FIRST MEETING WITH BARNUM--RECEPTION IN NEW YORK--POEMS IN HER
HONOR--A FURORE OF PUBLIC INTEREST--SALE OF TICKETS FOR THE FIRST
CONCERT--BARNUM'S CHANGE IN TERMS--TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS FOR
CHARITY--ENORMOUS SUCCESS OF THE FIRST CONCERT.
Jenny Lind sailed for America on Wednesday morning, August 21,
1850. She was accompanied by Messrs. Benedict and Belletti, Mr.
Wilton, her two cousins, and three or four servants. She also
brought with her a piano for her use. Mr. Barnum had engaged the
necessary accommodations for the company on the steamship
Atlantic, and their departure from England was an event of great
public interest. In America their coming was looked upon much as
the visit of a royal personage would have been. It was expected
that the steamer would reach New York on Sunday, September 1st.
Mr. Barnum, however, determined to be on hand to meet his
distinguished guest at no matter what time she reached the port.
He, therefore, went on Saturday to Staten Island, and spent the
night at the house of his friend, Dr. Doane, the health officer
of the port.
The steamship was sighted just before noon on Sunday, and soon
afterward Mr. Barnum, who went out with the health officer, was
standing on the deck where, for the first time, he met the famous
singer. After they had shaken hands and uttered a few commonplace
words of greeting Miss Lind asked him when and where he had heard
her sing.
"I never had the pleasure of seeing you before in my life," he
replied.
"How is it possible that you dared risk so much money on a person
whom you never heard sing?" she asked in great surprise.
"I risked it," answered Barnum, "on your reputation, which in
musical matters I would much rather trust than my own judgment."
The fact was that, although Barnum did rely largely upon Miss
Lind's reputation as an artist, he also took into account her
equally great reputation for benevolence, generosity and general
loveliness of disposition. He knew that these traits of character
would appeal with a special force to the warm-hearted and
enthusiastic American public. Indeed, he afterward confessed that
had it not been for this peculiarity of her disposition, he never
would have ventured to make the engagement with her; and he
always believed that as many people came to see and hear her on
this account as on account of her skill as a singer.
Seldom has any visitor to New York received a more remarkable
greeting than did the "Swedish Nightingale." Mr. Barnum's efforts
to arouse public interest in her had not been in vain. The whole
city was anxious to get the first possible glimpse of her. But
beside this bona fide interest in her, Mr. Barnum had seen to it
that her landing was made all possible use of as an
advertisement. On the wharf at which she landed a bower of green
trees, decorated with flags, had been prepared. There were also
two handsome triumphal arches, on one of which was inscribed,
"Welcome, Jenny Lind!" and on the other, "Welcome to America!"
Probably the singer thought, and possibly some of the general
public also imagined, that these decorations had been erected by
the city government, or at least by some committee of
public-spirited citizens. Mr. Barnum, however, never found fault
with any one for suspecting that he was chiefly responsible for
them, and there is every reason to believe that the cost of them
was to be found entered in his books, charged to the account of
advertising.
Thousands of people were thronged along the water front, on the
piers and on the shipping, to greet the Atlantic as it reached
its dock. So great was the rush to see the illustrious guest that
one man was crowded overboard, an incident which Miss Lind
herself witnessed, and at which she was much alarmed. He was
rescued with no other harm than a thorough wetting. Barnum's
carriage was in waiting for Miss Lind, and the great showman
himself, after placing her within it, mounted the box at the
driver's side. He took that seat as a legitimate advertisement,
and his presence there aided those who filled the windows and
sidewalks along the entire way to the Irving House, and there
were many thousands of them, in coming to the conclusion that
Jenny Lind had really arrived.
Five minutes after Miss Lind had entered the hotel, Barnum
invited her to look out of a window opening on Broadway. When she
did so she saw a throng of not less than twenty thousand persons
gathered to do her honor. And there that throng remained all the
rest of the afternoon and until late in the evening. At her
request Barnum took dinner with her that afternoon. According to
the European custom she offered to pledge his health in a glass
of wine, and was doubtless much surprised at his response. He
said to her: "Miss Lind, I do not think you can ask any other
favor on earth which I would not gladly grant. But I am a
teetotaler, and must beg to be permitted to drink to your health
and happiness in a glass of cold water."
Late that night Miss Lind was serenaded by the New York Musical
Fund Society, which numbered, on that occasion, two hundred
musicians. They were escorted to the hotel by about three hundred
firemen, clad in their picturesque uniform and bearing flaming
torches. Fully thirty thousand spectators were at this hour
gathered about the hotel, and in response to their vociferous
calls Miss Lind stepped upon the balcony and bowed to them.
