The parliament still continued in disgrace: the Prince of Conti endeavoured to restore them to favour. He exerted himself greatly to compass this design. This prince, who had retired from Versailles, troubled himself very little with the perplexities of the court. When the King was informed of the task he had undertaken, his Majesty said, It is surprising that the Prince of Conti who has hitherto never meddled with any thing, should give himself the trouble to bring such head-strong people back to their duty.
His efforts were fruitless; they would not submit to this Prince’s reasons, and he said upon his return to the isle of Adam, “If the King had sent me plenipotentiary to some prince at enmity with France, I should have terminated the war; but I cannot negociate between him and his parliament.”
The King set out for Compiegne, where the Court was very brilliant. All the Princes of the blood and the nobility of the kingdom repaired thither. It is by custom established, that the subjects eat with the King at Compiegne; in consequence of which several lords regaled the monarch. Among those who gave feasts to his Majesty, one Marquis Regnier de Guerchy, lieutenant general, and colonel of the King’s regiment, distinguished himself the most. Methought he had taste and judgment; for both are necessary to treat a King of France with splendour and delicacy. This colonel’s table at Compiegne usually consisted of two hundred covers, and it happened more than once in this journey, that he had upwards of three hundred guests. It was said of this lieutenant-general, that he had served his country very well, which, according to me, is the greatest elogium that can be given to a military man.
When the King was at Compiegne, he was less taken up with the disputes about religion and the parliament. Hunting and encampments entirely engaged his attention, which gave him an air of contentment, that he lost when he came to Versailles.
The year 1753 was the epocha of remonstrances. The comedians turned their representations into state affairs. The opera of Paris, who saw with regret the success of the other theatres, finding that the French comedians had constantly full houses, thought proper to forbid their performing ballets. The comedians made application to the government, to obtain an edict of council to permit them to have dances. There was something whimsical in their remonstrances to the King; for it is difficult for a set of people, who by their profession are destined to excite laughter, to acquire sufficient gravity to preserve such a serious stile as is requisite in a piece dedicated to a supreme tribunal. One of the deputies said to me, “Madam, the modern productions are so very bad, that the greater part of them cannot be supported without ballets. Capering is a great auxiliary to declamation, I foretel you, Madam, that if we are not allowed to dance, words will be of no signification.” The King laughed when I related to him this slight.
Nevertheless these same French comedians shut up their theatre, and haughtily declared that they could not act, unless they were allowed to dance. This theatrical vacation, which appeared trifling, was really an affair of state. Dramatic performances prevent an infinite number of vices which idleness creates.
The parliament, who were always in part exiled, no longer officiating, it occasioned great detriment to public affairs. The King ordered them to resume their vocations; they did not obey. The great chamber sent a deputation to Versailles; they made fresh remonstrances, and here things remained.
Happily for France, the Dauphiness was brought to bed, and those disputes, which had spread such a general gloom at court and in the city, were immediately forgot. Public rejoicings inspired such gaiety as dispelled this universal cloud. Frenchmen are seldom long bereft of their chearfulness. A marriage, or recovery, restores to them their natural sprightliness. I do not know whether this continual transition from grief to joy, is not preferable to that pensive disposition of the English, which inspires them with a melancholy, from which no secondary cause can retrieve them. A Spanish Ambassador said to me, that the French have some moments of existence, but that the English are in a continual state of mortality.
The new-born Prince was named Duke of Aquitaine. The King forsook business to give an entire loose to pleasure, for which this happy event gave him a relish. It made a sensible change in my disposition, as it inspired our conversation with gaiety, and renewed our satisfaction. Versailles was now the scene of festivity; when all the nobility belonging to court signalized themselves, and the courtiers upon this occasion seemed transported with joy at an event, which in reality must have been a matter of indifference to them.
Such resources as these were necessary to rescue us from that languid state, wherein the sameness of amusement immersed us. I had employed the greatest refinements of art to dissipate the King’s melancholy; but every thing is at length exhausted. Custom destroys even that novelty, which alone can make impression on our senses.