MEMOIRS OF GARCIA AND RUBINI.
MANUEL DEL POPULO VINCENTE GARCIA was born at Seville the 21st of January, 1775. At six years old he was received into the choir of the cathedral, and commenced his musical studies under the instruction of Don Antonio Ripa and Juan Almarcha. At this time there was no theatre in Seville, and sacred music was in high estimation; the vocal corps belonging to the cathedral was not only strong in number, but contained, also, some distinguished performers, particularly a tenor and a male soprano. Garcia, having a very agreeable voice and extraordinary talents for music, was soon distinguished amongst his compeers, and by the time he was seventeen, his fame not only as a singer, but also as a composer and chef d’orchestre, had spread far beyond the limits of his native city. The manager of the Cadiz Theatre engaged him, and brought him forward in a toccadilla, in which the young debutant sang several pieces of his own composition. Here he obtained considerable reputation as a singer. His voice—a fine tenor—very flexible, and very extensive, particularly in the upper part, was much admired; but his action was so embarrassed and cold, that the most discerning spectator could never have detected in the awkward youth before him even the germ of that dramatic talent which afterwards classed him so high among acting singers. From Cadiz, Garcia proceeded to Madrid, where, arriving during Lent, he appeared in an oratorio, the only species of music allowed to be performed during that season in Spain. His residence in Madrid was of considerable duration; and he there composed several toccadillas.
When Garcia at length quitted Madrid, he proceeded to Malaga, in which city he composed his first opera, entitled El Preso, the libretto of which was borrowed from a French piece called ‘The Prisoner, or the Likeness.’ While he was at Malaga an epidemic fever raged there with such virulence as nearly to depopulate whole districts, but Garcia was fortunate enough to escape its ravages and get back safe to Madrid. On his return to the capital, he brought into fashion a species of operettas, in one or two acts, similar to those which were then in vogue in France; the plots, indeed, were chiefly taken from French pieces. These operas made the round of the Spanish theatres, and were almost all received with great applause. Garcia is one of the few Spanish composers who have written in the style of the national music of the country, which, as is well known, possesses a character entirely distinct from that of either Italy, Germany, or France. Several of his airs became highly popular; one in particular called Lo Cavallo, sung by him in the character of a smuggler, is as well known throughout Spain as Charmante Gabrielle in France, or God save the King in England. Some persons have denied Garcia’s claim to be considered as the composer of this most original melody; it is true the names of those who write popular airs are quickly forgotten, but in this case the fact is of easy proof, for there are many amateurs still living in Madrid who well remember the effect made by the air Yo che soy contrabandista, when Garcia sang it for the first time not thirty years ago.
On the 11th February, 1808, Garcia made his appearance in Paris, selecting for his début the Griselda of Paer, being the first time he had ever performed in an Italian opera. A journalist, whose criticisms carried much weight with them at that time, says of him—‘Don Garcia is a young artist of distinguished talent; his countenance is agreeable and expressive—his delivery correct—his action natural and animated; his voice is sweet-toned, graceful, of very extensive compass and extreme flexibility. It is evident that he is a man of great ability and experience in his art; his singing is rich in ornament, but frequently too much embroidered.’ In point of fact, however, Garcia owed all his talents as a singer to himself alone: he had never really studied it as an art, but had merely listened, imitated, and practised. On the 15th March, 1809, he gave for his benefit a Spanish monologue operetta, called El Poeta Calculista, (the first and only Spanish opera that has ever been performed in Paris,) with such decided success, that it was repeated several times running, until the excessive fatigue of supporting alone a piece in which four compositions out of the seven it comprised, were constantly encored, obliged him to suspend the representations.
