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.