Once I used to wish him to be tipsy; for then I used to sit at my piano while he talked, and I made all his words go into music.

One night I did it so well, my father jumped right up from his chair, shouting 'Italia!' and he caught his wig off his head, and threw it into the fire, and rushed out into the street quite bald, and people thought him mad.
"It was the beginning of all our misfortunes! My father was taken and locked up in a place as a tipsy man.

That he has never forgiven the English for! It has made me and my mother miserable ever since.

My mother is sure it is all since that night.

Do you know, I remember, though I was so young, that I felt the music--oh! like a devil in my bosom?
Perhaps it was, and it passed out of me into him.