“You have perhaps seen in the papers that Jenny Lind has been ill; and

that, hence, her arrival here was delayed a day, and the interest

consequently enhanced.

“I should also, perhaps, add, that doubts had been entertained whether

she could be sufficiently recovered to sing at all.

“Well! the fatal Tuesday arrives, the 4.30 train arrives, bringing

guests of ours—but, no Jenny.

“All along the line, people had been standing at the stations, poking

their heads in at the windows.

“‘No—she’s not here.’ And so on, till the disappointment communicated

itself to the crowd of 100, 400, or 700, which reports, varying in

their degrees, represent as assembled at the Norwich terminus. And

similar agitations prevail, even within the Episcopal precincts, from

the humble inhabitants of the Lodge—who look, with inquisitive

glances, into any fly that drives through the ancient gates—up to the

circle in the Palace drawing-room, which runs to the window, at every

sound, and starts at every opening of the door.

“Dinner arrives—and still no Lind!

“In the midst of dinner—a ring at the door. The dining-room door

opens—and, enter an electric telegraph, which is delivered to the

Prelate at the head of the table, and read to the listening guests—who

numbered, by the way, another Bishop, he of Tasmania—in the following

words:—

“‘Miss Lind, being detained, will not be at Norwich till 8.30.’

“The blank faces which appeared at the beginning of the sentence

revived at the close; and the only suspense now remained till the

actual hour had arrived.

“At that moment, the great bells of S. Peter’s Mancroft broke out into

their most joyous chimes. Some even say that guns were fired from the

surrounding heights. A few minutes more, and the expectant company

became aware that the head of the musical world had entered the house.

“Thus far I had written, on the morning after she came; and, as far as

the excitement is concerned, it might have been continued in the same

strain; how, when it was found that she could not appear that night,

from excessive fatigue; and, that she had said, ‘_J’espère que je

pourrai chanter demain; mais j’en doute_,’ blank horror overpowered

the party; how the Choristers were so affected, that one of them burst

into tears: how the bells rang till twelve at night, and ever and

anon, all day; how her portraits were selling in the streets, at a

penny a piece; how the whole town was in one great _Lind-Maelström_ of

excitement; how Miss Buckland was taken for her, when visiting a

factory, and followed by crowds, Sedgewick encouraging the delusion by

calling her ‘Jenny’; how, on one occasion, when she went into the town

with the Bishop, to visit two schools, the moment that her presence

became known, the streets were thronged, and windows thrown up, in

every direction, with people gazing from them, and turning after her,

till their necks were almost wrenched from their sockets; how, when

she went to the Cathedral, the whole of the North Transept, through

which lies the approach to the Palace, was so densely thronged, that,

as I led her—yes, I myself, S——! through the mass she had forced

asunder, as when Prince Albert led the Queen up the Senate House; all

this, and much more, I might relate; but I cannot; for, great as was

the wonder of seeing a whole population thus bewitched by one simple

Swedish girl, it sinks into nothing, before the wonder of herself.

“You have seen her, and therefore you can appreciate the grace, the

dignity, the joyousness, the touching pathos of her entrance; her

attitude, her curtsies, her voice. For, whatever much beside—as, I

doubt not, there is—may be seen in her acting, all _this_ is seen in

her singing.

“Twice did I go to the concert, merely for the sake of this. For the

music, so far as it could be separated from the charm of her manner,

and the wonder of her voice, which I, alas! could only admire as a

natural phenomenon, was to me wholly lost.

“But, now, you must conceive a character, corresponding to all this,

and transpiring through a thousand traits of humility, gentleness,

thoughtfulness, wisdom, piety. The manners of a Princess—as I have

written to Donkin—with the simplicity of a child, and the goodness of

an angel. She is very much plainer, and more homely, than you would

suppose from her countenance, as you see it when animated in public;

but her smile, at all times, is only equalled by Pusey’s.

“She came on Tuesday night, and is gone this evening; and it seems

quite a blank, as if a heavenly visitant had departed.

“The parting scene was so deeply affecting, that I prefer, for the

moment, to dwell upon her return from the third and final concert, in

which the two carriages drove off together from the door, one

containing the Episcopal party, with the exception of myself, who rode

on the outside of the second, in which sat the wonderful creature

herself—the crowd rushing after with enthusiastic cheers.

“I have already written a whole letter, and yet told you nothing, and

do not know whether I shall have time to do so till we meet. But,

there are numberless things to tell you, which may perhaps regale the

Common Room in the long winter evenings of next term.

“Ever yours,

“A. P. STANLEY.”

“P.S.—On reading over what I have said, I must begin again, lest you

should regard all this as idle raving. And yet, I hardly know where to

begin—not to mention that no details can give an adequate impression

of the whole.

“(1). I never saw any one so strongly impressed with the consciousness

that a natural faculty is _a gift_. ‘_Ce n’est pas un mérite; c’est un

don_’ was, in various ways, constantly expressing itself. She said she

never sang without reflecting that it might be for the last time; and,

that it was continued to her, from year to year, for the good of

others.

“(2). In speaking of her profession, generally, it was obvious that it

was not only her greatest object—as, indeed, one could not doubt, for

a moment—to keep herself unspotted; but, to elevate its whole tone,

and character. ‘_C’est ce que j’espère_,’ she said, with enthusiasm,

in answer to some suggestion that such might be the result of her

career.

“(3). On acting, she said that, on the one hand, she could not leave

her own character altogether behind, when she came on the stage; that,

to destroy her individuality would destroy all that was good in her;

and, that she made it a principle, never to represent such passions as

would awaken bad feelings. Hence, for example, her very different

conception of _Norma_ from that of Grisi. But, on the other hand,

whatever conception she did form of the character she acted, she threw

herself into it entirely. If, as once or twice had happened, she was

unable to do this, she felt she was acting, and telling lies, and then

_entirely failed_. One instance she gave of this complete

identification was, that the part of _La Sonnambula_ fatigued her

extremely, from the utter impossibility of moving her eyes, during the

sleepwalking.

“(4). The Bishop of Tasmania,[100] as I told you, being here at the

time, was so deeply impressed by her excellence, that, when he went

away, not being able to talk to her in French, he left her a letter

expressive of his approbation of her course, and of his hopes of the

good she might effect. This, combined with the great interest that she

herself took in his objects, so deeply affected her, that all her

practice for the coming concert had to be thrown aside; and it was

with great difficulty that she could sing, when she first began. All

this you can imagine as much more moving than I can describe.

“(5). Her attention to all the servants and inferiors was most

remarkable—of which let this suffice.

“At the last concert, when she appeared for the second time on the

platform, and just before the beginning of her song, the fixed look of

vacancy, seeing nothing, and looking at nobody, was suddenly exchanged

for one of those enchanting smiles which she cast below. It was the

little boys of the Cathedral Choir, whom she had seen at our house,

and whose upturned faces she caught sight of, at that moment, and she

looked upon them, with this delightful smile, till the song began.

“Last of all, you shall have her impression of _me_!

“On the last day, I told her that there was ‘_quelque chose

d’extraordinaire dans la voix_;’ but that, otherwise, her singing, in

itself, produced no impression whatever upon me. This, she said, was

by far the most amusing thing she had heard; and, that she should

never forget it.

“And now I must end.

“Ever yours,

“A. P. STANLEY.”[101]

Do not let us forget that it is no professional critic who is writing,

here, but an independent witness, whose words are accepted with love and

reverence, even by those who do not always agree with him, wherever the

English language is spoken. And it is not too much to say, that, in this

particular case, his opinion was shared by everyone who had enjoyed the

privilege of hearing or conversing with the lady by whose personality he

was so deeply impressed.

The day on which she took leave of them was a veritable day of mourning.

The events of the last few weeks in England, carried down to the actual

moment of departure, are thus described by Mrs. Grote:—

“At the end of September, I joined Jenny at Bath, along with Mr.

Lumley. My brother was obliged to leave us on the first of October,

and I was induced, by her persuasions, to remain by her side for a few

days, first, at Clifton, where she sang, and afterwards at Exeter. Mr.

Grote joined us, at the last-named place, and escorted the party back

to London.

“On board the steamer, we took a most affectionate leave of her, the

sadness of which was relieved by the hope of meeting again within a

few months; Mr. Lumley having induced her to contract a second

engagement at Her Majesty’s Theatre.

“As we rowed away from the ship, we saw her white handkerchief waving

in the darkness, wafting to us her last _adieux_!

“She left behind her, in England, a splendid reputation, and the most

extensive personal interest and sympathy which it was possible for a

woman to create; and she also carried with her, as the fruit of five

months’ work, a considerable sum of money—such a sum as, till now, she

had not been mistress of.”[102]

And, here, as she sails away from England, on board the Hamburg packet,

the _John Bull_, we too must take leave of her for a while, to meet her

again, at the end of her journey, surrounded by the beloved friends she

had left behind her in Berlin.

BOOK VIII.

THE GOAL.

CHAPTER I.

NEW TRIUMPHS AT BERLIN.

How strangely our forebodings are sometimes justified by after events

quite beyond conception at the time they were uttered.

While Mdlle. Lind was most painfully under the influence of the terror

with which she had once looked forward to her visit to London, she had

written to Madame Wichmann:—

“Vienna, March 26, 1847.

“I must really go to London. Will you send me a few words to Munich,

by the next mail? I shall soon be there, staying with the Kaulbachs.

“How beautifully everything has gone with me, here in Vienna! And, how

nice it would be for me, if I had not to go to London. But, perhaps,

even that may have its good side!”[103]

It had indeed had its good side; and the prophecy that had been uttered

in the bitterness of anxiety, had been most gloriously fulfilled—as she

herself confessed, when she wrote:—

“London, August 12, 1847.

“How delighted I am that I have finished here! For it is better to

look back upon the accomplishment of so great a thing, than to look

forward to it. The English public has been unexampled in its kindness

to me.”

Truly, it had been very kind to her; and she had richly deserved it. The

arrangement had been perfectly fair, on both sides. She had proved

herself worthy of the recognition accorded to her by the public; and the

public had proved itself worthy of her.

We left her on board the _John Bull_; waving an affectionate good-bye to

her English friends, Mr. and Mrs. Grote, and Mr. Lumley; and looking

forward to an equally affectionate greeting from the dear ones from whom

she had parted, in the previous autumn, at Berlin, whither she was now

wending her way, in fulfilment of a brief engagement at the Royal

Opera-House, before her return to Stockholm.

As early as the 25th of July, she had written, to Madame Wichmann:—

“A few days ago, I received a very nice letter from Küstner. You know

how friendly he always was to me. I am quite sure that he is an honest

and good man; and I shall write—which is a great deal from me!—to tell

him that I cannot stay long in Berlin, or sing more than twice or

three times at the utmost, as I leave England so late—not until nearly

the end of September. We cannot, therefore, be long together, dearly

beloved, as I must get to Sweden before the weather becomes too

unfavourable.

“Do you know, the Professor’s likeness of me[104] has pleased the

Queen immensely—and now I come to you to ask a very great favour.

Lablache is also so enchanted with the portrait, that I have been

obliged to promise him that I will ask the Professor to let him have a

copy of it. I shall be eternally obliged if my Professor will let me

have a little head—you know well what I mean: _my_ head—for Lablache.

He will be here till the middle of August. Ah! I entreat you, do me

this great kindness. He has begged so hard for it.

“We are quite well. I am altogether beside myself with enchantment for

England.”[105]

And again, on the 30th of September:—

“I leave my beloved England, next Thursday, the 5th. I cannot,

however, tell the exact day of my arrival in Berlin. I will write

again from Hamburg.”

How different was the greeting now awaiting her in the Prussian capital,

from that with which she had been received on her first appearance

there, in the winter of 1844!

Then, all had been uncertainty. Vague expectation, on the part of the

public; despondency, of the most painful kind, on that of the

_débutante_. And now, what a change had taken place! There was no more

doubt. The triumph was assured. Her reception in Berlin, on this, her

third visit, seemed to include within itself all the enthusiasm that had

been gradually gaining new strength through the experiences of the two

preceding years.

Herr Rellstab’s account of the final farewell to the Berlin stage, which

took place, on the occasion of Mdlle. Lind’s benefit, on the 17th of

October, 1847, after she had sung twice, in _La Figlia del Reggimento_,

and once, in _Der Freischütz_, exceeded in warmth even that given by his

English _confrères_.

