cordial character. His sunny and genial nature never knew envy, and
he was quick to recognize the merits of schools opposed to his own. He
died, after intense suffering, on November 13, 1868. He had been some
time ill, and four of the greatest physicians in Europe were his almost
constant attendants. The funeral of "The Swan of Pesaro," as he was
called by his compatriots, was attended by an immense concourse, and his
remains rest in Père-Lachaise.


V.

Moscheles, the celebrated pianist, gives us some charming pictures of
Rossini in his home at Passy, in his diary of 1860. He writes: "Felix
[his son] had been made quite at home in the villa on former occasions.
To me the _parterre salon_, with its rich furniture, was quite new, and
before the _maestro_ himself appeared we looked at his photograph in a
circular porcelain frame, on the sides of which were inscribed the names
of his works. The ceiling is covered with pictures illustrating scenes
out of Palestrina's and Mozart's lives; in the middle of the room stands
a Pleyel piano. When Rossini came in he gave me the orthodox Italian
kiss, and was effusive of expressions of delight at my reappearance,
and very complimentary on the subject of Felix. In the course of our
conversation he was full of hard-hitting truths on the present study and
method of vocalization. 'I don't want to hear anything more of it,' he
said; 'they scream. All I want is a resonant, full-toned voice, not
a screeching voice. I care not whether it be for speaking or singing,
everything ought to sound melodious.'" So, too, Rossini assured
Moscheles that he hated the new school of piano-players, saying the
piano was horribly maltreated, for the performers thumped the keys as
if they had some vengeance to wreak on them. When the great player