Such was the great singer's first day in America, and for several
weeks thereafter the public interest in her was scarcely less
demonstrative. Her rooms were thronged by visitors, among whom
were the most notable people in society, in the learned
professions and in public life. The street before the hotel was
almost blocked day after day by the carriages of fashionable
people, and Barnum's only anxiety was lest the aristocratic part
of the community should monopolize her altogether, and thus mar
his interest by cutting her off from the sympathy she had excited
among the common people. The shop-keepers of the city showered
their attentions upon her, sending her cart-loads of specimens of
their most valuable wares, for which they asked no other return
than her acceptance and her autograph acknowledgment. Gloves,
bonnets, shawls, gowns, chairs, carriages, pianos, and almost
every imaginable article of use or ornament was named for her.
Songs and musical compositions were dedicated to her, and poems
were published in her honor. Day after day and week after week
her doings formed the most conspicuous news in the daily
journals.
Some weeks before Miss Lind's arrival in America Barnum had
offered a prize of two hundred dollars for the best ode, to be
set to music and sung by her at her first concert. Its topic was
to be, "Greeting to America." In response several hundred poems
were sent in, mostly pretty poor stuff; though several of them
were very good. After a great deal of hard work in reading and
considering them, the Prize Committee selected as the best the
one offered by Bayard Taylor. It was set to music by Julius
Benedict, and was as follows:
GREETING TO AMERICA
WORDS BY BAYARD TAYLOR--MUSIC BY JULIUS BENEDICT.
I greet with a full heart the Land of the West,
Whose Banner of Stars o'er a world is unrolled;
Whose empire o'ershadows Atlantic's wide breast,
And opens to sunset its gateway of gold!
The land of the mountain, the land of the lake,
And rivers that roll in magnificent tide--
Where the souls of the mighty from slumber awake,
And hallow the soil for whose freedom they died!
Thou Cradle of empire! though wide be the foam
That severs the land of my fathers and thee,
I hear, from thy bosom, the welcome of home,
For song has a home in the hearts of the Free!
And long as thy waters shall gleam in the sun,
And long as thy heroes remember their scars,
Be the hands of thy children united as one,
And Peace shed her light on thy Banner of Stars!
This award gave general satisfaction, although a few
disappointed competitors complained. This remarkable competition
and the other features of Miss Lind's reception in America,
attracted so much attention in England that the London Times in
one day devoted several columns of space to the subject.
Of course the American press literally teemed with matter about
Miss Lind and Barnum. The poetical competition demanded much
attention, and presently a witty pamphlet was published, entitled
"Barnum's Parnassus; being Confidential Disclosures of the Prize
Committee on the Jenny Lind Song." It pretended to give all or
most of the poems that had been offered in the competition,
though of course none of them were genuine. Many of them,
however, contained fine satirical hits on the whole business;
such, for example, as the following:
BARNUMOPSIS.
A RECITATIVE.
When to the common rest that crowns his days,
Dusty and worn the tired pedestrian goes,
What light is that whose wide o'erlooking blaze
A sudden glory on his pathway throws?
'Tis not the setting sun, whose drooping lid
Closed on the weary world at half-past six;
'Tis not the rising moon, whose rays are hid
Behind the city's sombre piles of bricks.
It is the Drummond Light, that from the top
Of Barnum's massive pile, sky-mingling there,
Dart's its quick gleam o'er every shadowed shop,
And gilds Broadway with unaccustomed glare.
There o'er the sordid gloom, whose deep'ning tracks
Furrow the city's brow, the front of ages,
Thy loftier light descends on cabs and hacks,
And on two dozen different lines of stages!
O twilight Sun, with thy far darting ray,
Thou art a type of him whose tireless hands
Hung thee on high to guide the stranger's way,
Where, in its pride, his vast Museum stands.
Him, who in search of wonders new and strange,
Grasps the wide skirts of Nature's mystic robe
Explores the circles of eternal change,
And the dark chambers of the central globe.
He, from the reedy shores of fabled Nile,
Has brought, thick-ribbed and ancient as old iron,
That venerable beast, the crocodile,
And many a skin of many a famous lion.
Go lose thyself in those continuous halls,
Where strays the fond papa with son and daughter;
And all that charms or startles or appals,
Thou shalt behold, and for a single quarter.
Far from the Barcan deserts now withdrawn,
There, huge constrictors coil their scaly backs;
There, cased in glass, malignant and unshorn,
Old murderers glare in sullenness and wax.
There many a varied form the sight beguiles,
In rusty broadcloth decked and shocking hat,
And there the unwieldy Lambert sits and smiles,
In the majestic plenitude of fat.
Or for thy gayer hours, the orang-outang
Or ape salutes thee with his strange grimace,
And in their shapes, stuffed as on earth they sprang,
Thine individual being thou canst trace!
And joys the youth in life's green spring, who goes
With the sweet babe and the gray headed nurse,
To see those Cosmoramic orbs disclose
The varied beauties of the universe.
And last, not least, the marvellous Ethiope,
Changing his skin by preternatural skill,
Whom every setting sun's diurnal slope
Leaves whiter than the last, and whitening still.