“_La Sonnambula!_” he says, “Jenny Lind’s benefit! Such a performance—

how could it have been otherwise?—must of necessity awaken a sympathy,

and attract a concourse, the like of which has not often been recorded

in the history of our theatre. We should have told of a deep joy,

filled with such splendours, such magnificence, as can only accompany

a high festival of highest Art, had it not been that our feeling was,

in truth, less that of tumultuous joy than of real sorrow. It was,

after all, that which we had been told it would be—the last evening on

which this unique, this unapproachable artist, would appear before us

on her field of victory, the stage—the last evening, at least, in so

far as a German audience was concerned. A winter of rest in her own

country; a farewell visit to magnificent Albion, the rich offerings of

whose splendour had been laid at her feet; and then—the course of the

purest star that has ever guided us by its light to the Heaven of Art

will reach its close.

“If anything can give us consolation, in this too early and

irreparable loss now mourned by Art, it must be sought for in the

divine thought uttered by Goethe, on the occasion of Schiller’s

death:—

“‘It is good for us, that he was taken in the fulness, in the

splendour of life; for mortals rest in our memory, as they were when

they left the earth. Therefore it is, that Achilles remains with us,

an ever-dying youth.’

“And gratefully will every wish for that which is good and best,

follow the departing guest; whether the steps of her future life lead

to still greater heights of publicity; or, to the still valleys of a

retired existence, which often afford a purer, if a less exciting form

of happiness.

“L. RELLSTAB.”[106]

And so, on that memorable night, the great “Berlin period” passed out of

the artist’s life, like a marvellous, an almost incomprehensible dream.

Passed out of her life, and out of the lives of her audience, of her

admirers, of her fellow-worshippers at the shrine of Art, never to be

renewed, and yet, more certainly still, never to be forgotten. The last

note had been sung,[107] and the last word said. But, the word that

dwelt longest in the memory of her to whom it was addressed had not been

spoken at the Royal Opera-House, but, at the Palace of Sans Souci—not by

the people, but by the King of Prussia. Following the example of the

Emperor of Austria, King Frederick William IV. of Prussia, after a Court

Concert given on the 16th of October, appointed Mdlle. Lind his

_Kammersängerin_—his Chamber-Vocalist; and wrote, to inform her of the

fact, in terms strangely simple, compared with the tone of those in

which such decrees are usually promulgated:—

“I cannot deny myself the satisfaction of adding my own acknowledgment

to the universal recognition which your rare talent and perfect

mastery over the Art of Song have commanded, and I wish to prove this

to you by herewith appointing you my Chamber-Vocalist.

“Sans Souci, October 16, 1847.

(Signed) “FRIEDRICH WILHELM, R.

“An Demoiselle Jenny Lind.”[108]

On the same day, His Majesty made known his command to Graf von Redern

in the following brief but expressive words:—

“I have appointed the singer, Jenny Lind, to be my Chamber-Singer; and

have thought it right that you should be hereby made acquainted with

the fact.

(Signed) “FRIEDRICH WILHELM.[109]

“Sans Souci, October 16, 1847.”

The explanation of this memorandum is that, in the natural order of

things, the notification of the King’s desire should have been formally

conveyed to Mdlle. Lind through the agency of Count Redern; but, in this

case, as we have already seen, His Majesty, departing from customary

etiquette, had enriched the compliment with an additional grace, by

addressing the letter containing the necessary announcement to Mdlle.

Lind herself.

And, bearing with her this honourable patent, so frankly given, and so

nobly won, Mdlle. Lind left Berlin, on the 19th of October; sang once in

_Die Regimentstochter_, at the Stadt-Theatre, at Hamburg, on the 20th;

and, immediately afterwards, proceeded to Stockholm, in fulfilment of

philanthropic intentions which will be described in detail in our next

chapter.

CHAPTER II.

HOME AGAIN.

“I feel so strangely content,” she wrote on December 15, to Madame

Wichmann; “I am so happy and so quiet, at home again. It suits me so

well; and the people are my own country-folk; and they love me for

that.”

Her friends gathered quickly about her.

“The only thing that gladdened me,” writes Fräulein Von Stedingk in

her Diary, “was that Jenny Lind came back to Sweden. She was to spend

the winter here; not for taking rest, though she greatly needed it,

but to enchant us by her unsurpassed talent, and to devote her

receipts to the founding of Art Scholarships and to the Royal Theatre.

“She spoke of England with delight; and she seemed to prefer it to all

other countries. I could have wished that she was not to return

there!”

We must, now, hear what she was doing with these receipts to which

Fräulein Von Stedingk refers.

Her first appearance was to be in _La Figlia_, on December 3rd. The

price of the tickets for all her appearances was raised 50 per cent, on

their ordinary cost; and on December 2nd, in an evening paper, the

_Aftonblad_, an explanation of this raised demand was given by Jenny

Lind herself. She wrote a letter, addressed to the owner of the

newspaper, Mr. Lars Hierta, a great merchant and distinguished citizen

of Stockholm, requesting the insertion in the _Aftonblad_ of the

following communication:—

“At the moment of reappearing, after an interval of two years, on the

stage of my native country, before that public, which, from the time

of my first steps on the path of Art, has shown me so much favour, it

is the desire of my heart to ask for a continuance of the same rare

goodwill for the performances, in which I am now going to appear. I am

moved to this by a special reason, which I beg respectfully to submit

to the attention of the enlightened public; and I also consider myself

in duty bound to furnish an explanation of the reason for raising the

prices at the representations in which I am now going to take part.

“My most ardent wish is to be allowed to be of some lasting use to

Native Art; to offer some kind of souvenir, more permanent than the

quickly-passing moments of my appearance on the boards; and to prepare

for my countrymen enjoyments of the loftier kind, for the years to

come, when my own efforts shall have ceased. I hope to do this by

laying the foundations of a College, where young minds may be

consecrated to both Art and Virtue.

“Having been, myself, in childhood, a witness to the privations and

trials through which the young and needy have to struggle in this

profession, which holds so many thorns amongst the roses, I should

count it the most beautiful gain of the Singer’s gift if, by means of

this, I could contribute to help those who are favoured by nature but

ill-treated by fortune, to a development of their talent in

comparative ease and comfort, and to a culture that will be helpful

alike from a moral and artistic point of view.

“With this intention, I have assigned the whole amount of my portion

of the receipts from the representations in which I shall appear,

towards establishing a fund, the income of which is to be devoted to

an institution for educating poor children who, while specially

endowed for the stage, lack the care of parents or relatives, without

which, in a moral and artistic respect, they either lose, or else fail

to reach, the higher development, for which their gifts would give

reasonable hopes.

“The money obtained will be received and managed by two Trustees,

until the amount of the Capital will allow of the interest being used

for the object in view.

“The lenient kindness of the public which hitherto has encouraged my

efforts in the service of Art, will—I trust—follow me also now that

these endeavours are dedicated to a work, the success of which must be

a matter of interest to every friend of Dramatic Art within our

Fatherland.

“JENNY LIND.

“Stockholm, 2nd December, 1847.”

This communication to the paper signalises an intention which, for some

time forward, became one of her primary interests. It was her tribute to

Sweden. From the time that she won her place in the European drama, she

never sang in her native land again on her own behalf. She would take no

penny from it. Rather, she bent herself to repay to it, by gifts, the

support and the kindness which it had given her in her youth. She had

been “a child of the State,” brought up by its fatherly solicitude, at

its charge, at its risk. She felt herself pledged by her honour, as well

as by her affection, to make to it a thankful, a generous recognition.

Then, too, she had a great desire to find adequate work and interest to

occupy her in her northern home. It should not be for idleness, or for

uselessness, that she would retreat thither from the big world. If she

ceased to do good by her Dramatic talents, as she must, through leaving

the stage, she would, yet, find other ways of helping men. “I have no

fear of feeling any void,” she writes during this very month to Madame

Wichmann, “for I can do much good here, and have already begun to set

about it.”

And there were special reasons, as she thought, for some such effort at

doing good. For, profoundly as she loved her people, she felt, on her

return this time to Stockholm, an increased sense of their peculiar

moral perils. It may have been that the religious influence, under which

she had passed in England, had deepened her alarm at all that was

superficial, and thoughtless. Certainly, she was at times, during the

winter, greatly afflicted at the lack of seriousness which she met on

all sides: “I love my fatherland as much as ever,” she wrote, on the

14th of February, 1848, to Madame von Jaeger, her devoted Viennese

friend, whom she salutes as “Loved and honoured Mother;” but—

“There is, here, I confess, such frivolousness in everything, that I

am sad.... I sometimes doubt whether I can find joy and happiness

here.... The last three years have given me a great deal clearer

insight. Do not imagine that they do not treat me well; on the

contrary: I have nothing at all to complain of, myself: only, it does

pain me that our nation should, through French influence, have lost so

much of its true self.”

So she felt: and, it was in order to attempt to rescue the stage from

these perverting influences which had largely dominated it since the

early part of the century, that she set about her present scheme on

behalf of her own old Theatre-School.

It was a touching naturalness, which drew her heart towards the scene of

her childhood. Her first deliberate act of permanent charity was to be

devoted to sparing other children some of the trials and perils, which

had been her own lot. Her own experience had taught her how hard it is

for the gifts inbred by nature to spring up into their full estate,

unless they are compassed about with moral succours. In this School of

hers, the young lives are to be consecrated to virtue as well as Art.

As years went on the design itself was changed, owing to certain mental

changes which passed over her own spirit. Enough now to say that the

Royal Theatre was crowded night after night in spite of the raised cost,

and that the entire sum of her own gains from the season went to the

proposed fund. Her agreement with the theatre was that she should

receive a third of the receipts which remained, after the payment of

current expenses, on each night of her appearance; and that she should

be entitled to name for herself the date of a benefit performance. She

was also given the right to select her own pieces. The contract is

signed by Count Hugo Hamilton, the Intendant.

Her voice, about which a few suspicious rumours had been flying about,

owing to the fatigue and strain of her incessant efforts in Germany, was

in its normal splendour. “She is now in her beloved Stockholm,” wrote

Madame Wichmann, on December 27th, to Madame Jaeger, whom these rumours

had disquieted, “and has rested herself, and has appeared in her fullest

power and glory, at the theatre.”

She sang in the _Figlia_ ten times during the winter and spring months,

three of these performances being given for the benefit of (1) the

Theatre Pension Fund; (2) the Chorus, and (3) the Conductor, J. F.

Berwald.

She gave four performances of the _Sonnambula_ in January, and four of

_Lucia_ in March and April—singing this part for the fifty-sixth time on

the Stockholm stage on April 3rd. The _Freischütz_ was sung twice, once

on behalf of Strandberg, the first tenor at the Royal Theatre, once on

behalf of the Chapel at the Deaf and Dumb Institute, near Stockholm. The

first of these performances was given on March 7th, the anniversary of

her _début_ in the part of Agatha on the memorable 7th of March, 1838.

She now sang it for the forty-first time on those boards.

Besides this work at the Opera, there were concerts—one at Her Majesty

the Queen Desideria’s on December 1st;[110] and all the rest for old

friends, and associates; for Mina Fundin, her dear ally in childhood;

for Randel, the concert-master; for the Artists’ Guild Pension Fund; for

Josephson, the composer; for Arnold, an organist and composer; for the

Royal Orchestra Pension Fund; for D’Aubert, the concert-leader; for

Theodor Sack, the principal violoncellist at the Royal Opera. So it went

on.

And finally, for the thirty-third and thirty-fourth time in Stockholm,

she gave _Norma_, first for the machinists of the theatre; and secondly

for sundry other persons, now unnamed, on whose behalf the tickets were

sold by public auction.

