ilian of Bavaria, was
resolved not to entangle its fortunes inextricably with those of the
Austrian house.

The great enterprise, first unfolding itself with the episode of Cleve
and Berg and whimsically surrounding itself with the fantastic idyl of
the Princess of Conde, had attained vast and misty proportions in the
brain of its originator. Few political visions are better known in
history than the "grand design" of Henry for rearranging the map of the
world at the moment when, in the middle of May, he was about to draw his
sword. Spain reduced to the Mediterranean and the Pyrenees, but presented
with both the Indies, with all America and the whole Orient in fee; the
Empire taken from Austria and given to Bavaria; a constellation of States
in Italy, with the Pope for president-king; throughout the rest of
Christendom a certain number of republics, of kingdoms, of religions--a
great confederation of the world, in short--with the most Christian king
for its dictator and protector, and a great Amphictyonic council to
regulate all disputes by solemn arbitration, and to make war in the
future impossible, such in little was his great design.

Nothing could be more humane, more majestic, more elaborate, more utterly
preposterous. And all this gigantic fabric had passed away in an
instant--at one stroke of a broken table knife sharpened on a carriage
wheel.

Most pitiful was the condition of France on the day after, and for years
after, the murder of the King. Not only was the kingdom for the time
being effaced from the roll of nations, so far as external relations were
concerned, but it almost ceased to be a kingdom. The ancient monarchy of
Hugh Capet, of Saint-Louis, of Henry of France and Navarre, was
transformed into a turbulent, self-seeking, quarrelsome, pillaging,
pilfering democracy of grandees. The Queen-Regent was tossed hither and
thither at the sport of the winds and waves which shifted every hour in
that tempestuous court.

No man pretended to think of the State. Every man thought only of
himself. The royal exchequer was plundered with a celerity and cynical
recklessness such as have been rarely seen in any age or country. The
millions so carefully hoarded by Sully, and exhibited so dramatically by
that great minister to the enraptured eyes of his sovereign; that
treasure in the Bastille on which Henry relied for payment of the armies
with which he was to transform the world, all disappeared in a few weeks
t