Garcia continued in Paris till the commencement of 1811, when he went to Italy, and appeared successively on the theatres of Turin, Naples, and Rome. He was elected an academician of the Philharmonic Society at Bologna, and appointed by Murat principal tenor of his chamber and chapel. It was at this period that he became acquainted with Anzani, one of the most celebrated tenors in Italy, from whose instructions and example he acquired those secrets in the art of singing which were long monopolized by the old Italian masters for their own profit, or that of a few privileged scholars. In 1812 he brought out with great success at the St. Carlo an opera in two acts, imitated from the French, Il Califo di Bagdad. In 1816 Rossini wrote for him the parts of Almaviva in the Barber of Seville and of Otello. The air with variations, now sung as a finale to the Cenerentola, was composed originally for Garcia in Almaviva, and placed at the end of the second act of Il Barbiere, but only sung by him at Rome. In the autumn of the same year he returned to Paris, being engaged by Madame Catalani, at that time directress of the Théâtre Italien, and made his debut on the 17th October in Il Matrimonio Secreto. He afterwards performed in his own opera, Il Califo di Bagdad, in Griselda, Cosi fan tutte, Le Nozze di Figaro, Portogallo’s Semiramide, and several others, with equal distinction as an actor and a singer. By selecting Mad. Cinti to represent the principal female character in the Califf he gave that charming singer, who had hitherto been confined to secondary parts, the first opportunity of displaying her talents in a favourable light. The piece, the actor, and the actress enjoyed a moment of popularity, when all at once Garcia and his Califf disappeared. It was whispered that his chief offence was having called down as much applause in Semiramide, as the Queen of Babylon herself, and so reducing that august princess to the necessity of playing, for several days, the character of La finta Ammalata (the pretended patient). However this may be, Garcia, tired and ashamed of being eternally haggling for sixpences, left Paris and went to London, where he made his début on the 10th March, 1818, in his favourite part of Almaviva, and remained until the end of the ensuing season, 1819, when he returned to Paris.
It is to Garcia that the Parisian audiences owe their first acquaintance with the music of Rossini; and if the public knew all green-room intrigues that were resorted to, and all the obstacles Garcia had to encounter before he succeeded in having that great composer’s operas performed, its sense of obligation for the eminent services he at length succeeded in rendering them would not be small. In 1817 he had played Lindoro in the Italiana in Algeri, the first opera of Rossini’s ever performed in Paris; but when he wished to bring out the Barber of Seville for his own benefit, the opera was judged unworthy of the capital of France, and the singer forced to select another piece. Better instructed this time, he made the bringing out of Il Barbiere the sine quâ non of his engagement, and thus to his perseverance Paris owes the hearing this masterpiece of the comic opera within three years of its being composed.
The period between the autumn of 1819 and the beginning of 1824, which Garcia spent in Paris, formed the most brilliant portion of his musical career. As an actor and singer he enjoyed the highest popularity, especially in the parts of Almaviva, Otello, and Don Juan. As a composer, he wrote La Mort du Tasse and Florestan for the French opera; Il Fazzoletto for the Théâtre Italien and for the Gymnasium La Meunière; finally, as a professor of singing, he numbered amongst his pupils Adolphe Nourrit, the Countess Merlin, Mad. Favelli, and Mad. Méric Lalande. About this time he was also appointed first tenor of the chamber and chapel to the king. In 1824, Garcia was again engaged for the London opera, and returned to England. It was in London that Garcia completed the education of his gifted daughter, the present Mad. Malibran. In London he also opened an academy for singing. In the autumn of 1825, the Garcias left London; made a tour of the midland and northern parts of England; sang at some concerts and music-meetings at Manchester, Derby, and York; and finally embarked at Liverpool, on an excursion to the western continent.
To recount the whole of Garcia’s adventures in the New World; to lay before the reader the state of music in New York and Mexico at the moment he arrived in those cities; to paint all the difficulties he had to surmount, or speculate on the effect his residence amongst them had upon a population to whom the arts were quite new, would require too much space: a few of the principal events in his active and brilliant career is all we can afford room for. The company with which he crossed the Atlantic consisted of himself and the younger Crivelli, tenors; his son Manuel Garcia, and Angrisani, bassi cantanti; Rosich, buffo caricato; with Mad. Barbiere, Mad. Garcia, and her daughter Marietta, soprani. Il Barbiere, the opera which they chose as their introduction to an American audience, was almost entirely performed by the family party; Garcia playing Almaviva, his daughter Rosina, his son Figaro, and his wife Berta. In the course of the season they successively brought forward Otello, Romeo, Il Turco in Italia, Don Giovanni, Tancredi, La Cenerentola, and two operas of Garcia’s composition, L’Amante Astuto, and La Figlia dell’ Aria,—the latter written expressly for his daughter and Angrisani.
