George T. Ferris - Great Singers, Second Series

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"But that which we admire above all in the artist," observes Fiorentino,
"is the pervading soul, the sentiment, the perfect taste, the inimitable
method. Then, what body in the voice! What largeness! What simplicity of
style! What facility of vocalization! What genius in the contrasts! What
color in the phrases! What charm! What expression! Mlle. Alboni sings as
she smiles--without effort, without fatigue, without audible and broken
respiration. Here is art in its fidelity! here is the model and example
which every one who would become an artist should copy."

"It is such a pleasure to hear real singing," wrote Hector Berlioz. "It
is so rare; and voices at once beautiful, natural, expressive, flexible,
and _in time_, are so very uncommon! The voice of Mlle. Alboni possesses
these excellent qualities in the highest degree of perfection. It is
a magnificent contralto of immense range (two octaves and six notes,
nearly three octaves, from low E to C in alt), the quality perfect
throughout, even in the lowest notes of the lowest register, which
are generally so disastrous to the majority of singers, who fancy they
possess a contralto, and the emission of which resembles nearly always
a rattle, hideous in such cases and revolting to the ear. Mlle.
Alboni's vocalization is wonderfully easy, and few sopranos possess such
facility. The registers of her voice are so perfectly united, that in
her scales you do not feel sensible of the passage from one to another;
the tone is unctuous, caressing, velvety, melancholy, like that of
all pure sopranos, though less somber than that of Pisaroni, and
incomparably more pure and limpid. As the notes are produced without
effort, the voice yields itself to every shade of intensity, and
thus Mlle. Alboni can sing from the most mysterious piano to the most
brilliant forte. And this alone is what I call singing humanly, that
is to say, in a fashion which declares the presence of a human heart,
a human soul, a human intelligence. Singers not possessed of these
indispensable qualities should in my judgment be ranked in the category
of mechanical instruments. Mlle. Alboni is an artist entirely devoted to
her art, and has not up to this moment been tempted to make a trade
of it; she has never heretofore given a thought to what her delicious
notes--precious pearls, which she lavishes with such happy bounty--might
bring her in per annum. Different from the majority of contemporary
singers, money questions are the last with which she occupies herself;
her demands have hitherto been extremely modest. Added to this, the
sincerity and trustworthiness of her character, which amounts almost to
singularity, are acknowledged by all who have any dealings with her."

After the greatness of the artist had fairly-been made known to the
public, the excitement in Paris was extraordinary. At some of the later
concerts more than a thousand applications for admission had to be
refused, and it was said that two theatres might have been thronged.
Alboni was nearly smothered night after night with roses and camellias,
and the stage was literally transformed into a huge bed of flowers,
over which the prima donna was obliged to walk in making her exits.
An amusing example of the _naivete_ and simplicity of her character is
narrated. On the morning after her second performance, she was seated
in her hotel on the Boulevard des Italiens, reading the _feuilletons_
of Berlioz and Fiorentino with a kind of childish pleasure, unconscious
that she was the absorbing theme of Paris talk. A friend came in, when
she asked with unaffected sincerity whether she had really sung "_assez
bien_" on Monday night, and broke into a fit of the merriest laughter
when she received the answer, "_Tres bien pour une petite fille_."
"Alboni," writes this friend, "is assuredly for a great artist the most
unpretending and simple creature in the world. She hasn't the slightest
notion of her position in her art in the eyes of the public and musical
world."

III.

