M. Sterling Mackinlay

CHAPTER XIX.
A NONAGENARIAN TEACHER.
(1895-1905).

IN commencing this chapter I must apologise for the personal tone, which is almost unavoidable, since I am giving purely personal reminiscences of the years of study that I spent under Manuel Garcia.

It was early in the May of 1895 that my mother (Antoinette Sterling) took me up to see her old master, in order that he might give his decision as to the advisability of my entering the musical profession.

When we had driven out to his house on Shoot-up-hill, we rang the bell, and a maid came to the door. "Is SeÑor Garcia well enough to see us? If he is sleeping, do not disturb him. We can wait till he is rested." The servant raised her eyebrows in slight wonderment. "Mr Garcia is out gardening, Madame. I will tell him of your arrival."

This astonishing information was uttered in the most ordinary tone, as though such a thing were a mere episode of everyday life. We were ushered into the drawing-room, but were not kept waiting long, for in a few minutes the door opened and Manuel Garcia entered. With a genial smile and an exclamation of pleasure he came rapidly across the room, taking short, quick steps, and was shaking hands with his old pupil almost before she had time to rise from her seat. The next quarter of an hour passed swiftly enough. A stream of questions fell from the lips of the wonderful nonagenarian as to what she had been doing, where she had been, what were her latest songs, what she thought of the pianist who had recently come out, what of the political situation, when could she come to lunch,—and so on.

He was short of stature, a little bent with age, frail-looking perhaps, but wiry. His eyes were bright and piercing, his profile clear-cut and distinguished. He had an olive complexion, a gift of his native Spain which fifty years of London fog and de-oxygenised air had been unable to take from him.

His white hair was partially covered by a red skull-cap, and his moustache was closely cut. He spoke in rapid tones, yet with absolute distinctness of clear enunciation.

Every word gave proof of that keen interest which he felt in all that was going on around him. In expression, voice, and gesture there was an amazing alertness, vigour, and mental activity which few men of seventy could equal, fewer still surpass. His conversation gave evidence of the fire of youth, tempered with the tolerance of old age.

FACSIMILE OF A LETTER WRITTEN BY MANUEL GARCIA AT THE AGE OF NINETY-ONE. FACSIMILE OF A LETTER WRITTEN BY MANUEL GARCIA AT THE AGE OF NINETY-ONE.

A more intimate acquaintance with the great teacher revealed further qualities which made him loved, nay, worshipped, by all his pupils. Loyal and staunch, he had an old-world courtesy, a charm of manner, and a patience which was quite remarkable.

When Manuel Garcia had heard me sing he asked a few penetrating questions. Then he turned to my mother and said that he would take me as a pupil: he thought, however, that it would be better for me to wait a year before starting work.

There was something almost uncanny in being told by a man ninety years of age to come back in twelve months and commence singing-lessons. But seeing and hearing him, one could not doubt that he would be ready and waiting at the appointed time.

Nor was the supposition wrong. In the first week of April of the following year, when he was approaching his ninety-second birthday, the first lesson took place. From that time on, my studies continued under his care and guidance until April 1900, when he was in his ninety-sixth year. In this I had the honour of being the last pupil to be regularly trained by him for the musical profession with the full four-years' course of tuition.

That he should have been able to continue teaching at all at such an age is sufficiently astonishing. That during those years he should have postponed lessons through indisposition upon only some three or four occasions gives a still keener insight into the extraordinary life led by him as a nonagenarian.

What a wonderful experience those lessons proved, lasting sometimes nearly two hours! When he was interested in explaining certain effects in singing or in recounting stories of artists and operas apropos of the work in hand, time ceased to exist. The luncheon-bell would ring three or four times without having any apparent effect, so engrossed was he in his subject. At the end of the lesson he would, with the old courtliness of his youth, insist on seeing one out himself. If one opened the door and stood aside for him to pass, the manoeuvre proved perfectly useless. With a delightful gesture he insisted on his guest preceding him, saying, "Ici je suis chez moi." Then he would skilfully slip along the hall and open the front door. There he would stand—oblivious, and apparently impervious, to draughts and cold—chatting for several minutes or giving some parting advice before holding out his hand and wishing one au revoir.

Almost more surprising is it that he should have continued to carry on his correspondence. Many a long letter was received from him during those years; while on one occasion he actually wrote out the entire music of an Italian aria, "Liete voci," giving his own elaborations of the original melody.

During the lessons he would remain seated at the piano, undertaking all accompaniments himself. These would be given quietly, but with a firm, rhythmical precision. In the case of the old Italian arie, they would generally be played from memory. His white expressive hands would weave elaborate preludes and harmonies into the music, and as one sang he would sit with closed eyes as though his thoughts were far away. But they were not, they were very much present. If a mistake were made the music would cease, the error be pointed out, and a suggestion given for its correction. This would take the form either of some helpful little observation, made in clear, precise terms, or of personal illustration, given in English, or more often French. Though over ninety years old, he was quite equal to showing how he wanted notes taken or an effect given by singing the passage himself. On one memorable occasion he sang two entire octaves, commencing at the low A flat, and ending with a high baritone G sharp. It sounds an almost incredible tour de force, but is an absolute fact. The voice naturally trembled with age, though in a surprisingly slight degree. But the timbre, enunciation, and dramatic power were still there, while every phrase revealed the extraordinary fire of his Spanish temperament.

When he had been singing thus one day he laughed and said, "I cannot sing any more. You see how the voice trembles. That, you must not imitate. The tremolo is an abomination—it is execrable. Never allow it to appear, even for a moment, in your voice. It blurs the tone and gives a false effect. Many French singers cultivate it, and I will tell you why."