With _Norma_, it all ended, on April 12th. It was her last appearance on

the Swedish stage—her last representation in the theatre, which had

heard the first notes of her child-voice, as she tripped over its

boards, a tiny girl hardly ten years old, bewitching the audience by her

astonishing, “almost unnatural” cleverness—the theatre which had

thrilled to the revealed splendour of her genius on the historic night

when she discovered her power, and “went to bed a new creature.” There,

on those boards, familiar to her feet as the very floor of home, she had

won for herself those early dramatic experiences, with which she had

fascinated and enthralled Europe; there she had, step by step, moved

from triumph to triumph, until the artistic resources of her native land

had been exhausted, and she had been driven, by the impulsion of an

aspiring spirit, to seek, elsewhere, for that development which should

be level with her fullest powers. Thither she had returned, with the

required power, to find the same faithful enthusiasm ready to respond to

her, only with more ardent loyalty than ever. So long, so close was the

story which knit her to that Stockholm theatre; such deep memories lay

about her there: such a record of hopes and fears and wonders: and, now,

that page was to be closed for ever. For the very last time, she had

waited in those wings for the step forward which should carry her into

the roar of welcome. For the very last time within the well-known walls,

she had felt the whole body of silent people absorbed into her own

masterful and magnetic influence, as she held them, spell-bound, within

the power of her gaiety or her passion. It was all over, on that night

of April the 12th when the last notes of _Norma_ died on the ear.

Fräulein Von Stedingk was present and writes:

“She surpassed herself. When she came before the curtain at the close,

the whole audience rose; and many an eye was wet.”

The famous picture of her as Norma, by Södermark, which is the treasured

pride of Stockholm, was painted during this season. It was subscribed

for by the employés at the Royal Theatre, and presented to the theatre

to be placed there, on January 6th, 1849. It put the seal on the belief

of her own people, that her delineation of Norma was her most triumphant

achievement; and most certainly it was the character which she herself

always selected, whether as a challenge to criticism on her entry upon

some new boards, or as her best farewell to any familiar stage.

In the middle of all this smooth happiness, came the irritating news of

the verdict in the suit of Bunn _v._ Lind. That wearisome tangle had, at

last, come to a close. On the 23rd of February, the case was heard in

London before Sir W. Erle, sitting in the Court of Queen’s Bench. The

damages claimed were £10,000; and these were based on the standard

receipts of Madame Malibran in the height of her fame. The

Attorney-General pleaded that the contract had dropped through Mr. Bunn

being unable, on his own showing, to provide the music for _Vielka_ by

the date mentioned in the contract. He argued that, as to damages, all

Mr. Bunn could claim of positive loss was the price of a journey to

Berlin, and the £150 spent by him in translating the _Feldlager_ into

English. Sir W. Erle summed up minutely; and the jury finally gave a

verdict in favour of Mr. Bunn, with £2,500 damages.

Mr. Lumley had, as we know, made himself responsible for the loss. But

the result must have been bitterly vexatious. Of course, she had let the

proper date pass before which she was to make her objections to the

contract, and so had put herself legally wrong. But we are aware how

ignorant she was of all the arts by which to escape the meshes of the

law, or to guard herself against the brutalities of managers. She had

been trapped into the engagement before she knew what she was doing or

the situation into which she was coming. Her reasons against the

contract were real: she _could_ not have learned English in the time;

her nervous dread of failure through singing in a foreign tongue, was

profoundly genuine, however improbable it might sound in the atmosphere

of a law court. We know the extremity of her self-mistrust, the agony of

her diffidence. Bunn treated her appeals with a vulgar insolence, that

was bad enough to deprive him of all claims to compensation. As we read

his rough letters, it softens our regret that, for conduct of this type,

he was once soundly thrashed by Macready.

[Illustration:

_Jenny Lind in the character of Norma from a picture by Södermark._

Stockholm 1848.

]

However, so, at last, the tiresome business is over; and we can be

thankful to hear no more of it. It was the only occasion, in all her

life, in which she ever heard herself accused of motives which it was a

degradation to her even to be charged with. To those who ever knew her,

it sounds like a silly jest that she should ever have had to endure the

accusation of rapacity, or sharp dealing—so incomprehensible and so

remote would such motives have always been to her. But, jest as it may

sound to us, to her it was cruel and bitter enough; and, no doubt, the

verdict stung her like a sharp blow.

Yet no record remains of its effect upon her; and home was kind and

tender and soothing; and every trouble there, was clearing; and, in

witness of this, we will make one little record which will happily mark

this season of farewell to the Swedish stage. The time of her entry upon

its boards, in 1829, had been, it will be well remembered, a time of

much domestic trouble; and that theatre had been to little Jenny, a

refuge and a home, to which she ran for peace. But, now, things were

bettered. Her mother, who had, with such a shrinking heart, handed over

her child to a scene so alien and so dreaded, was now freed from the

conflict of a pinched and broken life, and had softened, and sweetened.

“My own real mother is just come in;” Jenny writes on the 14th of

February, to the Viennese lady, Madame Jaeger, whom she always addressed

as “mother.”

“She and my father live in the country” (in the house she had given

them), “and have come in to-day to see the _Elisir d’Amore_, in which

I am ‘Adina.’ My mother begs to send a thousand greetings to you,

unknown as you are to her, and as I tell her what you have been to me,

her eyes fill with tears of joy.... My mother is so sympathetic

towards me (which, perhaps, was not always the case); and she seems to

be so happy, and contented,—a happiness which I had hardly dared to

hope for.”

In contrast to this home-gladness, there lay heavy on her soul, all this

time, the misery of Mendelssohn’s death.[111]

She could not bear even to open a letter to her from Madame

Birch-Pfeiffer in which she felt that there would be reference to it:

for, as she wrote back:—

“As soon as I am obliged to hear or read anything about him, I get

almost incapable of carrying out the great duty which I have taken

upon my shoulders.

“Death has lately robbed me of several of my dearest friends: so that

I am afraid I shall soon begin to feel cold here in the North! And

yet, dear good mother, my heart is tied and chained to this ground and

this people. God be praised for it!

“I am well: though I have no rest. All is right now with my parents.

Besides singing in Operas, I sing two or three times a month in

concerts, and can thus help some on to a better lot in time.

“To-day the sun is shining brightly. Oh! if you could but see the

white sparkling snow on the roofs! From my window I see several mills:

and a few churches; and on one of them sits a gilt cock who probably

amuses himself. Oh! how I wish that I too could be in the air, for the

earth oppresses me. Mother, mother, I do not belong to this world; my

heart will not stay in its narrow prison!...

“But, in spite of all this, there is no being who could have more

reason to be happy and grateful than I! I am both. Farewell! God keep

you all!

“Your loving

“JENNY.”

So she wrote to her “German mother” on Jan. 22. In the following month,

in the letter already quoted to her “Austrian mother,” Madame Jaeger,

she wrote:—

“Ah! mother! what a blow for me was the death of Mendelssohn! That is

why I have been silent so long. For the first two months after it, I

could not put a word down on paper: and everything seemed to me to be

dead. Never was I so happy—so lifted in spirit, as when I spoke with

him! and seldom can there have been in the world two beings who so

understood one another, and so sympathized with one another as we! How

glorious and strange are the ways of God! On the one hand, He gives

all! On the other, He takes all away! Such is life’s outlook.”

For two whole years after that fatal November, she could not bear to

sing a “Lied” of Mendelssohn’s. With his loss, there had passed out of

her life the profoundest and most intimate influence under which she had

ever come; for it was an influence which touched her whole being, at

once in its most real and its most ideal elements. With him, she felt

the same blending of the artistic aspiration with the personal character

which she knew in herself; and both with character and with aspiration,

she was in innermost sympathy. To both, the artist-life was a

reverential trust, endowed with awe, hallowed by mystic

responsibilities. Drawn to one another by this vital unity of motive,

they responded, each to the other, with a glad and delightful freedom

such as belongs only to those whose central selves are in perfect touch.

Each word that one or the other spoke was known to be understood. There

is a joy in such sympathetic intimacies which is electric. Both had felt

it in its most ideal form. And, now, it is this which is gone from her.

It left a blank which the slow years could never quite fill; but the

loss would have been yet more deadening, were it not that her enjoyment

of his influence had been so very, very brief, that the heart was bound

to recover its freshness; and nowhere sooner than at home, in the thick

of good and happy work.

We have seen to what charitable purposes eight of her special operatic

performances, and all her concerts had gone.

There remained the winnings earned by twenty-seven nights at the Royal

Opera,—about £2,200—all of which went to the fund which she had planned

for the Theatre-School. This fund was to be allowed to accumulate by

interest until it had reached a certain limit.

So the final season on the home boards came to its end. She must leave

for England.

“I delight in thinking of my next London season,” she wrote to Madame

Jaeger: “for I have so many reasons for being grateful towards the

London public that it lays a necessity upon me to make a worthy return

for it all! I believe that the coming summer will bring me many joys,

for I am taking to London, as my companion, my good, old master (Herr

Berg) and his wife, and little daughter; and I cannot be better off

than with them!”

There was another long-standing friend, besides Herr Berg, who was

particularly concerned with her happy hopes at this moment. This was

Herr Julius Günther. We do not propose, in this work, to enter into all

the private and domestic incidents of our heroine’s life, except so far

as they touch her artistic career. It is not for us, therefore, to

follow minutely the long story, over which we, here, must give a rapid

glance. We need but indicate, in the briefest manner, how matters had

stood between her, and Herr Günther, before they reached this decisive

moment. With him she had sung continually both before and after her

visit to Paris—both in Opera, and in the concert-room. The obvious

contact, which this involved, had grown into a closer intimacy during

her triumphant season, in 1844, at Stockholm; and just before leaving

for her great experiment in Berlin in 1845, this intimacy had been

recognised as tending to an engagement. This understanding had become

strained, and practically suspended, under the busy and wonderful

experiences of her long absence on the Continent, and in England. Herr

Günther had been wandering, as well as she: he had been in Paris, under

Garcia; much had been happening on both sides. But, now, that they were

both back again in Sweden, the former relations revived, and culminated.

Herr Günther saw reasons to trust that, in spite of his fears lest this

European success, this splendid career, should carry her beyond his

scope and influence, she, still, would respond to his appeal; and he

spoke; and he found favour, and rings were exchanged. She sailed on

April 13th.

When the hour of departure arrived, everything was done to heighten its

excitement. The Swedes, touched by her magnificent generosity, were

eager to signalize their admiration in a special outburst of enthusiasm.

“No one can remember a more solemn farewell offered to any private

person,” wrote one of the officials at the theatre.

“She left at 2 P.M. by the steamer ‘Gauthiod.’ Already, as early as

twelve o’clock huge heaps of people began arriving, at Skeppsbron, which

was filled with foot-passengers and carriages. The ships nearest the

‘Gauthiod’ were also crowded, even up in the rigging, and so were

numbers of rowing-boats, moving about in the port. The choir of the

Opera were placed in barges near to the steamer, and sang several

pieces, conducted by choir-master Wennbom. In another boat, the band of

the Uplands regiment had taken their stand, performing airs from the

Operas in which she had appeared.

“As the steamer weighed anchor, the multitude gave repeated cheers, men

and women waving hats and handkerchiefs, which continued as long as a

glimpse of the ‘Gauthiod’ could be caught. She seemed very much moved;

and often had to interrupt her friendly responses with her handkerchief,

to use it to wipe away her tears.”

As she reviewed, in her memory, this winter in Stockholm, she was

stirred to even more than her usual fervour for all that was Home.

She put her retrospect into words, in a letter from London, written on

July 10th, to Madame Kaulbach at Munich:—

“I have been in my beloved country, and have felt most deeply how

powerful is the love for it that I have cherished from childhood. My

King—the whole Royal Family—the country—the ground—oh! I could have

kissed them all! And with tears of profound reverence in my eyes! What

a glorious time I have had there! The cordiality, the feeling of home,

the language,—all enchanted me. And I was staying so pleasantly with

my dear good aunt; and I got together a great deal of money for the

poor.... See, my dearest friend! This is what I have experienced!”

CHAPTER III.

THE RE-APPEARANCE AT HER MAJESTY’S THEATRE.

And now, the course of our narrative brings us back, once more, to

Clairville Cottage, where Mdlle. Lind arrived, after her long sojourn in

Stockholm, on the 21st of April, 1848; and where, a few hours

afterwards, Mrs. Grote found her, “looking well, and in gay cheerful

mood, anticipating, with agreeable feelings, the coming months of her

stay.”

Her Majesty’s Theatre opened, for the season of 1848, on Saturday, the

19th of February; and it was confidently expected that Mdlle. Lind’s

return to the boards on which she had won so many laurels would take

place on Saturday, the 29th of April, immediately after the Easter

recess; but, at her own request, the event was postponed, until the 4th

of May.

The Opera chosen for her re-appearance was _La Sonnambula_, of which

Chopin, who had just come to London, wrote, at the beginning of May, to

his friend Grzymala:—

“I have been to the Italian Opera, where Jenny Lind appeared, for the

first time, in _La Sonnambula_.