The air of New York did not agree with an Andalusian constitution, and Garcia removed, in search of a more congenial climate, from the United States to Mexico. Instead of finding in the capital of New Spain the repose which he had promised himself, he was soon compelled to sing and compose more than ever. Three Italian operas had been got up with the original words; but the Mexicans, though they had taste enough to relish the music, were not satisfied with performances of which they did not understand a single syllable. Garcia had no resource but to compose Spanish operas, or adapt Spanish words to the Italian: he did both. Amongst the operas written by him for the Mexican theatre, Semiramide and Abufarez may be particularly mentioned; and he adapted Spanish words to his own Amante Astuto, which was performed several nights running. The Mexican company, half native and half foreign, was nothing remarkable before Garcia arrived amongst them; he soon found that the duties of composer, director, chief of the orchestra, singing-master, chorus leader, and even machinist and decorator, must all centre in himself. His indefatigable activity was rewarded with such success, that he often said, ‘I would exhibit my Mexican performers now before a Parisian audience, and they would not be unworthy the honour.’
Notwithstanding the favourable reception he had met with in Mexico, Garcia could not avoid being uneasy at the daily increasing symptoms of animosity between the natives and the Spaniards. Foreseeing a speedy rupture between them, he resolved to return to Europe: he had great difficulty in obtaining passports, but at length succeeded, and set off for Vera Cruz, provided with a guard of soldiers, which, however, proved too weak, or too faithless, to protect him and his goods. At a place called Tepeyagualco, his convoy was attacked by brigands, and himself obliged to lie flat on his face, while his baggage was plundered of 1000 ounces of gold—the savings of his industry and economy. He came off with his life, however, and succeeded in getting once more to Paris, where he determined to dedicate the rest of his days to teaching. He appeared again at the Théâtre Italien, but declined very advantageous offers of an engagement at the Scala, and applied himself with new ardour to the instruction of his pupils[8]. The last, whose education he completed, were Madame Raimbeaux, Mademoiselle Edwige, and Madame Ruiz Garcia. Garcia died on the 9th of June, 1832, after a short illness, which was not at first considered at all dangerous.
To the last moment of his life Garcia was incessantly occupied with the art to which the whole of that life had been dedicated, enjoying a wonderful facility and an activity of mind not less astonishing. He has left behind him an immense number of manuscripts. Besides the operas already mentioned in the course of this narrative, he was the author of numerous others, most of which have not been brought out. The list of such of them as are known to us follows:—Il Lupo d’Ostende, two acts; Acendi (Spanish), two acts; Astuzia e Prudenza, one act, performed in London at the Argyle Rooms; I Banditi, two acts; La Buona Famiglia (words as well as music), by Garcia, one act; Don Chisciotte (Spanish), two acts; La Gioventù d’Enrico Quarto, two acts; El Jetano por Amore and Los Maridos Solteros (Spanish), two acts each; Sophonès (French), the words by M. de Jouy; Le Tre Sultane, two acts; Un Ora di Matrimonio, one act, with both Spanish and Italian words, played in Mexico; Xaira and El Zapatero de Bagdad (Spanish), two acts each; Zemira ed Azor, two acts. The last works of Garcia were five operettas for the chamber, with piano-forte accompaniment, L’Isola Disabitata, Li Cinesi, Un Avertimento ai Gelosi, I Tre Gobbi, and Il Finto Sordo. Garcia was also the author of a number of less extensive works, both for the voice and for instruments.
For the substance of the foregoing Memoir we are indebted to the Revue Musicale, the editor of which, or the writer of the article in that work, has apparently been somewhat biassed by feelings of personal friendship. He has viewed Garcia both as an actor and as a composer, with partial eyes. In the former capacity he was anything but refined; and in the latter, except a few trifles of a purely Spanish kind, whatever he may have produced is now utterly forgotten, and has not the slightest chance of ever being rescued from oblivion. He was to a certain extent a good musician, and had he not been so much addicted to what are, by abuse of language, called ornaments, would have deserved all the praise bestowed on him as a singer, for he possessed great energy, a full knowledge of the score, and at one time a rich, beautiful voice, of very considerable compass.