and his apartment at Versailles were never empty from the time be arose till the time he retired.” 2 or 300 households at Paris, at Versailles and in their environs, offer a similar spectacle.  Never is there solitude.  It is the custom in France, says Horace Walpole, to burn your candle down to its snuff in public.  The mansion of the Duchesse de Gramont is besieged at day-break by the noblest seigniors and the noblest ladies.  Five times a week, under the Duc de Choiseul’s roof, the butler enters the drawing room at ten o’clock in the evening to bestow a glance on the immense crowded gallery and decide if he shall lay the cloth for fifty, sixty or eighty persons;[59] with this example before them all the rich establishments soon glory in providing an open table for all comers.  Naturally the parvenus, the financiers who have purchased or taken the name of an estate, all those traffickers and sons of traffickers who, since Law, associate with the nobility, imitate their ways.  And I do not allude to the Bourets, the Beaujons, the St. Jameses and other financial wretches whose paraphernalia effaces that of the princes; but take a plain associé des fermes, M. d’Epinay, whose modest and refined wife refuses such excessive display.[60] He had just completed his domestic arrangements, and was anxious that his wife should take a second maid; but she resisted; nevertheless, in this curtailed household,

“the officers, women and valets, amounted to sixteen. . . .  When M. d’Epinay gets up his valet enters on his duties.  Two lackeys stand by awaiting his orders.  The first secretary enters for the purpose of giving an account of the letters received by him and which he has to open; but he is interrupted two hundred times in this business by all sorts of people imaginable.  Now it is a horse-jockey with the finest horses to sell. . . .  Again some saucy girl who calls to bawl out a piece of music, and on whose behalf some influence has been exerted to get her into the opera, after giving her a few lessons in good taste and teaching her what is proper in French music.  This young lady has been made to wait to ascertain if I am still at home. . . .  I get up and go out.  Two lackeys open the folding doors to let me make it through this eye of a needle, while two servants bawl out in the ante-chamber, ‘Madame, gentlemen, Madame!’ All form a line, the gentlemen consisting of dealers in fabrics, in instruments, jewellers, hawkers, lackeys, shoeblacks, creditors, in short everything imaginable that is most ridiculous and annoying.  The clock strikes twelve or one before this toilet matter is over, and the secretary, who, doubtless, knows by experience the impossibility of rendering a detailed statement of his business, hands to his master a small memorandum informing him what he must say in the assembly of fermiers.”

Indolence, disorder, debts, ceremony, the tone and ways of the patron, all seems a parody of the real thing.  We are beholding the last stages of aristocracy.  And yet the court of M. d’Epinay is a miniature resemblance of that of the king.