“I have also made Jenny Lind’s personal acquaintance. When, a few days

afterwards, I paid her a visit, she received me in the most amiable

manner, and sent me an excellent ‘stall’ for the Opera, where I was

capitally seated, and heard excellently.

“This Swede is indeed an original from head to foot. She does not

show herself in the ordinary light, but in the magic rays of an

_aurora borealis_. Her singing is infallibly pure and true; but,

above all, I admire her _piano_ passages, the charm of which is

indescribable.”[112]

In the following July, Chopin gave two _matinées_ in London. In

describing these, a musical periodical flippantly observes:—

“M. Chopin has lately given two performances of his own pianoforte

music at the residence of Mrs. Sartoris, which seem to have given much

pleasure to his audiences, among whom Mdlle. Lind, who was present at

the first, seems to be the most enthusiastic.

“We were not present at either; and, therefore, have nothing to say on

the subject.”[113]

It is gratifying, in connection with Chopin’s expressions of admiration

for Mdlle. Lind’s artistic nature, to know that she felt an equal

admiration for his extraordinary genius—an admiration which increased as

years rolled on, and as she became better acquainted with his works, of

which she never spoke without enthusiasm.

On the 6th of May, _La Sonnambula_ was repeated, and again on the 16th;

on the 11th, 13th, and 18th, Mdlle. Lind sang in _La Figlia del

Reggimento_; and, on the 25th, she appeared, for the first time in

England, in Donizetti’s _Lucia di Lammermoor_.

_Lucia_ had always been one of her favourite Operas. She had sung in it

many times in Stockholm; and, occasionally, in Hanover, and other parts

of Germany. The part of Lucy Ashton was, indeed, pre-eminently suited to

the display of her peculiar talent. She painted, to perfection, the

vacillating character of the timid, shrinking maiden; her love for Edgar

Ravenswood, devoted, true, faithful even, so far as she had strength to

resist the pressure put upon her; her womanly determination,

withstanding, for a time, the alternate threats and entreaties of her

despicable brother, yet not courageous enough to bear the last dread

shock; her passionate despair, when she had broken faith with her lover,

and signed the irrevocable contract; above all, her fatal madness,

depicted in that last great scene, in which she aimed at, and was

admitted by all to have reached, an ideal so high, that its infinite

pathos, its ineffable sadness, could only be compared with the touching

charm that some of the greatest of our English actresses have, on rare

occasions, succeeded in weaving around the gentle hallucinations of

Ophelia.

The following critique is one of many which appeared on the day after

the performance:—

“Last night was the most remarkable one of the season. Mdlle. Lind

appeared, for the first time, in _Lucia di Lammermoor_, and raised to

the highest enthusiasm the immense audience that had attended.

“Mdlle. Lind gave the character a stamp that distinguished it from any

other rendering, bringing out the distress and madness of the unhappy

‘Lucia’ with a force that has hitherto remained unknown. The sudden

horror that came over her, and paralysed her for a moment, when the

letter was placed in her hands, to convince her of the infidelity of

‘Edgardo,’ was finely conceived; and the effect was heightened by a

new point. Snatching the letter from her brother’s hands, she gazed at

it once more, as if to ascertain that the first impression had been

only a delusion.

“The madness in the last Act, was wonderfully interpreted. The eye,

glaring and vacant, appeared absorbed by fantasies, and blind to all

external objects. The passions by which she is supposed to be

influenced, while in this painful situation, are of the most varied

kind; but she never for a moment lost sight of the insanity. However

eloquent the song, the countenance was never fully lighted up by its

meaning. The discordance between the internal and the external world

was terribly preserved. To give the scene its full importance, Mdlle.

Lind has restored much of the music which is now generally omitted;

and, at the conclusion, instead of running off the stage in the usual

fashion, she fell senseless, which brought the situation to a more

pointed conclusion. Altogether, this mad scene is a rare exhibition of

genius, the fine fresh voice of the singer giving a substance to the

creation of her mind. The character of ‘Lucia’ will unquestionably be

ranked among Mdlle. Lind’s most brilliant successes. The audience were

kept in a state of the greatest excitement; and plaudits, repeated

calls, and bouquets, marked their unbounded delight.”[114]

The success of _Lucia di Lammermoor_ was so great, that it was given

four times in succession, and seven times more before the close of the

season.

The next new Opera was Donizetti’s charming Opera buffa, _L’Elisir

d’Amore_—a work incomparably superior to _La Figlia del Reggimento_,

both in its music and its _libretto_, though happily wanting in the _ad

captandum_ element which most excites the great mass of the public, and

therefore less calculated to excite a general _furore_. It proved,

however, a genuine success, and afforded excellent opportunities for the

display of the _prima donna’s_ genius, in its lighter mood, as well as

for that of Signor Lablache, whose “Dottore Dulcamara” was one of his

most genial _buffo_ parts; and his never-failing humour was turned to

such excellent account, on this occasion, as to produce the most piquant

effects in the scenes in which he and Mdlle. Lind were associated.

The next new _rôle_ was of a very different character. Until this year

Mdlle. Lind had never sung in _I Puritani_. She had seen it performed,

on her first visit to Her Majesty’s Theatre, in 1847, and had whispered

to Mrs. Grote, “I think I can do as well as that, and perhaps a little

better.” The time had now come when the faith she then expressed in her

own powers was to be put to the test—and we think we may venture to say

that it stood it fairly well.

The _rôle_ abounds in opportunities for the display of many high and

varied qualities which few dramatic artists possess in combination. It

is not enough that its exponent should be merely a brilliant executant,

or an impassioned actress, or possess a voice of large compass, of

unfailing sustaining power, of luscious sweetness, or of unlimited

flexibility. She must possess all these qualifications, and very many

more, in their highest perfection, and fullest measure of development.

These conditions were not hard for Mdlle. Lind; and she complied with

them all. But there was another one, very much harder, in the

background—one external to herself, and for which she was in no wise

responsible. Not many years previously, _I Puritani_ had been placed

upon the stage at Her Majesty’s Theatre, with a gorgeous wealth of

talent, still vividly remembered. So great was the sensation it created,

that, for years afterwards, the “_Puritani_ season” was spoken of as the

most brilliant on record. The charm of its enchantment was still fresh

in the memory of every frequenter of the Opera-House; and against the

influence of its attraction, Mdlle. Lind, with Signor Lablache alone to

support her in the first rank, had now to contend. A battle, fierce as

that which she had fought, in Berlin, against the memory of Madame

Schrœder-Devrient, and Annette Schechner, in _Euryanthe_, and _Die

Vestalin_, had now to be fought over again—and she fought, and won it.

Her rendering of _Qui la voce_ held all who heard it spell-bound; and

the _cadenza_ she composed for its opening movement was one of the

finest and most original of the wonderful passages of _fioritura_ with

which it was her custom to ornament the Italian _arie_ that pleased her

best. Again, in the famous Polacca—_Son vergin vezzosa_—the lightness of

her execution was little short of miraculous. And yet, in other scenes,

she sang with an impassioned fervour which brought into play the richest

tones of the fullest _soprano drammatico_.

The following critique, from the leading journal of the period, is

written with so commendable an earnestness, and in so just a spirit,

that we think no apology necessary for giving an extract from it:—

“To those who have seen Mdlle. Jenny Lind in the characters of

‘Amina,’ ‘Lucia,’ and ‘Alice,’ it must be evident that she gives to

any part she undertakes a distinctive mark, by which it becomes her

own; that, however often a character may have been represented by

other artists of eminence, she always does something with it which has

not been done before.

“Her ‘Elvira’ in _I Puritani_, which was performed on Saturday, was

another triumph in this respect. It was not like any other ‘Elvira’

which had been seen on the stage.

“The vocal triumph was as great as the histrionic. The sparkling

_polacca_, executed to perfection, and with a playfulness which was

completely illustrative of the character, electrified the audience,

and was encored with an enthusiasm which is rarely heard in any

theatre. In the mad scenes, an expression of wildness was apparent,

even in the crying, and added to the stronger mournfulness of the

situation. At the conclusion of the Opera, she was called repeatedly,

and bouquets were thrown in showers.”[115]

The success of _I Puritani_ was triumphant. Though the season was now

far advanced, it was given five times. But it did not displace the old

favourites. Concerning these, however, there remains no more to be said.

The performances extended to a much later period than usual; and many

ardent lovers of music remained in town beyond their customary time, in

order that they might not lose an opportunity which there was too much

reason to fear might never occur again.

Her Majesty and Prince Albert continued, to the end of the season, and

through a hot July, which made hours spent in a crowded theatre a severe

penance, to show their admiration of Mdlle. Lind by their attendance at

the Opera. They appear to have heard her in _La Sonnambula_ and the

_Figlia del Reggimento_ with ever-increasing delight—charmed with her

acting, and more and more impressed by her amazing flexibility of voice,

and the unusual power of the singer in executing the most brilliant

_fioriture_ in an exquisitely modulated _piano_.

Mr. Lumley had cause for genuine satisfaction before the performances

came to an end. His profits, this year, were far greater than they had

been in 1847. It is true that the results of “The Bunn Trial” had been

more calamitous, by far, than those best able to form an opinion on the

subject had predicted, or supposed even possible. Still, he well knew

how to make the best of his improved position; and has himself left it

on record, that “the season of 1848 proved, in a financial point of

view, far more remunerative than the preceding one, in which so much had

been absorbed by the extra expenses entailed by Jenny’s

vacillation.”[116]

CHAPTER IV.

THE CONCERT FOR THE BROMPTON HOSPITAL.

Clairville Cottage, though Mdlle. Lind had chosen it solely for the sake

of its retirement from the world, was none the less frequented by a

goodly company of trusted and congenial friends, who delighted to sit at

rest in the shade of its noble plane-tree, and inhale the sweet perfume

of its beloved magnolias, and whose presence, renewed from time to time,

effectually prevented its solitude from becoming irksome. We have seen

that Herr Berg and his family made a lengthened stay there. Mrs. Grote

was a constant visitor. So also was Thalberg, of whose talent Mdlle.

Lind always spoke with warmest admiration, and whose manner of

interpreting Schubert’s songs on the pianoforte initiated her into the

true Viennese spirit which is indispensable to their traditional effect.

And no less welcome were Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Carter Hall, who occupied a

house in the immediate vicinity of the pretty cottage, and were on terms

of friendliest intercourse with its mistress.

Within a few minutes’ walk of this peaceful habitation rose a pile of

buildings which the friends regarded with peculiar interest—the first

beginnings of the then but half-completed “Brompton Hospital for

Consumption and Diseases of the Chest.”

In an autobiographical work,[117] which has attained great popularity,

Mr. S. C. Hall makes mention of a concert given by Mdlle. Lind, at Her

Majesty’s Theatre, for this excellent institution. His account is so

circumstantial, that it seems difficult, at first sight, to doubt the

accuracy of any part of it. It is, however, inaccurate in certain

particulars, as we shall presently show, though the main facts are

stated correctly enough.

Mdlle. Lind had visited the Hospital during the height of the Opera

season, and had taken a vivid interest in it. It was indeed well worthy

of her attention. It owed its foundation, in the first instance, to the

benevolent energy of Mr. (afterwards Sir Philip) Rose, who, in the year

1841, formed a nucleus for it in a building known as the Manor House,

overlooking the grounds of Chelsea Hospital, and now used as an

auxiliary to the general work of the Institution. The present buildings

were begun in 1844, and were still far from complete in 1848, when

Mdlle. Lind, having heard that accommodation for an increased number of

patients was urgently needed, determined to use every possible exertion

for the addition of a new wing.

Some interesting particulars concerning her proposal are given in the

journals of the period, from which we select one, the authority of which

cannot be doubted:—

“The concert that will be given this day at Her Majesty’s Theatre for

the benefit of the Hospital for Consumption at Brompton, is a striking

instance of the benevolence and generosity of Mdlle. Lind. Not only

does she give her own services, but she has made arrangements with Mr.

Lumley, providing the society gratuitously with everything required;

so that no expense will be incurred, while it is expected that the

funds will be materially increased.

“The benefit that is to be done to the charity by this concert, is of

a special kind—namely, the erection of an eastern wing to the

hospital, in which an increase of room for the admission of patients

is most desirable.

