On a walk-through of the Bartow-Pell house, the guide confessed to wanting to tell us all about Anne Hutchinson. Apparently he is about Anne the way I am about Jenny Lind. I don't remember first hearing of Jenny Lind. She was a figure along with George Washington and Ichabod Crane who regularly populated the conversation at my family's supper which was leisurely and late because of afternoon siestas and high teas. I knew she was the "Swedish Nightingale" before I knew where Sweden was located; I knew B.T. Barnum had taken her on an American tour; I knew she was probably the most unsung charitable person of the 19th Century. Mendelssohn was supposed to have been in love with her, something I can believe as his art songs would do a nightingale proud. When I was living in Eureka, the landlord had what looked to be an old trunk sitting out in the rain, fog and occasional sun. You know how I can get weepy over what Gwen called the "Killing of Furniture." I asked him if I could have it. I couldn't bear watching it deteriorate. He said it was a useless piece of junk and good riddance. I was in the grips of Imagination, though, and right on the spot I replied, "I'm going to turn it into the Jenny Lind Seachest. There's no reason in the world that Jenny Lind couldn't have sailed into Eureka to be a guest of the Carsons. When I'm looking out the window at the Carson mansion, I can feel it's true!" He scoffed. I worked and worked on the chest adding a ruffle of vintage brocade to hide the rotted handles; pasting quotes decoupage style along the insides. I turned a couple of cartons into fitted "jewelry cases." I polished it with reddish brown shoe wax and placed a broken silver brooch to act as a pretend lock. The landlord came by after a couple of weeks and joked about how valuable his castoff was. Curious to see his reaction, I invited him to see it. "Holy moley {the cleaned up version}. If I'd known it could look like that I would have kept if for myself." He was a compulsive yard sales man. Every Sunday, expensive colorful bird kites flew above the grassy patch out front. He offered to buy if from me. No sale. I wanted to keep Jenny with me forever. Suddenly, though, my lease was up and I decided to move Back East. P.T. Barnum wasn't paying for the trip so I had to make downsizing choices. I told several people about the chest. Launderland Girl showed the most interest. I told her I'd give it to her. I wanted someone who appreciated the craft of restoration. She came by in a compact car with her mother. They heaved it delicately and made it fit. My job was done: one trunk saved, one more chance to pass along Jenny Lind's story. In 1999, there was only one entry when B.E. searched the computer for a school paper. Now there are dozens--about the hospitals she established, the baby cribs named after her, a brick tower in Connecticut, a town in California where legend has it she stayed. Historians claim she didn't but fancy tells me she did and she travelled there by way of a sailing vessel to Eureka and then overland by coach, her seachest proudly swaying on the top. I have enjoyed discovering entries from New York Herald articles available online. They consistently mention her "modesty, benevolence, and selflessness." Her husband, Otto Goldschmidt, had been a student of Mendelssohn. Otto's lengthy critique of her voice is a testament to his love for her and his extraordinary musical knowledge. He married her on the American tour of 1850 where 40,000 people had greeted her in New York harbor. Two years previously she had sung at Chopin's deathbed. It's a little known love story eclipsed by the more notorious one of George Sand. There is a painting of this scene which Chopin would have cherished had he lived. It captures her beautiful voice without any need for audio attachment. What a comfort for him that tender singing must have been!
...may the blessings of old songs newly found be yours...
