In the Courts of Memory 1858-1875. | Page 5

as we arrive on the other side. On whatever side I
am, I am always your loving niece, who thinks that there is no one in
the wide world to compare to you, that no one is as clever as you, that
no one can sing like you, and that there never was any one who can
hold a candle to you. There!
BREMEN, _August, 1859._
DEAR AUNT,--At last we have arrived at our journey's end, and we
are happy to have got out of and away from the steamer, where we have
been cooped up for the last weeks. However, we had a very gay time
during those weeks, and some very sprightly companions. Among them
a runaway couple; he was a Mr. Aulick Palmer, but I don't know who
she was. One could have learned it easily enough for the asking, as they
were delighted to talk about themselves and their elopement, and how
they did it. It was their favorite topic of conversation. I was intensely
interested in them; I had never been so near a romance in my life. They
had been married one hour when they came on board; she told her
parents that she was going out shopping, and then, after the marriage,
wrote a note to them to say that she was married and off to Europe,
adding that she was not sorry for what she had done. He is a handsome
man, tall and dark; she is a jolly, buxom blonde, with a charming smile
which shows all her thirty and something teeth, and makes her red,
thick lips uncurl. I thought, for such a newly married couple, they were
not at all sentimental, which I should have supposed natural. She
became sea-sick directly, and he called attention to her as she lay
stretched out on a bench looking dreadfully green in the face: "We are a
sick couple--home-sick, love-sick, and sea-sick."
The captain, who thought himself a wag but who forgot every morning
what he had wagged about the day before, would say for his daily
greeting, "Wie [as the Germans say] befinden sie sich?" He thought the
pun on sea-sick was awfully funny, and would laugh uproariously. He
said to Mr. Palmer, "Why are you not like a melon?" We all guessed.
One person said, "Because he was not meloncholic [Aulick]." But all
the guesses were wrong. "No," said the captain, "it is because the
melon can't elope, and you can." He thought himself very funny, and

was rather put out that we did not think him so, and went on repeating
the joke to every one on the boat ad nauseam.
LONDON, _1859._
DEAREST A.,--We arrived here, as we intended, on the 27th.... We
easily found Garcia's address, and drove there without delay. I was very
anxious to see the "greatest singing master in the world," and there he
was standing before me, looking very much as I had imagined him; but
not like any one I had ever seen before. He has grayish hair and a black
mustache, expressive big eyes, and such a fascinating smile! Mama
said, having heard of his great reputation, she wished that he would
consent to give me a few lessons. He smiled, and answered that, if I
would kindly sing something for him, he could better judge how much
teaching I required. I replied--I was so sure of myself--that, if he would
accompany "Qui la voce," I would sing that. "Ha, ha!" he cried, with a
certain sarcasm. "By all means let us have that," and sat down before
the piano while I spread out the music before him. I sang, and thought I
sang very well; but he just looked up into my face with a very quizzical
expression, and said, "How long have you been singing,
Mademoiselle?" Mama answered for me before I could speak. "She has
sung, Monsieur, since she was a very small child."
He was not at all impressed by this, but said, "I thought so." Then he
continued. "You say you would like to take some lessons of me?" I was
becoming very humble, and said, meekly, that I hoped he would give
me some. "Well, Mademoiselle, you have a very wonderful voice, but
you have not the remotest idea how to sing." What a come-down! I,
who thought I had only to open my mouth to be admired, and only
needed a few finishing touches to make me perfect, to be told that I had
"not the remotest idea how to sing"!
Mama and I both gasped for breath, and I could have cried for
disappointment as well as mortification. However, I felt he was right,
and, strange to say, mama felt so too. He said, "Take six months' rest
and don't sing a single note,