Chapter I: The Début at Vienna

The engagement at Vienna, vaguely alluded to in the letter to Madame Erikson, and more decidedly in that to Herr Josephson, was now finally arranged, and on the eve of fulfilment. The terms of this contract—five hundred gulden[67] each, for five performances, with an extra benefit night—had been carefully discussed, and gladly accepted, by Herr Franz Pokorny, the then manager of the Theater an der Wien, during the latter part of Mdlle. Lind’s stay at Berlin; and, as soon as she could conveniently do so, after the exciting scene at the Royal Opera-House on the evening of her benefit, she took leave of her kind host and hostess, and started, with her companion, Mdlle. Louise Johansson, for Vienna, _viâ_ Leipzig, in which last-named town she had been invited to spend a few days, as the guest of Herr Heinrich Brockhaus, and had also decided upon giving a concert, at the Gewandhaus, on her own account.

On April 8, 1846, Herr Brockhaus wrote in his Diary:—

“At home, I found all well, and in high good humour with an amiable
visitor—Fräulein Lind—who, early this morning, fulfilled a
long-standing promise to stay with us.

“I was heartily pleased to see, once more, the amiable and unaffected
girl, whose natural simplicity is so beautifully united to the
greatness of the Artist. She was sociable and cheerful throughout the
evening, which was still farther enlivened by the presence of
Mendelssohn.”

In a farther entry, on April 9, Herr Brockhaus continues:—

“Unhappily, Fräulein Lind can stay no longer with us, as she has met
with her friend from Hamburg, with whom she had made an appointment.

“We lunched with her, at Mendelssohn’s, where I also met Dr. Emanuel
Geibel, whom I had previously seen in Berlin. One must like the girl
from the very bottom of one’s heart. She has such a noble and
beautiful nature. And yet, she does not feel happy. I am convinced
that she would gladly exchange all her triumphs for simple homely
happiness. She sees that, in Mendelssohn’s house, where the wife and
children make his happiness complete.”

The “friend from Hamburg,” by whose arrival Herr Brockhaus’s arrangements were thus unfortunately interrupted, was Madame Arnemann. Mdlle. Lind had stayed in this lady’s house at Nienstädten, near Altona, in the autumn of 1845; and had promised to travel with her as far as Carlsbad, on her way to Vienna. She had now come to Leipzig, for the purpose of putting her long-cherished design into execution; and the visit to the Brockhaus family was necessarily shortened, in conformity with the earlier arrangement.

But this change of plan did not prevent the welcome visitor from thoroughly enjoying her brief stay in Leipzig, or from happy intercourse with her most valued friends there. Among other incidents connected with this memorable visit, the domestic happiness of Mendelssohn, whose devotion to his wife and family were no less remarkable than his artistic talent, made a deep impression upon her. She had been equally impressed, at Berlin, by the charming pictures of home life daily presented to her in the family circle at Professor Wichmann’s. Of such a life her own early experience had taught her nothing. As a child, at home, she had never been truly understood; and, in consequence of this, had suffered cruelly from want of sympathy and domestic happiness. Who can wonder, then, at the emotion she felt, when witnessing, in other families, the peaceful effect of social relations to which her own childhood had been an utter stranger? She alludes to this, in touching terms, in a letter, written about this time, to Madame Wichmann:—

“Leipzig, April (8?), 1846.

“DEARLY BELOVED AMALIA,

“God bless you all, and give you, some day, tenfold the good that you
have given me! For, Amalia, I have felt, for the first time in my
life, as if I had tasted the blessedness of home. My heart now clings
to you so that nothing else can satisfy me.

“I am staying with the Brockhauses, and they are all so kind and
friendly.”

In the meanwhile, the necessary arrangements for the forthcoming concert had been satisfactorily completed, under the superintendence of Mendelssohn himself. The performance was fixed for Sunday, April 12; and, as there was to be no orchestra, Mendelssohn had undertaken to “preside at the pianoforte,” as well as to play at least one solo. His friend, Herr Ferdinand David, had also promised to contribute a solo on the violin; and, when these details had been finally decided upon, the complete programme was issued to the public.

No sooner did the announcement make its appearance in the _Leipziger Tageblatt_, than the usual rush for tickets began, with a vigorous onslaught which exhausted the supply in the course of a few hours. The most ardent music-lovers in the town lost not a moment in their endeavours to secure the best places. It soon became evident that, had the room been even much larger than it really was, it could easily have been filled, over and over again. And it cannot be said that the excitement was extravagant or unnatural; for it would be difficult to recall to memory a concert, within the experience of the oldest musical critic now living, in which three such artists united their forces for the production of so attractive a programme—an entertainment in which there was not one single weak point, one single piece falling short of the highest level that Art, in the department of “chamber music,” could reach.

