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 qu 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.

RUBINI.

GIAN BATTISTA RUBINI was born at Romano, a small town in the province of Bergamo, on the 7th of April, 1795. He is the youngest of three brothers, all tenor singers of considerable celebrity; the eldest, Jeremiah, has quitted the stage from inability to continue the fatigues of a theatrical life: the second, Giacomo is first tenor in the chapel of the king of Saxony, and is besides a stage singer of great talent. Their father was a small music-master, played the horn in the theatre, and to his other occupations added that of being a getter-up of fÊtes and musical performances in the neighbouring churches and chapels. He had a complete corps of singers and players, with a collection of masses, vespers, motets, and litanies, all at the service of any chapter or convent that chose to hire them. Rubini, the father, was entrepreneur, and blew the horn—his three sons, as they grew up, were enlisted in his vocal corps; but as their voices were not always required, and he neither chose nor could afford to let them be idle, Jeremiah was taught to play the organ, and Giacomo and Gian Battista the violin, by which means his whole family quartet was in constant requisition.

At eight years of age the little Rubini had already enchanted divers convents of nuns by his performance of the Salve Regina, perched up on a high stool, which was necessary to elevate his head to the level of the violins. At ten, his father, diffident of his own powers as a singing-master, placed the child under one Don Santo, priest and organist of Adro, a town in the province of Brescia, who, at the expiration of a year, sent him back to his parents with the consoling assurance, that nothing would ever make him a singer, so they had better look about for some other trade or profession to bring him up to. The father, who thought he knew better the boy’s capacity, took him again under his own care, and succeeded so well, that he not long after invited the same Don Santo to hear a mass, in which his rejected scholar sang the Qui tollis in such a style, that the parent enjoyed at once the pleasure and revenge of forcing the old organist to admit that he was mistaken in the judgment he had so hastily pronounced.

In his twelfth year, Gian Battista made his dÉbut on the boards of the Romano Theatre, in a female character, and for his own benefit: his receipts, both in applause and money, were gratifying, and he soon after went to Bergamo, where he was engaged to play the violin between the acts of the comedy, and to sing in the chorus during the opera season. While here, a petite comÉdie was put in rehearsal, in one scene of which was a cavatina—but, alas! no one in the troop could sing: somebody suggested Rubini, and at length the manager offered him an extra five-franc piece to study and sing this troublesome air. The terms were accepted, and young Gian Battista’s performance created a complete furore in Bergamo. The song was composed by Lamberti; and Rubini is still fond of singing it occasionally, to remind him of his first success.

For some time after this, however, Rubini appears to have led the precarious and miserable life of a stroller; but at length, being in Milan in the year 1814, he met with a Marquis Belcredi, one of those numerous Italian counts, marquesses, &c., who follow sometimes the honourable occupation of engagement-brokers for the theatres, and not unfrequently even less reputable means of making money. By Belcredi he was offered an engagement, for the autumn season, of four months at Pavia, at the liberal salary of eleven crowns, or about 1l. 18s. a month. Rubini’s necessities would not allow him to refuse this offer: he went to Pavia, and distinguished himself so much that his success made a sensation even at Milan. Belcredi engaged him immediately for the carnival of 1815 at 1000 francs the season; and sent him to perform at Brescia, whence he transferred him for the spring season to the theatre of St. Moire, at Venice, at a salary of 2000 francs. Here he had an opportunity of singing with the bass Zamboni, and the contralto Mad. Marcolini, for whom Rossini wrote his Italiana in Algeri. Rubini next entered into an engagement with Barbaja, director of the theatres of Naples for six months, at eighty-four ducats (about 16l.) per month, with a clause providing that, at the end of the first three months, the engagement should be renewable for a year at the increased salary of 100 ducats a month. He sang at the Teatro dei Fiorentini with Pellegrini, and was rising in public favour, when Barbaja, instead of renewing his engagement at the higher salary, proposed to dismiss him entirely, and only consented to retain him on condition of his terms being lowered to seventy ducats. Rubini had many cogent reasons which made him anxious to remain at Naples: he naturally desired to improve the hold which he had already upon the public favour there; he found himself in the society of the celebrated tenor, Nozzari, a countryman of his own, from whom he received most valuable hints and lessons; and whose example, as Rubini carefully watched and imitated him, both as an actor and singer, was nearly, if not quite, as valuable as his instructions. He therefore accepted Barbaja’s terms,—saying, however, at the same time, with the consciousness of talent, ‘You take advantage of my present situation, but will have to pay for it before long.’

The getting up of La Gazza Ladra, in the carnival of 1819, is still remembered among the fasti of Roman theatricals. The duet between Giannetto and Ninetta, in the prison scene, ‘forse un di conoscerai,’ was constantly encored; and the Roman ladies, during the whole carnival, carried about with them to the balls puppets dressed in the costume of their favourite actor and actress.

