Book 7 — CHAPTER IX. IN THE PROVINCES.

The business of the season was heavy and exacting, and its excitement fatiguing, even to the strong; but, like the music of a grand dramatic scena, it had its “points of repose,” interspersed among the agitato passages which formed the basis of its general construction. Let us hear what our friend, Mrs. Grote, has to tell us about those welcome little agrémens.

“The summer of 1847 passed delightfully,” she says, in the MS. Memoir from which we have so frequently quoted, “divided, as it was, between theatrical labours and triumphs, and passages of recreation. Among the latter, the most agreeable to her were, repeated visits to our own country home at Burnham, about three miles from Slough, where she essayed riding on horseback; an exercise in which she afterwards came to take so great delight, that she bought a couple of saddle-horses of her own, and rode whenever opportunity permitted.

“When she could not spare time to go to Burnham, we often spent a long summer day in Wimbledon Park, taking a cold collation there, in a kind of châlet, placed at her disposal by Mr. Barber Beaumont, the proprietor. On these occasions, my brother Edward, myself, and sometimes Mr. Grote, would accompany her. We all rambled about, enjoying the repose and unmolested retirement the place afforded. The nightingales sang, in May and June, in the copse; and to these Jenny always listened with interest and pleasure. On one fine evening, as we were leaning over a gate, listening to one, the bird stopped.

“‘There!’ said Jenny, ‘he has seen us! Now, that is just like me. I should have done the same, if I had caught anyone intruding on my solitude. And, indeed, those who have compared me to the nightingale were not far wrong; for I have a great deal of the nightingale in me.’

“When at Burnham, she used to study the music of her new 299rôles among the old beeches, where I have often found her, seated on the clubbed root of one, with the book laid open upon her knee, and warbling, in a low tone, the music of the score.

“Mr. Lumley gave a fête champêtre, in the course of the season, at his villa near Putney; and Jenny consented to go there, provided I would accompany her as chaperone. We duly made our appearance at the fête; but Jenny was so disturbed and discomposed by the staring and incessant curiosity displayed by the company with regard to her, that she was anything but comfortable during the two or three hours of her stay. Mr. Lumley did everything he possibly could to restore her good humour, but she only desired ‘to get away’; and we accordingly returned, towards nightfall, to Clairville. No sooner were we within its walls, than Jenny appeared in a new phase. Instead of allowing me to continue my road homewards, she said I ‘must stay to tea’; then, ‘to supper.’ My brother and I were placed in the seats of honour in her little drawing-room. Lights were brought, in abundance. The resources of the ménage were strained to produce various refreshments; Jenny doing the honours, and waiting upon us, with infinite vivacity and grace, and in the highest spirits. I was beyond measure diverted by her playful vagaries, which she finished, at last, by sitting down to the piano, and singing her native melodies with bewitching effect.

“The night was now wearing away, but still I was not allowed to depart. A messenger was despatched, who returned, in an hour or so, with my night-dresses; and I was installed in Jenny’s own room, which was lighted up with numerous wax candles, while she retired to a small bedroom adjoining it.

“This evening—one of many delightful ones, spent during the summer of 1847—rises to my memory, as exemplifying the humour of this singular being, in a very remarkable light.”

No one enjoys a holiday so thoroughly as the artist, whose brain has been too long strained at abnormally high pressure. Mendelssohn enjoyed his holidays with the artless playfulness of a child, making no attempt whatever to conceal the depth of his innocent delight—and Mdlle. Lind did the same. But, the work of the “season” had not yet come to an end. Much had already been done; but, much more remained to be accomplished, before she could really take a prolonged and undivided rest.

By a singular anomaly, so frequently repeated that its omission, at this period of our history, would have seemed more strange than its recurrence, the brilliancy of her successes was invariably 300found to bear an inverse proportion to the depth of her previous despondency.

We have seen her, at Berlin, reduced to the verge of despair, before the evening of her triumphant début in the grand new Opera-House.

At Vienna, the appearance of the salle of the Theater an der Wien so terrified her, that but for Herr Hauser’s remonstrances, she would have fled the city, and left her engagement with Herr Pokorny unfulfilled, in the firm belief that her voice was not powerful enough to enable her to carry out the task she had undertaken to perform.

And again, in London, she had gone so far as to entreat her friend Mrs. Grote to intercede with the manager for the reversal of a contract which, she thought, made a demand upon her powers to which they were wholly unequal.

Yet, at Berlin, she succeeded in convincing the most fastidious critics in the world of the reality of her genius, before the curtain fell upon the first act of her favourite Norma. At Vienna, the delighted Austrians unhorsed her carriage, in the hope that they might be permitted to drag her home in triumph. And in London, she won her way, in one single evening, to a position which no prima donna had ever previously occupied.