Madame Clara Schumann (_née_ Wieck), who was then residing in Dresden, came to Leipzig in the course of the afternoon, with the intention of taking a seat among the audience. On arriving at the railway-station, after her four hours’ journey, she drove at once to Mendelssohn’s house, for the purpose of paying him a visit. She found him a little anxious about his share in the duties of the evening, which was exceedingly onerous, since, beside his own solos, he had accepted the responsibility of accompanying every piece in the programme. Thus circumstanced, he begged Madame Schumann to add to the interest of the performance by taking part in it herself. She was tired with her journey; quite unprepared to play, and not even provided with a suitable toilette for the evening; but she unhesitatingly consented; and Mendelssohn well knew that she would prove more than equal to the occasion, when the moment for the fulfilment of her promise arrived.

Long before the appointed time, the room was crowded, to its remotest corner. The _bénéficiaire_ sang—as she always did, when supported by Mendelssohn’s matchless accompaniment—her very best. Mendelssohn played Beethoven’s ‘Sonata in C♯︎ minor,’ as no one but he could play it; and, when the point in the programme was reached, at which he was expected to play some of his own ‘_Lieder ohne Worte_,’ he came down to the place in which Madame Schumann was seated among the audience, and led her, in her travelling dress, to the piano. She was received with an ovation; and played two of the ‘_Lieder ohne Worte_’—Nos. I. and IV. in the Sixth Book—and a “scherzo” of her own, with an effect which could scarcely have been surpassed. The performance concluded, in accordance with the previous announcement, with a selection of songs, by Mdlle. Lind, accompanied by Mendelssohn, in his own inimitable manner; and the crowd departed in raptures.

The audience little thought that the concert which had given it such unclouded pleasure was fated to be the last but one at which Mendelssohn would play, in public, at the Gewandhaus; or that the concluding symphony of Mdlle. Lind’s last song would represent (with one exception) his last touch upon the pianoforte, in the concert-room which, through his influence, had become so justly celebrated.[68]

But we must not anticipate the day of sadness. No one foresaw it, then; and, though the audience at the Gewandhaus was so soon to bid its last farewell to the beloved composer who had so long represented its heart and soul, Mdlle. Lind enjoyed the privilege of his friendship for a full year and a half after this eventful evening.[69]

On the 13th of April—the day after the Concert—Mdlle. Lind left Leipzig, in accordance with the arrangement previously made with Madame Arnemann, and proceeded, first, to Carlsbad, where she remained until the 16th. She then took leave of her friend, and, accompanied by Mdlle. Louise Johansson, continued her journey to Prague; remained there for one night; and started, the next morning, for Vienna, where she arrived on Saturday, April 18.

In the meantime, accommodation had been prepared for her, at the house of Dr. Vivanot, a physician of some repute, who occupied a conveniently-situated residence in one of the principal streets of Vienna—Am Graben.

The place was a convenient one, in every respect; and here she remained _en pension_, until the termination of her engagement for the season, perfectly satisfied with the arrangements made for her personal comfort; but she knew no one in Vienna, and, except for the _prestige_ of her artistic reputation, had no claim whatever upon the goodwill of the people among whom she had come to reside. Her friends in the North of Germany felt this strongly; and did their best to overcome the difficulty. Madame Birch-Pfeiffer wrote a letter to a friend in Vienna, which gives so true a delineation of her young friend’s character that we need no apology for introducing it _in extenso_:—

“On Sunday,” she says, “our Angel fled from us: and to-day only have I
brought myself to introduce her to you by this letter.

“Jenny Lind, indeed, needs no introduction to a lady so truly artistic
as yourself; and I only venture to give you a few slight indications
of her northern proclivities, which your own fine tact would easily
have discovered without them.

“She is reserved, and self-contained; pure, through and through, and
sensitive to the last degree; so strangely tender, that she is easily
wounded, and thereupon becomes silent, and serious, when no reason for
it is apparent—and I have long studied this marvellous character, and
penetrated its profoundest depths.

