"What struck me most at the first meeting were the steadiness of his glance, the swiftness of his movement, and the rhythm of his tread. He was a man of middle age—forty-three years old, his manner alert, his voice possessing a friendly ring. When I timidly inquired his terms he replied, 'Combien voulez-vous me donner? je n'ai plus d'élèves; ils ont tous fui la révolution.' But, honoured master, you have just been trying a tenor who has a powerful voice. 'True; but he has no ear,' replied Garcia. 'When I asked him what his occupation was, he replied, 'Je suis tourneur.' 'Eh bien,' I answered, 'tournez, tournez encore; pas d'oreille, pas de chanteur!'

"My position as a member of the National Guard and a son of artistic parents seemed to interest the maestro, and he asked me only ten francs a lesson. After a few days studies were commenced, and I used to attend in my regimentals. Unhappily, however, the hardships of bivouacking on those cold winter nights proved very pernicious for my young voice, so that after a few weeks I found myself obliged to cease lessons temporarily. For six weeks I struggled against catarrh and sore throat; but at the beginning of May there came a happy change.

"On the 26th of the same month I received an invitation from Basle to sing in Mendelssohn's 'Elijah.' Garcia raised no objections to my attempting the task, and went through the difficult passages with me very carefully, showing me further how I might commit the title-rôle to memory in a short time without overtiring the voice. When in due course I sang the Elijah in Basle, the audience had no idea how my voice had suffered during those weeks of military hardship and discipline in Paris."

Such is the characteristic description which Julius Stockhausen gave of his first months under Garcia.

CHAPTER XII.
CLOSE OF PARIS CAREER.
(1848.)

THE first revolution of 1848 broke out in February. The grand Reform banquet which had been announced was suddenly prohibited on the 21st of the month, the immediate consequence being that revolutionary tumults burst out, and the next day brought with it the impeachment and resignation of Guizot. This was quickly followed by the throwing up of barricades in the streets; the Tuileries were ransacked, the prisons opened, and the most frightful disorders committed. At this Louis Philippe completely lost his nerve, and abdicated on the 24th in favour of his infant grandson, the Comte de Paris, who was not, however, accepted by the populace. Upon this the royal family and ministers made their escape as best they could, and a week later the ex-king landed at Newhaven as "Mr Smith."

On February 26 a republic was proclaimed from the steps of the Hôtel de Ville; and this decisive measure was followed by a grand funeral procession in honour of the victims of the revolution.

The next three months passed by in comparative quiet. The provisional government, which had been formed in the great public commotion, resigned to an executive commission, elected by the National Assembly of the French Republic, and the perpetual banishment of Louis Philippe and his family was decreed.

With June there came an outburst of still more frightful disorder, owing to the reconstitution of the National Guard of France, it being enlarged from 80,000 to 100,000. Among those who enrolled themselves in this body of men was Manuel Garcia; and it is not surprising that he did so, for, as all who knew him are well aware, he was a great lover of law and order.

The precautionary measure acted as a lighted fuse to a barrel of gunpowder. On June 23 the red republicans rose up in arms against the troops and the National Guard, more than three hundred barricades were thrown up, and firing continued in all parts of the capital during the night. Garcia well remembered George Sand standing on the top of a barricade surrounded by a band of students, and shouting down to him, "N'est-ce pas que c'est magnifique, n'est ce pas que c'est beau!"