There was scarce a man of quality in France above the rank of president that countenanced the cause. There was one of the blood royal that affected to be their protector; but too much despised by the Court, too inconsiderable and too half-witted to hurt anybody but himself. This was the Prince of Conti. Handsome and royal in his figure, gracious at times, but arrogant and overbearing, luxurious and expensive, he had gathered together a sort of Court of those who had no hopes at the King’s, but without the power of giving or receiving any support. Confused in his ideas, yet clear in his opinion of superior intelligence, he was at once diffuse and incomprehensible. The little tyrant of a puny circle, he gave himself for the patron of liberty. No man would have carried his own privileges farther. The Court took no umbrage at such a foe.[205] It could not but be a singular satisfaction to me to find in so adverse a nation so few men whose abilities were formidable. One or two of the subordinate Ministers were men of domestic and civil address. The Prince de Soubise, a sensible man of fair character, who enjoyed the most personal favour with the King, and, it was thought, might be Minister if he pleased, had no ambition.[206] The Maréchal d’Estrèes was a good-humoured old nurse;[207] the Maréchal de Broglie[208] as empty a man, except in the theory of discipline, as ever I knew. The Comte, his brother, who had more parts, had not enough to make them useful;[209] and both brothers were in disgrace. The Marquess de Castries,[210] a good officer, was not on any terms with Choiseul, and was no deep genius. The Duc de Praslin, the Minister’s cousin, was ill-tempered and disagreeable, and far from possessing superior abilities.[211] The clergy were at a low ebb. The Archbishop of Toulouse, reckoned the most rising of the order, was aspiring and artful, but absorbed in his own attention to intrigue, which gave him an air of absence. He was only considerable by comparison.[212] He and many of his order did not disguise their contempt for their own religion. As the women who had most sway were Freethinkers, a fashionable clergyman was by consequence an infidel. The ablest man I knew, and he as indiscreet as the Duc de Choiseul, was the old Comte de Maurepas. Lively, gay, and agreeable, he seemed to feel no regret for his disgrace, though he ought to have blushed at the imprudence that occasioned it. He had not only caused to be written, but himself, at his own table at Versailles, before a large company, had sung, a severe ballad on Madame de Pompadour. His fall and a long exile were the consequence. To make his ruin irrecoverable, she persuaded the King that he had poisoned a former mistress, the Duchesse de Chateauroux. From the same animosity, Madame de Pompadour had diverted a large sum that Maurepas had destined to re-establish their marine. Knowing his enmity to this country, I told him, and the compliment was true, that