“A word will often quickly shut her up in herself; and I tell you
this, in order that you may see how you stand with her. When she
suddenly becomes dumb to you, you may be certain that something has
wounded her delicate sensibility. She is a true _Mimosa_, that closes
itself at the lightest touch. Do not think, from this, that she is
intolerable. She is, by nature, a truly lovable creature. True, in
everything that she does. Do not suffer yourself to be misled, by her
persistent silence, into thinking that she is _sans ésprit_. She
speaks little, and thinks deeply. She is full of perception, and the
finest tact—a mixture of devotion, and energy, such as you have
probably never before met with.

“Free, herself, from the slightest trace of coquetry, she regards all
coquetry with horror. In short, she stands alone, of her kind, from
head to foot.

“I adjure you, tell all your _coterie_ that Jenny must be brilliantly
received; otherwise, she will never forgive me for having persuaded
her to perform in so large a theatre, for she fears that her voice
will not fill it. She stands alone in modesty, as in everything else.

“If you invite her to your house, and she does not sing, when first
you ask her, let it pass. Do not suffer any one to press her;
otherwise, it is possible that she may not come again. This has often
happened with her, here. She is passionately fond of dancing; and
cares but very little for the table. Nothing is more hateful to her
than sitting long at dinner.

“Here you have a little confidential description of her person. It is
well that you should be forewarned; for, every genius has its own
peculiarities.

“If you wish to make her really happy, invite her companion, Louise
Johansson, to accompany her to your parties. She is an excellent girl,
and Jenny looks upon her as a sister.

“Since she has left me, I have felt as if in my grave. I can listen to
no singing now. You will soon understand why.”

No one who really knew Mdlle. Lind will fail to recognise the fidelity of this charming portrait; so conscientiously describing, in every well-weighed word, the minutest traits of a character which needed so liberal a share of philosophical discernment for its successful analysis. That it helped to prepare the way for the cordial reception that awaited Mdlle. Lind in Vienna we cannot doubt; and, in order that nothing might be left undone which could conduce to that most desirable end, Mendelssohn, on his part, foreseeing that she might possibly need the assistance of an experienced adviser, should any unfortunate misunderstanding occur in her dealings with the strangers by whom she was surrounded, endeavoured to meet the difficulty by providing her, when she left Leipzig, with the following letter to his friend, Herr Franz Hauser:[70]—

“Leipzig, April 12, 1846.

“DEAR FRIEND,

“These lines will reach you, through my friend, Jenny Lind; and I beg
you, as soon as you receive them, to call upon her, and to be as
friendly and as useful to her as you possibly can during the time of
her residence in Vienna. For, I take it for granted that it will be
with you, as with me; and that you will never be able to look upon her
as a stranger, but as one of ourselves—a member of that invisible
Church,[71] concerning which you write to me sometimes. She pulls at
the same rope with all of us who are really in earnest about that;
thinks about it; strives for it; and, if all goes well with her in the
world, it is as pleasant to me as if it went well with me; for it
helps me, and all of us, so well on our road. And to you, as a singer,
it must be especially delightful to meet, at last, with the union of
such splendid talents, with such profound study, and such heartfelt
enthusiasm. But I will say no more. I only ask you to be friendly, and
helpful to her, whenever and wherever you can; and to let her depend
upon you; and, when she sings for the first time, write to me, on the
same day, and tell me how it all went off; for it is from you that I
particularly wish to hear about it.

“For ever and ever yours,
“FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.”[72]

By a strange fatality Herr Hauser’s kind offices were needed before Mdlle. Lind had even made her first appearance on the stage.

The Theater an der Wien, at which she was engaged to sing for Herr Franz Pokorny, at the time of which we are now treating, was the largest and handsomest Opera-House in Vienna. So large did it seem to the timid _débutante_—still timid, and distrustful as ever of her own powers, in spite of her triumphs at Berlin—that, when she entered it for the first time, in order to take her part in the rehearsal of _Norma_, she was appalled at the sight of its vast circumference; felt convinced that her voice would prove insufficient to fill it; and, under the influence of an utterly causeless terror, refused even to make the attempt.