All that of monstrous, scaly, strange and queer,
Has come from out the womb of earliest time,
Thou hast, O Barnum, in thy keeping here,
Nor is this all--for triumphs more sublime
Await thee yet! I, Jenny Lind, who reigned
Sublimely throned, the imperial queen of song,
Wooed by thy golden harmonies, have deigned
Captive to join the heterogeneous throng.
Sustained by an unfaltering trust in coin,
Dealt from thy hand, O thou illustrious man,
Gladly I heard the summons come to join
Myself the immeasurable caravan.
A number of complimentary greetings in verse were also sent in to
Miss Lind by various writers of more or less eminence, among them
being the following from Mrs. Lydia H. Sigourney:
THE SWEDISH SONGSTRESS AND HER CHARITIES.
BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.
Blest must their vocation be
Who, with tones of melody,
Charm the discord and the strife
And the railroad rush of life,
And with Orphean magic move
Souls inert to life and love.
But there's one who doth inherit
Angel gift and angel spirit,
Bidding tides of gladness flow
Through the realms of want and woe;
'Mid lone age and misery's lot,
Kindling pleasures long forgot,
Seeking minds oppressed with night,
And on darkness shedding light,
She the seraph's speech doth know,
She hath done their deeds below;
So, when o'er this misty strand
She shall clasp their waiting hand,
They will fold her to their breast,
More a sister than a guest.
The first concert was announced for the evening of September
11th, and it was to take place in the great hall of Castle
Garden, afterward famous as the landing-place for emigrants at
New York. The tickets for this occasion were sold at auction, and
the first one was bid up to the extraordinary figure of $225.
This was bid and the ticket was secured by John N. Genin, a
hatter; and the public notice which was thereby attracted to him
was such a great advertisement for his business that within a few
years thereafter he amassed a fortune. It was afterward stated
that Mr. Genin was Barnum's brother-in-law, and that his high bid
for this ticket was a pre-arranged job; but there was no truth in
this whatever. The auction itself was regarded as an occasion of
such public interest that the proprietors of the Garden, where it
was held, charged a shilling admission fee to it. No less than
3,000 persons paid this fee and attended the auction, and the
first day's sale aggregated 1,000 tickets, which brought a total
sum of $10,141.
A few days after her arrival Barnum told Miss Lind that it would
be desirable to make a change in the terms of their contract, if
she would consent. She was startled at this, and asked him what
the change was to be. "I am convinced," replied Barnum, "that
this enterprise will be far more successful than either of us
anticipated. So I wish to stipulate that you shall receive not
only $1,000 for each concert, beside all expenses, but also that,
after taking out $5,500 per night for expenses and for my
services, the balance shall be equally divided between you and
me."
She looked at him in utter bewilderment, unable to understand his
proposition. He repeated it, and at last made her realize what it
was that he proposed to do. Then she grasped him by the hand and
exclaimed: "Mr. Barnum, you are a gentleman of honor; you are
generous; it is just as I was told. I will sing for you as long
as you please. I will sing for you in America--in
Europe--anywhere!"
The day before the first concert Mr. Barnum told Miss Lind that,
judging by appearances, her portion of the proceeds of the first
concert, over and above her fee of $1,000, would amount to at
least $10,000. She immediately resolved to devote every dollar of
it to charity, and forthwith sent for the Mayor of the city,
under whose advice she acted in selecting the various
institutions among which it was to be distributed.
The amount of money actually received for tickets for the first
concert was $17,864.05. So it appeared that Barnum's estimate had
been a little too high, and Miss Lind's portion was too small to
realize the $10,000 which she was to give to charity. Barnum
therefore proposed to make a similar arrangement for the second
concert, and to count neither of these first two in the regular
engagement. To this she agreed. The second concert was given on
September 13th, and the receipts, which amounted to $14,203.03,
were disposed of as before, and she was thus enabled to give the
$10,000 to charity. The third concert, which was the first of the
regular series, was given on September 17th.
Barnum's arrangements of the concert-room for the singer's
appearance were very complete. One hundred ushers, adorned with
rosettes and carrying wands tipped with ribbons, looked after the
seating of the audience. In order to prevent confusion the doors
were opened at five o'clock, although the concert was not to
commence until eight. The result was that the five thousand
persons who attended made their entry without crowding and
without confusion.
The reception of Jenny Lind, on her first appearance, in point of
enthusiasm, was probably never before equalled. As Mr. Benedict
led her towards the footlights, the entire audience rose to their
feet and welcomed her with three cheers, accompanied by the
waving of thousands of hats and handkerchiefs. This was perhaps
the largest audience to which Jenny Lind had ever sung. She was
evidently much agitated, but the orchestra commenced, and before
she had sung a dozen notes of "Casta Diva," she began to recover
her self-possession, and long before the scena was concluded she
was as calm as if she was in her own drawing-room. Towards the
last portion of the cavatina, the audience were so completely
carried away by their feelings, that the remainder of the air was
drowned in a perfect tempest of acclamation. Enthusiasm had been
wrought to its highest pitch, but the musical powers of Jenny
Lind exceeded all the brilliant anticipations which had been
formed, and her triumph was complete. At the conclusion of the
concert Jenny Lind was loudly called for, and was obliged to
appear three times before the audience could be satisfied. Then
they called vociferously for "Barnum," and he "reluctantly"
responded to their demand.
