all sorts of rubbish lying about pell-mell; and promiscuous among them was
the tube that Rossini uses for his famous _macaroni a la Rossini_. Prince
Metternich said that no power on earth would induce him to touch any food
_a la Rossini_, especially the macaroni, which he said was stuffed with
hash and all sorts of remnants of last week's food and piled up on a dish
like a log cabin. "J'ai des frissons chaque fois que j'y pense."

Not long ago Baron James Rothschild sent Rossini some splendid grapes from
his hothouse. Rossini, in thanking him, wrote, "Bien que vos raisins
soient superbes, je n'aime pas mon vin en pillules." This Baron Rothschild
read as an invitation to send him some of his celebrated Chateau-Lafitte,
which he proceeded to do, for "the joke of it," he remarked. "It is so
amusing to tell the story afterward." Rossini does not dye his hair, but
wears the most wiggy of wigs. When he goes to mass he puts one wig on top
of the other, and if it is very cold he puts still a third one on, curlier
than the others, for the sake of warmth. No coquetry about him!

Rossini asked me to sing.

"I will, with pleasure," I said. "I only wish that I knew what to sing, I
know that you do not like people to sing your music when they come to your
house."

"Not every one," he said, beaming with a broad smile; "but I have heard
that you have an unusually beautiful voice, and I am curious to hear you."

"But," I mischievously answered, "I do not know 'Au clair de la lune,'
even with variations."

"Oh! the naughty Prince," said he, shaking his finger across to where