George T. Ferris - Great Singers, Second Series

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"In pathetic music Jenny Lind's voice is heard to much advantage.
Indeed, her vocal powers seem best adapted to demonstrate the more
gentle and touching emotions. For this reason her solo singing is almost
that alone in which she makes any extraordinary impression. In ensemble
singing, excepting in the piano, her voice, being forced beyond its
natural powers, loses all its beauty and peculiar charm, and becomes,
in short, often disagreeable.... Her voice, with all its charm, is of
a special quality, and in its best essays is restricted to a particular
class of lyrical compositions.... As a vocalist, Jenny Lind is entitled
to a very high, if not the highest, commendation. Her perseverance and
indomitable energy, joined to her musical ability, have tended to
render her voice as capable and flexible as a violin. Although she never
indulges in the brilliant flights of fancy of Persiani, nor soars
into the loftiest regions of fioriture with that most wonderful of all
singers, her powers of execution are very great, and the delicate taste
with which the most florid passages are given, the perfect intonation of
the voice, and its general charm, have already produced a most decided
impression on the public mind. By the musician, Persiani will be always
more admired, but Jenny Lind will strike the general hearer more."

Another contemporaneous judgment of Jenny Lind's voice will be of
interest to our readers: "Her voice is a pure soprano, of the fullest
compass belonging to voices of this class, and of such evenness of
tone that the nicest ear can discover no difference of quality from the
bottom to the summit of the scale. In the great extent between A below
the lines and D in alt, she executes every description of passage,
whether consisting of notes 'in linked sweetness long drawn out,' or
of the most rapid flights and fioriture, with equal facility and
perfection. Her lowest notes come out as clear and ringing as the
highest, and her highest are as soft and sweet as the lowest. Her tones
are never muffled or indistinct, nor do they ever offend the ear by
the slightest tinge of shrillness; mellow roundness distinguishes every
sound she utters. As she never strains her voice, it never seems to be
loud; and hence some one who busied himself in anticipatory depreciation
said that it would be found to fail in power, a mistake of which
everybody was convinced who observed how it filled the ear, and how
distinctly every inflection was heard through the fullest harmony of the
orchestra. The same clearness was observable in her pianissimo. When, in
lier beautiful closes, she prolonged a tone, attenuated it by degrees,
and falling gently upon the final note, the sound, though as ethereal
as the sighing of a breeze, reached, like Mrs. Siddons's whisper in Lady
Macbeth, every part of the immense theatre. Much of the effect of this
unrivaled voice is derived from the physical beauty of its sound, but
still more from the exquisite skill and taste with which it is used, and
the intelligence and sensibility of which it is the organ. Mlle. Lind's
execution is that of a complete musician. Every passage is as highly
finished, as perfect in tone, tune, and articulation, as if it proceeded
from the violin of a Paganini or a Sivori, with the additional charm
which lies in the human _voice_ divine. Her embellishments show
the richest fancy and boundless facility, but they show still more
remarkably a well-regulated judgment and taste."

Mlle. Lind could never have been a great actress, and risen into that
stormy world of dramatic power, where the passion and imagination of
Pasta, Schroeder-Devrient, Malibran, Viardot, or even Grisi, wrought
such effects, but, within the sphere of her temperament, she was easy,
natural, and original. One of her eulogists remarked: "Following her own
bland conceptions, she rises to regions whence, like Schiller's maid,
she descends to refresh the heart and soul of her audience with gifts
beautiful and wondrous"; but, as she never attempted the delineation of
the more stormy and vehement passions, it is probable that she was more
cognizant of her own limitations, than were her critics.

She was not handsome, but of pleasing aspect. A face of placid
sweetness, expressive features, soft, dove-like-blue eyes, and very
abundant, wavy, flaxen hair, made up a highly agreeable _ensemble_,
while the slender figure was full of grace. There was an air of virginal
simplicity and modesty in every movement which set her apart among her
stage sisters. To this her character answered in every line; for, moving
in the midst of a world which had watched every action, not the faintest
breath of scandal ever shaded the fair fame of this Northern lily.

