Royal, determined to be economical, almost descends
to parsimony; and perhaps depresses his subjects, by labouring not to
oppress them; for his intentions always seem to be good--yet nothing can
give a more forcible idea of the dulness which eats away all activity of
mind, than the insipid routine of a court, without magnificence or
elegance.

The Prince, from what I can now collect, has very moderate abilities; yet
is so well disposed, that Count Bernstorff finds him as tractable as he
could wish; for I consider the Count as the real sovereign, scarcely
behind the curtain; the Prince having none of that obstinate
self-sufficiency of youth, so often the forerunner of decision of
character. He and the Princess his wife, dine every day with the King,
to save the expense of two tables. What a mummery it must be to treat as
a king a being who has lost the majesty of man! But even Count
Bernstorff's morality submits to this standing imposition; and he avails
himself of it sometimes, to soften a refusal of his own, by saying it is
the _will_ of the King, my master, when everybody knows that he has
neither will nor memory. Much the same use is made of him as, I have
observed, some termagant wives make of their husbands; they would dwell
on the necessity of obeying their husbands, poor passive souls, who never
were allowed _to will_, when they wanted to conceal their own tyranny.

A story is told here of the King's formerly making a dog counsellor of
state, because when the dog, accustomed to eat at the royal table,
snatched a piece of meat off an old officer's plate, he reproved him
jocosely, saying that he, _monsieur le chien_, had not the privilege of
dining with his majesty, a privilege annexed to this distinction.

The burning of the palace was, in fact, a fortunate circumstance, as it
afforded a pretext for reducing the establishment of the household, which
was far too great for the revenue of the Crown. The Prince Royal, at
present, runs into the opposite extreme; and the formality, if not the
parsimony, of the court, seems to extend to all the other branches of
society, which I had an opportunity of observing; though hospitality
still characterises their intercourse with strangers.

But let me now stop; I may be a little partial, and view everything with
the jaundiced eye of melancholy--for I am sad--and have cause.

God bless you!

LETTER XXI.

I have seen Count Bernstorff; and his conversation con