“‘I was now really perplexed and angry, and by a violent shake awoke the Duke, who, torn thus rudely from his well-earned slumber, seemed even more astonished than myself. The door was open, the steps let down, and the gold-lace varlets waiting patiently our determination to alight. The situation was most embarrassing; there was a great deal of hurry and bustle in the interior of the Pavillon, a running to and fro in the vestibule, and a great calling of “Clarisse” and “Marianne.” It was evident that our arrival had been already perceived, and had already caused a certain sensation. I was determined, however, not to lend myself to the folly of my tipsy friend, and bade the coachman, in a peremptory tone, to use no delay in turning his horses, and conveying us back to Paris; although feeling myself compelled, from the courtesy due to the fair sex, much against my inclination, to give some token of my visit; I left my name, with inquiries after the health of Madame la Comtesse, and regrets that business in Paris prevented my alighting to pay her a visit in person. To this d’Aiguillon, who had been sleeping off, in some degree, the fumes of the past night, offered no objection. He had, no doubt, recovered his senses sufficiently to perceive that he was not in a fit state, either au moral or au physique, to appear before the lady, and therefore, to my great delight, remained silent. We had once more gained the great gate of the park, and were waiting while the concierge was opening to it to let us pass out, when we were overtaken by one of the countess’s pages, who came running, panting and breathless, to request, on the part of his mistress, as a great favour, that we would return, as she would be quite unhappy at the idea of losing my visit. Of course there was no possibility of refusal, and we were forced to turn back, myself in no very pleasant mood, as you may imagine, and even d’Aiguillon, whose impudence equalled that of Don Juan himself, rather subdued as the moment of trial drew nigh.
“‘We were ushered into a saloon on the ground-floor, looking into the garden, where Madame Dubarri was waiting with evident impatience. I was indeed quite overcome, almost to embarrassment, by the eagerness of welcome with which she received me, and the evident delight with which she accepted the introduction of my young friend. Poor Dubarri! the days were gone when her salons were crowded with the élite of the court, when her boudoir was the rendezvous of all that was elegant and distingué in the capital. The solitude in which she lived at the Pavilion, for which she was so unfit, formed a strange contrast to the crowded gallery at Versailles, where I had seen her last.
“‘No individual has ever been more calumniated than the poor, unhappy Dubarri. In most of the histories of “My own Times,” the “Mémoires pour Servir,” and the Souvenirs of M. This and Madame That, which have been vomited from the press during the last fifty years, she has been accused of every vice, of every crime that perverted human nature is capable of committing. Nothing was ever more unjust than these accusations. She had never forgotten, even amid all her grandeur, her ancient calling, and always felt a weight of ennui, of which she complained openly, with the greatest naïveté, at the pomp and ceremony which surrounded her at Versailles; and, above all, at the obsequious homage of which she was the object. She had succeeded in debasing her royal lover to her own level; but she was without ambition, and never sought to raise herself, or to use the influence she had acquired over the mind of the king for wanton mischief or malice. In the king’s cabinet, in his council-cabinet, or in the galerie des glaces, when assisting the king in his reception of foreign ambassadors, she was always the same “Jeanne la Folle, de chez la Mère Morry.” She had remained in everything the very type of the successful members of the unfortunate class from which she had been taken. Violent and vindictive against those who offended her, her wrath was speedily forgotten in the more powerful passion for amusement and pleasure, which seemed, like a very demon, to have possession of her soul. Night and day, from sunrise to sunset, was she ever ready for a noisy game, or a brawling dance.
“‘I think it must have been her very indifference to the political intrigues going on at court, which caused her to maintain her influence so long. Louis Quinze was weary of the propriety of demeanour and great talents of Madame de Pompadour, and was glad, for the sake of variety, to encanailler his royalty with the representation, such as poor “Jeanne la Folle” could give to the life, of the habits and manners of a class of persons of whose existence he ought scarcely to have been aware. One great justice ought to be done to her memory—she was no hypocrite. She never sought to play the fine lady, or to assume the airs and state of the noblesse. On the contrary, her great delight was in talking of the happy days of her youth. I have heard from those who were admitted to the private réunions in the petits appartemens at Versailles, that no actress ever possessed greater flexibility of histrionic power than Madame Dubarri. Her talent at mimicry and caricature would have done honour to any stage, and it was one of the king’s greatest enjoyments to listen to her description of the scenes and circumstances with which she had been familiar, before the happy chance which opened to her a life so different from that to which she then aspired. It seems that her comic powers were so great, that the satiated and ennuyé old king was once known to take a brilliant ring from his finger in the enthusiasm of the moment, and place it on her own, and, forgetting the presence of the courtiers, kiss her heartily on both cheeks, after one of these representations, at the same time declaring that she had given him more pleasure than he had ever received from the best actors of the Comédie Française.