There had been at one time, he said, an eminent vocalist worshipped by the Parisian public. His voice was beautiful in quality, faultless in intonation, and absolutely steady in emission. At last, however, he began to grow old. With increasing years the voice commenced to shake. But he was a great artist. Realising that the tremolo was a fault, but one which could not then be avoided, he brought his mind to bear upon the problem before him. As a result, he adopted a style of song in which he had to display intense emotion throughout. Since in life the voice trembles at such moments, he was able to hide his failing in this way by a quality of voice which appeared natural to the situation. The Parisians did not grasp the workings of his brain, and the clever way in which he had hidden his fault. They only heard that in every song which he sang his voice trembled. At once, therefore, they concluded that if so fine an effect could be obtained, it was evidently something to be imitated. Hence the singers deliberately began to cultivate a tremolo. The custom grew and grew until it became almost a canon in French singing.

The maestro told another story to illustrate the strange way in which effects were sometimes produced by the old vocalists. A certain artist was singing Secchi's "Lungi dal caro." Something in his voice gripped the audience from the first bar. There was an indefinable quality which they had never experienced before, something which thrilled and stirred them with an inexpressible weirdness, something which almost made the blood run cold. When the music ceased, every one drew a deep breath and remained silent for a few moments. Then came a burst of rapturous applause. Later on, a fellow musician went up to the singer, congratulated him, and then said, "Tell me how you were able to produce that effect upon your audience."

"Did you not hear? No? Then I will tell you how I did it. Throughout the music I sang the least shade flat. The result you observed."

And now a few words as to Manuel Garcia's Method of Teaching.

He always impressed on singers and teachers alike that the Art of Singing was not voice-production, a term which he loathed, but guidance in voice-emission.

His Method may be perhaps summed up in the doctrine that it was not a method—in the sense that he had no hard and fast rules,—his object always being to make each pupil sing in the way most natural and involving the least effort. He was careful to impress on one the fact that any visible effort took away from the charm of the singer. If one gave too free play to the lungs, and sang beyond oneself, he would remark, "You must not forget the advice my father gave me: 'Do not let anybody see the bottom of your purse; never spend all you possess, nor have it noticed that you are at your last resource.'"

The first lesson for all pupils would be practically a chat on the singer's aims and on the instrument at his disposal: he would explain in clear language the different parts of the instrument, and show that the lungs had to be properly filled; then in the first attempt at emission a steady gentle stream was to be sent out, while one guarded against the natural tendency to empty the lungs quickly. At the larynx the air in passing through the little lips of the glottis received pitch, which varied according to the rapidity with which these opened and allowed puffs of air to pass through; then in passing through the passage from the larynx to the front of the mouth they received timbre and vowel-tone, which varied according to the shape of the pharynx and the height of the soft palate.

The tone was then to be directed to the front of the mouth, and here the consonants were made, but these latter were not to interfere with the flow of sound or cause any jerkiness. When a phrase was commenced the tone was to flow on evenly, smoothly, steadily, with greater or less sustaining power as desired, until the end was reached. He would further explain something of the theory of registers, and the causes of various kinds of tones, good and bad. Finally, before telling the pupil to make his first tones, he would impress on him this: "If you do not understand anything perfectly, ask me at once, and I will endeavour to clear up the point and show you how to get over the difficulty. And remember that we must have the knowledge to guide the emission of the voice with our brains. When the tone has once been emitted it is too late to correct a fault. We must be aware beforehand exactly what we are going to do. We must know what is right and how to do it. That is the secret."

After this preliminary explanation the first step invariably consisted in the emission of a steady tone, deep breathing being insisted on for the purpose. At the first sign of unsteadiness in the tone the pupil was directed to stop and begin again. In the intervals of rest the physiology of the voice was clearly and carefully explained, and the proper position of the various parts of the body and throat, and the management of the vocal cords necessary for the emission of resonant tone, were the first laws laid down. When once the pupil could sing a scale slowly and steadily, the way was open to the practice of exercises; and very often in the case of a voice of promise these exercises constituted the whole course of study for a considerable period.

The famous coup de la glotte, or shock of the glottis, with which his name is associated, has often been misapplied from ignorance of its real object, which was to secure that the vocal cords were closed at the commencement of the tone, and that there was consequently no preliminary escape of the breath. How far his methods, which also included the imparting of a remarkable grasp of every phase of vocal expression, were successful, is to be gathered from the list of his direct or indirect pupils, which, as we have seen, includes a great many of the most prominent representatives in the world of song.

At the lessons the maestro did not, as a rule, offer either praise or blame. He was, however, always encouraging, and treated pupils according to their individual powers. He seemed to know instinctively what they could manage and what was beyond them. His remarks might be made in English, French, or Italian, so that the pupil had to keep his wits about him. In them there was a directness and penetration which filled one with implicit confidence in his keen mind and extraordinary experience. Hardly a lesson passed in which he did not, during the intervals for rest, tell some anecdotes of the most engrossing interest. These would have as their subject the elder Garcia, Malibran, Jenny Lind, Meyerbeer, Rossini, Mario, Pasta, or some other of the great musicians of the past. Often, too, he would speak of his memories of Spain, of the Peninsular War, the French Revolution, the first New York season of Italian opera, his tour in Mexico, the discovery of the laryngoscope, or other memories of his long career. But though related with delightful readiness, these stories always displayed extreme modesty in reference to the part played by himself in the various episodes.

It was in the same spirit, too, that he would speak of his efforts as a teacher. "I only tell you how to sing, what tone is good, what faults are to be avoided, what is artistic, what inartistic. I try to awaken your intelligence, so that you may be able to criticise your own singing as severely as I do. I want you to listen to your voice, and use your brain. If you find a difficulty, do not shirk it. Make up your mind to master it. So many singers give up what they find hard. They think they are better off by leaving it, and turning their attention to other things which come more easily. Do not be like them.