The struggle for admission after the first night made the attempt to
get a seat except by long prearrangement an experience of purgatory.
Twenty-five pounds were paid for single boxes, while four or five
guineas were gladly given for common stalls. Hours were spent before the
doors of the opera-house on the chance of a place in the pit. It is said
that three gentlemen came up from Liverpool with the express purpose of
hearing the new _diva_ sing, spent a week in trying to obtain seats, and
returned without success. No such mania for a singer had ever fired the
phlegmatic blood of the English public. Articles of furniture and dress
were called by her name; portraits and memoirs innumerable of her were
published.

During the season she appeared in "Robert le Diable," "Sonnambula,"
"Lucia" "La Figlia del Reggimento," and "Norma," as well as in a new
opera by Verdi, "I Masnadieri," which even Jenny Lind's genius and
popularity could not keep on the surface. At the close of the season,
her manager, Lumley, presented her a magnificent testimonial of pure
silver, three feet in height, representing a pillar wreathed with
laurel, at the feet of which wore seated three draped figures, Tragedy,
Comedy, and Music. Her tour through the provinces repeated the sensation
and excitement of London. Manchester, Liverpool, Edinburgh, and
Dundee vied with the great capital in the most extravagant excesses
of admiration, and fifteen guineas were not infrequently paid for the
privilege of hearing her. For two concerts in Edinburgh Mlle. Lind
received one thousand pounds for her services, and the management made
twelve hundred pounds. Such figures are referred to simply as affording
the most tangible estimate of the extent and violence of the Lind fever.

V.

Yet with all this flattery and admiration, which would have fed the
conceit of a weaker woman to madness, Jenny Lind remained the same
quiet, simple-hearted, almost diffident woman as of yore. The great
pianist and composer Moscheles writes: "What shall I say of Jenny Lind?
I can find no words adequate to give you any idea of the impression she
has made.... This is no short-lived fit of public enthusiasm. I wanted
to know her off the stage as well as on; but, as she lives at some
distance from me, I asked her in a letter to fix upon an hour for me to
call. Simple and unceremonious as she is, she came the next day herself,
bringing the answer verbally. So much modesty and so much greatness
united are seldom if ever to be met with; and, although her intimate
friend Mendelssohn had given me an insight into the noble qualities of
her character, I was surprised to find them so apparent."

From a variety of accounts we are justified in concluding that never had
there been such a musical enthusiasm in London. Since the days when the
world fought for hours at the pit-door to see the seventh farewell of
Siddons, nothing had been seen in the least approaching the scenes
at the entrance of the theatre on the "Lind" nights. Of her various
impersonations during the season of 1847, her _Amina_ in "Sonnambula"
made the deepest impression on the town, as it was marked by several
original features, both in the acting and singing, which were remarkably
effective. Her performance of _Norma_ was afterward held by judicious
critics to be far inferior to that of Grisi in its dramatic aspect; but,
when the mania was at its height, those who dared to impeach the ideal
perfection of everything done by the idol of the hour were consigned
to perdition as idiotic slanderers. Chorley wrote with satirical
bitterness, though himself a warm admirer of the "Swedish Nightingale":
"It was a curious experience to sit and to wait for what should come
next, and to wonder whether it really was the case that music never had
been heard till the year 1847."

Mlle. Lind passed the winter at Stockholm, and it is needless to speak
of the pride and delight of her townspeople in the singer who had
created such an unprecedented sensation in the musical world. All the
places at the theatre when she sang fetched immense premiums, especially
as it was known that the professional gains of Jenny Lind during this
engagement were to be devoted to the endowment of an asylum for the
support of decayed artists, and a school for young girls studying
music. When she left Stockholm again for London, the scene was even
more brilliant and impressive than that which had marked her previous
departure for England.