Herr Pokorny was in despair. He could not understand the lady’s fears; nor could she comprehend his remonstrances. Fortunately, he remembered having seen her in company with Herr Hauser, to whom he sent a hurried message, entreating him to come to the rescue, without the loss of a moment. By great good fortune, the messenger found Herr Hauser at home. He instantly responded to the appeal; and reached the theatre while Mdlle. Lind was still standing on the stage, in an agony of nervousness and indecision. As it was impossible to discuss the question, in presence of the assembled artists, he led her to the “green-room,” where he set the case so clearly before her, made her so plainly see that her fears would be misunderstood, and her position as an artist ruined, that the Viennese would treat the matter as a joke, and hold Herr Pokorny responsible for having befooled them—spoke, in short, so sensibly and so earnestly, that, with a great effort, she overcame her terror, returned to the stage, where Herr Pokorny was anxiously awaiting her decision, and at once took her part in the rehearsal, with every prospect of a successful _début_ on the following evening.

How right Herr Hauser was in his judgment she never forgot; nor did Herr Pokorny ever forget the kindness of his intervention. During the whole remaining portion of the season, he reserved a box for Herr Hauser at every performance, even when the prices were at their highest, and applicants sent away, in crowds, for want of room. And this was no small thing; for never, within the memory of the Viennese, had such crowds assembled at the theatre, or such prices been demanded for admission.

The paralysing fear with regard to the size of the house proved, we need scarcely say, entirely illusory. Mdlle. Lind’s voice was sonorous enough to have filled the largest theatre in Europe; and the “Theater an der Wien,” spacious as it was, was far from being that. The scene, on the evening of the _début_—Wednesday, April 22, 1846—was simply a _replica_ of that which had taken place, in Berlin, on Nov. 9 in the previous year. The same Opera—_Norma_—was wisely chosen as the work best calculated to produce a favourable effect upon the general public; and the result proved all that could possibly be desired, notwithstanding the patent fact that a very unfair share of responsibility was thrown upon the _débutante_. For, except by Herr Staudigl, the representative of Oroveso, who was a host in himself, and Demoiselle Henriette Treffz, who sang the part of “Adalgisa „ very charmingly, she was by no means worthily supported. Concerning the tenor, who took the part of “Pollio”— called “Sever,” in the German version—the _Wiener Musik-Zeitung_ could find nothing better to say, than that “he sang no worse than usual.” The chorus sang, not only without expression, but incorrectly; and the orchestra fulfilled its functions very inefficiently indeed. At any other time, such faults as these would have been very heavily visited indeed upon the management of an Opera-House of such high repute as the Theater an der Wien; but, in presence of Mdlle. Lind, all collateral shortcomings were not only forgiven, but forgotten—if even noticed at all; and the success of the performance could scarcely have been exceeded. Herr August Schmidt, the editor of the _Wiener Allgemeine Musik-Zeitung_—a journal by no means enthusiastically devoted to Mdlle. Lind’s interests—after saying, in one part of his paper—

“For the initiated in music—those who listen, not with the ear only,
but with the soul, and the spirit—the appearance of Jenny Lind is an
event altogether exceptional; such as has never before been witnessed,
and will probably never be repeated,”

sums up his critique of _Norma_, with the words:—

“The appearance of Fräulein Lind is of the deepest significance, in
all its aspects; and her achievements in Art deserve, in the highest
degree, the universal acknowledgment that they have received. She is
the perfect picture of noblest womanhood; and has, through her
artistic aims, and the high perfection of her artistic cultivation,
united to her great and many-sided talents, already won the sympathy
of the entire public, on her first appearance, in a way in which few
other singers have won it before her. I count the moments that passed
at her _début_ among the most enjoyable artistic pleasures that I have
ever yet experienced; and eagerly look forward to her forthcoming
performances.”

For her second appearance, on Friday, April 24, Mdlle. Lind again selected _Norma_, the reception of which was, if possible, still more enthusiastic than that with which it had been greeted on the evening of the _début_. The Viennese were delighted with the new reading of the part, so full of passion and true womanly feeling, and so powerfully dramatic in all its varied shades of expression. Even the recollections of former triumphs—such as those of Mesdames Pasta, and Fodor, and Malibran—were cited by old and experienced critics as telling rather in her favour than otherwise.

It is true, there was a strong party against her. Three rival _prime donne_—Mesdames Stœckel-Heinefetter, and Hasselt-Barth, and Fräulein Anna Zerr—though bitterly jealous of each other’s triumphs at the “Kärntnerthor Theater,” united their forces, in opposition to the rising star, and formed what a certain section of the Press called a Kärntner clique, for the purpose of preventing her from singing in Vienna.

