oulder to dust.

The queen was forgotten even before she was buried. The gay courtiers,
anxious to banish as speedily as possible from their minds all
thoughts of death and judgment, sought, in songs, and mirth, and wine,
to bury even the grave in oblivion. The funeral car was decorated with
the most imposing emblems of mourning. A numerous train of carriages
followed, filled with the great officers of the crown and with the
ladies of the royal household. The procession was escorted by a
brilliant and numerous body of mounted troops.

"But nothing could exceed the indecency with which the journey was
performed. From all the carriages issued the sounds of heartless jest
and still more heartless laughter. The troops had no sooner reached
the plain of St. Denis than they dispersed in every direction, some
galloping right and left, and others firing at the birds that were
flying over their heads."[Q]

[Footnote Q: Memoirs of Mademoiselle de Montpensier.]

The king, on the day of the funeral, in the insane endeavor to
obliterate from his mind thoughts of death and burial, ordered out the
hounds and plunged into the excitement of the chase. His horse pitched
the monarch over his head into a ditch of stagnant water, dislocating
one of his shoulders.

About this time, Jean Baptiste Colbert, the king's minister of
finance, and probably the most extraordinary man of the age, died,
worn out with toil, anxiety, and grief. Few men have ever passed
through this world leaving behind them such solid results of their
labors. As minister of finance, he furnished the king with all the
money he needed for his expensive wars and luxurious indulgence. As
superintendent of buildings, arts, and manufactures, he enlarged the
Tuileries, completed the gorgeous palace of Versailles, reared the
magnificent edifices of the Invalides, Vincennes, and Marly, and
founded the Gobelins. These and many other works of a similar nature
he performed, though constantly struggling against the jealousy and
intrigues of powerful opponents.

The king seldom, if ever, manifested any gratitude to those who served
him. Colbert, in the 64th year of his age, exhausted by incessant
labor, and harassed by innumerable annoyances, was on a dying bed. Sad
reflections seemed to overwhelm him. Not a gleam of joy lighted up his
fading eye. The heavy taxes he had imposed upon the people rendered
him unpopular. He could not be insensible to imprecations which
threatened