REMINISCENCES OF JENNY LIND.

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume XXVIII, Issue 98, 28 April 1894, Page 4

REMINISCENCES OF JENNY LIND.

" Some six years ago , before her death," says the Rev H, R. Haweis in " The Young Womau," " I was in the habit of meet Jenny Lind at the house of my friend Arthur Milman (a son of the late Dean Milman of fc?t. Paul's). I frequently took her down to dinner, and, as I sat by the side of that elderly, straightforward, and matter-of-fact, rather dogmatic lady, whose opinions were deoided, whose face bore no traces of past beauty, whose manner and deportment, though perfectly dignified, did not appear to me strikingly graceful, I caught myself wondering what ie was that had driven the whole civilised world crazy with personal admiration. Then I remembered her voice at bt. James's Hall —the magic of a presence inspired by the noblest artistic genius. It had just been time to be touched by tho rays of the setting sun. I looked at the plain, middleaged lady, wha laid down the law to me ia religion over the soup, and contradicted me about Wagner over the fish, and denounced the wholesale mauufacture of musical mediocrity at the Royal College and the Royal Academy of Music over tho sweets, and I listened with reverence aud good heed —very seldom agreeing with anything she said—knowing that it was Jenny Lind, and that there was none like her, and that to have sat beside |her and conversed with her would be one of the most precious memories and privileges of my life. Her peculiar power has not been rivalled or approached as far as t I know, and I think I have heard every great singer that has been befoe the European public for this last forty years. 1 remember her singing Sullivan's setting of George Her. bert's " *. w weet day, so cool, so calm, so bright." The dream-lße echoes of the notes, still linger in* my ear. It was something unearthly — far away, like a cry of a wild bird lost in the sunset. On accepting an encore, she gave the "Three Kavens" i with weird effect—one saw ghosts ! The violinist Wieniawski's playing of his own " Legende " is the only thing that ever impressed me in the same way. Many years after this, one of my choir boys returned from a practice of the Bach Society in a state of great excitement. Mme. Lind Goldschmidt took a great interest in the Bach Choir* which was under the direction of her husband, Otto Goldschmidt, and bhe often sang ia the chorus herself, It seems that Mendelssohn's ' Hear my Prayer' was on for rehearsal, but the solo soprano failed to put in an appearance, Mme. Lind volunteered to stop the gap. Tho soprano part had been expressly written by Mendelssohn for hor, and it was certainly one of her favourite anthems. My little choir boy was simply transfixed by what ho heard—never had he conceived anything so heavenly as ' 0 for the wings, for the wings of a dove,' as ii came from the lips of the retired Diva. How many would have crowded to that rehearsal had they but known! But Mme. Lind was ' not prodigal of these displays, wi" n she retired she retired in KOQd earnest, and there were no last appearances, although fro;m time to time at her own house, or in the presence of intimate friends, she would warble or hum through a du n ef."° r tWO> °r evene Wia a