Mr. Lumley had prepared the English public for the coming of Mlle. Lind
with consummate skill. The game of suspense was artfully managed to stir
curiosity to the uttermost. The provocations of doubt and disappointment
had been made to stimulate the musical appetite. There was a powerful
opposition to Lumley at the other theatre--Grisi, Persiani, Alboni,
Mario, and Tamburini--and the shrewd _impressario_ played all the cards
in his hand for their full value. It had been asserted that Mlle. Lind
would not come to England, and that no argument could prevail on her
to change her resolution, and this, too, after the contract was
signed, sealed, and delivered. The opera world was kept fevered by such
artifices as stories of broken pledges, long diplomatic _pour parlera_,
special messengers, hesitation, and vacillation, kept up during many
months. Lumley in his "Reminiscences" has described how no stone was
left unturned, not a trait of the young singer's character, public or
private, left un-_exploité_, by which sympathy and admiration could be
aroused. After appearing as the heroine of one of Miss Bremer's novels,
"The Home," the splendors of her succeeding career were glowingly set
forth. The panegyrics of the two great German composers, Mendelssohn and
Meyerbeer, were swollen into the most flowing language. All the secrets
of Jenny Land's life were made the subjects of innumerable puffs by the
paragraph makers, and her numerous deeds of charity were trumpeted in
clarion tones, as if she, a member of a profession famous for its deeds
of unostentatious kindness, were the only one who had the right to
wear the lovely crown of mercy and beneficence. All this machinery of
advertisement, though wofully opposed to all the instincts of Jenny
Lind's modest and timid nature, had the effect of fixing the popular
belief into a firm faith that what had cost so much trouble to secure
must indeed be unspeakably precious.
The interest and curiosity of the public were, therefore, wrought up
to an extraordinary pitch. Her first appearance was on May 4, 1847, as
_Alice_, in "Robert le Diable," a part so signally identified with
her great successes. "The curtain went up, the opera began, the cheers
resounded, deep silence followed," wrote the critic of the "Musical
World," "and the cause of all the excitement was before us. It opened
its mouth and emitted sound. The sounds it emitted were right pleasing,
honey-sweet, and silver-toned. With all this, there was, besides, a
quietude that we had not marked before, and a something that hovered
about the object, as an unseen grace that was attired in a robe of
innocence, transparent as the thin surface of a bubble, disclosing
all, and making itself rather felt than seen." Chorley tells us that
Mendelssohn, who was sitting by him, and whose attachment to Jenny
Lind's genius was unbounded, turned round, watched the audience as
the notes of the singer swelled and filled the house, and smiled
with delight as he saw how completely every one in the audience
was magnetized. The delicious sustained notes which began the first
cavatina died away into a faint whisper, and thunders of applause went
up as with one breath, the stentorian voice of Lablache, who was sitting
in his box, booming like a great bell amid the din. The excitement
of the audience at the close of the opera almost baffles description.
Lumley's hopes were not in vain. Jenny Lind was securely throned as the
operatic goddess of the town, and no rivalry had power to shake her from
her place.
The judgment of the musical critics, though not intemperate in praise,
had something more than a touch of the public enthusiasm. "It is wanting
in that roundness and mellowness which belongs to organs of the South,"
observed a very able musical connoisseur. "When forced, it has by no
means an agreeable sound, and falls hard and grating on the ears. It
is evident that, in the greater part of its range, acquired by much
perseverance and study, nature has not been bountiful to the Swedish
Nightingale in an extraordinary degree. But art and energy have supplied
the defects of nature. Perhaps no artist, if we except Pasta, ever
deserved more praise than Jenny Lind for what she has worked out of bad
materials. From an organ neither naturally sweet nor powerful, she has
elaborated a voice capable of producing the most vivid sensations.
In her mezzo-voce singing, scarcely any vocalist we ever heard can be
compared to her. The most delicate notes, given with the most perfect
intonation, captivate the hearers, and throw them into ecstasies of
delight. This is undoubtedly the great charm of Jenny Lind's singing,
and in this respect we subscribe ourselves among her most enthusiastic
admirers.... She sustains a C or D in alt with unerring intonation and
surprising power. These are attained without an effort, and constitute
another charm of the Nightingale's singing.
"In pathetic music Jenny Lind's voice is heard to much advantage.
Indeed, her vocal powers seem best adapted to demonstrate the more
gentle and touching emotions. For this reason her solo singing is almost
that alone in which she makes any extraordinary impression. In ensemble
singing, excepting in the piano, her voice, being forced beyond its
natural powers, loses all its beauty and peculiar charm, and becomes,
in short, often disagreeable.... Her voice, with all its charm, is of
a special quality, and in its best essays is restricted to a particular
class of lyrical compositions.... As a vocalist, Jenny Lind is entitled
to a very high, if not the highest, commendation. Her perseverance and
indomitable energy, joined to her musical ability, have tended to
render her voice as capable and flexible as a violin. Although she never
indulges in the brilliant flights of fancy of Persiani, nor soars
into the loftiest regions of fioriture with that most wonderful of all
singers, her powers of execution are very great, and the delicate taste
with which the most florid passages are given, the perfect intonation of
the voice, and its general charm, have already produced a most decided
impression on the public mind. By the musician, Persiani will be always
more admired, but Jenny Lind will strike the general hearer more."