Mme. Alboni's great success, it is said, made M. Vatel, the manager of
the Italiens, almost frantic with disappointment, for, acting on the
advice of Lablache, he had refused to engage her when he could have done
so at a merely nominal sum, and had thus left the grand prize open to
his rival. Her concert engagement being terminated, our prima donna made
a short tour through Austria, and returned to Paris again to make her
_debut_ in opera on December 2d, in "Semiramide," with Mme. Grisi,
Coletti, Cellini, and Tagliafico, in the cast. The caprice of audiences
was never more significantly shown than on this occasion. Alboni, on
the concert stage, had recently achieved an unmistakable and brilliant
recognition as a great vocalist, and on the night of her first lyric
appearance before a French audience a great throng had assembled.
All the celebrities of the fashionable, artistic, and literary world,
princes, Government officials, foreign ministers, dilettanti, poets,
critics, women of wit and fashion, swelled the gathering of intent
listeners, through whom there ran a subdued murmur, a low buzz of
whispering, betraying the lively interest felt. Grisi came on after the
rising of the curtain and received a most cordial burst of applause.
At length the great audience was hushed to silence, and the orchestra
played the symphonic prelude which introduces the contralto air "Eccomi
alfin in Babilonia." Alboni glided from the side and walked slowly
to the footlights. Let an eye-witness complete the story: "There was a
sudden pause," says one who was present; "a feather might almost have
been heard to move. The orchestra, the symphony finished, refrained from
proceeding, as though to give time for the enthusiastic reception which
was Alboni's right, and which it was natural to suppose Alboni would
receive. But you may imagine my surprise and the feelings of the
renowned contralto when not a hand or a voice was raised to acknowledge
her! I could see Alboni tremble, but it was only for an instant. What
was the reason of this unanimous disdain or this unanimous doubt? call
it what you will. She might perhaps guess, but she did not suffer it
to perplex her for more than a few moments. Throwing aside the extreme
diffidence that marked her _entree_, and the perturbation that resulted
from the frigidity of the spectators, she wound herself up to the
condition of fearless independence for which she is constitutionally and
morally remarkable, and with a look of superb indifference and conscious
power she commenced the opening of her aria. In one minute the crowd,
that but an instant before seemed to disdain her, was at her feet! The
effect of those luscious tones had never yet failed to touch the heart
and rouse the ardor of an audience, educated or uneducated." Alboni's
triumph was instantaneous and complete; it was the greater from the
moment of anxious uncertainty that preceded it, and made the certainty
which succeeded more welcome and delightful. From this instant to the
end of the opera, Alboni's success grew into a triumph. During the first
act she was twice recalled; during the second act, thrice; and she was
encored in the air "In si barbara," which she delivered with pathos, and
in the cabaletta of the second duet with _Semiramide_. She followed
in "La Cenerentola," and it may easily he fancied that her hearers
compensated in boisterous warmth of reception for the phlegmatic
indifference shown on the first night.

The English engagement of Mlle. Alboni the following year at Covent
Garden was at a salary of four thousand pounds, and the popularity she
had accomplished in England made her one of the most attractive features
of the operatic season. Her delicious singing and utter freedom from
aught that savored of mannerism or affectation made her power of
captivation complete in spite of her lack of dramatic energy. She sang
in the same company with Grisi, Persiani, and Viardot, while Mario and
Tamburini added their magnificent voices to this fine constellation of
lyric stars. When she returned to London in 1849, Jenny Lind had retired
from the stage where she had so thoroughly bewitched the public, and
Mlle. Alboni became the leading attraction of Her Majesty's Theatre,
thus arraying herself against the opera organization with which she had
been previously identified. Among the other members of the company were
Lablache and Ronconi. Mlle. Alboni seemed to be stung by a feverish
ambition at this time to depart from her own musical genre, and shine in
such parts as _Rosina, Ninetta, Zerlina_ ("Don Giovanni ") and _Norina_
("Don Pasquale"). The general public applauded her as vehemently as
ever, but the judicious grieved that the greatest of contraltos should
forsake a realm in which she blazed with such undivided luster.

It is difficult to fancy why Alboni should have ventured on so dangerous
an experiment. It may be that she feared the public would tire of her
luscious voice, unperturbed as it was by the resistless passion and
sentiment which in such singers as Malibran, Pasta, and Viardot, had
overcome all defects of voice, and given an infinite freshness and
variety to their tones. It may be that the higher value of a soprano
voice in the music market stirred a feeling in Alboni which had been
singularly lacking to her earlier career. Whatever the reason might have
been, it is a notorious fact that Mlle. Alboni deliberately forced the
register upward, and in doing so injured the texture of her voice,
and lost something both of luscious tone and power. In later years she
repented this artistic sin, and recovered the matchless tones of her
youth in great measure, but, as long as she persevered in her ambition
to be a _soprano_, the result was felt by her most judicious friends to
be an unfortunate one.