“The ‘Hospital for Consumption and Diseases of the Chest’ has peculiar

claims to public support. The incurable nature of the consumptive

patient’s complaint, and the fact that he must long occupy a bed which

might be more profitably devoted to sufferers from other maladies,

shut him out from all hospitals whatever, before the establishment of

this one. The confirmed consumptive patient literally had no home,

before the foundation, in 1841, of a hospital devoted exclusively to

sufferers of this class. In aiding this establishment, therefore, the

benevolent are contributing towards a purpose that cannot be

accomplished by any other charity whatever. They are not merely

providing medical assistance in the case of a particular disease, but

they are providing a permanent domicile to a whole class of houseless

invalids.

“The report of the charity spoke favourably of its progress; but

showed that much more remained to be done. In 1847, there were already

sixty beds for patients, which were constantly occupied; and it was

expected that forty more, which the portion of the building then

completed was capable of accommodating, would soon be made available.

It is statistically shown that, in this metropolis, 11,000 persons are

constantly wasting away, from the attacks of pulmonary disease; and

that a large portion of these are working men, totally without the

means of providing for themselves, and excluded, as we have already

said, from the general hospitals.

“It is hoped that the concert will be one of those instances of the

amusement of the rich contributing to the relief of the poor, that

have lately been happily frequent, in the metropolis. The conduct of

Mdlle. Lind, who, according to the prospectus of the concert,

‘generously expressed her desire’ to augment the funds of this

excellent charity, is worthy of all praise.”[118]

In one point only, the contributor of this interesting article to the

_Times_ fails to do full justice to a gentleman who behaved, on this

occasion, with great and liberal forbearance. It will be remembered

that, by her contract with Mr. Lumley, Mdlle. Lind was forbidden to sing

at any public concert. She could not, therefore, have made her

contemplated gift to the Brompton Hospital without Mr. Lumley’s

permission; and he not only gave this, but added to it the loan of the

“Great Concert Room at Her Majesty’s Theatre,” for the morning indicated

in the advertisements.

The concert was duly announced to take place on Monday, the 31st of

July, 1848. The price of tickets for the reserved seats was fixed at two

guineas each, that for unreserved places, at one guinea. Nine hundred

tickets—mostly reserved—were sold at these high prices, and, the room,

(notwithstanding its imposing title,) being a comparatively small one,

many gentlemen were compelled to stand throughout the entire

performance. Mdlle. Lind herself was strongly opposed, on principle, to

“raised prices,” against which we have already seen her protesting at

Vienna; but, on this occasion, when funds were so urgently needed for a

sacred purpose, she suffered herself to be overruled by the arguments of

Mr. S. C. Hall.

She was assisted in the business portion of her work, by the Honorary

Secretary—Mr. Philip Rose—and other officers of the charity; and, at the

concert, by Mdlle. Cruvelli, Signori Lablache, Belletti, and Coletti,

MM. Remusat and King (Flautists), and Mr. Cooper (Violinist). Mr. Otto

Goldschmidt also played, at her request, two solos on the

pianoforte.[119]

A few days after the performance, Mdlle. Lind paid a visit to the

Hospital, giving each of the wards a careful inspection. We can imagine

the satisfaction of the generous donor, when, in passing through the

wards, between the rows of beds in which so many poor pale sufferers lay

stretched on either side, she thought of the augmented number now

rendered possible through her exertions. The success of her scheme

extended far beyond the sum it actually placed at the disposal of the

committee, for it gave a notable impulse to the collection of funds for

the work in hand. The Eastern Wing was no longer thought of as a remote

possibility. The committee were justified, now, in making the necessary

arrangements for its rapid completion; and when it was opened, and made

ready for the reception of patients, in 1855, its first floor,

containing ten wards for the accommodation of female sufferers, was

called “The Jenny Lind Gallery,” as the corresponding portion of the

Western Wing had been previously named “The Victoria Gallery” in token

of gratitude to Her Majesty, the Patroness of the charity; and, at the

same time, one of the ten new wards within the “Jenny Lind Gallery” was

named after Mrs. S. C. Hall.

In spite of her rooted antipathy to the presentation of testimonials, in

recognition of her works of charity, Mdlle. Lind had not the heart to

refuse that which was offered to her in the name of the recipients of

her bounty at Brompton, in the form of a beautiful silver salver, twenty

inches broad, bearing in its centre an engraving of the unfinished

building, with the following delicately-worded inscription:—

IN THE NAME OF THE SUFFERERS RELIEVED BY HER BOUNTY,

THIS HUMBLE MEMORIAL OF ONE OF HER NOBLE ACTIONS

IS PRESENTED

TO JENNY LIND

BY THE COMMITTEE OF MANAGEMENT

OF THE HOSPITAL FOR CONSUMPTION AT BROMPTON, LONDON,

AS A SLIGHT TOKEN OF THEIR ESTEEM AND GRATITUDE,

AND IN COMMEMORATION OF THE CONCERT GIVEN BY HER

ON THE THIRTY-FIRST DAY OF JULY, MDCCCXLVIII,

ON WHICH OCCASION, THROUGH THE EXERTION OF HER

UNRIVALLED TALENTS,

ONE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SIX POUNDS

WERE ADDED TO THE FUNDS OF THE CHARITY

AND A SOLID FOUNDATION LAID FOR COMPLETING THE FABRIC,

THE UNFINISHED CONDITION OF WHICH HAD EXCITED

HER GENEROUS SYMPATHY.

“BLESSED ARE THE MERCIFUL, FOR THEY SHALL OBTAIN MERCY.”[120]

On the seventh anniversary of the opening of the Hospital, celebrated in

1849, the late Lord Beaconsfield—then, the Right Hon. B. Disraeli—paid

perhaps the aptest and most beautiful tribute on record to the generous

action of Mdlle. Lind in relation to the charity, in a speech delivered

in presence of the Governor, and a crowded audience.

“The generosity of Mdlle. Lind to the Hospital,” said the great

Statesman, “can only be characterised as marvellous. It comes upon us,

as it were, in a heavenly burst of music that charms every sense, and

touches every heart—a sweet carol of charity that fills the popular

ear with bewilderment, sympathy, and rapture.

“I look upon the conduct of this lady as one of the most remarkable

features of the age we live in. I know nothing in classic story, or in

those feudal epochs when we are taught that the individual was more

influential, when character was more forcible—I know nothing to be

compared with the career of this admirable woman. Why, gentlemen, it

almost reaches the high ideal of human nature when we portray to

ourselves a youthful maiden, innocent and benignant, in the possession

of an unparalleled and omnipotent charm, alternately entrancing the

heart of nations, and then kneeling at the tomb of suffering, of

calamity, and of care.

“And, gentlemen, I, for one, honour Jenny Lind above all things,

because she has shown that she comprehends her position, and that a

great artist, sustained by virtue, upheld by self-respect, and full of

the magnificence of her mission, ranks in the highest class of human

beings and human benefactors.”

And thus, in the midst of her second London season, was inaugurated the

first of that long line of noble works which have surrounded the name of

Jenny Lind with a halo more bright than even that enkindled by the fire

of her genius.

CHAPTER V.

“ELIJAH.”

The London season was now at the zenith of its brilliancy, but its

successes did not make Mdlle. Lind forget her friends in Germany. In the

midst of the general excitement, she wrote to Frau von Kaulbach:—

“London, July 10, 1848.

“It was very hard indeed for me to take upon myself, for this year

also, the frightful responsibility of supporting the Opera, here. But

it was my duty to do so; for it rested with me, whether Lumley should

be ruined, and the whole theatre fall to the ground, or not; and the

public rewards me in so many ways, and shows me so much attention,

that I have nothing to regret.

“I go, this year also, to the (English) provinces; but then I shall

have done, and shall leave the _grande carrière_ behind me, and shall

only work in Sweden for my pleasure—that is, for my School.

“There you have pretty nearly all that I shall undertake. If anything

very important should happen, I will be sure to tell you; but, till

then, believe nothing—and, before all things, do not believe that I

have a bad heart. I hope I have grown better; for, since I saw you, I

have passed through many things, and have not been without

temptations. What reason have I to be vain now that I had not before?”

As the season drew near its close, she wrote to her guardian, Judge

Munthe, a noteworthy letter, in which she gave the first hint in writing

of a project no less weighty in its bearing upon Art than her scheme for

the completion of the Brompton Hospital was in its relation to Charity:—

“Clairville Cottage, Old Brompton, Aug. 14, 1848.

“I am going to sing a few times more this year, and therefore I shall

not have done with London before the 24th inst.

“We go to the provinces on the 4th of September, and begin by a

concert in Birmingham on the 5th. On my return to London I intend to

give, in conjunction with many others, a grand concert for the

foundation of a School of Music in memory of Mendelssohn, the object

of which will be to receive pupils of all nations and promote their

musical training; and we have chosen his last work, _Elijah_, to

illustrate it. If this enterprise proves successful I shall be very

glad and happy. If I do not come home this autumn, I intend to work in

Germany, for this purpose, part of next winter.”

Truly, there were schemes enough in contemplation, and but little

unoccupied time at command for the elaboration of their details.

Her Majesty’s Theatre closed, for the season of 1848, on the 26th of

August, with a concert for the benefit of the Chorus; and a few days

afterwards, Mdlle. Lind started in company with Mons. Roger, the great

French tenor, Signor Belletti, Signor Frederic Lablache, and some other

artists of less celebrity, on a provincial tour of a more decidedly

dramatic character than that which she had undertaken in 1847.

She left London on the 4th of September, on which day she wrote to her

friend, Madame Wichmann:—

“Clairville, September 4, 1848.

“I was not a little astonished, when I received your last letter from

Interlaken. I was as happy as a Queen, to know that you are now

leaving Berlin. My heart bounds with joy, when I think of meeting you

in Italy, or elsewhere. Perhaps our long-cherished idea may be

realised, after all.

“I have many plans in my head, and, in case rest should again be

denied me, I may still have to go on working for a longer time.

“To-day, I begin by going to the English provinces, for two, or

perhaps three months. After that begins a matter about which I will

tell you.

“I wish, in conjunction with one of Mendelssohn’s most intimate

friends, to contribute something towards a Music School in his memory;

and, for this purpose, I propose, in the month of November, to give a

grand concert in London. But I hope, in any case, to have finished all

by the new year at the latest.”

The tour began with a concert at Birmingham, on the 5th of September,

followed by one at Liverpool, on the 7th, and performances of _Lucia_

and _La Sonnambula_, at Manchester, on the 9th and 11th. Mdlle. Lind

also sang in _La Sonnambula_, _Lucia di Lammermoor_, _I Puritani_, and

_La Figlia del Reggimento_, at Manchester, Hull, Newcastle, Edinburgh,

Glasgow, Dublin, and Brighton; and gave concerts, with scarcely less

success, in almost every place of any great importance in England.

The entry in Mdlle. Lind’s engagement-book of the performance of _La

Figlia del Reggimento_ at Brighton, on the 3rd of November, is followed

by eight notes of exclamation—“Brighton. Regimentets Dotter!!!!!!!!”—and

a thick black line is drawn across the page, beneath the entry,

evidently intimating that she intended this to be her last appearance on

the Stage—as it really would have been, but for the six supplementary

performances to be hereafter noticed.

The meaning of this entry in the _Annotations-Bok_ is corroborated, in a

very remarkable manner, by a passage in the diary of Mons. Roger, the

great French Artist who sang with Mdlle. Lind throughout her last

dramatic tour. The entry runs thus:—

“Friday, Nov. 3. _La Figlia del Reggimento._—A greater crowd, and

greater heat, than at _La Sonnambula_. In the last Act, during the

_ritournelle_ of the _Rondo Finale_, Lind said to me under her breath,

‘Mark this well, Roger, these are the last notes that you will hear me

sing on the Stage.’—I stood stupefied.

“Is it true? Is her career finished? At the apogee of her success does

she renounce the Stage! There is no time for me to ask her for an

explanation—she sings—the public, enchanted, applauds—it knows not

that it is losing her;—and then, it is my turn to sing, and I must put

on a happy air, since I am to espouse her—but, in truth, my heart was

distressed.”[121]

On the 4th of December, Mdlle. Lind gave a concert, at Leeds, for the

Orchestra which accompanied her, realising £640 for division among its

members. Mrs. Grote has left us, in her Note-book, a graphic account of

the events that took place at this period.