"In Paris once a number of boys were set some problems whilst competing for a prize at the Gymnase. One of them was seen to cry, and on being asked why he did so, replied that the problems were too easy. He was afraid that all the others would be able to do them as well as himself, so that he would be prevented from carrying off the prize. The master smiled, and told him to answer the questions by a more difficult method, if he knew one. He did so, and gained the first place.

"Many singers do the opposite. They burst into tears because they find a thing too hard. Do not be afraid to face a difficulty. Make up your mind to conquer it. I only direct you. If you do a thing badly, it is your fault, not mine. If you do it well, all praise to you, not to me. I show pupils how to sing, and the proper way to study. Suppose some one meets me out of doors and says, 'Can you tell me the way to Hampstead Heath?' I answer, 'I will walk there with you.' We set out, and I keep by his side, saying, 'This is the street we have to pass through. Do not turn down there. That goes in the wrong direction. Follow my instruction, and you will arrive at your destination. I know the road well.' If he takes the wrong turning, that is his fault, not mine. I cannot prevent him from going off into the slums. I can only say 'Do not go there—that is wrong.' He must follow my advice or not, as he chooses. Again, if we come to a very steep hill, and he says, 'I can't climb that. It is too difficult. Let us not go up—I am tired'; I can only reply, 'If you wish to reach the Heath, you must climb it. There is no other way of getting to your destination.' But if he is lazy, and will not mount it by his own endeavour, I cannot lift him and carry him upon my shoulders."

How characteristic it was of the master's innate modesty to speak of his work in this simple way! How he ignored the times when he pulled the pupils back by main force from that wrong path; when he cheered them on, should they get discouraged; when he described in concise terms the easiest way of climbing up that hill! If they failed to mount the ascent on the first occasion, he explained the reason for their failure. Then he bade them be of good courage and try again. If they failed ten times, he would once more carefully repeat exactly what had to be done, and seek for fresh illustrations which might perhaps put the matter in a clearer light. Truly, if he did not actually carry them up the steep path, he came very near doing so. He was like a friend offering assistance rather than a teacher paid to instruct. Ah, dear maestro! never shall I forget the infinite patience and gentleness which you displayed in those hours of study.

When a difficulty had been overcome, he would smile and say, "That was as I wish. Do it again. Good! Now try and impress upon your mind exactly what you did. Sing it once again. C'est Ça! Do not let the old mistake occur again." If one did allow it to reappear, he would shake his head sorrowfully and say, "Jenny Lind would have cut her throat sooner than have given me reason to say, 'We corrected that mistake last time.'" It seemed at first strange, to say the least, to hear these comparisons made between oneself and a pupil who had studied under the same master fifty years previously. However, after studying for three years, I grew used to hearing him speak of musicians who had been dead forty years or more; of a sister who, after a brilliant career, had died in 1836; of a father who had come into the world a hundred and twenty years previously; and of his first singing-master, Ansani, who was born early in the eighteenth century. At any rate, during the last year of study I was able to hear such casual remarks as "Ah, yes, I remember teaching this song to Stockhausen for his dÉbut" (the great German vocalist being at the time somewhere about seventy years of age), without evincing more than a momentary surprise.

Wagner's compositions never attracted Manuel Garcia. The heavy orchestration of the German music did not appeal to him, though he raised no objection to going through Wolfram's song, "O Star of Eve," in the Italian version, "O tu bel astro incantator." "TannhÄuser" was written in a lyrical style: one shudders to think what he would have said to anything like Wotan's "Abschied."

He did not believe in "vocalises," such as are used by most teachers in earlier lessons. Instead of these, he preferred to give simple Italian arias. He pointed out that with them one began at once to learn the value of articulation and expression. Exercises he looked on as the foundations of all good singing. They would take the form of sustained and swelled notes, scales, passages of combined intervals, arpeggios, chromatics, and shakes. The acquirement of agility in execution, he used to say, required at least two years' study, the result being that the voice became flexible, even mellow and strong. In the elucidation of difficulties he used to make use of many similes and illustrations, which threw a vivid and illuminating light upon the matter in hand. These, together with the various maxims of artistic singing which he would impart, I used to write down in a book after each lesson, and as a teacher of singing I have found them of the most inestimable value and assistance.

When one day I told the maestro that I had decided to devote my whole attention in the future to teaching, he at once sat down and wrote a letter of recommendation, though in his ninety-eighth year,—a typical example of his kindness and thought for the benefit of others.

It was an inestimable advantage to hear him teach singers of various capacities. During the period I was under him I had the privilege of hearing him give many lessons; for though I was the last pupil to receive the full four years' training, he was still teaching a few specially favoured amateurs,—in most cases the children or grand-children of former pupils.

His ear was most accurate and unerring, while he was exceedingly quick of observation, and equally ready with a helpful remark, given in precise terms, a simile, a little anecdote, or even a slight gesture or a look.

In his lessons he was ever ready to give the most interesting information on any scientific questions or theories, and would discuss a point with the greatest animation. He was particularly annoyed at the way the coup de la glotte was misunderstood and exaggerated beyond all recognition by many musicians. In his 'Hints on Singing' he defines the coup as the neat articulation of the glottis that gives a precise and clear start to a sound. In reality, as taught by him, it simply meant that he wished one to get straight on to a note, without any uncertainty or feeling about for it, instead of slurring up to it (a very common fault), or taking it too sharp and having to sink to the proper pitch.

His works mark an epoch in a branch of human knowledge which one day may be called a science. They deserve to be most carefully studied by any one who wishes to gain a clear insight into that interesting subject—the human voice. They are the fruit of a great mind and of wonderful experience, written in a very lucid style, simple and terse, full of interest to the musician as well as to the voice trainer.

