absolute necessity. The finances had fallen into such a chaos of jobbery
and confusion that the very existence of the government depended upon a
prompt and trenchant reform. It was Louis' rare good-fortune to find
beside him one of the most able and vigorous administrators who have ever
lived--Colbert. He had the merit--not a small one in that age--of letting
this great minister invent and carry out the most daring and beneficial
measures of reform, of which he assumed all the credit to himself. The
first step was a vigorous attack on the gang of financial plunderers,
who, with Fouquet at their head, simply embezzled the bulk of the state
revenues. The money-lenders not only obtained the most usurious interest
for their loans, but actually held in mortgage the most productive sources
of the national taxation: and, not content with that, they bought up, at 10
per cent. of their nominal value, an enormous amount of discredited bills,
issued by the government in the time of the Fronde, which they forced the
treasury to pay off at par; and this was done with the very money they had
just before advanced to the government.
Such barefaced plunder could not be endured, and Colbert was the last man
to endure it. He not only repressed peculation, but introduced a number of
practical improvements in the distribution, and especially in the mode of
levying the taxes. So imperfect were the arrangements connected with the
latter that it was estimated that of eighty-four millions paid by the
people, only thirty-two millions entered into the coffers of the state. The
almost instantaneous effects of Colbert's measures--the yawning deficit
was changed into a surplus of forty-five millions in less than two
years--showed how gross and flagrant had been the malversation preceding.
Far more difficult, and far nobler in the order of constructive
statesmanship, were his vast schemes to endow France with manufactures,
with a commercial and belligerent navy, with colonies, besides his manifold
reforms in the internal administration--tariffs and customs between
neighboring provinces of France; the great work of the Languedoc canal; in
fact, in every part and province of government. His success was various,
but in some cases really stupendous. His creation of a navy almost
surpasses belief. In 1661, when he first became free to act, France
possessed only thirty vessels-of-war of all sizes. At the peace of
Nimwegen, in 1678, she had acquired a fleet of one hundred twenty ships,
and in 1683 she had got a fleet of one hundred seventy-six vessels; and
the increase was quite as great in the size and armament of the individual
ships as in their number.
A perfect giant of administration, Colbert found no labor too great for
his energies, and worked with unflagging energy sixteen hours a day for
twenty-two years. It is melancholy to be forced to add that all this toil
was as good as thrown away, and that the strong man went broken-hearted to
the grave, through seeing too clearly that he had labored in vain for an
ungrateful egotist. His great visions of a prosperous France, increasing in
wealth and contentment, were blighted; and he closed his eyes upon scenes
of improvidence and waste more injurious to the country than the financial
robbery which he had combated in his early days. The government was not
plundered as it had been, but itself was exhausting the very springs of
wealth by its impoverishment of the people.
Boisguillebert, writing in 1698, only fifteen years after Colbert's death,
estimated the productive powers of France to have diminished by one-half
in the previous thirty years. It seems, indeed, probable that the almost
magical rapidity and effect of Colbert's early reforms turned Louis XIV's
head, and that he was convinced that it only depended on his good pleasure
to renew them to obtain the same result. He never found, as he never
deserved to find, another Colbert; and he stumbled onward in ever deeper
ruin to his disastrous end.
His first breach of public faith was his attack on the Spanish Netherlands,
under color of certain pretended rights of the Queen, his wife--the Infanta
Marie Thérèse; although he had renounced all claims in her name at his
marriage. This aggression was followed by his famous campaign in the Low
Countries, when Franche-Comté was overrun and conquered in fifteen days. He
was stopped by the celebrated triple alliance in mid career. He had not yet
been intoxicated by success and vanity; Colbert's influence, always exerted
on the side of peace, was at its height, the menacing attitude of Holland,
England, and Sweden awed him, and he drew back. His pride was deeply
wounded, and he revolved deep and savage schemes of revenge. Not on
England, whose abject sovereign he knew could be had whenever he chose to
buy him, but on the heroic little republic which had dared to cross his
victorious path. His mingled contempt and rage against Holland were indeed
instinctive, spontaneous, and in the nature of things. Holland was the
living, triumphant incarnation of the two things he hated most--the
principle of liberty in politics and the principle of free inquiry in
religion.