“Her progress in the provinces,” she says, “was extraordinary; for the

intense interest and admiration she excited in the various cities she

visited, and the passionate eagerness to get even a glimpse of her, as

evinced by the middle and lower classes, were truly marvellous.

“Early in December I was with her at Oxford, where she gave a morning

concert in the ‘Theatre’ or Senate House. Eighteen hundred persons

were present, and the enthusiasm of the students was most diverting.

“Next we posted across to Rugby, in order to proceed to Leeds, where

Jenny gave a concert for the profit of her own little orchestra, and

£640 was realised, each man getting about £36,—a pretty ‘wind-up’ to a

most agreeable and lucrative three months’ _tournée_.

“After the concert, and about midnight, Jenny gave a _Soirée_ to the

band, and we kept it up till 3 A.M., with dancing and a famous good

supper, after which Jenny made a speech, proposing Balfe’s health;

and, after that, another to her band, drinking all _their_ ‘healths,’

and bidding them farewell and prosperity.

“Her address was given with feeling and taste, and the effect it had

upon her guests was evidently profound. I was very near crying during

the response, which was _her_ health, with harmonious chords and

_vivas_ from all lips. Balfe made her a speech, thanking her in the

name of the _troupe_, and paid her some lofty, but heartfelt

compliments, in neat and appropriate phraseology. The evening was very

delightful altogether, and we all parted with regret, returning to

London on the morrow with Mr. Lumley.”

This generous and graceful act accomplished, Mdlle. Lind returned for

ten days, to London, for the purpose of carrying out the great

enterprise which, during the last few months, had occupied so much of

her attention, and which she now felt sure of bringing to a successful

issue.

The noble idea of commemorating Mendelssohn’s genius, by the foundation

of a Music-School in his name, presented itself to some of his most

intimate friends, not very many months after his early death.

The exact details of its origin have not transpired; but we have seen

that Mdlle. Lind first mentioned it in writing, in a letter addressed to

Judge Munthe, on the 14th of August, 1848; and again, in another written

to Madame Wichmann, on the 4th of September—_i.e._, exactly ten months

after Mendelssohn’s death. And now, at last, after four months of

careful deliberation, the time had arrived for putting the great design

into execution.

The idea was a noble one indeed, well worthy of being carried out to its

fullest extent, had this proved to have been possible. And what more

worthy means could have been devised for raising the funds needed for

putting it into execution, than the scheme proposed by Mdlle. Lind—the

presentation to the public of his last and greatest Oratorio, in the

most perfect form that the united talent of the most accomplished

singers and instrumentalists in England could achieve?

This was the bold idea, in furtherance of which, she invited her artist

friends to assist her in a grand performance of _Elijah_, at Exeter

Hall, on Friday, the 15th of December.

And, in selecting this as the most fitting work for her memorial

purpose, she did so, not only because she believed it to be the greatest

work her friend had produced, but because she knew that he would himself

have chosen it as the one best fitted for the display of her own

peculiar powers, since he had composed the soprano part expressly for

her, although she had been prevented, by unforeseen circumstances, from

singing it in public during his life-time.

The result of her labours may be gathered from the following critique

which appeared in _The Times_, on the day after the celebration:—

“The grand performance of the Oratorio of _Elijah_, in aid of the

‘Mendelssohn Foundation for Free Scholarships in the Leipzig Musical

Conservatory,’ took place last night.

“Exeter Hall was filled, in every part, by one of the most brilliant

and fashionable audiences ever assembled in a public edifice. His

Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge, with the Duchess and Princess of

Cambridge, the Prince and Princesses of Hohenlohe, the Hanoverian

Minister, Count Kielmansegge, and suite, occupied the northern

gallery, near the orchestra. The Archbishop of Canterbury, the Bishops

of London and Norwich, the Prussian Ambassador, etc., were in the

reserved seats in the area.

“We have already stated that Mdlle. Lind had liberally accorded her

gratuitous services for this occasion; and we are now enabled to add

that she doubled the value of her assistance, and the obligation of

those interested in the Mendelssohn Foundation, by attending every one

of the rehearsals, private and public, arriving at the beginning, and

remaining until the end, in order to ensure, as far as she was

concerned, a perfect execution of Mendelssohn’s immortal work, which

she has studied expressly for the occasion.

“The performance last night was complete and splendid; well worthy of

the cause for which it was instituted, and a considerable sum will be

devoted, by its means, to the advancement of the Mendelssohn

Foundation at Leipzig.”

It would be beside our purpose to trace the history of the “Mendelssohn

Scholarships” from this splendid beginning to the final success of the

movement. But it is satisfactory to know that Mdlle. Lind’s intentions

with regard to them have long been carried out, both in the spirit and

the letter, and will continue to be so carried out in perpetuity, though

only to a certain limited extent, since many modifications of the

original plan were found necessary, before the Foundation was

permanently established. We cannot, however, doubt that Mdlle. Lind’s

name will be remembered, in connection with the Memorial she raised to

her departed friend, for many a century to come—for the Foundation is

legally secured, and remains in perpetuity.

CHAPTER VI.

FOR CHARITY.

The tribute to the memory of Mendelssohn, with its careful preparation,

its busy work, and its triumphant result, might well have exhausted the

powers, both mental and physical, of an artist of no ordinary strength;

but Mdlle. Lind had no time for rest. Four days later she was due at

Manchester; and, within little more than six weeks, she had engaged to

give five more concerts, entirely for charitable purposes, besides a

benefit for Mr. Balfe.

The campaign began with two concerts, given on the 19th and 21st of

December, for the “Manchester Royal Infirmary and Dispensary,” which,

like the “Brompton Hospital for Consumption,” sorely needed additional

accommodation. These two concerts produced a sum exceeding £2,500, which

was made to serve as the nucleus of a fund for the erection of an

additional “North Wing.”

The next performance took place on the 28th of December, for the benefit

of the “Queen’s College Hospital” at Birmingham, for which it produced

£1,100, and in acknowledgment of which, the Governors of the Institution

presented her with a work-box, ornamented with the following

inscription:—

To MADEMOISELLE JENNY LIND

FROM THE LORD PRINCIPAL AND COUNCIL OF THE

QUEEN’S COLLEGE AND HOSPITAL, BIRMINGHAM,

AS A SMALL TESTIMONY OF THEIR SENSE OF OBLIGATION

FOR HER VERY NOBLE AND GRATUITOUS SERVICES

AT A CONCERT

HELD IN THE TOWN HALL

ON BEHALF OF THE FUNDS OF THE

QUEEN’S HOSPITAL

DECEMBER 28TH, 1848.

And now came a few days of well-earned recreation—a Christmas and New

Year’s gathering at Crumpsall, near Manchester, the country-house of Mr.

and Mrs. Salis Schwabe, for which Mdlle. Lind had accepted the

invitation, more than a month in advance.

All too soon, however, the pleasant little holiday came to an end. It

had been the delight of all who were fortunate enough to be present at

it; and, though she to whose labours it had given so cheerful a respite

at that busy time is now no more, it is still remembered by many as a

bright spot in the past.

The next appointment was for a concert, to be given on the 6th of

January, 1849, for the benefit of the “Southern Hospital” at Liverpool,

for which, with the never-failing success which was now looked for as a

matter of course, the sum of £1,400 was raised, in a single evening.

And now it was time to prepare for a second visit to Norwich, in which,

to this day, the memory of Mdlle. Lind is regarded with greater

veneration than in any other Cathedral-town in England.

Two concerts, arranged to take place on the 22nd and 23rd of January,

for the benefit of the poor of Norwich, realised the net sum of £1,253.

No specific plan was decided upon, at the moment, for the application of

this sum of money, which was placed, provisionally, in the hands of

trustees, in order that the matter might receive due consideration,

before any irrevocable step was taken with regard to its ultimate

disposal. It was proposed, at one time, to devote the proceeds of the

concerts to the building of baths and wash-houses for the poor. This

plan, however, was not put into execution; and the question remained

open for four years, during which period the money was placed out at

interest. A final decision was, however, arrived at, in 1853, when

Madame Goldschmidt, in consultation with the Stanley family and other

friends, resolved to devote the fund to the foundation of a hospital for

the sick children of the poor. Under the name of “The Jenny Lind

Infirmary for Sick Children,” this institution still exists, in a very

flourishing condition. The original nucleus was by no means the last

donation that the foundress contributed to its endowment. She continued

to take deep interest in it, until the day of her death; and so largely

has its sphere of usefulness increased, that, in the year 1890, it

relieved no less than 1230 “out-patients,” in addition to the 257 little

sufferers who were admitted as “in-patients” into its wards.[122]

The next concert at which Mdlle. Lind sang, after taking leave of her

friends at Norwich, was one given in London, on the 29th of January, for

the benefit of Mr. Balfe, whose warm artistic devotion as conductor at

the Opera she spoke of, to the end of her life, with grateful

recognition.

This was followed, four days later, by a performance of great importance

in aid of the “Royal Infirmary,” at Worcester.

The Bishop of Worcester had written to Mdlle. Lind, in November, 1847,

requesting her to sing at the Worcester Festival—the triennial

performance in connection with the “Three Choirs”—in August, 1848; and

she had consented to do so, if she found it possible to make the

necessary arrangements. But, when the time for the fulfilment of her

conditional promise drew near, Mr. Lumley, whose engagement with her did

not expire until the end of the year, not only refused his consent, but

announced her for a concert at Birmingham, on the very day on which the

Worcester Festival began. In order to atone, as far as she could, for

this disappointment—a very grievous one indeed for the Worcester

Committee—she sent the sum of £50, from her own private purse, for the

charity in aid of which the Festival was given—the “Society for the

Relief of the Widows and Orphans of the Clergy”; and, as soon as she had

completed her engagement with the theatrical manager, offered to give a

concert for any other charity in the diocese that might stand in need of

her help. While gratefully accepting the generous offer, the Committee

decided in favour of the “Worcester Royal Infirmary,” as the recipient

of its benefits; and, on the 2nd of February, 1849, Mdlle. Lind gave a

concert, in the College Hall, at which the sum of £840 was raised for

this purpose, and devoted to the erection of a chapel for the

Institution. The Committee was very anxious to record its appreciation

of the gift by offering to the donor a present of Worcester china; but

this she firmly but courteously declined to accept; for, as we have

already seen, she had always been most unwilling to receive any sort of

acknowledgment in return for her charitable performances.

And thus, between the 4th of December, 1848, and the 2nd of February,

1849—a period of less than nine weeks—Mdlle. Lind had, at nine concerts,

(not including that for the benefit of Mr. Balfe,) succeeded in raising

the noble sum of £8,740, in aid of five hospitals, one artistic

memorial, and the orchestra which accompanied her on her tour; and, if

we add to this the receipts of the concert given for the Brompton

Hospital, in the previous July, the sum amounts to £10,500.

£ _s._ _d._

For the Brompton Hospital (July 31, 1848) 1,766 15 0

For the Orchestra (Dec. 4, 1848) 640 0 0

For the Mendelssohn Scholarships (Dec. 15, 1848) 1,000 0 0

For the Manchester Hospital (Dec. 19 and 21, 1848) 2,500 0 0

For the Queen’s College Hospital, at Birmingham (Dec.

28, 1848) 1,100 0 0

For the Southern (Toxteth) Hospital, at Liverpool

(Jan. 6, 1849) 1,400 0 0

For the Norwich Charities[123] (Jan. 22 and 23, 1849) 1,253 0 0

For the Worcester Infirmary (Feb. 2, 1849) 840 0 0

—————— —— —

Total 10,499 15 0

—————— —— —

On the 3rd of April, 1849, a performance of _The Creation_ was

announced, at Exeter Hall, for the aid of five important charities, four

of which were intimately connected with Art:

“A grand performance of sacred music was given last night,” says the

critic of _The Times_, “consisting of Handel’s _Coronation Anthem_,

_Zadok the Priest_, and Haydn’s _Creation_.

“The principal attraction, which drew together one of the most crowded

audiences that ever congregated within the precincts of Exeter Hall,

was Mdlle. Jenny Lind, who sang the soprano part in _The Creation_.

“The main object of the performance was a charitable one. Mdlle. Jenny

Lind accorded her services gratuitously; and, after the band, chorus,

and principal singers are paid, the surplus will be divided between

the ‘Royal Society of Musicians,’ the ‘Society of Female Musicians,’

the ‘Choral Fund,’ the ‘Royal Academy of Music,’ and the ‘Governesses’

Benevolent Institution.’ The receipts averaged, we understand, between

£1,400 and £1,500, which will guarantee at least £850 for the benefit

of those institutions.

