part I shall spare neither my credit, my forces nor my person, to

attain this glorious result, and I shall come in the spring at the head of my troops to conquer or die with my allies."

The spring had not come yet, and Mons had been already invested on the 15th of March by a French army. Louis XIV. arrived there with the Dauphin on the 12th, and, despite the impetuous efforts of William to relieve the place in time, it capitulated almost in sight of the allied army. The vigilance of Marshal de Luxembourg baffled William's maneuvres throughout the campaign.

{42}

When he returned to England in October, the advantage was with France everywhere on the Continent. The Duke of Savoy had adhered to the Grand Alliance, but Nice had fallen into the power of Catinat. Opening the session of Parliament, the King spoke complacently of the successful issue of the war in Ireland; at the same time he warned the representatives of the nation that a great effort would be necessary against the King of France, and in order to support the Grand Alliance. The subsidies had been voted without opposition, and the House was engaged with the affairs of the East India Company, when a strange report was spread abroad: the Earl of Malborough, lately at the head of the English contingent to the allied army, while the king of England was absent, had been suddenly stripped of his employment and his dignities. The Princess Anne, who persisted in keeping her favorite with her, had to retire with her to the country. The causes of Malborough's disgrace remained a mystery, which occasioned the most diverse conjectures, and allowed the enemies of William and Mary to attribute unworthy or frivolous motives to them. The cause was grave, and the necessity absolute: the Earl of Marlborough was hatching a new treason. In the Parliament and the army all was ready to attempt a Jacobite restoration.

James II. himself wrote in November, 1692: "Last year my friends formed the design of recalling me by act of Parliament. The method was arranged, and Lord Churchill was to propose in Parliament to expel all foreigners, as well from the army and the council as from the kingdom. If the Prince of Orange had agreed to this measure, they would have had him in their hands; if he had resisted it, they would have made Parliament declare against him, and at the same time Lord Churchill with the army was to declare himself for the Parliament; the fleet was to do the same, and they were to recall me. They had commenced to move in the matter and had gained a large party, when some indiscreet subjects, thinking they were serving me, and that what Lord Churchill was doing was not for me, but for the Princess of Denmark, had the imprudence to discover the whole thing to Bentinck, and thus averted the blow."

[Image] Duke And Duchess Of Marlborough.

{43}

The original manuscript of Burnet's Memoirs also contains the following: "Marlborough busied himself with decrying the conduct of the king and with depreciating him in all his conversations, seeking to rouse the dislike of the English for the Dutch, who, he said, enjoyed a larger share of the king's confidence and favor than they did. It was a point on which it was easy to excite the English, too much inclined, as they are, to despise all other nations and to esteem themselves immoderately. This was the subject of all the conversations at Marlborough's residence, where English officers met incessantly. The king had told me that he had good reasons for believing also that the earl had made his peace with King James, and had opened a correspondence with France."

William III. had learned clemency in his dealings with English statesmen: the treason of Lord Clarendon and of Lord Dartmouth had been treated with mildness; when Lord Preston's plot had been discovered, and Elliot, one of the accomplices, was multiplying denunciations, the king, who was present, had touched Caermarthen's shoulder. "There is enough of this, my lord," he had said; thus imposing silence upon useless revelations about an impotent discontent against which he did not wish to be severe. Yet he feared the Earl of Marlborough's perfidy: he knew at once his rare abilities and his profound baseness, and wished to secure himself against a treason which threatened his throne and life. {44} Through excessive magnanimity or prudence he persistently concealed the motives of his determination; but Marlborough's disgrace was to be long-lived. The silence of William left a formidable foe to France and a superlatively able head to the coalition against her, who, had the details of his treason been generally known, would have been irrecoverably ruined in the public opinion of England.

William was about to leave England to take command of the allied forces on the continent. At his departure he wished to finish the pacification of Scotland. His late deputy, Lord Melville, had allowed the Presbyterians to assume a dominating position which seriously threatened the liberty of the Episcopalians. He was replaced by Sir John Dalrymple, known in history as the Master of Stair. Eloquent and able, he had conceived the idea of detaching a certain number of Highland chiefs from the Jacobite cause by bribery. A considerable sum had been effectively spent among men proud and uncultured, but poor and exhausted by their warlike efforts and their domestic feuds. Numerous chiefs made their submission, notwithstanding the repugnance inspired by Lord Breadalbane, who was employed by the Master of Stair in these negotiations, and whom his connection with the Campbells rendered suspected by the mountaineers. On the 31st of December, 1691, Macdonald of Glencoe, or MacLean, as he was called in the Highlands, found himself almost the only one to refuse the oath of allegiance.

He made up his mind, at last, but too late. When he presented himself at Fort William, the fixed time had expired, and no magistrate was present. The old chief, alarmed at last, betook himself to Inverary; they refused for a long time to accept his submission. McLean returned to his mountains, whither an unjust and cruel vengeance was about to pursue him.

{45}

The Master of Stair had consented to become the instrument of the hereditary hate of the Campbells; it had been represented to him that this was the price of the pacification of Scotland. His orders had been issued in advance for the destruction of all the clans which should not have made their submission before the 1st of January, 1692. "Your troops will ravage all the district of Lochaber, the domains of Lochiel, Keppoch, Glengarry, and Glencoe. Your powers will be sufficient for the purpose. I hope your soldiers will not embarrass the government with prisoners." Lochiel, Keppoch and Glengarry had acted in time. All the hate of the Campbells and all the administrative zeal of the Master of Stair were turned upon Glencoe. King William signed his sentence without reading it, Burnet asserts, and amid the mass of papers which were presented to him every day. He did not, doubtless, understand its purport. "It is a charitable duty," wrote the Master of Stair, "to destroy this nest of robbers."

On the 1st of February, 1692, a detachment of Argyle's regiment entered the territory of Glencoe, peacefully, and as if animated by the most friendly intentions. "It would be better to do nothing in the matter than to do it unsuccessfully," the Master of Stair had said. "Since the thing is resolved on, it must be executed secretly and suddenly." The commander of the small body, Captain Campbell, commonly called Glenlyon from the name of his estate, had a niece married to the second son of Glencoe. The soldiers were well received and housed among the cottages.

{46}

They passed twelve days there waiting for the time when Lieutenant-colonel Hamilton should have occupied the defiles of the mountains. The 13th of February had been fixed on as the fatal day; the Highlanders had felt some uneasiness, but their guests had reassured them, "If there was any danger," Glenlyon had said to the chiefs eldest son, "should I not have warned your brother and his wife?" At the appointed hour Hamilton had not yet arrived; nevertheless the massacre began. Under every roof, beside every hearth, Glenlyon's soldiers shot down their hosts, men, women and children; the Master of Stair's orders had allowed them to spare old men above seventy. In their bloody intoxication the troops gave no quarter; the aged Glencoe perished among the first. His wife, assassinated beside him, was stripped of her jewelry, and did not expire till the next day. At every door was seen a corpse. When Hamilton appeared at the head of his troops, they plundered all the houses, and long lines of cattle were driven down the mountain passes by the light of the flames which were consuming the villages.

God does not suffer crime, though cleverly conceived, to gain a complete triumph. The passes had not been guarded; the murderers had not all arrived in time, and a large number of the Macdonalds of Glencoe succeeded in escaping, at the cost of new sufferings--exposed to hunger, cold, and unceasing dangers. They repaired to the midst of their mountains, above their ruined houses and their blood stained hearths. The cry of their calamity mounted slowly to Heaven. The Jacobites assisted in spreading it abroad: they had eagerly seized this weapon against King William. When the latter, far away and imperfectly informed, wished to open an inquiry into the authors of the crime, so many and so important persons were compromised in it, that the Master of Stair alone was removed for a time from public life. The massacre of Glencoe has remained a dark stain on the reign of William III., a sad contrast to the leniency and humanity which usually characterized his government.

{47}

Hardly had the king left England before the nation, as well as Queen Mary, was a prey to serious uneasiness. Louvois had died suddenly on the 17th of July, 1691, without Louis XIV., with whom his influence had been decreasing, appearing particularly distressed at his loss. "Tell the King of England that I have lost a good minister," was the answer he had made to King James's condolences, "but that his affairs and mine will fare none the worse for it."

Louvois would not have consented to the schemes which James was urging Louis XIV. to execute. Still convinced of the attachment of his English subjects, especially of the navy, he was for some time in correspondence with Admiral Russell, a sincere Whig, and Protestant, but morose, discontented, unreasonable and easily led away by his temperament into guilty intrigues. A camp had lately been formed on the coasts of Normandy; all the Irish regiments were there, under command of Lord Sarsfield; French forces were to join them. James called on the English people to pronounce in his favor by a manifesto so arrogant, so obstinate in the errors and faults which had caused his downfall, that the ministers of William III. had it printed and widely circulated in the kingdom.

Some English Jacobites attempted to combat the disastrous effect of the manifesto by another paper, drawn up with care and with a full knowledge of the state of feeling in England; but nobody let himself be taken in by this maneuvre. A popular movement was displayed in favor of the government; the militia responded spiritedly to the call; the coasts were covered with troops; the fleet of the allies entered the Channel. Those of the British sailors who had given hopes to King James, recovered their fidelity in presence of the enemy. {48} "I should like to serve King James," said Admiral Russell to the Bishop of St. Asaph. "It might be done, if he was willing to let us alone; but he does not know how to act with us. Let him forget the whole past, and grant a general amnesty, and I will see what I can do for him."

