So Henry made up his mind to abjure his faith.  On Sunday the 25th of July, 1593, clad not in helmet and cuirass and burnished steel, as at Ivry, but in a doublet of white satin, and a velvet coat ornamented with jewels and orders and golden fleurs de lis, and followed by cardinals and bishops and nobles, he entered the venerable Abbey of St. Denis, where reposed the ashes of all his predecessors, from Dagobert to Henry III, and was received into the bosom of the Catholic Church.  A solemn Te Deum was then chanted by unnumbered priests; and the lofty pillars, the marble altars, the storied effigies, the purple windows, and the vaulted roof of that mediaeval monument re-echoed to the music of those glorious anthems which were sung ages before the most sainted of the kings of France was buried in the crypt.  The partisans of the Catholic faith rejoiced that a heretic had returned to the fold of true believers; while the saddened, disappointed, humiliated members of the reformed religion felt, and confessed with shame, that their lauded protector had committed the most lamentable act of apostasy since the Emperor Julian abjured Christianity.  It is true they palliated his conduct and remained faithful to his standard; but they felt he had committed a great blunder, if it were not a great crime.  They knew that their cause was lost,—­lost by him who had been their leader.  Truly could they say, “Put not your trust in princes.”  To the irreligious, but worldly-wise, Henry had made a grand stroke of policy; had gained a kingdom well worth a Mass, had settled the disorders of forty years, had united both Catholics and Protestants in fealty to his crown, and was left at leisure to develop the resources of the nation, and lay a foundation for its future greatness.

I cannot here enumerate Henry IV.’s services to France, after the long civil war had closed; they were very great, and endeared him to the nation.  He proved himself a wise and beneficent ruler; with the aid of the transcendent abilities of Sully, whose counsels he respected, he reduced taxation, founded schools and libraries, built hospitals, dug canals, repaired fortifications, restrained military license, punished turbulence and crime, introduced useful manufactures, encouraged industry, patronized learning, and sought to perpetuate peace.  He aimed to be the father of his people, and he was the protector of the poor.  His memorable saying is still dear to the hearts of Frenchmen:  “I hope so to manage my kingdom that the poorest subject of it may eat meat every day in the week, and moreover be enabled to put a fowl into the pot every Sunday.”  I should like to point out his great acts and his enlightened policy, especially his effort to create a balance of power in Europe.  The settlement of the finances and the establishment of various industries were his most beneficial acts.  The taxes were reduced one half, and at his death he had fifty millions in the treasury,—­a great sum in those days,—­having paid off a debt of three hundred millions in eight years.