On September 30, as we have seen, the New York venture of Italian Opera was brought to a conclusion.

A few days later the elder Garcia set off for Mexico, where he had arranged to initiate a season at the Opera House. He was accompanied on the journey by the whole troupe, with the exception of his daughter Maria.

The reason of her remaining behind was that on March 23 of that year she had given her hand to Monsieur Malibran, a French merchant three times her own age, and by repute a very wealthy man. It can scarcely have been a love-match, for the union appears to have been a most unhappy one from the start. As to the reason for the marriage, some light has been thrown by Fitz-Greene Halleck's biographer, in a conversation which I had with him recently.

It will be remembered that Halleck was present at the opening night of Italian opera in America, in the company of his friend Fenimore Cooper. The latter must have been busy correcting the proofs of his latest book, 'The Last of the Mohicans,' since this was published in New York soon after the New Year,—a literary event which of course Manuel Garcia could quite well remember.

Was ever a more beautiful compliment paid to a singer?

It was not long before the poet obtained an introduction to his ideal. The acquaintance thus began quickly ripened, and Fitz-Greene Halleck became deeply attached to her. This warmth of feeling was undoubtedly returned, and there seems every probability that Maria, girl of seventeen as she was, might have been well content to wed the American poet. Her father, however, intervened, and sternly refused to allow things to go farther.

After the wedding and her family's departure for Mexico, the unhappy Maria discovered that her husband's affairs had for some time past been in a very bad state, and that he had really been counting on the income which would accrue from her talents. Matters grew rapidly worse, and within a year of the marriage he was declared bankrupt and thrown into prison. Under these circumstances Maria at once, of her own accord, determined to resign, for the benefit of her husband's creditors, the whole of the provision which had been made for her by the marriage settlements. It was a noble act, which gave rise to strong manifestations of favour and approbation on the part of the American public.

For some months after this she remained in New York, singing on Sundays at Grace Church, and occasionally appearing at the Bowery Theatre in English operettas, such as "The Devil's Bridge" and "Love in a Village."

Accordingly her final appearance on the American stage was announced for September 28, 1827, and on this night she took her farewell benefit at the Bowery Theatre, in Boieldieu's "Jean de Paris." Of the closing scene of that evening we read—

"When the programme had been completed, the Signorina came forward and seated herself at her harp, but seemingly overcome with emotion again rose. Mr Etienne, the pianist, thereupon took up the prelude to a farewell song, specially written for the occasion, and this, on regaining her composure, she sang in a most touching and effective manner."

Within a few days of this performance Maria set out for Paris, where, as we shall see, she was to be joined almost immediately by her brother.

And now we will turn to the fortunes of the rest of the Garcia family, who had left New York to inaugurate a season of opera in Mexico.

Upon arriving at the end of the journey, the elder Garcia soon found that the duties of impresario, composer, conductor, chorus master, and even machinist and scene-painter, must all centre in himself.

But this was not the worst, for at the very outset a calamity fell upon the company which with any one else would have been sufficient to bring the season to a close before it had opened, as an Irishman might have put it.

What was to be done? Their season was advertised to commence in a few days, and without music it was utterly impossible. The artists were in despair, and completely lost their heads. The elder Garcia alone remained calm in the midst of turmoil. They could not perform without music; very well, he must write out fresh copies of the scores as best he could. What was advertised for the first night? "Don Giovanni"? Bien; then he would make a start on that. Without losing a moment he set to work, and actually reproduced the whole of the full orchestral score from memory! As each number was finished it was given out to copyists, who prepared the separate parts for the various instruments.

It was customary in those days for managers to allow their artists nine days to learn a two-act opera. For three acts the time would be increased to twelve days, and for four acts sixteen. That the elder Garcia did not always allow so much is borne out by the statement which Maria Malibran used to make that, on one occasion, her parent bade her learn a rôle in two days and sing it at the opera.

"I cannot do it, father."

"You will do it, my daughter; and if you fail in any way, I shall really strike you with my dagger when I am supposed to kill you on the stage."

"And he would have done it, too," she would add, "so I played the part."

Manuel himself was ever a phenomenally quick "study" in the memorising of any fresh rôle. Short though the periods would be which were allowed in the ordinary way for learning a work, they were for him a great deal too long. He was able to commit to memory the whole of his part in two or three days, while at the end of ten he had picked up the parts of all the other singers as well, so that if necessary he was perfectly able to prompt them during the final rehearsals.

