Formerly he had been in love with several ladies of the Court; then, nothing cost too much.  He was grace, magnificence, gallantry in person—­ a Jupiter transformed into a shower of gold.  Now he disguised himself as a lackey, another time as a female broker in articles for the toilette; and now in another fashion.  He was the most ingenious man in the world.  He once gave a grand fete solely for the purpose of retarding the journey into Italy of a lady with whom he was enamoured, with whom he was on good terms, and whose husband he amused by making verses.  He hired all the houses on one side of a street near Saint Sulpice, furnished them, and pierced the connecting walls, in order to be able thus to reach the place of rendezvous without being suspected.

Jealous and cruel to his mistresses, he had, amongst others, the Marquise de Richelieu; whom I name, because she is not worth the trouble of being silent upon.  He was hopelessly smitten and spent millions upon her and to learn her movements.  He knew that the Comte de Roucy shared her favours (it was for her that sagacious Count proposed to put straw before the house in order to guarantee her against the sound of the church bells, of which she complained).  M. le Prince reproached her for favouring the Count.  She defended herself; but he watched her so closely, that he brought home the offence to her without her being able to deny it.  The fear of losing a lover so rich as was M. le Prince furnished her on the spot with an excellent suggestion for putting him at ease.  She proposed to make an appointment at her own house with the Comte de Roucy, M. le Prince’s people to lie in wait, and when the Count appeared, to make away with him.  Instead of the success she expected from a proposition so humane and ingenious, M. le Prince was so horror-struck, that he warned the Comte de Roucy, and never saw the Marquise de Richelieu again all his life.

The most surprising thing was, that with so much ability, penetration, activity, and valour, as had M. le Prince, with the desire to be as great a warrior as the Great Conde, his father, he could never succeed in understanding even the first elements of the military art.  Instructed as he was by his father, he never acquired the least aptitude in war.  It was a profession was not born for, and for which he could not qualify himself by study.  During the last fifteen or twenty years of his life, he was accused of something more than fierceness and ferocity.  Wanderings were noticed in his conduct, which were not exhibited in his own house alone.  Entering one morning into the apartment of the Marechale de Noailles (she herself has related this to me) as her bed was being made, and there being only the counterpane to put on, he stopped short at the door, crying with transport, “Oh, the nice bed, the nice bed!” took a spring, leaped upon the bed, rolled himself upon it seven or eight times, then descended and made his