But, when the London season came to a close, her successes in this country were only just beginning. Her fame had already penetrated to the remotest corners of the kingdom. The inhabitants of all the great towns were burning with impatience to hear her, that they might judge for themselves whether the rumours that had reached them were exaggerated, or not. And those who had already heard her at Her Majesty’s Theatre were longing to hear her again, in the distant counties to which they were returning after the excitement of the season was over. So a long and fatiguing provincial tour was organised without delay. To give a detailed account of the country performances, seriatim, however interesting they may have been at the time, could only be wearisome, after the innumerable triumphs we have already described; but, Mrs. Grote’s general account of the tour is too interesting to be omitted.

“At the end of an engagement of unparalleled success,” she says, in her Memoir, “Jenny proceeded on a tour in the provinces, 301in which she was accompanied by my brother, Mr. Edward Lewin, who acted as manager of her affairs, and directed her relations with the concert-speculators, and whose agency, on this occasion, was extremely valuable to her. She knew nothing of the English language, in the first place; so that she could do little in the way of transacting her artistic business. Her attendant could speak only Swedish, which made it the more essential that some friend should accompany the ladies, to serve as interpreter on the journey, and at the inns. Now, Mr. Lewin was perfectly at home in the Swedish language, from having resided for many years at Stockholm; and he likewise spoke French well enough to communicate with the foreign artists included in the company which Jenny had associated with her for these provincial performances. Their intimacy was one of great confidence, and warm admiration for Jenny’s many great and engaging gifts doubtless filled the breast of my brother Edward; while the sentiments she entertained towards him partook of the early companion, the able and serviceable secretary, the ‘go-between’ with tiresome applicants for her bounty, or with servants. He was her playfellow, as it were, in the hours of relaxation; her escort to and from the theatre, and the concert-room. And, beyond all this, he was my brother—a title, which, loving me as she came to do during our familiar intercourse, conferred an additional charm upon her friendship with Edward.”^[99]

And so it came to pass, that, aided by the business capacities and firm moral support of this trusty friend, Mdlle. Lind devoted the months of August and September to a series of provincial performances, undertaken on her own account, and everywhere successful. She had secured the assistance of Signor Gardoni, Signor F. Lablache and his talented wife, and a competent orchestra, conducted by Mr. Balfe; and, in company with these popular and thoroughly conscientious artists, she extended her journey to Scotland, and delighted her audiences, wherever she appeared. She was fêted everywhere; and everywhere made friends. But, in one particular town, the reception she met with was so cordial, and the friendships she cemented were so true and lasting, that we cannot refrain from giving a circumstantial account of the events which there took place.

While still busily occupied, in London, with her performances at Her Majesty’s Theatre, she had received the following letter from Dr. Stanley, the Bishop of Norwich:—

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“38, Lower Brook Street,

“July 10th, 1847.

“The Bishop of Norwich has just heard that Miss Jenny Lind has consented to come to Norwich in September next. He and Mrs. Stanley therefore lose no time in expressing the hope that she, during her stay, will become their guest at the palace.

“The Bishop has only to add, that it will be a great gratification to him to make acquaintance with one whose high character and principles, from all he has heard, are on a par with her superior talents.

“Miss Jenny Lind,

“Clara Villa,

“Old Brompton.”

This invitation she accepted; and, on the evening of Tuesday, the 21st of September, she duly arrived at the Palace, where she was received with a welcome which she remembered with pleasure till the end of her life.

The leading local newspaper described the event, with the fervour that never fails to animate a provincial journal, put upon its mettle by the opportunity of making an unwonted announcement. She had been far from well, since her departure from Edinburgh; and was suffering from inordinate fatigue. The public had been informed of this, and great anxiety prevailed, even among the working classes, who curiously peered into every carriage, and thronged around the portal by which the great songstress was to enter.

The scheme for the week included two performances, over and above that originally announced: viz., an evening Concert, on Thursday, September the 23rd; and, on Saturday, the 25th, a supplementary morning performance, for the benefit of those who were unable to meet the high prices demanded for the original tickets. On the Thursday, the greatest effect seems to have been produced by Dove sono; and, on the Saturday, the Swedish songs threw the audience into a perfect furore.

It is pleasant to turn from these details to a charming little episode associated with the morning performance on Saturday.

At a service in the Cathedral, on the Friday afternoon, Mdlle. Lind had heard three of the Choristers sing the Trio Jesus, Heavenly Master, from Spohr’s Crucifixion, with a purity of expression which moved her to tears. So great, indeed, was the effect produced upon her by the fresh young voices, that she afterwards 303told the Præcentor that she “could never forget the boys’ singing,” and delighted Mr. Buck, the organist, by saying that she had “never heard children sing so well;” and, in return for the pleasure they had given her, she begged that places might be reserved for all the little Choristers, at the morning performance on the following day. On arriving at the Hall, her first care was, to ascertain that the places accorded to them were satisfactory, no slight privilege, at a time when numbers of the general public were thankful to pay for places from which seeing was impossible, and hearing extremely problematical. But this was not the only privilege the little Choristers enjoyed. They were more delighted still with another, which excited the envy of every one present: for when she came upon the platform, she greeted them with a smile of recognition, “which,” says the Norwich newspaper, “will not be readily forgotten, either by the boys, or those who saw the passing brightness.”

