however, he could be brought to exercise his sense by remembering
that he was no longer young, he became fascinating beyond idea,
from the finished ease and grace of his manner, and the polished
and piquant style of his discourse; still I speak of him as a mere
man of outward show, for the duke's attainments were certainly
superficial, and he possessed more of the jargon of a man of
letters than the sound reality. Among other proofs of consummate
ignorance he was deficient even in orthography, and was fool
enough to boast of so disgraceful a fact, as though it conferred
honor on him; perhaps, indeed, he found that the easiest way of
getting over the business.

He possessed a most ignoble turn of mind; all feelings of an
elevated nature were wanting within him. A bad son, an unkind
husband, and a worse father, he could scarcely be expected to
become a steady friend. All whom he feared, he hesitated not to
trample under foot; and his favorite maxim, which he has a
hundred times repeated to me, was, that "we should never hesitate
to set our foot upon the necks of all those who might in any way
interfere with our projects--dead men [he would further add] tell
no tales!" There was one person, nevertheless, whom he detested
and flattered at the same time, and this was Voltaire, who well
repaid him in like coin. He called the duc de Richelieu, the
tyrant of the tennis-court* (), and the duke returned the
compliment by invariably designating him "Scoundrel" and "Poetaster";
the only difference was that the duc de Richelieu only treated the
poet thus in , whilst M. de Voltaire sought not to
conceal, either in his writings or conversation, his candid opinion
of the illustrious duke and peer; and he might justly accuse the
duke of ingratitude, for he, no doubt, owed a considerable portion