Already at this period Maria spoke with ease Spanish, Italian, French,
and English, to which she afterward added German. The Garcia household
was a strange one. The Spanish musician was a tyrant in his home, and
a savage temper, which had but few streaks of tenderness, frequently
vented itself in blows and brutality, in spite of the remarkable musical
facility with which Maria appropriated teaching, and the brilliant gifts
which would have flattered the pride and softened the sympathies of
a more gentle and complacent parent. The young girl, in spite of
her prodigious instinct for art and her splendid intelligence, had a
peculiarly intractable organ. The lower notes of the voice were very
imperfect, the upper tones thin, disagreeable, and hard, the middle
veiled, and her intonation so doubtful that it almost indicated an
imperfect ear. She would sometimes sing so badly that her father would
quit the piano precipitately and retreat to the farthest corner of the
house with his fingers thrust into his ears. But Garcia was resolved
that his daughter should become what Nature seemingly had resolved she
should not be, a great vocalist, and he bent all the energies of his
harsh and imperious temper to further this result. "One evening I
studied a duet with Maria," says the Countess Merlin, "in which Garcia
had written a passage, and he desired her to execute it. She tried, but
became discouraged, and said, 'I can not.' In an instant the Andalu-sian
blood of her father rose. He fixed his flashing eyes upon her: 'What
did you say?' Maria looked at him, trembled, and, clasping her hands,
murmured in a stifled voice, 'I will do it, papa;' and she executed the
passage perfectly. She told me afterward that she could not conceive how
she did it. 'Papa's glance,' added she, 'has such an influence upon
me that I am sure it would make me fling myself from the roof into the
street without doing myself any harm.'"

Maria Felicia Garcia was a wayward and willful child, but so generous