lly became known to the general
public. I am alluding to the first performance of 'Le Duc de Guise,'
which, as you may remember, was given in aid of the distressed Poles,
and sung throughout by amateurs. The receipts amounted to thirty
thousand francs, and the ladies of the chorus had something between ten
and twelve millions of francs of diamonds in their hair and round their
throats. All my earthly possessions in money consisted of six francs
thirty-five centimes."

I was not at the Theatre de la Renaissance that night, but two or three
years previously I had heard the first opera Flotow ever wrote, at the
Hotel Castellane. I never heard "Rob Roy" since; and, curiously enough,
many years afterwards I inquired of Lord Granville, who sat next to me
on that evening in 1838, whether he had. He shook his head negatively.
"It is a great pity," he said, "for the music is very beautiful." And I
believe that Lord Granville is a very good judge.

The Hotel Castellane, or "La Maison du Mouleur," as it was called by the
general public on account of the great number of scantily attired
mythological deities with which its facade was decorated, was one of the
few houses where, during the reign of Louis-Philippe, the discussion of
political and dynastic differences was absolutely left in abeyance. The
scent of party strife--I had almost said miasma--hung over all the other
salons, notably those of the Princesse de Lieven, Madame Thiers, and
Madame de Girardin, and even those of Madame Le Hon and Victor Hugo were
not free from it. Men like myself, and especially young men, who
instinctively guessed the hollowness of all this--who, moreover, had not
the genius to become political leaders and not sufficient enthusiasm to
become followers--avoided them; consequently their description will find
little or no place in these notes. The little I saw of Princesse de
Lieven at the Tuileries and elsewhere produced no wish to see more.
Thiers was more interesting from a social and artistic point of view,
but it was only on very rare occasions that he consented to doff his
political armour, albeit that he did not wear the latter with unchanging
dignity. Madame Thiers was an uninteresting woman, and only the "feeder"
to her husband, to use a theatrical phrase. Madame Le Hon was
exceedingly beautiful, exceedingly selfish, and, if anything, too
amiable. The absence of all serious mental qualities was cleverly
disguised by the mask of a grande dame;