This
lady, it will be remembered, was the famous singer who created some of
the principal parts in Rossini's opera. I thought the story of the joint
_menage_ so peculiar, that I subjected the good lady, my informant, to a
severe cross-examination, but I did not succeed in shaking her evidence.
Future biographers may further look into the matter if they care.

I return to that corner house of the Rue de la Chaussee d'Antin, where
the maestro lived. One morning I was there with my cousin, Ernst Jaques,
when Rossini's old friend Scitivaux came in.

"There," said Rossini, "there is what I promised you, and I have written
all you want to know inside." With that he handed a copy of the
"Barbiere" to Scitivaux, who, at the sight of the gift and its precious
dedication, broke into raptures of gratitude; I am not sure whether he
wept or laughed on the other's shoulder; but I distinctly recollect he
was immediately turned out. "Take it, but go," he was ordered; "I don't
want you here. Mr. Jaques is just going to play to me. No; you can read
that afterwards." A final continental hug, and he and the book were
outside. So was I, for I thought it prudent not to await definite
instructions, and I was dying to know what was the purport of the
exciting inscription.

So we stood in the hall reading it, and I was treated to the after-glow
of Monsieur Scitivaux's raptures.

The dedication was in Italian, and related how Rossini had composed the
"Barbiere" for the Duke Cesarini, the director of the Teatro Argentina
in Rome, to retrieve for him the fortunes of a bad season. Rossini went
on to say that he had written to Paisiello, who had previously treated
the same subject, to assure him that he in no way sought to compete with
that master, well aware as he was of his own inferiority, and that he
had avoided as much as possible to use the same incidents in his
libretto. "I thought," he worded it, "that, having taken this
precaution, I might consider myself safe from the censure of his friends
and his legitimate admirers. I was mistaken! On the appearance of my
opera, they precipitated themselves like wild beasts upon the beardless
maestrino, and the first performance was a most stormy one. I, however,
remained unconcerned; and, whilst the public hissed, I applauded my
performers. Once the storm blown over, at the second performance, my
'Barbiere' had an excellent razor, and shaved the Romans so well that,
to use theatrical language, I w