SOME UNCROWNED QUEENS.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XIII, Issue XVIII, 3 November 1894, Page 422

SOME UNCROWNED QUEENS.

BY WILLIAM FRANCIS. JENNY LIND : THE SWEDISH NIGHTINGALE. ® Binger has ever roused the English people to such enthusiasm at her first coming, or inspired ) t * lem 0D better acquaintance with such genuine and lasting affection as Jenny Lind, ‘The cvSv’ Swedish Nightingale.’ It was she who turned k -’ all our fathers’ heads in 1247, when she first visited this country, destined to be the home of her adoption. Her life story is one of the most romantic in the whole history of music. It is the career of a genius who rose from her humble Swedish home to throw a spell over the most brilliant audiences of European and American cities, and to win the homage of all who heard her marvellous voice. At the same time it reveals to us a singularly pure and noble type of womanhood. For Jenny Lind was not only a phenomenon of the musical and dramatic art—she was an example of nobility and pnrity. And no donbt the secret of Jenny Lind’s hold upon the affections of the English people, from the Queen downward, lies in the fact that she* was not only a great and unrivalled artist, but transparently and unmistakably a good woman. Born at Stockholm in 1820, Jenny Lind passed her early life somewhat in obscurity. Her father was a lace manufacturer in very straitened circumstances, and her mother was not particularly amiable. Hunger and hard treatment were, so to say, Jenny’s daily portion. Her only friend and playmate was a poor pussy called * Perlau,’ usually just as hungry and miserable as the little girl herself. Jenny was very fond of pussy, and used to nurse and fondle it until it fell asleep in her lap. It was in connection with this cat, and in her eighth year, that there occurred the famous incident which fixed the lines of her future career. RECOGNITION OF HER GENIUS. To quote her own words, ‘ as a child she sang with every step she took, and with every jump her feet made,’ and it seems that her ‘ perpetual song ’ was usually addressed to this cat with * a blue ribbon round its neck.’ Her favourite seat with her cat was in the window which looked out on the lively street leading up to the church of St. Jacob, and there she sat and sang to it, and the street used to hear and wonder, and amongst others the maid of a Mdlle. Lundberg, a dancer at the Royal Opera House. The maid told her mistress that she had never heard such beautiful singing as the little girl sang to her cat. Mademoiselle thereupon found out who she was, and through her kindness Jenny was sent to a school, and also to the Training College attached to the Royal Opera, Stockholm, where actors, singers, and ballet dancers not only are taught the rudiments of their profession before going upon the stage, but if they are very young all other matters belonging to a good education. This school is kept up at the cost of the nation, and when there are very promising pnpils who are, as Jenny Lind was, without means, the State pays also for their board and lodging. When Jenny Lind entered this training school Count Puke was the director of the Royal Opera. ‘ How old is she ?’ was the Count’s first question. Nine years old,’ was the reply. * Nine!’ exclaimed the Count, * but this is not a creche. It is the King’s theatre.’ And he would not look at her, she being, moreover, at that time what she herself calls * a small, ugly, broad-nosed, shy, gancht, under-grown girl.’ * Then,’ said Croelus, the Court secretary and singing master at the Royal Theatre, who had already pronounced her a genius, ‘ if the Count will not bear her, then I will teach her myself, and she will one day astonish you.’ Then the Count consented to hear her sing, and when she sang be was moved to tears, and from that moment she was accepted

—was educated, taught to sing and brought up at the Government expense.

HER MARVELLOUS VOICE. After ten years spent in the Swedish theatre. Jenny Lind went to Paris io study under the famous teacher Garcia. * Mademoiselle, you have no voice left,’ was his crushing verdict on first hearing her, but she persevered, and her voice, which had been injured by straining and bad methods soon came back in full splendour, acquiring ‘ a rich depth of tone, a sympathetic timbre, a bird-like charm in the silvery clearness of its upper register.’ Meyerbeer described it at this time as * chaste and pure, a voice full of grace and virgin freshness.* But she became homesick in Paris, and in 1842 returned to her dear Sweden, where she instantly achieved success.