On this first night Julius Benedict firmly established with the
American people his European reputation as a most accomplished
conductor and musical composer; while Signor Belletti inspired an
admiration which grew warmer and deeper in the minds of the
public, to the end of his career in this country.
"The Rubicon was passed," says Barnum. "The successful issue of
the Jenny Lind enterprise was established. I think there were a
hundred men in New York, the day after her first concert, who
would have willingly paid me $200,000 for my contract. I received
repeated offers for an eighth, a tenth, or a sixteenth,
equivalent to that price. But mine had been the risk, and I was
determined mine should be the triumph."
The triumph of Jenny Lind is a legitimate part of Barnum's
history, and it will be of interest to the present generation to
read what the musical critics of that day thought of that
wonderful singer. Here is the New York Tribune's account of her
opening concerts in America:
"Jenny Lind's first concert is over, and all doubts are at an
end. She is the greatest singer we have ever heard and her
success is all that was anticipated from her genius and her fame.
As this is something of an era in our history of art, we give a
detailed account of all that took place on the occasion.
"All the preparatory arrangements for the concert were made with
great care, and from the admirable system observed, none of the
usual disagreeable features of such an event were experienced.
Outside of the gate there was a double row of policemen extending
up the main avenue of the Battery grounds. Carriages only were
permitted to drive up to the gate from the Whitehall side, and
pass off into Battery-place. At one time the line of carriages
extended to Whitehall and up State street into Broadway.
Everything was accomplished in a quiet and orderly manner. The
chief of police, with about sixty men, came on the ground at 5
o'clock, and maintained the most complete order to the end.
"Mr. Barnum, according to promise, had put up a substantial
frame-work, and thrown an immense awning over the bridge, which
is some 200 feet in length. This was brilliantly lighted, and had
almost the appearance of a triumphal avenue on entering the gate.
"There was an immense crowd on the Battery, clustering around the
gates during the whole evening, but no acts of disorder occurred.
When Jenny Lind's carriage came, but very few persons knew it,
and no great excitement followed. The principal annoyance was
occasioned by a noisy crowd of boys in boats, who gathered around
the outer wall of the castle, and being by their position secure
from the police, tried to disturb those within by a hideous
clamor of shouts and yells, accompanied by a discordant din of
drums and fifes. There must have been more than 200 boats and a
thousand persons on the water. They caused some annoyance to that
portion of the audience in the back seats of the balcony, but the
nuisance was felt by none in the parquet. By 10 o'clock they had
either become tired or ashamed of the contemptible outrage they
were attempting, and dispersed. We may here remark that if the
river police asked for by Chief Matsell had been in existence
this attempt could not have been made.
"On entering the castle, a company of ushers, distinguished by
their badges, were in readiness to direct the visitors to that
part of the hall where their seats were located. Colored lamps
and hangings suspended to the pillars indicated at a glance the
different divisions, and the task of seating the whole audience
of near seven thousand persons was thus accomplished without the
least inconvenience. The hall was brilliantly lighted, though
from its vast extent the stage looked somewhat dim. The wooden
partition which was built up in place of the drop-curtain, is
covered with a painting representing the combined standards of
America and Sweden, below which are arabesque ornaments in white
and gold. Considering the short time allowed for these
improvements, the change was remarkable. The only instance of bad
taste which we noticed was a large motto, worked in flowers,
suspended over the pillars of the balcony directly in front of
the stage. 'Welcome, Sweet Warbler' (so ran the words), was not
only tame and commonplace, but decidedly out of place.
"The sight of the grand hall, with its gay decoration, its
glittering lamps, and its vast throng of expectant auditors, was
in itself almost worth a $5 ticket. We were surprised to notice
that not more than one-eighth of the audience were ladies. They
must stay at home, it seems, when the tickets are high, but the
gentlemen go, nevertheless. For its size, the audience was one of
the most quiet, refined and appreciative we ever saw assembled in
this city. Not more than one-third were seated before 7 o'clock,
and when the eventful hour arrived they were still coming in. A
few of the seats were not taken when the orchestra had assembled,
and Mr. Benedict, who was greeted with loud cheers on his
appearance, gave the first flourish of his baton.
"The musical performance commenced with Jules Benedict's overture
to his opera, The Crusaders, himself conducting the orchestra of
60 instruments. It was an admirably balanced and effective
orchestra, and notwithstanding that we had to listen as it were
round a corner, we felt the unity and full force of its strong
chords, and traced the precise and delicate outline of its
melodies with a distinctness which proved that a clear musical
idea was there, too clearly embodied to be lost even in that vast
space. We liked the first half of the composition best; it had
the dark shading and wild vigor and pathos of Von Weber; the
allegro which set in upon it was more in the light popular manner
of Auber and the French. Yet Mr. Benedict has proved his mastery
in this work, which the vast audience acknowledged with very
hearty plaudits.