“The performance was honoured by the presence of Her Majesty and

Prince Albert, who attended with a numerous suite. In the stalls,

among other illustrious persons, was observed the Duke of Wellington.

“In the Oratorio of _The Creation_, the most arduous as well as the

most interesting portion of the music falls to the lot of the soprano;

Mdlle. Jenny Lind, however, is never at a loss, where true sentiment

and musical cleverness are demanded. Her first effort was the Air,

with Chorus, _The marvellous work_, which she gave with a dignity of

style suited to the subject. In _With verdure clad_, and the

Recitative that precedes it, we had already heard her at Balfe’s

concert, and our favourable opinion was recorded at the time. She sang

it perhaps still better last night; there was more fervour, with equal

correctness. But the Solo which most taxes the powers of the vocalist,

and from which most was expected by the public, was the opening

Recitative and Air of the Second Part, _On mighty pens the eagle

wings_. On this Air, which is more dramatic than sacred in character,

Mdlle. Lind lavished all the treasures of her art; and her entire

rendering of the melody was as original as it was striking. In the

line—

“‘And, cooing, calls the tender dove his mate,’

she produced quite a novel effect, by sustaining the note that occurs

on the first syllable of the word ‘cooing,’ for a lengthened period.

“One of the most general topics of conversation and marked approval

was the exceeding clearness with which Mdlle. Lind pronounced the

words of all her Songs, Duets, and Trios. In this particular, she

evinced a facility, not merely noticeable on account of her being a

foreigner, but worthy of attention as an example even for many singers

to whom the English language is native and familiar.”[124]

From a paragraph which appeared in _The Times_ on the 17th of April, we

find that the profits of the concert fell rather short of the

anticipated amount.

“But,” says the editor, quoting from _The Standard_ of the previous

day, “to her great honour and benevolent disposition be it recorded,

she has signified her intention to make up the net profit of £700 odd

to £800; so that the four charities will each receive £200.”[125]

We refrain from adding anything to this critique, which expresses all

that need be said on the subject. Nor does it fall within the limits of

our design to dilate upon the later triumphs achieved by Mdlle. Lind in

the new path she had chosen for the development of her powers. She gave

only one more Oratorio performance in England, before her departure for

America—that of Handel’s _Messiah_, at Liverpool, on the 19th of August,

1850; but she had not yet taken leave of her audience at Her Majesty’s

Theatre, and thither we must now follow her, to be present at the

performance which closed the splendours of her _Operatic_ career.

CHAPTER VII.

THE LAST OPERA.

When Mr. Lumley began to make his arrangements for the season of 1849,

he was much exercised by uncertainty as to Mdlle. Lind’s intentions for

the future. No engagement had been made, at the close of the previous

season: and in the meantime, rumours were rife as to her retirement from

the Stage, which was said to be imminent.

It must be confessed that Mr. Lumley was in a difficult position.

Unfortunately, his faith in Mdlle. Lind’s reliance upon the judgment of

Mrs. Grote had led him to expect a great deal more from that lady’s

influence upon the retiring Artist than was warranted by the true

circumstances of the case. Mrs. Grote herself knew perfectly well how

absolutely impregnable was the decision at which Mdlle. Lind had

arrived. But it is evident that she did not succeed in making the

unhappy manager understand, so clearly as he ought to have done, how

matters then stood. He believed that there was still room for hope; and,

harassed by anxiety, tormented by doubts of his own creation with regard

to the unknown future, he followed the example of the public, and

formed, on what he conceived to be “undoubted authority,” strange

theories of his own, destitute of any sort of foundation in fact.

The Opera-House opened for the season, in 1849, amidst as rough a “sea

of doubts and perplexities,” as that which had prevailed in 1847. The

public would not be satisfied without the re-engagement of Mdlle. Lind;

and, before long, it was authoritatively announced—and, this time, with

perfect truth—that Mdlle. Lind had positively determined to appear no

more upon the Stage. A hundred different reasons, all equally false, and

equally unauthorised, were given for this determination—but, whatever

the true reason might have been, the fact remained, that never again

could the public hope to see its favourite upon the boards of Her

Majesty’s Theatre.

Mr. Lumley was in despair. In face of the attractions offered at the

rival establishment, this determination meant, for him, nothing short of

irremediable disaster—of absolute ruin—unless he could stave off the

evil day by a clever _coup de main_. As a matter of fact, he actually

did effect this _coup de main_, not very long afterwards, by the

engagement of the Contessa de’ Rossi, formerly Mdlle. Sontag. With that

stroke of policy we are, however, in no wise concerned. It is enough for

us to know that Mdlle. Lind continued inexorable; and that it was only

after reiterated entreaties, that she consented to enter into an

engagement for six “Grand Classical Performances,” in which the music of

her favourite Operas was to be sung, at a series of concerts, without

the attractions of the stage. It was at first proposed that these

performances should take place in Exeter Hall. But the objections to

this place were insuperable. This condition, therefore, was afterwards

waived; and, in due time, it was announced in the managerial prospectus

that Mdlle. Lind would sing in six concerts at Her Majesty’s Theatre.

It would have needed but a very little calm consideration, to convince

all concerned that a compromise such as this could not by any

possibility succeed—that its failure was assured, beforehand. The

experiment was, however, tried, on Thursday, the 12th of April, with

Mozart’s _Il Flauto Magico_; but it broke down so signally that no

attempt was ever made to repeat it. All that could be done in the

Concert-room Mdlle. Lind did; but, unhappily, that “all” was not enough.

She sang the music magnificently; and the critics did her full justice

in analysing her performance. She had sung so faultlessly that the

critic of _The Times_ had been completely disarmed; so enthralled by the

spell she cast over her audience, that, throughout the whole of his

notice, he had not ventured to utter one single word of protest against

the fatal mistake she had made. Yet, the signs of that mistake were

patent to every one; and no one felt the bitterness of the position more

keenly than Mdlle. Lind herself. For the first time, since her first

great European triumph, she had failed to express her own ideal—not from

lack of artistic power, but from lack of means external to it. How could

the threatened ruin be averted? In one way only. She felt this, at once;

and, with a depth of self-renunciation well worthy of her generous

character, she sacrificed the freedom which had so long been the desire

of her heart, and permitted Mr. Lumley to make an official announcement,

to the effect, that, “Although Mdlle. Lind had intended to take leave of

the subscribers to the Opera, and the public, in a series of concerts,

yet, as it had been urged that concerts would not be regarded as equally

satisfactory, she had generously consented to suspend her intention of

retiring from the stage, and would therefore appear in a few more

performances.”

The delight of the public surpassed all bounds. The subscribers forgot

their late discontent, and appeared in crowds to welcome her on her

re-appearance. The house was filled to overflowing. Every incident

connected with the now-familiar “Jenny Lind crush” was renewed at the

doors. And even Mr. Lumley himself was satisfied with the enthusiasm

manifested both by the occupants of the subscription boxes and the

general public.

Her Majesty and Prince Albert were among the first to welcome their

favourite artist’s return to the stage from which, as we have seen, she

had told the Queen it was her intention to retire. As she was felt by

them to act and sing even more exquisitely than she had done the

previous season, they hailed her appearance with deep satisfaction, not

unmingled with sadness that the pleasure was one which could not often

be repeated, as the singer’s resolution to quit the operatic stage was

now well known. Only once were they able to see the _Figlia del

Reggimento_—always a special favourite with the Queen. But they were

present twice at the performance both of _La Sonnambula_ and _Lucia di

Lammermoor_; and on the 10th of May, they saw her, with much regret, for

the last time upon the stage, in _Roberto il Diavolo_, the piece in

which her acting and singing had, as already shown, first laid a strong

hold upon their admiration.[126]

The scene of the last farewell is thus feelingly described in the

columns of _The Times_:—

“During the whole of Mdlle. Lind’s engagement this season there has

not been so extraordinary a spectacle as was exhibited last night,

when, as the bills stated, her ‘Last Operatic Performance’ was to take

place.

“The difference of her reception when she sang at the ‘Classical

Concert’ from that when she reappeared in _La Sonnambula_ must have

struck any one who witnessed the two scenes. Though the theatre was

the same, and the bulk of the audience nearly the same, on both

occasions, she was greeted in the character of ‘Amina’ just as if she

had been making her _début_, and the preceding concerts had never been

given. Hence, the public, who thought that they were witnessing, for

the last time, the combination of Jenny Lind the actress with Jenny

Lind the vocalist, were not so much mistaken in giving all the force

of a final interview to their visit last night.

“_Roberto il Diavolo_, which, on the Italian stage, has never been

very popular as a whole, but which has depended for its attraction on

the ‘Alice’ of Mdlle. Lind, was the Opera selected. The character in

which she first sang before a London audience was chosen as the one in

which she was to take her leave.

“_Quando lascia la Normandia_, with the immortal _sotto voce_ shake

which has so often astonished her hearers, drew down the accustomed

_encore_; and the clinging to the Cross, with terror in the shrink,

and faith in the countenance, seemed even more striking than usual, as

a display of histrionic power. The increased sweetness and fulness of

her voice, this year, has been a theme of universal remark; and never

was it more melodious than last night.

“The applause which she received at the conclusion of the Opera was

something remarkable. She was called three times, by an audience that

occupied even the obscurest nooks of the edifice, and that universally

rose when she appeared; and so continuous were the plaudits, that they

blended with each other into one roll of heavy sound. At the last

call, she appeared, particularly moved.

“During the early part of the Opera, there was a tumult in the house,

occasioned by the crowd.

“Her Majesty, Prince Albert, and the Duchess of Kent, honoured the

theatre with their presence.”

With what feelings did Mdlle. Lind see the curtain descend, for the last

time, on that thrilling scene in _Roberto il Diavolo_, in which, as she

herself narrated in after years, she “stood at the man’s right hand, and

the Fiend at his left, and all she could think of was, how to save him”?

Was it really a heavy trial through which she had elected to pass? Did

she herself feel sad when the last note faded into silence, and Bertram

sank through the trap-door into the fiery depths below? Who can tell?

She never spoke of such a sadness, in after life. That the last round of

applause, the last wild shout from pit and stalls and gallery and boxes,

was absolutely nothing to her, we know well enough. It could not but be

less than nothing. She was too well accustomed to it all. Since her

first appearance in _The Polish Mine_, in 1830, the stage had won for

her her daily bread. For her, the excitement, the romance, the glamour,

the thousand enticing charms which fascinate so many _prime donne_ had

no existence. Her “first appearance” was a dim memory of childhood,

bearing no analogy whatever to the intoxicating _début_ for which most

young artists long, as the Peri longed for Paradise, at the precious

period during which their thoughts ought to be exclusively devoted to

study. To her, the stage, with its cold _coulisses_, and its ceaseless

round of monotonous hard work, was as prosaic as the routine of the

school-room to a jaded governess. The simile strikes home, for the stage

had really been her school-room ever since she was ten years old.

But there was another side to the question. However little she may

have cared for fame, she cared very much indeed for the Art to which

she had devoted the best of all she possessed. And, for Art, in one of

its purest and most perfect manifestations, the evening of the 10th of

May was a very sad one. For, that last fall of the curtain put an end,

for ever, to the operatic triumphs of the most gifted actress-singer

the nineteenth century had produced—put an end to them, beyond all

hope of renewal; with the absolute certainty, impressed upon the minds

of all who were present, that no subsequent change of circumstances

would ever induce the Arch-Priestess of Song, whose genius had

enthralled them as they had never been enthralled before, to reverse

the decision at which she had then arrived. She had written, in her

engagement-book, at Brighton, “My last Opera-Representation”—“_min

sista Opera-Representation_”—and she had meant it. There were to be no

more “last nights,” after the manner to which the “Opera-going public”

were only too well accustomed; no supplementary performances, “by

special desire,” to be succeeded, in the following year, by “twelve

more last appearances,” culminating in a “grand farewell,” in which

she would perform “positively for the last time.” She had already

appeared upon the stage “for the last time;” and all who had seen her

knew it.

