Chapter II: Wanderings at Ease

We have, now, reached the date at which we broke off the story of our heroine, after her farewell to the Opera, while we paused to recall her social intimacies in England, and, then, to recover the thread of those inward motives, which led, from far back in her life, to her final act in abandoning the stage. We are, now, in full possession of her mind and can set out, once again, with her, on the path along which her career, for the future, carries her. It is needless to enter upon the inward troubles that necessarily followed the severe crisis through which she has passed. Gradually her old self stole back to her. She began to delight in the scenery of Paris, which, in May, is enchanting. She had long walks in the Tuileries, and drives in the Bois de Boulogne; and “could have listened for hours,” writes Mr. Senior, “to the nightingales. She has paid great attention to the habits of singing-birds, and told us stories of their shyness and coquetry and of the manner in which she used to get them to sing by pretending not to attend to them.”[148] She called on Meyerbeer; she gave a musical lesson every morning to a Swedish girl, Miss Ebeling.

She sang for an hour at the piano, at a five o’clock tea, ending with the farewell song in the _Vestale_. “You have sometimes asked me which is my best part—it is the _Vestale_,” she said to Mr. Senior. She went to the _Prophète_, but got quickly tired of it, and came home after the second act. She sang one evening at the house of the Swedish minister, exciting, according to Mrs. Grote’s diary, “the most extravagant admiration.”

Altogether, she found herself enjoying the blessed sense of freedom from anxiety and the hurry of work, and was beginning to welcome the many experiences which Paris could give. But, suddenly, in June, a sad event threw her into grief. She had met Madame Catalani, and had sung to her in a way that delighted that renowned singer;[149] but, on Mrs. Grote calling to leave cards, before their departure from Paris, Madame Catalani was found to be dead, stricken suddenly of cholera. Mdlle. Lind was profoundly distressed; the shock quite unnerved her; she could not rest until they had all got away from Paris, and its horrible cholera.

It was thus that the whole party fled to Amiens, including her guardian, Judge Munthe, who had come from Stockholm to consult and advise. With him she continued her journey through Brussels to Cologne. And here a crisis occurred, which she shall tell in her own words. They were written in a long letter, to Madame Wichmann, from Schlangenbad, July 11, which shall be given almost entire; for it reviews the whole matter which we have been following out, and it reveals her inner feelings and convictions after all that she had gone through. It begins by many apologies for not writing before.

“Really I could write volumes! But it is just this which makes
writing, to me, so detestable—that, in reality, one can convey so
little by it! I have lately gone through much, my dearest Amalia, and
should like to recount it to you from my innermost heart; but not to
put it all down on paper.... Things and experiences approached me
which deeply affected my peace of mind. Everything in my innermost
heart remained undecided for a long time. I did not know what to
write. I was very near to marrying. But again it came to nothing; and
I believe this was the best, for there were things that did not please
me, and I should probably not have been made happy....

“Oh dear! I am once more myself: and I feel that I have many other
duties, and great duties, to fulfil towards others—though the finest,
the most sacred of all—I mean, a mother’s love, is forbidden—nay!
denied to me!

“I could have wished for this feeling: for it would have given me the
resting-place, of which I stand in need: and where, I fancy, I could
have achieved something good, owing to the varied experiences, which
through life I have gained already.

“But dearest soul! I am happy all the same! Inexpressibly happy: for
have I not been favoured by fate with much more than I deserve, such
as is vouchsafed to few here on earth!...

“I left London for Paris, where I tumbled into the most fearful
cholera epidemic. Thither my dear guardian came, in order that I might
have a trusty soul about me. Then on June 13th we went to Brussels,
and from there to Cologne, and have looked at the Rhine. Old father
Rhine! how glorious it is, and ever will be! Well, I had meanwhile
sent my Swedish lady to London to pack up; and to have my things sent
to Sweden. But one day I went to see a renowned doctor at Coblentz, to
consult him about my shattered nerves. He examined my head, and also
my heart (which are, both, terribly fatigued), and then told me that,
unless I nursed myself properly now, I should be liable to break down
completely when I took up work again. He has utterly forbidden me to
sing for six or eight months: and has sent me here for a fortnight, in
preparation for four weeks at Ems. After Ems I am free until after
October. But I wish to spend next winter in Sweden, where I have many
matters to arrange.

