Book 4 — CHAPTER XI. AT THE GEWANDHAUS.

We have spoken of Mdlle. Lind’s offer to assist Herr Josephson in his project of carrying on his studies in Italy.

In the month of June, 1845, he wrote, at Vienna, in his Diary:—

“Through the care of Munthe, Jenny Lind’s homme d’affaires, I have received a letter containing a cheque which guarantees my going to Italy. And now I am looking hopefully towards the south. May it prove of real use!”

Mdlle. Lind did not, however, write to him herself until the beginning of December, when she sent him the following letter:—

“You poor boy! so far away in a strange country and for so dreadfully long a time, without having heard a word, directly, from your friend who is now writing to you, and who wishes you so well and has so faithfully retained her friendship for you!

“Dear good Jacob! I cannot understand how it is possible that I have left you so long without a word. But I have been travelling again nearly the whole summer, and have really not been able to write.

“I have received your letters in due course, and hasten to answer the last. My money matters are not just now in my own hands, and as you need money only at the time of the new year, I write this to-day before sending it. But it is coming soon.

“And now I suppose I must tell you everything about myself. In the first place, I am splendidly well. I am enjoying myself very much. I am very glad and very grateful for the kind treatment we—that is, Louise and I—are receiving at Professor Wichmann’s, and we find it very enjoyable there. Furthermore, my voice has grown twice as strong as it was—the middle register quite clear. My acting is something quite different, 177with much more vivacity and passion; stout and broad-shouldered, and quite first-rate! if my success was great last year, it is now quite furious. I have appeared here as ‘Donna Anna,’ and succeeded well. Yesterday also I appeared, for the first time in Berlin, in Der Freischütz—and that also went well. Now guess what my next part will be? Die Vestalin. After that, ‘Alice’ and ‘Valentine.’ Tithatschek will probably be here at the new year. Meyerbeer is still in Paris, but is expected here soon. But, Jacob, Mendelssohn is here! I see him almost every day at the Wichmanns’. And he is quite an exceptional man. Dear! we are going, the day after to-morrow, to Leipzig. Now, at least, I shall sing at a Gewandhaus Concert under his direction!

“It is possible that I may go to Vienna next spring. True, I feel restrained by nervousness, but the engagement is a good one.

“Well! I am quite ready to believe that Italy must be beautiful. It would please me well to go there next spring, but I must first earn some money.”

It is touching to see the great Artist longing for the beauties of Italy, yet deferring the enjoyment of them until she could “earn some money,” while she was really enabling the young student to whom she wrote to prosecute his studies there with money she had previously earned.

It is touching, too, to see how her Artist-nature expands at the thought of a closer acquaintance with Mendelssohn—the composer whose genius was in closer sympathy with her own than that of any other musician then living,—and to mark how she revelled in the thought of singing to the accompaniment of the orchestra he conducted, well knowing beforehand the delight she would feel in being so perfectly and so effectually accompanied. None but a really great singer can fully understand the delight of singing to such an accompaniment, whether played by the orchestra or on the pianoforte, and in this case the vocalist was certainly not disappointed.

In a letter addressed to her guardian, Judge Munthe, on Jan. 12, 1846, Mdlle. Lind writes:—

“Felix Mendelssohn comes sometimes to Berlin, and I have often been in his company. He is a man, and at the same time he has the most supreme talent. Thus should it be.”

178The words are few, but weighty enough in their relation to the social history of Art; for, taken into consideration in connection with the expressions quoted in the preceding chapter from her letter to Herr Josephson, they give us direct indication of a friendship which, ripening with time, continued, with ever-increasing loyalty and warmth, until the moment at which the composer of Elijah entered into his rest, on Nov. 4, 1847; a friendship the full value of which can be understood by those only who enjoyed the inestimable privilege of friendly intercourse, though in ever so humble a degree, with that truly remarkable “man;” a friendship in which the world of Art itself was interested. For it is absolutely certain that these two artistic spirits exercised a notable influence over each other in all that concerned the Art they worshipped; insomuch that the Elijah itself owed something to Mendelssohn’s familiarity with her ideal treatment of the voice, while her interpretation of his loveliest melodies was undoubtedly penetrated with the spirit he infused into the harmonies with which he accompanied her on the pianoforte.

Though residing at this time in Leipzig, Mendelssohn came occasionally to Berlin, and had evidently taken such opportunities as he could of renewing the acquaintance first formed on Oct. 21, 1844, at the house of Professor Wichmann. He was engaged, that winter, in conducting the famous Gewandhaus Concerts at Leipzig, which were then universally acknowledged to be the finest in Europe. Under his all-powerful bâton they had met with unexampled success, and he eagerly seized this opportunity of persuading his friend to assist him in his noble work. The Intendant of the Opera-House seems to have granted the necessary leave of absence without difficulty, and on Dec. 3—the day following the second performance of Der Freischütz—the two great Artists proceeded together to Leipzig.

