e matter at the house of the
Comtesse de Merlin, where he was dining one night in company with Prince
Belgiojoso and other musical amateurs, by signing only the Christian
name, under which he afterward became famous, Mario. He spent a short
season in studying under Michelet, Pouchard, and the great singing
master, Bordogni, but there is no doubt that his singing was very
imperfect when he made his _debut_, November 30, 1838, in the part
of _Robert le Diable_. His princely beauty and delicious fresh voice,
however, took the musical public by storm, and the common cry was that
he would replace Kubini. For a year he remained at the Academie, but in
1840 passed to the Italian Opera, for which his qualities more specially
fitted him.

In the mean time he had made his first appearance before that public of
which he continued to be a favorite for so many years. London first
saw the new tenor in "Lucrezia Borgia," and was as cordial in its
appreciation as Paris had been. A critic of the period, writing of him
in later years, said: "The vocal command which he afterward gained was
unthought of; his acting then did not get beyond that of a southern man
with a strong feeling for the stage. But physical beauty and geniality,
such as have been bestowed on few, a certain artistic taste, a certain
distinction, not exclusively belonging to gentle birth, but sometimes
associated with it, made it clear from the first hour of Signor Mario's
stage life that a course of no common order of fascination had begun."
Mario sung after this each season in London and Paris for several
years, without its falling to his lot to create any new important
stage characters. When Donizetti produced "Don Pasquale" at the Theatre
Italiens in 1843, Mario had the slight part of the lover. The reception
at rehearsal was ominous, and, in spite of the beauty of the music,
everybody prophesied a failure. The two directors trembled with dread
of a financial disaster. The composer shrugged his shoulders, and taking
the arm of his friend, M. Dermoy, the music publisher, left the theatre.
"They know nothing about the matter," he laughingly said; "I know what
'Don Pasquale' needs. Come with me." On reaching his library at home,
Donizetti unearthed from a pile of dusty manuscript tumbled under the
piano what appeared to be a song. "Take that," he said to his friend,
"to Mario at once that he may learn it without delay." This song was
the far-famed "Com e gentil." The ser