"Signor Belletti was the next mark of expectation. In one of
Rossini's most ornate and florid bravura songs (from Maometto
Secondo) he produced a barytone of such warm, rich, solid,
resonant and feeling quality as we perhaps have never heard in
this country (though without closer observation from the less
remote position in which a barytone naturally requires to be
heard, we hardly dare to place it above Badiali's); while in
refinement of conception and of execution he left little to be
desired.
"Now came a moment of breathless expectation. A moment more, and
Jenny Lind, clad in a white dress, which well became the frank
sincerity of her face, came forward through the orchestra. It is
impossible to describe the spontaneous burst of welcome which
greeted her. The vast assembly rose as one man, and for some
minutes nothing could be seen but the waving of hands and
handkerchiefs, nothing heard but a storm of tumultuous cheers.
The enthusiasm of the moment, for a time beyond all bounds, was
at last subdued after prolonging itself by its own fruitless
efforts to subdue itself, and the divine songstress, with that
perfect bearing, that air of all dignity and sweetness, blending
a child-like simplicity and half-trembling womanly modesty with
the beautiful confidence of genius and serene wisdom of art,
addressed herself to song, as the orchestral symphony prepared
the way for the voice in Casta Diva. A better test-piece could
not have been selected for her debut. Every soprano lady has sung
it to us; but nearly every one has seemed only trying to make
something of it, while Jenny Lind WAS the very music of it for
the time being. We would say no less than that; for the wisest
and honestest part of criticism on such a first hearing of a
thing so perfect, was to give itself purely up to it, without
question, and attempt no analysis of what too truly fills one to
have yet begun to be an object of thought.
"If it were possible, we would describe the quality of that
voice, so pure, so sweet, so fine, so whole and all-pervading, in
its lowest breathings and minutest fioriture as well as in its
strongest volume. We never heard tones which in their sweetness
went so far. They brought the most distant and ill-seated auditor
close to her. They WERE tones, every one of them, and the whole
air had to take the law of their vibrations. The voice and the
delivery had in them all the good qualities of all the good
singers. Song in her has that integral beauty which at once
proclaims it as a type for all, and is most naturally worshipped
as such by the multitude.
"Of those who have been before her we were most frequently
reminded of Madame Bishop's quality (not quantity) of voice.
Their voices are of metal somewhat akin. Jenny Lind's had
incomparably more power and more at all times in reserve; but it
had a shade of that same veiled quality in its lowest tones,
consistently with the same (but much more) ripeness and
sweetness, and perfect freedom from the crudeness often called
clearness, as they rise. There is the same kind of versatile and
subtile talent, too, in Jenny Lind, as appeared later in the
equal inspiration and perfection of her various characters and
styles of song. Her's is a genuine soprano, reaching the extra
high notes with that ease and certainty which make each highest
one a triumph of expression purely, and not a physical marvel.
The gradual growth and sostenuto of her tones; the light and
shade, the rhythmic undulation and balance of her passages; the
bird-like ecstacy of her trill; the faultless precision and
fluency of her chromatic scales; above all, the sure reservation
of such volume of voice as to crown each protracted climax with
glory, not needing a new effort to raise force for the final
blow; and indeed all the points one looks for in a mistress of
the vocal art were eminently her's in Casta Diva. But the charm
lay not in any POINT, but rather in the inspired vitality, the
hearty, genuine outpouring of the whole--the real and yet truly
ideal humanity of all her singing. That is what has won the world
to Jenny Lind; it is that her whole soul and being goes out in
her song, and that her voice becomes the impersonation of that
song's soul if it have any, that is, if it BE a song. There is
plainly no vanity in her, no mere aim to effect; it is all frank
and real and harmoniously earnest.
"She next bewitched all by the delicate naivete and sparkling
espieglerie, interchanged with true love pathos, of her duet with
Belletti, from Rossini's I Turchi in Italia, the music being in
the same voice with that of his 'Barber of Seville.' The distinct
rapidity, without hurry, of many passages, was remarkable in both
performers. But perhaps the most wonderful exhibition of her
vocal skill and pliancy and of her active intimacy with nature
was in the Trio Concertante, with two flutes, from Meyerbeer's
'Camp of Silesia.' Exquisitely her voice played in echo between
the tasteful flute-warblings of Messrs. Kyle and Siede.
"But do not talk of her flute-like voice; the flute-tone is not
one a real voice need cultivate; except where it silvers the
edges of a dark mass of orchestral harmony, the flute's
unmitigated sweetness must and should contrast with the more
clarionet and reed-like quality of a voice as rich and human as
that of Jenny Lind.
