The maestro is very tall, unusually slender, and of a truly feverish vivacity. His face is small and deadly pale; his dark, slightly curled hair falls over a high forehead. His eyes are dark, restless, flashing, and inspired. Now he listens with fixed attention to the full, swelling notes that flow from the lips of the songstress; the next he throws back his head impatiently; a word of warning or of blame is rapidly addressed to the pupil; sometimes a kindly smile, a slight sarcasm, a pleasant jest, all strangely intermingled with sudden starts, angry stamping of the feet, and stern frowns of displeasure. How rarely a word of praise! But one single warm word of commendation from such a master is a sunbeam that has power to penetrate and unfold every fast closed bud of zeal and earnest effort.
How cautiously Garcia handles the precious possession intrusted to his care, the human voice! How tenderly he protects it! how carefully he watches it! how anxiously he strives to preserve that pure, brilliant freshness of youth which is the greatest charm a voice can possess.
It is really impossible to lose this flower-like bloom under Garcia's guidance; whatever may be said or has already been said to the contrary, such a reproach can never come home to a master whose whole method is so entirely according to nature. And how strenuously does he insist upon resting pauses in his hours of instruction! Hear what he says to that listening pupil who looks up to him with such eager expectation:—
"Freshness and spontaneousness are the most precious qualities of the voice, but they are also the most fragile. The voice which loses them never regains them; its tone is gone, never to return."
"During the first days of practising, the pupils should not devote themselves to their exercises more than five minutes consecutively; but studies thus regulated may be resumed four or five times a day, provided they be separated by long intervals. Afterwards, the time devoted to practice, by increasing it five minutes at a time, may be extended to half an hour, a limit which should never be exceeded. At the end of five or six months, you may increase the number of half hours of exercise to four, but be careful in going beyond it, remembering always that these periods be separated by long rests."
The singer begins again. Her own figure stands before her in the large mirror that hangs behind the master's back; no movement of her face can escape her; every contraction of her eyebrows, every slight wrinkle in her forehead, every ungraceful movement of her mouth is truly reflected there. And no trick passes unreproved, for Garcia's piercing eye watches with fixed attention every feature of the singer. But he does not arrange and prescribe how the cheekbones are to move, or the lips to open; he does not confuse the ideas of his pupils by incomprehensible, wordy descriptions of the position of the mouth and the posture of the head; he simply repeats the teaching of the famous old Italian singing-masters, Tosi and Mancini: "Every singer should hold his mouth as he is in the habit of doing when he smiles naturally, that is, so that the upper teeth may be moderately and perpendicularly separated from the lower ones." Without directing the posture of the body like a drill-sergeant, Garcia says briefly, but decidedly: "Keep the body erect, tranquil, well-balanced on the two limbs, and at a distance from any other point of support." The arms must be held a little back, "so as not to interfere with the play of the chest." The lesson is finished. The maestro kindly dismisses his pupil, again repeats, with condensed brevity, the main point of to-day's instruction, appoints the task for home practice, and encourages the timid departing scholar with heart-cheering words of courage and hope.
But look! scarcely has the door closed when it is again opened. A pale young man, accompanied by some sober-looking, elderly gentlemen, bows in an awkward and yet assuming manner, and, with a smile of conscious self-satisfaction, presents different letters of recommendation, among which such names as Meyerbeer, Auber, Spontini, shine out. It is a singer from one of the provinces; enchanted with the praises of his table-companions, he is about to devote himself to the stage. His rich father and richer uncle have come with him to Paris; Cousin Meyerbeer sends him to Garcia, as he has already sent him from Pontius Auber to Pilate Spontini. With what indifference Garcia throws aside these great letters, but how carefully he begins to test the young man's abilities! The aspiring devotee to art has brought with him his favorite air, his show-piece; Verdi is his idol among composers! The recitation begins; Garcia accompanies him. The voice is weak and yet sharp, already half-cracked; the flow of it unnatural and cramped; the most terrible effort is apparent at every note; false respiration too, and indistinct pronunciation. The master grows more and more impatient; his feet begin to jerk as if seized with sudden cramps; he plays faster and faster; with feverish haste, his slender hands run over the keys, his face changing with every sound; his eyes flash more and more restlessly; his teeth are pressed against his lips; suddenly, he springs from his seat, with the half-smothered exclamation, "Assez, Monsieur, assez, je vous prie!" He sinks exhausted into a chair; an awful pause ensues. At last the master quietly and decidedly explains to the singer the grounds upon which he is obliged to refuse his request, in spite of all the recommendations of Meyerbeer and Spontini. His candor and calmness towards the offended amateur are worthy of admiration. He concludes by kindly advising the astonished aspirant, if he has not implicit faith in his words, to seek another teacher, and dismisses the deluded worshipper of Verdi with the most refined courtesy.
How frequently does he reject lady pupils who, with great assumption and half-ruined voices, come to him that his hand may scatter a few flowers over their remains! How impatient he is of all musical narrowness, want of talent, and laziness! His severity in such cases has given him a bad reputation, his violence has forced tears from many eyes; but his justice remains unimpeachable. He will not for a moment feign for a scholar an interest he does not feel, or that has been forfeited by any of the defects I have mentioned; he is unsparing in making them feel how little he cares for such pupils. Holding a book in one hand, with the other he carelessly strikes an accompaniment, and as he diligently reads on, only the monotonous "encore" at the end of a solfeggia proves that the ear of the master has been attending.
The more untrained and untutored the voice that is brought to him, the more thankfully he receives it. How joyfully does he then devote himself to his arduous task! how unwearied is his attention! how carefully and conscientiously does he watch over the treasure intrusted to him! On the other hand, he is most unwilling to under-take "repairs" and "final embellishments," which, artist-like, he confesses without disguise; and singers who, with this in view, seek the master's studio, will have but little satisfaction in his lessons. * * * * * *
But hush! hush! My gracious protectress gives me a gentle warning, and touches the magic veil we had wrapped about us. Let us obey her timely hint, nor provoke one kind spirit to anger! Farewell, good master Garcia! Heartily do we rejoice that we have listened to thee; believe me, we shall often wing our way back to thee without fairy help, even in the spirit, that we may look on thee with gratitude and admiration. And the golden and silvery sounds which thy magic power draws from young rosy lips will again flow forth and bear us on in their clear stream; the bright, pearly drops of brilliant roulades will refresh and quicken us into new life; and oh, joy! the poor troubled heart will hear no more the sharp, cutting, irreconcilable discords of the everyday world.