“Every day the King had long conversations with me, often of five hours at a time, and completely fascinated me: fine arts, war, medicine, literature and religion, philosophy, moral philosophy, history and legislation, were all reviewed in turn. The great eras of Augustus and Louis XIV.; the refined society of the Romans, the Greeks, and the Franks; the chivalry of Francis the First; the frankness and valour of Henry the Fourth; the revival of learning; anecdotes of clever men of former days, and their failings; Voltaire’s errors, Maupertuis’s irritability, and I know not what else. In fact, anything and everything. The most varied and wittiest things were said by the King in a soft, low, and agreeable voice, with an inexpressibly graceful movement of the lips. The charm of his manner was, I think, the reason why one did not notice that, like Homer’s heroes, he was rather a babbler, though certainly a sublime one. His eyes, always too hard in his portraits, although strained with work and the fatigues of war, softened in their expression when listening to or relating some noble deed or trait of sensibility.... “One morning, as I arrived at the palace, the King came forward and said: ‘I fear I must be the bearer of bad news; I have just heard that Prince Charles of Lorraine is dying.’ He looked to see what effect the news would have on me, and seeing the tears fall from my eyes, he gradually and gently changed the conversation. The next day, the moment he saw me, the King came up, and said with an air of the deepest concern: ‘Since you must hear of the death of a man who loved you and honoured mankind, it is better that it should be through some one who feels it as sincerely as I do; poor Prince Charles is no more!’ He was deeply affected as he said these words.” After a conversation during which the King had spoken unceasingly for nearly an hour, the Prince, finding the part of listener rather monotonous, seized upon an allusion to Virgil, and said:-- “‘What a grand poet, Sire, but what a bad gardener!’ “‘How true! Did I not try to plant, sow, dig, and hoe, with the Georgics as my guide? “But, Sire,” the gardener used to say, not knowing who I was: “You are a fool, and your book also; it is not so that one sets to work.” Good heavens, what a climate! would you believe it, God and the sun refuse me everything! Look at my orange, olive, and lemon trees, they are all dying of hunger.’ “‘Laurels, I see, are the only trees that will grow for your Majesty.’ “The King gave me a delighted look, and to cap my insipid remark with a bit of nonsense, I quickly added: ‘And then, Sire, there are too many grenadiers[28] in this country, they swallow up everything.’ The King laughed, for it is only nonsense that makes one laugh.”