Whose fault was this,-that of the preacher or of the public? -A delicate question, upon which much might be said, but which we like better to 1efer to the consciences of both; for it is not so peculiar to the seventeenth century, that we are able to regard it as a simple matter of history.

However this may be,-when preaching had once entered the dominion of literature, and consequently had left that higher sphere to which it belonged from its nature and its object, it found itself subjected, like everything else, to the influence of the man who was destined to impress so profoundly upon all the productions of the century, the signet of his character and his manners. Whether from his great ability or his great good fortune, Louis XIV. absorbed everything; and in the same manner as all the poets came at last to glory in being poets only by him and for him, so there was at length no orator,-that is to say, no preacher, since the pulpit alone was open to eloquence,-who did not stoop beneath the same dominion, and gladly wear its livery.

And this, it may be said by the way, is one of the best proofs that Louis XIV. was no common man. Let the legitimacy and morality of this influence be discussed at pleasure; let all the bases upon which it rested, be made to totter one after the other, (and we acknowledge that it can be done,) yet the fact will still remain, that this influence was immense, and that it lasted fifty years. That circumstances prepared the way for it, is undeniable; that it was in some measure a homage to Louis XIV. himself, is also true; but, even if he had had nothing to do in order to acquire it, still it was a great deal to preserve it, and to preserve it for half a century. Put a Louis XIII. or a Louis XVI. in his place, and see if it would have lasted.

At the death of Louis XIV., there was such a burst of contempt and sarcasm against his flatterers, that for a moment it

might have beer believed that flattery was interred with him; but under Louis XV. it revived with more eagerness, more meanness than ever, and it was so much the baser, because it shamelessly attired itself in the most beautiful garb of candor and philosophy. "Our king is superior to glory itself," wrote Duclos in 1752. "Feeling, worthy and capable of friendship, at once king and citizen, he loves his subjects as much as he is loved by them."

Superior to glory itself,—feeling, king, and citizen,—all the politico-sentimental phraseology of the epoch. Nothing is wanting in it, as can be perceived; nothing except the truth; for it is scarcely necessary to mention, that every one of these expressions is false, save perhaps the last, "he loves his subjects as much as they love him;" for as to the letter of it, it was true; between himself and them, a touching interchange of hatred and defiance began to establish itself. In truth, when one remembers what the flatterers of Louis XV. could say and do, one feels no longer the power to attack those of Louis XIV.

And, if it is permitted to the author of these reflections, to say once for all, what he thinks of this man, whose name recurs so often to the pen even of those who profess to despise him,―here it is.

And, in the first place, he does not like him. It can be seen from the preceding pages, and will be seen still more plainly in those which follow, whether he is inclined to prostrate himself before his memory. But, at the moment when he is most disposed to be severe, he stops, he reflects, he fears to be unjust.* Having already several times altered his opinion of Louis XIV., he does not wish to venture again, save in good earnest; so much

* "I do not like men who set aside their country's laws; but I should find it difficult to believe that Cæsar and Cromwell were little-minded I do not like conquerors; but no one can persuade me that Alex ander and Gengiskan, were commonplace men."-MONTESQUIEU.

men.

the more, because since he has seriously taken up the study of the seventeenth century, this prince has rather gained than lost in his esteem. As much interested as any one can be, in execrating the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, he is not one of those who fancy they have said everything in regard to one of the longest of reigns, in mentioning a deed of which the author was rather misled than cruel.* He has been led to separate the man from the king. The man, he likes less every day; the king, he does not admire, much less like; but, every day he learns "to respect him. If it be one of the characteristics of genius to take possession of his age, and personify it in himself, what foundation can we have for refusing to Louis XIV. this title? It is precisely because this prince was neither a Bossuet, nor a Condé, nor a Bourdaloue, that we are unable to attribute to accident the empire which he had over these men. When it is to be proved that man is the chief of created beings, what is generally done? The grandeur, ferocity and power of the animals which he has subdued, and whose master he is, are described. Well, if the obedience of animals stronger than myself, proves me to be a reasonable being, what does the obedience of men who surpass