"Naturally the favorites of the evening were the two national
songs. Her Swedish 'Herdsman's Song' was singularly quaint, wild
and innocent. The odd musical interval (a sharp seventh) of the
the echo, as if her singing had brought the very mountains there,
were extremely characteristic. This was loudly encored and
repeated; and when again encored was of course answered with her
'Greeting to America,' the National Prize Song, written by Bayard
Taylor, and set to a vigorous and familiar style of music, well
harmonizing with the words, by Benedict. The greeting had a soul
in it coming from those lips.
"We have but now to acknowledge the fine style of Belletti's
Largo al Factotum (though the gay barber's song always requires
the stage) and the admirable orchestra performance of Weber's
Overture to Oberon.
"We are now sure of Jenny Lind, the singer and the artist. Last
night she was herself, and well accompanied, and gloriously
responded to. But we have yet to hear her in the kind of music
which seems to us most to need and to deserve such a singer--in
the Agatha of Der Freyschutz, and in Mozart and the deep music of
the great modern German operas.
"At the close the audience (who made no movement to leave till
the last note had been uttered) broke out in a tempest of cheers,
only less vehement than those which welcomed her in Casta Diva.
She came forward again, bowed with a bright, grateful face, and
retired. The cheers were now mingled with shouts of 'Barnum!' who
at last came forward, and with some difficulty obtained
sufficient order to speak. 'My friends,' said he, 'you have often
heard it asked, 'Where's Barnum?" Amid the cheers and laughter
which followed, we only caught the words: 'Henceforth, you may
say, 'Barnum's nowhere!' '
"Mr. Barnum, after expressing his gratification at the splendid
welcome which had been given Mdlle. Lind, stated that he would
disclose a piece of news which he could no longer keep secret,
and which would show how well that welcome was deserved. Mdlle.
Lind on Monday morning informed him that it was her intention to
give her share of the net proceeds of the present concert,
amounting to considerable more than $10,000, to the various
charities in the city.
"The announcement was a signal for another storm. We did not
count the number of cheers given, but we never witnessed such a
pitch of enthusiasm. Mr. Barnum then proceeded to read the list
of her donations, interrupted at every name by a fresh burst of
applause:
To the Fire Department Fund . . . . . . . . . $3,000
Musical Fund Society. . . . . . . . . . . .2,000
Home for the Friendless . . . . . . . . . . .500
Society for the Relief of Indigent Females. .500
Dramatic Fund Association . . . . . . . . . .500
Home for Colored and Aged Persons . . . . . .500
Colored and Orphan Association. . . . . . . .500
Lying-in Asylum for Destitute Females . . . .500
New York Orphan Asylum. . . . . . . . . . . .500
Protestant Half-Orphan Asylum . . . . . . . .500
Roman Catholic Half-Orphan Asylum . . . . . .500
Old Ladies' Asylum. . . . . . . . . . . . . .500
Total . . . . . . . . . . . . .$10,000
"In case the money coming to her shall exceed this sum, she will
hereafter designate the charity to which it is to be
appropriated. Mr. Barnum was then about retiring, when there was
a universal call for Jenny Lind. The songstress, however, had
already taken her departure, and the excited crowd, after giving
a few more cheers, followed her example, and slowly surged out of
the castle door, and down the canopied bridge, in a glow of
good-humor and admiration. A few disorderly vagrants collected on
the bridges leading to the Bath Houses, hooted at the throng as
it passed out, but everybody went home quietly, with a new joy at
his heart, and a new thought in his brain.
"Jenny Lind's second concert was in every respect as complete a
triumph as the first. The audience numbered upward of SEVEN
THOUSAND, filling the vast amphitheatre to the topmost circles of
the gallery. The sight of that dense sea of heads, from either
extremity of the balcony, reminded us of one of Martin's grand,
gloomy pictures, and the resemblance was further increased by the
semi-oriental appearance of the hall, with its long, light
pillars dropping from the centre, as well as by the dimness of
its illumination, the lamps, many and bright as they were, being
lost in the immense area of the building.
"The concert was a repetition of the first, with the only
difference that the orchestra volunteered the "Wedding March,"
from Mendelssohn's "Midsummer Night's Dream," whose short,
crackling blaze of harmony received full justice from the sure
and well-tempered brass instruments. Weber's overture to "Oberon"
was finely rendered, and the composition is as fine a specimen of
musical fairy-land as could be found before young Mendelssohn
dreamed Shakspere's dream over in his own way.
