began again talking of the classical period of singing, of the celebrated tenor Garcia, for whom he cherished a devout, unbounded veneration, 'He was a man!' he exclaimed. 'Never had the great Garcia (il gran Garcia) demeaned himself by singing falsetto like the paltry tenors of to-day—tenoracci; always from the chest, from the chest, voce di petto, si! and the old man aimed a vigorous blow with his little shrivelled fist at his own shirt-front! 'And what an actor! A volcano, signori miei, a volcano, un Vesuvio! I had the honour and the happiness of singing with him in the opera dell' illustrissimo maestro Rossini—in Otello! Garcia was Otello,—I was Iago—and when he rendered the phrase':— here Pantaleone threw himself into an attitude and began singing in a hoarse and shaky, but still moving voice:
"L'i . . . ra daver . . . so daver . . . so il fato
lo più no . . . no . . . no . . . non temerò!"
The theatre was all a-quiver, signori miei! though I too did not fall short, I too after him.
"L'i ra daver . . . so daver . . . so il fato
Temèr più non davro!"
And all of a sudden, he crashed like lightning, like a tiger: Morro! . . . ma vendicato . . .
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