He expounds his views fearlessly but modestly, with logical cogency. Nearly every page bears evidence how cautious, discerning, and progressive a teacher he was.

As showing the importance which Manuel Garcia attached to poetic interpretation of all vocal music, I give three quotations from his 'Hints on Singing,' the extracts being taken from the section headed "Preparation of a piece."

"The pupil must read the words of the piece again and again till each finest shadow of meaning has been mastered. He must next recite them with perfect simplicity and self-abandonment. The accent of truth apparent in the voice when speaking naturally is the basis of expression in singing. Light and shade, accent, sentiment, all become eloquent and persuasive. The imitation of instinctive impulse must, therefore, be the object of this special preparation."

He was always careful to secure the proper use of the registers on the part of the pupil, for, as he would point out, more female voices have been ruined by carrying the chest register too high (that is to say, beyond the E or F above middle C) than by anything else.

He had a wonderful insight into the capabilities of those whom he taught. Indeed, I remember his saying once that throughout his career he had very rarely failed in reading from the eyes of an intending pupil the prophecy as to his or her future success in the profession of music. He disliked, he said, to be associated with failures, and the moment he found that he had made a mistake in his estimate of a pupil's capacities, he at once disillusioned him and declined to continue his training.

His mannerisms while playing accompaniments were quite characteristic of the man. He would strike the chords with the greatest vivacity, and almost leap into the air from his piano-stool in his excitement at any wrong trick of vocalisation; or again, he would make a dash for the metronome, snatch it up and set it to time, and for the space of perhaps ten minutes compel one to go on counting mentally, or beating time with the hand in unison with the rhythmic movements of the guiding instrument, until the time difficulty had been mastered. When he had succeeded in preparing the voice for use like a beautifully toned instrument, his teaching spread over the whole extension of every style of music,—opera, oratorio, and song.

To his charm of courtly manners was added a never-failing wit and love of fun: of this he gave constant proof. For instance, an old pupil recounts how one day Manuel Garcia was seized with a fit of coughing. "Ah, maestro, I'm afraid it's the spring," he commiserated, and was met with the half-laughing, half-pathetic retort, "No, no; it is too many springs."

A further illustration of his keen sense of humour, even in extreme old age, is found in a letter which, as a nonagenarian, he wrote to a friend some seventy years his junior.

The young man was famous among his acquaintances for a rather eccentric handwriting, and no one was fonder of twitting him about it than the maestro. The chaff on one occasion took the form of a letter, which I am enabled to reproduce in facsimile. SeÑor Garcia wished to convey the following information:—

Remembering, however, to whom he was writing, he took the trouble to make his communication as bewildering as possible by dividing the words thus:—

Often at the close of a lesson he used to ask me to stay to tea, and in the summer we would adjourn to the garden, where the table would be spread beneath the inviting shadow of the trees. Those would be red-letter days indeed.

On these occasions the maestro would leave thoughts of singing behind him, and show his wide interests and deep insight into all the questions of the day. Once when conversation had turned upon violin-playing, there came up the name of Kubelik, who had come out in London a few weeks previously. After four years' pupilage, I was not surprised to learn that he had already been to hear the new instrumentalist. I must, however, confess to having been somewhat startled when, with the greatest sangfroid, he began comparing the execution with that of Paganini. At other times he would speak of Joseph Chamberlain and the newest developments of Fiscalities, the building of sky-scrapers in New York, the drama of the day, or the Spanish War. One day he even showed himself quite ready to discuss the pros and cons of Christian science.

FACSIMILE OF A LETTER WRITTEN BY MANUEL GARCIA AT THE AGE OF NINETY-NINE. FACSIMILE OF A LETTER WRITTEN BY MANUEL GARCIA AT THE AGE OF NINETY-NINE.

My lessons came to a close in April of 1900, when the maestro was in his ninety-sixth year.

When in due course the time came for making my first provincial tour, he wrote several letters on the subject, of which I quote three, as being typical of the trouble which he was ever ready to take, and the wisdom of the advice which he would give.

Again he writes:—

A third runs as follows:—

After this I continued to see the maestro fairly often, and was not surprised to hear of his setting off in his ninety-seventh year to spend the winter in Egypt, or of his staying with his sister in Paris for a few days on his way home.

In the early winter of 1903 my mother was taken seriously ill, and Manuel Garcia on hearing of this at once wrote a sympathetic letter.

On January 10, 1904, the end came, and with the announcement in the papers, one of the first tokens of sympathy was a beautiful wreath from the maestro, followed by a telegram expressing his desire to be present at the closing scene in the career of his old pupil. Despite the distance, for the service was held at Golder's Hill, the maestro drove over, stayed for the entire service, and remained behind afterwards to offer a few simple but never-to-be-forgotten words of sympathy.

Two months after this he entered his 100th year. To celebrate the occasion, an address of congratulation was presented to him, signed by 127 professors of the Royal College and Royal Academy of Music.

FACSIMILE OF A LETTER WRITTEN BY MANUEL GARCIA AT THE AGE OF NINETY-FOUR. FACSIMILE OF A LETTER WRITTEN BY MANUEL GARCIA AT THE AGE OF NINETY-FOUR.

At the end of the year it was suggested by the editor of 'The Strand Magazine' that I should prepare an article on "Manuel Garcia and his Friends" for publication in the month of his centenary. On my communicating with the maestro, he wrote at once offering to render assistance, and asked me to bring the MS. up when ready. Accordingly, in the January, two months before his 100th birthday, I spent the afternoon with him, and was requested to read aloud the proofs of the article.