The bishop tried some hints about the personal favor reserved for the admiral. The latter interrupted him: "I am not uneasy about that, I only think of the public; and don't imagine I should ever let the French conquer us on our own seas. Be it well known that I shall fight them if I meet them, were His Majesty himself on board!"

This outburst of patriotism, in a malcontent, who had lately been on the point of becoming a traitor, did not suffice to open King James's eyes: at his request the formal orders of Louis XIV. forced the hand of Admiral de Tourville, who was hesitating, to fight. He had been instructed to protect the disembarkation of the invading forces upon the English coasts; but the wind retarded his sailing from Brest. The Dutch fleet had joined the English, and Tourville wished to await the squadrons of Estrées and Rochefort.

Pontchartrain was minister of Marine as well as of Finance since Seignelay, son of Colbert, had died, in 1690. He sent this answer from Versailles to the experienced sailor, who was used to fighting from the age of fourteen: "It is not for you to discuss the king's orders; it is your business to execute them and enter the Channel. If you don't wish to do so, the king will appoint in your place some one more obedient and less cautious than you." Tourville set out and met the hostile squadrons between the capes of La Hague and Barfleur. He had forty-four vessels against ninety-nine which the English and Dutch numbered. Tourville convened his council of war; all the officers advised him to retire; but the king's command was peremptory, and the admiral gave battle. {49} After three days' desperate resistance, aided by the most skilful maneuvering, Tourville was forced to retreat under the forts of La Hogue in the hope of stranding his vessels. King James and Marshal de Bellefonds were opposed to this. The vessels were attacked and burned by the English in sight of the French and Irish camp. The dethroned king was divided between his desire for victory and his patriotic instincts. Seeing the sailors who fought against him gallantly scaling the French vessels, he could not help exclaiming: "Oh, my brave Englishmen!" Previously, on the occasion of a trifling advantage that Tourville had gained in the Bay of Bantry, while James II. was in Ireland, when they came to announce to the latter that the French had beaten the English, the king had said, not without bitterness: "Then it is the first time." Tourville had lost a dozen vessels. The conduct of the English officers and sailors had been heroic; the admiral had himself inspected all the vessels and addressed the crews. "If your commanders betray you," he had said, "throw them overboard, and me the first!" King James counted wrongly on Rear-Admiral Carter, who had made him promises, while at the same time he warned Queen Mary of the fact. Severely wounded, Carter, who was the first to break the French lines, would not let go his sword. "Fight, fight," he said, dying, "until the ship sinks!"

The news of the victory of La Hogue caused great joy in England: it calmed the minds of the population, distracted by repeated rumors of conspiracies. The plot denounced by Fuller in February, and Young's plot in April, both invented, and the creations of false witnesses, worthy rivals of Titus Oates and Dangerfield, had disturbed men's spirits. Lord Huntingdon had been arrested; the Earl of Marlborough had been sent to the Tower for a short time: the Bishop of Rochester had been tried. Marlborough was guilty of intrigues more serious, and unknown to the public. {50} The Bishop, rich and indolent, had nothing to do with any plot. He easily proved his innocence; the false witnesses were severely punished; and Marlborough was set at liberty, with a caution, after forty-eight hours. His accusers had done him the service of dispelling the vague suspicions that had brought his disgrace upon him.

At the close of the same year, the plot of Grandval, aimed at the King's life, was to wake again the public disquiet that was destined to be revived more than once in his reign. In Europe, as well as England, King William's courage and thoughtfulness stood in the way of many great designs, and disappointed many hopes. The sentence which condemned the criminal publicly compromised the Marquis de Barbezieux, son of Louvois, and secretary of state for war. Louis' ministers kept silence and did not refute the charge.

The fortune of war continued to favor France: Namur had capitulated on the 20th of June, and its citadel surrendered on the 30th. "The allies learned it by three salvas from the army of the Marshal de Luxembourg and that of the Marquis de Boufflers," wrote Louis XIV. in his Memoirs. "They fell into a consternation which rendered them immovable for three days; so much so that the Marshal de Luxembourg having resolved to repass the Sombre, they thought neither of annoying him on his march nor of attacking him in his retreat."

{51}

When William III. came up with Luxembourg on the 31st of August, between Enghien and Steinkerque, a new victory, due to the brilliant gallantry of the French infantry, completed the uneasiness of the allies. At the end of the year, William, always clear-sighted and often a pessimist, in spite of his unbending determination, wrote to Heinsius "I have to tell you frankly that, if we could obtain peace just now--which certainly would not be on favorable terms--we should yet have to accept it; for, to my grief, I don't see that we have anything better to expect--far from it, for things go from bad to worse. It will not, for that reason, be less needful for one to do his best; and for my part, I will do everything in my power."

The war was to continue several years more, pressing heavily on England and Holland, which almost alone were in a condition to furnish pecuniary resources to the allies. The English Houses of Parliament, sometimes lavish and sometimes penurious, always extremely touchy about the position of foreigners in the King's service, often disputed with William the reinforcements of men and moneys which he demanded for the army; thus arousing the wrath and distrust with which parliamentary debates and dissensions inspired him. He had with great difficulty kept in power Lord Nottingham, who was vigorously attacked by the Whigs, and in whom he had a just confidence, in spite of the repugnance which the earl had at first shown to the revolution. On the other hand, Somers had been entrusted with the seals, and this partial return of power into the hands of the Whigs had momentarily calmed the dissensions of the parties. Yet the session had been much agitated: the land tax and a large loan had been voted on the motion of Charles Montague. The King was gloomy and pre-occupied with the campaign which was about to open. "At a juncture when we ought to be able to make an extraordinary effort on all sides to resist the enemy," wrote he to Heinsius at the beginning of 1693, "it tries me not to be able to contribute more to the general cause. It is distressing to see that this nation only thinks of indulging its private passions, without reflecting the least on the general interests. {52} The funds which Parliament has allowed me will not cover the necessary expenses I have to incur, so that I find myself in a very embarrassing condition. I leave you to imagine how much this, joined to the critical state of our affairs, and my inability to supply a remedy therefor, must torment me."

France was much more exhausted than England; and the losses which Tourville, Jean Bart or Duguay-Trouin caused English commerce to endure, did not prevent money flowing to London for the new loan. Yet the strong will of Louis XIV. and the effective action of a central power, had sufficed to continue the war during nearly the whole winter. On the 25th of July, 1693, the battle of Neerwinden was lost by King William in person to the Marshal de Luxembourg. Almost invariably unlucky in war, notwithstanding his conspicuous bravery, he charged sword in hand at the head of two regiments of English cavalry, which made the enemy give way, till they came to the household guard of the king. This select corps had remained motionless for four hours under the fire of the allies. William believed at one time that his gunners were aiming badly, and hastened to the batteries; the French squadrons were moving only to close their ranks as the files were carried off. The King of England uttered an exclamation of rage and admiration: "Oh, the insolent nation!" he cried. The admiration was mutual. "The Prince of Orange was near being taken after having done wonders," wrote Racine to Boileau. "It is painful for me to tell you," William informed Heinsius, "that the enemy attacked us yesterday morning, and that, after an obstinate contest, we have been defeated. We march to-morrow to encamp between Vilvorde and Malines, to rally our forces there and impede the plans of the enemy as far as possible."

{53}

Luxembourg was ill and soon afterwards died. The victory of Neerwinden brought little advantage to France. The same was the case in Italy with the success of Catinat at Marsala: the Duke of Schomberg, eldest son of the Marshal, charged there at the head of the troops paid by England. "Things have come to such a pass that it is necessary to conquer or to die," he had said, as he threw himself into the _mêlee_. This was his master's advice. "The crisis has been terrible," wrote the latter to Heinsius and to Portland. "God has judged it right to send me great trials in succession: I try to accept His will without murmuring and to deserve his anger less. God be praised for the issue he has granted us, and may we be able by our gratitude worthily to requite his mercy!" The strife of parties in Parliament involved, as usual, the grant of the subsidies on which the military preparations depended. "The increase of the army meets with violent opposition here," wrote William on the 4th of December; "yet I am led to hope that finally everything will turn out as I desire. May God will it!"

Power was passing away from the Tories. Lord Sunderland, who had lately emerged from his retreat, still able and engaging after his treason and shame, advised William to recall the Whigs. The king had been wearied by their arrogance and tyranny; yet he agreed to place Admiral Russell at the head of the Admiralty and to make Lord Shrewsbury Secretary of State. The latter hesitated long before accepting. He began to excuse himself before the king, pleading his ill-health. "That is not your only reason," said William; "when have you seen Montgomery?" This clever and enterprising Scot, formerly leader of the Parliament in Edinborough, had fallen into disfavor and was serving as agent in the Jacobite intrigues. Shrewsbury grew pale, and William repeated to him a part of his conversation with Montgomery. "Sire," said the earl, "since your Majesty is so well informed, you ought to know that I have not encouraged the attempts of this man to detach me from my allegiance."