All this hard work, however, was not accomplished without leaving its mark, and in a few months he began to feel the effects of the strain involved in this perpetual rehearsing and singing not only of his own baritone parts but on occasions of the tenor music. His father was a hard task-master, and the son, though he had a fine voice, found the work involved by an operatic career too hard for his physical resources. At last things reached a point at which, as he once told me, he went through every successive performance in a state of fear lest his voice should leave him suddenly when he was on the stage.

MANUEL GARCIA, in the January of 1828, was present at the operatic début of his sister, Maria Malibran, in Paris, the details of which he once gave to me. On another occasion he stated most distinctly that he left his parents in Mexico about the middle of their stay, set out for Paris, and, arriving there not long after his sister, remained with her till after her début. He added that during this period she continued her vocal studies under his tuition.

Under these circumstances one may safely assume that he arrived in the French capital either in October or in the early part of November, 1827.

With regard to Mme. Malibran's début, the following is the story as he gave it. I related the episode in 'Antoinette Sterling and Other Celebrities,' from which I am enabled to quote here and elsewhere in the present memoir by courtesy of the publishers, Messrs Hutchinson.

At last her opportunity of making an operatic début in Paris arrived, but from quite another source. Galli, a famous basso of that time, who was having a benefit at the Italian Opera House, called one day and told her that he would put on "Semiramide" if she would like to sing the title part. After consulting with Manuel, she decided to accept the offer.

Of the performance itself one of the Paris journals gives a graphic account:—

From that night she was the idol of the French public.

Another French critic writes, "If Maria Malibran must yield the palm to Pasta in point of acting, yet she possesses a decided superiority in respect to song."

"Since that time," remarks Mr Hogarth, "the superiority of Malibran to Pasta in song became more and more evident; while in respect to acting, though no performer has ever approached Pasta in her own peculiar walk of terrible grandeur, yet none has ever surpassed Maria Malibran in intelligence, originality, vivacity, feeling, and those 'tender strokes of art' which at once reach the heart of every spectator. Her versatility was wonderful. Pasta, it has been truly said, is a Siddons: Malibran is a Garrick."

The terms were immense for those days. In spite of this, after careful consideration, the contralto decided to refuse them, feeling that it would be unwise to abandon Italian and confine herself to French for so long a time. She did, however, appear for him in a few operas, at enormous fees, with, if possible, greater success than before, at the Théâtre Italien during April and May.

Now it seemed very extraordinary to Señor Garcia and to his sister that Rossini should have heard her sing again and again in society without even mentioning such a thing as engaging her, and yet, after hearing her at the Opera House in music which she had sung before him on so many occasions, he should at once make her a magnificent offer for a term of years. Why was it? They could not understand it at all, and accordingly asked one day for the explanation.

After remaining for a time to see his sister successfully started on her Parisian career, Manuel Garcia set out for Italy, and took up his residence there for some months. During this period he made the acquaintance of Lablache, whose voice was of the most marvellous power. There is a story which the maestro used to tell of the basso and Carl Weber which illustrates this fact.

Lablache was originally a double-bass player, and his first appearance in opera as a singer came about through a happy chance. A celebrated vocalist was suddenly indisposed just before the performance one night, and Lablache was induced to take his place and attempt the rôle. His rendering of the character was entirely successful, and he abandoned his old career for this new one.

A few months afterwards Weber, who had known his massive figure in the orchestra, heard him sing in opera. After listening to the enormous voice and magnificent basso notes, the composer exclaimed, "Mein Gott! he is still a double-bass."

The size of Lablache's voice aroused the emulation of Garcia, who, as his sister Mme. Viardot puts it, proceeded to play the part of the frog that wanted to make itself as big as a bull. In trying to imitate this Gulliver of bassi he undoubtedly did further injury to his voice, which had already been much overstrained by the hard usage it had received in Mexico.

The next day Manuel collected copies of the newspaper critiques, which were unanimous in recommending him to tempt Fate no more on the stage, but to abandon the lyric career for which he was unfitted. These articles he dispatched to his father with a letter in which he wrote: "You see from these notices that I can never hope to become an operatic artiste." ("Je ne puis être artiste.") "From now onward I am going to devote myself to the occupation which I love, and for which I believe I was born." With this letter he definitely abandoned the operatic calling.

He then made his way back to France, and there joined his parents, who had arrived from Mexico in the late autumn of 1828.

During the period of the elder Garcia's stay in Mexico, political events occurred which were the very reverse of propitious to any musical venture.

Owing to this state of affairs the elder Garcia, after some eighteen months of hard work and considerable financial success, was obliged to bring his Mexican season to a hasty conclusion. He accordingly prepared at once to journey to the coast with the £6000 which he had made during his stay in America.