It was astonishing how memory enabled him to correct immediately any mistake. He would suddenly stop and say, "No, no; it was in 1827, not 1825." Again, in the case of a story in which some details were wrong, he said, "No, that is not right. I will tell it you again"; with which words he recounted in French the tale of how his sister, Malibran, came to make her dÉbut at Paris. And so the afternoon passed, until finally, after signing a photo, he insisted on coming to the door to see me out. This experience served to prepare me for the astonishing ease and energy with which, a few weeks later, he went through the Centenary festivities.

CHAPTER XX.
THE CENTENARY HONOURS.
(1905.)

UPON St Patrick's Day, 1905, Manuel Garcia entered on the "second century of his immortality," as Professor FrÄnkel felicitously put it.

That 17th of March has become red-lettered in the annals of music by reason of its international character, and the fact that the two professions of music and medicine joined hands with the royalty of three countries, England, Spain, and Germany, in paying honour to whom honour was due.

Sir George Cornewall Lewis was a firm disbeliever in centenarians, but his scepticism must have suffered a severe shock could he have been present at the celebrations. He would then have seen not merely a man whose years beyond all question numbered a century, but one who at that great age showed no sign of senility, and could still take an active part in a series of trying ceremonies, and bear with dignity, if not altogether without fatigue, a load of honours and congratulations, a flood of speeches like the rushing of great waters, and repeated thunderstorms of applause that would have overwhelmed many men in the full vigour of life. Manuel Garcia went through the trying ordeal without apparently feeling any ill effect, and seemed thoroughly to enjoy the whole thing. It was difficult indeed to believe that the venerable figure on the right of the chairman at the banquet, whom one saw light a cigarette and smoke it with relish in defiance of the Anti-Tobacco League, was born seven months before the battle of Trafalgar!

It was passing strange, as one saw him giving the lie in every point to Shakespeare's picture of extreme age, to think that he might not only have "seen Shelley plain," but have been one of the students who modelled their collars and their scowls on those of Byron; that he had finished his education before Pasteur was born, and had come to man's estate before Lister saw the light; that he had made his name known on two continents while Scott and Goethe were still alive, and Darwin was at school; and that he had made the discovery that will make his name immortal while many of those whose names are now illustrious were yet unborn. How quick were his senses and how alert his intelligence was shown in many ways, trifling, perhaps, but significant, in the course of what must have been the most trying day of his long life. His extraordinary vitality was put to a very severe test in the functions held in honour of the occasion, but he passed through them with the most wonderful fortitude and genial courtliness.

When the King heard of the approaching birthday, he made inquiries as to whether the aged maestro could stand the strain of personal investiture of the honour which his Majesty had already decided to bestow. The answer came back that he was quite ready, and anxious to show his gratitude for this royal compliment by going to the palace.

An interview was accordingly arranged, and SeÑor Garcia, having risen between nine and ten o'clock on the morning of that day of days, was driven to Buckingham Palace, where he was ushered without delay into the King's presence. His Majesty entered into conversation with the old musician, showing his acquaintance with his long record of fame, and, ever interested in aged people, questioned him as to his health with the most sympathetic solicitude, being absolutely amazed at the vitality displayed. The King expressed to the maestro his congratulations and his recognition of all that he had done for medicine and music, and finally invested him with the insignia of a Commander of the Royal Victorian Order, at the same time signifying a wish to be personally represented at the banquet which was to take place in the evening. Needless to say that this characteristic kind-heartedness of King Edward, shown towards the hero of the day, acted as a splendid tonic to the Centenary celebrations.

From the Palace SeÑor Garcia drove to the rooms of the Royal Medical and Chirurgical Society in Hanover Square, where by noon the fine saloon was thronged by his old pupils and various deputations, representative of many departments of learning and research.

The reception-room had been decorated for the occasion with palms and foliage plants. In the centre of a carpeted dais at one end of the apartment had been placed a high-backed chair, upholstered in crimson, and on the extreme left was the still veiled portrait of the centenarian, which had been painted by Sargent. In front of the seat there were some beautiful floral tributes. The largest bore on its ribbons the inscription, "À leur cher et venÉrÉ Professeur, Manuel Garcia—Salvatore et Mathilde Marchesi, Paris, Mars 17, 1905." Another came from Blanche Marchesi, and was addressed "To the Christopher Columbus of the Larynx"; while yet another had been sent by the Glasgow Society of Physicians.

Punctually at twelve o'clock, amid volleys of applause, Manuel Garcia, looking amazingly bright and hale, entered the room with short, quick steps, wearing the insignia of the Royal Victorian Order, conferred an hour before, and walked unaided to the dais. This he mounted with agility, and took his seat upon the crimson throne, a magnificent basket of flowers on either side. There he sat for an hour, upright and smiling, in full view of the spectators, during the proceedings which ensued.

It fell naturally to the lot of Sir Felix Semon, both as Physician Extraordinary to the King and chairman of the Garcia Committee, to convey the intelligence of the earlier ceremony which had taken place that morning.

Next came the Spanish ChargÉ d'Affaires, the Marquis de Villalobar, who delivered a special message of congratulation from King Alfonso.

The Marquis de Villalobar then invested SeÑor Garcia with the Order, amid loud cheers. After this glowing tribute came Professor FrÄnkel, who said that they were assembled to honour one who had devoted his best days to the teaching of singing,—had not been content with attempting to discover the secrets of voice-culture by sound alone, but had proceeded in a thoroughly scientific way. Through his genius he had thrown light on the hitherto dark places of the larynx and the source of the living human voice. He had thereby laid the sure foundations of the physiology of the voice.

In recognition of his merits the German Emperor had conferred on him the Great Gold Medal for Science. The Minister for Public Instruction had requested him (Dr FrÄnkel) to present that rarely awarded distinction to SeÑor Garcia that day when he completed the first century of his immortality. He did so with the greatest pleasure, as one who owed a very great debt of gratitude to the method of laryngoscopy invented by their honoured friend.

