MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OE SAINT-SIMON".

he could not react what he aimed at, or unless, as he wandered
thus in deep darkness, a glimmer of light came to him from
some other cranny. He passed thus his days in sapping and
counter-sapping. The most impudent deceit had become
natural to him, and was concealed tinder an air that was simple,
upright, sincere, often bashful. He would have spoken with
grace and forcibly, if, fearful of saying more than he wished,
he had not accustomed himself to a fictitious hesitation., a stut-
tering which disfigured his speech, and which, redoubled when
important things were in question, became insupportable and
sometimes uninteDigible. He had wit, learning, knowledge of
the world, much desire to please and insinuate himself, but all
was spoiled by an odour of falsehood which escaped in spite
of him through every pore of his body—even in the midst of
his gaiety, which made whoever beheld it sad. Wicked besides,
with reflection, both by nature and by argument, treacherous
and ungrateful, expert in the blackest villanies, terribly brazen,
•when, detected ; he desired everything, envied everything, and
wished to seize everything. It was known afterwards, when
he no longer could restrain himself, to what an extent he was
selfish, debauched, inconsistent, ignorant of everything, passion-
ate, headstrong, blasphemous and mad, and to what an extent
lie publicly despised his master, the state, and all the world,
never hesitating to sacrifice everybody and everything to his
credit, his power, his absolute authority, his greatness, his
avarice, his fears and his vengeance.

Such was the sage to whom M. le Due d'Orleans was con-
fided in early youth 1

Such a good master did not lose his pains with his new dis-
ciple, in whom the excellent principles of Saint Laurent had
not had time to take deep root, whatever esteem and affection
he may have preserved through life for that worthy man. I
will admit here, with bitterness, for everything should be
sacrificed to the truth, that M. le Due d'Orleans brought into
the world a failing—let us call things by their names—a weak-
ness, which unceasingly spoiled all his talents, and which were
of marvellous use to his preceptor all his life. Dubois led him