{54}

The king smiled; he knew the strange weakness that weighed like an enchantment on Lord Shrewsbury's noblest qualities. "The best way to silence suspicions," he said, "is to take office. That will put me at my ease: I know that you are a man of honor, and that if you undertake to serve me, you will do so faithfully." Shrewsbury was soon made a duke, at the same time with the Earls of Bedford and Devonshire. Charles Montague, who had lately conceived the idea of a Bank of England, and helped to establish it, was named Chancellor of the Exchequer. Measures new, or renewed with persistency, were violently debated. The bill of procedure in trials for treason, the bill of disqualifications or of appointments, which interdicted the House of Commons to office-holders, and finally the often debated question of the length of Parliaments, which it was wished to limit to three years; such were the preliminary movements in parliamentary reform which delayed William's departure for the Continent. "It is a dreadful thing to be upon this island, as it were banished from the world," wrote the King of England. Some days later he arrived in Holland.

A great naval expedition was being secretly prepared at Portsmouth, intended to thwart the designs of Louis XIV. on the Mediterranean. Marlborough, always well informed, had warned King James of it. "Twelve regiments of infantry and two of marines are soon to embark, under command of Talmash, to destroy the port of Brest and the squadron which is collected there. It would be a great success for England, but nothing shall ever prevent me from letting you know what may be useful to you. I have been trying for a long time to learn this from Russell, but he has always denied it, though he has been informed of it more than six weeks. This gives me a bad opinion of the man's intentions."

{55}

On the 16th of June, 1694, the English fleet was fifteen leagues west of Cape Finisterre. Talmash proposed to disembark in the Bay of Cadsant. Lord Caermarthen, eldest son of the statesman lately made Duke of Leeds, undertook to explore the bay in his yacht. He found the approaches well defended. Talmash was resolved to attack. Caermarthen advanced, first signalling to Admiral Berkeley the difficulties which he met. Batteries were suddenly unmasked and swept the decks. Talmash was convinced that the coast was defended by peasants who would fly at the sight of the English soldiers: a well sustained fire replied to their attempts to land. The general was severely wounded in the thigh as he was being carried to his launch; the troops re-entered their boats pell-mell. The enterprise was a failure; the fleet had to return to Portsmouth. Talmash died on his arrival, declaring aloud that he had been drawn into a trap by traitors. The outwork whence the fatal bullet came is called, to this day, _The Englishman's Death_.

The rage and uneasiness in England were great: people said aloud that English forces ought to be commanded by Englishmen. Talmash was dead, and Marlborough ought not to remain longer in disgrace with the king. All the maneuvres and all the treacheries of the earl aimed at this. He had the audacity to present himself at Whitehall to offer his services to the queen. Lord Shrewsbury exerted himself to have the offer accepted; King William absolutely refused it. The English squadron was ravaging the coast of Normandy; Admiral Russell was keeping the fleets of Louis XIV. in check in the Mediterranean. {56} The campaign in the Netherlands was passed in skilful marches and counter-marches, accompanied by some trifling advantages for King William, who captured Huy. When he returned to England, on the 9th of November, the queen was waiting for him at Margate, happy at meeting the man who was the only joy of her life. "Now that you have the king, don't let him go away again, madame," cried the assembled women, as the royal couple passed. She was to be the first to go away, and death was threatening her already.

Before Queen Mary, Tillotson, archbishop of Canterbury, fell sick and died, towards the middle of November. He had rendered the Church of England the great service of throwing the weight of his character and eloquence on the side of submission to the new power, by frankly and simply accepting the oaths of allegiance. He had been strongly urged to do so by Lady Russell. "The time seems to me to have come," she had written to him, in 1691, "to put in practice anew that principle of submission which you have formerly asserted so much yourself and recommended so much to others. You will be a true public benefactor, I am convinced. Reflect how few capable and upright men the present time produces, I beg you, and do not turn your resolution over endlessly in your mind: when one has considered a question in all its aspects, one only succeeds, by returning incessantly to it, in throwing oneself into new difficulties without seeing any the clearer into the matter."

Sancroft having obstinately refused the oath, Tillotson had become Archbishop of Canterbury, in 1691, to the great disgust of Compton, Bishop of London, who had hoped for the primate's see. Henceforward, the nonjuring bishops and clergy loaded Tillotson with their wrath and contempt. {57} Gentle, sensitive, used to the admiration aroused by his eloquence and the esteem for his irreproachable life, the new archbishop suffered cruelly from the injuries of which he was the object. When he died there was found among his papers a packet of pamphlets published against him, with this phrase in his handwriting: "I pray God to pardon them; I pardon them." "I have lost the best friend I have ever had, and the best man I have ever known," wrote William to Heinsius. He loaded the widow with favors. Such was the popularity of the archbishop as a preacher, that the publisher of his sermons bought their ownership at the price of; £2,500, a sum unheard of at that period. Milton had sold the manuscript of the "Paradise Lost" for five pounds sterling, and Dryden, at that time the most illustrious of English poets, had received £1300 for his translation of Virgil's complete works.

A more poignant grief was about to strike William. He had come to Whitehall to give his assent to the bill for Triennial Parliaments, which he had once objected to. The many members of the two Houses who pressed into the hall of sessions found the King's face changed and his mood gloomy. He hastened to return to Kensington. The report spread that the queen was ill, and it was soon known that she had the small-pox.

As soon as Mary had reason to think herself stricken by the scourge which desolated households every year, she had ordered that all persons of her retinue who had not yet had the disease should leave Kensington; then, shutting herself up in her study, she had put her papers in order, burning a portion of them herself. "I have not waited for this day to prepare myself for death," she said, when the disease left her no more hope. The grief of her husband exceeded all anticipations, astonishing even those who had been constant witnesses of the absolute devotion of the queen. {58} He did not leave her for a single instant, sleeping beside her bed and rendering her the tenderest cares. Mary had triumphed over that stern heart which neither victories nor defeats had ever been able to disturb. He could not keep in his tears, when he looked at her. When Tenison, the new Archbishop of Canterbury, had undertaken to announce her approaching end to the queen, William drew Burnet into a corner of the room. "There is no more hope," he said; "I was the happiest of men--I am the most miserable. She had no faults, not one; you knew her well, but you do not know, no one can know, her worth." Twice the dying woman wished to bid good-bye to him whom she had loved alone, and twice her voice failed her: she now thought only of eternity. Several times William had been seized with convulsions: when they bore him from the queen's chamber just before she breathed her last sigh, he had almost lost consciousness.

Mary died at thirty-two, lamented by all who had known her. "So charitable," says Evelyn, "that in the midst of the most violent political strifes, she never inquired into the views of those who asked her aid;" gentle and kind to all, often attracting censure through the fullness of her wifely devotion, which seemed to have absorbed all other affections in her soul--the only sort of tenderness that could have satisfied the reserved and proud heart of the prince her husband. She had welcomed, during her illness, the advances of her sister. When she had shut her eyes, the Princess Anne sent to ask her brother-in-law permission to see him. Somers offered to mediate between the princess and the king. He found William in his study, his head between his hands, absorbed in grief; he represented to him the necessity of putting an end to a family quarrel, of which the political consequences might become grave. {59} "Do what you wish, my lord," replied the king; "I cannot think about anything." Yet the interview that was asked for took place. William assigned the palace of St. James to the princess for her residence. At the same time he sent her her sister's jewels; but he kept his resolution about the Earl of Marlborough. The princess's favorites were not admitted to the presence of the king, and the general remained excluded from every honorable or lucrative post. Yet Mary's death had changed all the views of Marlborough: a single life, precarious by nature, shaken by fatigues and cares, now stood in the way of the greatness of Princess Anne, and the supreme exaltation of her all-powerful adherents. The earl and his wife no longer retained their regard for the fallen monarch; they no longer admitted the legitimacy of the Prince of Wales. They patiently awaited the day of triumph; other more guilty hands were going to undertake to hasten it.

For some days William had seemed incapable of taking part in public affairs. "I thank you with all my heart for your kindness," he had replied to the condolences of the houses, "but still more for your so well appreciating our great loss: it exceeds everything that I could express, and I am not in a condition to think of anything else." He had written to Heinsius: "I tell you in confidence, I feel myself no longer capable of commanding the troops. Yet I shall try to do my duty, and I hope God will give me strength for it." The charges of corruption preferred before the houses against several prominent Tories, first roused him from his dejection. The great corporations of the city of London and the East India Company were convicted of having frequently bought the influence of the ministers. The Speaker of the House of Commons, Sir John Trevor, was the first condemned. The charges brought against the Duke of Leeds were grave. {60} The witnesses had disappeared; the charge fell through; but public rage and indignation pronounced his sentence. He was forever lost to political life. When William set out for the Continent, on the 12th of May, 1695, the name of the Duke of Leeds had been erased from the roll of the Council entrusted henceforth with the government in the king's absence. The intelligent, firm and devoted woman, who formerly governed wisely in his name, and willingly surrendered the power into his hands, was no more. William rejected all the hints that were given him to replace her by the Princess Anne.

The Marshal Luxembourg had died on the 4th of January, 1695, and Louis XIV. had put at the head of his armies Marshal Villeroi, a life-long friend of his, a clever courtier, a mediocre officer, who soon lost the prestige of victory which had been so long and resolutely maintained for France by so many triumphant hands.