An address from the Royal Society was then presented by Sir Archibald Geikie (principal secretary), Professor Francis Darwin (foreign secretary), and Professor Halliburton, F.R.S. The address, which was read by Professor Halliburton, was as follows:—

Sir Archibald Geikie (as a corresponding member of the Prussian Academy of Sciences) read the following telegram from that Academy:—

An address was next read from the University of KÖnigsberg, which in 1862 had conferred on SeÑor Garcia the honorary degree of Doctor of Medicine. A hope was expressed that he would live to receive the fresh diploma which it is the custom to confer on doctors of fifty years' standing.

The next address was from the Victoria University of Manchester, presented by Professor Stirling, F.R.S., Dr Milligan, and Dr S. Moritz, followed by one from the Medical Faculty of Heidelberg.

The address from his old pupils was read by Mr Ballin. In offering their sincere congratulations they said: "The services you have rendered to the art of singing are very great, and the large number of your pupils who have become famous is incontestable proof of your genius." Madame Blanche Marchesi spoke in the name of her parents, who were unavoidably absent, expressing their gratitude for everything he had done for them. Their method and their success were due to SeÑor Garcia, who had laid the basis of their artistic career.

Mr Otto Goldschmidt, the husband of Jenny Lind, said that his late wife, to the end of her days, continued to have respect, regard, and veneration for SeÑor Garcia, who helped her to take the position in the musical world which she attained; and he was very happy indeed to be able to make that statement, and to congratulate the old master on what he had done for the great art of singing.

An address from the Royal Academy of Music was followed by one from the Royal College of Music.

Addresses and messages from Laryngological societies and associations were then read, the following being among the bodies represented: The American Laryngological Association; the Belgian Society of Oto-Rhino-Laryngology (Dr Delsaux, Dr Goris, Dr Broeckkaert); the Berlin Laryngological Society (Dr Landgraf, Professor Kuttner, Professor Gluck); the British Laryngo-Oto-Rhinological Association (Mr Chichele Nourse, Dr Percy Jakins, Mr Stuart-Low, Mr Dennis Vinrace, Dr Andrew Wyld); the Danish Laryngological Society; the French Laryngo-Rhino-Otological Society (Dr Moure, Dr Lermoyez, Dr Toxier, Dr MoliniÉ); the Italian Laryngo-Rhino-Otological Society and Neapolitan School of Laryngology (Sir Felix Semon, hon. member, Professor Poli); the London Laryngological Society (Mr Charters Symonds, Mr de Santi, Dr Davis, and Mr H. B. Robinson); the Netherlands Laryngo-Oto-Rhinological Society (Dr Moll, Dr Burger, Dr Kan, Dr Zaalberg); the New York Academy of Medicine, Section of Laryngology (Dr Harman Smith); the Paris Laryngological Society (Dr C. J. Koenig, Dr Mahu); the Rhenish-Westphalian Laryngological Society (Dr Hirschland); the St Petersburg Laryngological Society; the South-German Laryngological Society (Dr Avelis); the Spanish Laryngo-Oto-Rhinological Society and Academy of Medicine and Surgery (Dr Botella, Dr Tapia); the Vienna Laryngological Society (Professor Chiari); the Warsaw Laryngological Society; the West-German Laryngological Society (Dr Fackeldey, Dr Lieven); and the Hungarian Laryngological Society. Congratulatory telegrams were received from the Laryngological Societies of Sweden, Moscow, and Cracow; from the Amsterdam Medical Society; from the Medical Society of Japan; from Professor Moritz Schmidt, as President of the New German Laryngological Society; from Dr Birkett of Montreal, in the name of the students of M'Gill University; from Dr French, of Brooklyn, and hundreds of others.

The next speech brought a touching note to the scene, for in it Dr Botella, of Madrid, as the official delegate of the Spanish Government and of the Spanish Laryngological Society, addressed the maestro in his mother-tongue. A new light came into the centenarian's eyes, and he bent forward in an attitude of the closest attention, as if he feared to lose a single note of the beloved speech, whose sound on such an occasion must have carried him back over that great gulf of years to the far-off days of his childhood.

Dr Botella said that before the discovery of the laryngoscope the sense of touch was the only means of knowing of the existence of tumorous growths in the larynx. The invention of the laryngoscope had opened immense horizons to science, had put within its range many diseases the existence of which could never have been suspected, had made possible their treatment, and had saved from suffering and death numberless lives. The Spanish Government sent SeÑor Garcia its enthusiastic congratulations, and the Spanish Laryngological Society begged his acceptance of the diploma of "President of Honour." He brought a kind greeting from Spain to England, from SeÑor Garcia's native land to his adopted one. If the former gave him birth, the latter gave him shelter, and on that occasion both felt equally proud to have him as a son.

The following was the address of the Laryngological Society of London:—

CHARTERS J. SYMONDS (President).
PHILIP R. W. DE SANTI (Secretary).

Sir F. Semon said there was a large number of telegrams of congratulation, and that in the midst of the great strife which was going on between two great nations, neither of them had forgotten a great benefactor. In addition to the congratulations from St Petersburg and Warsaw, already announced, telegrams had been received from the Moscow Laryngological Society and from the Medical Society of Japan.

Several of the foreign societies, including the Netherlands and the Vienna societies, announced that they had conferred their honorary membership upon SeÑor Garcia.

