fatigue you more than a month’s rest would

strengthen and refresh you?

“You will, no doubt, come to an understanding with Mr. Lumley on these

points, by word of mouth, as he told me he would meet you again in

Vienna. If, however, you agree with my interpolations in French, I beg

you to send them to him. I, on my part, will do so, direct; and I will

also write to him once more about the _libretto_, and press him on the

subject.

“This brings me back to Madame Birch-Pfeiffer; and I assure you, that,

for half a year past, I have put together her suspicious remarks, of

all kinds, about the headaches; and I foresaw, long ago, that she

would find a thousand and one excuses for not writing a _libretto_ at

all. I fear it still, to-day; but, notwithstanding this, I think that

I dare not, and must not, countermand her. On the contrary, if she

were really to write and send me a good _libretto_, why should I not

set it to music? I would do so with the greatest pleasure, whether

Meyerbeer busied himself about it, or not. But I shall keep my eyes

open, to see whether the book is good, or the contrary; and, if it is

_not_ good, I must tell her, somehow or other, that it will not do.

And it is for this reason that I would rather wait and see what _she_

does. Sometimes, however, I think she will do nothing; in which case

the thing will come to an end of itself; for I cannot go on reminding

and pressing her any longer, and, since the last letter, with the

questions that I wrote to you about, I have heard nothing.

“I should indeed be glad if I could soon, in accordance with my most

hearty wish, write something dramatic—and especially, for you. Of what

I can do in that way I will neglect nothing; of that I assure you; for

I should at all times have gladly written dramatic music, but now more

gladly than ever. And then I have a secret foreboding, which tells me

that, if I do not attain to the composition of a fairly good Opera,

_now_, and _for you_, I shall never accomplish it at all. But, on that

point again, I entertain a regular Turkish fatalism—that, if it never

happens, it never was to happen, even though I may have done all that

I could to bring it about. And that, I am doing. So I shall be content

if we meet again in this life, be it with, or without an Opera.

“But enough of plans! Enough of contracts! I return the contract

herewith—enough of England, Scotland, and Ireland!

“Yet, no! there is still a claim that I should like to insert into the

contract, only I should like to insert it in German. I beg you,

Fräulein Lind, to engage yourself with two friends whom I have in

London, to visit them sometimes, to sit quite still by the lady, who

is very ill and can have very little more pleasure in this world, and

now and then to sing her a song. In that way you will indeed give

pleasure to her, and to me also. Is that a point of the contract which

you have signed? or rather, one which I may venture to add to it?

“And now, really enough of this! We are in good health, and well in

all essential matters; but all sorts of little difficulties and

sicknesses in the household, and other worries here and there, have

prevented the last few weeks from being cheerful.

“Then, the heterogeneous mixture of half-French ways and manners that

I see daily more and more gaining ground in my Fatherland makes me

often so inwardly sorry, that it has long spoiled my good humour. It

dives into every hole and corner; it creeps in one way into Life, in

another into Art, and in yet another into Science; yet nowhere is it

good. It is mimicked everywhere; everywhere it is bound to disappear,

as soon as one looks it fairly in the eyes; and yet it always swaggers

on again, in its borrowed mediocrity. I wish I could some day talk

this over with you at length; for you know the misery just as well as

I do myself, and as everyone does, who has, at this moment, anything

to do with things public in Germany. But, what is the use of talking

about it? and yet, ‘Out of the abundance of the heart,’ &c.

“You are now in Munich, and meet the Swedish Princes—so people tell

me—and see my old Hauser in his new office. You must greet him many

times from me. I was also with him, once, in Munich, and very pleasant

it was. But that was a long while ago! Are you now going to Vienna?

How long do you stay in Munich? And how long in Vienna, afterwards?

What is Fräulein Luise doing? Were you happy in Frankfort? All these,

and a thousand others, are questions to which I would gladly have your

answer, when you have again time to write to me.

“I often think, now, of your question on the Rhine steamboat, whether

I should not like to leave Leipzig again? and your wish that I should

not stay in Leipzig for ever, &c. &c. You were quite right, and I well

know what you meant; and, in two or three years, at the utmost, I

think I shall have done my duty here, after which I should scarcely

stay any longer.[85] Perhaps I might prefer Berlin; perhaps, the

Rhine; somewhere where it is very pretty, and where I could compose

all day long, as much as I liked. But, really, you would have to sing

to me, sometimes.”