The "Lind" mania in the English capital during the spring of 1848 raged
without diminution. The anecdotes of her munificent charity, piety,
and goodness filled the public prints and fed the popular idolatry. She
added to her repertoire this season the _roles_ of _Susanna_ in
Mozart's great comic opera, _Elvira_ in "Puritani," _Adina_ in "L'Elisir
d'Amore," and _Giulia_ in Spontini's "Vestale." As _Giulia_ she reached
her high-water mark in tragedy, and as _Adina_ in "L'Elisir" she was
deliciously arch and fascinating. After the opera had closed, she
remained in England during the summer and winter, owing to the
disturbed state of the Continent, and gave extended concert tours in the
provinces, for which she received immense sums of money. Many concerts
she also devoted to charitable purposes, and splendid acknowledgments
were made as gifts to her by corporations and private individuals in
recognition of her lavish benevolence. Jenny Lind had now determined to
take leave of the lyric stage, and in the April season of 1849 she gave
a limited season of farewell performances at Her Majesty's Theatre. The
last appearance was on May 10th in her original character of _Alice_.
The opera-house presented on that night of final adieu one of those
striking scenes which words can hardly depict without seeming to be
extravagant. The crowd was dense in every nook and corner of the house,
including all the great personages of the realm. The whole royal family
were present, the Houses of Parliament had emptied themselves to swell
the throng, and everybody distinguished in art, letters, science, or
fashion contributed to the splendor of the audience. When the curtain
fell, and the deafening roar of applause, renewed again and again, had
ceased, Jenny Lind came forward, led by the tenor Gardoni. She
retired, but was called again in front of the curtain, and bowed her
acknowledgments. A third time she was summoned, and this time she stood,
her eyes streaming with tears, while the audience shouted themselves
hoarse, so prolonged and irrepressible was the enthusiasm.

Now that the "Lind" fever is a thing of the past, it is possible to
survey her genius as a lyric artist in the right perspective. Her voice
was of bright, thrilling, and sympathetic quality, with greater strength
and purity in the upper register, but somewhat defective in the other.
These two portions of her voice she united, however, with great artistic
dexterity, so that the power of the upper notes was not allowed to
outshine the lower. Her execution was great, though inferior to that of
Persiani and the older and still greater singer, Catalani. It appeared,
perhaps, still greater than it was, on account of the natural reluctance
of the voice. Her taste in ornamentation was original and brilliant,
but always judicious, a moderation not often found among great executive
singers. She composed all her own cadenzas, and many of them were of
a character and performance such as to have evoked the strongest
admiration of such musical authorities as Meyerbeer, Mendelssohn, and
Moscheles for their creative science. Her pianissimo tones were so fined
down that they had almost the effect of ventriloquism, so exquisitely
were they attenuated; and yet they never lost their peculiarly musical
quality. As an actress Jenny Lind had no very startling power, and but
little versatility, as her very limited opera repertory proved; but
into what she did she infused a grace, sympathy, and tenderness, which,
combined with the greatness of her singing and some indescribable
quality in the voice itself, produced an effect on audiences with but
few parallels in the annals of the opera. It is a little strange that
Jenny Lind would never sing in Paris, but obstinately refused the most
tempting offers. Perhaps she never forgot the circumstances of her first
experience with a Parisian _impressario_.

It was at Lubeck, Germany, where she was singing in concert in 1849,
that she concluded a treaty with Mr. Barnum for a series of one hundred
and fifty concerts in America under his auspices. The terms were
one thousand dollars per night for each of the performances, and the
expenses of the whole troupe, which consisted of Sig. Belletti and
Julius Benedict (since Sir Julius Benedict). The period intervening
before her American tour was occupied in concert-giving on the continent
and in England. The proceeds of these entertainments were given to
charity, and the demonstrations of the public everywhere proved how
firmly fixed in the heart of the music-loving public the great Swedish
singer remained. Her last appearance before crossing the ocean was at
Liverpool, before an audience of more than three thousand people, when
the English people gave their idol a most affecting display of their
admiration.

VI.

Mr. Barnum, no mean adept himself in the science of advertising, took
a lesson from the ingenious trickery of Mr. Lumley in whetting the
appetite of the American public for the coming of the Swedish _diva_.
He took good care that the newspapers should be flooded with the most
exaggerated and sensational anecdotes of her life and career, and day
after day the people were kept on the alert by columns of fulsome praise
and exciting gossip. On her arrival in New York, in September, 1850,
both the wharf and adjacent streets were packed with people eager to
catch a glimpse of the great singer. Her hotel, the Irving House, was
surrounded at midnight by not less than thirty thousand people, and she
was serenaded by a band of one hundred and thirty musicians, who had
marched up, led by several hundreds of red-shirted firemen. The American
furore instantly took on the proportions of that which had crazed the
English public. The newspapers published the names of those who had
bought tickets, and printed a fac-simile of the card which admitted the
owner to the concert building. The anxiety to see Mlle. Lind, when she
was driving, was a serious embarrassment to her, and at the "public
reception" days, arranged for her, throngs of ladies filled her
drawing-rooms. Costly presents were sent to her anonymously, and in
every way the public displayed similar extravagance. On the day of the
first concert, in spite of the fierce downpour of rain, there were five
thousand persons buying tickets; and the price paid for the first ticket
to the first concert, six hundred dollars, constitutes the sole title to
remembrance of the enterprising tradesman who thus sought to advertise
his wares.

