So much for Spain.

In France, Charles VIII had succeeded his father, Louis XI, on the 30th
of August, 1483. Louis by dint of executions, had tranquillised his
kingdom and smoothed the way for a child who ascended the throne under
the regency of a woman. And the regency had been a glorious one, and had
put down the pretensions of princes of the blood, put an end to civil
wars, and united to the crown all that yet remained of the great
independent fiefs. The result was that at the epoch where we now are,
here was Charles VIII, about twenty-two years of age, a prince (if we are
to believe La Tremouille) little of body but great of heart; a child (if
we are to believe Commines) only now making his first flight from the
nest, destitute of both sense and money, feeble in person, full of
self-will, and consorting rather with fools than with the wise; lastly,
if we are to believe Guicciardini, who was an Italian, might well have
brought a somewhat partial judgment to bear upon the subject, a young man
of little wit concerning the actions of men, but carried away by an
ardent desire for rule and the acquisition of glory, a desire based far
more on his shallow character and impetuosity than on any consciousness
of genius: he was an enemy to all fatigue and all business, and when he
tried to give his attention to it he showed himself always totally
wanting in prudence and judgment. If anything in him appeared at first
sight to be worthy of praise, on a closer inspection it was found to be
something nearer akin to vice than to virtue. He was liberal, it is
true, but without thought, with no measure and no discrimination. He was
sometimes inflexible in will; but this was through obstinacy rather than
a constant mind; and what his flatterers called goodness deserved far
more the name of insensibility to injuries or poverty of spirit.