f cavalry, he cannot mount his
horse. I said on Tuesday last (17th July, 1719) to the young Princesse
de Conti that I heard her husband was not entirely recovered. She
laughed and whispered to me,--

"Oh, yes, he is quite well; but he pretends not to be so that he may
avoid going to the siege, where he may be killed, for he is as cowardly
as an ape." I think if I had as little inclination for war as he has, I
would not engage in the campaign at all; there is nothing to oblige him
to do so-it is to reap glory, not to encounter shame, that men go into
the army. His best friends, Lanoue and Cleremont, for example, have
remonstrated with him on this subject, and he has quarrelled with them in
consequence. It is an unfortunate thing for a man not to know himself.

The Prince is terribly afflicted with a dysentery. They wanted to carry
him to Bayonne, but he has so violent a fever that he would not be able
to support the journey. He is therefore obliged to stay with the army
(25th August, 1719).

He has been back nine or ten days, but I have heard nothing of him yet;
he is constantly engaged in the Rue de Quincampoix, trying to gain money
among the stock-jobbers (19th September, 1719).

At length he has been to see me. Perhaps there was this morning less
stock-jobbing than usual in the Rue de Quincampoix, for there he has been
ever since his return. His cousin, the Duke, is engaged in the same
pursuit. The Prince de Conti has not brought back much honour from the
campaign; he is too much addicted to debauchery of all kinds.

Although he can be polite when he chooses, no one can behave more
brutally than he does occasionally, and he becomes more and more mad
daily.

At one of the last opera balls he seized a poor little girl just come
from the country, took her from her mother's side, and, placing her
between his own legs, amused himself by slapping and filliping her until
he made her nose and mouth bleed. The young girl, who had done nothing
to offend him, and who did not even know him, wept bitterly; but he only
laughed, and said, "Cannot I give nice fillips?" All who were witnesses
of this brutal scene pitied her; but no one dared come to the poor
child's assistance, for they were afraid of having anything to do with
this violent madman. He makes the most frightful grimaces, and I, who am
extremely frightened at crazy people, tremble whenever I happen to be
alone with him.

His wicked pranks remind me of my own. Whe