no idle boast when he said, "The State!—I am the State." For a long time his autocracy went on amidst the applause of the nation. He began his reign with the advantage of succeeding, as a native prince, to a foreign queen who was governed by a foreign minister. His magnificence delighted the Parisians—his successes in war gratified the people—he carried the art of royalty to an extreme of elaboration never reached before or since; while, to give solidity to these elements of popularity, he possessed a talent for public business, for choosing able ministers and generals, for conferring favours with majestic benignity, and for giving splendid encouragement to literature and art. All these circumstances combined to hedge him with a divinity beyond that of an ordinary king. The loyalty which had been evinced for his illustrious grandfather by such men as Sully, Mornay, and Crillon, became for him the most abject servility. The French Academy submitted for his approval as the subject of its prize essay, "Which of all the king's virtues is the one that deserves the preference?" The greatest nobles of the kingdom intrigued and quarrelled for the honour of attending his going to bed and his rising, of handing the royal shirt and the royal periwig. The sultana of the period was an enormous power in the State. The most eloquent preachers suspended for him their code of morality. Thus it was not only without opposition, but with abject acquiescence, that the nation looked on while he set up and pulled down ministers of state, made war and conducted foreign relations for his personal objects, taxed the people for his magnificent expenses, and disposed at will of the public revenues.
Up to a certain period of his reign he and his people