Owing to the disturbances he had the greatest difficulty in obtaining the necessary passports. At last, however, he succeeded, and set off for Vera Cruz with his wife and younger daughter Pauline, who was now seven years old.

He was provided with a guard of soldiers, which, however, proved to be too weak, or, what is far more likely, too faithless, to protect his goods. At a place called Tepeyagualo, in the valley of Rio Frio, the convoy was attacked by brigands, and he himself obliged to lie flat on his face while his baggage was plundered of a thousand ounces of gold—the savings of two and a half years' work. Not only this, but the men seized everything else which was of value: in fact, he was left with practically nothing save a small sum of money which he was carrying in a belt around his body.

Upon his return the elder Garcia made a few appearances at the Théâtre Italien in "Don Giovanni" and "Il Barbiere." His voice, however, was no longer what it had been. He was warmly welcomed by his old admirers; but these quickly perceived that his travels and misfortune, if not the advance of age, had much impaired his powers. He himself realised the change, and almost at once retired from the operatic stage, being in his fifty-fifth year, and devoted himself exclusively to the teaching which he had already started in Paris before leaving for America.

Among those who studied under him one may recall Mmes. Ruiz-Garcia, Rimbault, Favelli, and the Countess Merlin, who in later years was to publish a life of Maria Malibran, which can be looked on as little more than a fairy romance woven round a fascinating personality. Then there was Mme. Meric-Lalande, a brilliant stage soprano, who came to him as a natural singer of light opera, and after receiving some stricter training from the old teacher, was highly successful in Vienna, Paris, and the principal opera houses of Italy.

Of the men, Jean Geraldy is deserving of mention, since he afterwards became well known both as vocalist in the operas of Rossini and as a composer of many popular songs and operettas.

Nourrit commenced his studies before the elder Garcia set out on the American trip. When the teacher returned in 1829, his old pupil, who had now been leading tenor at the opera for four years, came to resume lessons. Of these Mme. Pauline Viardot still has a strong recollection. She was then a child not yet ten years old, but, in spite of this fact, used to assist her father by playing for him when he gave his lessons. When, therefore, among the others, Adolph Nourrit came to the house, she often used to accompany him at the piano at the lessons,—an experience which she still recalls with the greatest delight.

Of her many memories of that time none is more interesting than the fact that she read off with Nourrit the first melodies of Schubert which arrived in Paris, and of which theirs was the only copy in the city.

Nourrit's end was a sad one. After having been leading tenor for many years, he resigned eventually because Duprez was associated with him for the interpretation of the principal rôles; and this fancied slight so preyed on his spirits that at last, after singing at a benefit concert at Naples, he threw himself out of the window and perished miserably.

As a teacher the elder Garcia was strict and vigorous, a man of rugged discipline, so that the musical training which he gave his children was of the most rigid and thoroughgoing type.

Something of this has been already alluded to in setting down the experience of Manuel's early studies. There is, further, a well-known story, doubtless authentic, of a stranger passing near their house in Paris, and hearing sobs and objurgations proceeding from within. He at once inquired what was the meaning of these noises, and was answered, "Ce n'est rien. C'est Monsieur Garcia, qui fait chanter ses demoiselles." However that may be, there can be no question of the excellent results of his teaching.

When Manuel Garcia returned to France after his début at Naples, he did not immediately begin teaching at the vocal conservatoire which his father had started. His predilections had always been scientific, and he was passionately fond of all such studies, but specially of anatomy and all that had to do with the human body. On his arrival he was suddenly seized with an idea that he would prefer a seafaring life, and without thinking the matter over twice he resolved to become an officer in the French mercantile marine. With this object in view he began the study of astronomy and navigation, and pursued the work with so much diligence that he obtained a post on a ship. He was, in fact, on the point of going on board to take up this new career when his mother and sisters besought him with tears and supplications to relinquish his intentions. So ardently did they implore him, that when actually starting he was overcome with emotion and gave way to their entreaties.

And what a day of success it was! After having commenced as a notary's clerk, he gave himself to literature, and led the life of privation and adventure described in his first and best novel, 'Scènes de la Vie de Bohème,' published in the year when Manuel Garcia was celebrating his fortieth birthday. During Mürger's later years his popularity was secure and every journal open to him, but he wrote slowly and fitfully in the intervals of dissipation, and died in a Paris hospital over forty-five years ago.

Unhappily Manuel with his nature found, on settling down in Paris with his parents, that the somewhat overbearing manner of his father was difficult to get on with, considering that he himself was now twenty-five years of age.

At last, after a few months, he made up his mind that it would be best to absent himself from Paris for a time, in the hopes that this might result in a pleasanter state of things on his return.

