The day of St Denis was usually chosen by the Dame Lebrun for a charming party, to which she lent all the charms of her muse. In that which she gave on the eve of St Denis, at the house of the Sieur Grimod, she had introduced all the deities of Olympus to pay compliments to her husband. First appeared Love and the Graces; then Flora, then Diana--who all sang songs in character. Apollo followed, who presented his lyre to the Sieur Lebrun, and said--
"The suffrages of all you claim, The gods themselves your talents prize; Through endless ages may your name Partake their immortalities! Take from Apollo's hand this lyre, To sound upon the sacred hill; And while your finger wakes its fire, They'll say, 'it is Apollo's still.'"[3]
After Apollo, Pomona immediately came; it was the character which the Dame Lebrun had reserved for herself; and her couplet would have been out of place in any person's mouth but her own--
"Let gods their crowns bestow-- An orchard is my all: Yet poor gifts richer grow, When from the heart they fall. If of Pomona's store To taste you kindly deign, Trust me, I'll give you as much more When autumn comes again."[4]
The divertisement ended with a dance of Bacchus and Bacchantes. The Sieur Grimod enacted the part of Bacchus in full costume, with his head ornamented with a cap and bells!
We suspect the head of the counsel assisting in getting up this memorial had been so long surmounted with a wig, that he did not remark upon the absurdity of the masquerade of the Sieur Grimod. A cap and bells on the head of wild Bacchus! It is evident, even from the couplet chanted by the fascinating sub-collector of taxes, that he appeared in a very different character from the youthful conqueror of India; though we confess that heads, of which a cap and bells would be the fittest covering, are not altogether unknown among the heroes and conquerors of the gorgeous East. It is clear, from the verses, that the great Grimod appeared, "for this night only," in the character of Folly.
"To set every thing right, 'Tis on that I am bound; To put sorrow to flight The true secret I've found! All these poor silly gods, With their bouquets held so, With their songs and their odes, Without me are no go! Folly flings From its wings A new light on each day. It incites, It invites, To be happy and gay."