Chapter II: The Student

For some few weeks after her first interview with Signor Garcia, and her subsequent entrance upon a course of regular study under his guidance, Mdlle. Lind continued to reside with Madame Ruffiaques. But she soon awoke to the conviction that a boarding-house was scarcely a fitting place for continuous and undisturbed study; and—a still more serious consideration—she found that the terms for board and lodging were too high for her slender means. It was really necessary that she should go to a cheaper and a more convenient home; but the removal was not effected without tears on either side. Madame Ruffiaques cried bitterly when she left, saying that they had all “hoped for a longer stay on her part,” and “could scarcely have believed such dignity of conduct possible in a young person coming alone to Paris.” But it was indispensable that the step should be taken. Towards the close of October, therefore, she removed to the house of Mdlle. du Puget; a lady, who, though not a Swede by birth, had been educated in Sweden, was thoroughly Swedish in all her thoughts and habits, and had familiarised the French with the literature of Sweden by her excellent translations of many well-known Swedish works.

Though a pleasant, and, in many ways, a sympathetic companion, Mdlle. du Puget was not free from certain amusing peculiarities which Mdlle. Lind occasionally described with genuine good humour. In a letter to Madame Lindblad, dated, “Paris, November 26, 1841,” she narrates an amusing little episode:—

“You must know that I am beginning to be an ape—a fact of which I was
not aware until yesterday. I was singing to Mdlle. du Puget, and she
seemed a little bit surprised when, just once or twice, I displayed
all my powers—_you_ know what I mean—and she looked at me as if she
had not given me credit for this. (Mdlle. du Puget—you must know—is a
person who has heard all the great artists, and is herself musical.)
First, I sang ‘in Persiani’s style,’ and then ‘in Grisi’s’; and she
was kind enough to say it was excellently _imitated_—‘could not, in
fact, be better.’ The compliment was rather hard to digest. I was so
ashamed, that, for a long while, I could not look up. But, after a
considerable pause, I asked, ‘Do you really think so?’—with a feeling
of pride which my look—even the look of my back—must surely have
reflected. God help me! I am so proud that I cannot bear people to
tell me I ‘imitate.’ I loathe the very word to such an extent that I
cannot conceive what its inventor was thinking of! It seems to me,
that to take what is another’s, and use it for one’s self, and then to
make believe that it is one’s own, is positively to steal. But, I
seize so quickly the impression of what is good, or bad, that I should
not feel surprised if I have caught something from the Italian Opera,
which I have already visited pretty frequently. But be this as it may,
the reminiscences I am carrying away from the Italian Opera here are
much better than those connected with Stockholm and the school and
style that prevail there.”

But Mdlle. Lind was not deprived of the companionship of critics better able than Mdlle. du Puget to appreciate her talents at their true value. Her most intimate friend, at this period, was Mdlle. Henrietta Nissen,[16] who was also a pupil of Garcia, and a great favourite with the master. The two talented young vocalists frequently sang together; and, before long, a feeling of generous rivalry sprang up between them, which must have been of infinite advantage to both. Mdlle. Lind thus describes her young friend in a letter to Madame Lindblad:—

“Paris, August 19, 1841.

“Yesterday I went to see Mdlle. Nissen, to whom I go pretty often; and
we sang to one another. She has a beautiful voice. Still, I think I
agree with what Adolf once said—‘it is getting a little thin in the
upper notes.’ But, notwithstanding this, it is a splendid voice. In
future we are going to have music together at Herr Blumm’s.”

The meetings at Herr Blumm’s became an institution. A month later, she writes:—

“Paris, September 19, 1841.

“I am just expecting Philippe[17]—not King Philippe!—who is going to
take me to Herr Blumm’s, where Mdlle. Nissen is waiting for us, with
an old relative of hers; and we four are going somewhere into the
country for the day. She is a very sweet girl. I am really glad to
have made her acquaintance. The divine song draws us to each other.”

But there were other bonds of sympathy between them, besides those cemented by their mutual love for “the divine song.” When Christmas drew near, Mdlle. Lind’s heart was torn by yearnings for home. As the time approached she wrote to Madame Lindblad:—

_“Paris, December 9, 1841._

“Do you know what I am doing, besides writing to you? I am munching
away—at what?—just guess!—at a bit of genuine Swedish
_Knäckebröd_,[18] which Herr Blumm has brought me.... Ah! think of me,
when you go to the _Julotta_,[19] for it is the most glorious thing
your poor Jenny knows of.”

And again:—

“Paris, December 16, 1841.

“Ah! who? who will light the Christmas Tree for my mother? No one; no
one! She has no child who can bring her the least pleasure. If you
knew how she is ever before me! how constantly she is in my thoughts!
how she gives me courage to work! how I love her, as I never loved her
before!”

And, in the midst of this cruel burst of home-sickness, good Mademoiselle du Puget bethought her of an expedient, of which we hear in another letter, written four days after Christmas:—

“Paris, December 29, 1841.

“Christmas Eve passed off better than I expected; for Mademoiselle du
Puget went to fetch the dear sweet Nissen, and, all of a sudden, as I
was standing in my room alone, she came creeping in to me. We sang
duets together—but my thoughts strayed homewards.”

It is beautiful, as the time progresses, to mark the utter absence of jealousy which characterised this rare artistic friendship between two young students, each of whom had a reputation to ensure, and a name to render famous.