"After a tedious delay, Hassein, the Dey of Algiers, the principal creditor, became impatient,"—I quote from Dr Brewer—"and demanded immediate payment. To this request no answer was vouchsafed; and the next time the French consul presented himself at court Hassein asked him why his master had not replied to his letter. The consul haughtily replied, 'The King of France holds no correspondence with the Dey of Algiers'; upon which the governor struck him across the face and fiercely abused the king.

"An insult like this could not, of course, be overlooked; and it was at once decided by the French Government that a squadron should be sent to receive the consul on board, and revenge the insult."

As soon as this news became known Manuel talked the matter over with his sister, Maria Malibran, and through her influence with the Commander-in-chief he was enabled to obtain an appointment in the commissariat of the army which was to accompany the expedition.

On July 26 the obnoxious ordinances were made known regarding the press and the reconstruction of the Chamber of Deputies, which had been dissolved in May. This at once let loose the furies of revolution, and hostilities were commenced with the raising of barricades on the very next day. Repeated conflicts took place between the army and the police, the latter ultimately aided by the National Guard. On the last day of the month Charles X. retired to Rambouillet, and the flight of the Ministry took place. On August 2 Charles abdicated, and five days later the Duke of Orleans accepted the crown as Louis Philippe I.

These events were quickly followed by the publication of the Constitutional Charter of July and the retirement of the ex-King to England. The closing scene of the drama took place in the December of the year, when Polignac and the other Ministers, who had been members of the administration of 1829, were tried and sentenced to life-long imprisonment.

During this time he used to carry home in his pockets the most extraordinary things from his anatomy class. Madame Viardot speaks of it thus:—

"What do you think he brought? You would never guess. The throttles of all kinds of animals,—chickens, sheep, and cows. You would imagine that these would have disgusted me. But it was not so. He would give me a pair of bellows, which I would insert in these windpipes, one after another, and blow hard. Heavens! what extraordinary sounds they used to emit. The chickens' throttles would cluck, the sheep's would bleat, and the bulls' would roar, almost like life."

At the remembrance of these rather gruesome incidents Madame Viardot laughs, much in the spirit, one may suppose, of the delicate Spanish beauty who applauds the thrusts of the matador at a bull-fight.

With all these advantages, added to a fine intellect, intuitive perception, and extraordinary patience, what wonder that when once he embarks on his career as a singing-master he never again looks back, but speedily establishes himself as a scientific teacher, with a reputation unequalled by any of his contemporaries?

AND now let us take up the career of Maria Malibran, since the next six years of Manuel Garcia's life are chiefly concerned with the triumphs of this his first pupil. We have already seen how, shortly after her return from America in the early autumn of 1827, she had been joined in Paris by Manuel; how the two lived there together for some months, while he helped his sister with her singing and coached her in her operatic work, and how, after a brilliant début at Galli's benefit in the January of 1828, the youthful contralto was engaged for the Italian Opera season in Paris, commencing in the following April.

This was the scene of that rivalry with Mme. Sontag which wrung from her the words, "Pourquoi chante-t-elle si bien, mon Dieu?" During the London season they shared the success, which brought about such coldness between them that it took all the tact and diplomacy of the Countess Merlin to persuade them to sing the duet from "Tancredi" together in her drawing-room.

On January 3 of the following year the two stars again appeared together in Paris in "Il Matrimonio segreto," given at the benefit of Mme. Damoreau-Cinti. A few days later they took part in "Tancredi." Rarely had Sontag given so beautiful a performance as she did in this her last appearance in the part before retiring into private life. At the close of the evening, as if to beg her rival's forgiveness for her triumph, she offered to Malibran, with a charming gesture, the flowers which had been thrown at her feet on the stage.

On the 18th of the month Henriette Sontag made her last bow before the public, and retired from the operatic world upon her marriage to Count Rossi. Thus Maria Malibran found the field clear, and remained without a rival among the contralti of her time. After this she appeared regularly each season in Paris and London during that brief career in which she took the world by storm. Like a meteor she dazzled all by a brilliancy beside which other stars seemed dim, and like a meteor she was to pass away as suddenly as she had arrived, within nine years of her début in Paris.

The salary which the famous contralto used to receive was for those days almost unprecedented.

Having received in the operatic season of 1829 sixty-six pounds a performance, as already stated, the following year found her salary increased to £125 a-night, nearly double what she had had, while in the next one she was paid £2775 for twenty-four performances.