In the end, after much hesitation, the project for the Italian journey

was finally abandoned. Mr. Lumley does not seem to have interfered, in

any way, with the settlement of the question, or even to have taken any

particular interest in it, though the expedition would have cost him

£800.

But, with reference to another point, concerning which Mendelssohn had

evidently written to him “direct,” as he had promised to do in his

letter to Mdlle. Lind, he returned an explanatory reply, showing that

the bearing of the clause relating to ‘_Concerts particuliers_’ was far

more important than his correspondent supposed.

It was evident that the clause relating to this point must, for the

protection of both parties to the contract, be so worded as to render

misinterpretation impossible. Mr. Lumley, therefore, proposed to add the

three following clauses to the original document:—

“(1). The clause referred to does not extend to any concert given by

the Queen.

“(2). It does not extend to prevent Mdlle. Lind from singing

gratuitously, should she think fit, in private parties of friends, or

where she may be invited as one of the company, even though she should

subsequently, or at the time, be presented with a _cadeau_ for so

doing.

“(3). Should any question arise as to the construction of the term

‘private concerts’ (‘_Concerts particuliers_’), and in what private

concerts she can or cannot sing, it is left to Mdlle. Lind to decide,

Mr. Lumley having the fullest reliance on her honourable feeling, in

this, as in all other instances.”

This explanatory gloss was, of course, perfectly satisfactory; and, so

far as the terms of the contract were concerned, there was little, if

anything, that needed farther revision.

But, the prospect was not altogether cloudless. There was still a shadow

looming in the distance—a hideous shadow, that stretched across from

England.

All, however, still went well, and more than well, at Munich. Herr

Hauser wrote to Mendelssohn:—

“The maiden has sung here in such sort that it has been a true and

heartfelt pleasure to listen to her. Among other parts she sang that

of Susanna, for the first time; and one could not imagine anything

more gracefully lovely. I wish you could have heard her sing the

passage _Komm du mein Trauter, dass ich Dich kränze mit Rosen_. She

looked like an angel, and nothing could possibly have been more

beautiful; for me it was the most beautiful thing that I knew of.

Moreover, the Munich people did not behave badly outside the house.

The orchestra was the maddest. For instance, she never came to the

theatre for rehearsal without being received with shouts and fanfares!

I tell you it was a jubilee such as I find it impossible to describe.

So I prefer saying no more about it.”

And as, in Madame Wichmann’s _salon_ in Berlin, Mdlle. Lind had enjoyed

the society of so many of the leading spirits in the Prussian literary

and artistic world, so here, at Professor Kaulbach’s, she was brought

into contact with the leading men of genius in Bavaria. And, apart from

this literary and artistic circle, she found a hearty welcome in other

classes of society. Prince Maximilian of Bavaria, the father of the

present Empress of Austria, was her sincere friend; and other magnates

of highest rank received her with marked respect and attention. Her stay

in the Bavarian capital was, therefore, in every way an interesting and

agreeable one.

Six performances at the theatre and a Concert for the Orchestra were

completed by the 8th of November, and she then took leave of Munich for

a time, to return again in the middle of December.

Her next engagement was at Stuttgard, where between the 11th and the

22nd of November she sang five times at the Theatre; once, at a Court

Concert given by the King of Wurtemburg; and at a mixed entertainment,

for the benefit of the poor—for whom she earned fifteen hundred and

fifty Rhenish gulden.

On the day after her first performance at Stuttgard she wrote to her

friend Madame von Kaulbach:—

“Stuttgard, Nov. 12, 1846.

“DEAR GOOD MADAME KAULBACH,—

“You were kind enough to wish for a few lines from me, and it gives me

so much pleasure to send you these ‘few lines’ that I sit down at once

to write them. Perhaps you may not be able to read my handwriting,

for, between ourselves, it is fearfully like that of Dr. K——; but

Gasser, who so well understands everything that is wild—mind, I do not

say ‘mild’ but ‘wild’—will have the goodness to help you with it.

“I hope and believe for certain, that you yourself know how pleasant

it is for one in your house, and how happy one must find oneself

there, and how everything with you is pleasant and enlivening. But I

must tell you so plainly; and must take this opportunity of telling

you how truly grateful and beholden I feel towards you. I well knew,

even during my stay in Munich, how much everything there pleased me,

but I know it better still now.”[86]