Page:A Dictionary of Music and Musicians vol 2.djvu/153

before and after her arrival. It is curious now to look back upon the artifices employed, the stories of broken contracts (this not without some foundation), of long diplomatic pourparlers, special messengers, persuasion, hesitation, and vacillations, kept up during many months,—all in order to excite the interest of the operatic public. Not a stone was left unturned, not a trait of the young singer's character, public or private, un-exploité, by which sympathy, admiration, or even curiosity, might be aroused (see Lumley's 'Reminiscences,' 1847). After appearing as the heroine of a novel ('The Home,' by Miss Bremer), and the darling of the Opera at Stockholm, she was next described as entrancing the opera-goers of Berlin, where indeed she was doubtless a welcome contrast to their ordinary prime donne; and her praises had been sung by the two great German composers, and had not lost by translation. But, not content with fulsome praise founded on these circumstances, the paragraphists, inspired of course by those for whose interest the paragraphs were manufactured, and assuredly without her knowledge or sanction, did not hesitate to speak in the most open way,—and as if in commendation of her as a singer, and above other singers,—of Mlle. Lind's private virtues, and even of her charities. Singers have ever been charitable, generous, open-handed and open-hearted; to their credit be it recorded: the exceptions have been few. With their private virtues critics have nought to do; these should be supposed to exist, unless the contrary be glaringly apparent. The public was, however, persistently fed with these advertisements and harassed with further rumours of doubts and even disappointment in the early part of 1847, it being actually stated that the negociations had broken down,—all after the engagement had been signed and sealed!

The interest and excitement of the public at her first appearance was, therefore, extraordinary; and no wonder that it was so. Yet her great singing in the part of 'Alice' disappointed none but a very few, and those were silenced by a tumultuous majority of idolaters. She certainly sang the music splendidly, and acted the part irreproachably. The scene at the cross in the second act was in itself a complete study, so strongly contrasted were the emotions she portrayed,—first terror, then childlike faith and confidence,—while she preserved, throughout, the innocent manner of the peasant girl. 'From that first moment till the end of that season, nothing else was thought about, nothing else talked about, but the new Alice—the new Sonnambula—the new Maria in Donizetti's charming comic opera,—his best. Pages could be filled by describing the excesses of the public. Since the days when the world fought for hours at the pit-door to see the seventh farewell of Siddons, nothing had been seen in the least approaching the scenes at the entrance of the theatre when Mlle. Lind sang. Prices rose to a fabulous height. In short, the town, sacred and profane, went mad about "the Swedish nightingale"' (Chorley). Ladies constantly sat on the stairs at the Opera, unable to penetrate further into the house. Her voice, which then at its very best showed some signs of early wear, was a soprano of bright, thrilling, and remarkably sympathetic quality, from D to D, with another note or two occasionally available above the high D. The upper part of her register was rich and brilliant, and superior both in strength and purity to the lower. These two portions she managed, however, to unite in the most skilful way, moderating the power of her upper notes so as not to outshine the lower. She had also a wonderfully, developed 'length of breath,' which enabled her to perform long and difficult passages with ease, and to fine down her tones to the softest pianissimo, while still maintaining the quality unvaried. Her execution was very great, her shake true and brilliant, her taste in ornament altogether original, and she usually invented her own cadenze. In a song from 'Beatrice di Tenda,' she had a chromatic cadence ascending to E in alt, and descending to the note whence it had risen, which could scarcely be equalled for difficulty and perfection of execution. The following, sung by her at the end of 'Ah! non giunge,' was given to the present writer by an ear-witness:—

In this comparatively simple cadenza, the high D, C, E, though rapidly struck, were not given in the manner of a shake, but were positively martelées, and produced an extraordinary effect. Another cadence, which, according to Moscheles, 'electrified' them at the Gewandhaus, occurred three times in one of Chopin's Mazurkas;

[App. p.701 "See a cadence of hers in the Musical Union Record, 1849, p. 8."]

'What shall I say of Jenny Lind?' he writes again (1847): 'I can find no words adequate to give you any real idea of the impression she has made.… This is no short-lived fit of public enthusiasm. I wanted to know her off the stage as well as on; but, as she lives some distance from me, I asked her in a letter to fix upon an hour for me to call. Simple and unceremonious as she is, she came the next day herself, bringing her answer verbally. So much modesty and so much greatness united are seldom if ever to be met with; and, although her intimate friend Mendelssohn had given me an insight into the noble qualities of her character, I was surprised to find them so apparent.' Again and again he speaks in the warmest terms of her, and subsequently of her and her husband together.

Meanwhile Mlle. Lind maintained the mark which she had made in 'Robert,' by her imper-