been so for some time, and therefore knew nothing of what was
going on in Paris.

I had serious reasons for thus withdrawing from the artistic and
social life of Paris. My own painful experiences and my disgust
at all the mockery of that kind of life, once so attractive to me
and yet so alien to my education, had quickly driven me away from
everything connected with it. It is true that the production of
the Huguenots, for instance, which I then heard for the first
time, dazzled me very much indeed. Its beautiful orchestral
execution, and the extremely careful and effective mise en scene,
gave me a grand idea of the great possibilities of such perfect
and definite artistic means. But, strange to say, I never felt
inclined to hear the same opera again. I soon became tired of the
extravagant execution of the vocalists, and I often amused my
friends exceedingly by imitating the latest Parisian methods and
the vulgar exaggerations with which the performances teemed.
Those composers, moreover, who aimed at achieving success by
adopting the style which was then in vogue, could not help,
either, incurring my sarcastic criticism. The last shred of
esteem which I still tried to retain for the 'first lyrical
theatre in the world' was at last rudely destroyed when I saw how
such an empty, altogether un-French work as Donizetti's Favorita
could secure so long and important a run at this theatre.

During the whole time of my stay in Paris I do not think I went
to the opera more than four times. The cold productions at the
Opera Comique, and the degenerate quality of the music produced
there, had repelled me from the start; and the same lack of
enthusiasm displayed by the singers also drove me from Italian