On April 3, 1812, she writes:—

“Do you know that Nissen is just upon the point of concluding an
engagement for three years at the Italian Opera? For the first year,
she is offered four thousand riksdaler banco;[20] and, when the three
years are over, she will, no doubt, be able to command from sixty to
seventy thousand riksdaler banco[21] per annum. Ah, yes! God help her!
She is a nice good girl. Yet, notwithstanding all this, I am contented
with my own lot, and would not change with any one, though my
prospects for the future are poor, and dark.”

And again on May 1:—

“I am not depressed on Mademoiselle Nissen’s account. Ah, no! Besides,
how foolish it would be not to stand aside for a merit greater than my
own—and this I do. Thank God! I feel no jealousy, and—shall I tell
you?—it is true that I can never get her voice; but I am quite
satisfied with my own. And, furthermore, I shall be able, in time, to
learn all that she knows; but she can never learn what I know. Do you
understand? She is a nice girl; and, with all my heart, I wish her
every happiness. Her stay here is of great advantage to me, for she
spurs me on.”

In truth, every brilliant manifestation of real talent served only to spur Mademoiselle Lind on to still greater exertions on her own account. She was a constant attendant at the Italian Opera; and recorded her impressions of the principal performers with the most perfect frankness. In one letter she writes:—

“Oh! if you could have heard Madame Persiani sing in _La Sonnambula_,
yesterday! Oh! oh! it was beautiful!”

Of Grisi, though she admired her greatly as an actress, she spoke less enthusiastically; and, especially, of her shake, which, she said, was not good. Indeed, this particular grace was then but very little cultivated in the Italian School, from an idea—entirely fallacious—that its frequent practice was deleterious to the voice.

But Mademoiselle Lind’s observations were not confined to the Italian Opera, or to singing alone. She was a great admirer of Mademoiselle Rachel; and studied her performances with peculiar interest. In one of her letters she writes:—

“Paris, October 24, 1841.

“There is a remarkable dearth of good actresses here. Mademoiselle
Rachel is the only one—after her, Grisi.”

And again:—

“Paris, November 20, 1841.

“Shall I tell you my thoughts? The difference between Mademoiselle
Rachel and myself is, that she can be splendid when angry, but she is
unsuited for tenderness. I am desperately ugly, and nasty too, when in
anger; but I think I do better in tender parts. Of course, I do not
compare myself with Rachel. Certainly not. She is immeasurably greater
than I. Poor me!”

It is evident from this, that, while striving, with all her might, to master the technical difficulties of singing under the guidance of Signor Garcia, Mademoiselle Lind never, for a moment, forgot the importance of the dramatic element. Her correspondence teems with observations which show how constantly her thoughts were dwelling upon this important point. In one more than ordinarily interesting letter, she writes:—

“Paris, October 24, 1841.

“I am longing for home. I am longing for my theatre. I have never said
this before, in any of my letters. I know I am contradicting myself,
but I rejoice over it. Oh! to pour out my feelings in a beautiful
part! This is, and ever will be, my continual aim; and, until I stand
there again, I shall not know myself as I really am. Life on the stage
has in it something so fascinating, that I think, having once tasted
it, one can never feel truly happy away from it, especially when one
has given oneself wholly up to it, with life and soul, as I have done.
This has been my joy, my pride, my glory! True, it is a great thing to
be free from all the worries connected with it; but, when I return
home, I know not what people could have to reproach me with. Then the
die will be cast; and I shall not change very much for the better
after that, I suppose—and, consequently, things will be different.”

Later on she writes:—

“Paris, March 7, 1842.

“Sometimes I act by myself; and it seems to me that I have gained more
feeling, more _verve_, more truth in my rendering; at least, I feel,
now, better than I used to do, what life really is. It is just
possible that I may not act as well as before; but I do not think so.
Nobody acts as I act. What do you say to such language as this? But,
you will not misunderstand me.”

But there were moments of doubt, bordering sometimes almost upon despondency. On one occasion she says:—

“Paris, May 30, 1842.

“Then Garcia pretends to believe that I shall never more act in tragic
parts![22] What do you think of that? I leave him to say what he
pleases. In the meantime, may God preserve me from being altogether
bewildered! I do not think there is any danger. I acted ‘_Norma_,’
this morning, and it was not much worse than at Stockholm.”

In the midst of these alternations of hope and anxiety, the studies were interrupted, for a moment, by a sudden shock—a merciful escape from an accident of the most frightful possible character.

On the 8th of May, the Baroness Schwerin accompanied Mademoiselle Lind on an excursion to Versailles.

Herr Blumm was anxious that the party should return to Paris by a train which would give them an opportunity of passing through some very beautiful scenery on their way home. But, that very morning, the Préfet de Police offered the Baroness a box at one of the theatres. In order to render this available, the plans were changed at the last moment; and it was not until after their return, that the little party of friends learned that the train by which they intended to travel had been wrecked by the bursting of the boiler, and that, of the four hundred persons who were injured by the explosion, one hundred were either scalded to death, or cut to pieces, in a manner too horrible for description.

Mademoiselle Lind’s account of the occurrence shows that it affected her very deeply indeed. But her nature was not of the weak type which is rendered unfit for exertion by a sudden fear, however great may have been its effect at the moment; and her subsequent letters show that after the first burst of thankfulness was over, she was at work again as heartily as ever. She had come to Paris to work; and she left undone nothing which could tend to perfect her in the art to which every energy of her life was devoted.