ELIZABETH TAYLOR GREENFIELD.
All this was chronicled by the press, and formed the theme of constant conversation and correspondence. Many testimonials from persons in this country skilled in music and of fine general culture, as well as others from the Queen of England and several of the English nobility, were among her rich possessions, and were so great in number and so flattering in character as to have made hers almost, if indeed not altogether, an exceptional case.
These strong evidences of approval did not, however, make Miss Greenfield vain. The natural simplicity of her character remained unchanged. All the many exhibitions of great public and private admiration, and the praises that her performances constantly evoked, while of course affording her much pleasure, served mainly as impulses to newer and higher efforts in her chosen and beloved profession. Nor was her disposition less tried by the many difficulties that often formed in her pathway. Of these I need not speak here. But amidst them all this noble lady and artist was ever brave, patient, hopeful, ambitious in a certain sense, yet modest.
Fully aware of the magnificent quality of her voice, and of its phenomenal character; singing a higher and a lower note than either of her great contemporaries,—Parodi, Kate Hayes, and Jenny Lind,—she yet did not rest content, as most persons under the same circumstances would have done, with the enthusiastic plaudits elicited by her performances, but diligently applied herself to a scientific cultivation of a voice in natural power well-nigh marvellous, as well as to acquiring a scholarly knowledge of the principles of general music. In this commendable course she met with remarkable success, considering the circumstances by which she was surrounded.
And now, quoting at times largely from her "Biography," I proceed to give the following sketch of the career of this remarkable queen of song.
Elizabeth Taylor Greenfield, better known perhaps by her musical sobriquet, the "Black Swan," was born in Natchez, Miss., in the year 1809. When but a year old she was brought to Philadelphia by an exemplary Quaker lady, by whom she was carefully reared. Between these two persons there ever existed the warm affection that is felt by mother and daughter. In the year 1844 this good lady died. In her will the subject of this sketch was remembered by a substantial legacy. The will, however, formed the subject of a long legal contest; and I believe Miss Greenfield never received the bequest.
Her family name was Taylor; but, in honor of her guardian, she took the latter's name,—Greenfield.
"Previous to the death of this lady, Elizabeth had become distinguished in the limited circle in which she was known for her remarkable powers of voice. Its tender, thrilling tones often lightened the weight of age in one who was by her beloved as a mother.
"By indomitable 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, improvised 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 neighborhood 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 keyboard 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 sang; 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 Price, 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."