Truly, this last farewell performance was impressed with a double

significance, not easy to describe in words. For the great World of Art,

no day so sad as this 10th of May, in 1849, had passed since the 4th of

November, in 1847. She knew this well—and she must have sympathised with

those who so deeply and sincerely regretted her retirement. Yet, for

her, it brought the freedom, the rest, the peace, that she had longed

for, year after year, from the moment of her first triumphs in

Art-loving Germany.

How welcome that peace and freedom were, we can divine from the early

letters in which she told her friends how ardently she looked forward to

her emancipation from the trammels of the stage. And a circumstance

which happened on this last night must have gladdened her heart, so full

of sympathy for her humblest fellow-workers.

A little more than two months before her retirement, while she was still

on her provincial tour, she had written to Mrs. Stanley:—

Wakefield, March 6, 1849.

“I want to give concerts, here in the provinces, for Lumley’s people,

which I could do very quietly, and when I have got the sum I wish for,

then place the money in the hands of my banker in London, to give to

the choristers and most needy people at Her Majesty’s Theatre, which

they (Lumley and his friends) say that I have thrown out of

employment.

“I suppose Lumley’s vanity will not be satisfied with this proposal—

but that is not my care. My wish is, to help the poor—_voilà tout_. To

sing religious words on the stage I can and will not.”

There is no record, in Mdlle. Lind’s “Engagement-book,” of any special

concerts given, in the provinces, for “Lumley’s people”; but it is more

than probable that a portion of the receipts of some of the general

performances were applied to their benefit. Be this as it may, they

possessed Mdlle. Lind’s sympathy, in the warmest degree; and returned

it, with all their hearts. So devoted were they to her, that, on that

last evening, when all was over, the members of the chorus presented her

with a gold bracelet, on the inside of which was engraved:—

PRESENTED TO

MDLLE. JENNY LIND

BY THE MEMBERS OF THE

CHORAL DEPARTMENT OF

HER MAJESTY’S THEATRE

AS A TOKEN OF THEIR

ESTEEM AND ADMIRATION.

MAY 10TH, 1849.

And so the last farewell was accompanied by a touching incident quite

apart from the demonstration in which the outer world took a share; and

we may be very sure that Mdlle. Lind remembered it, long after the sound

of the last round of applause had been forgotten; and that she prized

the simple jewel—now in the possession of her daughter—not a whit less

dearly than the costly gems presented to her by the great ones of the

earth.

With the presentation of this most delicate memorial, the fateful

evening came to an end; and with it, the operatic career of one whose

name will live, in connection with the Musical Drama, as long as the

Musical Drama itself exists.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE “METHOD.”

Our readers will naturally expect us, in summing up our history of

Mdlle. Lind’s performances upon the stage, to furnish them with some

technical remarks upon the _timbre_ and compass of her voice, and the

“method” by aid of which she cultivated it.

The voice was a brilliant and powerful Soprano, combining the volume and

sonority of the true _Soprano drammatico_—to which class of voices it

unquestionably belonged—with the lightness and flexibility peculiar to

the more ductile and airy _Soprano sfogato_, with the characteristic

tenuity of which it had, however, nothing in common.

Its compass extended from B below the stave, to G on the fourth line

above it—in technical language, from b to G̿; that is to say, a clear

range of two octaves and a sixth, as shown in the subjoined diagram:—

[Illustration:

(_a_) The veiled notes in the middle register.

(_b_) The brilliant head-voice.

(_c_) The F♯︎ which forms so striking a feature in Mendelssohn’s

_Elijah_.

(_d_) The ringing upper A, used with such thrilling effect in the

opening movement of _Casta diva_.

(_e_) The upper C forming, with the above-mentioned A, the initial

passage in the _Tanzlied aus Dalekarlien_.

(_f_) The F in alt, used by Mozart, in _Non paventar_.

(_g_) The six natural notes (C, D, E, F, G, A) in the youthful voice,

to be presently described.

]

The various registers of this extended compass were so skilfully blended

into one, by the effect of art, that it was impossible for the most

delicate or attentive ear to detect their points of junction. In fact,

after the completion of its cultivation under the guidance of Signor

Garcia, the entire voice became one homogeneous whole, so even in its

calibre, that the notes were avowedly sung without a thought as to the

best way of “placing” them.

Certain regions, however, possessed marked æsthetic qualities, very

clearly distinguishable, though they could be modified, at will, in

accordance with the demands of the passages into which they were

introduced. For instance, three notes of the middle register (the F, G,

and A, shown at (_a_) in the diagram), were invested, in _piano_

passages, with a veiled tone of ravishing beauty—as in the long-drawn A,

in the middle register, which forms the opening note of _Casta diva_.

These three notes were more seriously injured than any other region of

the voice, by the hard work and faulty method of production that had

been forced upon Mdlle. Lind before her journey to Paris. It is well

known to every experienced _Maestro di Canto_, that more voices are

injured by the attempt to sing these three important notes in the lower

instead of in the middle register, than by any other error of production

whatever; and there can be no doubt that it was this error that caused

so much trouble to Mdlle. Lind, who, notwithstanding the beautiful tone

by which the notes in question were afterwards characterised, assured

Fröken Signe Hebbe[127] that she believed that they “never became quite

right.”

Of the F♯︎ so much admired by Mendelssohn, the A above it, brought

prominently forward in a syncopated passage in the same slow movement of

_Casta diva_, and the same A, with the C above it, used as the first two

notes in the _Tanzlied aus Dalekarlien_, we have already spoken in

former chapters.

It was remarkable that these exceptionally high notes, though brilliant

beyond description, when used at their full power, could be reduced to a

_pianissimo_ as perfect as that of the veiled tones of the middle

register. The _pianissimo_, indeed, was one of the most beautiful

features of Mdlle. Lind’s singing. It reached to the remotest corner of

the largest theatre or concert-room in which she sang; it was as rich

and full as her _mezzo forte_; yet it was so truly _piano_ that it fell

upon the ear with the charm of a whisper, only just strong enough to be

audible. The reader will not have forgotten that Her Majesty regarded

this _pianissimo_ as one of the most beautiful characteristics of Mdlle.

Lind’s singing, and that, in the letter we have quoted at page 324,

Chopin spoke of its “charm” as “indescribable.”

A wholly different effect—though bearing a certain sort of analogy to

this—was produced in the _Norwegian Echo Song_ by a peculiar tightening

of the throat, which Madame Goldschmidt once tried to explain to the

writer, though the process was so purely subjective that she said it was

almost impossible to describe it in words. The effect produced so nearly

resembled that of a natural echo, reverberated from the opposite wall,

that it never failed to mystify an audience before which it was

presented for the first time.

The notes, C, D, E, F, G, A, marked (_g_) in our diagram, were noticed

by Mdlle. Lind, at a very early period, as the best notes of her voice.

And judging, from their position in the scale, that her voice was

intended by Nature to develope into a Soprano of exceptional height, she

practised these notes, with the semitones between them, more diligently

than any others, with the full determination to extend the process until

the tone of the remaining portions of the voice became as rich, as pure,

and as powerful, as that of the six notes which she regarded as forming

the fundamental basis of the whole. How fully she succeeded in carrying

out this intention we know already; and it is scarcely too much to say,

that it was to this firm resolve, and the clear foresight which prompted

it, that her ultimate success is mainly to be attributed.

Mdlle. Lind’s voice was not by nature a flexible one. The rich sustained

tones of the _soprano drammatico_ were far more congenial to it, than

the rapid execution which usually characterises the lighter class of

_soprano_ voices. But this she attained also, by almost superhuman

labour. Her perseverance was indefatigable. Among the _Cadenze_ with

which she was accustomed to embellish her favourite Airs was one adapted

to a Movement from _Beatrice di Tenda_, introducing a scale passage

ascending chromatically to the upper E flat, and then descending in the

same manner. She once, while at the zenith of her career, told Fröken

Signe Hebbe that she had practised this passage all her life, but that

it was only quite lately that she had succeeded in satisfying herself

with it; adding, that she never allowed herself to indulge in singing

such difficult passages before the public, until she had thoroughly

mastered them, but preferred simplifying them to running the risk of an

imperfect rendering of the notes.

Another remarkable feature in Mdlle. Lind’s singing was the shake, which

she delivered, at will, either with unapproachable brilliancy, or in the

form of a whisper, more like the warbling of a bird than the utterance

of a human voice.

Though it is necessary that a perfect shake should always begin with,

and lay the metrical accent continuously upon, the written note, it is

notorious that most shakes fail through want of attention on the part of

the singer to the upper auxiliary or unwritten note. The general

tendency is to let this note gradually flatten, until, in very bad

cases, the distance between the two notes is diminished from a tone, to

little more than a semitone. So well is this fact known, that the late

Mr. Cipriani Potter once told the writer how he had been taught, in his

youth, to separate the notes so widely that “a cocked hat could be

thrown between them.” Mdlle. Lind devised a cure for this corrupt

delivery of the shake. In teaching, she _began_ by impressing the

_upper_ note upon the ear, as the most important, both as to strength

and duration, at this early stage of the process; leaning, as it were,

upon it, and slurring up to it from the lower interval. She employed for

this purpose, first, the leap of a fifth, then that of a fourth, and so

on, until she reached the semitone, continuing the shake exercise

between the two intervals, _whatever their distance_, for some time,

before proceeding from the wider intervals to a lesser one; always

adhering to the upper note as the most important one; and always making

beginners practise it with extreme slowness.[128]

The following exemplification of this particular exercise, written, by

herself, a few years ago, for the guidance of a young vocalist, has been

found among her music:—

[Illustration: A musical staff featuring two sections of sheet music in

common time, with dotted eighth and sixteenth note rhythms, and specific

markings labeled (a) and (b).]

[Illustration: A musical staff showing two segments of rhythmic notation

in common time, with specific notes labeled (a) and (b) using slurs and

brackets.]

At a later period of instruction, the notes marked (_a_) and (_b_) were

to be omitted, and the succession of intervals blended into one

continuous exercise, thus:—

[Illustration: Two musical staves showing rhythmic notation with

repeated dotted eighth and sixteenth note patterns, featuring slurs

across several measures.]

But it was not until after considerable advance had been made, that the

exercise was allowed to be sung with any degree of quickness.

When, at last, after diligent practice, the perfect shake was attained,

it was sung with the rhythmic accent on the real or written note, thus:—

[Illustration: Two musical staves illustrating a trill. The top staff

shows a simple melodic phrase with a trill mark (tr) over a half note,

and the bottom staff shows the same phrase with the trill written out as

a series of thirty-second notes.]

not thus:—

[Illustration: A musical staff showing a treble clef with a key

signature of one sharp, featuring a long sequence of thirty-second notes

that represent the execution of a trill.]

The various effects we have here attempted to describe would have been

impossible, but for that skilful management of the breath of which we

have before had occasion to speak when treating of Mdlle. Lind’s studies

under the guidance of Signor Garcia. Her chest had not the natural

capacity of Mdlle. Alboni’s, or Signor Rubini’s; but she renewed her

breath so rapidly, so quietly, so cleverly, that the closest observer

could never detect the moment at which the lungs were replenished; and,

by the outside world, her extraordinary sustaining power was attributed

to abnormal capacity of the lungs. The apparent ease with which she

attained this difficult end was due to an artfully-studied combination

of the processes technically termed “_costal_,” and “_clavicular_[129]

_breathing_”; in the first of which—used only after the completion of a

distinct phrase of the vocal melody—the lower part or “base” of the

lungs, _freed from the last remains of the previous breath_, is

refilled, to its utmost capacity, without undue precipitation, yet with

sufficient rapidity to answer all practical purposes; while in the

second—used for the continuation of phrases too long for delivery within

the limits of a single inspiration—the lungs are neither completely

_emptied_, nor completely _refilled_, but _replenished_ only, by means

of a gentle inhalation, confined to that portion of the organ which lies

immediately beneath the _claviculæ_, or collar-bones. The skill with

which these two widely different processes were interchanged, when

circumstance demanded their alternate employment, was such as can only

be acquired by long and unwearied practice, untrammelled by prejudice

either for or against any special method whatever; and it is not too

much to say, that it was to the sustaining power, acquired by this

careful management of the breath, that Mdlle. Lind owed her beautiful

_pianissimo_, and that marvellous command of the _messa di voce_ which

enabled her to swell out a _crescendo_ to its utmost limit, and follow

it, without a break, by a _diminuendo_ which died away to an

imperceptible point, so completely covering the end of the note that no

ear could detect the moment at which it faded into silence.