insignificant rooms that consumed no more space than would have filled a remote corner of this great hall of the theater—­the motive was ever the same:  to banish for the time-being the hovering specter of boredom and melancholy.  “Louis XV,” comments the author of “France Under Louis XV,” “was not a man that sought relief from ceremony and adulation in any useful work; but, on the other hand, this dull grandeur was not dear to his heart; he did not derive from it the majestic satisfaction that it furnished to his predecessor.  From youth to age the King was bored; he wearied of his throne, his court, himself; he was indifferent to all things, and unconcerned as to the weal or the woe of his people.”

One of the Salons on which he lavished all the art of his epoch was the reception-room of the royal Adelaide.  Here all was carved and gilded in a manner exquisite beyond words—­chimney, doors, ceiling, window embrasures, mirror frames.  Musical instruments were employed as sculpture motifs, for in this room the princess liked to sit and play her violoncello.  In the dining-room, the decorative designs were delicately carved rosettes, arabesques, garlands of fruits and flowers, crowns and medallions.

The supreme ruler of Louis XV’s affections—­the amazing Madame Dubarry—­was lodged “in a suite of delectable boudoirs” facing the Marble Court, above the private apartments of the King.  Everywhere appeared the initial L linked with the torches of Love.  One of the objects most admired in the drawing-room was an English piano-forte, with a case adorned with rosewood medallions, blue and white mosaics and gilded metal.  In this room there were chests of drawers of antique lacquer and ebony, statues of marble, and garnishings of sculptured bronze.  At night all was ablaze with the lights of the great luster of rock-crystal that hung from the center of the ceiling, and had cost, it was said, a sum equaling three thousand American dollars.  In varying form, but with equal richness, all the apartments of Dubarry were beautified at the King’s behest.

In January, 1747, the “theater of the little apartments” of the King was inaugurated by a representation of “Tartuffe” with Madame de Pompadour in the cast.  The King frequently permitted himself to be distracted with music and the play in this hall in the Little Gallery.  Here was an orchestra of twenty-eight musicians, a ballet, and a chorus of twenty-six, under the direction of Monsieur de Bury, Lully’s successor as master of the Court music.  Actors, singers, dancers, all were supplied with gorgeous costumes, and given the services of Sire Notrelle, the most celebrated wig-maker in Paris, who had in his day a prodigious vogue.  One of his advertisements announced his ability to imitate the coiffures of “gods, demons, heroes and shepherds, tritons, cyclops, naiads and furies.”  Astounding were the head-dresses of the actors and actresses that graced the stage of Versailles.