in the society of
the Second Empire, and whom I knew personally. The grandfather died
before I was born, or, at any rate, when I was very young; but his
descendant often told me about him and his two sons, Paul and Anatole,
both of whom, in addition to his vast wealth, inherited a good many of
his eccentricities. The old man, like many Russian grand seigneurs, was
never so happy as when he could turn his back upon his own country. He
inhabited Paris and Florence in turns. In the latter place he kept in
his pay a company of French actors, who were lodged in a magnificent
mansion near to his own, and who enacted comedies, vaudevilles, and
comic operas. The London playgoer may remember a piece in which the
celebrated Ravel made a great sensation; it was entitled "Les Folies
Dramatiques," and was founded upon the mania of the old man. For he was
old before his time and racked with gout, scarcely able to set his feet
to the ground. He had to be wheeled in a chair to his entertainments and
theatre, and often fell into a dead faint in the middle of the
performance or during the dinner. "It made no difference to his guests,"
said his grandson; "they wheeled him out as they had wheeled him in, and
the play or repast went on as if nothing had happened." In fact, it
would seem that the prince would have been very angry if they had acted
otherwise, for his motto was that, next to enjoying himself, there was
nothing so comfortable as to see others do so. Faithful to this
principle, he always kept some one near, whose mission it was to enjoy
himself at his expense. He was under no obligation whatsoever, except to
give an account of his amusements, most frequently in the dead of the
night, when he got home, because the old prince suffered from insomnia;
he would have given the whole of his vast possessions for six hours'
unbroken slumber.

I have an idea that the three generations of these Demidoffs were as mad
as March hares, though I am bound to say, at the same time, that the
form this madness took hurt no one. Personally, I only knew Prince
Anatole, the second son of the old man, and Paul, the latter's nephew.
Paul's father, of the same name, died almost immediately after his son's
birth. He had a mania for travelling, and rarely stayed in the same
spot for forty-eight hours. He was always accompanied by a numerous
suite and preceded by a couple of couriers, who, nine times out of ten,
had orders to engage every room in the hotel