With a passion too deep for hurry or carelessness he made his preparations.
The army was submitted to a complete reorganization. A change in the
weapons of the infantry was effected, which was as momentous in its day as
the introduction of the breech-loading rifle in ours. The old inefficient
firelock was replaced by the flint musket, and the rapidity and certainty
of fire vastly increased. The undisciplined independence of the officers
commanding regiments and companies was suppressed by the rigorous and
methodical Colonel Martinet, whose name has remained in other armies
besides that of France as a synonyme of punctilious exactitude.
The means of offence being thus secured, the next step was to remove the
political difficulties which stood in the way of Louis' schemes; that is,
to dissolve Sir W. Temple's diplomatic masterpiece, the triple alliance.
The effeminate Charles II was bought over by a large sum of money and the
present of a pretty French mistress. Sweden also received a subsidy, and
her schemes of aggrandizement on continental Germany were encouraged.
Meanwhile the illustrious man who ruled Holland showed that kind of
weakness which good men often do in the presence of the unscrupulous and
wicked. John de Witt could not be convinced of the reality of Louis'
nefarious designs. France had ever been Holland's best friend, and he could
not believe that the policy of Henry IV, of Richelieu and Mazarin, would
be suddenly reversed by the young King of France. He tried negotiations in
which he was amused by Louis so long as it suited the latter's purpose. At
last, when the King's preparations were complete, he threw off the mask,
and insultingly told the Dutch that it was not for hucksters like them, and
usurpers of authority not theirs, to meddle with such high matters.
Then commenced one of the brightest pages in the history of national
heroism. At first the Dutch were overwhelmed; town after town capitulated
without a blow. It seemed as if the United Provinces were going to be
subdued, as Franche-Comté had been five years before. But Louis XIV had
been too much intoxicated by that pride which goes before a fall to retain
any clearness of head, if indeed he ever had any, in military matters. The
great Condé, with his keen eye for attack, at once suggested one of those
tiger-springs for which he was unequalled among commanders. Seeing the
dismay of the Dutch, he advised a rapid dash with six thousand horse on
Amsterdam. It is nearly certain, if this advice had been followed, that the
little commonwealth, so precious to Europe, would have been extinguished;
and that that scheme, born of heroic despair, of transferring to Batavia,
"under new stars and amid a strange vegetation," the treasure of freedom
and valor ruined in its old home by the Sardanapalus of Versailles, might
have been put in execution. But it was not to be.
Vigilant as Louis had been in preparation, he now seemed to be as careless
or incompetent in execution. Not only he neglected the advice of his best
general, and wasted time, but he did his best to drive his adversaries
to despair and the resistance which comes of despair. They were told by
proclamation that "the towns which should try to resist the forces of his
majesty by opening the dikes or by any other means would be punished with
the utmost rigor; and when the frost should have opened roads in all
directions, his majesty would give no sort of quarter to the inhabitants of
the said towns, but would give orders that their goods should be plundered
and their houses burned."
The Dutch envoys, headed by De Groot, son of the illustrious Grotius, came
to the King's camp to know on what terms he would make peace. They were
refused audience by the theatrical warrior, and told not to return except
armed with full powers to make any concessions he might dictate. Then the
"hucksters" of Amsterdam resolved on a deed of daring which is one of the
most exalted among "the high traditions of the world." They opened the
sluices and submerged the whole country under water. Still, their position
was almost desperate, as the winter frosts were nearly certain to restore a
firm foothold to the invader.
