Albert Berg. Having discovered that the prima donna would not be able to appear, he thought it worth while to see whether by any chance his former pupil's voice had returned. He sent for her and bade her try what she could do. But for some time Jenny dared not even make the attempt, so afraid was she of failure and fresh disappointment. However, Berg impatiently struck the first notes of Alice's great solo, and the young girl began tremulously to sing them. Before the aria was ended, master and pupil felt as if a great deliverance had come. The voice had returned. There was no doubt whatever. The score was put into her hands and rehearsals begun. Slight intimation had been given to the public of Jenny's reappearance. When the evening in question arrived, her name on the bills was received with some disapproval. Many in the audience recalled the marvellous child who had been a favorite three years before, but the story of her lost voice was known, and they considered themselves ill treated by having her put into Mademoiselle ———'s position. But the first phrases of Alice's solo were not finished before the audience realized that they were listening to the greatest singer of the day; and a tumult of applause and excitement greeted her. Stockholm was in a furor. For eighteen months she continued to hold the place of prima donna, displaying not only wonderful vocal art but a dramatic genius that vitalized every part she undertook. At the end of this time the young girl had decided that she must avail herself of the best musical instruction to be procured. Gathering together all her resources,—and very slight they were,—she started alone for Paris, where she promptly called upon Garcia, then the most renowned singing-teacher in Europe. She had begun to dread another failure in her voice, for on several occasions she had been obliged to omit certain passages requiring flexibility or strength, and, naturally enough, feared that a fresh disappointment awaited her. Years later she used to tell with what sickening apprehensions she crossed the threshold of Garcia's house. He received her very kindly, and, after listening to what she had to say, requested to hear her. She sang, and waited anxiously the master's verdict. It was simply heart-rending. "You might have had a voice," said Garcia, "but it is either fast going or gone. Go home, and do not sing a note for three months. Then come back, and I will see what can be done."
Jenny was residing with friends in Paris, who, not altogether cheerfully, offered her a home for this time of probation. She used to say, "I lived on my tears and the agony of homesickness; but I was determined to bide my time and see what could be done." Meanwhile, visitors to her friends' house used to come and go, remarking on the "odd-looking girl who so seldom had anything to say," and shrugging their shoulders when they were told that it was Jenny Lind, the "child singer" of the Stockholm Opera-House. But, the time of waiting over, Jenny returned to Garcia, who decided to attempt instructing her. Meanwhile, he was giving lessons to Mademoiselle Nissen, later a public singer of note, who discovered before Garcia did the peculiar genius of her fellow-student. Nissen declared that she would never equal this young Swedish girl in dramatic ability, and Garcia at last recognized the fact that he had a genius in training, but saw also that flexibility