The programme was brought to a conclusion by the presentation to SeÑor Garcia of his portrait, painted by Mr Sargent, R.A., and subscribed for by international contributions of the friends and admirers of the centenarian. The members of the Garcia Centenary Celebration Committee came forward to make the presentation. They were Sir F. Semon (chairman); Mr E. Furniss Potter, M.D., and Mr P. de Santi, F.R.C.S. (hon. secretaries); Mr E. Cresswell Baber, M.D., Mr J. Barry Ball, M.D., Mr J. S. Ballin, Mr A. Bowlby, F.R.C.S., Mr H. T. Butlin, F.R.C.S., Mr H. J. Davis, M.B., Mr J. Donelan, M.B., Mr J. Walker Downie, M.B., Mr F. de Havilland Hall, M.D., Mr W. Hill, M.D., Mr Percy Kidd, M.D., Mr L. A. Lawrence, F.R.C.S., Mr P. M'Bride, M.D., Mr W. Milligan, M.D., Mr L. H. Pegler, M.D., Mr W. Permewan, M.D., Mr H. B. Robinson, F.R.C.S., Mr C. J. Symonds, F.R.C.S., Mr St Clair Thomson, M.D., and Mr F. Willcocks, M.D. Mr W. R. H. Stewart, F.R.C.S. (Ed.), the hon. treasurer, was prevented by illness from attending.

Sir F. Semon made the presentation, and announced that the album containing the names of the subscribers would be handed to SeÑor Garcia subsequently. About twenty laryngological societies and about 800 persons had united to offer that testimonial.

The portrait was then unveiled amid loud cheers, which were renewed when the aged maestro rose to return thanks. His voice trembled with emotion, for he had been deeply touched by all this loyal recognition and affection. His opening words were addressed to the Spanish ChargÉ d'Affaires.

When Sir Felix hesitated at this point because he saw that he was coming to a passage about himself, SeÑor Garcia at once cried, "Yes, yes! read that!" Then, as the Chairman of the Committee looked somewhat embarrassed, the centenarian said with great vivacity, "Well, give it to me; I will read it." With these words he took over the paper once again and read the concluding words of the speech.

This brought the first part of the programme to a close, and the centenarian returned to his home, which was inundated with telegrams and baskets of flowers. Here he gave himself up to rest and preparation for that still more trying ordeal which was still to come.

That same evening SeÑor Garcia set out for the Hotel Cecil, where a complimentary birthday banquet had been arranged by the committee.

When the carriage had driven into the courtyard of the hotel he alighted without assistance, entered the outer hall, and walked nimbly down two or three flights of stairs to the cloak-room.

There was a very large attendance, the Grand Hall being filled with eminent musicians and scientists anxious to do honour to the distinguished guest.

Opening Bars of an Aria Written out by Manuel Garcia when in his Hundredth Year, giving his Elaborations of the Original Melody. Opening Bars of an Aria Written out by Manuel Garcia when in his Hundredth Year, giving his Elaborations of the Original Melody.

Mr Charters J. Symonds was in the chair.

In proposing the first toast, "The King," he said that his Majesty was always the foremost in every way in the recognition of merit, and that day he had anticipated their function, and had received SeÑor Garcia personally, conferring upon him a great honour—the Commandership of the Royal Victorian Order. His Majesty, in honour of SeÑor Garcia, had also sent Lord Suffield there as his representative.

The toast having been loyally honoured, the chairman said that two other European sovereigns had combined with our own King to confer honour on their guest. His Majesty the King of Spain had sent SeÑor Garcia the Grand Cross of the Order of Alfonso XII., and also a message which he would call on the Spanish ChargÉ d'Affaires to read.

The Marquis de Villalobar said it gave him great pleasure to convey to his illustrious compatriot the message which his Majesty, the King of Spain, had sent to him just now through his Minister of Foreign Affairs. It was as follows: "By command of his Majesty the King, congratulate personally SeÑor Garcia on the day of the celebration of his 100th birthday. Convey his royal best wishes to the grand old Spaniard who, by his invention and works, has glorified and exalted the name of Spain."

The chairman, resuming, said he had heard a whisper that the honour conferred by the King of Spain carried with it the title of His Excellency, so that in future they might regard their dear old friend as His Excellency, SeÑor Garcia. Again, his Majesty the German Emperor, mindful of the benefit which he himself not long since obtained from the knowledge of the instrument invented by SeÑor Garcia, had conferred upon him a great distinction. It had been brought to London by the most distinguished laryngologist in Germany, Professor FrÄnkel. It was the medal which was called the Great Gold Medal for Science. They would appreciate its importance when he said that previously it had only been conferred upon Professor Virchow, Professor Koch, Ehrlich, and Mommsen. These three Sovereigns had that day combined to recognise in SeÑor Garcia the ability which had influenced science and art in all countries. He gave them the toast of the King of Spain, and then of the German Emperor.

The toasts having been honoured, Sir Felix Semon proposed the health of the hero of the evening in a long and eloquent speech.

The toast was drunk with enthusiasm, and the company sang, "For he's a jolly good fellow."

Then, in an atmosphere of electrical excitement, Manuel Garcia stood up, and amid a thrilling silence made his response.

It was almost the only occasion in the world's history that a man of world-wide fame had ever attained his 100th anniversary. It was, moreover, the first time that any centenarian, whether illustrious or "born to blush unseen," had been in such full possession of his faculties and bodily strength as to make his own reply to the hundreds assembled to do honour to his birthday. He was almost overcome by emotion in making his response in English.

At this point SeÑor Garcia, who had become almost inaudible, and who was evidently somewhat exhausted by fatigue and excitement, handed the MS. of his speech to the chairman, who read the remainder. It ran as follows:—

The chairman next proposed "Our Foreign Guests," for whom Herr Emanuel Stockhausen (son of one of his most distinguished pupils), Dr Puttner, Dr Harman Smith, Dr Goris, Dr Lermoyez, Dr Poli, Dr Botella, Dr Burger, and Professor Chiari responded. During the dinner a number of congratulatory telegrams were received. Among them was one from the Prime Minister.