Another contemporaneous judgment of Jenny Lind's voice will be of
interest to our readers: "Her voice is a pure soprano, of the fullest
compass belonging to voices of this class, and of such evenness of
tone that the nicest ear can discover no difference of quality from the
bottom to the summit of the scale. In the great extent between A below
the lines and D in alt, she executes every description of passage,
whether consisting of notes 'in linked sweetness long drawn out,' or
of the most rapid flights and fioriture, with equal facility and
perfection. Her lowest notes come out as clear and ringing as the
highest, and her highest are as soft and sweet as the lowest. Her tones
are never muffled or indistinct, nor do they ever offend the ear by
the slightest tinge of shrillness; mellow roundness distinguishes every
sound she utters. As she never strains her voice, it never seems to be
loud; and hence some one who busied himself in anticipatory depreciation
said that it would be found to fail in power, a mistake of which
everybody was convinced who observed how it filled the ear, and how
distinctly every inflection was heard through the fullest harmony of the
orchestra. The same clearness was observable in her pianissimo. When, in
lier beautiful closes, she prolonged a tone, attenuated it by degrees,
and falling gently upon the final note, the sound, though as ethereal
as the sighing of a breeze, reached, like Mrs. Siddons's whisper in Lady
Macbeth, every part of the immense theatre. Much of the effect of this
unrivaled voice is derived from the physical beauty of its sound, but
still more from the exquisite skill and taste with which it is used, and
the intelligence and sensibility of which it is the organ. Mlle. Lind's
execution is that of a complete musician. Every passage is as highly
finished, as perfect in tone, tune, and articulation, as if it proceeded
from the violin of a Paganini or a Sivori, with the additional charm
which lies in the human _voice_ divine. Her embellishments show
the richest fancy and boundless facility, but they show still more
remarkably a well-regulated judgment and taste."
Mlle. Lind could never have been a great actress, and risen into that
stormy world of dramatic power, where the passion and imagination of
Pasta, Schröder-Devrient, Malibran, Viardot, or even Grisi, wrought
such effects, but, within the sphere of her temperament, she was easy,
natural, and original. One of her eulogists remarked: "Following her own
bland conceptions, she rises to regions whence, like Schiller's maid,
she descends to refresh the heart and soul of her audience with gifts
beautiful and wondrous"; but, as she never attempted the delineation of
the more stormy and vehement passions, it is probable that she was more
cognizant of her own limitations, than were her critics.
She was not handsome, but of pleasing aspect. A face of placid
sweetness, expressive features, soft, dove-like-blue eyes, and very
abundant, wavy, flaxen hair, made up a highly agreeable _ensemble_,
while the slender figure was full of grace. There was an air of virginal
simplicity and modesty in every movement which set her apart among her
stage sisters. To this her character answered in every line; for, moving
in the midst of a world which had watched every action, not the faintest
breath of scandal ever shaded the fair fame of this Northern lily.
The struggle for admission after the first night made the attempt to
get a seat except by long préarrangement an experience of purgatory.
Twenty-five pounds were paid for single boxes, while four or five
guineas were gladly given for common stalls. Hours were spent before the
doors of the opera-house on the chance of a place in the pit. It is said
that three gentlemen came up from Liverpool with the express purpose of
hearing the new _diva_ sing, spent a week in trying to obtain seats, and
returned without success. No such mania for a singer had ever fired the
phlegmatic blood of the English public. Articles of furniture and dress
were called by her name; portraits and memoirs innumerable of her were
published.
During the season she appeared in "Robert le Diable," "Sonnambula,"
"Lucia" "La Figlia del Reggimento," and "Norma," as well as in a new
opera by Verdi, "I Masnadieri," which even Jenny Lind's genius and
popularity could not keep on the surface. At the close of the season,
her manager, Lumley, presented her a magnificent testimonial of pure
silver, three feet in height, representing a pillar wreathed with
laurel, at the feet of which wore seated three draped figures, Tragedy,
Comedy, and Music. Her tour through the provinces repeated the sensation
and excitement of London. Manchester, Liverpool, Edinburgh, and
Dundee vied with the great capital in the most extravagant excesses
of admiration, and fifteen guineas were not infrequently paid for the
privilege of hearing her. For two concerts in Edinburgh Mlle. Lind
received one thousand pounds for her services, and the management made
twelve hundred pounds. Such figures are referred to simply as affording
the most tangible estimate of the extent and violence of the Lind fever.