Friday, 14 July 1876

Since the morning I have been taking the greatest care of myself: I do not cough once more than I must, I do not stir, I am dying of heat and thirst but I do not drink. Only at one o’clock do I take a cup of coffee and eat an egg so salty that it is more salt with an egg than an egg with salt. I have an idea that salt is good for the throat. Georges is with us. I put on a dress of grey batiste, quite plain, a black lace fichu and a brown hat. But once dressed I think I look so well that I should like to be like this always!
At last we set out, pick up Mme de Mouzay and arrive at the door of No. 37, rue de la Chaussée-d’Antin, the house of M. Wartel, the foremost teacher in Paris.
Mme de Mouzay called on him this morning and told him about a girl who had been particularly recommended to her from Italy, whose parents would like to know what to expect of her musical future. M. Wartel said he would hear her tomorrow, later on. De Mouzay insisted, and it was only with great difficulty that he granted this audition at four o’clock. When we arrive it is three o’clock; we are let into an antechamber, we want to go further, but a sort of manservant bars the way and lets us through only when he is told that we are ladies M. Wartel is expecting. We are shown into a small drawing room next to the one where the master sits, in the middle of giving a lesson.
— It is at four o’clock, Madame, said the young man as he came in.
— Yes, Monsieur, replies Mouzay, but you will allow this young lady to listen...
— Certainly, Madame.
For an hour we listen to the Englishwoman singing: an ugly voice, but what a method! I have never heard singing like that, and I remembered Facciotti, Fosti and Cresci with indignation.
The walls of the drawing room we are in are covered with portraits of the greatest known artists, with the most affectionate dedications.
At last four o’clock strikes, the Englishwoman leaves, I feel myself trembling and my strength deserts me. Wartel gestures to me, meaning: come in.
I do not understand.
— Come in, then, Mademoiselle, he says, come in.
I go in, followed by my two protectresses, whom I beg to go back into the small drawing room, because they would unnerve me, and in truth I am very frightened.
Wartel is very old, but the accompanist is fairly young.
— You read music?
— Yes, Monsieur.
— What can you sing?
— Nothing, but I could sing a scale or a vocalise.
— Pick a vocalise, then, Monsieur... what’s-his-name.
— What voice have you, soprano?
— No, Monsieur, contralto.
— We shall see.
Wartel, who does not rise from his armchair, signalled me to begin, and I launched into a vocalise, trembling at first, then encouraged, and pleased by the end, for I never took my eyes off the master’s long, long, long face. His head is a metre long; it is astonishing.
— Well, he said, it is rather a mezzo-soprano that you have; it is a voice that would go higher.
— And what do you say to it, Monsieur? asked the ladies, coming in.
— I say that there is a voice, but, you know, it needs a great deal of work; this voice is very young, it can only grow, in short it will follow Mademoiselle’s development; there is good material, there is an organ; it needs work.
— So you think, Monsieur, that it is worth the trouble?
— Yes, yes, it needs work.
— But the voice is beautiful, is it not? asks Mouzay.
— It will be a beautiful voice, the man replied in his calm voice and with his indolent, reserved air. But it must be developed, placed, worked, and that is quite an undertaking.
— But still, it is worth the trouble?
— Why, yes, it needs work.
— I sang very badly, I said at last, I was so frightened.
— Well, Mademoiselle, you must get used to it all the same; you must overcome this fear, it would be most out of place on the stage.
But I was delighted with what the man said. For what he said is a great deal to say of a poor girl who will bring him no profit; used as I am to flattery, this grave and judicial tone seemed cold to me, but I understood at once that he was pleased; he kept saying: it needs work, there is something good there. That alone is a great deal. If I were incapable, he would not say so. Meanwhile the accompanist was taking my measure, examining in minute detail my figure, my arms, my hands, my hindquarters, my feet, my face. I lowered my eyes and blushed, begging the ladies to leave.
Wartel was seated, I standing before his armchair.
— You have had lessons?
— Never, Monsieur, only ten lessons, that is to say...
— Yes... well, it needs work. Can you sing a romance?
— I know a Neapolitan song, but I do not have the music.
— The aria from Mignon! cried my aunt from the other room.
— Very well, sing the aria from Mignon.
As soon as I began to sing, Wartel’s face, which at first expressed nothing but attention, expressed slight surprise, then astonishment, and at last he went so far as to nod his head in time, smile pleasantly and sing along himself.
— Eh? said the accompanist.
— Yes, yes, the master nodded.
I went on singing, very agitated.
— Do keep still, do not move about, breathe.
— Well, Monsieur? all three of us asked together.
— Well, it is good.
— But, ladies, I said, do not come in!
— Have her do a... (Ah, the devil! I forget the word he used.) The accompanist had me do the... never mind the name; he took me through all my notes.
— Up to B natural, he said to the old man.
— Yes, it is a mezzo-soprano; besides, that is much more advantageous, much more advantageous for the stage.
I remained standing all the while.
— Sit down, Mademoiselle, the accompanist said to me in a patronising tone, looking me over from head to foot with the air of a connoisseur.
I sat down on the edge of the sofa.
— Well, Mademoiselle, said the stern Wartel, you must work; you have a very wide range, you have good material, an organ; you can succeed.
He told me several more things about the theatre, singing, study. All this with his impassive, patronising air
It was over; my protectresses came back in.
— How long does it take to train this voice? asked Mme de Mouzay.
— You understand, Madame, that it depends on the pupil; there are some who finish ahead of time, those who have intelligence...
— This one has more than she needs.
— Ah! so much the better; in that case it is easier.
— But still, Monsieur, how long?
— I cannot tell you exactly, but to train it properly, to finish it, it takes three full years, three full years of work, yes, three full years.
I kept silent and plotted my revenge on the perfidious accompanist with his air of: We see all sorts here; this one is well made, pretty, it will be amusing.
After a few more remarks we rose; Wartel remained seated and held out his hand to me kindly. I was biting my lips.
— Listen, I said at the door, let us go back and tell him the truth.
My aunt had handed over her card and her address. We went back and, laughing heartily, I told the stern maestro about my prank.
What a face the accompanist made! I shall never forget it. I was avenged.
— If you had talked a little more, said Wartel, I should have known you for a Russian.
— I know that very well, Monsieur; that is why I did not talk.
My aunt and Mouzay explained to him my wish to hear the truth from his illustrious lips.
— It is as I told you, ladies: there is a voice; one must have talent.
— I have, Monsieur, I have; and you will see for yourself.
I was so happy that I consented to walk all the way to the Grand Hôtel.
Then we went to the Bois with the good countess, who was laughing at the accompanist and saying to me:
— All the same, my dear, from the other room I watched the master’s face, and when you sang Mignon he was very much surprised, was he not, Nadine? He even hummed along himself, and from a man like him! And for a little Italian girl he was there to judge with all possible severity... Then she talked about Paris, praising it, extolling it and almost making me love it, but I kept saying:
— It is so difficult to belong to Paris society.
And she tried to prove to me that it was not.
We dined together; I was happy and I showed myself as I am, with all my eccentricities, all my whims, all my ambitions, all my hopes!
After dinner we stayed a long while on the front steps, enjoying the cool air and the countless travellers passing to and fro across the courtyard.
I must study with Wartel. And Rome? We shall think about it. It is late; I shall write about that tomorrow.