NEW TRIUMPHS AT BERLIN.

How strangely our forebodings are sometimes justified by after events quite beyond conception at the time they were uttered.

While Mdlle. Lind was most painfully under the influence of the terror with which she had once looked forward to her visit to London, she had written to Madame Wichmann:—

“Vienna, March 26, 1847.

“I must really go to London. Will you send me a few words to Munich, by the next mail? I shall soon be there, staying with the Kaulbachs.

“How beautifully everything has gone with me, here in Vienna! And, how nice it would be for me, if I had not to go to London. But, perhaps, even that may have its good side!”[103]

It had indeed had its good side; and the prophecy that had been uttered in the bitterness of anxiety, had been most gloriously fulfilled—as she herself confessed, when she wrote:—

“London, August 12, 1847.

“How delighted I am that I have finished here! For it is better to look back upon the accomplishment of so great a thing, than to look forward to it. The English public has been unexampled in its kindness to me.”

Truly, it had been very kind to her; and she had richly deserved it. The arrangement had been perfectly fair, on both sides. She had proved herself worthy of the recognition accorded to her by the public; and the public had proved itself worthy of her.

We left her on board the _John Bull_; waving an affectionate good-bye to her English friends, Mr. and Mrs. Grote, and Mr. Lumley; and looking forward to an equally affectionate greeting from the dear ones from whom she had parted, in the previous autumn, at Berlin, whither she was now wending her way, in fulfilment of a brief engagement at the Royal Opera-House, before her return to Stockholm.

As early as the 25th of July, she had written, to Madame Wichmann:—

“A few days ago, I received a very nice letter from Küstner. You know how friendly he always was to me. I am quite sure that he is an honest and good man; and I shall write—which is a great deal from me!—to tell him that I cannot stay long in Berlin, or sing more than twice or three times at the utmost, as I leave England so late—not until nearly the end of September. We cannot, therefore, be long together, dearly beloved, as I must get to Sweden before the weather becomes too unfavourable.

“Do you know, the Professor’s likeness of me[104] has pleased the Queen immensely—and now I come to you to ask a very great favour. Lablache is also so enchanted with the portrait, that I have been obliged to promise him that I will ask the Professor to let him have a copy of it. I shall be eternally obliged if my Professor will let me have a little head—you know well what I mean: _my_ head—for Lablache. He will be here till the middle of August. Ah! I entreat you, do me this great kindness. He has begged so hard for it.

“We are quite well. I am altogether beside myself with enchantment for England.”[105]

And again, on the 30th of September:—

“I leave my beloved England, next Thursday, the 5th. I cannot, however, tell the exact day of my arrival in Berlin. I will write again from Hamburg.”

How different was the greeting now awaiting her in the Prussian capital, from that with which she had been received on her first appearance there, in the winter of 1844!

Then, all had been uncertainty. Vague expectation, on the part of the public; despondency, of the most painful kind, on that of the _débutante_. And now, what a change had taken place! There was no more doubt. The triumph was assured. Her reception in Berlin, on this, her third visit, seemed to include within itself all the enthusiasm that had been gradually gaining new strength through the experiences of the two preceding years.

Herr Rellstab’s account of the final farewell to the Berlin stage, which took place, on the occasion of Mdlle. Lind’s benefit, on the 17th of October, 1847, after she had sung twice, in _La Figlia del Reggimento_, and once, in _Der Freischütz_, exceeded in warmth even that given by his English _confrères_.

“_La Sonnambula!_” he says, “Jenny Lind’s benefit! Such a performance— how could it have been otherwise?—must of necessity awaken a sympathy, and attract a concourse, the like of which has not often been recorded in the history of our theatre. We should have told of a deep joy, filled with such splendours, such magnificence, as can only accompany a high festival of highest Art, had it not been that our feeling was, in truth, less that of tumultuous joy than of real sorrow. It was, after all, that which we had been told it would be—the last evening on which this unique, this unapproachable artist, would appear before us on her field of victory, the stage—the last evening, at least, in so far as a German audience was concerned. A winter of rest in her own country; a farewell visit to magnificent Albion, the rich offerings of whose splendour had been laid at her feet; and then—the course of the purest star that has ever guided us by its light to the Heaven of Art will reach its close.

“If anything can give us consolation, in this too early and irreparable loss now mourned by Art, it must be sought for in the divine thought uttered by Goethe, on the occasion of Schiller’s death:—

“‘It is good for us, that he was taken in the fulness, in the splendour of life; for mortals rest in our memory, as they were when they left the earth. Therefore it is, that Achilles remains with us, an ever-dying youth.’

“And gratefully will every wish for that which is good and best, follow the departing guest; whether the steps of her future life lead to still greater heights of publicity; or, to the still valleys of a retired existence, which often afford a purer, if a less exciting form of happiness.

“L. RELLSTAB.”[106]

And so, on that memorable night, the great “Berlin period” passed out of the artist’s life, like a marvellous, an almost incomprehensible dream. Passed out of her life, and out of the lives of her audience, of her admirers, of her fellow-worshippers at the shrine of Art, never to be renewed, and yet, more certainly still, never to be forgotten. The last note had been sung,[107] and the last word said. But, the word that dwelt longest in the memory of her to whom it was addressed had not been spoken at the Royal Opera-House, but, at the Palace of Sans Souci—not by the people, but by the King of Prussia. Following the example of the Emperor of Austria, King Frederick William IV. of Prussia, after a Court Concert given on the 16th of October, appointed Mdlle. Lind his _Kammersängerin_—his Chamber-Vocalist; and wrote, to inform her of the fact, in terms strangely simple, compared with the tone of those in which such decrees are usually promulgated:—

“I cannot deny myself the satisfaction of adding my own acknowledgment to the universal recognition which your rare talent and perfect mastery over the Art of Song have commanded, and I wish to prove this to you by herewith appointing you my Chamber-Vocalist.

“Sans Souci, October 16, 1847. (Signed) “FRIEDRICH WILHELM, R.

“An Demoiselle Jenny Lind.”[108]

On the same day, His Majesty made known his command to Graf von Redern in the following brief but expressive words:—

“I have appointed the singer, Jenny Lind, to be my Chamber-Singer; and have thought it right that you should be hereby made acquainted with the fact.

(Signed) “FRIEDRICH WILHELM.[109]

“Sans Souci, October 16, 1847.”

The explanation of this memorandum is that, in the natural order of things, the notification of the King’s desire should have been formally conveyed to Mdlle. Lind through the agency of Count Redern; but, in this case, as we have already seen, His Majesty, departing from customary etiquette, had enriched the compliment with an additional grace, by addressing the letter containing the necessary announcement to Mdlle. Lind herself.

And, bearing with her this honourable patent, so frankly given, and so nobly won, Mdlle. Lind left Berlin, on the 19th of October; sang once in _Die Regimentstochter_, at the Stadt-Theatre, at Hamburg, on the 20th; and, immediately afterwards, proceeded to Stockholm, in fulfilment of philanthropic intentions which will be described in detail in our next chapter.