The results of this change was soon apparent. In vain did Marshal Boufflers shut himself up in Namur and defend it heroically, till he finally retired into the citadel, were he held out more than a month longer; the place was not relieved in time by Villeroi, who was embarrassed in his movements by the presence and the cowardice of the Duke of Maine. William III. personally conducted the siege, and was constantly present at the trenches, giving his commands in a rain of bullets with a coolness which sometimes made the bystanders underrate the danger in which he was. Mr. Godfrey, an envoy from the Bank of England, had come to ask him for certain instructions. He ventured beneath the walls of Namur during an assault. "What are you doing here, Mr. Godfrey?" said the king roughly. "You are running great risk, and you cannot be of any use to us."--"I am not more in danger than your Majesty," replied the banker. {61} "You are mistaken." answered William; "I am where my duty calls me; I can therefore, without presumption, put my life in the hands of God; but you"--As he spoke these words, a ball struck the unfortunate Godfrey, who fell dead at his feet. William never willingly permitted civilians in his army. The brave Walker, formerly the defender of Derry, and whom he had raised to the rank of bishop, was killed not far from him at the battle of the Boyne: "What took him there?" growled the king, on learning the news of his death. It was said among his soldiers that he had been obliged to use the rod to make curious persons withdraw out of range of the cannons.

At last Namur capitulated, the citadel as well as the town. All the honors of war were granted to Marshal Boufflers, whom Louis XIV. loaded with his favors. "I am very unfortunate," said King William, "to have always to envy the lot of a monarch who rewards the loss of a place more liberally than I can reward my friends and followers who have conquered one." On the 10th of October he set sail for England, determined to dissolve Parliament. The new houses were convoked for the 22nd of November.

William's return to his kingdom was marked by a genuine triumph: the elections were favorable to him almost everywhere, and the difficulties that had been raised by a bill for the reminting of coins, which were then seriously depreciated, had just been surmounted. But a disagreement was already springing up between the king and Parliament in relation to the gifts with which he had loaded his Dutch friends. Following the example of Charles II. and James II., William had detached from the possessions of the crown certain rich domains with which he had recompensed his faithful servants, notably Bentwick. {62} He had just assigned to him a considerable estate in Wales, over which the crown possessed sovereign rights, which were comprised in the cession made to Portland. The country and the House of Commons demanded the retrocession of these rights in a petition bitterly stamped with the jealousy with which the favors enjoyed by the Dutch inspired the English nation. William was hurt by it; but with that moderation and justice which counterbalanced the reserve of his character and his lack of ductility, he replied to the petitioners: "I have an affection for Lord Portland, which he has deserved by his long and faithful services. If I had believed that the house would have to be consulted in this gift, I should not have made it; I shall recall my letters patent and shall give him an equivalent elsewhere." The estates conferred upon Bentinck were scattered in distant parts of the country. "They shall not say that I want to create a princedom for Lord Portland," said the king.

Domestic quarrels, as well as the jealousies aroused in England by the formation of a Scotch commercial company, whose rivalry the English merchants feared, were soon to be stilled in presence of a great national commotion. Rumors of invasion began to circulate anew. With the hopes of foreign aid, the intrigues of the Jacobites had caught a fresh enthusiasm. The Duke of Berwick had been commissioned to excite the zeal of King James's friends, who had secretly arrived in England, and was visited mysteriously by the leaders of the Jacobite party. The Duke was not ignorant of the more dangerous and less honorable mission that had been entrusted to Sir George Barclay. The latter had already united at London a certain number of partisans, ready for any enterprise; he was bearer of a commission written entirely in King James's hand, authorizing him to execute, at a proper time, against the Prince of Orange and his adherents, all acts of hostility which might be serviceable to his Majesty. {63} The act of hostility which Sir George Barclay and his accomplices were preparing was none other than an attempt to assassinate. The 15th of February, 1696, had been fixed for its execution. Certain men, ruined by the revolution, recently converted to Catholicism by personal ambition, Charnock, Porter, Goodman, had long ago been admitted into the conspiracy; and Sir William Parkyn was not ignorant of it, though he had taken the oath of allegiance to William to save the office which he held in the Court of Chancery. Sir John Fenwick, an insolent Jacobite, who had once insulted Queen Mary in the park, had, it was said, refused to take part in the criminal attempt; yet he held the secret of the conspirators which was soon to cost him his life. A certain number of King James's guards had arrived successively in London to reinforce this little band of assassins. The Duke of Berwick had returned to France, anxious to avoid all appearance of complicity. The English Jacobites refused to attempt a rising without the aid of a foreign invasion. King Louis XIV. was beginning to grow weary of the ineffectual efforts he had so generously lavished in aid of King James. The latter had met Berwick at Clermont. "After having learned from him the state of things in England, and the reasons which had made him return so hastily, his Majesty sent him to the King of France and continued his route to Calais. He always hoped that some event would give him the opportunity of demanding that the troops should be embarked without further delay, and it was for this reason that he continued his journey to Calais; but he had no sooner arrived there than, with his usual luck, he found all his hopes blighted. He learned that several gentlemen had been arrested for an attempt against the life of the Prince of Orange, and that this had raised such an excitement throughout the kingdom that there was no possibility of the Jacobites thinking of a revolt, still less of the king's thinking of a landing, even had the French desired it."

{64}

This event, which King James awaited at Calais, and on which he counted for the success of his projects, had been delayed from day to day by a series of mischances usual in conspiracies, but which never opened the eyes of the conspirators. On the 15th, the king's hunt, during which the forty plotters were to throw themselves upon him, had been put off, under pretext that the weather was stormy and cold. On the 21st all the accomplices met again in a tavern: their posts were assigned, their rôles were distributed. Eight men were to be armed with fire-arms, the others had sharpened their swords. "Tomorrow," they cried, "we shall be masters of the situation." "Don't be afraid to break the windows of the carriage, Mr. Pendergrass," said King to one of the other conspirators, to whom a musket had been assigned. Suddenly a sentinel, who had been sent out to reconnoitre, appeared at the door, pale and alarmed. "The king does not hunt to-morrow," he said; "the carriages have been countermanded; the guards who were sent to Richmond have returned at a gallop--their horses are covered with foam." The conspirators dispersed, and the most enthusiastic were already projecting new ambuscades. The next day before noon almost all of them were arrested; the population of London, suddenly moved, had lent the police thousands of eyes and ears, eager to discover the guilty. The remorse of three conspirators successively had revealed the plot to the Duke of Portland.

{65}

The first of all had been Pendergrass, an honorable and respected Catholic, but instinctively revolting at the idea of assassination. "My lord," he had said to Portland, "if you value the life of King William, don't let him go to the hunt to-morrow. He is the enemy of my religion, but it is my religion which obliges me to give you this warning. I am resolved to conceal the names of the conspirators." The revelations of the others were more complete. The king was unwilling to put confidence in them; he had Pendergrass summoned before him. "You are a man of honor," he said to him, "and I am grateful to you. But the integrity which has made you speak ought to oblige you to tell me something more. Your warning has sufficed to poison my existence by making me suspect all those who approach me; it will not be enough to protect me. Give me the names of the conspirators." Pendergrass yielded, on condition that they would make no use of his revelations against the persons named without his formal consent. On Sunday morning the guards and militia were under arms; the lords-lieutenant of the coast had set out for their respective districts. Orders were given the Lord Mayor to watch over the safety of the capital. At Calais King James looked in vain in the direction of England; the flames that were to announce the success of the enterprise were not kindled.

The excitement was deep: people realized the danger that had menaced the state in threatening the life of the prince. The House suspended the habeas corpus act; they declared that Parliament would not be dissolved on the death of the king. At the same time it was proposed to form an association for the defence of the king and country. The agreement, drawn up by Montague, was soon laid upon the table of the house; a crowd of members pressed forward to sign it. A slight modification of the terms satisfied the scruples of some Tory peers. A great number of the House of Lords signed it. Throughout the country people followed their example. William had never been so popular, his throne had never rested on a more solid basis than on the morrow of the guilty project formed against his life. {66} When Charnock, one of the conspirators, offered to reveal the names of those who had sent him to Saint Germain, "I want to know none of them," said the king to the overtures of the miserable man. The latter, with seven of his accomplices, perished by the hand of the executioner.

King William was soon constrained to receive the denunciations he had at first rejected. During his absence on the continent, while military operations remained nearly inactive, while the Duke of Savoy withdrew from the coalition, and while overtures of peace were coming to the king, he learned that Sir John Fenwick had been arrested. Some days later the Duke of Devonshire sent him the confession of the prisoner. Silent about the Jacobite plots in which he had taken part, Fenwick accused of treason Marlborough, Godolphin, Russell and Shrewsbury, all engaged in the service and interests of King James.

William III. had known this for a long time. Marlborough alone had gone beyond bounds, and the king had taken away all his offices, while keeping silent about the causes of his disgrace. Godolphin, Russell and Shrewsbury were still in power; the last two counted among the leaders of the Whigs. The stratagem of the accused was clever: he had purposed to throw confusion into all camps and suspicion upon all the parties; but the masterly magnanimity of William upset his projects. William sent Fenwick's confession to Shrewsbury himself. "I am surprised," he wrote, "at the wretch's effrontery. You know me too well to suppose that such stories can affect me. Observe the sincerity of this honorable man: he has nothing to tell me of the schemes of his Jacobite friends, he only attacks my own friends."

{67}

Fenwick was soon brought before a jury. He was allied to powerful families: his wife, Lady Mary, was the Earl of Carlisle's sister. All means were employed to save him: the witnesses who could testify against him were bought and disappeared. He escaped at the ordinary trial. The Whigs demanded a bill of attainder against him. Admiral Russell rose in his place, boldly claiming justice for Lord Shrewsbury as well as for himself. "If we are innocent, acquit us; if we are guilty, punish us as we deserve. I surrender myself to the justice of my country, and am ready to live or die according to your sentence."

