He lives, exclusively, in the society of fiddlers,
eunuchs, and women: he has done so since his childhood, and is likely
to do so to the last. His disrelish for any other society has become
inveterate: he cannot keep awake in any other. In spite of average
natural capacity, and more than average facility in the cultivation
of light literature, or at least "_de faire des petits vers de sa
focon_," his understanding has become so emasculated, that he is
altogether unfit for the conduct of his domestic, much less his
public, affairs. He sees occasionally his prime minister, who takes
care to persuade him that he does all that a King ought to do; and
nothing whatever of any other minister. He holds no communication
whatever with brothers, uncles, cousins, or any of the native
gentlemen at Lucknow, or the landed or official aristocracy of the
country. He sometimes admits a few poets or poetasters to hear and
praise his verses, and commands the unwilling attendance of some of
his relations, to witness and applaud the acting of some of his own
silly comedies, on the penalty of forfeiting their stipends; but any
one who presumes to approach him, even in his rides or drives, with a
petition for justice, is instantly clapped into prison, or otherwise
severely punished.
His father and grandfather, while on the throne, used to see the
members of the royal family and aristocracy of the city in Durbar
once a-day, or three or four times a-week, and have all petitions and
reports read over in their own presence.
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