They came again suing for peace, offering Maestricht, the Rhine fortresses,
the whole of Brabant, the whole of Dutch Flanders, and an indemnity of ten
millions. This was proffering more than Henry IV, Richelieu, or Mazarin had
ever hoped for. These terms were refused, and the refusal carried with
it practically the rejection of Belgium, which could not fail to be soon
absorbed when thus surrounded by French possessions. But Louis met these
offers with the spirit of an Attila. He insisted on the concession of
Southern Gueldres and the island of Bommel, twenty-four millions of
indemnity, the endowment of the Catholic religion, and an extraordinary
annual embassy charged to present his majesty with a gold medal, which
should set forth how the Dutch owed to him the conservation of their
liberties. Such vindictive cruelty makes the mind run forward and dwell
with a glow of satisfied justice on the bitter days of retaliation and
revenge which in a future, still thirty years off, will humble the proud
and pitiless oppressor in the dust; when he shall be a suppliant, and
a suppliant in vain, at the feet of the haughty victors of Blenheim,
Ramillies, and Oudenarde.
But Louis' mad career of triumph was gradually being brought to a close.
He had before him not only the waste of waters, but the iron will and
unconquerable tenacity of the young Prince of Orange, "who needed neither
hope to made him dare nor success to make him persevere." Gradually, the
threatened neighbors of France gathered together and against her King.
Charles II was forced to recede from the French alliance by his Parliament
in 1674. The military massacre went on, indeed, for some years longer in
Germany and the Netherlands; but the Dutch Republic was saved, and peace
ratified by the treaty of Nimwegen.
After the conclusion of the Dutch War the reign of Louis XIV enters on a
period of manifest decline. The cost of the war had been tremendous. In
1677 the expenditure had been one hundred ten millions, and Colbert had to
meet this with a net revenue of eighty-one millions. The trade and commerce
of the country had also suffered much during the war. With bitter grief the
great minister saw himself compelled to reverse the beneficent policy of
his earlier days, to add to the tax on salt, to increase the ever-crushing
burden of the _taille_, to create new offices--hereditary employments in
the government--to the extent of three hundred millions, augmenting the
already monstrous army of superfluous officials, and, finally, simply to
borrow money at high interest. The new exactions had produced widespread
misery in the provinces before the war came to an end. In 1675 the Governor
of Dauphiné had written to Colbert, saying that commerce had entirely
ceased in his district, and that the larger part of the people had lived
during the winter on bread made from acorns and roots, and that at the time
of his writing they were seen to be eating the grass of the fields and the
bark of trees. The long-continued anguish produced at last despair and
rebellion.
In Bordeaux great excesses were committed by the mob, which were punished
with severity. Six thousand soldiers were quartered in the town, and were
guilty of such disorders that the best families emigrated, and trade was
ruined for a long period. But Brittany witnessed still worse evils. There
also riots and disturbances had been produced by the excessive pressure of
the imposts. An army of five thousand men was poured into the province, and
inflicted such terror on the population that the wretched peasants, at the
mere sight of the soldiers, threw themselves on their knees in an attitude
of supplication and exclaimed, "_Mea culpa_." The lively Madame de Sévigné
gives us some interesting details concerning these events in the intervals
when court scandal ran low and the brave doings of Madame de Montespan
suffered a temporary interruption. "Would you like," says the
tender-hearted lady to her daughter, "would you like to have news of
Rennes? There are still five thousand soldiers here, as more have come
from Nantes. A tax of one hundred thousand crowns has been laid upon the
citizens, and if the money is not forthcoming in twenty-four hours the tax
will be doubled and levied by the soldiers. All the inhabitants of a large
street have already been driven out and banished, and no one may receive
them under pain of death; so that all these poor wretches, old men, women
recently delivered, and children, were seen wandering in tears as they left
the town, not knowing whither to go or where to sleep or what to eat. The
day before yesterday one of the leaders of the riot was broken alive on
the wheel. Sixty citizens have been seized, and to-morrow the hanging will
begin." In other letters she writes that the tenth man had been broken on
the wheel, and she thinks he will be the last, and that by dint of hanging
it will soon be left off.
