ct, and offering to pay two thousand
pounds forfeit. This was refused, and the matter went into the courts
afterward, resulting in twenty-five hundred pounds damages awarded to
the disappointed manager.

Berlin enthusiasm ran so high that the manager was compelled to reengage
her at the rate of four thousand pounds per year, with two months'
_conge_. The difficulty of gaining admission into the theatre, even when
she had appeared upward of a hundred nights, was so great, that it was
found necessary, in order to prevent the practice of jobbing in tickets,
which was becoming very prevalent, to issue them according to the
following directions, which were put forth by the manager: "Tickets must
be applied for on the day preceding that for which they are required,
by letter, signed with the applicant's proper and Christian name,
profession, and place of abode, and sealed with wax, bearing the
writer's initials with his arms. No more than one ticket can be
granted to the same person; and no person is entitled to apply for two
consecutive nights of the enchantress's performance." Her reputation and
the public admiration swelled month by month. Mendelssohn engaged her
for the musical festival at Aix-La-Chapelle, where he was the conductor,
and was so delighted with her singing that he said, "There will not be
born in a whole century another being so largely gifted as Jenny Lind."
The Emperor of Russia offered her fifty-six thousand francs a month for
five months (fifty-six thousand dollars), a sum then rarely equaled in
musical annals.

The correspondent of the "London Athenaeum" gave an interesting sketch
of the feeling she created in Frankfort:

"Dine where you would, you heard of Jenny Lind, when she was coming,
what she would sing, how much she was to be paid, who had got places,
and the like; so that, what with the _exigeant_ English dilettanti
flying at puzzled German landlords with all manner of Babylonish
protestations of disappointment and uncertainty, and native High
Ponderosities ready to trot in the train of the enchantress where she
might please to lead, with here and there a dark-browed Italian prima
donna lowering, Medea-like, in the background, and looking daggers
whenever the name of 'Questa Linda!' was uttered--nothing, I repeat, can
be compared to the universal excitement, save certain passages ('green
spots' in the memory of many a dowager Berliner) when enthusiasts rushed
to drink Champagne out of Sontag