vate
life, never permitting her heart to become inflamed by the ardent
passions wherewith she glows upon the stage. She told me that she could
never comprehend the lapse from virtue of Mademoiselle R----, a woman of
such lofty talent: 'To fail thus in what was due to one's self!'"

It is pleasing to note how Roger's admiration for this great artist
extinguishes all the usual petty jealousy of a fellow-singer. He writes
thus frankly respecting a concert which they gave during their tour at
Birmingham: "It was a brilliant success, but the final triumph was borne
off by Jenny Lind, who fairly carried the audience away with her Swedish
melodies, the effect of which is really remarkable. She has a strength
of voice in the upper notes that is vast and surprising: without
screaming she produces echoes, the loud and soft notes being almost
simultaneous. In the artist's green-room she is kind and courteous
without being either mirthful or expansive. Moreover, she is
indefatigable, which is a precious quality for the manager. She never
stays at the same hotel with the rest of the troupe, which is a rather
imperial proceeding; but it is better so: we are more at our ease. She
lives her own concentrated life like some old wine that never sees the
light excepting on great occasions. I have at last found in Jenny Lind a
partner who understands me. On the stage she becomes animated; her hands
clasp mine with energy, and the thrill of dramatic fervor possesses her
whole being: she becomes thoroughly identified with her part, and yet
she never permits herself to be so carried away as to cease to be
entirely mistress of her voice."

Roger gives us some brief glimpses of Jenny Lind in private life--her
love of dancing, of which she seems to have been as passionately fond as
was Fanny Kemble in her youth, and her delight in horseback riding. He
gives a comical account of an improvised ball, in which he figured as
the prima donna's partner, on board of the steamboat going from Dublin
to Holyhead: "Unfortunately, our orchestra fell off one by one; the
music finally ceased; and when we stopped waltzing and cast an uneasy
glance around us, we beheld all our musicians, their chests pressed
against the railings, their arms extended toward the ocean, in the
pitiable attitude of Punch when knocked down by the policeman." Some
days later, during a performance of _La Fille du Regiment_ at Brighton,
in the last act, while the orchestra was playing t