Miss Elizabeth Taylor Greenfield, or the “Black Swan,” to adopt her musical agnomen, was born at Natchez, Mississippi. She was born in bondage. Her father was a full African; white and Indian blood flowed in her mother’s veins.
When but one year old her mistress, Mrs. Elizabeth Greenfield, removed to Philadelphia, and joined the Society of Friends, manumitting the few slaves whom she had not previously accompanied and comfortably settled in Liberia. Several of these would not be separated from their beloved and venerated mistress, and among them her especial favourite, the gifted subject of these pages.
In 1844 her mistress died, at the advanced age of nearly one hundred years, and in her will Elizabeth was remembered by a substantial legacy, sufficient to make her comfor for life; but the will was contested, and yet remains the subject of judicial investigation.
Previous to the death of her mistress, Elizabeth had become distinguished in the limited circle in which she was known for her remarkable power of voice. Its tender and thrilling tones often lightened the weight of age in one who was to her beloved as a mother. How deeply she grieved that she could receive no culture from art. Neither the remarkable compass of her voice, nor the wonder of her high and low notes, nor the proffer of thirty dollars per quarter, when the standard price was ten, could induce a Professor to include her among his pupils. The admission of a coloured pupil would have jeopardized his success.
By indomi perseverance she surmounted difficulties almost invincible. At first she taught herself crude accompaniments to her songs, and intuitively perceiving the agreement or disagreement of them, improvvisared and repeated, until there was heard floating upon the air a very “lovely song of one that had a pleasant voice, and could play well upon a”—guitar.
There dwelt in the neighbourhood of Mrs. Greenfield a physician, humane and courteous; capable, too, of distinguishing and appreciating merit and genius, under whatever prejudices and disadvantages they were presented. His daughter, herself an amateur in the science of harmonious sounds, heard of Elizabeth’s peculiar structure of mind. Miss Price invited her to her house. She listened with delighted surprise to her songs. She offered to accompany her upon the guitar. This was a concurrence of circumstances which formed the era of her life. Her pulses quickened as she stood and watched the fair Anglo-Saxon fingers of her young patroness run over the key board of a full-toned piano-forte, eliciting sweet, sad, sacred, solemn sounds. Emotion well nigh overcame her; but the gentle encouragement of her fair young friend dissipated her fears and increased her confidence. She sung; and before she had finished she was surrounded by the astonished inmates of the house, who, attracted by the remarkable compass and sweetness of her voice, stealthily entered the room, and now, unperceived, stood gathered behind her. The applause which followed the first trial before this small, but intelligent audience, gratified as much as it embarrassed her, from the unexpected and sudden surprise. She not only received an invitation to repeat her visit, but Miss P., for a reasonable compensation, undertook her instruction in the first rudiments of music. The progress of genius is not like that of common minds. It is needless to say that her improvement was very rapid.
Her kind mistress lived to see her become an object of musical interest to the widening circle of her acquaintance.
She began to receive invitations to entertain private parties, by the exhibition of the gift which the God of nature had bestowed upon her. She proffered its aid to advance the cause of various charities, and on benefit occasions.
Upon the death of her mistress, in consequence of the contested will, she found herself thrown upon her own resources for a maintenance. Remembering some friends in the western part of New York, she resolved to visit them; while crossing Lake Seneca, en route to Buffalo, there came sweetly stealing upon the senses of the passengers of the steamer—her rich, full, round, clear voice, unmarred by any flaw. The lady passengers, especially the noble Mrs. Gen. P., feeling that the power and sweetness of her voice deserved attention, urged her to sing again, and were not satisfied until five or six more songs were given to them. Before reaching their destined port she had made many friends. The philanthropic Mrs. Gen. P., became her friend and patroness. She at once invited Elizabeth to her splendid mansion in Buffalo, and learning her simple story, promptly advised her to devote herself entirely to the science of music. During her visit a private party was given by this lady, to which all the élite of the city were invited. Elizabeth acquitted herself so admirably, that two days after a card of invitation came to her through the public press, signed by the prominent gentlemen of Buffalo, requesting her to give a series of concerts.
She sang before the Buffalo Musical Association, and her performances were received with marks of approbation from the best musical talent in the city, that established her reputation as a songstress. Give the “Black Swan,” said they, the cultivation and experience of the fair Swede, or Md’lle Parodi, and she will rank favourably with those popular singers, who have carried the nation into captivity by their rare musical abilities. Her voice has a full round sound, and is of immense compass and depth. She strikes every note in a clear and well defined manner, and reaches the highest capacity of the human voice with wonderful ease, and apparently an entire want of exertion. Beginning with G in the bass clef she runs up the scale to E in the treble clef, and gives each note its full power and tone. She commences at the highest note and runs down the scale with the same ease that she strikes any other lower note. The fact that she accomplishes this with no apparent exertion is surprising, and fixes at once the marvellous strength of her vocal organs. Her voice is wholly natural, and, as might be expected, lacks the training and exquisite cultivation that belongs to the skilful Italian singer. But the voice is there; and as a famous mæstro once said, “It takes a hundred things to make a complete singer, of which a good voice is ninety-nine.” If this be so, Miss Greenfield is on the verge of excellence, and it remains for the public to decide whether she shall have the means to pursue her studies.