Nothing was talked of except Jenny Lind, and on the night of the first
appearance, September 11th, seven thousand throats burst forth in
frantic shouts of applause and welcome, as the Swedish Nightingale
stepped on the Castle Garden stage in a simple dress of white, and as
pallid with agitation as the gown she wore. She sang "Casta Diva," a
duo with Belletti, from Rossini's "Il Turco in Italia," and the Trio
Concertante, with two flutes, from Meyerbeer's "Feldlager in Schliesen,"
of which Moscheles had said that "it was, perhaps, the most astonishing
piece of bravura singing which could possibly be heard." These pieces,
with two Swedish national songs, were received with the loudest salvos
of applause. The proceeds of this first concert were twenty-six
thousand dollars, of which Jenny Lind gave her share to the charitable
institutions of New York, and, on learning that some of the members of
the New York orchestra were in indigent circumstances, she generously
made them a substantial gift. Her beneficent actions during her entire
stay in America are too numerous to detail. Frequently would she flit
away from her house quietly, as if about to pay a visit, and then she
might be seen disappearing down back lanes or into the cottages of
the poor. She was warned to avoid so much liberality, as many unworthy
persons took unfair advantage of her bounty; but she invariably replied,
"Never mind; if I relieve ten, and one is worthy, I am satisfied." She
had distributed thirty thousand florins in Germany; she gave away in
England nearly sixty thousand pounds; and in America she scattered in
charity no less than fifty thousand dollars.

To record the experiences of the Swedish Nightingale in the different
cities of America would be to repeat the story of boundless enthusiasm
on the part of the public, and lavish munificence on the part of the
singer, which makes her record nobly monotonous. There seemed to be no
bounds to the popular appreciation and interest, as was instanced one
night in Baltimore. While standing on the balcony of her hotel bowing to
the shouting multitude, her shawl dropped among them, and instantly it
was torn into a thousand strips, to be preserved as precious souvenirs.

Jenny Lind did not remain under Mr. Barnum's management during the
whole of the season. A difficulty having risen, she availed herself of a
clause in the contract, and by paying thirty thousand dollars broke the
engagement. The last sixty nights of the concert series she gave under
her own management. In Boston, February 5, 1852, the charming singer
married Mr. Otto Goldschmidt, the pianist, who had latterly been
connected with her concert company. The son of a wealthy Hamburg
merchant, Mr. Goldschmidt had taken an excellent rank as a pianist,
and made some reputation as a minor composer. Mme. Goldschmidt and her
husband returned to Europe in 1852, this great artist having made about
one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in her American tour, aside
from the large sums lavished in charity. After several years spent in
Germany, M. and Mme. Goldschmidt settled permanently in London, where
they are still residing. She has frequently appeared in concert and
oratorio till within a year or two, and, as the mother of an interesting
family and a woman of the most charming personal character, is warmly
welcomed in the best London society. It must be recorded that the
whole of her American earnings was devoted to founding and endowing art
scholarships and other charities in her native Sweden; while in England,
the country of her adoption, among other charities, she has given
a whole hospital to Liverpool, and a wing of another to London.
The scholarship founded by her friend Felix Mendelssohn has largely
benefited by her help, and it may be truly said that her sympathy has
never been appealed to in vain, by those who have any reasonable claim.
Competent judges have estimated that the total amount given away by
Jenny Lind in charity and to benevolent institutions will reach at least
half a million of dollars.

SOPHIE CRUVELLI.

The Daughter of an Obscure German Pastor.--She studies Music in
Paris.--Failure of her Voice.--Makes her _Debut_ at La Fenice.--She
appears in London during the Lind Excitement.--Description of her
Voice and Person.--A Great Excitement over her Second Appearance
in Italy.--_Debut_ in Paris.--Her Grand Impersonation in
"Fidelio."--Critical Estimates of her Genius.--Sophie Cruvelli's
Eccentricities.--Excitement in Paris over her _Valentine_ in "Les
Huguenots."--Different Performances in London and Paris.--She retires
from the Stage and marries Baron Vigier.--Her Professional Status.--One
of the Most Gifted Women of any Age.

I.