Though the dimensions of this quaint old town were greatly inferior, in 1845, to those of which it now boasts, it exercised a greater and far more healthy influence upon the development of Music than either Berlin or Vienna. The audience, at the Gewandhaus, though severely critical, was prone to bursts of genuine enthusiasm; and when the good burghers who dominated the society of the town heard of the treat that was in store for them, their excitement knew no bounds. Though the prices of admission were instantly raised from two-thirds of a thaler to one 179thaler and a third—i.e. from two shillings to four—the tickets were all sold off at once, and their lucky possessors were able to command any price they liked to ask for them at second-hand. The “free list” was stopped, of course, and even the students of the Conservatorium,^[55] who enjoyed prescriptive right of admission, were politely told that their prescriptive right would not be recognised on the evening of the eighth concert.

This arbitrary resumption of vested privileges provoked an “indignation meeting” at the rooms of one of the offended brotherhood, at which it was resolved that a firm but respectful protest should be addressed to the most active of the Directors—a gentleman of severe aspect, but not, it was hoped, of absolutely stony heart. The difficulty was, to find a mouse to bell the cat. A victim was, however, selected and sacrificed, and in the course of the day he reappeared before the adjourned conclave with a face which distinctly showed that he had been received with the gentle courtesy usually accorded by College dons to students too keenly alive to encroachments upon their privileges.^[56]

The rush for tickets was, in fact, so great that, had the Saal des Gewandhauses been four times as large as it really was, it could have been filled over and over again. Through the kindness of Herr Julius Kistner, the well-known music publisher, the writer, maddened with the excitement of the moment, was fortunate enough to obtain a seat in the front row, close to the orchestra, between the places occupied by the heroic presenter of the protest and the late Mr. Joseph Ascher, another member of the “Indignation Committee.” The room was crowded to suffocation and the audience breathless with suspense.

Herr Heinrich Brockhaus, in his Diary, describes the events of the evening in terms which exactly correspond with our own recollection of them:—

“1845. Leipzig, Dec. 4. Jenny Lind has fulfilled the promise she made, in the summer, to sing at one of the subscription-concerts, to my great enjoyment and truly heartfelt pleasure.

“Luise^[57] wrote to Fräulein Lind to offer her our hospitality, 180so I am actually living under the same roof with our charming visitor.

“The expectations of the Leipzigers—who pride themselves somewhat on their musical taste and are sometimes a little hypercritical—were raised very high indeed; but the first air, from Norma, at once won everything for the Singer, and the enthusiasm rose higher and higher through a duet with Miss Dolby from Romeo and Juliet, through a recitative and air from Don Juan, and, finally, through some songs by Mendelssohn and some Swedish national airs, to a quite extraordinary pitch.

“And with good reason.

“She is a most extraordinary singer: a musical nature through and through; in full command of the most beautiful means; and, besides that, so penetrated and spiritualised with the singing of everything which she renders, that a song sung by her goes straight to the heart.

“Soul and expression, so intimately associated with so beautiful a voice and so perfect a method, will never be met with again; the appearance of Fräulein Lind is, therefore, truly unique.

“And with all that, what noble and beautiful simplicity pervades her whole being! free from all fictitious coquetry, though, all the same, she takes delight in the effect she produces. One can only wonder, and love her. And this affectionate appreciation of her is universal—the same with young and old, with men and with women. And again, there is something so thorough and consistent; a noble and beautiful nature; a manifestation of the genius of the noblest womanhood and the highest art.

“Who can sing either German or Italian music as she does? Who is so great a mistress of National Song as she? In the case of other singers people are often influenced by a critique, and astuteness prides itself upon the discovery of some weak point. With Fräulein Lind one rejoices one’s self at her success, and feels with her until the applause bursts forth.”^[58]

Instead of following up her success by giving a “benefit” on her own account, and filling the room to suffocation, as she might easily have done at any prices she liked to demand, she announced her intention of singing, the next night, at the concert which she determined to give in aid of the Orchester-Wittwen-Fond—an institution for the maintenance of the widows of deceased members of the Gewandhaus Orchestra.

181Herr Heinrich Brockhaus has included a minute description of this Concert also in his published Diary; but the account given in the unpublished note-book of his youthful son, Edouard, is so charmingly unaffected and natural, that we insert it in preference to the more mature remarks of the elder gentleman.

“On Friday, Dec. 5, the Lind was to sing at a concert for the Orchester-Wittwen-Fond. Every one was delighted, but I most of all, as I hoped that I also might get a chance of hearing her; and, luckily, at dinner-time, mother gave me a ticket, which I kept in my hand all the afternoon, for fear of losing it. Tickets were very rare just then, and, though they only cost 1 Rthl., 10 Ngr., I know that some were sold for 3 Rthl., and even 5 Rthl. The concert was to begin at half-past six o’clock, and I was at the Gewandhaus by half-past five; it took me, however a good quarter of an hour to get up the few steps leading to the hall. For the steps were crammed with people, including many ladies, and there was scarcely room to stand, much less to turn round. So we moved slowly forwards, and thought ourselves lucky when we mounted a single step. The hall was soon so full that not another creature could be squeezed in, and many had to stand the whole evening in the little room where the buffet is; but, luckily, I got a seat in the third row in the gallery, where I could see and hear everything.

