Chapter I: In Dresden

And now, for the second time, we find Mdlle. Lind leaving home and friends, and departing to seek new fortunes in a country utterly unknown to her.

The opportunity was a splendid one, and might well have tempted any aspiring artist—but, it needed careful preparation.

It had never been Mdlle. Lind’s wont to trust to genius alone for results which, she well knew, could be attained only by the union of genius with conscientious industry. As a cultivated musician, a singer, an actress, she had nothing more to learn. She did not even need experience; for, after forming her method in Paris, she had already had ample opportunity for testing its excellence in practical connection with the stage. But in order to ensure her success at Berlin it was necessary that she should add to these high qualifications an intimate acquaintance with the pronunciation, at least, of the German language, if not, indeed, a thorough mastery of its grammatical construction; and, far from attempting to evade the difficulty, she adopted the best possible expedient for overcoming it. She determined to set apart a sufficient time for quiet and regular study, not in Berlin, but in Dresden; where she would not only be able to obtain without difficulty the best possible instruction, but could also usefully supplement it by attending the performances at one of the best Opera-Houses in Germany. And here, too, Meyerbeer had arranged to meet her, for the purpose of consultation with regard to the principal part in the important work— _Das Feldlager in Schlesien_—which he was preparing for the re-opening of the Grand Opera-House in Berlin.

To Dresden, then, she repaired, accompanied by her aunt, Fröken Apollonia Lindskog—familiarly known by her relatives as Tante Lona— arriving there on the 25th of July, 1844, three weeks only after her last performance in Stockholm.

By the luckiest of chances she was welcomed at the very moment of her arrival in the Saxon capital by her trusty and valued friend, Herr Jakob Axel Josephson, who was then, through her generous assistance, prosecuting his studies in Germany, and who, while accidentally crossing the Alte Brücke, (the grand old bridge over the Elbe,) passed a crowd of carriages conveying passengers into the town from the terminus of the Leipzig Railway, and, peeping into one of these, saw Mdlle. Lind with Tante Lona sitting by her side.

“I hailed the driver immediately,” he writes, in his Diary. “The
carriage stopped; I paid my respects to the travellers; arranged to
call on them, later in the day, at their hotel, and left them to
continue their journey.”[30]

After paying his visit, and finding her “happy and contented,” he resumes:—

“It was, in fact, to Jenny that I was indebted for the means of coming
here myself. I had therefore a great deal to say to her; but, between
old friends there is no need of many words.”

The evening was pleasantly spent in a walk on the Brühl’sche Terrasse by moonlight, followed by a friendly supper at the hotel; and, after devoting the next morning to an exhaustive exploration of the town in search of private apartments for the ladies, a pianoforte for Mdlle. Lind, and another for Herr Josephson, the three friends walked together, at six o’clock, to the fine old Opera-House,[31] to hear Wagner’s _Rienzi_, which had been produced there, with great success, in 1842, and had furnished the first stepping-stone to its composer’s subsequent reputation.

It will naturally be understood that, having visited Dresden for purposes of study only, Mdlle. Lind lived a life of comparative seclusion. She was furnished, however, as a matter of course, with letters of introduction to the Swedish Consul, Herr Karl Kaskel—a personal friend of Meyerbeer—and Herr Josephson’s sympathetic pen has furnished us with an account of her appearance at an evening party given, during the last week in July, at the country-house of that gentleman’s father.

“The evening began, as usual, with conversation,” he writes, in his
Diary, “for the Saxon ladies are entertaining hostesses. But, after a
little time, they begged Jenny Lind to sing; and, sitting down to the
piano, she began with Berg’s _Fjerran i skog_. Scarcely had she ended
it before a cry of satisfaction rang through the room. She repeated
the song, followed it up with _Tro ei glädjen_, sang _Fjerran i skog_
for the third time, and finished with the Romance from Winter’s _Das
unterbrochene Opferfest_. As, later on, she sang the Aria from
Pacini’s _Niobe_ in her grand style, and adorned it with her most
beautiful _fioritura_, the general delight burst forth into loud
applause, and all remained throughout the rest of the evening simply
enchanted; for God knows how long a time had elapsed since any one had
heard anything like it.

“For us Swedes the meeting was a truly brilliant inauguration of
Jenny’s entrance into Germany, and an especially joyful one, though
only in so small a house; and we remarked with pleasure how anxious
the good Germans were to hear her in public, whether on the Stage or
in the Concert-room.”

Apart from the sensation she created on this occasion, Mdlle. Lind lived, in company with Fröken Apollonia, in strictest privacy, during the whole of the time she remained in Dresden. She had indeed but little time permitted to her, even for consultation with Meyerbeer or for the purpose of study; for on the 28th of August—one month and three days only after her arrival at the terminus of the Leipzig Railway—she was recalled to Stockholm, to assist, in her character of “Court Singer,” at the festivities which graced the coronation of King Oscar I.

Queen Desideria’s watch[32] had already marked the hour for the wanderer’s return, though on this occasion it was to be represented by a very brief visit.

The Court was now out of mourning, and all Stockholm in festal attire to do honour to the approaching ceremony. Unfortunately, Fröken Marie von Stedingk, being in close attendance on the Queen Dowager, was prevented by the imperious demands of Court etiquette from attending the performances at the Royal Theatre, and her Diary therefore furnishes us with no account of Mdlle. Lind’s appearances. But we know, from the archives of the theatre, that they were ten in number—viz., three of _La Sonnambula_; three of _Norma_; one of Gluck’s _Armida_; and three introducing single acts of _Der Freischütz_, _Norma_, _Lucia di Lammermoor_, and _Anna Bolena_.

So well prepared were the Swedes to appreciate their talented countrywoman at her true value that they could not endure the idea of losing her. In the hope of preventing her from singing in Germany, Count Hamilton, the then Director of the Royal Theatre, offered her an engagement as principal singer, for eight years, at an annual salary of five thousand dollars,[33] which was to be continued to her after the termination of the contract as a pension for life. To this offer she felt very much inclined to agree, though her best friends tried hard to make her see that, by so doing, she would deprive the rest of Europe of all participation in the advantages derivable from her exceptional talent. For a long time her resolution remained immovable. But one day a trusted friend bethought himself of a curious method of persuasion, which could only have occurred to one who understood her nature thoroughly. After leaving her, as he feared on the point of signing the dangerous contract, he encountered in the street a certain Consul General who prided himself upon an intimate knowledge of everything connected with music. To this gentleman he narrated the circumstance, with many expressions of regret as to the turn affairs were taking. But to his great surprise the Consul General took the opposite view, maintaining that, notwithstanding her successes at home, the artist herself must have known that her powers were unequal to the attainment of a similar result in a more extended sphere. Well knowing the effect which this absurd misrepresentation of the true state of the case could not fail to produce upon Jenny’s mind, her friend lost no time in making her acquainted with it; and then and there he had the satisfaction of seeing her tear up the fatal contract and thus put an end to the discussion for ever.

Retreat was now impossible, and as soon as practicable after the last performance of _Norma_, on the 9th of October 1844, she took leave of her friends and started on her trying journey, rendered all the more painful by those fears for the unknown future which her constitutional diffidence forbade her to shake off.