"In Jenny Lind we still feel that it is not easy to separate the
singer from the person. She sings herself. She does not, like
many skilful vocalists, merely recite her musical studies, and
dazzle you with splendid feats unnaturally acquired; her singing,
through all her versatile range of parts and styles, is her own
proper and spontaneous activity--integral, and whole. Her
magnificent voice, always true and firm, and as far beyond any
instrument as humanity is beyond nature, seems like the audible
beauty of her nature and her character. That she is an artist in
the highest sense is a question long since settled, and any
little incidental variation from the bold and perfect outline of
success in any special effort, as the faltering of her voice from
natural embarrassment in the commencing of Casta Diva that first
night, could not to a true listener at all impede the recognition
of the wonderful art which could afford a little to humanity on
so trying an occasion. For she was as it were beginning her
career anew; literally to her was this a new world; and she felt
for a moment as if in her first blushing maidenhood of song. This
second time the hesitation of the voice in that commencement was
not felt. The note began soft and timid and scarce audible, as
the prayer of Norma might have done; but how it gradually swelled
with the influx of divine strength into the soul! The grand
difficulty in the opening andante movement of Casta Diva lies in
its broad, sustained phrasing, in the long, generous undulation
of its rhythm, which with most singers drags or gets broken out
of symmetry. Jenny Lind conceived and did it truly. The
impassioned energy of the loud-pleading syncopated cries in which
the passage attains its climax; the celestial purity and
penetrating sweetness of that highest note afterward; the
exquisite cadenza to the andante; and the inspiring eloquence of
the allegro: Ah! bello a me ritorna, were far beyond anything WE
have had the fortune hitherto to hear.
"They that sat, or even stood, in Castle Garden, may mark down a
white day in their calendar. In point of audience, programme,
execution and inspiration, it was the greatest concert, so far.
If anything more had been needed to confirm the impression which
Jenny Lind had previously made on an American public, and to
place her continued success beyond the possibility of doubt, last
night's experience certainly supplied it.
"It was foreseen in the morning that the attendance would be
greater even than on Friday night. The American Museum and Hall's
Music Store were besieged through the whole day and up to the
very hour of commencement. At the former place the crowding for
tickets was tremendous, the very sidewalk in front being
blockaded most of the time. At seven o'clock, when we took up the
line of march for Castle Garden, both sides of Broadway were
thronged, and the main avenue of the Battery was filled with a
steady stream of persons pressing into the Castle gate. As on the
first night, a double line of policemen had been formed, which
effectually prevented all disorder. A few more lamps were
introduced into the hall, rendering its aspect much more light
and cheerful. By eight o'clock the vast hall was crowded to
overflowing. Scarcely a foot of space was unoccupied; from the
very edge of the ceiling to the orchestral platform in the
centre, around the immense span of the building, there was but
one dense mass of heads. We should, at a rough guess, estimate
the number in the auditory at SEVEN THOUSAND. A much larger
proportion than on former nights were ladies, and for the first
time we caught glimpses of the fashionable society from above
Bleecker. It is worthy of note, that the first and second
concerts, immense as they were, were composed almost entirely of
the intelligent and appreciative middle class.
"Some disturbance was created by a rush to obtain seats, made by
those who had promenade tickets for the balcony, the moment the
orchestra began to collect. This proceeding, in violation of the
specified arrangements, was most disgraceful. The ushers did all
they could to prevent it, but in spite of all their efforts many
persons who arrived before the hour of commencement were deprived
of their seats. It would be a good plan to have a few policemen
in the balcony on future occasions.
"The orchestra commenced with Rossini's Overture to "William
Tell"--perhaps the finest piece of instrumental picture music
since Haydn's Creation and the Pastoral Symphony of Beethoven.
Its fresh and vivid coloring, its atmospheric changes, its smart
Alpine vigor and heroic ensemble, were made as present and as
real as any sixty instruments could make them. Exquisitely did
those three violoncellos sketch the first scene of soft, cool
sunset on the unruffled lake; the mellow Corno Anglaise, male
partner to the oboe, sweetly woke the flute-like mountain echoes;
the low moan and whistle of the storm rose life like in the
crescendo of the violins, and as it died away the startling
quick-step of liberty leaped strong and simultaneous from such a
tutti as we have hardly heard from any orchestra. We can believe
that Mr. Benedict was quite sincere in telling them he had not
conducted a better orchestra in Europe. The other Overture to
Masaniello was also splendidly played, but the composition is, to
our taste, too hackneyed to fill out the programme of a Jenny
Lind before the largest audience in the world. The accompaniments
to the singing were usually given with sympathetic precision, and
subdued shading or vigorous seconding, as the case required. We
cannot speak too well of M. Benedict's control of his forces.
"The second piece was the Viravviso ("As I View Now") from La
Somnambula, delivered in the richest and most vibrating barytone
that WE Americans have heard, by Sig. Belletti. Now that we have
heard him from a nearer position, we have not a doubt left of his
superiority in voice, style, execution to all our Italian
favorites of the same register hitherto. He absolutely glorified
the cavatina which rapidly grew commonplace with Brough, and had
but half recovered even in the hands of the worthy Italian
artists who have since sung it on the stage for us. His crowning
achievement last night, however, was the actual singing of a
Tarentella by Rossini--a kind of movement which we have hitherto
heard only from instruments--a whirling, spinning, delirious,
top-like movement in which the singer seems galvanized and
tyrannized by one too happy and all-mastering idea in spite of
himself. The audience too, in spite of themselves, were sucked
into its whirling ecstacy, and it was imperatively encored. In
Mozart's Non piu Andrai the chaster prototype of Rossini's Largo
al factotum, his vocalization was elastic, spirited and elegant,
but the effect of such a piece was necessarily lost upon the
outer circles of so vast an auditory.
