r others, and to commit such frequent infidelities.
He replied that there was no such thing as love except in romances. He
broke with Seri, because, as he said, she wanted him to love her like an
Arcadian. He has often made me laugh at his complaining of this
seriously, and with an air of great affliction.

"Why do you disturb yourself?" I have said to him; "if that is not
agreeable to you, leave her alone. You are not obliged to feign a love
which you do not feel."

This convinces me, however, that my son is incapable of love. He
willingly eats, drinks, sings, and amuses himself with his mistresses,
but to love one of them more than another is not his way. He is not
afraid of application; but when he has been actively engaged from morning
till night he is glad to divert himself at supper with such persons. It
is for this reason that Parabere, who is said to be a great fool, is so
agreeable to him. She eats and drinks astonishingly, and plays absurd
tricks, which divert him and make him forget his labour.

My son, it must be allowed, possesses some great qualities. He has good
sense, understands several languages, is fond of reading, speaks well,
has studied much, is learned and acquainted with most of the arts,
however difficult. He is a musician, and does not compose badly; he
paints well, he understands chemistry, is well versed in history, and is
quick of comprehension. He soon, however, gets tired of everything. He
has an excellent memory, is expert in war, and fears nothing in the
world; his intentions are always just and fair, and if his actions are
ever otherwise, it is the fault of others. His only faults are that he
is too kind, not sufficiently reserved, and apt to believe people who
have less sense than himself; he is, therefore, often deceived, for the
knaves who know his easiness of temper will run all risks with him. All
the misfortunes and inconveniences which befall him spring from that
cause. His other fault is one not common to Frenchmen, the easiness with
which women can persuade him, and this often brings him into domestic
quarrels. He can refuse them nothing, and even carries his complaisance
so far as to give them marks of affection without really liking them.
When I tell him that he is too good, he says, "Is it not better to be
good than bad?"

He was always extremely weak, too, with respect to lovers, who chose to
make him their confidant.

The Duc de Saint Simon was one day