In the Courts of Memory 1858-1875. | Page 6

single note," that I may venture to present myself before the great Garcia again.
I can't imagine that I am the same person who has (it seems to me years ago) sung before large, distinguished, and enthusiastic audiences, has been a little belle, in a way, in Cambridge, has had serenades from the Harvard Glee Club (poor aunty! routed out of your sleep in the middle of the night to listen to them), inspired poetry, and danced on "the Green" on Class Day. I felt as if I ought to put on pantalettes and wear my hair down my back. I look now upon myself as a real Backfisch, as the Germans call very young girls, and that is simply what I am; and I feel that I ought never to have been allowed to sport about in those fascinating clear waters which reflected no shadows, now that I must go back to the millpond and learn to swim.
I have been already three weeks studying hard with Garcia, who is not only a wonderful teacher, but is a wonderful personality. I simply worship him, though he is very severe and pulls me up directly I "slipshod," as he calls it; and so far I have literally sung nothing but scales. He says that a scale must be like a beautiful row of pearls: each note like a pearl, perfect in roundness and color.
This is so easy to say, but very difficult to accomplish. Stone-breaking on the highroad is nothing to it. I come home tired out from my lessons, only to begin singing scales again. I tell mama I feel like a fish with the scales being taken off him.
Four hours by myself and two lessons a week will soon reduce your poor niece to a scaleton. Ah! please forgive this....
No question of a song yet. "Qui la voce" seems way back in the Middle Ages. Garcia says, "If, when your voice is well oiled [that is what he calls the scaling process], you are not intelligent enough to sing a song by yourself, then you had better knit stockings for the poor."
"Then," I answered, "I had better begin at once to learn to knit stockings."
"Not quite yet!" he laughed. "Wait till I have finished with you." More than once he has said, "Your voice reminds me of my sister Marie's [meaning Malibran]; but she had no brains to speak of, whereas you have, and you ought to be thankful for it."
I murmured that I was glad he thought so, and, if I really had some brains, I should be thankful; but I was not quite sure that I had. "Trust me to tell you if you have not," said he.
I trusted him, indeed, for I knew very well that he would not let the occasion slip had he anything of that sort to say.
LONDON, _July, 1860._
DEAR A.,--Still hard at work. I wonder at mama's patience and endurance. To hear scales, cadenzas, and trills from morning till night must be terribly wearing on the nerves. I said as much to the master, and he consented to give me "Bel raggio," of "Semiramide." It is as good as an exercise, anyway, because it is nothing but cadenzas. Then he allowed me to sing "Una voce poco fa." I told him that mama had put on a pound of flesh since I was permitted to roam in these fresh pastures. This made him laugh. After he had seen that I had "brains enough" to sing these songs according to his august liking, he said, "Now we will try 'Voi che sapete,' of Mozart."
Garcia has not the ghost of a voice; but he has the most enchanting way of singing mezzo-voce, and occasionally says, "Sing this so," and sings the phrase for me. It sounds delightfully when he does it; but I do not think he would have liked me to "sing it so" and would probably swear a gentle little Spanish swear under his garlicky breath, because (I say it, though I hate to) the dear master eats garlic--pounds of it, I fear--and his voice is highly scented when it cracks, which it often does.
He once said, "You may imitate my way of singing, but don't imitate my crack."
"Oh," I said, "I love to hear you sing. I don't even hear the crack."
"Ah," he sighed, "if it had not been for that crack I should be in the opera now."
"I am glad," I answered, "that you are not there; for then you would not be here, teaching me." I think this pleased him.
Sometimes he is very nervous. Once, when I was singing "Voi che sapete," the tears rolled down his cheeks, and another time, when he was showing me how to sing it "so," I burst into tears, and the poor man had