The discussion was long and violent; the terrible weapon of attainder was repugnant to many honest consciences, and political and personal passions were enlisted in the struggle. Fenwick's guilt was patent to all; the right of his judges to condemn him was more doubtful. Sentence was nevertheless pronounced, and Sir John was executed at Tower Hill, on the 28th of January, 1697.

Godolphin had sent in his verification as First Lord of the Treasury; all the kindness and the assurances of William had not availed to make Shrewsbury reappear at court. Sunderland had quietly resumed power, more despised by the nation than by the king. With few exceptions, William was wont to distrust all those who surrounded him, while acting as if they deserved his confidence. Clear-sighted and severe in his opinions, he was indulgent in his conduct; his magnanimity was somewhat mingled with contempt. Henceforth power was in the hands of the Whigs, strongly organized as a party and forming a firm and homogeneous ministry. The financial crisis was passing away; England was issuing triumphant from revolution, plots, and commercial embarrassments. She was speedily about to enjoy the benefits of a transient peace, whose preliminaries were already being discussed at Ryswick.

{68}

France offered the restoration of Strasburg, Luxembourg, Mons, Charleroi and Dinant, and the re-establishment of the House of Lorraine, on the conditions proposed at Nimeguen and the recognition of the King of England. "We have no equivalent to claim," the French plenipotentiaries said, proudly; "your masters have never taken anything from ours."

The exhaustion of France drew from Louis XIV. conditions that were repugnant to his pride; the good sense and great judgment of William III. had made him desire peace for a long time. Private conferences took place between Marshal Boufflers and the Duke of Portland, full of expressions of regard from one plenipotentiary to the other, and not without mutual good will between the two sovereigns. The taking of Barcelona by the Duc de Vendôme, led Spain to think of peace; but the King of France withdrew his offer of Strasburg, offering in exchange Brisach and Fribourg in Briesgau. Louis had refused to dismiss King James from France; the latter was not even named in the treaty. "That would not be to my honor," the monarch had said; "I will recognize King William, and engage not to assist his enemies directly or indirectly." Portland had offered a clause of reciprocity. "All Europe has confidence enough in the obedience and submission of my people," proudly replied Louis, "and knows that when it pleases me to prevent my subjects from aiding King James, there is no reason to fear that he may find any support in my kingdom. The reciprocity cannot be; I have to fear neither sedition nor faction." The peace was signed on the night of the 20th of September, 1697, between France, England, the States-General, and Spain.

{69}

The Grand Pensioner at once wrote the news to William, who had retired to his castle of Loo. "May the Almighty bless the peace," answered the king, "and in his mercy permit us long to enjoy it! I do not deny that the way in which it has been concluded makes me uneasy for the future. You cannot be sufficiently thanked for the care and pains you have freely taken in connection with it." The work was not completed. The emperor aimed at settling in advance the question of the Spanish succession, ever ready to be opened by the feeble health of King Charles II., who had no children. The Protestant princes refused to accept the maintenance of Catholic worship in all those places where Louis XIV. had re-established it "Your letter of yesterday has been sent me to-day," wrote William to Heinsius, on the 31st of October, "and I am extremely puzzled to give a positive answer to it in writing. It would certainly be our duty to continue the war rather than to make any concessions to the prejudice of the reformed religion; and if these gentlemen of Amsterdam, and consequently the republic, wish to remain firm, I should gladly do so likewise, in the hope that Parliament would aid me in fulfilling so pious a duty. On the other hand, I must admit that I do not see, humanly speaking, how the Protestant states and princes could actually oppose the Catholic powers, seeing that we would be acting without Sweden, Denmark and the Swiss Cantons, and that we are now deprived of Saxony. I am extremely uneasy at the idea that the ministers of the Protestant princes should be the only ones to refuse to sign; for that might seriously injure them later, considering that we might not be soon enough in a condition to assist them or to prevent the injury that France would certainly do them. I send by this courier orders to my ambassadors to act in entire unison with those of the republic. So, if you think you can show firmness, they will do so likewise."

{70}

These same Protestant princes, who did not wish to allow the practice of Catholic worship in their states, had formerly inserted in the compacts of the Grand Alliance that peace would never be concluded with France unless religious liberty should be restored to French Lutherans. The tolerant wisdom of William III. and the obstinacy of Louis XIV. finally secured the practice of their worship to the German Catholics, without assuring the same tolerance for the persecuted Huguenots. "These are things which concern me alone, and I cannot discuss them with anybody," said the absolute monarch. Peace was definitively signed on the 31st of October, 1697. The King of England had used strong pressure upon the emperor. "I want to hear," said William, "where any chance is visible of making France renounce a succession for which she would sustain, at need, a war of more than twenty years; and God knows we are not in a position to be able to pretend to dictate laws to France." William was soon to experience himself the futility of diplomatic negotiations in face of a complicated crisis; but he secured some moments' rest to Europe by using his legitimate influence over the souls of men, in the interests of peace. "The Prince of Orange is the arbiter of Europe," Pope Innocent XII. had observed to Lord Perth, entrusted by King James with a mission to him; "kings and peoples are his slaves: they will do nothing that may displease him." And striking with his hand on the table, the Pope exclaimed: "If God, in His omnipotence, does not come to our aid, we are lost."

{71}

King James considered his cause desperate. "The confederates remained allied to the usurper they had aided to ascend the throne," he wrote in his Memoirs, "and his very Christian Majesty himself so desired peace that he forgot his first resolutions and recognized him as King of England, like the rest. His Majesty, then, had no longer aught to do, but to protest publicly and formally against every compact or agreement made to his disadvantage or without his participation, in whatever manner it might be made." James II. had not foreseen into what blunders royal pride and a mistaken generosity toward his son would lead King Louis, or what misfortunes this mistake would bring upon France.

The joy was great in England. When King William made his entry into London, on the 16th of November, an immense crowd blocked the streets, making the air resound with its shouts. "I have never seen so large a concourse of well-dressed people," wrote William, next day, to his friend Heinsius; "you cannot imagine the satisfaction which prevails here on account of the re-establishment of peace."

The public rest and prosperity, founded on the liberties of the nation, the defeat of domestic enemies and the check at last imposed upon the continual successes of the great foe of European peace, plots strangled, religious dissensions pacified, and the king, who had procured all these benefits for his adopted country, placed, by general consent, at the head of the great continental coalition--such were the legitimate causes of the satisfaction of England. William III. rejoiced with it, but not without fears and forebodings. "I trust to God," he had said, some months earlier, "that the news they have told you about the death of the King of Spain and the proclamation of his heir will not be confirmed; otherwise everything will relapse into the most inextricable confusion, and every hope of peace will vanish." Charles II. was still living, but was on the brink of death, and the question of the succession remained unsettled.

{72}

This was not the first time that the King of England painfully experienced the inconveniences of a free government: the nation did not share the uneasiness with which the future inspired him, and the first care of Parliament was to propose the reduction of the army. The adroitness of the ministers secured the maintenance of more considerable forces than had been at first desired; but this was at the price of Lord Sunderland's resignation, whose courage did not rise to the height of the tempest excited against him.

The new elections introduced into Parliament a fluctuating set of men, numerous, ignorant, free from all party engagements, but deeply imbued with the popular prejudices against standing armies and foreigners. Assured of the continuation of peace by the apportioning treaty which had just been signed at Loo, on the 4th of September, the Commons replied to the speech from the throne which recommended the increase of the military forces by a vote reducing the army to seven thousand men, all of English birth and race. The motion had been made by Robert Harley, who, though still young, had already been placed at the head of the opposition by his Parliamentary talents. "We could have obtained ten thousand men," the minister had said, "but his Majesty replied that such a number would amount to disbanding the army."

"I apprehend trouble." William had written to Heinsius on the 4th of September, 1698, "for I cannot suffer them to disband the greater part of the army; and the members of Parliament are imbued with such mistaken opinions that one can hardly form an idea of them."

{73}

The king's anger and indignation were extreme. His foresight as a politician, his experience as a general, his pride as a Dutchman, were equally offended. A disarmament was forced upon him in presence of the European complications which he presaged; he was being deprived of countrymen whose faith he had tested, and of the valor of heroic Huguenot refugees to whom he had given a country. He was tired of struggling against prejudices which he had succeeded sometimes in lulling to sleep, never in subduing; he was wounded in his patriotism and in the deep sense of the services he had rendered to the ungrateful nation which trampled upon his counsels and desires. He determined to lay down the burden that he had carried for so many years. A hope of rest among his devoted friends, in his native country, diminished in his eyes the charms of the great power and supreme rank which he had enjoyed. He wrote to Heinsius on the 30th of December: "I am so grieved at the conduct of the House of Commons in regard to the troops, that I cannot attend to anything else. I foresee that I shall have to come to an extreme resolution, and that I shall see you in Holland sooner than I had thought." And on the 6th of January, he wrote: "Affairs in Parliament are in a desperate state; so much so that I foresee that, in a short time, I shall be forced to a step which will create a great sensation in the world." When he was speaking thus confidentially to his most faithful friend, William III. had already written the draught of a speech which he purposed delivering before the two houses, announcing to them his intention of retiring to Holland for the future:

"My lords and gentlemen, I have come into this kingdom at the desire of this nation, to save it from ruin, to preserve your religion, your laws and liberties. To this end I have been obliged to undergo a war long and very burdensome to this kingdom, which war, by the grace of God and the valor of the nation, is now terminated by a favorable peace, in which you would be able to live in prosperity and rest if you were willing to contribute to your own safety, as I had recommended you at the opening of this session. {74} But I see, on the contrary, that you have so little regard for my advice, and take so little care of your safety, and so expose yourselves to apparent ruin, depriving yourselves of the sole and only means which could serve for your defence, that it would not be fair that I should be a witness of your destruction, not being able on my part to do aught to avoid it, being helpless to defend and protect you, which was the only desire I had in coming to this country. Accordingly I have to request you to choose and name to me such persons as you may judge capable, to whom I can leave the administration of the government in my absence, assuring you that, though I am now constrained to retire from the kingdom, I shall always retain the same desire for its honor and prosperity. That, when I may judge my presence here necessary for your defence, and may decide that I can undertake it with success, I shall then perforce return and risk my life for your safety, as I have done in the past, praying God to bless all your deliberations and to inspire you with all that is needful for the welfare and security of the kingdom."