“Dear, kind, Amalia! could not we meet somewhere? Are you not in need
of Ems? Could we not go to Switzerland? ... or shall I come to Berlin
or will you come to Ems? or are we not to meet at all???? I have just
received a letter from London, confirming the news of —— ——
re-appearance! I am much surprised at this. May a gracious God
preserve me from such a calamity as to come before the public as an
old lady! Rather bread and water! While in Paris, I saw Meyerbeer, and
his new opera. I was glad to see him again, for he has always been
very good to me: but I prefer his earlier operas.

“Will you please remember me to old Frau Beer? And how is dear
Professor Werder? Has he completely forgotten me? And old Frau
Schrœder?” (the porter’s wife at the Wichmanns’ house). “I love a
person like that immensely! I know nothing more beautiful than such a
faithful old being, going about in a family, who really lives only in
taking interest in what concerns her master’s family, and in feeling
for them and with them! Greet this dear old soul; and also good Nanke:
and Frederic (the man-servant). It was my happiest time when I saw all
this daily before me! If I send no greetings to my Professor, or my
beloved brothers, it is because it goes without saying. Everything
that I have written here to you, is meant also for the father and his
sons. God protect you all!

“Send a friendly answer, and then I shall know that you _never_ could
have doubted that I remain for ever and ever,

“Your faithful, and sincerely loving,
“JENNY LIND.”

The doubt that she refers to, arose from the long silence, for which the early part of the letter overwhelmingly apologises—an apology that has very frequently to be repeated in the course of Jenny Lind’s correspondence.

The doctor’s verdict shows how merciful it was that she had not had the strain of another opera season in London laid upon her. The fatigue of the shattered nerves may, no doubt, have been partly due to the agonies of the conflict with Lumley, and of the decision in the matter of her marriage. But, still, the tired heart and tired head, of which she spoke at Norwich, were evidently no fancy of her own, but very serious facts. She had been hard at work for so many years: and was now thoroughly exhausted.

On July 14th she wrote to Madame Birch-Pfeiffer one of the confidential outpourings, which tell so much. In it, she says—

“What do you say of my having left the stage? I cannot tell you in
words how happy I feel about it. I shall sing in concerts so long as I
have a voice; but that only gives me pleasure; and in this way I shall
be able to work at least five years longer; and that is necessary for
me, as, for the last twelve months, I have sung only for institutions
and charities. Without a beautiful goal, one cannot endure life. At
least, _I_ cannot. I have begun to sing what has long been the wish of
my heart—Oratorio. There I can sing the music I love; and the words
make me feel a better being. See! dear mother! my career, in the
future, will take this direction; and my favourite idea be realised.”

From Schlangenbad she wrote to Madame Mendelssohn, apparently for the first time since his death. And soon after this letter, she paid her a visit at Creuznach on the Rhine: and another affectionate letter followed the visit: so that her long silence, since the death, was entirely explained, and the old memories came to a kind and satisfying close. She hoped still to work on behalf of the Mendelssohn scholarships.

To Ems, for the present, she went from Schlangenbad: and, according to reports that reached Mrs. Grote, appeared soon to be in excellent health and in high spirits, enjoying a dance whenever opportunity offered. It was from Ems, on the 8th of August, that she wrote a long letter again to Madame Birch-Pfeiffer full of the deepest personal interest. In it, she discloses her own interpretation of the strange animation that had followed on her exhausting struggles. Here are some extracts:—

“DEAREST MOTHER B.!

