Ten Girls from History

by Kate Dickinson Sweetser

The words meant nothing to Jenny, but they struck terror to the heart of the mother, to whose old-fashioned notions the stage was another name for ruin. In vain the actress pleaded that it would be a sin to allow such talent to be wasted,—still Fru Lind shook her head, and the actress diplomatically argued no more, but by eager questions learned the history of Jenny's family.

Being the wife of an amiable and good-natured man who was unable to support his family, Fru Lind was obliged to keep a small school in Stockholm to eke out expenses, and as she had not time to take care of Jenny as well as teach, the child had for three years been boarded out with a church organist's family not far from the city, but had finally been brought back, to become a pupil in her mother's school, being cared for mainly by her grandmother, to whom Jenny was devotedly attached. All this Mademoiselle Lundberg learned from answers to her questions, and seeing her keen interest, the mother continued her narrative, "It was my mother who first noticed Jenny's voice," she said. "Some street musicians had been playing in front of the house and the child must have heard them and listened closely, for as soon as they were gone, she went to the piano and played and sang the air she had heard. My mother in the next room, hearing the music, thought Jenny's half sister was at the piano, and called out, 'Amalia, is that you?' Jenny, evidently fearing she had done something to be punished for, crept under the piano, where my mother found her and pulling her out, exclaimed, 'Why, child, was that you?'" Jenny said that it was, and as soon as Fru Lind came in, the grandmother gleefully told her daughter the incident, adding, "Mark my words, that child will bring you help," and the mother, struggling so hard to make ends meet, devoutly hoped that the prediction might come true.

Soon after that as her school did not pay, Fru Lind became a governess, and the grandmother went to the Widows' Home, taking Jenny with her. The child, who was too young to realise what such a step meant, was as happy as could be there; as she said afterwards, "I sang with every step I took, and with every jump my feet made," and when she was not jumping or stepping, she sat in the window singing to her big pet pussy cat. All this the mother told Mademoiselle Lundberg, who again begged that Jenny at least be taught to sing correctly, to which Fru Lind agreed, and the actress at once wrote a letter of introduction to Herr Croelius, the court Secretary, and singing master at the Royal Theatre, and gave it to Fru Lind. Off went mother and daughter to present it, but when they reached the Opera House and were about to mount its steps, Fru Lind shook her head, and turned back—she could not launch her child on any such career.

But here Jenny became insistent, for from all the conversation she had heard between her mother and the actress, she had gathered that mounting those steps would mean something new and interesting, and at last she had her way. They sought and found the studio of Croelius, and Jenny sang for him a bit from one of Winter's operas, and the teacher, deeply moved by the purity and strength of the child's voice, at once set a date for her first lesson with him.

After only a few lessons, Croelius became so proud of his pupil that he took her to sing for Count Pücke, manager of the Court Theatre, hoping that this powerful man might be so impressed with the child's voice that he would do something to push her forward quickly into public notice. One can picture the interview between Count Pücke, businesslike and abrupt, and little Jenny, then plainly dressed and awkward, far from pretty, and too bashful even to lift her eyes to meet the keen glance of the Count. Looking coldly from her to Croelius, the Count asked:

"How old is she?"

"Nine years old," answered Croelius.

"Nine!" echoed the Count. "Why, this is not a nursery. It is the king's theatre."

Then with another glance at Jenny he asked coldly, "What should we do with such an ugly creature? See what feet she has, and then her face! She will never be presentable. Certainly we can't take such a scarecrow."

Croelius, indignant at such brutality, put a protecting arm around the girl and said proudly, "If you will not take her, I, poor as I am, will myself have her educated for the stage," and turning, was about to leave the room when the Count commanded him to remain and let him hear what the child could do.