But Mdlle. Lind triumphed over everything. In spite of these influences, she created a profound impression, on Wednesday, April 29, in Bellini’s _La Sonnambula_, by her inimitable union of the purest vocal method, with acting so touching, that the coldest heart could not witness it unmoved. It was this alone that could explain the secret charm to which none who heard her in the part of “Amina” ever failed to yield. The Viennese understood it at once; and sympathised with it, as unreservedly as they had sympathised with, and thoroughly comprehended, the new reading of “Norma.” No sooner had they heard and seen, than they rose, one and all, to a pitch of enthusiasm in no degree inferior to that which had been manifested, night after night, at the Royal Opera-House in Berlin. She herself was more than satisfied with the reception she met with; and, on the day after her first appearance in _Norma_, wrote the following account of it to Madame Birch-Pfeiffer:—

“Wien, 23 April, 1846.

“DEAR FRIEND,

“It is over, at last—THANK GOD! and I hasten, good Mother, to describe
it to you, though I know that the kind-hearted Director, Pokorny, has
written all about it to you to-day.

“Well, then! Yesterday was the all-important day on which I appeared
here in _Norma_; and the good God did not desert me, though I deserved
it, for my unreasonable nervousness.

“Do not be angry with me, I beg you! I can do nothing with regard to
that, and I myself suffer enough for it. The three days beforehand
were dreadful. The idea of turning back was ever in my mind; and I
should have done it, if it would not have given offence to so many
people.

“But now, we shall be jolly here, for a little while, and sing nine
times; and then we can go on still farther!

“But, this Public! At the close, I was called back sixteen times, and
twelve or fourteen before that. Just count that up! And this
reception! I was quite astounded!

“The _salle_ is considerably smaller than that in Berlin—Ah! but I
shall always love my Berlin theatre, and my Berliners, immensely; they
have grown into my heart! Neither the Viennese, nor any others, can
weaken this impression.

“How are you all? A raging headache prevents me from writing more. I
have not yet been calmed down since yesterday.—Your truly loving

“JENNY.”

It is evident that this description of the excitement of the Viennese, and the countless calls before the curtain, is not written in sportive exaggeration; for, on the same day, Mdlle. Lind wrote a similar account of the circumstances to Mendelssohn, from whom, a few days later, she received the following reply:—

“Leipzig, May 7, 1846.

“MY DEAR FRÄULEIN,

“You are indeed a good, and excellent, and very kind Fräulein Lind.
That is what I wanted to say to you (and I have said it often enough,
in thought) after receiving your first letter from Vienna, written so
soon after your opening performance.

“That you wrote to me on the very next day; that you knew there was no
one to whom it would give greater pleasure than to myself; and, that
you found time for it, and let nothing hinder you, or hold you back—
all this was too good and kind of you!

“Your description of the first evening, and of the twenty-five times
you were called before the curtain, &c., &c., reminded me of an old
letter written to me by my sister, when I was in London, a long time
ago: and I looked for the old letter until I found it.

“It was the first time that I had left the shelter of the parental
roof, or had produced anything in public; and it had gone well, and a
stone had been lifted from my heart; and I had written an account of
it all to her. And, thereupon, she answered me thus:—

“There was nothing new to her, she said, in all that, for she had
known it all, quite certainly, beforehand; she could not, therefore,
very clearly explain to herself why, in spite of this, it had been so
very pleasant to her to hear it all confirmed—but it was very
pleasant, nevertheless.

“It was precisely so with me, when I received your letter. And then,
you write so well! In fact, when I get a letter like that from you, it
is just exactly as if I saw you, or heard you speak. I can see the
expression of your face, at every word that stands written before me;
and I understand all that took place on the first _Norma_ evening at
Vienna, almost as well as if I had been there.

“There came also a very pretty description from Hauser; a happier
letter than I ever before received from him. And in this way you give
me so much, and such great pleasure, even in a secondary form, through
the soul of my friends.

“But, tell me, now; how comes it that half the Berlin Opera is so
suddenly in Vienna, the Kapellmeister included? Hauser wrote to tell
me that your Viennese associates in _Norma_ were by no means
excellent; so, Bötticher and the others could, after all, give the
Viennese something worth hearing—if only Taubert beat time to it!

“I really feel, however, more pleasure in the enthusiasm of the
Viennese, and the twenty-five calls before the curtain, than these few
lines will perhaps express to you. It is great fun for me, too—not
because of what people call triumph, or success, or anything of that
kind, but, because of the succession of pleasant days and evenings
that it expresses, and the numbers of delighted and friendly faces
with which you are surrounded. You must tell me all about this, very
particularly; or rather, I must worm it out of you.

