JEAN BAPTISTE COLBERT.
On the 15th of May, 1685, Louis ordered his throne to be placed at the end of the grand gallery, by the side of the “Salon of Peace.” The doge entered with four senators Genoa had sent to accompany him. He was dressed in red velvet, with a cap of the same. In order to preserve all the dignity his misfortune allowed him, the doge remained covered until he entered the presence of the king. The king allowed the princes to remain covered during the audience. The doge discharged his sad mission with a firmness that created astonishment. His bearing was more impressive than his discourse. A few days after he attended the levee, dined with the king, was shown the park and all the fountains, and was present at a ball given in the grand apartment. Afterwards he had his audience of leave-taking, and when one of the senators asked him what surprised him most at Versailles, he replied with an air of more chagrin than usual, “At seeing myself there.” The doge and senators did not stay long in France. They saw in haste the wonders shown them, and then returned to Genoa. Arrived at home, they talked over the things they had seen. One senator spoke of the dazzling spectacles, the vast apartments, the sumptuous ornaments; and said no mind was powerful enough to carry away the remembrance of all the riches of the palace, its paintings, its statues, its tapestry, its ceilings, its gold, and its marble. The doge replied, there was more than its exterior magnificence, and luxury of its interior; that the palace was the whole French monarchy. You read the origin of the monarchy in the chateau built by Louis XIII. The architects wished to pull it down; the king replied, that, if it would not last, they must take it down, but reconstruct it on its first plan. He wished the work of his father to remain, to contrast with the edifice he was going to erect. One part of the building only projects immensely in the long outline, that is where the master dwells. The king walks alone in the first rank, the courtiers follow, and support the train of the royal mantle. If you mount by the grand staircase, you find a suite of immense salons, covered with beautiful paintings. The Salon of Plenty, then Venus, then Diana, then Mars, then Mercury, and then Apollo. Of what use are they? The master does not inhabit them. But go on farther, pass through empty galleries, you will at length find his apartments. All this suite of magnificent salons, all these galleries, serve as an ante-chamber only to the place in which he dwells. Mars and Apollo, gods formerly, are nothing now but lackeys to the king of France.
In the year 1598, King Henry IV., feeling the need of the support of the Protestants to protect his kingdom from the perils by which it was surrounded, and having himself been educated a Protestant, had granted to the Protestants the world-renowned edict of Nantes. By this edict, Protestants were allowed liberty of conscience; were permitted, in certain designated places, to hold public worship; were declared to be eligible to offices of state, and in certain places, were allowed to publish books. Louis XIV. was a Catholic, a bigoted Catholic; hoping in some measure to atone for his sins, by his supreme devotion to the interests of the church, and while assuring the Protestant powers of Europe that he would continue to respect the edict of Nantes, he commenced issuing a series of ordinances in direct opposition to that contract. In 1680 he excluded Protestants from all public offices, whatsoever. A Protestant could not be employed as a physician, lawyer, apothecary, bookseller, printer, or even as a nurse.
REVOCATION OF THE EDICT OF NANTES.
In some parts of the kingdom, the Protestants composed nearly the entire population. Here it was impossible to enforce the atrocious decree. Riots and bloodshed followed. Affairs went from bad to worse, and on the 18th of October, 1685, the king, yielding to the wishes of his confessor and other high dignitaries of the Church, signed the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes. In this act of revocation, it was declared that, “the exercise of the Protestant worship should nowhere be tolerated in the realm of France. All Protestant pastors were ordered to leave the kingdom within fifteen days, under pain of being sent to the galleys. Parents were forbidden to instruct their children in the Protestant religion. Every child in the kingdom was to be baptized and educated by a Catholic priest. All Protestants who had left France, were ordered to return within four months, under penalty of confiscation of their possessions. Any Protestant man or woman who should attempt to emigrate, incurred the penalty of imprisonment for life.”
This infamous ordinance caused an amount of misery which can never be gauged, and inflicted upon the prosperity of France the most terrible blow it had ever received. Only one year after the revocation, Marshal Vauban wrote, “France has lost one hundred thousand inhabitants, sixty millions of coined money, nine thousand sailors, twelve thousand disciplined soldiers, six hundred officers, and her most flourishing manufactures.”
The Revocation of the Edict of Nantes was the great blot upon the reign of Louis XIV. From that hour the fortunes of the Grand Monarque began manifestly to decline.
Louvois, minister of war, had for a long time been all-powerful at court. Through his influence, the king had been induced to revoke the Edict of Nantes, and to order the utter devastation of the Palatinate. But that influence was upon the wane. The king had become weary of his haughty assumptions, and the conflagration of the Palatinate had raised a cry of indignation that even he could not fail to hear. Treves had escaped the flames. Louvois solicited an order to burn it. The king refused. Louvois insolently gave the order himself, and entering the royal presence, exclaimed calmly, “Sire, I have commanded the burning of Treves, in order that I might spare your Majesty the pain of issuing such an edict.”