And so the castles and lands of fair France were left untenanted and falling to ruin, and to lie untilled and neglected, for all the good at least the people reaped; and this at a time when rougher warfare had ceased, and religious strife had calmed down, and under other ruling, the promise of prosperity dawned. Such profits and incomings as did arise from these tenures and estates, by the toil of the peasant dwellers on them, brought them only starvation wage; for the money earned by the sweat of the brows of the peasantry was needed for its overlords’ silks and velvets, and laces and jewelled snuff-boxes, and solitaires, to add greater bedazzlement to the salons and galleries where Louis le Grand lived his span of years. And even when this was ended—the time was still yet afar off for the breaking of the storm—but on, ever faster and heavier, the clouds were lowering in. Neither Richelieu or Mazarin tolerated the spirit which inspires to a man ruling, or striving to rule, with prudence and protecting care in his own house. They feared it, and taxation and gabelle, and rents and quit-rents, as they waxed on to their hideous proportions, set minds working on the problem of why such things should be, and how came about such “inequality among men.” “Where is the wonder, is it not my college?” said the king, one day when he had bestowed his magnificent presence on the representation, by the pupils of the Jesuit College at Clermont, of a tragedy very finely performed. “_Collegium Cleromonterum Societate Jesus_” was originally graven upon the college gate, and the sycophant principal had now caused this to be effaced, and “_Collegium Ludovici Magni_” inscribed in gold letters in its place. The next morning was to be seen, fastened on the gate beneath, a Latin distich, whose meaning may be thus interpreted— “Christ’s name expunged, the king’s now fills the stone; Oh, impious race! by that is plainly shown That Louis is the only god you own!” The author of these lines was run to earth. He was found to be a pupil of the college, and thirty-one years of the Bastille and of St Marguérite were awarded his crime. The term might have ended only with his years, had he not suddenly become sole heir to the estates of his family, and it was then suggested by the governor of the Bastille, a Jesuit, that setting him free might bring golden rewards. Being released, probably the reward followed.