One is confounded in seeing by how many people, and how many different kinds of people, Louis XIV. was deceived in this fatal affair; deceived by some in regard to the disposition of the Protestants; by others in regard to their number; by some in respect to the pretended facility of conversions; by others as to the extent of the severities exercised or to be exercised; and lastly, by all in regard to the nature and limits of royal authority. It is painful to think, that Pélisson had more hand in this than any one else, for it was he who laid before the king the interminable lists of pretended conversions, leading him thus gradually to believe that there were no more, or but few more Protestants in his kingdom. But Pélisson was an apostate Protestant.

"He is not one of the greatest men, but certainly one of the greatest kings that ever existed.”—VOLTAIRE. Supplement to the “ Age of Louis .XIV."

me in talent, in learning, in a thousand things,-what does it prove, if not that there is one thing, at least, in which I have no equal? This thing, in Louis XIV., was the art of reigning. "He is the most kingly of all kings," wrote Leibnitz.* "His suitable province was to be a king," said also Duclos, more than thirty years after his death. He was then neither a great king in reality, since true greatness possesses qualities of which he was destitute; much less a good king, and he cared very little to be this; he was a king, in all the extent and force of the appellation,—such a king as his father had not been, as his successors were not to be,—a king whose like we scarcely find two or three times in all the world's history,-where there is nevertheless no lack of those men who are called kings.

There are then no more such kings as he; there will never be any more such, in all probability. Shall we say so much the better, or so much the worse? The question appears strange in the middle of the nineteenth century; and nevertheless, before dismissing it with a shrug, let it be looked at with some attention, and it will not be thought quite so strange. If it were purely and simply the question of a choice between liberty and despotism, it could be quickly decided; but with the absolutism, whose fall no reasonable man can lament at the present day, with a system which is regretted by none, have disappeared habits and principles, which it may be permitted to regret, because their absence is more to be lamented every day. There was then too much obedience; now, there is none. Kings were then considered as gods; now, they are scarcely regarded as men. The

* Letter to Bossuet. This expression had already been employed by Pèlisson.

+ Discourse upon his reception into the Academy, in 1747. Duclos is one of the authors who has most closely studied, and most correctly judged Louis XIV.; and on this account we must consider his flatteries of Louis XV. doubly inexcusable.

governed have no longer faith in their rulers; rulers have no longer faith in their mission. All that was then adored, is now burned; everything that despotism burned, is now adored; and in the midst of this complete change among those things which are burnt, are to be found things eternally to be revered; among those which are adored, are to be found many which despotism was perfectly right in burning.

To return to our subject, why should we be astonished that Louis XIV. had so thoroughly subjected preaching and preachers, when we see what was his power over religion itself? We do not mean to speak now of the altogether practical influence which he exercised by his example in becoming a devotee. Faith, also, up to a certain point, was under his jurisdiction. During the debates of a convention where forty of the bishops were of his opinion, and nine of a contrary opinion, he one day complained bitterly that these nine, in spite of his orders, refused to adhere to the decision of the forty; he would give anything, he said, to see them unanimous. "But!" said the Duchess de Bourbon, "why do you not rather order the forty to agree with the opinion of the nine." She was right.* But does that signify that these forty would have been conscious of baseness in yielding? No; at least we are not forced to think so. But, as the opinion of the king had already, to judge from appearances, had a great influence upon theirs, it was not calumniating them to suppose that it would be of sufficient weight to make them unhesitatingly change it. "What would you have done," he said to Bossuet, in 1700, "if I had decided for Monsieur de

* In 1754, Benedict XIV. told the Abbé de Guasco confidentially, that he was in possession of a secret letter from Louis XIV. to Clement XI., in which, in 1714, the king had offered to make his clergy retract their declaration of 1682. See a letter from Montesquieu to the Abbé de Gu asco. (3d of Nov. 1754,)