The king communicated his design to Somers. The abdication, temporary or permanent, drew from the chancellor a cry of surprise and anger. "It is folly, sire," he said. "I entreat your Majesty, for the honor of your name, to repeat to no one what you have just said to me."

William listened patiently to the representations of his ministers, but persisted in his design. Somers soon learned that the speech was known to Marlborough, recently restored to the king's favor, thanks to the influence of a young Dutch favorite, Keppel, created Earl of Albemarle. "We shall not come to an understanding, my lord; my resolution is taken," said William of Orange. Somers rose. "Excuse me, your Majesty, if I do not consent to seal the fatal act that you meditate. I have received the seals from my king, and I beg him to take them back, while he still is my king."

{75}

The representations of Somers had had the effect of staying the first movement of the king's wrath. He reflected, and reflection triumphed, not over the discontent, but over the impetuosity of an obstinate character and over a proud soul justly irritated. The bill for the reduction of the army had been voted by the Lords with regret, and with the sole object of avoiding a conflict between the two Houses. It was presented for the royal assent. William went to Parliament on the 1st of February, 1699. "I am come to give my assent to the bill for the disbanding of the army," said he, and his aspect had never seemed calmer. "Although it seems to me very perilous, under existing circumstances, to disband so large a number of troops, and though I might find myself unfairly treated by the dismissal of the guards who accompanied me into this country, and have served me in all the actions in which I have been engaged, yet it is my fixed opinion that nothing can be so fatal to us as the disagreement or distrust that might creep in between me and my people. I should not have expected as much, after what I have undertaken, ventured, and accomplished to restore and secure your liberties to you. I have told you distinctly the only motive that decided me to accept the bill; but I think myself obliged to earn the confidence you have shown in me, and for my own justification in the future, to inform you that I regard the protection which you leave the nation as very inadequate. It is for you to weigh this question seriously, and to provide effectively for the forces requisite to the security of the country and the preservation of the peace which God has granted to us."

{76}

William made another effort, more affecting than clever, to keep his Dutch guards. "I made a last attempt," he wrote to Heinsius, "in the hope that out of deference for my person they might have consented to retain my blue companies; but this step produced an entirely contrary effect, for they resolved to present to me a very impertinent address. These regiments, then, will embark in the course of this week." And some time after he wrote to Lord Galway, formerly Marquis de Ruvigny, chief of the Protestant refugees, but henceforth without any command: "I have not written to you this winter on account of the displeasure I experienced at what passed in Parliament, and at the incertitude in which I was. It is not possible to be more poignantly touched than I am at not being able to do more for the poor refugee officers, who have served me with so much zeal and fidelity. I fear that God may punish this nation for its ingratitude."

The day was already approaching when England was to regret an inconsiderate haste. The young son of the Elector of Bavaria, lately adopted by Charles II., King of Spain, had just died suddenly at Madrid. This death revived the question of the Spanish succession, formerly settled by a treaty of division negotiated at Versailles by the Duke of Portland. Bentinck had been sent to France at the beginning of 1698: he had entered Paris on the 27th of February, in the most magnificent style. For ten years England had not been officially represented at the court of France, and William was of opinion that he ought to abandon the simplicity of his habits. "Not being conversant with ceremony, I have supplemented the deficiency by bluster, which is not without its use here," wrote Portland to his sovereign. "Is it not the master of this ambassador that we have burnt on this same bridge, not long ago?" was said in a Parisian crowd, which was looking at Portland's cortége crossing the Pont-Neuf. {77} The shrewd Dutchman, reserved and proud, had made a great success at the court of Louis XIV. "Portland appeared with a charm of person, a noble bearing, a politeness, an air of the world and the court, a gallantry and a grace which were surprising. Add to that much dignity and even hauteur, but mingled with discernment and a judgment quick, without being at all rash. The French, who take to novelty, to a warm welcome, good cheer and magnificence, were charmed with him. He attracted all, but he selected only the noble and distinguished as his companions. It became the fashion to give fêtes in his honor, and to attend his entertainments. The astonishing fact is that the king, who at heart was more offended than ever, with William of Orange, treated this ambassador with more marked distinction than he had ever shown toward any other."

In 1699 Portland was again charged to negotiate a second Treaty of Partition. He was then profoundly jealous of the favor shown by William to Keppel, and in this humor had withdrawn from the court, to the great regret of the king. "I do not wish to enter into a discussion regarding your retirement," wrote William III., "but I cannot refrain from expressing to you my grief. It is greater than you can possibly imagine. I am sure that if you felt one half of it you would soon change your resolution. May God in his mercy inspire for your own good and my tranquillity. I beg to let me see you as often as possible. That will be a great mitigation of the distress which you have caused me; for, after all that has passed, I cannot help loving you tenderly."

{78}

Patriotism and loyalty prevailed over rancor and jealousy, and the king succeeded in obtaining the services of the duke for the difficult negotiations which were about to be undertaken. "I ought to say to you that the welfare and repose of Europe depend upon your negotiations with Tallard," said the king. "You cannot be ignorant of the fact that there is no one else in England whom I can employ. Finally, it is impossible and even prejudicial to my dignity that this negotiation between Tallard and myself should be delayed. I hope that after reflecting seriously you will come here prepared to terminate, if possible, this important business."

On the 13th and 15th of May, 1700, after long hesitation and obstinate resistance on the part of the city of Amsterdam, the second Treaty of Partition was signed at London and at the Hague. Spain angrily protested against the pretensions of the powers to regulate a succession which was not yet in abeyance; she recalled her ambassador from England. The emperor expected to obtain a will in favor of the Archduke Charles, his second son. King William regarded the maintenance of the equilibrium between the two houses of France and Austria, as indispensable to the repose of Europe. "The King of England acts with good faith in everything," wrote Tallard to Louis XIV.; "his way of dealing is upright and sincere. He is proud, one could not be more so; but he is at the same time modest, although no one could be more jealous of all that pertains to his rank."

The Treaty of Partition assured to the Dauphin all the possessions of Spain in Italy, save the Milanese territory, which was to indemnify the Duke of Lorraine, whose duchy passed to France. Spain, the Indies and the Low Countries were to go to the Archduke Charles. The anger was great at Vienna when the news arrived that the Treaty had been signed. "Behold our good friends," said the Count Harrach to Villars, the French ambassador; "is that the way they distribute other people's property? England and Holland think only of their own interests. {79} What will they do with Flanders, and how will they preserve the Indies without a navy? The archduke may thank the King for Spain, but will be dependent upon England and Holland for the Indies."--"Fortunately," said Kaunitz, "there is one above who will interfere with these partitions."--"That one," replied Villars, "will approve of what is just."--"It is something new for a King of England and Holland to divide the monarchy of Spain," said the count.--"Permit me, Monsieur le Comte," replied Villars: "These two powers have recently carried on a war which has cost them much, but which has cost the emperor nothing; for in fact you have only borne the expense of the war against the Turks; you have a few troops in Italy, and in the empire there are only two regiments of hussars which are not in your service; England and Holland alone have borne all the burden."

The anger of the emperor subsided, but that of the German princes, the Elector of Bavaria at their head, was still to give much trouble to King William. On the 1st of November, 1700, it was suddenly announced, in Europe, that Charles II., delicate from his birth, and for many years on the point of death, had finally expired at Madrid, and that by a will of the 2nd of October, he had disposed of the crown in favor of the Duke of Anjou, grandson of Louis XIV.

This will was the work of the Spanish Council, at the head of which was the Cardinal of Porto-Carrero. "The National party detested the Austrians because they had been so long in Spain, and they loved the French because they were not yet there; the former had had time to weary them by their domination, while the latter had been served by their very absence." The integrity of the Spanish monarchy was the great pre-occupation of the dying king, as well as of his subjects. {80} "We will go to the Dauphin; we will go to the devil, if necessary; but we will all go together," said the Spanish politicians. Pope Innocent XII. favored France. Louis XIV. alone, appeared able to defend himself against combined Europe. On the 16th of November, 1700, he solemnly accepted the will.

