Chapter II: The Triumph

The excitement of the public, when the fateful day arrived, exceeded anything that had ever been witnessed by the oldest frequenter of Her Majesty’s Theatre.

From an early hour in the afternoon, the colonnade in the Haymarket was thronged by a crowd of ladies and gentlemen, in evening dress, waiting patiently to secure good places in the pit. The file of carriages seemed interminable. When the doors were opened, at half-past seven, the crush was terrific. Ladies were fairly carried off their feet, and pressed against the barriers with a force which neither they nor their protectors had power to resist. Neither in the pit, nor even in the “three-shilling gallery,” could “standing-room” be found, at any price, for the disappointed applicants who continued to besiege the doors; and many of those who had succeeded in effecting an entrance were wedged into corners from which the stage was invisible. The Queen, the Prince Consort, the Queen Dowager, and the Duchess of Kent, occupied the Royal boxes, to the left of the stage. Mendelssohn sat in the stalls, with his friend, Mr. Grote. And every corner of the house was crowded with the most brilliant representatives of the talent, the fashion, and the wealth of London.

When the curtain rose, the excitement was indescribable; and, a few minutes afterwards, Mdlle. Lind—dragged on the stage, in her pilgrim’s dress, by the attendants of Roberto—was received with the burst of applause which, on the Continent, is usually delayed until the _débutante_ has won her crown. She seemed both affected and surprised; but soon recovered her self-possession.

Fortunately, for some little time after the entrance of “Alice,” the action is chiefly carried on by “Roberto” and the chorus. This gave Mdlle. Lind time to collect herself; and when, left alone with the Prince, she told him that his mother was no more—‘_Concesso, ah! non ti fia, nè udirla, nè più vederla. Ah! non più vive!_’ the expression of ineffable sadness with which she invested the touching words produced, from every part of the house, signs of admiration so genuine, that, it was clear to all present that her reputation was already assured.

From this point, to the final descent of the curtain, the performance was a succession of triumphs. The most experienced critics were taken by surprise, by the new _prima donna’s_ conception of the part of “Alice,” exceeding, in poetic beauty, no less than in genuine dramatic power, the finest impersonation of the character that had hitherto been presented on the stage. All the stronger emotions successively called forth by the development of the varied situations, no less than the subordinate traits needed to unite them into a consistent whole, were delineated with a truthfulness that carried everything before it, reaching its natural climax in the Terzetto which immediately precedes the Finale to the Fifth Act—a scene which Mdlle. Lind made peculiarly her own. Many years afterwards, the writer ventured to remind Madame Goldschmidt that she had sung this passage with an expression with which he had never heard it invested by any other artist. “How could I tell how I sang it?” she said; “I stood at the man’s right hand, and the Fiend at his left, and all I could think of was, how to save him.”

It was this marvellous power of forgetting herself in the character she impersonated, that formed the basis of all her dramatic success. She once told Mr. Nassau Senior, who had questioned her on the subject, that it appeared to her a sort of fraud, if, when she was pretending to be “Alice,” or “Lucia,” she was thinking of herself. “I scarcely ever think of the effect I am producing,” she said; “and, if the thought does sometimes come across me, it spoils my acting. It seems to me, when I act, that I feel fully all the emotions of the character I represent. I fancy myself—in fact, believe myself—to be in her situation; and never think of the audience.”

It is interesting to compare these remarks with the story—told on page 49—of a sentimental chatterer who once asked Mdlle. Lind what she was thinking about, while she clung to the wayside Cross, in the famous scene illustrated in our woodcut. She did not even condescend to explain how completely she had been absorbed by the fears of the terrified maiden she was impersonating; but coldly answered, “I suppose I was thinking of my old bonnet.” And it is doubtful, to this day, whether her interlocutor did not entirely fail to perceive the withering scorn which underlay the answer, and take it _au grand sérieux_.

When the Opera was over, the Queen, who had repeatedly manifested her extreme satisfaction during the evening, expressed her admiration to Mr. Lumley, in a tone and manner that showed how deep an impression had been made upon her. “What a beautiful singer!” “What an actress!” “How charming!” “How delightful!” These were the exclamations that fell from the lips of Her Majesty, “whom,” said the delighted manager, “I had never before seen thus moved to enthusiasm.”[91]

In describing this interesting conversation with Her Majesty, we have been careful to repeat the exact words used by Mr. Lumley himself. But we have more to say.

From a source of the highest authority,[92] we are enabled to confirm his account of the deep impression produced upon Her Majesty. The qualities of Mdlle. Lind’s voice, at once delicate and powerful, round, soft, flexible, the charm of her appearance, her touching natural acting, and the grace of her movements, were all keenly appreciated by this accomplished musician and sensitive critic. Every one was struck by Mdlle. Lind’s acting of the scene with Bertram, where she clung to the Cross as a Divine safeguard; but, the beautiful impulse, unnoticed by many, under which she fell down on her knees, during the concluding chorus, to give thanks for Roberto’s safety, did not escape the observation of the Queen, and drew from Her Majesty an expression of warm admiration.

The whole performance, indeed, called forth one long-sustained ovation. Nothing was left to be desired. There could be no fear for the future, now, whatever attractions the rival company might put forth. The management was saved; for the triumph was as lasting as it was complete.

On the following day, the leading London newspaper criticised the performance in terms which showed an intelligent and thoroughly artistic appreciation of its merits.

“If our expectations were great, we must say that they were more than
realised. The delicious quality of the organ—the rich gushing tone—was
something entirely new and fresh. The auditors did not know what to
make of it. They had heard singers over and over again, but here, that
wondrous thing, a new sensation, was actually created. The sustained
notes, swelling with full richness, and fading down to the softest
_piano_,

without losing one iota of their quality, being delicious when loud, delicious when whispered, dwelt in the public ear, and reposed in the public heart. The shake, _mezzo voce_, with which she concluded the pretty air, ‘_Quand je quittais la Normandie_,’ was perfectly wonderful from its rapidity and equality. This air was rapturously encored, with the most enthusiastic waving of hats and handkerchiefs. Even the way in which she uttered the first two or three notes of her Romance, ‘_Va dit-elle_,’ so completely took the audience by surprise, that they interrupted her progress, and forced her to stop, by their tumultuous applause.

“And the impression she made as an actress was no less profound. There is no conventionality about her—no seizing the strong points of a character, and letting the rest drop. She acts thoroughly, with a perfect naturalness, and an infinite variety of gesture. All seems dictated by the moment, and yet all is graceful. There is no stereotyped form for love, or anger, or what not; but all has the impulse of immediate inspiration. As striking points, we may mention the clinging to the Cross when attacked by Bertram, and the expression of rapture, just before the final descent of the curtain, when she feels that she has saved Robert from perdition. Her whole conception of Alice is a fine histrionic study, of which every feature is equally good.

“On the fall of the curtain, the burst of applause showed that the anticipations of the audience had been more than satisfied. Three distinct times was Mdlle. Lind called upon the stage; and it was with a certain hearty ‘one cheer more’ sort of feeling which we have never seen so strongly manifested.”[93]