Chapter 6

Of the Suggeritore or Prompter.

"There never was a man so notoriously abused.

TWELFTH NIGHT.

"But whispering words can poison truth."

COLERIDGE.

We should be much grieved were we to let a chance of immortality at our hands go by, for our great friend the prompter--the suggeritore of the Italians. The prompter is to the opera, what the fifth wheel is to a wagon; everything rubs, grates and abrades it, yet the whole concern turns on it. He is the most abused (not hated--that is reserved for the Impresario,) man in the company. But he does not care for it. That is what he is hired for. He is paid to be of a good temper, and he does it. He returns docility for dollars; and suavity for salary. He is the true philosopher; just enough in the company to be part of it, and sufficiently detached to avoid all the squabbles and bickerings. He, however, is the victim of all the caprices of the company, from the prima donna, who in a miff kicks about _his partition_ in a very piano cavatina, to each of the bandy-legged choristers. True, he has his little revenge. This he accomplishes by using his voice too much and too loudly in the _sotto voce_ parts, so that all the duos become trios and the quintettes, choruses. This is little enough to sweeten the embitterments of a _suggeritore's_ life, but such it is, and he is contented. The _suggeritore_ must be a thin man. It does not require a Paxton to know that a hole in the stage two feet square, will not hold Barnum's obesities. He must also be short and supple-necked, to allow the green fungus which excresces from the stage to cover him; and he must be the fortunate owner of a right arm as untiring as a locomotive crank or the sails of a windmill. It is a prevalent but mistaken idea, that the prompter is an impolite man; we happen to know that it is a matter of the deepest concern with him to be obliged to sit with his back to the audience. But he is like the angels and St. Cecilia, "_Il n'avait pas de quoi_" to do otherwise. Operas must be, Singers must have, a lead horse--(N. B. How can delicate females and tenors be expected to recollect "_les paroles_;")--and there he is, with a little hole in the back of his calash for the leader of the orchestra to stir him up when the excitement becomes very strong, and the time is irrecoverably lost. As to the social habits of the suggeritore, the naturalist is at a loss, for he immediately disappears after rehearsal, and remains in close retirement till the performance, after which he is again lost till the next day.