Then followed the period of her German triumphs at Dresden, Berlin, Weimer, and Vienna. Lumley, the director of Her Majesty’s Opera, heard of the sweet singer, and induced her to visit England, offering nearly £5,000 for a season of four months. Her voice at this time was in its perfection. It was a * soprano of bright, thrilling, and marvellously sympathetic quality with wonderfully developed length of breadth and perfection of execution. She could sing up to high D in rich full tones, and even touch higher notes. She literally warbled like a bird.’ No wonder that she took London by storm, and that * the town,’ as Chorley relates, * both sacred and profane, went mad about the Swedish Nightingale.’ The same thing was repeated next year, and then she announced to her horrified manager that she was about to quit the stage for ever, though only twentynine, and at the beginning of her triumphs. Her retirement

threatened him with ruin, but six farewell performances in 1849 were all he could wring from her to break the blow. THE REASON WHY. Her reasons for leaving the stage have often been canvassed. Her biographers explain that the homeless, rootlees life of a wandering operatic star frightened her ; that the surroundings of the theatre were uncongenial to the higher needs of her nature, and that religious considerations also weighed in her decision. This is how she writes about it to a friend :— * What do you say of my having left the stage ? I cannot tell you in words how happy I feel about it. I shall sing in concerts as long as I have a voice, but that only gives me pleasure; and in this way I shall be able to work at least five years longer, and that is necessary for me, for the last twelve months I have sung only for institutions and charities. Without a beautiful goal one cannot endure life, at least I cannot. I have begnn to sing what has long been the wish of my heart—oratorio. There I can sing the music I love, and the words make me feel a better being. See, dear mother, my career in the future will take this direction, and my favourite idea be realized.’ Perhaps the following anecdote better explains her decision. Once an English friend found her sitting on the steps of a bathing machine on the sands with a Lutheran Bible open on her knee, and looking out into the glory of a sunset that was shining over the waters. They talked, and the talk drew near to the inevitable question. * Ob, Madame Goldschmidt, how was it that you ever came to abandon the stage at the very height of your success ’’ * When every day,* was the quiet answer, * it made me think less of this (laying her finger on the Bible), and nothing at all of that (pointing out to the sunset), what else could I do ?’ HER ENGLISH POPULARITY. Her biographers. Canon Scott-Holland and Mr Rockstro, refer to the enthusiasm evoked by her appearance whenever she went in England after her retirement from the stage. * Her appearance.’ they write, * in vast covered corn markets and winter gardens (for no space seemed big enough to contain the crowds that Hicked to hear her) was oddly spectacular. Her simplicity of manner and unaffected good nature won all hearts. When she first appeared the applause would continue rising and falling for several minutes and every opera glass would then be levelled at her. She never could begin her song at once. The conductor resigned himself, not attempting to raise his baton, the band stood at ease until the frenzy of excitement gradually subsided. All this time Jenny Lind would stand, first one way, then another, sometimes completely turning round and then back again so that everyone could have a good look at their idol. The staircases outside were commonly lined with ladies, sitting all down the steps unable to get up. On emerging her horses were unharnessed and crowds accompanied her to her hotel, and refused to leave before she had shown herself at a window or on the balcony.’ THE AMERICAN TOUR. It was in 1849 that Mr Barnum induced Jenqy Lind to visit America. Without ever having heard her sing the great showman risked every cent, he had in her engagement. As soon as the contract was signed Mr Barnum offered 200 dollars for a prize ode * Greeting to America,’ to be sung by the songstress at her first concert. Several hundreds of poems were sent in, and that by Bayard Taylor was considered the best. The excitement in America was further increased when, on her arrival, Mr Barnum pre-

sented the gifted vocalist not only as ‘The Swedish Nightingale,’ but also as the ‘The Angel of Beneficence.* The proceeds of the first concert in New York were given to the Fire Department and the next was devoted to another deserving object. New York had never seen such gifts, and all the Christian public went to see and bear the melodious angel. The excitement increased to such a degree that tickets sqld at unheard of prices. The highest price paid for tickets were as follows, at auctions : Ossian and Dodge, in Boston, £l2O ; Colonel William C. Ross, in Providence, £130; M. A. Root, in Philadelphia, £125. Mr Barnum took from 10.000 to 12.000 dollars nightly, and after paying

Jenny Lind £35.000 for ninety five concerts, pocketed the handsome sum of £lOO,OOO. The secret of Jenny Lind’s unbounded popularity is not far to seek. It has been said that Jenny Lind sang herself as it were straight into the hearts of the people, but there can be little doubt that to her many noble qualities as a woman may in some measure be attributed the genuine affection with which she was ever regarded by the people of this country. It was because she was an * Angel of Beneficence,’ as well as * a Queen of Song,’ that she became so popular, and made music so fashionable among the more serious classes.