Never, perhaps, did a nation plunge more suddenly from the height of prosperity into the depth of misery than did France on that fourteenth of May, 1610, when Henry IV. fell dead by the dagger of Ravaillac.  All earnest men, in a moment, saw the abyss yawning,—­felt the State sinking,—­felt themselves sinking with it.  And they did what, in such a time, men always do:  first all shrieked, then every man clutched at the means of safety nearest him.  Sully rode through the streets of Paris with big tears streaming down his face,—­strong men whose hearts had been toughened and crusted in the dreadful religious wars sobbed like children,—­all the populace swarmed abroad bewildered,—­many swooned,—­some went mad.  This was the first phase of feeling.

Then came a second phase yet more terrible.  For now burst forth that old whirlwind of anarchy and bigotry and selfishness and terror which Henry had curbed during twenty years.  All earnest men felt bound to protect themselves, and seized the nearest means of defence.  Sully shut himself up in the Bastille, and sent orders to his son-in-law, the Duke of Rohan, to bring in six thousand soldiers to protect the Protestants.  All un-earnest men, especially the great nobles, rushed to the Court, determined, now that the only guardians of the State were a weak-minded woman and a weak-bodied child, to dip deep into the treasury which Henry had filled to develop the nation, and to wrench away the power which he had built to guard the nation.

In order to make ready for this grasp at the State treasure and power by the nobles, the Duke of Epernon, from the corpse of the King, by whose side he was sitting when Ravaillac struck him, strides into the Parliament of Paris, and orders it to declare the late Queen, Mary of Medici, Regent; and when this Parisian court, knowing full well that it had no right to confer the regency, hesitated, he laid his hand on his sword, and declared, that, unless they did his bidding at once, his sword should be drawn from its scabbard.  This threat did its work.  Within three hours after the King’s death, the Paris Parliament, which had no right to give it, bestowed the regency on a woman who had no capacity to take it.

At first things seemed to brighten a little.  The Queen-Regent sent such urgent messages to Sully that he left his stronghold of the Bastille and went to the palace.  She declared to him, before the assembled Court, that he must govern France still.  With tears she gave the young King into his arms, telling Louis that Sully was his father’s best friend, and bidding him pray the old statesman to serve the State yet longer.