Chapter I: Managerial Difficulties

Her Majesty’s Theatre opened for the season on Tuesday, the 16th of February, 1847, amidst a sea of doubts and perplexities which might well have appalled the most courageous _impresario_.

Though it forms no part of our present purpose to record the disastrous cabals and suicidal intrigues that seem, unhappily, inseparable from the life of the theatrical manager “behind the scenes,” it is necessary, for the clear understanding of our narrative, that the reader should be made acquainted with the results, at least, of the long series of disagreements which rendered the government of Her Majesty’s Theatre so peculiarly difficult, at the eventful period of which we are now treating.

For many years past, the Lyric Stage had been ruled with a rod of iron, by a band of artists of world-wide reputation, who have been not inaptly described as the _vieille garde_ of the Opera.

The names of Mesdames Grisi and Persiani, of Signori Rubini, Tamburini, and Lablache, had become so justly celebrated, throughout the length and breadth of Europe, and their influence had been so firmly established in London, Paris, and St. Petersburg, that no manager, however despotic, could resist their supreme will and pleasure with impunity.

Against this state of things, Mr. Lumley protested, with an energy that did him infinite credit, though he had to pay dearly enough, in the long run, for his determination.

A disagreement had long been impending, between the management, and Signor (afterwards Sir Michael) Costa, who had held the responsible office of Conductor, at Her Majesty’s Theatre, for fully sixteen years. The dispute reached its climax in 1846; Signor Costa resigned his appointment; and the vacant post was offered to, and duly accepted by Mr. Balfe; whereupon the _vieille garde_, feeling themselves attacked in the person of their _chef d’orchestre_, seceded in a body from the company, and, with one notable exception, refused to renew their engagements. Signor Lablache—no less distinguished for his high sense of honour and integrity than for his magnificent voice and splendid artistic intelligence and bearing—alone remained faithful to the theatre which had been the scene of his most brilliant triumphs. Not only did he refuse to join the coalition; but, from first to last, he did his best to prevent a rupture between the manager and his company. His kind offices, however, were thrown away. Signor Rubini had already retired from the Stage, and was, therefore, in no wise concerned in the quarrel; but, Mesdames Grisi and Persiani, and Signori Mario and Tamburini, threw up all connection with the “old house”; and, on Tuesday, the 6th of April, 1847, inaugurated the first season of the “Royal Italian Opera,” at Covent Garden, with a magnificent performance of Rossini’s _Semiramide_.

It must be confessed, that, for the manager of Her Majesty’s Theatre, the situation was sufficiently embarrassing.

Happily for the season of 1847, Mr. Lumley’s energy was never so well displayed as when he found himself in face of an apparently insurmountable difficulty. The threatening cloud—sombre enough, in the first instance, and growing daily darker and darker—was perhaps necessary for the full display of his managerial capabilities. Still, the prospect was very gloomy indeed.

The season had opened on the 16th of February, with Donizetti’s _La Favorita_, in which the principal parts were sustained by Madame Sanchioli, and Signori Gardoni, Superchi, and Bouché—the three last entirely new to the audience at Her Majesty’s Theatre. But, these attractions offered in competition with the brilliant performances at Covent Garden were quite insufficient to meet the pressing need. The only hope of the management lay in the first appearance of Jenny Lind.

Difficult as the situation was, no one for a moment doubted that the appearance of the new _prima donna_, at this critical moment, would save the theatre. Signor Lablache, whose judgment was not to be despised, had strongly urged the management to engage her; and, some months previously, had addressed the following letter on the subject to Mr. Lumley.

“Naples, October 12, 1846.

“DEAR MR. LUMLEY,—I learn, with much regret, from your last letter,
that Mdlle. Lind finds some difficulty in coming to London. It is a
great misfortune that this excellent _artiste_ neither knows London,
nor the exceptional position of your theatre for the coming year; for,
she will never find a more favourable moment for her interests, or her
reputation. Try, then, to decide her; and make her understand that she
will find herself surrounded by brothers, and friends, and not by
intriguing _artistes_, as is, unfortunately, too often the case. Her
success is certain. I answer to you for it; and you, who know me, will
understand all that I am prepared to do, myself, to aid it. It is not
only her immense reputation as an _artiste_, that gives me this
conviction; but, the good that is said of her, as a woman. I tell you,
frankly, that I have been, as you know, the friend of Pasta, and the
friend of Malibran; and, that I shall be very proud to be able to say:
‘I am the friend of Lind.’ If you think it necessary, I will write a
letter to her, myself; and, if she knows me, she cannot fail to put
faith in my words. Forgive me, my dear Mr. Lumley, if I meddle with
your affairs; but, you know my device: ‘Art, before all things.’ Do
not forget me; and remember that you have ever in me,

“Your wholly devoted
“L. LABLACHE.”[89]

In the meantime, the position of the manager grew daily more and more distressing; but, as was his wont, he proved himself equal to the occasion. Leaving the actual government of the theatre in the hands of a trusted subordinate, he secretly quitted his post, between the acts of the Opera, on the last night before the theatre closed for the Easter recess; hurried away, in his evening dress, to catch the train for Calais, with barely half an hour to spare for all the preparations needed for his long journey; travelled, night and day, until he found himself face to face with the lady of whom he was in search, at Vienna; and, while those most deeply interested in the success of the scheme were driven almost to the verge of despair, he had the satisfaction, on Friday, the 16th of April, of returning to his duties in London, bringing with him the joyful intelligence that Mdlle. Lind was actually on her way to England, and that her arrival might be confidently expected on the following day.

