, since it was founded on the principle of devoting
toil, talents, and time, to the accomplishment of objects, from which no
personal advantage could, in the nature of things, be obtained.
    It is more than probable that, in thus renouncing almost openly the ties of
religion, honour, and morality, by which mankind at large feel themselves
influenced, Louis sought to obtain great advantages in his negotiations with
parties who might esteem themselves bound, while he himself enjoyed liberty. He
started from the goal, he might suppose, like the racer who has got rid of the
weights with which his competitors are still encumbered, and expects to succeed
of course. But Providence seems always to unite the existence of peculiar danger
with some circumstance which may put those exposed to the peril upon their
guard. The constant suspicion attached to any public person who becomes badly
eminent for breach of faith, is to him what the rattle is to the poisonous
serpent; and men come at last to calculate, not so much on what their antagonist
says, as upon that which he is likely to do; a degree of mistrust which tends to
counteract the intrigues of such a faithless character, more than his freedom
from the scruples of conscientious men can afford him advantage. The example of
Louis XI. raised disgust and suspicion rather than a desire of imitation among
other nations in Europe, and the circumstance of his outwitting more than one of
his contemporaries, operated to put others on their guard. Even the system of
chivalry, though much less generally extended than heretofore, survived this
profligate monarch's reign, who did so much to sully its lustre, and long after
the death of Louis XI. it inspired the Knight without Fear and Reproach, and the
gallant Francis I. Indeed, although the reign of Louis had been as successful in
a political point of view as he himself could have desired, the spectacle of his
deathbed might of itself be a warning-piece against the seduction of his
example. Jealous of every one, but chiefly of his own son, he immured himself in
his Castle of Plessis, intrusting his person exclusively to the doubtful faith
of his Scottish mercenaries. He never stirred from his chamber; he admitted no
one into it, and wearied Heaven and every saint with prayers, not for the
forgiveness of his sins, but for the prolongation of his life. With a poverty of
spirit totally inconsistent with his shrewd worldly sagacity, he importuned his
physicians, until they insulted as well as plundered him. In his extreme desire
of life he sent to Italy for supposed relics, and the yet