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I have considered the dormice served with honey and poppy-seed and the grape-fed beccafico dressed with garum piperatum, which, according to Petronius, were served at Trimalchio's banquet. But neither of these rare dishes can compare with Ragout Regali." Regali bowed.
"He waits for a thrush, an ortolan, a beccafico, a robin-redbreast, or any other feathered and diminutive biped. He is not so ambitious as to expect a quail. Partridges he has heard of; of one, at least, a sort of phoenix, reproduced from its own ashes, and seen from time to time before an earthquake, or other great catastrophe.
"There is Malvoisia sack," said the man in black, "and partridge, and beccafico." "And what do you say to high mass?" said I.
This was Monsieur Alcide Mirobolant, formerly Chef of his Highness the Duc de Borodino, of H. Eminence Cardinal Beccafico, and at present Chef of the bouche of Sir Clavering, Baronet: Monsieur Mirobolant's library, pictures, and piano had arrived previously in charge of the intelligent young Englishman, his aide-de-camp.
Mr. John Crisp informed me that he had seen at Padang a common swallow's nest, built under the eaves of a house, which was composed partly of common mud and partly of the substance that constitutes the edible nests. The young birds themselves are said to be very delicate food, and not inferior in richness of flavour to the beccafico.
The warm southern winds were full of their warbling beccafico, loriot, merle, citronelle, woodlark, nightingale, every tree, copse and tuft of grass held a tiny minstrel. When the great gate opened to a fanfare of trumpets, from the castle walls there came the murmur of innumerable doves.
‘There is Malvoisia sack,’ said the man in black, ‘and partridge, and beccafico.’ ‘And what do you say to high mass?’ said I.
'There is Malvoisia sack, said the man in black, 'and partridge, and beccafico. 'And what do you say to high mass? said I.
When we were seated at the supper-table and had talked some while upon indifferent topics, the enthusiasm roused in me by Pauline Lucca burst out. I broke a moment's silence by exclaiming, 'What a wonder-world music creates! I have lived this evening in a sphere of intellectual enjoyment raised to rapture. I never lived so fast before! 'Do you really think so? said Miranda. She had just finished a beccafico, and seemed disposed for conversation. 'Do you really think so? For my part, music is in a wholly different region from experience, thought, or feeling. What does it communicate to you? And she hummed to herself the motif of Cherubino's 'Non so più cosa son cosa faccio. 'What does it teach me? I broke in upon the melody. 'Why, to-night, when I heard the music, and saw her there, and felt the movement of the play, it seemed to me that a new existence was revealed. For the first time I understood what love might be in one most richly gifted for emotion. Miranda bent her eyes on the table-cloth and played with her wineglass. 'I don't follow you at all. I enjoyed myself to-night. The opera, indeed, might have been better rendered. The ballet, I admit, was splendid. But when I remember the music even the best of it even Pauline Lucca's part' here she looked up, and shot me a quick glance across the table 'I have mere music in my ears. Nothing more. Mere music! The professor of biology, who was gifted with, a sense of music and had studied it scientifically, had now crunched his last leaf of salad. Wiping his lips with his napkin, he joined our tête-
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