While the subscribers to the Opera were anxiously awaiting her appearance, another section of the musical world was thrown into equal excitement by that of Mendelssohn, who, in response to an invitation from the Sacred Harmonic Society, came to London, for the tenth and last time, on the 12th of April, for the purpose of conducting four performances of his new Oratorio, _Elijah_, at Exeter Hall.

On the afternoon of Saturday, the 17th of April, 1847, the great composer, knowing nothing of the negotiations which had been pending since the beginning of the week, called, by merest accident, on Mrs. Grote, who had invited Mdlle. Lind to be her guest at her town residence in Eccleston Street, until the house provided for her at the expense of the management was ready for her occupation.

Delighted at the news he heard, Mendelssohn was easily persuaded to stay until his friend arrived, though the delay seemed interminable, as he and his hostess walked up and down the western side of Belgrave Square, keeping the door of the house in Eccleston Street from time to time in view, and eagerly watching for the appearance of the party. Their patience was severely tried; but, after waiting three-quarters of an hour, they were rewarded by the sight of two four-wheeled cabs, heavily laden with luggage; and, hastening to the door, they lost no time in welcoming their friend to the country in which she was destined, ere long, to win a reputation more brilliant and lasting than that attained by any other singer of the period.

Mdlle. Lind “looked scared and bewildered;” but brightened visibly under the influence of the hearty welcome with which she was greeted. The tired travellers were promptly refreshed. Mendelssohn reluctantly took leave of the party, after a few minutes’ conversation; and, later in the evening, after an hour or two of the rest she so sorely needed, the honoured guest accompanied her host and hostess to their box at Her Majesty’s Theatre—No. 48, on the Grand Tier.

A few minutes after the arrival of the party, Mr. Lumley visited the box; and, later in the evening, Signor Lablache came to pay his respects to the great _artiste_ whose friendship he had so earnestly desired to gain. This naturally attracted attention; and, after a little time, every inquisitive eye in the opposite boxes, every glance from the stalls, every _lorgnette_ in the vast _auditorium_, was directed towards the box in which Mdlle. Lind was seated. She seemed, at first, very much disturbed. Moreover, the size of the _salle_—so much larger than that of the Opera-Houses at Berlin and Vienna—alarmed her seriously, though the manager assured her of the well-known fact, that its acoustic properties were perfect. However, as the evening wore on, she seemed to gain courage, and evidently took great interest in the performance, to which she listened attentively throughout; once whispering to her hostess, “I think I can do as well as that, and perhaps a little better.”[90]

A few days after this, Mr. and Mrs. Grote gave a dinner-party, for the purpose of introducing their visitor to a few artistic friends who were particularly desirous to meet her. Among the guests were Mendelssohn, Lablache, and Mr. Lumley. In the evening, Mendelssohn sat down to the piano, and, after improvising for a few minutes, asked Mdlle. Lind to sing ‘_Auf Flügeln des Gesanges_,’ the song in which she had created so profound a sensation in Leipzig. She willingly complied; but, from sheer nervousness, broke down no less completely than she had done when singing ‘_Perche non ho_’ to Garcia, in Paris. She afterwards explained, that it was the presence of Lablache that terrified her; though he was of course quite unconscious of this, and, with his never-failing good-nature, endeavoured to bring back her courage by singing some of the amusing Neapolitan ‘_Canzonette_’ in which his graceful humour was inimitable. Mendelssohn then played again; and, afterwards, Mdlle. Lind, recovering her confidence, sang one of her characteristic Swedish melodies; displaying her peculiar talent with such success, that the company were delighted, and Signor Lablache expressed his admiration with a warmth which rendered all doubt as to its sincerity impossible. This was followed by some other songs, sung with equal effect; and the success of the “private hearing” was felt to be complete.

Still, the inexplicable dread of a public performance at the theatre remained as great as ever. Though Mendelssohn called, almost daily, to encourage his friend, she could neither be persuaded to make arrangements for a rehearsal, nor to seek an interview with the conductor—Mr. Balfe; and, at last, she confessed to her hostess that her terrors were unconquerable, and begged her to intercede with Mr. Lumley for a withdrawal of the contract. The blow fell heavily; but, the manager wisely determined to wait; hoping that more mature consideration would induce her to recognise the necessity for fulfilling her engagement. And, the event proved that he was right.

One day, soon afterwards, when the ladies were driving together, Mdlle. Lind asked how the Opera was getting on. “Not at all,” was the reply: “it is completely at a standstill. No one will take either a box, or a stall, in the present state of uncertainty. The public are waiting for your appearance; and, in the meantime, the manager is losing money every night.”

The directness of this answer, every word of which was strictly and literally true, seemed to take her by surprise. She sat silent, until the carriage stopped at her friend’s door; and then, before alighting, said to her, “If you see Mr. Lumley to-night, please tell him that I will attend at the theatre on Monday next.” It happened, however, that she herself met Mr. Lumley, that evening, at a dinner-party at the house of Baron Rehusen, the Swedish Minister, and was thus able to deliver her own message to the delighted manager. The rehearsal took place on the day appointed; and, from that moment, all hesitation was at an end. She entered, with the deepest interest, into the arrangements made for her approaching _début_. At the rehearsals, which she attended with never-failing punctuality, she delighted the conductor, and excited the admiration of all who were associated with her in the performance, whether on the stage, or in the orchestra. She studied her part—quite new to her in the Italian language—with untiring diligence. She had chosen the part of “Alice,” in _Roberto il Diavolo_, for her first appearance. It was one of her most successful _rôles_, and she felt that the circumstances connected with her first entrance upon the crowded stage, in the dress of a Pilgrim, with no important passages to sing until after the gradual departure of the chorus, would give her time to collect her energies, if she felt in any degree nervous. Indeed, it would have been impossible for her to have chosen an Opera better fitted for the occasion; and all was made ready for her appearance, on the 4th of May.