er 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
and placable that her fierce outbursts of rage were followed by the
most fascinating and winning contrition. Irresistibly charming, frank,
fearless, and original, she gave promise, even in her early youth, of
the remarkable qualities which afterward bestowed such a unique and
brilliant _cachet_ on her genius as an artist and her character as a
woman. Her father, with all his harshness, understood her truly, for
she inherited both her faults and her gifts from himself. "Her proud and
stubborn spirit requires an iron hand to control it," he said; "Maria
can never become great except at the price of much suffering." By the
time she had reached the age of fifteen her voice had greatly improved.
Her chest-notes had gained greatly in power, richness, and depth, though
the higher register of the vocal organ still remained crude and veiled.
Fetis says that it was on account of the sudden indisposition of
Madame Pasta that the first public appearance of Maria in opera was
unexpectedly made, but Lord Mount Edgcumbe and the impressario Ebers
both tell a different story. The former relates in his "Reminiscences"
that, shortly after the repair of the King's Theatre, "the great
favorite Pasta arrived for a limited number of nights. About the same
time Konzi fell ill and totally lost her voice, so that she was obliged
to throw up her engagement and return to Italy. Mme. Vestris having
seceded, and Caradori being for some time unable to perform, it became
necessary to engage a young singer, the daughter of the tenor Garcia,
who had sung here for several seasons.... Her extreme youth, her
prettiness, her pleasing voice, and sprightly, easy action as _Rosina_
in 'Il Barbiere,' in which part she made her _debut_, gained her general
favor." Chor-ley recalls the impression she made on him at this time in
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