The surprise of William III. was equal to his anger. "I do not doubt," wrote he to Heinsius, "that this unheard of proceeding on the part of France, causes you as much surprise as it does myself. I have never had great confidence in any engagements contracted with France, but I must confess that I never imagined that that court would break so solemn a treaty, in the face of all Europe, even before it was fulfilled. Admit that we have been duped; but when, in advance, one is resolved not to keep faith, it is not difficult to deceive the other. I shall probably be blamed for having trusted France; I, who ought to have known by the experience of the past, that no treaty is binding upon her. Please God that I may be acquitted from all blame, but I have too many reasons for fearing that the fatal consequences will soon be felt. It grieves me to the heart that almost every one rejoices that France has preferred the will to the Treaty, and also because the will is believed to be more advantageous to England and to Europe. This judgment is founded in part upon the youth of the Duke of Anjou. He is a child, it is said, and will be educated in Spain; the principles of that monarchy will be inculcated in him, and he will be governed by the Council of Spain; but these are anticipations which it is impossible to admit, and I fear that soon we will see how erroneous they are. Does it not seem that the profound indifference with which the people of this country regard all that which takes place beyond this island, may be a punishment from heaven? Nevertheless, are not our interests and our appreciations the same as those of the people of the continent?"

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The Holland merchants, as well as the English statesmen, were deceived regarding the consequences of the event which had just been accomplished. "Public credit and stocks have risen in Amsterdam," wrote Heinsius to the King of England, "and although there is no valid reason for this, yet your Majesty well knows the influence of such a fact."

In this critical situation, with Europe on the eve of a new war, of which his foresight and prudence divined the duration and violence, William III. found himself, in England, confronted by an opposition growing each day more bold, and which during two years past had systematically obstructed his government. The Whigs were yet in power, but Russell, now become Duke of Orford, had retired, offended by a parliamentary inquiry; Montague had abdicated his offices for a rich sinecure. Assured of his fall by the implacable enmity of the Tories, and by the visible decline of his influence in the houses, the eloquent and esteemed Somers, although Lord Chancellor, was fatigued and sick--worn out by the constant struggle. A grave conflict threatened the union of the two houses, as well as the good understanding of Parliament with the monarch. A commission had been appointed by the Commons, to examine into the distribution of goods confiscated after the war in Ireland. "This commission will give us trouble next winter," said the king. On opening the session of Parliament, his words were as dignified as conciliatory: "Since, then," said he, "our aims are only for the general good, let us act with confidence in one another, which will not fail, by God's blessing, to make me a happy king, and you a great and flourishing people."

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Human passions envenom the best intentions, and corrupt the most sincere souls. William was accused of feeling intense distrust of his Parliament; his most intimate counsellors were personally attacked. Burnet, the preceptor of the little Duke of Gloucester, only surviving son of the Princess Anne, was insulted, as well as Somers. When the report concerning the confiscations was finally presented in Parliament, the gifts accorded to the Dutch favorites and to the Countess of Orkney (formerly, when Elizabeth Villiers, devotedly attached to the Prince of Orange), were violently attacked. "We were sent here to fly in the king's face," said the partisans of the report. William III. was at the same time reproached for the indulgence he had shown towards the Irish. A part of the property confiscated had been restored to the despoiled families. "All has been given to Dutch favorites, to French refugees and Irish papists," it was said. Carried away by leaders as violent as imprudent, the Commons annulled all the royal grants, and joined to this arbitrary and unjust bill, a law regulating the land tax for the following year. This move compelled the House of Lords either to pass both bills or to reject both, in defiance of the financial needs of the state. "Affairs are very bad in Parliament," wrote the king to Heinsius; "I say this to you with a deep feeling of grief, and filled with apprehension that this will end badly some day. You can have no idea what these men are; it is necessary to live in the midst of them and to be acquainted with every circumstance, in order to judge of them."

The wisdom of the House of Lords, and the prudence of the king, prevailed against the violence of party struggles in the Commons. The peers passed the bill, but not without protest and attempted amendments, which, however, were rejected; the king gave it his sanction, but the same day that the lower house voted that his Majesty be supplicated not to admit foreigners into his councils, Parliament was prorogued to the second of June. {83} For the first time William did not close Parliament with an address. "Parliament was finally prorogued, yesterday," wrote he, to Holland: "I have never seen a session more vexatious. After having committed many blunders and more extravagances, they separated amidst great confusion; their intrigues are incomprehensible to any one who is not in the midst of them; a description of them is quite impossible." The king had likewise wisely demanded the seals of Lord Somers. The Tories were triumphant, but they failed to seriously disturb the equilibrium of the Constitution; they had struck a blow against justice, as well as against the royal prerogatives, and the privileges of the House of Lords. "They have entered a dangerous path," says Mr. Hallam; "they will be arrested by that force which has always maintained among us the equilibrium of the powers, the reflective opinion of a free people opposed to flagrant innovations, and soon shocked by the violence of party passions."

The death of the little Duke of Gloucester, on the 30th of July, 1700, threw an additional obstacle in the path of King William. His health was much broken, and for some time past public opinion in Europe had been seriously concerned regarding him, even questioning his survival of the King of Spain. The hopes of the Jacobites began to revive. The question was raised regarding the advisability of bringing the Prince of Wales to England, in order to educate him there in the Protestant religion; this sentiment also weighed upon Parliament, when, at the opening of the session of 1701, the Houses declared that in order to maintain the inheritance of the crown of England in a Protestant family, the throne should descend, in default of issue of William or the Princess Anne, to the Princess Sophia, Electress of Hanover, granddaughter of King James I., and her Protestant descendants. {84} The great principle of hereditary monarchy was thus protected, but it was subordinated to the superior principle of religious faith; a bond of union necessary between the prince and his people, and the lack of which rendered the succession of the last heir of the Stuarts impossible. In the midst of the stormy session of 1701, while the dissatisfaction of Parliament with the Treaty of Partition was still intense, and while the trials of Portland, Orford, Somers, and Halifax (formerly Edward Montague), were in progress. King William had the consolation of seeing assured for the future those liberties and that religion which he had defended at the price of so many efforts, often so poorly recompensed. The upper house boldly declared the innocence of the accused nobles William had retained upon the list of Privy Councillors. He was wearied of party strife, exposed as he was to the anger and the attacks of all factions. "All the difference between them," said he, "is, that the Tories will cut my throat in the morning, while the Whigs will wait until afternoon."

The national sentiment of England, and the fears excited by the attitude of France, gained for him the strength and the popularity which the political complications and the unjust violence of parties had deprived him of.

Louis XIV. took possession in the name of his grandson of the seven barrier cities of the Spanish Netherlands, that the Holland troops had occupied in virtue of the peace of Ryswick. "The instructions that the Elector of Bavaria, governor of the Low Countries, had given to the different commandants of the places, were so well executed," says M. de Vault, in his report of the campaign of Flanders, "that we entered without opposition." {85} The Dutch troops hastened to depart for their own country, and official relations between the States-General and France were broken off at once. King William realized the full importance of this first blow. "For twenty-eight years I have worked without relaxation, sparing neither trouble nor perils, in order to preserve this barrier to the republic," wrote he to Heinsius, on the 8th of February, 1701, "and behold all is lost in a single day, and without striking even a blow." And on the 31st of May: "I see that it is necessary to devote my entire attention to the war; and although, in the eyes of the entire world, I seem to desire war, yet there is no one perhaps who is more anxious to avoid it; but to live without security, and to only exist by the mercy of France, is the worst evil that could befall us."

The States-General made an appeal to England, and public opinion communicating its impulse to Parliament, induced the houses to vote considerable subsidies, increasing the naval forces to thirty thousand men, and deciding that ten thousand auxiliary troops should be sent to Holland immediately. William entrusted the command to the Duke of Marlborough, and he himself went to the continent in the beginning of July. The Count of Avaux was recalled from the Hague. "We flattered ourselves," said William III., "that we should see our States flourishing under the shadow of a long peace, but the affairs of Europe have changed their aspect. All nations bordering upon France are menaced: our repose then would be, at the least, as fatal to our kingdoms as to our allies."

On the 7th of September, 1701, the Grand Alliance between England, the States-General, and the Empire, as signed, for the second time, at the Hague. The powers engaged not to lay down their arms until they had reduced the possessions of King Philip V. to Spain and the Indies, re-established the barrier of Holland, assured an indemnity to Austria, and accomplished the definitive separation of the two crowns of France and Spain.

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Prince Eugene of Savoy--Carignan, son of the Count of Soissons and of Olympia Mancini, began hostilities in Italy at the head of Austrian troops. Catinat met with grave reverses; Marshal Villeroi was placed in command of the armies of Louis XIV. The Duke of Savoy bore the title of his Generalissimo. In less than one year, he in his turn joined the grand alliance, notwithstanding the union of his daughters with the Duke of Bourgoyne and the King of Spain. For the second time William aroused all Europe against the inordinate ambition of France.