“You are, undoubtedly, quite right in what you say about Vienna, in
your second letter. Where, then, is there more than a little nucleus
that feels anything sincerely, or honestly rejoices about _anything at
all_?

“How pleased I am that you like Hauser! He is one who has crept very
much into my heart; and for whom I could, at no time, or for any
reason, feel diminished affection. And, how much good has he not done
to me!

“And now, let me send you a thousand thanks for what you have written
to me about _Antigone_. Yes; I should like to do that over again. But,
out of this, I must weave the material for a new letter, and a
consultation with Madame Birch-Pfeiffer—not, indeed, about _Antigone_
itself, but about something else of the same kind.

“But, my paper has come to an end. We are all well, here, and think of
you every day. I shall write once more, before long, to Vienna; and
then, please God, we shall see each other again, on the Rhine, and
make a little music together, and talk to each other a little, and I
think I shall enjoy myself a little over it! _Au revoir._

“Your friend,
“FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.”[73]

The allusion to Madame Birch-Pfeiffer, in the above letter, is connected with an episode of some importance in Mendelssohn’s Art-life, concerning the details of which the public has never been very fully informed.

It will be remembered that it was under the superintendence of this lady that Mdlle. Lind resumed those studies in the German language which had been interrupted, at Dresden, by her recall to Stockholm, for the Coronation of King Oscar I. While prosecuting this course of study, she had met with frequent opportunities of observing, and appreciating at their true value, Madame Birch-Pfeiffer’s literary talent and thorough acquaintance with what is known, in dramatic circles, as “the business of the stage.” And this experience led to negotiations, which, though they afterwards broke down completely, seemed, at the time, to promise very important results indeed.

During their conversations, Mdlle. Lind and Mendelssohn had frequently discussed the possibility of a union of forces, which, had it not been interrupted by his early death, would probably have exerted a marked effect upon the future of the Musical Drama. The scheme was, the production of a serious Opera, for which he should compose the music, with special reference to the character and scope of Mdlle. Lind’s vocal and dramatic talent. The one great difficulty with which the project was threatened, was that of procuring a really good _libretto_ suitable for the purpose. On this point, Mendelssohn was well known to be severely _exigeant_. But both he and Mdlle. Lind thought that they had found, in Madame Birch-Pfeiffer, a colleague on whom they could thoroughly depend; and, as we shall see, from the following letter—written a week later than that just quoted—Mendelssohn was already in active correspondence with the lady upon this engrossing topic; and, while his friend was gathering new laurels in Vienna, was endeavouring to open a still wider field for the exercise of her talents in the future.

“Leipzig, May 15, 1846.

“MY DEAR FRÄULEIN,

“If I am not mistaken, my last letter to you must have seemed very
stupid—with absolutely nothing in it. Moreover, I fear it will not be
very different with the present one; and that the two together will
mean no more than just a hearty greeting.

“You must have been suffering severely from home-sickness! I can see
that, plainly enough, from your last letter; and Hauser also wrote
something to me about it. But, I hope this has long since passed away;
and, that you are again fresh and cheerful, and make music, and
gladden the hearts of the people by means of the many noble gifts with
which God has endowed you, and which you yourself have now made your
own.

“Will you not, then, sing ‘Donna Anna’ at Vienna? I have long been
looking for news of it; but it has never come.

“How happy you have again made my dear good Hauser! Such a delightful
letter came from him, after you had been to his house for the second
time. And, about this, I am always thinking—what if, of all the true
joy that you shed around you, the brightest rays could fall back upon
yourself, and could as thoroughly warm and quicken you as you warm and
quicken others! But this is not to be. And, when we meet again, I will
show you a passage from Goethe, in which it stands written why it is
not to be. Yet, how I wish it could be!

“You must know, my dear Fräulein, that I have now again good hope of
coming to a satisfactory arrangement with Madame Birch-Pfeiffer. We
have lately exchanged several letters; and, as it seems to me, she has
had a very lucky find, and, out of it, will work up a subject that
speaks to me strongly, and unites in itself a great deal of that which
you like so much in _Antigone_. And yet it is not archaic. However, I
will not write to you about it, but describe it, _vivâ voce_, when we
meet again. We have quite given up the subject of the _Peasant War_;
and I have no other wish than, (1) that the whole idea may please you;
(2) that Madame Birch-Pfeiffer may put it together dramatically and
truthfully; and, (3) that I may write really good music for it. Apart
from these little matters, all is in order.