Such was the emaciated France which Louis the Great picked systematically
to the bone for the next thirty-five years. He had long ceased to be guided
by the patriotic wisdom of the great Colbert. His evil genius now was the
haughty and reckless Louvois, who carefully abstained from imitating the
noble and daring remonstrances against excessive expenditure which Colbert
addressed to his master, and through which he lost his influence at court.
Still, with a self-abnegation really heroic, Colbert begged, urged,
supplicated the King to reduce his outlay. He represented the misery of
the people. "All letters that come from the provinces, whether from the
intendants, the receivers-general, and even the bishops, speak of it," he
wrote to the King. He insisted on a reduction of the taille by five or six
millions; and surely it was time, when its collection gave rise to such
scenes as have just been described. It was in vain. The King shut his eyes
to mercy and reason. His gigantic war expenditure, when peace came, was
only partially reduced. For, indeed, he was still at war, but with nature
and self-created difficulties of his own making.
He was building Versailles: transplanting to its arid sands whole groves
of full-grown trees from the depths of distant forests, and erecting the
costly and fantastic marvel of Marli to afford a supply of water. Louis'
buildings cost, first and last, a sum which would be represented by about
twenty million pounds. The amount squandered on pensions was also very
great. The great Colbert's days were drawing to a close, and he was very
sad. It is related that a friend on one occasion surprised him looking out
of a window in his château of Sceau, lost in thought and apparently gazing
on the well-tilled fields of his own manor. When he came out of his reverie
his friend asked him his thoughts. "As I look," he said, "on these fertile
fields, I cannot help remembering what I have seen elsewhere. What a rich
country is France! If the King's enemies would let him enjoy peace it would
be possible to procure the people that relief and comfort which the great
Henry promised them. I could wish that my projects had a happy issue, that
abundance reigned in the kingdom, that everyone were content in it, and
that without employment or dignities, far from the court and business, I
saw the grass grow in my home farm."
The faithful, indefatigable worker was breaking down, losing strength,
losing heart, but still struggling on manfully to the last. It was noticed
that he sat down to his work with a sorrowful, despondent look, and not,
as had been his wont, rubbing his hands with the prospect of toil, and
exulting in his almost superhuman capacity for labor. The ingratitude of
the King, whom he had served only too well, gave him the final blow. Louis,
with truculent insolence, reproached him with the "frightful expenses" of
Versailles. As if they were Colbert's fault. Colbert, who had always urged
the completion of the Louvre and the suppression of Versailles.
At last the foregone giant lay down to die. A tardy touch of feeling
induced Louis to write him a letter. He would not read it. "I will hear no
more about the King," he said; "let him at least allow me to die in
peace. My business now is with the King of kings. If," he continued,
unconsciously, we may be sure, plagiarizing Wolsey, "if I had done for God
what I have done for that man, my salvation would be secure ten times over;
and now I know not what will become of me."
Surely a tender and touching evidence of sweetness in the strong man
who had been so readily accused of harshness by grasping courtiers. The
ignorant ingratitude of the people was even perhaps more melancholy than
the wilful ingratitude of the King. The great Colbert had to be buried by
night, lest his remains should be insulted by the mob. He, whose heart had
bled for the people's sore anguish, was rashly supposed to be the cause of
that anguish. It was a sad conclusion to a great life. But he would have
seen still sadder days if he had lived.
The health of the luxurious, self-indulgent Louis sensibly declined after
he had passed his fortieth year. In spite of his robust appearance he had
never been really strong. His loose, lymphatic constitution required much
support and management. But he habitually over-ate himself. He was indeed a
gross and greedy glutton. "I have often seen the King," says the Duchess
of Orleans, "eat four platefuls of various soups, a whole pheasant, a
partridge, a large dish of salad, stewed mutton with garlic, two good
slices of ham, a plate of pastry, and then fruit and sweetmeats." A most
unwholesome habit of body was the result.
