At a terrible crisis in the beginning of the year, he had acquiesced in the adoption of a daring policy; he had discerned the measures by which alone that policy could be realised; and he had endeavoured, in conjunction with the greatest of the French allies, to enforce them upon his colleagues. He had seen those measures, one by one, deliberately and wantonly rejected; and the policy which could only be maintained by a couple of armies was left him to support without a single man. Inevitably his time was spent in apprehending disaster, in futile attempts to hamper its approach, and in transparent efforts, when it came at last, to give it the appearance of success.[347] In a constitutional government he might have resigned his place, declining the responsibility for measures which he had no power to control. As the minister of Louis XV., such a course was impossible. He might again have refused to pursue his negotiations at Dresden and in the several Electorates; but to have done so would have been to deprive the French intervention of its only possible pretext. A third course would have been to shrug his shoulders, tear up the policy of January last, and accept his share in the unprincipled by-play which was the only form that French diplomacy in Germany could reasonably take. He had simply to choose between acting like a knave, and looking like a fool. The qualities requisite for the former part he had never been able to acquire; and he had a profound faith that knavishness was the very last attribute of a statesman. In short, his only resource was to believe, in spite of himself, that there still remained some serious possibility of success, to shut his eyes to ominous circumstances, and to clutch at every shred of hope. By dint of trying to persuade others, he succeeded at last in persuading himself. He lost sight of the fact which had once been clear to him, that to Frederick mere protestations of confidence, with nothing to support them, were not worth the paper they were written on; and he clung to the belief that the suave indecisions of the Court of Dresden were more than a diplomatic veil for an absolute refusal. So it was that when the disasters he had foreseen occurred in due course, he found that it was less easy to accept than to apprehend the inevitable; and the Treaty of Hanover and the election at Frankfort came to him as a cruel blow. In a sorrowful letter to Marshal de Belleisle he says: "I have received your letter. As to what you say of me, I must say nothing, and with good reason; I fear your praises more than any man's, for I know your sincerity. Nevertheless, I cannot believe that I have the least capacity for affairs, where, up to the present, I have had so little success."[348]