“I write these stupid letters, because, for the last fortnight, I have
been kept at home by a very bad cold; and, still more, because I have
been working very hard, and without intermission. To-morrow, or the
day after to-morrow, the first part of my Oratorio[74] will be quite
finished; and many pieces out of the second part are already finished
also. This has given me immense pleasure during these last weeks.
Sometimes, in my room, I have jumped up to the ceiling, when it seemed
to promise so very well. (Indeed, I shall be but too glad if it turns
out only half as good as it now appears to me.) But I am getting a
little confused, through writing down, during the last few weeks, the
immense number of notes that I previously had in my head, and working
them backwards and forwards upon the paper into a piece, though not
quite in the proper order, one after another. Would that the Opera
were already as far advanced as this! I would then play some of it to
you. But, what if it should not please you at all!—Sometimes it seems
to me as if it were an imperative duty to compose an Opera for you,
and to try how much I could accomplish in it—and it is, in fact, a
duty. However, it does not altogether depend upon me, and it will
certainly not be my fault, if only the thing be possible. If it were
but possible! _Au revoir._

“Ever your friend,
“FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.”[75]

It is evident, from passages in this letter, that the difficulties in the way of obtaining a satisfactory _libretto_ for the projected Opera were very grave indeed. In fact, it is impossible to read the correspondence which passed, at this time, between Mendelssohn and Madame Birch-Pfeiffer, without arriving at the conclusion that the case was all but hopeless. Mendelssohn’s ideal was too high to be easily satisfied. Moreover, the search for a suitable subject was wearying in the extreme, both to the composer and the librettist; and, though it is clear that Madame Birch-Pfeiffer worked at it as hard and as enthusiastically as Mendelssohn himself, the results were far from satisfactory. She seems to have been strongly in favour of the story of _Genofeva_, as told by Tieck, and, in a different form, by Hebbel; and of this, on May 19, 1846, she furnished Mendelssohn with a complete _scenario_, filled with situations of powerful dramatic character, and elaborated with infinite care, guided by the experience of a practised dramatic authoress. This was, beyond all doubt, the subject which, in his letters of May 7 and 15, 1846, Mendelssohn compared with _Antigone_, though, unlike that, it was “not archaic.” But it was so far from satisfying him, that even while these negotiations were pending, he resumed the previously rejected story of the _Bauernkrieg_—the “Peasant War” of history—in consultation with his friend Edward Devrient, and the legend of _Loreley_, in conjunction with that gentleman and Dr. Geibel.

All this worried Mdlle. Lind, no less than Mendelssohn. It was evident that she was far less happy in Vienna than she had been at Berlin; though she could not close her eyes to the fact that her visit to the Kaiserstadt had been successful, beyond the wildest expectations of her most sanguine admirers.

The following passage, from a letter written to Madame Wichmann nine days after her arrival in Vienna, describes her then frame of mind with epigrammatic force:—

“Hitherto, all has gone here splendidly. I have appeared twice in
_Norma_; and was called so many times before the curtain that I was
quite exhausted. Bah! I do not like it. Everything should be done in
moderation; otherwise it is not pleasing.”

And again, yet nine days later, she writes:—

“Vienna, May 6, 1846.

“ÄLSKADE,

“I think of you, daily, and hourly; and it goes badly with me, since I
parted from you, my beloved friends.

“I have been so home-sick, that I scarcely knew whether I should live
or die; and so frightfully melancholy, and sad, that it is a long long
time since I have felt anything like it. Do you understand me? I never
felt this anguish while I was with you.

“But, I am better, now; and the day before yesterday, Taubert came.
Ah! This joyful surprise!—this reminiscence of the past existence!—all
now comes so brightly before me!

“And, now, I must tell you a little about the theatre, and things of
that sort.

“Dearest, dearest lady!

“Do you know, I have been placed in the very worst, and the most
unfavourable circumstances; and yet, I never had a greater triumph!
Just think of this!

“To begin with; Herr Pokorny actually had the rashness to demand such
frightful prices, that a single reserved seat cost eight gulden, and a
box forty! So that, since the time of Catalani, such a thing has never
been heard of; and the public were furious about it.

“Secondly; with these high prices, Pokorny engaged, for the first ten
performances, a tenor, at whom everyone laughed. Everything depended
upon me; so I was made the sacrifice. And all this I had to bear, and
do penance for.

“In the third place; the whole Italian faction was opposed to me; and
was determined to hiss, if there was the slightest thing that could be
found fault with. Nevertheless, everything has gone well; and my
success is only so much the greater.

