St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1884-03-27
JENNY LIND IN 1884.
Her Romantic Home at Eastnor Cas-
tie.
Beautiful and Historic Nook in Old Eng
land.
Memories of Former Triumphs in Two
Worlds.

In all England there is no prettier or more
romantic looking residence than Eastnor
Castle, says the London World When viewed
from the road to Ledbury, across the swan
hunted lake, its massive towers suggests
many fairy tale, and it might have been
the ideal of the home of the Sleeping Beauty
1t is true, an archaologist may find fault
with its details; but there it stands, verita-
Bile castle, with romantic gardens, mazes,
terraces, with little fairy islands dotting the
surface Of the expansive lake, beyond which
the deer may be seen browsing in the extern
sive park, whice has for background the
southern ridge of the Malverns. There
are weird stories told of the gaunt
Raggedstone hill, which lies to the south
of the Hollybush pass, whilst Midsummer
| hill, on the northS is crowned with ramparts
and circular pits. which formed the dwellings
of the fathers of the land, when time was
much younger than it now is The fires of
Baal had blazed from its summit, even until
| later days, on midsummer eve. Its dells are
lonely, wooded and beautiful but beyond all
rises the great and forbidding Herefordshire
beacon. Its stupendous ramparts, its mas
siye citadel, its winding chariot road, become
more formidable as we pass along the ridge
way, which is one of the few places where the
mistetoe yet clings to the oak, as in the far
off Drudical times. The road along this Gu
rious rdgeway is retired, sylvan, and the
home of thousand wild flowers. Glimpses
of a far off undulating country may be seen
through the trees to the west, while those on
the east hide the old beacon until we are at
its foot. At any time in sweet springtime
and summer weather you may meet there a
| mir lnlu ,fa1h y-c
young folks, now by her husband or friend.
They are known to few ON the country side,
for there are but few to know them. The
pleasure seeker heeds them not, the archaolo-
gist knows them not. Excursionists,
who come to the breezy hills by the
hundreds in summer times, have probably
never heard their name. To even old Lon
don habitues the name of Jenny Lind
recalls but pleasant memory. In the neigh
borhood she and her husband have made
their home. The country people call it
'Wind's Point, The house is better
known as 'tJohnson's Folly" but in future it
ought Ito be known as the ''Nightingale's
Nest"
Tothose who were living in London in
1S47 the very name of Jenny Lind sends
THRILL THROUGH THE VEINS.
The hopes, the anticipations Of one day in
that wild time were damped the next day by
the announcement that the singer, whose
fame was European had declined to appear
Miss Fredrika Bremen had made her the
heroine of her charming novel, "The Home"
We heard of her enhancing the opera-goers
at Berlin, and being regarded as the singing
angel in her native city. Her charities and
home life were made the theme of news
81 IL
praises; London went mad with excitement
and curiosity, as each day rumor contradcted
the certainties of the day before. Few of those
who were in the neighborhood of Her Males
| ty's theater on that May day-the 4th we be-
lieve-in 1S47, will ever forget the crush and
the excitement caused by her first appear
ance as Alice in ''Robert lie Diable." Her
singing, superb and great as it was, did not
surpass the charm of her acting. But these
are old memories, if pleasant ones, and they
belong to long ago time. Bad as times
were then-for we had the Irish famine on
hand; the California gold fields had not been
worked, nor the Australian ones discovered
prices for admission went up to fabulous
height. The town went mad anc ladies were
content, and obliged to be content, to sit on
the stairs of the opera house, unable to pene-
trate further. What change from these
brilliant triumphs to the quiet solitude of
| Winds point.
When London was in a state of daze with
news from Paris, when frantic crowds rushed
through the streets, when there was midday
Telegraph published in Fleet street, aud the
Daily Telegraph was not; when ''Mr. Smith"
left Paris suddenly, and found refuge at
Claremont; when Louis Napoleon became
"special' in the April days of '4S, and rebel
fires burnt on Slieve-na-Mon in dreaded Tip
perary, the Swedish nightingale continued to
! ravish the town, both sacred and profane.
Who can forget the wall of regret that fol-
lowed the announcement that Jenny Lind
would sing no more on the operate stage!
Exeter Hall had triumphed. Bishops had
taught her that the entrance to theater was
the portal of sin; and though she did ap-
pear in the spring of 1S49 at Her Majesty's,
| Il was in a modified form of opera. How she
sang then, and ''made mems memories the
abiding place of lifelong harmonies," and,
like the "Queen of song, opened her parlia-
ment of hearts," let the contemporary news
papers speak. Henceforth her triumphs
were confined to the concert room; and
what trium phs they were They stamped her
name on the golden book of singers" A
year after this she went to America, and
THERE MET HER FATE.
She was married to Mr.. Otto Goldschmidt in
February, 1922, at Boston, and then returned
to Europe. She sung for the last time in
public for the benefit of the Great Western
railway servants fund, at West Malvern
Concert hall, last autumn; and there was
something of the old tone about sshoney-
hearted Jenny" as she helped these poor
| fellows at their annual fete.
l. 1zrI II l. - I. il
more or less at Malvern, and in the summe
of last year she bought the house at Burst
ner's Cross, which was erected a few years
ago by Capt. Johnson, who blasted away
the rocks, which he hurled down
the great gully which forms
the southeastern defense of the great
camp of the Herefordshire beacon. The
house is built in this rocky quarry. Fine
shrubs grow around it. There are pleasant
walks, sheltered from the bleak north and
east winds, which here, some thousand feet
above the sea level, swirl and rave at will.
From the house can be heard at times the in
nocent revelry at Peter Pockets humble hos
telry, so well known to tourists. The climb
ers over the old ramparts can look down on
this pleasant house with its green verandas.
The students of the earth's crust, the incip-
lent Murchisons, Sedgwicks and Lyells look
wistfully at the rude pillar Of dark stone left
by the quarrymen in the grounds; for it is
the core of the hills-a specimen of Lauren
tan gneiss, a relic of the primeval land, the
Oldest stratifed rock which had been
upheaved by the eruption which
formed the Plutonic ridge which forms the
Malvern chain of hills. 1t was consummate
taste that led our nightingale to this nest
There is no place in England where such