An abscess formed in his upper jaw, and caused a perforation of the palate,
which obliged him to be very careful in drinking, as the liquid was apt to
pass through the aperture and come out by the nostrils. He felt weak and
depressed, and began to think seriously about "making his salvation."
His courtly priests and confessors had never inculcated any duties but
two--that of chastity and that of religious intolerance--and he had been
very remiss in both. He now resolved to make hasty reparation. The ample
charms of the haughty Montespan fascinated him no more. He tried a new
mistress, but she did not turn out well. Madame de Fontanges was young and
exquisitely pretty, but a giddy, presuming fool. She moreover died shortly.
He was more than ever disposed to make his salvation--that is, to renounce
the sins of the flesh, and to persecute his God-fearing subjects, the
Protestants.
The Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, one of the greatest crimes and
follies which history records, was too colossal a misdeed for the guilt
of its perpetration to be charged upon one man, however wicked or however
powerful he may have been. In this case, as in so many others, Louis was
the exponent of conditions, the visible representative of circumstances
which he had done nothing to create. Just as he was the strongest king
France ever had, without having contributed himself to the predominance of
the monarchy, so, in the blind and cruel policy of intolerance which led to
the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, he was the delegate and instrument
of forces which existed independently of him. A willing instrument, no
doubt; a representative of sinister forces; a chooser of the evil part when
mere inaction would have been equivalent to a choice of the good. Still, it
is due to historic accuracy to point out that, had he not been seconded by
the existing condition of France, he would not have been able to effect the
evil he ultimately brought about.
Louis' reign continued thirty years after the Revocation of the Edict of
Nantes, years crowded with events, particularly for the military historian,
but over the details of which we shall not linger on this occasion. The
brilliant reign becomes unbearably wearisome in its final period. The
monotonous repetition of the same faults and the same crimes--profligate
extravagance, revolting cruelty, and tottering incapacity--is as fatiguing
as it is uninstructive. Louis became a mere mummy embalmed in etiquette,
the puppet of his women and shavelings. The misery in the provinces grew
apace, but there was no disturbance: France was too prostrate even to
groan.
In 1712 the expenditure amounted to two hundred forty millions, and the
revenue to one hundred thirteen millions; but from this no less than
seventy-six millions had to be deducted for various liabilities the
government had incurred, leaving only a net income of thirty-seven
millions--that is to say, the outlay was more than six times the income.
The armies were neither paid nor fed, the officers received "food-tickets"
(_billets de subsistance_), which they got cashed at a discount of 80 per
cent. The government had anticipated by ten years its revenues from the
towns. Still, this pale corpse of France must needs be bled anew to gratify
the inexorable Jesuits, who had again made themselves complete masters of
Louis XIV's mind. He had lost his confessor, Père la Chaise (who died in
1709), and had replaced him by the hideous Letellier, a blind and fierce
fanatic, with a horrible squint and a countenance fit for the gallows. He
would have frightened anyone, says Saint-Simon, who met him at the corner
of a wood. This repulsive personage revived the persecution of the
Protestants into a fiercer heat than ever, and obtained from the moribund
King the edict of March 8,1715, considered by competent judges the clear
masterpiece of clerical injustice and cruelty. Five months later Louis XIV
died, forsaken by his intriguing wife, his beloved bastard (the Due de
Maine), and his dreaded priest.
The French monarchy never recovered from the strain to which it had been
subjected during the long and exhausting reign of Louis XIV. Whether it
could have recovered in the hands of a great statesman summoned in time is
a curious question. Could Frederick the Great have saved it had he been
_par impossible_ Louis XIV's successor? We can hardly doubt that he would
have adjourned, if not have averted, the great catastrophe of 1789. But
it is one of the inseparable accidents of such a despotism as France had
fallen under, that nothing but consummate genius can save it from ruin;
and the accession of genius to the throne in such circumstances is a
physiological impossibility.