After an operatic campaign in Dresden, in the highest degree pleasant to
herself and satisfactory to the public, in which she sang, in addition
to _Vielka_, the parts of _Norma, Amina_, and _Maria_ in "La Figlia
del Reggimento," Jenny Lind returned to Stockholm to take part in the
coronation of the King of Sweden. Her fame spread throughout the musical
world with signal swiftness, and offers came pouring in on her from
London, Paris, Florence, Milan, and Naples. This northern songstress was
becoming a world's wonder, not because people had heard, but because the
few carried far and wide such wonderful reports of her genius. Her tour
in the summer of 1844 through the cities of Scandinavia and Germany
was almost like the progress of a royal personage, to which events had
attached some special splendor. Costly gifts were lavished on her, her
journeys through the streets were besieged by thousands of admiring
followers, her society was sought by the most distinguished people in
the land. The Countess of Rossi (Henrietta Sontag) paid her the tribute
of calling her "the first singer of the world." After a five months'
engagement in Berlin, the Swedish singer made her _début_ in "Norma," at
Vienna, on April 22, 1845. The Lind enthusiasm had been rising to
fever heat from the first announcement of her coming, and the prices of
admission had been doubled, much to the discomfort of poor Jenny Lind,
who feared that the over-wrought anticipation of the public would be
disappointed. But when she ascended the steps of the Druid altar and
began to sing, then the storm of applause which interrupted the opera
for several minutes decided the question unmistakably.
After a brief return to her native city, she reappeared in Berlin, which
had a special claim on her regard, for it was there that her genius
had been first fully recognized and trumpeted forth in tones which rang
through the civilized world. She again received a liberal offer from
England, this time from Mr. Bunn, of the Drury Lane Theatre, and an
agreement was signed, with the names of Lord Westmoreland, the British
minister, and Meyerbeer as witnesses. The singer, however, was not
altogether satisfied with the contract, a feeling which increased when
she again was approached by Mr. Lumley's agent. There were many strong
personal and professional reasons why she preferred to sing under Mr.
Lumley's management, and the result was that she wrote to Mr. Bunn,
asking to break the contract, and offering to pay two thousand
pounds forfeit. This was refused, and the matter went into the courts
afterward, resulting in twenty-five hundred pounds damages awarded to
the disappointed manager.
Berlin enthusiasm ran so high that the manager was compelled to reengage
her at the rate of four thousand pounds per year, with two months'
_congé_. The difficulty of gaining admission into the theatre, even when
she had appeared upward of a hundred nights, was so great, that it was
found necessary, in order to prevent the practice of jobbing in tickets,
which was becoming very prevalent, to issue them according to the
following directions, which were put forth by the manager: "Tickets must
be applied for on the day preceding that for which they are required,
by letter, signed with the applicant's proper and Christian name,
profession, and place of abode, and sealed with wax, bearing the
writer's initials with his arms. No more than one ticket can be
granted to the same person; and no person is entitled to apply for two
consecutive nights of the enchantress's performance." Her reputation and
the public admiration swelled month by month. Mendelssohn engaged her
for the musical festival at Aix-La-Chapelle, where he was the conductor,
and was so delighted with her singing that he said, "There will not be
born in a whole century another being so largely gifted as Jenny Lind."
The Emperor of Russia offered her fifty-six thousand francs a month for
five months (fifty-six thousand dollars), a sum then rarely equaled in
musical annals.
The correspondent of the "London Athenaeum" gave an interesting sketch
of the feeling she created in Frankfort:
"Dine where you would, you heard of Jenny Lind, when she was coming,
what she would sing, how much she was to be paid, who had got places,
and the like; so that, what with the _exigeant_ English dilettanti
flying at puzzled German landlords with all manner of Babylonish
protestations of disappointment and uncertainty, and native High
Ponderosities ready to trot in the train of the enchantress where she
might please to lead, with here and there a dark-browed Italian prima
donna lowering, Medea-like, in the background, and looking daggers
whenever the name of 'Questa Linda!' was uttered--nothing, I repeat, can
be compared to the universal excitement, save certain passages ('green
spots' in the memory of many a dowager Berliner) when enthusiasts rushed
to drink Champagne out of Sontag's shoe.... In 'La Figlia del
Reggimento,' compared with the exhibitions of her sister songstresses
now on the German stage, Mlle. Lind's personation was like a piece of
porcelain beside tawdry daubings on crockery."
Jenny Lind's last appearance in Vienna before departing for England was
again a lighted match set to a mass of tinder, it raised such a
commotion in that music-loving city. The imperial family paid her the
most marked attention, and the people were inclined to go to any
extravagances to show their admiration. During these performances, the
stalls, which were ordinarily two florins, rose to fifty, and sometimes
there would be thousands of people unable to secure admission. On the
last night, after such a scene as had rarely been witnessed in any
opera-house, the audience joined the immense throng which escorted her
carriage home. Thirty times they summoned her to the window with cries
which would not be ignored, shouting, "Jenny Lind, say you will come
back again to us!" The tender heart of the Swedish singer was so
affected that she stood sobbing like a child at the window, and threw
flowers from the mass of bouquets piled on her table to her frenzied
admirers, who eagerly snatched them and carried them home as treasures.
On her departure from Stockholm for London, the demonstration was most
affecting, and showed how deep the love of their great singer was rooted
in the hearts of the Swedes. Twenty thousand people assembled on the
quay, military bands had been stationed at intervals on the route, and
her progress through the streets was like that of a queen. She embarked
amid cheers, music, and tears, and, as she sailed out of the harbor, the
rigging of the vessels was decorated with flags, and manned, while the
artillery from the war vessels thundered salutes. All this sounds like
exaggeration to us now, but those who remember the enthusiasm kindled
by Jenny Lind in America can well believe the accounts of the feeling
called out by the "Swedish Nightingale" everywhere she went in Europe.
When Mlle. Lind arrived in London, she was received by her friend Mrs.
Grote, wife of the great historian, and for several weeks was her guest,
the most distinguished men and women calling to pay their respects to
the gifted singer. She secluded herself, however, as much as possible
from general society, and it may be said, during the larger part of her
London engagement, lived in seclusion, much to the disgust of the social
celebrities who were eager to lionize her. Lablache, the basso, was one
of the first to hear Jenny sing. His pleasant criticism, "Every note was
like a perfect pearl," got to her ears. The _naïve_ and charming jest by
which she made her acknowledgment is quite worth the repeating. Stepping
to the side of Lablache one morning at rehearsal, she made a courtesy,
and borrowed his hat from the smiling basso. She then placed her lips to
the edge and sang into its capacious depths a beautiful French romance.
At the conclusion of the song, she ordered Lablache, who was bewildered
by this fantastic performance, to kneel before her, as she had a
valuable present for him, declaring that on his own showing she was
giving him a hatful of "pearls." Lablache was so delighted by this
simple and innocent gayety that he avowed he could not be more pleased
if she had given him a hatful of diamonds.