“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 exceedingly annoyed at this weakness of my son, and said to him, angrily, “Ah! there you are; since the days of Louis le Debonnaire there has been nobody so debonnaire as yourself.”

My son was much amused at it.

When he is under the necessity of saying anything harsh, he is much more pained at it than the person who experiences the disgrace.

He is not fond of the country, but prefers living in town.  He is in this respect like Madame de Longueville, who was tired to death of being in Normandy, where her husband was.

     [The Duc de Longueville was Governor of Normandy; and after the
     reduction of Bordeaux, in 1652, the Duchesse de Longueville received
     an order from the Court to repair to her husband.]

Those who were about her said, “Mon Dieu, Madame, you are eaten up with ennui; will you not take some amusement?  There are dogs and a beautiful forest; will you hunt?”