“He was extremely regretted,” says Montglat, “by his relations, friends, and servants, who were numerous; for he was the best master, relation, or friend that ever was; and provided that he was convinced a man loved him, his fortune was made; for he never forsook those who attached themselves to him.” At the same time, he was personally solitary and inaccessible, and after the death of Père Joseph, though surrounded by those whom loyalty or interest kept faithful to him, no man could call himself his intimate friend. “Il est mort un grand politique”--a great politician is dead: these were the short cold words with which Louis XIII. honoured the memory of the man who had “raised France to her highest point since Charlemagne; crushed the Huguenot party, which had rebelled against five kings; humbled the House of Austria, which claimed to be the law-giver of Christendom; and established the King’s power so firmly, by subduing the princes, that nothing in the kingdom could resist him any more.” As a King, there is no doubt that Louis regretted his great Minister; he had proved over and over again that he knew how to value the statesman who had given him new authority and France new prestige; he had proved it to the bitter cost of those who reckoned on his personal impatience, as a man, of the yoke laid upon him by a tyrannical and worrying tutor. That yoke was now removed; and though the King appeared to be Richelieu’s chief mourner, while following his last counsels and carrying out his policy, contemporaries were very sure that in the depths of his soul he was glad to be rid of him. France, as a whole, drew a long breath of relief and joy. It was not only “les grands du royaume,” soon to be flocking back from prison and from exile, Monsieur, appearing once more at Court, the Duc de Vendôme, leaving his refuge in England, who welcomed their freedom from the political terror which had weighed down their gay lives; it was also the people of lower degree, citizens, peasants, who had felt the oppression of Richelieu’s heavy taxes. They had paid for his wars by pinching and starvation; for his objects they cared little, the vision of most of them being naturally bounded by their own parish. All through the provinces, in the villages, in the towns, large and small, even in Paris itself, blazing bonfires lit up the winter nights when the Eminentissime lay dead. “Il est passé, il a plié bagage Ce Cardinal ... Il est en plomb l’éminent personnage Qui de nos maux a ri plus de vingt ans ... Il est passé....” That well-known _rondeau_ was one of the mildest among the satirical poems full of hatred, violence, and indecency which circulated in society after the death of him whom they called “le ministre des enfers.” And if his countrymen had listened for an echo of their rejoicing, they might have heard it in the “great contentment” of the enemies of France. * * * * *