“Mon Abri” (My Shelter) is the name of the exquisite little villa in London in which the son of the great Garcia, himself a renowned teacher of singing is peacefully passing his days.

The villa is a picture, one of those numerous little treasure houses of home comfort of which suburban London is full. For it is suburban, away out and far from the seething thong of the big city, in the Cricklewood quarter. One might forget that there existed cities while passing a happy life there, and as for knowing whether it was in England, France, Italy or Scotland, how could one decide, for is not art the same in all worlds, and is not this the home of an artist?

At the house proper is not visible at all. Whatever stone or brick or mortar may one day have been used in its construction has long since yielded to the seductive graces of varied foliage, clinging, hanging, mounting, falling and embracing in all styles forms and shapes of affection, like a family of living youngsters clambering over the form of a stolid parent.

The building is low and quaint, with halls and stairways, nooks, and crannies in it, and also beautiful living rooms, all tastefully and artistically arranged. It is safe to say that there is not a square foot of the entire outfit that does not bear the mark of taste association or link with that beautiful “other life” of which the business man or woman does not dream.

The music room is a rectangle almost the entire width of the house, with high ceiling, and in one of its walls a large curve outward, as if reaching towards nature. In this is a glass door opening out into a luxurious garden. Trees, shrubs, plants, flowers are all smiling together here, twining and mingling together, many of them, and sending up a fragrance of their happiness into the windows and balconies overhead.

The furniture of the room reminds one although in London, of that of Madam Viardot in Paris, whom as you know, is the sister of Manuel Garcia. One beautiful old buffet of Etruscan work has its counterpart in the Paris home. The piano is a grand and covered with flowers and books: Heller exercises on the music rack. For there are two daughters in the family, who, although not professionals, are both musicians. Portraits, ornaments, screens, objects on the mantel, curtains, all bespeak the refined taste of Southern sunlit countries. Stretched before the fireplace a superb tortoise-shell Persian cat.

This beautiful and well-bred animal does not remain sleeping while company is in the room. She picks herself up politely, and making a hassock of her fringy tail, plants herself squarely in front of you and keeps her eyes riveted on your face as though the entire entertainment of you was incumbent upon her. She does not even belong to the house, if you please, but one fine day made her appearance through the glass doorway, and took up her position just that way, sleeping when there is nothing better to do, accepting of meals offered her while there, receiving company with grace and attention and going off to see her other family when duty demands it.

Manuel Garcia is a small man, thin, and wiry, and now bent somewhat from the shoulders. He is smaller and more slender of frame than Madam Viardot. His face is long and thin, with the sallow tinge that bespeaks his Spanish blood. His eyes are lit by intelligence and keen, lively, interested penetration.

Like Madam Viardot, there is nothing old, tumble-down or heavy about M. Garcia. Except of the slight stoop where his ninety-four years have made their home, he is young, alert, interested, quick and merry as at thirty. To hear him run up and down stairs is a marvel; to see him step about through his rooms with grace and light agility is to take a lesson; to receive his gallant and courteous attentions is to make you feel at court.

There is a slight family resemblance between him and the Viardot we know so well through these pages. His manner of conversation is still more like hers. There is that spirit, life, light, delicate cynicism, uplifted nobility and surprising interest in people and things which make a talk with the great artist memorable.

He has no special hobbies, if one is not his faith in knowledge of the throat and lungs as means to teaching their use in song. He does not praise himself or his system or his work.

He points with pride and affection to the portrait of Jenny Lind on the wall, a portrait of the old school, with flowers in the hair, hoop skirts, small waist, and the beautiful hand and arm and angelic face we have seen in old prints and music papers.

Jenny Lind was one of the glories of his schoolroom and in one of he sunlit souvenirs of his age. His own gracious wife, Eugènie Garcia, one of the flowers of the French opera stage, was another, and the Marchesi, the celebrated vocal teacher, whose fifty years of teaching life have just been fèted in Paris, is another.

But there are many, the pupils who have learned of Manuel Garcia traditions of that grand old school, which whether it was formed by God or by man, existed and flourished at a date which is—not today.

“Of course” there are registers.” He says. “But one must know what is meant by that. Breathing? One must breath to live, must they not? Signs of future in a pupil? One can never say. There are as many disappointments as there are surprises. Voice is not all, and character is much.”

“Neither can one say who is going to be a representative teacher. The faithful pupil may, after leaving unite new thoughts of his own coining and a tradition be completely changed. Many who have been pupils do not at all represent the professor who trained and developed them.”

M. Garcia was teacher in the Paris Conservatoire in 1845.

His life has been recounted in connection with that of his family in several numbers of The Musical Courier. His voice was bass, and he sang in Europe and America with his father’s company.

But his penchant was ever more for teaching than for public appearance, and he settled upon the study of instruments for use in examination of the voice with a view towards its development.

In 1840 he presented to the French Academy of Sciences a serious study on the human voice, of which he was flatteringly recognized. Later, while in the Conservatoire, M. Garcia published a treatise specially applicable to teachers on the art of singing, which has been extensively sold and translated.

Among the treasures of the pretty London house was unearthed a specially interesting little work on vocal study which seemed to be so helpful in its scope that a résume of it may be found in these pages later on.

—The Musical Courier, ”Mon Abri,” December 20-27, 1898.

Little Work?

Manuel Garcia’s 1894 Hints on Singing can be found on the download page.

There is every reason to believe that the article above, which follows on the heels of multiple articles in the Musical Courier involving Katharine Evans von Klenner and Pauline Viardot-Garca appears courtesy of von Klenner having visited Garcia.

The photo accompanying the article? It is my own and contains a signed letter from the master himself written on his centenary—May 17th, 1905—at Mon Abri. Manuel Garcia was busy writing thank you letters on his 100th birthday—or at least in preparation for the same.