Between the speeches of foreign delegates, which were delivered in various tongues, Mme. Blanche Marchesi, Mme. Ada Crossley, Mr Ben Davies, and Mr Arthur Oswald sang, and then that wonderful evening came to an end.

CHAPTER XXI.
LAST DAYS.
(1905-1906.)

ON the Sunday evening after the Centenary Banquet, SeÑor Garcia was present at a more private dinner, attended by the laryngologists, who had come together to do homage to the founder of their art. He was brighter than at the larger gathering, while he not only smoked a cigarette, as he had done at the banquet, but drank a glass of lager beer with relish. He told many interesting stories of his early days; and once, in trying to fix the time of some reminiscence, he said, "Oh, about twenty-three or thirty years ago: I do not like these little dates"! With the greatest good nature he signed his name on some forty menu cards. The following is the text of his speech in French:—

A few days later SeÑor Manuel Garcia went to dine with Hermann Klein, who had come over from New York for a few weeks, and here the centenarian renewed his acquaintance with his pupil's younger brother, Charles. The meeting took him back over thirty years, to those days in Bentinck Street when Charles Klein, then a sturdy, dark little fellow of eight, used to go out regularly to fetch the maestro's lunch of sponge-cake from a baker's round the corner in Welbeck Street. Much water had passed under the bridge since these days, and he had now come over from a sojourn of many years in America, a man of forty, and one of New York's most successful playwrights.

In the following July I went up to spend a Sunday afternoon with the centenarian. It was quite impossible to believe that he was indeed in his 101st year. He actually displayed more vivacity than at the time when I was commencing lessons with him, while even in those days my mother had asserted that he seemed more hale and active than he had been when she in her turn was studying under him twenty-five years before. Truly as he grew older he appeared to become younger.

Charles Klein came to call on the maestro on this same afternoon, and was put through many searching questions with regard to the latest phases of American thought and character. When tea arrived our host displayed the most extraordinary energy, jumping up and insisting upon getting a small table upon which the playwright might rest his cup and plate. The latter he watched with anxiety. When it was empty, he promptly fetched a plate of scones, and with the most wonderful humour and good spirits pressed the guest to take some more. As for his own wants, it was perfectly futile for one to offer to take charge of his cup. Nothing would satisfy him but that he should himself take it over to be refilled. When I rose to go, the maestro insisted on coming to the front door, as in the old days, and in shaking hands said, "I shall hope to see you here soon again."

For the next nine months Manuel Garcia led a life almost incredible in one of such age. He continued to rise early, go to bed late, and enjoy walks, drives, theatres, concerts, and dinners as thoroughly as a man forty years his junior.

His hale old age he would ascribe to his mental and physical activity, his moderate living (he did not touch wine or spirits until he was ninety), and his good digestion.

His piano continued to be a favourite friend, and frequently he would play for an hour in the forenoon and again in the evening. The selections would be mostly snatches from the old Italian operas—especially Rossini, Meyerbeer, and Mozart,—played from memory. His hearing was excellent, and his sight still comparatively good; indeed, he spent a great deal of time in reading, for he took an interest in everything that went on in the world. His evenings would be passed in conversation, or a bout at chess—a game in which he had many a time in the old days tried conclusions with Sir Charles HallÉ. Sometimes he would go out for a game of cards with his neighbours.

He went to visit many old friends, and one day actually walked up to the fourth floor in a block of flats, disdaining the lift. He went to register his vote at the general election. During his walks he used to offer adverse criticisms of the motor-omnibuses which were beginning to make their appearance. 'Bus conductors used to get their own back without knowing it, for they would point to "Mon Abri" as they passed, and remark to the passengers, "That's where the Centurion lives."

In the following autumn I was at work on the little book of reminiscences of my mother and her circle of friends, and at the close of November wrote to SeÑor Garcia telling him that I wished to devote a portion to his own career, as her chief instructor in singing. This letter at once brought a reply that he would like to see the MS. of that part of the memoir.

Hence there came about what must have been unique in the experience of book publishers, for when the manuscript was finally returned to them after revision, marked for press, it contained some corrections in the handwriting of one who was within three months of entering his 102nd year.

The coming of the new year appeared to bring with it little visible diminution in the maestro's mental and bodily activity. Indeed, during the winter of 1905-06 he attended quite a number of public dinners, including one at the Savage Club, another given by the "Vagabonds" to Mr and Mrs H. B. Irving, and a third at the Mansion House in honour of the King of Spain, by whose special request the Centenarian was invited to be present.

FACSIMILE OF A LETTER WRITTEN BY MANUEL GARCIA IN HIS HUNDRED-AND-SECOND YEAR. FACSIMILE OF A LETTER WRITTEN BY MANUEL GARCIA IN HIS HUNDRED-AND-SECOND YEAR.

On March 17, 1906, he celebrated the entrance into his 102nd year by taking up a guitar and singing a Spanish song, while a few days after this he attended the Philharmonic Concert at the Queen's Hall and keenly enjoyed the music. So active was he still, that he refused with indignation an offer to be helped up or down stairs; but the candle was burning with an unnatural brightness, which could not last.

In the middle of April a letter arrived from the maestro, the perusal of which brought fresh wonder at his amazing vigour. It had been written on the 16th April, and ran as follows:—

Cher Mr Mackinlay.—J'ai lu avec beaucoup de plaisir l'interessant volume qu'avez (sic) dÉdiÉ À la mÉmoire de votre chÈre mÈre. C'est aussi avec grande satisfaction que j'ai appris qu'il a ÉtÉ appreciÉ par la presse; c'est une garantie qu'il aura le succÈs qu'il mÉrite.

AgrÉez mes compliments et mes fÉlicitations.—Votre sincÈre M. GARCIA.