“You ask me, ‘Are you, then, going to be married?’ I answer, ‘No!
never!’ I have, indeed, greatly wished for it, for few have more
strongly than I, the real inner feeling of a wife: and a deep blessing
it would have been to me to have called a child ‘my own.’ And I had
got very, very near to it lately in England, my dear mother! but——”

And, then, she tells how many things told against it—how the young man was too young, and too gentle; and how his mother was impossible: and how her whole art was a shut book to him: and yet how he touched her just because he embodied the English character, with its religious purity: “Ah! dear mother, I love with my whole soul the English character!” But it has ended; they have parted, and, now, it seems to her as if the affair had done her good, rather than harm:

“It has passed over my soul like a beneficent storm which has broken
down all the hard shell of my being, and has set free many green
plants to find their way to the dear sun! So that, now I am always
clothed in green like the fairest hope! And I see quite clearly how
infinitely much there is for me to do with my life; and I have only
one prayer, that I may yet live long, and that, in the evening of my
life, I may be able to show a pure soul to God.

“I am going quietly back to Sweden for next winter, to take fresh
measures on behalf of my school, and to wed myself wholly to
well-doing, for which I am, finally, born, since it is the sense of
man’s worth which has ever drawn me most strongly, and has most richly
filled my soul; and, if only I can come at all near my aims in this,
then no one is more to be envied than I!

“You see, my future lies clear in front of me, my dear friend and
mother!”

She goes on to ask, with devoted affection, for news of Minni (Madame Birch-Pfeiffer’s daughter, who has kindly furnished us with this and other letters), to whom she pledges herself in life-long sisterhood. And, at the end, she closes thus—

“Mother, I am glad and grateful from morning to night! I do not feel
lonely: and have no trace of ennui: and only find the days fly by too
horribly quick. I have a blitheness in my soul, which strains towards
heaven! I am like a bird; I do not feel the least changed, quite the
contrary; and the ‘summa summarum’ is that I have won the greatest
profit out of both outer and inner misfortune; and can thank God that
I know what trouble is! All makes at last for good! God does not die,
dear mother.”

Her doctor, then, advised a grape-cure, at Meran in Tyrol, to complete her recovery: and thither she sets herself to draw the Wichmanns, proposing all sorts of ways by which they might all meet there. “You must not put yourselves out, dearest,” she writes to Madame Wichmann; “but it would be delicious if you did resolve to come to Meran.” She proposes to be there from the middle of September to the middle of October. And, finally, they did all settle together at Ober-Mais, a village just above Meran. Thither offers pursued her, as we learn from a letter of Herr Büttner, a Frankfort merchant who kindly looked after her many affairs in South Germany, to Herr Munthe, her guardian.

“Mdlle. Jenny Lind has safely arrived at Meran, and is well and happy
there. _From everywhere_ they try to get our dear friend. A very big
offer has come from England, higher than ever, and with every sort of
guarantee. Last week an American has gone from here to Meran in order
to induce her to go to New York. Well! such an artist has never before
existed! May heaven grant her good health and inward contentment!”

This was not the first time that America had crossed her mind. Already on the 13th of June, while in Paris, in a letter to Madame Schwabe, she begs her to ask Mr. Schwabe what his views would be on the possibility of her giving concerts in America. But nothing yet is settled. The whole party returned together in October, by way of Voralberg to Frankfort; and, after parting there with her dear friends, she was taken from Frankfort to· Hamburg, where she was to sing in some concerts. She wrote touchingly from there of the joy she had had in the intimacy of the Wichmanns during the stay at Meran together. The letter is dated October 29th.

“MY OWN DEAREST AMALIA—

“... I was greatly overcome when you all were gone! I am, certainly,
accustomed to be alone; but I knit myself too quickly to people whom I
love, and cannot, then, believe that I must lose them again! I had got
so used to enjoying the happiness of being in your helpful
companionship, and of seeing your domestic love, that I was sad indeed
for the whole of Sunday! You dear good people! To think that you
should permit me to be a partner in your happiness! You cannot think
how grateful I am for all this, dearest!”