A pleasant incident, illustrating Alboni's kindness of heart, occurred
on the eve of her departure for Italy, whither she was called by family
reasons. Her leave-taking was so abrupt that she had almost forgotten
her promise to sing in Paris on a certain date for the annual benefit of
Filippo Galli, a superannuated musician. The suspense and anxiety of the
unfortunate Filippo were to be more easily imagined than described when,
asked if Alboni would sing, he could not answer definitively--"Perhaps
yes, perhaps no." He sold very few tickets, and the rooms (in the Salle
Hera) were thinly occupied. She, however, had not forgotten her promise;
at the very moment when the matinee was commencing she arrived, in time
to redeem her word and reward those who had attended, but too late to be
of any service to the veteran. Galli was in despair, and was buried
in reflections neither exhilarating nor profitable, when, some minutes
after the concert, the comely face and portly figure of Alboni appeared
at the door of his room. "How much are the expenses of your
concert?" she kindly inquired. "_Mia cara_," dolorously responded the
beneficiaire, "_cinque centifranci_ [five hundred francs]." "Well,
then, to repair the loss that I may have caused you," said the generous
cantatrice, "here is a banknote for a thousand francs. Do me the favor
to accept it." This was only one of the many kind actions she performed.

Mlle. Alboni's Paris engagement, in the spring of 1850, was marked by a
daring step on her part, which excited much curiosity at the time,
and might easily have ended in a most humiliating reverse, though its
outcome proved fortunate, that undertaking being the _role_ of _Fides_
in "Le Prophete," which had become so completely identified with the
name of Viardot. It was owing as much, perhaps, to the insistance of the
managers of the Grand Opera as to the deliberate choice of the singer
that this experiment was attempted. Meyerbeer perhaps smiled in his
sleeve at the project, but he interposed no objection, and indeed went
behind the scenes to congratulate her on her success during the night of
the first performance. Alboni's achievement was gratifying to her pride,
but it need not be said that her interpretation of _Fides_ was
radically different from that of Mme. Viardot, which was a grand
tragic conception, akin to those created by the genius of Pasta and
Schroeder-Devrient. The music of "Le Prophete" had never been well fitted
to Viardot's voice, and it was in this better adaptation of Alboni to
the vocal score that it may be fancied her success, such as it was,
found its root. It was significant that the critics refrained from
enlarging on the dramatic quality of the performance. Mlle. Alboni
continued her grasp of this varied range of lyric character during her
seasons in France, Spain, and England for several years, now assuming
_Fides_, now _Amino_, in "Sonnambula," now _Leonora_ in "Favorita,"
and never failing, however the critics might murmur, in pleasing the
ultimate, and, on the whole, more satisfactory bench of judges,
the public. It was no new thing to have proved that the mass of
theatre-goers, however eccentric and unjustifiable the vagaries of a
favorite might be, are inclined to be swayed by the cumulative force
of long years of approval. In the spring of 1851, Mlle. Alboni, among
several of her well-established personations, was enabled to appear in a
new opera by Auber, "Corbeille d'Oranges," a work which attained only
a brief success. It became painfully apparent about this time that the
greatest of contralto singers was losing the delicious quality of her
voice, and that her method was becoming more and more conventional. Her
ornaments and fioriture never varied, and this monotony, owing to the
indolence and _insouciance_ of the singer, was never inspired by that
resistless fire and geniality which made the same cadenzas, repeated
night after night by such a singer as Pasta, appear fresh to the
audience.

Mlle. Alboni's visit to the United States in 1852 was the occasion of a
cordial and enthusiastic welcome, which, though lacking in the fury and
excitement of the "Jenny Lind" mania, was yet highly gratifying to the
singer's _amour propre_. There was a universal feeling of regret that
her tour was necessarily a short one. Her final concert was given at
Metropolitan Hall, New York, on May 2, 1852, the special occasion
being the benefit of Signor Arditi, who had been the conductor of
her performances in America. The audience was immense, the applause
vehement.

The marriage of Alboni to the Compte de Pepoli in 1853 caused a rumor
that she was about to retire from the stage. But, though she gave
herself a furlough from her arduous operatic duties for nearly a year,
she appeared again in Paris in 1854 in "La Donna del Lago" and other of
the Rossinian operas. Her London admirers, too, recognized in the newly
married prima donna all the charm of her youth.