Her tours through Italy were a series of triumphs. In Rome she was overwhelmed with praise; at Bologna the enthusiasm was such that the public subscribed for a bust to be executed in marble and placed in the theatre; while at Naples, her grandest triumph of all was achieved on the night when she took leave of the audience in the character of Ninetta. Six times after the fall of the curtain was she called forward to receive the reiterated plaudits and adieus of a public which seemed unable to bear the idea of separation from its new idol. The singer, for her part, had only strength and spirits left to kiss her hand to the assembled multitude, and indicate by expressive gestures the degree to which she was overpowered by fatigue and emotion. Nor did the scene end within the theatre, for a crowd rushed to the stage-door from all parts of the house, and as soon as their favourite's sedan-chair came out they escorted it, with loud acclamations, to the Palazzo Barbaja, and renewed their salutations as the artist ascended the steps.

Upon her arrival Maria Malibran was asked by the director of the Opera House in what part she would like to make her first appearance. She at once replied, "Norma, signor."

"But, madame, do you forget Pasta?"

"Eh, bien? I am not afraid of Pasta. I will live or die as Norma." Bellini's opera was therefore announced.

At the opening night Pasta came to hear the newcomer, and took up her position in the middle box of the grand tier amidst loud applause from the populace. Maria Malibran made her first entrance without any sound of encouragement, and the aria was received in deliberate, stony silence. Her next number was the terzetto. After one of the passages which she had to render the audience suddenly forgot themselves and shouted out, "Bravo!" This was instantly followed by cries of "Hush!" "Silence!" The trio came to an end. Not a hand! Instead were heard sounds of dispute from all parts of the house: "She is great;" "She is nothing of the kind;" "She is better than Pasta;" "She is not;" and these remarks went on for the rest of the evening.

Strange to say, Maria Malibran soon found herself mixed up with the Italian Liberal politics. At Naples already her sympathy for the Carbonari had excited some talk. At Milan she was fêted by all the aristocracy, who hated the Austrian rule. On the first night of Donizetti's "Marie Stuart," while taking the title-rôle, she had to reproach Elizabeth with her irregular birth, calling her "vile bastard." The whole audience at once saw in this expression an allusion to the usurpation of Lombardy, and broke out into loud shouts. Next day the Austrian governor ordered the scene to be suppressed, and at the same time threatened Maria Malibran with prison if she did not submit. The singer, however, resisted, declaring that the composer alone could make alterations in his work; and in consequence of this action the opera was withdrawn from the bill. This only increased her popularity, and in all political manifestations the cry would be raised, "Vive Malibran," as in after years "Vive Verdi" became synonymous with "Vive Victor-Emmanuel."

When she went out in this for the first time the police at once reminded her of the regulations, but she refused to yield, saying that, rather than do so, she would leave Venice. The governor was afraid of a public riot, such was her popularity, and he feared still more the observations of the Austrian Court, so determined to shut his eyes to the matter. But the singer had her revenge, for one day when he had gallantly conducted her to her gondola, she obliged him to take a seat in it, and then took him through all the canals, while they were met by the ironical cheers of all whom they passed.

In 1831 Maria Malibran built herself a handsome villa near Brussels, and from that time on made it a custom to retire to this home whenever she had a few weeks' rest.

On June 2, 1832, Manuel Garcia's father passed away at the age of fifty-seven.

We have already seen what a prominent figure the elder Garcia was in the musical world of the early nineteenth century. No less gifted as an actor than as a singer, his greatest performances were given in such contrasting characters as Almaviva, Don Giovanni, and Otello. Again, as a composer he was responsible for over forty operas in Italian, French, and Spanish, many of which are still treasured among the municipal archives of Madrid. Lastly, as a teacher of singing he made his mark both in Paris and London, and a great many of the best qualities of the modern school of vocalists depend on the joint teaching of the elder Garcia and his son Manuel; for while the latter was the first to conduct vocal training on correct scientific principles, the former undoubtedly laid the foundation of the school from which sprung Grisi, Sontag, and Alboni. Truly a remarkable man, to whose abilities Rossini bore striking testimony when he said to Manuel, after the elder Garcia's death, "Si ton père avait autant de savoir-faire que de savoir musical, il serait le premier musicien de l'époque."

In this opera she had already appeared in the Italian version with greater success even than Pasta, for whom Bellini had written the rôle. Further, the old Italian musician found in her his ideal interpreter for one of his most beautiful works, "Norma," with which he had only made a moderate success at La Scala.

On the night of its production in London, as the composer advanced to thank her, Maria Malibran rushed towards him with open arms, and sang the words, "Ah, m'abbracia."

"Mon émotion fut indescriptible," Bellini said afterwards in speaking of the incident. "Je me croyais en paradis. Je ne pus ajouter un mot, et je restai comme étourdi."