“After breakfast, I accompanied him to the San Carlo Opera house, where he took me, he said, that I might see the actors rehearse, and observe stage trick and manner. Since then I have seen tricks enough played off upon the stage of life, independent of the drama. We need not go to the theatre to see actors and actresses. We ascended through the basement story, the passage obstructed by old rubbish, stage furniture, to the green-room—a miserable looking apartment, draperied with green baize; several actors and actresses stood in groups, conversing, in their ordinary dress; I looked out behind the scenes; I saw on all sides the rough boards of the theatre, and the large open spaces through which the actors went upon the stage, and the scenes were shifted backward and forward; everything looked unfinished and bare, it looked like the skeleton frame of a house, and in no way realized my romantic visions of a theatre. Several of the actors held Opera books in their hands, which they appeared to be studying; Monsieur went around the room, bowing, and shaking hands with all, receiving, and paying compliments in return.
“‘Ah, my dear fellow,’ exclaimed a tall, dark-complexioned man, seizing him by the arm, ‘when did you arrive? Glad to see you among us again. I did not expect to see you for a year to come; thought you intended going to Paris to perform. I was at Munich a few weeks ago, where I heard of the brilliant success of a protegee of yours, a Mademoiselle Blanche Ricorsi; I went several nights to see her play; a beautiful girl, she sings divinely.’
“‘And here is another pupil of mine,’ said Monsieur, drawing me toward him, ‘whom I intend shall astonish the fashionable world of Naples.’
“‘Ah, Mademoiselle, charmed to see you; hope you will do credit to so distinguished a preceptor; you must sing something for me this morning; I should like to hear your style of voice; we are now going in to rehearsal. Come, ladies and gentlemen, are you ready? Allow me to escort you, Mademoiselle.’
“With French politeness and volubility, he offered me his arm; at that time, unacquainted with the ways and usages of society, I felt momentarily surprised; but mechanically I accepted it, and the others following behind, we stepped out upon the stage; it was an enormous platform, and I felt, and looked, almost like a little child, as I walked across its smooth boards. I wondered how I should feel when I should be the most conspicuous object on that floor, when I should see before me those successive walls of human faces, so terrifying to a novice,—the eyes of all bent upon me.
“The actors walked toward the front of the stage; part of the orchestra was in the musicians’ box, and accompanied their voices with instrumental music; they were rehearsing for Norma; some of the voices were sweet and thrilling, others grated harshly on my ear. The woman who was to perform the part of Norma, was neither young nor pretty: she did not look the beautiful stately priestess. The man who was cast for the character of Polelio, was as ugly a person as one need wish to see. I stood leaning against one of the side scenes and listened to them as they ran through the Opera. When ended, the French manager requested me to sing a song, which he chose. I felt somewhat diffident at exhibiting my voice before so many strangers. I wished to refuse, but a look from Monsieur Belmont, which spoke a command, changed my purpose, and I complied. I began almost falteringly at first, but gathering courage as I went on, I forgot those who were listening to me, and became absorbed in the sentiment of the song. I think I can say without egotism, that I sang well; when I had ceased the manager approached with a surprised air:
“‘Good heavens! Mademoiselle, you are a perfect nightingale, your high notes are exquisite; I shall be proud to constitute you prima donna of my troupe, when you are ready to appear; you must have applied yourself with unceasing assiduity to have formed your voice.’
“‘I have been learning for six or eight years past, under the tuition of Monsieur Belmont.’
“‘Your execution has indeed astonished me, in one so young; and I was equally amazed when I heard Blanche, another pupil of my friend’s, sing at Munich.’
“‘How is Blanche now? is she well? is she happy?’