In July, 1855, she was at the Grand Opera, in Paris, performing in "Le
Prophete," etc., with Roger, having contracted an engagement for three
years. In 1856 she was at Her Majesty's Theatre with Piccolomini,
and made her first appearance in the character of _Azucena_ in "Il
Trovatore." Her performances were not confined to the opera-house; she
sang at the Crystal Palace and in the Surrey Music Hall. In October she
was again at the Italiens, commencing with "La Cenerentola." She then, in
conjunction with Mario, Graziani, and Mme. Frezzolini, began performing
in the works of Verdi. "Il Trovatore" was performed in January, 1857,
and was followed by "Rigoletto," which was produced in defiance of the
protestations of Victor Hugo, from whose play, "Le Roi s'amuse," the
libretto had been taken. Victor Hugo declared that the representation of
the opera was an infringement of his rights, as being simply a piracy of
his drama, and he claimed that the Theatre Italiens should be restrained
from performing it. The decision of the court was, however, against the
irascible poet, and he had to pay the costs of the action.

But why should the reader be interested in a yearly record of the
engagements of a great singer, after the narrative of the early
struggles by which success is reached and the means by which success
is perpetuated has come to an end? The significance of such a recital
is that of ardent endeavor, persistent self-culture, and unflagging
resolution. Mme. Alboni continued to sing in the principal musical
centers of Western Europe till 1864, when she definitely retired from
the stage, and settled at her fine residence in Paris, midst the ease
and luxury which the large fortune she had acquired by professional
exertion enabled her to maintain. She occasionally appeared in opera and
concert to the great delight of her old admirers, who declared that the
youthful beauty and freshness of her voice had returned to her. Since
the death of her husband she has only sung in public once, and then in
Rossini's Mass, in London in 1871.

Both the husband and the brothers of Alboni were gallant soldiers in the
Italian war of independence, and received medals and other distinctions
from Victor Emanuel. Mme. Alboni in private life is said to be one of
the most amiable, warm-hearted, and fascinating of women, and to take
the deepest interest in helping the careers of young singers by advice,
influence, and pecuniary aid. In social life she is quite as much the
idol of her friends as she was for so many years of an admiring public.

JENNY LIND.

The Childhood of the "Swedish Nightingale."--Her First Musical
Instruction.--The Loss and Return of her Voice.--Jenny Lind's
Pupilage in Paris under Manuel Garcia.--She makes the Acquaintance of
Meyerbeer.--Great Success in Stockholm in "Robert le Diable."--Fredrika
Bremer and Hans Christian Andersen on the Young Singer.--Her _Debut_
in Berlin.--Becomes Prima Donna at the Royal Theatre.--Beginning of
the Lind Enthusiasm that overran Europe.--She appears in Dresden in
Meyerbeer's New Opera, "Feldlager in Schliesen."--Offers throng in from
all the Leading Theatres of Europe.--The Grand _Furore_ in Every Part
of Germany.--Description of Scenes in her Musical Progresses.--She makes
her _Debut_ in London.--Extraordinary Excitement of the English Public,
such as had never before been known.--Descriptions of her Singing
by Contemporary Critics.--Her Quality as an Actress.--Jenny Lind's
_Personnel_.--Scenes and Incidents of the "Lind" Mania.--Her Second
London Season.--Her Place and Character as a Lyric Artist.--Mlle.
Lind's American Tour.--Extraordinary Enthusiasm in America.--Her
Lavish Generosity.--She marries Herr Otto Goldschmidt.--Present Life of
Retirement in London.--Jenny Lind as a Public Benefactor.

I.

The name of Jenny Lind shines among the very brightest in the Golden
Book of Singers, and her career has been one of the most interesting
among the many striking personal chapters in the history of lyric music.
It was not that the "Swedish Nightingale" was supremely great in any
chief quality of the lyric artist. Others have surpassed her in natural
gifts of voice, in dramatic fervor, in versatility, in perfect vocal
finish. But to Jenny Lind were granted all these factors of power in
sufficiently large measure, and that power of balance and coordination
by which such powers are made to yield their highest results. An
exquisitely serene and cheerful temperament, a high ambition, great
energy and industry, and such a sense of loyalty to her engagements that
she always gave her audience the very best there was in her--these were
some of the moral phases of the art-nature which in her case proved of
immense service in achieving her great place as a singer, and in holding
that place secure against competition for so many years.

