ich rendered him indifferent
to the most mortal and the most dangerous offences; and as the nerve and
principle of hatred and friendship, of gratitude and vengeance, are the
same, and as they were wanting in him, the consequences were infinite and
pernicious. He was timid to excess, knew it, and was so ashamed that he
affected to be exactly the reverse, and plumed himself upon his daring.
But the truth is, as was afterwards seen, nothing could be obtained from
him, neither grace, nor justice, except by working upon his fears, to
which he was very susceptible; or by extreme importunity. He tried to
put people off by words, then by promises, of which he was monstrously
prodigal, but which he only kept when made to people who had good firm
claws. In this manner he broke so many engagements that the most
positive became counted as nothing; and he promised moreover to so many
different people, what could only be given to one, that he thus opened
out a copious source of discredit to himself and caused much discontent.
Nothing deceived or injured him more than the opinion he had formed, that
he could deceive all the world. He was no longer believed, even when he
spoke with the best faith, and his facility much diminished the value of
everything he did. To conclude, the obscure, and for the most part
blackguard company, which he ordinarily frequented in his debauches, and
which he did not scruple publicly to call his roues, drove away all
decent people, and did him infinite harm.

His constant mistrust of everything and everybody was disgusting, above
all when he was at the head of affairs. The fault sprang from his
timidity, which made him fear his most certain enemies, and treat them
with more distinction than his friends; from his natural easiness, from a
false imitation of Henry IV., in whom this quality was by no means the
finest; and from the unfortunate opinion which he held, that probity was
a sham. He was, nevertheless, persuaded of my probity; and would often
reproach me with it as a fault and prejudice of education which had
cramped my mind and obscured my understanding, and he said as much of
Madame de Saint-Simon, because he believed her virtuous.

I had given him so many proofs of my attachment that he could not very
well suspect me; and yet, this is what happened two or three years after
the establishment of the Regency. I give it as one of the most striking
of the touches that paint his portrait.

It w