“Taubert is sitting with me, now, and playing to me; and I persuade
myself that I am with you, and live in quietness and peace, and am
assured that you all know with what deep and true love I cling to you,
and how impossible it would be for me ever to love you less.”

Though it contains no allusion to the circumstance, this letter is proved, by its date, to have been written exactly a week after the first performance of _La Sonnambula_. This was followed, on May 8, by _Der Freischütz_—an immense success; and, on the 15th, by _Die Ghibellinen in Pisa_, a German version of Meyerbeer’s _Les Huguenots_, the music of which had been tortured into pretended association with a new and wholly incongruous _libretto_, the failure of which was a real gain to the cause of true Art. Mdlle. Lind never sang in it again, and the blame of its cold reception was certainly not visited upon her; for, on May 20— the night fixed for her benefit—she received an ovation, accompanied by circumstances, which, even among the brilliant triumphs to which she was now so well accustomed, can only be described as altogether exceptional.

On this occasion _La Sonnambula_ was again chosen, as the Opera most likely to please the public, who had been delighted with it, on its first presentation, and flocked, in crowds, to hear it a second time. Every available seat in the house was filled with the _élite_ of the Austrian capital. The noblest representatives of Art and Literature, the highest of the nobility, and the various members of the Imperial family, assembled, _en masse_, to do honour to the occasion. Each act of the Opera, each scene in which the _bénéficiaire_ took part, was received with acclamation; and when the curtain fell, after the last _Finale_, and she was recalled before it, to receive the grateful acknowledgments of the audience for the pleasure she had given them, while flowers were falling in showers upon the stage, the Empress-Mother dropped a wreath, with her own hand, at Mdlle. Lind’s feet.

Such a favour, involving so bold a departure from the severity of Court etiquette, had never before been granted, by a member of the Imperial family, to any artist of any rank whatever, though Vienna had not been slow to acknowledge the claims of true genius, or to crown it with well-earned laurels.

As at Berlin, the audience seemed bent upon obtaining a spoken word of farewell; and, when silence had been obtained, Mdlle. Lind came forward, to the foot-lights, and said, in German: “Sie haben mich recht verstanden. Ich danke Ihnen aus meinem Herzen.”[76] These few heartfelt words were received with a shout of sympathetic recognition; and it was only when that had subsided, that the audience, quite overcome with excitement, consented at last to disperse.

And, this was not all.

When, after the performance was over, the heroine of the evening prepared to return to her temporary home, _Am Graben_, a band of enthusiastic young men unharnessed the horses, and would have dragged the vehicle, with its occupant, through the crowded streets, to the door of Dr. Vivanot’s house, had they not been prevented from doing so by a detachment of cavalry. Fortunately, the military force arrived in time to prevent a serious disturbance; but, even with this protection, the carriage was escorted to the Graben by a crowd of excited spectators, who insisted upon walking by its side; and, when Mdlle. Lind reached her hand out of the lowered window, those who were near enough rushed up, in the hope of respectfully kissing it.

Unhappily, the excitement produced a very serious accident. The man-servant, Görgel, either fell, or was accidentally dragged from his place behind the carriage, while the enthusiasm was at its highest, and so severely crushed, that he was unfit to travel for some considerable time, in consequence of which the departure from Vienna was seriously delayed, at a time when the hindrance proved of the greatest possible inconvenience.

Mdlle. Lind mentions the circumstance, in a letter addressed to Madame Birch-Pfeiffer:—

“Wien, 23 May, 1846.

“DEAR GOOD FRIEND,

“I really do not know whether I am dead, or alive—so you must just ask
the Director, Pokorny, who will, no doubt, tell you all about it.

“It is four o’clock on Saturday morning. Two hours ago, I came from
Herr Pokorny; and, think of my horror! my poor Görgel has been almost
crushed to death! He was brought home in a frightful condition; and it
does not look at all well with him. I have already postponed my
journey four hours later. God grant that it may not turn out to be
anything dangerous.

“Except for this, I have spent delightful days here. I have never met
with such kind people as the Viennese in general. I can find no words
in which to describe my stay in Vienna. Enough! Thank Heaven for
helping me so much! Yet I have had much to fight against, here. Some
day, I will tell you all about it.”

The style of this letter sufficiently shows the haste and excitement amidst which it was despatched; but no surrounding circumstances, however trying, could make the writer forget her affection for those whom she loved.