"For other variety there was a brilliant show duett on themes
from La Somnambula for piano and violin by Messrs. Benedict and
Noll, and a solo on the pianoforte by that most promising young
artist, Hoffman. For this he chose De Meyer's fantasy on
Semiramide, decidedly of the modern monster school of pianoforte
composition, though quite a vigorous, graceful and redeeming
specimen thereof.
"And now for the 'Queen of Song'--or, if so qualifying it will
better suit the Italians, the NORTHERN Queen of Song.
"She commenced with one of the most tender and graceful, and
hereabouts least hackneyed airs of Bellini--the Qui la Voce from
I Puritani. Her liquid purity of voice and graceful gliding
through its flowery labyrinthine passages was to us not more
remarkable than the true but quiet fervor which animated it.
Jenny Lind shows no feeling! and excites none! draws no tears!
True Art supplies the place of tears by touching the emotions
which are deeper and serener, and not a whit less human. But of
this more fully when we have room.
"The splendid song from Mozart's 'Magic Flute,' Non Paventar,
brought into play the salient diamonds of her highest voice,
which arches like the tall shaft of a fountain sparkling in the
sun. The introduction, a bold, exhorting strain, in grandiose
style, full of large intervals, was given with a glorious fervor,
and no lark ever carolled more blithely or more at ease than her
voice as it soared to F in alt! Benedict's English ballad, 'Take
this Lute,' she sang with a simplicity and pathos that won the
audience completely; and no part seemed more genuine or more
expressive than the difficult cadenza at its close.
"The romanza from Robert le Diable was perhaps the most
fascinating of her more studied performances. This, like all her
brilliant things, if not impassioned in the cheaper superficial
sense, was at all events vital, and from the soul. She is never
mechanical, whatever you may say about want of passion. Is any
tragic pathos, such as is ready on the smallest occasion, or on
none, more admirable and more inspiring, more from the inmost
soul, than is that gushing up of a full, glad, true heart which
is her native mood of song, and which was so glorious last night
in the Ah! non Giunge from Somnambula? The rapturous encore to
this was answered by the Swedish 'Herdsman's Song.'
"It was in the song from Mozart's 'Magic Flute' that we first
fully KNEW the voice and art and soul of Jenny Lind. She warmed
to that music. It is narrow criticism which imprisons such a
singer within the partial scope, albeit classical, of the Italian
School; ignores that vital part of her which may exceed the
conventional requirements of such a School, and condemns whatever
in her is most characteristic, and in contrast with its models.
It has been well said by those who make the most intelligent
reference to those models and that school, that the style of the
Swedish Nightingale is sui generis, as marked as her own
personality. True, you would not say of her, in the conventional
Italian sense of the word, what is often said in first
acknowledgment of a good singer: 'She has STYLE'--meaning the one
style which is assumed as the standard. If we are to limit style
to that sense, Mdlle. Lind has more than style; she has
genius--Northern genius, to be sure, which is precisely what she
should have to make her greatness genuine. Song is original in
her; and from her singing we drink in new life, after long
satiety of such passion-sweets as have become habits rather than
fresh inspirations in the delightful--we may almost say
perfected--but yet confined music of the Italians.
"It is, perhaps, too late to await the advent of a Queen of Song
from the warm South. The South has had its turn; it has fulfilled
its mission; the other end of the balance now comes up. The
Northern Muse must sing her lesson to the world. Her fresher,
chaster, more intellectual, and (as they only SEEM to some) her
colder strains come in due season to recover our souls from the
delicious languor of a Music which has been so wholly of the
Feelings, that, for the want of some intellectual tonic and some
spiritual temper, Feeling has degenerated into mere Sensibility
and a very cheap kind of superficial, skin-deep excitability that
usurps the name of Passion.
"We admire and feel and love the Melody of Italy. We reverence
her native gift of song, her popular sensibility to it. We have
been again and again transported by her best vocal artists who
have visited these shores, and they are not THE best--the
world-wide celebrities, we have to confess, are only traditions
to us--traditions, however, to which we yield ourselves in full
faith. From what we HAVE heard and experienced of Italian
singing, we know, as well as if we had heard Grisi, Pasta and
Rubini, that it is not IN the genius of the Italian School to
produce or hardly to appreciate such a new revelation of song as
this human nightingale or canary of Sweden.
"Is this underrating the Italian music? By no means. That is an
established fact, and has its characteristic worth. Equally so,
but in a contrasted way has the music of the North, which, till
this Nightingale appeared, had found its utterance mainly through
instruments and orchestras. Now it finds worthy utterance in
song. But of its peculiar characteristic we must take another
time to speak."