We have said enough to show that Mdlle. Lind’s reception at Norwich was no ordinary one; and the records we have quoted would alone be sufficient to prove the fact, if proof were necessary.

But, the most graphic account, by far, of this famous visit, is furnished by a very illustrious pen indeed—that of Mr. Arthur Penrhyn Stanley, afterwards dear to so many as the Dean of Westminster.

In a letter, dated September 22, 1847, Dean (then Mr.) Stanley writes:—

“Dear ——,

“You have perhaps seen in the papers that Jenny Lind has been ill; and that, hence, her arrival here was delayed a day, and the interest consequently enhanced.

“I should also, perhaps, add, that doubts had been entertained whether she could be sufficiently recovered to sing at all.

“Well! the fatal Tuesday arrives, the 4.30 train arrives, bringing guests of ours—but, no Jenny.

“All along the line, people had been standing at the stations, poking their heads in at the windows.

“‘No—she’s not here.’ And so on, till the disappointment communicated itself to the crowd of 100, 400, or 700, which reports, varying in their degrees, represent as assembled at the Norwich terminus. And similar agitations prevail, even within the Episcopal precincts, from the humble inhabitants of the Lodge—who 304look, with inquisitive glances, into any fly that drives through the ancient gates—up to the circle in the Palace drawing-room, which runs to the window, at every sound, and starts at every opening of the door.

“Dinner arrives—and still no Lind!

“In the midst of dinner—a ring at the door. The dining-room door opens—and, enter an electric telegraph, which is delivered to the Prelate at the head of the table, and read to the listening guests—who numbered, by the way, another Bishop, he of Tasmania—in the following words:—

“‘Miss Lind, being detained, will not be at Norwich till 8.30.’

“The blank faces which appeared at the beginning of the sentence revived at the close; and the only suspense now remained till the actual hour had arrived.

“At that moment, the great bells of S. Peter’s Mancroft broke out into their most joyous chimes. Some even say that guns were fired from the surrounding heights. A few minutes more, and the expectant company became aware that the head of the musical world had entered the house.

“Thus far I had written, on the morning after she came; and, as far as the excitement is concerned, it might have been continued in the same strain; how, when it was found that she could not appear that night, from excessive fatigue; and, that she had said, ‘J’espère que je pourrai chanter demain; mais j’en doute,’ blank horror overpowered the party; how the Choristers were so affected, that one of them burst into tears: how the bells rang till twelve at night, and ever and anon, all day; how her portraits were selling in the streets, at a penny a piece; how the whole town was in one great Lind-Maelström of excitement; how Miss Buckland was taken for her, when visiting a factory, and followed by crowds, Sedgewick encouraging the delusion by calling her ‘Jenny’; how, on one occasion, when she went into the town with the Bishop, to visit two schools, the moment that her presence became known, the streets were thronged, and windows thrown up, in every direction, with people gazing from them, and turning after her, till their necks were almost wrenched from their sockets; how, when she went to the Cathedral, the whole of the North Transept, through which lies the approach to the Palace, was so densely thronged, that, as I led her—yes, I myself, S——! through the mass she had forced asunder, as when Prince Albert led the Queen up the Senate House; all this, and much more, I might relate; but I cannot; for, great as was the wonder of seeing a whole population thus bewitched by one simple Swedish girl, it sinks into nothing, before the wonder of herself.

305“You have seen her, and therefore you can appreciate the grace, the dignity, the joyousness, the touching pathos of her entrance; her attitude, her curtsies, her voice. For, whatever much beside—as, I doubt not, there is—may be seen in her acting, all this is seen in her singing.

“Twice did I go to the concert, merely for the sake of this. For the music, so far as it could be separated from the charm of her manner, and the wonder of her voice, which I, alas! could only admire as a natural phenomenon, was to me wholly lost.

“But, now, you must conceive a character, corresponding to all this, and transpiring through a thousand traits of humility, gentleness, thoughtfulness, wisdom, piety. The manners of a Princess—as I have written to Donkin—with the simplicity of a child, and the goodness of an angel. She is very much plainer, and more homely, than you would suppose from her countenance, as you see it when animated in public; but her smile, at all times, is only equalled by Pusey’s.

“She came on Tuesday night, and is gone this evening; and it seems quite a blank, as if a heavenly visitant had departed.