The parents of Jenny Lind were poor, struggling folk in the city of
Stockholm, who lived precariously by school-teaching. Jenny, born
October 6, 1821, was a sickly child, whose only delight in her long,
lonely hours was singing, the faculty for which was so strong that at
the age of three years she could repeat with unfailing accuracy any song
she once heard. Jenny shot up into an awkward, plain-featured girl, with
but little prospect of lifting herself above her humble station,
till she happened, when she was about nine years old, to attract the
attention of Frau Lundburg, a well-known actress, who was delighted with
the silvery sweetness of her tones. It was with some difficulty that the
prejudices of the Linds could be overcome, but at last they reluctantly
consented that she should be educated with a view to the stage.
The little Jenny was placed by her kind patroness under the care of
Croelius, a well-known music-master of Stockholm, and her abilities were
not long in making their mark. The old master was proud of his pupil,
and took her to see the manager of the Court theatre, Count Puecke,
hoping that this stage potentate's favor would help to push the fortune
of his _protegee_. The Count, a rough, imperious man, who mayhap had
been irritated by numerous other appeals of the same kind, looked coldly
on the plainly clad, insignificant-looking girl, and said: "What shall
we do with such an ugly creature? See what feet she has! and then her
face! She will never be presentable. Certainly, we can't take such a
scarecrow." The effect of such a salutation on a timid, shrinking child
may be imagined. Croelius replied, with honest indignation, "If you will
not take her, I, poor as I am, will myself have her educated for the
stage." Count Puecke, who under a rough husk had some kindness of heart,
then directed Jenny to sing, and he was so pleased with the quality and
sentiment of her simple song that he admitted her into the theatrical
school, and put her under the special tuition of Herr Albert Berg,
the director of the operatic class, who was assisted by the well-known
Swedish composer, Lindblad.

In two years' time the young Jenny Lind had created for herself the
reputation of being a prodigy. It was not only that she possessed an
exquisite voice, but a precocious conception and originality of style.
Her dramatic talent also showed promising glimpses of what was to come,
and everything appeared to point to a shining stage career, when there
came a crushing calamity. She lost her voice. She was now twelve years
old, and in her childish perspective of life this disaster seemed
irretrievable, the sunshine of happiness for ever clouded. To become a
singer in grand opera had been the great aspiration of her heart. Her
voice gone, she was soon forgotten by the fickle public who had looked
on this young girl as a chrysalis soon to burst into the glory of a
fuller life. It showed the resolute stuff which nature had put into this
young girl, that, in spite of this crushing downfall of her ambition,
she continued her instrumental and theoretical studies with unremitting
zeal for nearly four years. At the end of this period the recovery of
her voice occurred as abruptly as her loss of it had done.

A grand concert was to be given at the Court theatre, in which the
fourth act of "Robert le Diable" was to be a principal feature. No one
of the singers cared for the part of _Alice_, as it had but one solo,
and in the emergency Herr Berg thought of his unlucky young _eleve_,
Jenny Lind, who might be trusted with such a minor responsibility. The
girl meekly consented, though, when she appeared on the stage, she shook
with such evident trepidation and nervousness that her little remaining
power of voice threatened to be destroyed. Perhaps the passion and
anxiety under which she was laboring wrought the miracle. She sang the
aria allotted her with such power and precision, and the notes of
her voice burst forth with such beauty and fullness of tone, that the
audience were carried away with admiration. The recently despised young
vocalist became the heroine of the evening. Berg, the director of the
music, was amazed, and on the next day acquainted Jenny Lind that he
had selected her to undertake the _role_ of _Agatha_ in Weber's "Der
Freischutz."

This was the first character which had awakened our young singer's
artistic sympathies, and toward it her secret ambition had long set.
She studied with the labor of love, and all the Maytide of her young
enthusiasm poured itself into her impersonation of Weber's beautiful
creation. At the last rehearsal before performance, she sang with such
intense ardor and feeling that the members of the orchestra laid aside
their instruments and broke into the most cordial applause. "I saw her
at the evening representation," says Fredrika Bremer. "She was then
in the spring of life--fresh, bright, and serene as a morning in May;
perfect in form; her hands and her arms peculiarly graceful, and lovely
in her whole appearance. She seemed to move, speak, and sing without
effort or art. All was nature and harmony. Her singing was distinguished
especially by its purity and the power of soul which seemed to swell in
her tones. Her 'mezzo voice' was delightful. In the night-scene where
_Agatha_, seeing her lover coming, breathes out her joy in rapturous
song, our young singer, on turning from the window at the back of
the stage to the spectators again, was pale for joy; and in that pale
joyousness she sang with a burst of outflowing love and life that called
forth not the mirth, but the tears of the auditors."

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