At Hamburg, a summons came to her, through the Wichmanns, from the King of Prussia, Frederick William IV., who had made her his Chamber-singer in 1847,[150] that she should come to Berlin, and sing to him and the Queen, on the Queen’s birthday. Her loyal soul was touched by the message; she wrote back to Madame Wichmann, with kindled feeling:—

“How deeply your letter went home to me, I cannot really tell you! It
cannot but move my very heart to think that His Majesty the King
should be so gracious to me, and I shall account it the greatest joy
if I can succeed in giving even the slightest pleasure to the Queen by
my singing.... Pray tell Count Redern (through whom the request came)
that I gladly obey the King’s desire, and will be in Berlin by the
19th of this month (November).

“Ah! dear Amalia (so she closes her letter) I long after you all! It
remains true that it is with you, and yours, that I have spent the
happiest days in my life!”

She sang in several concerts, during this November and December in Hamburg; and one of these, with full orchestra, in the “Grosse Tonhalle” on November 22nd was given by Mr. Otto Goldschmidt, of whom she saw a good deal at this time. They did much music together. He played, and she sang; the memory of Mendelssohn was a strong common bond between them. Mr. Goldschmidt began to persuade her to sing again those songs of Mendelssohn’s which, for two years, she had found it impossible for her to touch. He was charged with the musical spirit of his great master: and she recognised this. It was at this time that she received so distinct an impression of his gifts, that it was of him she first thought when, two years later, on her American tour, she found herself in want of one who could make up for the loss of Julius Benedict. So this visit to Hamburg was quietly “making history” for her after-life.

When the day of departure drew near, she was amused and delighted to find an express messenger sent by the royal authority to convey her to Berlin in the shape of W. Taubert, the distinguished Hof-Capellmeister, who had always been most friendly to her, and in whom she greatly delighted. “I cannot help laughing with joy when I think of seeing that dear man Taubert to-morrow. I confess that it gives me huge pleasure!” So she wrote to “Amalia.”

To Berlin she came, under these happy conditions, staying in the beloved house of the Wichmanns: and singing before King and Queen.

In the meantime, another King was pressing her hard to reverse her deep-seated decision, and to feel once again the boards under her feet. The pressure came in a form that would touch her profoundly. It was an appeal from her own King, Oscar I. of Sweden, to give a lift to her old home, the Royal Theatre at Stockholm, at the time of the festivities that were to be held, in the spring of 1850, on the occasion of the marriage of the Crown Prince Charles, afterwards King Charles XV. She was Court Singer; and in the service, therefore, of the King. And moreover, the appeal was transmitted through her old master Herr Berg, who had come across from Sweden, in November, on this mission, to meet her at Hamburg. The strength of her determination could not be more severely tested. Her innate loyalty, patriarchal in its simplicity, her home affections, her patriotism, her devotion to her old master, her deep instincts of obedience to authority—all radical elements woven into the very fibre of her character—must have all conspired to move her. Yet there is no record or sign of her having wavered for even a moment. We do not know that she consulted her friends. Her indecision, at momentous crises, was apt to betray her into many fluctuations, and to leave numerous traces behind it. But, on this occasion, there is not a note. We only know that Herr Berg was powerless. He had to retire, sailing home again from Lübeck on the 7th of December, whither she courteously escorted him herself. A kindly letter, written on December 25th, in autograph, from the King closed the attempt:—

“The Court-singer Berg has, on his return, informed me of the
willingness with which you, Fröken Lind, have declared yourself ready
to appear, next year, at several concerts, in order that by your
brilliant talent, you may render powerful assistance to our theatre. I
recognise, in this, a fresh proof of Fröken Lind’s patriotic feelings,
and of her warm sympathy with the advancement of Swedish Lyric Art;
and I consider it a pleasant duty to express how keenly I appreciate
this decision which is as disinterested as it is admirable. I look
forward to seeing Fröken Lind amongst us again next spring, and remain
with sincere goodwill,

“Yours graciously,
“OSCAR.”

It is, indeed, a gracious letter, for the little word “Lyric,” which occurs in it, is the signal that the original request, that she should allow herself to recur to the Opera, had not been conceded. Not King nor Country could induce her to reverse a conviction which had gone down to the roots of her being.