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They are hard to find nowadays. Of all the twenty chisellers of various ages who hammered from morning till night in the rooms outside, one only Gianbattista Bordogni had been thought worthy by his master to share the privacy of the inner studio.
"Well, if you like to come at seven in the morning, and if you promise to sing nothing but solfeggi of Bordogni for an hour, and not to strain your voice, or put too much vinegar in your salad at supper, I will think about it. Does that please you? Conte, don't let him eat too much vinegar."
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 début, 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.
He had never loved his brother, but he had loved his wife with all his heart. He had begun to love Lucia when she was a child. He had felt a sort of admiring fondness for Gianbattista Bordogni, and a decided pride in the progress and the talent of the apprentice.
Again and again I told myself that it had been some silly prank of a romantic amateur, hidden in the gardens of the shore or gliding unperceived on the lagoon; and that the sorcery of moonlight and sea-mist had transfigured for my excited brain mere humdrum roulades out of exercises of Bordogni or Crescentini. But all the same I continued to be haunted by that voice.
As for Gianbattista Bordogni, who lived with them, and consequently received most of his wages in the shape of board and lodging, he loved Lucia Pandolfi, his master's daughter, and though he shared Marzio's opinions, he held his tongue in the house.
Why can you not look for your music, instead of chattering?" Nino began to look where he knew it was not. "By the by, do you give her lessons every day?" asked the boy. "Every day? Am I crazy, to ruin people's voices like that?" "Caro maestro, what is the matter with you this morning? You have forgotten to say your prayers!" "You are a donkey, Nino; here he is, this blessed Bordogni, now come."
"I will do all that if I may come," said Nino readily, though he would rather not sing at all, at most times, than sing Bordogni, De Pretis tells me. "Meglio cosi, so much the better. Good-night, Sor Conte. Good-night, Nino." And so he turned down the Via Paola, and Nino and I went our way. I stopped to buy a cigar at the little tobacco shop just opposite the Tordinona Theatre.
You will probably not see Tista any more, nor Gianbattista, nor his excellency the Signorino Bordogni" Lucia turned suddenly pale, and rested her hand upon the old straw chair on which Don Paolo had sat during his visit. "What is this? What do you tell me? Not see Tista?" she asked quickly.
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