I “found his room all hung with black curtains, the bed and window-curtains were the same; all the souvenirs of one so dear were collected around him.”
Of the friends that rallied around him, Madden names as among the most faithful the ex-King Jérôme and his son, Prince Napoleon, and Emile de Girardin. Of the man of the bust, D’Orsay writes, in April 1850: “Lamartine me disait hier: ‘Plus je vois de représentants du peuple, plus j’aime mes chiens.’”
Early in February 1851 we find Dickens in Paris, stopping at the Hôtel Wagram; D’Orsay dined with him on the 11th and Dickens went in return to the atelier the next day. “He was very happy with us,” he writes, “and is much improved both in spirits and looks.”
In May 1850 Abraham Hayward was in Paris, and dined at Philippe’s with a highly-distinguished company, including Brougham, Alexandre Dumas, Lord Dufferin, the Hon. W. Stuart, a Mr Dundas of Carron, Hayward himself and D’Orsay. Lord Dufferin, who, however, gives 1849 as the date, describes this dinner as “noisy but amusing.” The object of the dinner was the bringing together of Brougham and Dumas:—“Brougham was punctual to the hour, and they were formally introduced by Count d’Orsay, who, observing some slight symptoms of stiffness, exclaimed: ‘Comment, diable, vous, les deux grands hommes, embrassez-vous donc, embrassez-vous.’ They fraternised accordingly à la française, Brougham looking very much during the operation as if he were in the grip of a bear, though nobody could look more cordial and satisfied than Dumas. The dinner was excellent. Some first rate Clos de Vougeot, of which Dumas had an accurate foreknowledge, sustained the hilarity of the company; the conversation was varied and animated; each of the distinguished guests took his fair share, and no more than his fair share; and it was bordering on midnight when the party separated.”
The price of the dinner was twenty francs a head, not including the wine, and D’Orsay and Hayward were jointly responsible for the menu. “The most successful dishes were the bisque, the fritures Italiennes, and the gigot à la Bretonne,” so says Hayward.
In his latest days he still retained a keen zest for the good things of the table, as is shown by this letter of his to Hayward:—
“Paris, 1st May 1852.
“I must confess with regret that the culinary art has sadly fallen off in Paris; and I do not very clearly see how it is to recover, as there are at present no great establishments where the school can be kept up.
“You must have remarked, when you were here, that at all the first-class restaurants you had nearly the same dinner; they may, however, be divided into three categories. Undoubtedly, the best for a great dinner and good wine are the Frères Provençaux (Palais Royal); Philippe (Rue Mont Orgueil), and the Café de Paris; the latter is not always to be counted upon, but is excellent when they give you a soigné dinner. In the second class are Véry (Palais Royal), Vefour (Café Anglais), and Champeaux (Place de la Bourse), where you can have a most conscientious dinner, good without pretension; the situation is central, in a beautiful garden, and you must ask for a bifstek à la Châteaubriand. At the head of the third class we must place Bonvallet, on the Boulevard du Temple, near all the little theatres; Defieux, chiefly remarkable for corporation and assembly dinners.… The two best places for suppers are the Maison d’Or and the Café Anglais; and for breakfasts, Tortoni’s, and the Café d’Orsay on the Quai d’Orsay. In the vicinity of Paris, the best restaurant is the Pavilion Henri Quatre, at St Germains, kept by the old cook of the Duchesse de Berri. At none of these places could you find dinners now such as were produced by Ude; by Soyer, formerly with Lord Chesterfield; by Rotival, with Lord Wilton; or by Perron, with Lord Londonderry.… You are now au fait of the pretended French gastronomy. It has emigrated to England, and has no wish to return. We do not absolutely die of hunger here, and that is all that can be said.”
A few other friends were faithful. There was Eugene Sue, a much read man in his day, but his name drags on a precarious existence now as the author of The Mysteries of Paris and The Wandering Jew. Probably his chief claim to immortality will be found to be his friendship with D’Orsay, who indeed inspired him with the central figure of “Le Viscomte de Letocère, ou L’Art de Plaire.” He was quite a dandy in his way, though of course not comparable in degree with D’Orsay, and, strange combination, was a bit of a Communist. He gave vent to the true saying that “No one had any right to superfluity”—not even excepting D’Orsay?—“while any one was in want of necessaries.” Yet this is a description of his manner of “doing himself:”—