THE LIND FEVER.
Since we have heard Jenny Lind, we have come to conceive of the seductions against which, as Homer tells, Ulysses was driven to take such extraordinary measures of resistance. If the actions of men be dependent upon their feelings, and if vehement emotions carry them ever and anon beyond the control of sober judgment, it is fortunate that the Scandinavian Syren does not ask us to commit follies; for verily I see not how one is to avoid swearing fealty to a creature so bewitching, be it for good or for evil. Let a man, cr woman either, have but a scrap of poetical feeling within them; let them own never so slender an amount of the imaginative faculty, or of suscep- tibility to the touch of true art, -and I will answer for it they will be kindled at the sound of Jenny's celestial organ. Whether as the expression of joy, sorrow, meditation, invocation to an unseen power, or thankfulness, her ductile and elo- quent voice pours forth its various mission with a truth of inspiration character- istic of genuine nature; penetrating to the heart of the listener, quickening the thousand pulses of the ravished soul. If I talk too enthusiastically, I believe I shall, at any rate, not lack company
in my extravagance; for the impression made by Jenny Lind on her audience on Monday last should seem to warrant a somewhat full measure of hypu- bole on the part of those who would describe the scene. I was of number of those who went to London expressly to hear Mademoiselle Lind sing at M. Thalberg's concert. Though no stranger to her performances, having witnessed them on the stage of Her Majesty's Theatre several times, I had not heard her sing in a room, nor in other music 'than that of the Italian school. Unaccompanied, save by the subdued chords of the pianoforte, touched by Thal- berg. himself; Jenny first delivered the impressive "preghiem" from Webees Fretschiits, in so pure a style, and one withal so pregnant with feeling and ear- nest passion, that the audience were fairly enthralled by the songstress, and mur- murs of responsive admiration might be heard amidst the crowd. This air is one of the most difficult and trying of its class, and to sing it effectively demands the rarest gifts on the part of the artist. The entire simplicity of its structure forbids the exhibition of ornament; whilst the science required in dealing with its modulations puts the talent of the singer to the severest trial. I do not think I ever heard \Veber's air so finely interpreted. It might have reached the heart of Louis Quatorze himself, and arrested the course of his egoism for a space. Of the " Lezione di Canto "-I will not speak farther than to regret the application of Lind's rare powers to a paltry exhibition of agility and tours de force; selected, probably, with a view to please the vulgar' —of whom, by the way, I do not believe any considerable number were present. But the Swedish melodies wound up the audience to the highest pitch of all, and your humble servant among the rest. The first bore the most striking imprint of nationality one can imagine. It first dashes off with a bold jocund melody, suited to the meaning, i.e. an in- vitation to the dance. The measure is peculiarly rythmical and staccato; ter- minating, after sundry agreeable passages, in trills and turns of a sparkling viva- cious character; all which being executed to perfection, one is left in a delightful state of excitement. The " Tra lira la," in short, is unmistakeably Scandina- vian; and you may persuade yourself that you scent its pine forest and moon Min origin whilst listening to it. Finally, came the " Alpen lied "—the herds- man—or maiden, as it may be—seeking and calling to his straying cattle among the hills and rocks. This scene, too, was brought sensibly before the imagination by the witchery of Jenny Lind's dramatic power. The composition has in itself much musical merit; and when to this is superadded Lind's rich volume of tone, her seizing of the picturesque effect, as you may say, or pastoral colouring of the song, and lastly the soft dying close (when the flocks are safely housed at the farm); add all this, I say, and the hearer yields him- self up a willing captive to the charm of musical illusion, being borne in fancy far away, to the artist's own fatherland. The admiration which followed the per- formance of these pieces appeared to me to be both profound and universal. People said to one another, "I never experienced so much emotion in my life from hearing the human voice!" But herein lies the spell of Jenny Lind's power: she does contrive so to stir and kindle one's sensibility, that one is carried away by an impulse of grateful homage towards the fair songstress, to whom we owe a brief 'communion with the skies."
A word respecting the other artists, whose efforts concurred with those of Jenny
Lind in rendering the concert attractive. The three great bassi acquitted them- selves extremely well of their parts in the programme, as did also Signor Gardoni; and on an indifferent occasion their singing would have produced a full meed of praise. But people came, on this, to see and hear another; and "all the king's horses and all the king's men" had been useless to set any other idol "upon the wall again" before them. And this brings me to the nominal hero of the day, the truly great Thalberg; whose light, brilliant though it be, shared the common fate, and was condemned to shine less brightly on this day than it ought to have done. For sure am I, that never did mortal man more richly deserve to be the object of admiration and pleasure than hi. Thal berg on Monday morning. Not only was his performance such as to vindicate his title to the lint place among living pianoforte-players—yes, I say advisedly, thefiest place —but the talent displayed in the composition of his new Tarantella was immense, and well fitted to increase the renown of its author. Far from consisting in extravagant digital difficulties alone, the melodies introduced were original, pi- quant, and captivating to the ear. It was not quite pleasant to behold such an artist as Timlberg placed in a situation to be less appreciated than he merited to be: yet such is the inevitable fate of him who stands at Jenny Lind's side before the eager public of London. I honour M. Thalberg in the belief that he not only bears, but rejoices in, Mademoiselle Lind's popularity; and feel consoled to think that he can afford to rejoice in the success of younger aspirants for fame, having
himself been long so confessedly a leading °nutmeat of his time. Rusymus.
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