“‘She alone furnished the amusement of the royal petits soupers for many years, and, while the people imagined that the king had retired for a while from public affairs, for the benefit of his health, and to recruit his strength, before entering on the great measures of reform which he had so long proposed for the advantage of the nation, roars of laughter and lewd songs were heard by the sentinel on duty at the gate of Trianon, issuing from the royal retreat, and making him imagine that he was pacing before one of the unholy dens which infest the narrow streets of the Quartier de la Cité.
“‘Six years had elapsed since I had seen Madame Dubarri. I found her but little altered in appearance, and much subdued in manner—she was humbled to the very soul. It was evident that she was perishing with ennui, not with regret for the splendour in which she had lived, nor the power which she might have possessed, had she so willed, but for the gay and gallant company she had enjoyed, the laughter, the practical jokes, the guerre pampan—a game which she had introduced, and which was still played at court, although she was no longer allowed to be there to share in the mirth which it excited. Her lamentations at her délaissement, as she called the comparative solitude in which she lived, were at first most piteous; but, as of old, her griefs were soon forgotten in the delight of the moment, and she soon gave way, with all the frankness and bonhomie of her character, to the unwonted delight imparted by the visit of two persons who could give her news of the court, and of what was said and what was done among those whom, so short a time before, she had ruled as queen, but whom she could not now either bribe or flatter into the slightest demonstration of courtesy.
“‘You are, no doubt, curious to hear an opinion of Madame Dubarri’s beauty from the lips of one who has seen her both in the days of her prosperity and after her downfall. She was a person of small, almost diminutive stature, extremely frail and delicate in feature, which saved her from being vulgar; but, even from the first, she always wore that peculiarly fané look, which she owed to a youth of dissipation, a maturity of unbounded indulgence. At the period of my visit, she was about six-and-thirty years of age, but, from her childlike form and delicacy of countenance, appeared much younger, and her gambades, and unrestrained gestures of supreme delight, on having, as she said, quelqu’un à qui parler, did not seem displaced. Although alone, and evidently not in expectation of visitors, her toilet was brilliant and recherché, the result of the necessity of killing time. The portrait, which is popular from the engraving, in which she is represented sipping coffee, is the best resemblance of her which has ever been attempted, and the likeness was most striking on this day, from her being attired in the same style as that represented in the picture. I could see that d’Aiguillon was charmed, and in spite of the clouds through which his reason had to make its way, he behaved in a discreet and gentlemanlike manner.
“‘It really was a curious day, that 16th of August, 1780—begun in the drawing-room of the Archbishop of Rheims, listening on bended knee to the exhortations of the good and pious prelate, and finished in the boudoir of “Jeanne la Folle!” It might be taken as the very type of the chaos which, from one end to the other of the social system, existed at the period. I was impatient to return to Paris, and did not wish to prolong my visit, but the poor comtesse sued so earnestly for another and another petit quart d’heure, that I had not the heart to hurry away. She showed us, with great complacency, all through the grounds belonging to the Pavillon, which were really beautiful, particularly the jets-d’eau and the artificial fountains which decorated the gardens; and there was something particularly touching in the tone in which she spoke of the kindness of poor “France” (the name by which she still designated the late king), who had caused the water-works of Marly to be brought down to the Pavillon, in order to give her a pleasant surprise on her birthday. Their removal must have cost several millions of the public money, but what was that compared to the pleasure of winning a smile of delight from “Jeanne la Folle!”
“‘On returning to the Pavillon, we found a splendid collation spread in the saloon. Here was the ’vantage ground of the Comtesse Dubarri; no one could better do the honours of a well-served table. In vain we excused ourselves upon the plea of our negligé toilet. She would take no refusal, saying, with a sigh, “I excuse you with all my heart; and fear not, we are sure to be alone; there is no danger of intrusion from visitors.”
“‘It was impossible to resist the melancholy tone in which she uttered the words; and, moreover, d’Aiguillon was not proof against the assurance which she gave him that she would make him judge of the Tokay which King Casimir sent as a present to Louis XIV. So we yielded to the gentle violence of the comtesse, and consented to remain. We were both well rewarded for the good deed, each of us in the way most agreeable to himself—d’Aiguillon with plenteous libations of the most exquisite wine, and myself with stories and adventures of the court of Louis Quinze, which to me served as most precious renseignemens, and gave me the clue to much that has taken place in France since that time.