“The parting scene was so deeply affecting, that I prefer, for the moment, to dwell upon her return from the third and final concert, in which the two carriages drove off together from the door, one containing the Episcopal party, with the exception of myself, who rode on the outside of the second, in which sat the wonderful creature herself—the crowd rushing after with enthusiastic cheers.

“I have already written a whole letter, and yet told you nothing, and do not know whether I shall have time to do so till we meet. But, there are numberless things to tell you, which may perhaps regale the Common Room in the long winter evenings of next term.

“Ever yours,

“A. P. Stanley.”

“P.S.—On reading over what I have said, I must begin again, lest you should regard all this as idle raving. And yet, I hardly know where to begin—not to mention that no details can give an adequate impression of the whole.

“(1). I never saw any one so strongly impressed with the consciousness that a natural faculty is a gift. ‘Ce n’est pas un mérite; c’est un don’ was, in various ways, constantly expressing itself. She said she never sang without reflecting that it might be for the last time; and, that it was continued to her, from year to year, for the good of others.

“(2). In speaking of her profession, generally, it was obvious 306that it was not only her greatest object—as, indeed, one could not doubt, for a moment—to keep herself unspotted; but, to elevate its whole tone, and character. ‘C’est ce que j’espère,’ she said, with enthusiasm, in answer to some suggestion that such might be the result of her career.

“(3). On acting, she said that, on the one hand, she could not leave her own character altogether behind, when she came on the stage; that, to destroy her individuality would destroy all that was good in her; and, that she made it a principle, never to represent such passions as would awaken bad feelings. Hence, for example, her very different conception of Norma from that of Grisi. But, on the other hand, whatever conception she did form of the character she acted, she threw herself into it entirely. If, as once or twice had happened, she was unable to do this, she felt she was acting, and telling lies, and then entirely failed. One instance she gave of this complete identification was, that the part of La Sonnambula fatigued her extremely, from the utter impossibility of moving her eyes, during the sleepwalking.

“(4). The Bishop of Tasmania,^[100] as I told you, being here at the time, was so deeply impressed by her excellence, that, when he went away, not being able to talk to her in French, he left her a letter expressive of his approbation of her course, and of his hopes of the good she might effect. This, combined with the great interest that she herself took in his objects, so deeply affected her, that all her practice for the coming concert had to be thrown aside; and it was with great difficulty that she could sing, when she first began. All this you can imagine as much more moving than I can describe.

“(5). Her attention to all the servants and inferiors was most remarkable—of which let this suffice.

“At the last concert, when she appeared for the second time on the platform, and just before the beginning of her song, the fixed look of vacancy, seeing nothing, and looking at nobody, was suddenly exchanged for one of those enchanting smiles which she cast below. It was the little boys of the Cathedral Choir, whom she had seen at our house, and whose upturned faces she caught sight of, at that moment, and she looked upon them, with this delightful smile, till the song began.

“Last of all, you shall have her impression of me!

“On the last day, I told her that there was ‘quelque chose d’extraordinaire dans la voix;’ but that, otherwise, her singing, in itself, produced no impression whatever upon me. This, she 307said, was by far the most amusing thing she had heard; and, that she should never forget it.

“And now I must end.

“Ever yours,

“A. P. Stanley.”^[101]

Do not let us forget that it is no professional critic who is writing, here, but an independent witness, whose words are accepted with love and reverence, even by those who do not always agree with him, wherever the English language is spoken. And it is not too much to say, that, in this particular case, his opinion was shared by everyone who had enjoyed the privilege of hearing or conversing with the lady by whose personality he was so deeply impressed.

The day on which she took leave of them was a veritable day of mourning.

The events of the last few weeks in England, carried down to the actual moment of departure, are thus described by Mrs. Grote:—

“At the end of September, I joined Jenny at Bath, along with Mr. Lumley. My brother was obliged to leave us on the first of October, and I was induced, by her persuasions, to remain by her side for a few days, first, at Clifton, where she sang, and afterwards at Exeter. Mr. Grote joined us, at the last-named place, and escorted the party back to London.

“On board the steamer, we took a most affectionate leave of her, the sadness of which was relieved by the hope of meeting again within a few months; Mr. Lumley having induced her to contract a second engagement at Her Majesty’s Theatre.

“As we rowed away from the ship, we saw her white handkerchief waving in the darkness, wafting to us her last adieux!

“She left behind her, in England, a splendid reputation, and the most extensive personal interest and sympathy which it was possible for a woman to create; and she also carried with her, as the fruit of five months’ work, a considerable sum of money—such a sum as, till now, she had not been mistress of.”^[102]

And, here, as she sails away from England, on board the Hamburg packet, the John Bull, we too must take leave of her for a while, to meet her again, at the end of her journey, surrounded by the beloved friends she had left behind her in Berlin.

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