The great cantatrice of whom we shall now give a sketch attained a
European reputation hardly inferior to the greatest, though she retired
from the stage when in the very golden prime of her powers. Like
Catalani, Persiani, and other distinguished singers, she was severely
criticised toward the last of her operatic career for sacrificing good
taste and dramatic truth to the technique of vocalization, but this
is an extravagance so tempting that but few singers have been entirely
exempt from it. Perhaps, in these examples of artistic austerity,
one may find the cause as much in vocal limitations as in deliberate
self-restraint.

Sophie Cruvelli was the daughter of a Protestant clergyman named
Cruwell, and was born at Bielefeld, in Prussia, in the year 1830. She
displayed noticeable aptitude for music at an early age, and a moderate
independence with which the family was endowed enabled Mme. Cruwell
to take Sophie, at the age of fourteen, to Paris that she might obtain
finishing lessons. Permarini and Bordogni were the masters selected, and
the latter, who perceived the latent greatness of his pupil, spared no
efforts, nor did he spare Sophie, for he was a somewhat stern, austere
teacher. For two years he would permit her to sing nothing but vocal
scales, and composed for her the most difficult _solfeggi_. Mme.
Cruwell then returned to Paris, and insisted that her daughter had made
sufficient progress in the study of French and music, and might very
well return home. Bordogni indignantly replied that it would be criminal
to rob the musical world of such a treasure as the Fraulein Cruwell
would prove after a few years of study. The mother yielded, saying: "If
my daughter devotes herself to the stage and fully embraces an artistic
career, we may endeavor to submit to further sacrifices; but, if
merely destined to bring up a family, she has learned quite enough of
_solfeggi_; her little fortune will all be swallowed up by her music
lessons." It was thus settled that Sophie should become a singer, and,
in accordance with Bordogni's advice, she proceeded to Milan, Italy, to
complete her musical studies.

But a dreadful discovery threw her into despair when she arrived at her
new quarters--she had lost her voice. Not a sound could be forced from
her throat. Sophie was in despair, for this was, indeed, annihilation to
her hopes, and there seemed nothing in fate for her but to settle
down to the average life of the German housewife, "to suckle fools and
chronicle small beer," when, on the eve of departure for Bielefeld,
Signor Lamperti, the famous teacher, announced himself. The experienced
maestro advised them to wait, reasoning that the loss of voice was
rather the result of fatigue and nervousness than of any more radical
defect. It was true, for a few days only had passed when Sophie's voice
returned again in all its power. Lamperti devoted himself assiduously
to preparing the young German singer for her _debut_, and at the end of
1847 she was enabled to appear at La Fenice, under the Italianized name
of Cruvelli, in the part of _Dona Sol_ in "Ernani." This was followed
by a performance of _Norma_, and in both she made a strong impression
of great powers, which only needed experience to shine with brilliant
luster. The fact that her instructor permitted her to appear,
handicapped as she was by inexperience and stage ignorance, in _roles_
not only marked by great musical difficulty, but full of dramatic
energy, indicates what a high estimate was placed on her powers.

Mr. Lumley, the English _impressario_, was at this time scouring Italy
for fresh voices, and, hearing Mlle. Cru veil i, secured her for his
company, which when completed consisted of Mmes. Persiani and Viardot,
Miles. Alboni and Cruvelli, Signori Cuzzani, Belletti, Gardoni, and
Polonini. Mlle. Cruvelli was now eighteen, and in spite of the Lind
mania, which was raging at white heat, the young German cantatrice made
a strong impression on the London public. Her first appearance was in
"Ernani," on February 19, 1848. The performance was full of enthusiasm
and fire, though disfigured by certain crudities and the violence of
unrestrained passion. Her voice, in compass from F to F, was a clear,
silvery soprano, and possessed in its low notes something of the
delicious quality of the contralto, that bell-like freshness and
sonority which is one of the most delightful characteristics of the
human voice. Her appearance was highly attractive, for she possessed a
finely molded figure of middle height, and a face expressive, winning,
and strongly marked. She further appeared as _Odabella_ in "Attila," and
as _Lucrezia_ in "I Due Foscari," both of which performances were very
warmly received. During the season she also sang in "Nino," "Lucrezia
Borgia," "Il Barbiere," and "Nozze di Figaro." Her _Rosina_ in Rossini's
great comic opera was a piquant and attractive performance.

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