From Rome, Rubini, still under engagements to Barbaja, returned to Naples, and thence crossed over to Palermo, where he sang with Donzelli and Lablache. His dÉbut in Sicily was in an opera of Mosca, which would never have survived the first night’s performance, but for a ruse of the singer. From the very beginning the poor maestro was hissed: piece after piece shared the same fate, until the principal tenor began his cavatina; the adagio, although it escaped hisses, made little impression on the audience; but the allegretto movement which followed called forth rounds of enthusiastic applause, which Mosca was only too happy to acknowledge and appropriate by repeated bows. The fact was, that Rubini, finding Mosca’s adagio passable, but his allegretto worse than bad, had insisted on substituting the similar movement from the air of Orestes, in Rossini’s Ermione, ‘Ah come mai nascondere.’ For ten days the deception remained undiscovered; and the Palermitans could hardly bestow praises enough on the author of so heavenly an allegretto. But, alas! on the eleventh a printed copy of the air arrived from Naples, and stripped poor Mosca of his borrowed plumes.

While at Palermo, Rubini was the hero, and narrowly escaped being the victim of an adventure as romantic, but fortunately for him not so fatal, as that of Stradella. On his arrival in Sicily he waited on a certain princess, to whom he had letters of recommendation, and was received with the kindness which talents and even his personal appearance seemed to deserve. In the evening, on coming before the audience, Rubini made a respectful inclination towards his fair patroness, and appeared to address towards her box his most touching passages and most brilliant roulades. In Sicily jealousy is as instantaneous as lightning, and vengeance follows it as rapidly as thunder the flash. The prince, who did not understand the musical homage paid to his wife, forthwith employed two bravoes to poignard the presumptuous primo tenore, and dispose of his body as usual in such cases—that is, by throwing it into the sea. Accordingly, on quitting the theatre, he was suddenly sprung upon by two men, who seized his arms, muffled his head in a cloak, and began to drag him towards the sea-shore. He had no power to call out, and if he had had, nobody attends to such calls in Sicily: in fact he had already made up his mind that his last cavatina in this world was sung, when, luckily for him, one of the bravi recognized his victim. He was an amateur, to whom Rubini had often given orders for the opera. So soon as he was aware who it was that he had engaged to exercise his profession upon, his heart failed him; and, instead of using his stiletto, he acquainted Rubini with the offence he had committed, set him at liberty, and recommended him to escape from Sicily without loss of time. On his return to Naples, Rubini heard, for the first time, Madlle. Chaumel, who was passing through that city in her way to fulfil an engagement at Palermo, and was so charmed with her voice and style, that he recommended Barbaja to retain her at Naples. Barbaja took the advice—Mad. Chaumel shone during two or three seasons a bright star at the St. Carlo and the Fondo; and the lady and Rubini so often enacted the lover and mistress, that at length they realised the illusion of the theatre, and became man and wife.

In 1824 Barbaja was removed from the management of the Neapolitan theatres; whereupon he migrated to Vienna, taking with him the whole corps of singers who were under engagements to him,—and amongst them Rubini and his wife. The company assembled in the Austrian capital, on this occasion, was perhaps the most numerous and splendid that was ever united at one time in one city. The prime donne amounted to nine, most of whom had already established a high reputation, and of whom the remainder nearly all have now attained the first rank in their profession; Sontag, Fodor, Mombelli, Rubini, Eckerlin, Ungher, Giudetta Grisi, Dardanelli, and Grimbaum. The tenors were David, Rubini, Donzelli, and Cicimira; and the basses, Lablache, Ambrogi, Botticelli, and Bassi. At the end of this brilliant season Rubini returned to Naples; and, in the autumn of 1825, made his first appearance at Paris, where his reception was perhaps more enthusiastic than in any other city he had visited. His performance in the Cenerentola, La Donna del Lago, Otello, and La Gazza Ladra, established him at once, in the judgment of the Parisian dilettanti, at the very summit of his profession, and gained him the appellation of Roi des tenors.

From Paris Rubini returned to Naples, and thence went to Milan, where the then new composer, Bellini, wrote the fine part of Gualtero in Il Pirata, especially for him. In the following year, 1827, he appeared in two new operas, Donizetti’s Anna Bolena, and the Sonnambula of Bellini. Both these composers, in writing for Rubini, adopted a style which had been so long neglected that it appeared new. Instead of florid compositions, loaded with roulades and divisions, they limited themselves, in the airs and duets intended for him, to simple, graceful, and pathetic melodies, calculated to display to the greatest advantage his elocutionary and impassioned style[9].

In the summer of 1831, Rubini, together with his wife, appeared at the London Opera: he has since that withdrawn Mad. Rubini entirely from the stage, finding his own earnings, since he has been out of Barbaja’s clutches, quite sufficient for their joint support. For fifteen years he was at the command of this leviathan of the opera, who disposed of his voice and talents, and sent him to this capital or the other, according as it suited his own interest or combinations, and receiving for his exertions enormous sums, of which by far the greater part went to enrich the entrepreneur, not the singer. Before he was emancipated from Barbaja, the salary of himself and his wife was only (!) 60,000 francs (2500l.); the first year of his emancipation, his earnings amounted to 125,000 francs, upwards of 5200l. (!!)

In the autumn of 1831, Rubini again visited Paris, where he was received with renewed enthusiasm, and in which city he is still performing with undiminished popularity.