“The Lind first sang the scena and air from Figaro, and I can really find no adequate expression to apply to her singing. The power of the voice, even in the highest notes, the feeling, when she sang pianissimo, and, above all, the perfection of her execution, cannot be described in words. The shake, and all the finer nuances, sounded so perfectly natural, and she sang with such life and expression, that she had to hold back continually, to keep herself from acting. And the people seemed as if they would never leave off applauding.

“In the second part she sang the well-known scene and air from Der Freischütz, and here again, from every gesture, one could see that it was as much as ever she could do to hold herself in check so as not to act it. And the expression she gave to every word, and the swelling of the tones and the feeling and the execution, were really unsurpassable.

“After Mendelssohn had played a beautiful solo on the pianoforte, in the most masterly style, the Lind sang, last of all, three songs. The first was Mendelssohn’s ‘Frühlingslied,’ and the two others extremely original Swedish Volkslieder. Mendelssohn 182accompanied them on the pianoforte, and with them the Concert came, all too soon, to an end.

“The Lind had promised to spend the evening with us, and when we got home we found everything made ready for her reception. As she had begged that no company might be invited, mother had only asked Tante Luise, with the rest of the family, and the Mendelssohns.

“About nine o’clock our courtyard was suddenly filled with a crowd of people, mostly students, who had come, with torches, to serenade the Lind. When a circle had been formed, by torch-light, Weber’s Jubilee Overture was first played; then a song was sung; and afterwards they sang and played alternately. The Lind was quite taken by surprise, and kept on asking father what she should do and how she should thank the people.

“While she was peeping out of the window there came a pause, and a lot of Concert directors, with Concertmeister David and Dr. Haertel at their head, came into the room, and, in the name of the musicians, presented her with a beautiful silver salver, on which were engraved the words:—

“‘To Fräulein Jenny Lind, from the grateful musicians.’

“On the salver was placed a beautiful wreath of laurel and camellias. It was given to her by the musicians as a mark of thankfulness, because she had sung for the institution for the benefit of the widows of members of the orchestra. David accompanied the gift with a few words, and the Lind was so surprised that she could only look at him while he was speaking, and thank him with a silent gesture.

“During all this time I got the champagne ready, and many healths were drunk—naturally, hers first of all. Father then filled a great tankard and brought it to her, that she might first taste it herself, and then send it round to the gentlemen; but she would not do this—why, I cannot imagine. She passed it on, however, to David, saying, ‘Drink to your own health!’

“During the music she stood, for the most part, at the east window, in the corner, and listened to it eagerly; but one could see that the crowd of people was painful to her. When the students had left off singing—there were two hundred singers, besides a multitude of others—Mendelssohn led the Lind into the courtyard. I followed her, with Tante Luise; and Mendelssohn said that the honourable task of conveying to them Fräulein Lind’s thanks for this had fallen to his lot, and that he fulfilled it with pleasure; but that, in addition, and in his 183own person as ‘Leipziger Musikdirector,’ he wished long life to Fräulein Lind.^[59]

“All joined, naturally, in shouting ‘Long life to Fräulein Lind!’ And we then tried to get back into the house, but found it very difficult to do so, so closely did the crowd press round, on every side, to catch a glimpse of the Lind.

“In going away, they sang the beautiful ‘Waldlied.’ The gentlemen who had presented the silver plateau then took their leave after the Lind had duly thanked them, and the Mendelssohns did not stay very much longer.

“No sooner were the doors closed behind them than she embraced mother and Marie, and all who were standing near her, and jumped up like a child. The presence of so many people had worried her, and it was not until they were gone that her joy broke forth.

“We now sat round a table and enjoyed ourselves very much. The Lind showed us, among other things, her bracelets, two of which were particularly beautiful. One, in the form of a serpent, was given to her by the late King of Sweden, and the other, which was very splendid, by the present King of Prussia. At the top of this last was a cover, with three real pearls as large as peas; and under this cover, which was made to lift up, was a little cylinder-watch, the size of a four-groschen piece. She looked with great pleasure at our pictures and engravings, while I held the lights for her, and at about eleven o’clock she went down to her apartments.”

The graphic and life-like picture, thus charmingly painted by the bright youth of sixteen, forms a fitting conclusion to our narrative of Mdlle. Lind’s memorable visit to Leipzig.

She might well have retired to her rooms, tired out with fatigue and excitement, at eleven o’clock; for on the next day—Saturday, Dec. 6—she was to return to Berlin, where she was announced to reappear, for the fourth time, in Don Juan on the following Tuesday.

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