fallen into entire public contempt. It was with difficulty that I
obtained an interview, for he is frequently absent from a court
where his presence is unheeded, and where his only role is to be a
cloak for the amours of his wife. At last, however, on the third
occasion when I visited the palace, I found this sovereign in the
exercise of his inglorious function, with the wife on one hand, and
the lover on the other. He is not ill-looking; he has hair of a
ruddy gold, which naturally curls, and his eyes are dark, a
combination which I always regard as the mark of some congenital
deficiency, physical or moral; his features are irregular, but
pleasing; the nose perhaps a little short, and the mouth a little
womanish; his address is excellent, and he can express himself with
point. But to pierce below these externals is to come on a vacuity
of any sterling quality, a deliquescence of the moral nature, a
frivolity and inconsequence of purpose that mark the nearly perfect
fruit of a decadent age. He has a worthless smattering of many
subjects, but a grasp of none. 'I soon weary of a pursuit,' he said
to me, laughing; it would almost appear as if he took a pride in his
incapacity and lack of moral courage. The results of his
dilettanteism are to be seen in every field; he is a bad fencer, a
second-rate horseman, dancer, shot; he sings - I have heard him -
and he sings like a child; he writes intolerable verses in more than
doubtful French; he acts like the common amateur; and in short there
is no end to the number of the things that he does, and does badly.
His one manly taste is for the chase. In sum, he is but a plexus of
weaknesses; the singing chambermaid of the stage, tricked out in
man's apparel, and mounted on a circus horse. I have seen this poor
phantom of a prince riding out alone or with a few huntsmen,
disregarded by all, and I have been even grieved for the bearer of
so futile and melancholy an existence. The last Merovingians may