Negotiations were nevertheless being carried on, and the armies which were silently forming yet awaited the results of diplomatic efforts. King Louis XIV. destroyed with his own hands the last hopes of peace. On Good Friday (1701), James II., the deposed King of England, suffered an attack of paralysis; the waters of Bourbon, for a time, revived him. On the 13th of September, 1701, he was attacked for the second time, and immediately demanded the sacraments. Notwithstanding the irregularities of his private life, he was sincerely and piously attached to the faith which had cost him so dear. He exhorted the courtiers who surrounded his dying bed, and he begged Lord Middleton, the only Protestant who had remained faithful to him, to become a convert to the Catholic faith. He bade his son farewell. "I am about to leave this world, which has been for me a sea of tempests and storms," said he; "the Almighty has judged well in visiting me with great afflictions. Serve him with your whole heart, and never put the crown of England in the balance with your eternal salvation." Amidst the errors and criminal faults of his life, the only redeeming trait of his character was that he himself practised, during his life, the principles which he bequeathed his son. Philip II. once said: "I would sacrifice all my kingdoms to the defence of the Catholic faith": James II., more feeble and less shrewd, had risked and lost all in the struggle with a free people and an established religion.

[Image] Visit Of Louis XIV. To The Death-bed Of James II.

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James II. was dying at Saint Germain. Louis XIV. visited him twice, surrounding him, even to the last moment, with the most delicate attentions. On the 20th of September, the king, accompanied by a splendid retinue, entered the chamber of the invalid. James opened his eyes, and immediately closed them again. "Let no one withdraw," said the monarch. "I have something to say to your Majesty. Whenever it shall please God to take you from us, I will be to your son what I have been to you; and will acknowledge him as King of England, Scotland and Ireland."

The English exiles, who were standing around the couch, fell on their knees. Some burst into tears, some poured forth praises and blessings. "That evening, at Marley, there was only applause and praise," says St. Simon: "the act was applauded, but the reflections of some were not less prompt, although less public. The king still flattered himself that he could prevent Holland and England, upon whom the former was so absolutely dependent, from breaking with him in favor of the House of Austria. He counted upon an early termination of the Italian war, as well as the settlement of the Spanish succession, which the Emperor was unable to dispute with his own forces, or even with those of the empire. Nothing then could be more contradictory to this position, and to the recognition, which he had solemnly declared at the peace of Ryswick, of the Prince of Orange as King of England. It was to wound the Prince of Orange in the tenderest point; and all England as well as Holland with him, without this recognition being of any solid advantage to the Prince of Wales."

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William III. was at table in his chateau at Dieren, in Holland, when he learned the news. Always master of himself, he said not a word, but his pale cheek flushed, and he pulled his hat over his eyes to conceal his countenance. Accurately informed of the state of affairs in France, and of the most secret intrigues of that court, he had foreseen the resolution of Louis XIV. Some days before he wrote to Heinsius on the subject of a projected mission to Versailles: "I find myself greatly inconvenienced since the news has arrived from France, that it is resolved, in case King James dies, to recognize his pretended son as King of England. This obliges me to cut short all correspondence with France, and even to come to extremities with her." Lord Manchester, the ambassador of William III. in France, immediately received orders to depart without taking leave. In vain M. de Torcy, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, strongly opposed to the position Louis XIV. had assumed, attempted to offer some explanations. He received from the ambassador the following note:

"Monsieur: The king my master being informed that his most Christian Majesty has recognized another king of Great Britain, does not believe that his glory and service permit him to retain any longer an ambassador near the king your master; and he has sent me orders to retire immediately, of which I have the honor of informing you by this note."

Some days later the States-General sent the same order to their envoy M. de Heemskirk.

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All England was roused; the Whigs and the Tories shared the same feeling of anger. "All the English," says Torcy, in his Memoirs, "unanimously regard it as a mortal offence, that France has pretended to arrogate to herself the right of giving them a king, to the prejudice of him whom they have themselves called and recognized these many years." When William arrived in England, on the 4th of November, 1701, addresses poured in from all parts of the country; he was too feeble to endure the fatigues of a reception, and in consequence went direct to Hampton Court, without stopping at London. Henceforth, well assured of the great change that had taken place in public opinion, he published, on the 11th of November, the order for the dissolution of Parliament "I pray God that he may bless the resolution which your Majesty has taken of convoking a new Parliament," wrote Heinsius, on the 15th.

When the houses re-assembled, on the 30th of December, 1701, the Tories had lost much ground in the Commons; they succeeded, however, in electing Robert Harley as speaker. On the 2nd of January, 1702, the king himself opened the session. The change in his appearance was very decided; he coughed much: "I have not a year to live," he said to Portland. The vigor of his mind and of his soul, however, triumphed over his physical weaknesses. In his last great speech from the throne, he said that he was assured that they had assembled there, full of that just sentiment of the danger which threatened Europe, and of that resentment towards the King of France for the step that he had taken, which had been so generally manifested by the loyal addresses of the people. The recognition of the pretended Prince of Wales as King of England was not only the highest indignity that could be offered himself and the nation; but it so nearly concerned every man who had a regard for the Protestant religion, or the present and future quiet and happiness of his country, that he earnestly exhorted them to lay it seriously to heart, and to determine what effectual means might be employed to assure the Protestant succession, and to put an end to the hopes of all pretenders, as well as their secret and declared adherents. {90} The king then announced that he had concluded several alliances, to protect the independence of Europe, the conditions of which had been communicated to them. "It is fit I should tell you," continued he, "that the eyes of all Europe are upon this Parliament; all matters are at a stand till your resolutions are known, and therefore no time ought to be lost. You have yet an opportunity, by God's blessing, to secure to you and your posterity the quiet enjoyment of your religion and liberties, if you are not wanting to yourselves, but will exert the ancient vigor of the English nation; but I tell you, plainly, my opinion is, if you do not lay hold on this occasion, you have no reason to hope for another." He called upon them to provide a great strength upon land and sea, that they lend to the allies all the assistance in their power, and show towards the enemies of England and the adversaries of her religion, her liberty, her government, and the king that she had chosen, all the hatred that they merited.

This speech, principally the work of Somers, more eloquent and more impassioned than were ordinarily the simple and grave words of King William, deeply aroused national sympathy. The addresses of the two houses no longer reflected the clouds which had so recently darkened the political horizon. The subsidies and army levies voted were equal to the public needs. "The courier this evening will inform you of the good resolutions which were taken yesterday and the day before in the two houses," wrote the king to Heinsius; "one could not desire a more satisfactory result. May the Almighty vouchsafe his blessing to all that follows."

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The death of William was sudden and premature. William of Orange was fifty-one years of age: for thirty years he had borne upon his shoulders the weight of the destinies of his native country, and for nearly twenty years he had been the only man in Europe, who had resisted, obstinately and with success, the encroachments of France. The supreme moment of the great struggle had arrived; the fruits of so many efforts and of so much perseverance, fell from the courageous hands which had so long labored for them. When the King of England felt himself dying, he, disguised as a priest, had consulted Fagon. When that celebrated physician of Louis XIV. bluntly replied to him, that the curé had better prepare for death, William threw aside his disguise; and the advice that Fagon then gave him, it is said, prolonged his life. An accident hastened the progress of his malady. On the 20th of February, 1702, William was riding in the park of Hampden Court, when his favorite horse Sorrel stumbled and fell. The king was thrown, and broke his collar-bone. He was carried to the palace; and now fully realized that his time was short. He sent to Parliament a message recommending the union of England and Scotland. He had thought much of it, he said, and he believed this measure necessary for the happiness and security of the two kingdoms, for the European equilibrium, and for the liberty of all Protestant states.

The houses received with uncovered heads the last act which William signed with his own hand. Many laws awaited his approval, and it became necessary to engrave a stamp to imitate the royal signature. After some days of convalescence, fatal symptoms appeared; the king recognized them, and was not deceived for a single instant. He had said before to Bentinck: "You know that I never feared death: there have been times when I should have wished it: but, now that this great new prospect is opening before me, I do wish to stay here a little longer." {92} This indomitable soul had always known how to submit to the hand of God, and he accepted His will without a murmur. "I know that you have done all that skill and learning could do for me," said he to his physicians; "but the case is beyond your art, and I submit."

He had sent his favorite, Albemarle, to Holland, charged to arrange with Heinsius regarding the preparations for the war; and as though by a prophetic instinct, he had sent by his messenger a last token of affection to the friend and faithful servant who had so ably seconded him in his policy. "I am infinitely concerned to learn that your health is not yet quite re-established," wrote he to Heinsius; "May God be pleased to grant you a speedy recovery. I am unalterably your good friend, William."

Albemarle returned, bringing from Heinsius the most satisfactory assurances. When he appeared before his master, who had ordered him to take some repose after his long and rapid journey, the king calmly said to him: "I am fast drawing to my end." He received the exhortations and consolations of the Bishops; Tennison and Burnet did not leave his pillow; he affirmed his constant faith in the Christian truths, and demanded the Communion. After the ceremony was finished, the dying man could scarcely speak a word. The Duke of Portland, twice summoned by letters which he had never received, finally entered the chamber. William took the hand of his friend and pressed it to his heart. An instant before he had said to his physicians, with a shadow of impatience: "Can this last long?" They shook their heads. He closed his eyes and gasped for breath. On the 16th of March, 1702, between the hours of seven and eight in the morning, William of Orange yielded his soul to God.

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When his remains were laid out, it was found that he wore next to his heart a lock of Queen Mary's hair, and the wedding ring which he had taken from her dying hand.

Europe lost her great leader, and England her great king. The supreme impulse had nevertheless been given in Europe as well as in England; the alliance against Louis XIV. was formed, and became each day stronger and more united. Amidst the bitterness of parliamentary struggles, and notwithstanding the culpable violence of parties, the parliamentary régime, political liberty, and the Protestant religion, were henceforth secured to England.

William of Orange might rest--his work was accomplished.