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?"
{81}
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."
{82}
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.
{86}
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.
{87}
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."
{88}
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.
{89}
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."
{91}
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.
{93}
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.