CHAPTER XLV.----LOUIS XIV., HIS WARS AND HIS REVERSES. (1697-1713.)

France was breathing again after nine years of a desperate war, but she

was breathing uneasily, and as it were in expectation of fresh efforts.

Everywhere the memorials of the superintendents repeated the same

complaints. “War, the mortality of 1693, the, constant quarterings and

movements of soldiery, military service, the heavy dues, and the

withdrawal of the Huguenots have ruined the country.” “The people,” said

the superintendent of Rouen, “are reduced to a state of want which moves

compassion. Out of seven hundred and fifty thousand souls of which the

public is composed, if this number remain, it may be taken for certain

that there are not fifty thousand who have bread to eat when they want

it, and anything to lie upon but straw.” Agriculture suffered for lack

of money and hands; commerce was ruined; the manufactures established by

Colbert no longer existed; the population had diminished more than a

quarter since the palmy days of the king’s reign; Pontchartrain,

secretary of finance, was reduced to all sorts of expedients for raising

money; he was anxious to rid himself of this heavy burden, and became

chancellor in 1699; the king took for his substitute Chamillard, already

comptroller of finance, honest and hard-working, incapable and docile;

Louis XIV. counted upon the inexhaustible resources of France, and closed

his ears to the grievances of the financiers. “What is not spoken of is

supposed to be put an end to,” said Madame de Maintenon. The camp at

Compiegne, in 1698, surpassed in splendor all that had till then been

seen; the enemies of Louis XIV. in Europe called him “the king of

reviews.”

Meanwhile the King of Spain, Charles II., dying as he was, was regularly

besieged at Madrid by the queen, his second wife, Mary Anne of Neuburg,

sister of the empress, as well as by his minister, Cardinal

Porto-Carrero. The competitors for the succession were numerous; the

King of France and the emperor claimed their rights in the name of their

mothers and wives, daughters of Philip III. and Philip IV.; the Elector

of Bavaria put up the claims of his son by right of his mother, Mary

Antoinette of Austria, daughter of the emperor; for a short time Charles

II. had adopted this young prince; the child died suddenly at Madrid in

1699. For a long time past King Louis XIV. had been secretly

negotiating for the partition of the King of Spain’s dominions, not--with

the emperor, who still hoped to obtain from Charles II. a will in favor

of his second son, the Archduke Charles, but with England and Holland,

deeply interested as they were in maintaining the equilibrium between the

two kingly houses which divided Europe. William III. considered himself

certain to obtain the acceptance by the emperor of the conditions

subscribed by his allies. On the 13th and 15th of May, 1700, after long

hesitation and a stubborn resistance on the part of the city of

Amsterdam, the treaty of partition was signed in London and at the Hague.

“King William is honorable in all this business,” said a letter to the

king from his ambassador, Count de Tallard; “his conduct is sincere; he

is proud--none can be more so than he; but he has a modest manner, though

none can be more jealous in all that concerns his rank.”

The treaty of partition secured to the dauphin all the possessions of

Spain in Italy, save Milaness, which was to indemnify the Duke of

Lorraine, whose duchy passed to France; Spain, the Indies, and the Low

Countries were to belong to Archduke Charles. Great was the wrath at

Vienna when it was known that the treaty was signed. “Happily,” said the

minister, Von Kaunitz, to the Marquis of Villars, ambassador of France,

“there is One on high who will work for us in these partitions.” “That

One,” replied M. de Villars, “will approve of their justice.” “It is

something new, however, for the King of England and for Holland to

partition the monarchy of Spain,” continued the count. “Allow me,”

replied M. de Villars, “to excuse them in your eyes; those two powers

have quite recently come out of a war which cost them a great deal, and

the emperor nothing; for, in fact, you have been at no expense but

against the Turks. You had some troops in Italy, and in the empire two

regiments only of hussars which were not on its pay-list; England and

Holland alone bore all the burden.” William III. was still negotiating

with the emperor and the German princes to make them accept the treaty of

partition, when it all at once became known in Europe that Charles II.

had breathed his last at Madrid on the 1st of November, 1700, and that,

by a will dated October 2, he disposed of the Spanish monarchy in favor

of the Duke of Anjou, grandson of Louis XIV.

This will was the work of the council of Spain, at the head of which sat

Cardinal Porto-Carrero. “The national party,” says M. Mignet in his

“Introduction aux Documents relatifs de la Succession d’Espagne,_

“detested the Austrians because they had been so long in Spain; it liked

the French because they were no longer there. The former had been there

time enough to weary by their dominion, whilst the latter were served by

the mere fact of their removal.” Singlehanded, Louis XIV. appeared

powerful enough to maintain the integrity of the Spanish monarchy before

the face and in the teeth of all the competitors. “The King of Spain was

beginning to see the, things of this world by the light alone of that

awful torch which is lighted to lighten the dying.” [_Memoires de St.

Simon,_ t. iii. p. 16]; wavering, irresolute, distracted within himself,

he asked the advice of Pope Innocent XII., who was favorable to France.

The hopes of Louis XIV. had not soared so high; on the 9th of November,

1700, he heard at one and the same time of Charles II.’s death and the

contents of his will.

It was a solemn situation. The acceptance by France of the King of

Spain’s will meant war; the refusal did not make peace certain; in

default of a French prince the crown was to go to Archduke Charles;

neither Spain nor Austria would hear of dismemberment; could they be

forced to accept the treaty of partition which they had hitherto rejected

angrily? The king’s council was divided; Louis XIV. listened in silence

to the arguments of the dauphin and of the ministers; for a moment the

resolution was taken of holding by the treaty of partition; next day the

king again assembled his council without as yet making known his

decision; on Tuesday, November 16, the whole court thronged into the

galleries of Versailles; it was known that several couriers had arrived

from Madrid; the king sent for the Spanish ambassador into his closet.

“The Duke of Anjou had repaired thither by the back way,” says the Duke

of St. Simon in his Memoires; the king, introducing him to him, told him

he might salute him as his king. The instant afterwards the king,

contrary to all custom, had the folding-doors thrown open, and ordered

everybody who was there--and there was a crowd--to come in; then, casting

his eyes majestically over the numerous company, “Gentlemen,” he said,

introducing the Duke of Anjou, “here is the King of Spain. His birth

called him to that crown; the last king gave it him by his will; the

grandees desired him, and have demanded him of me urgently; it is the

will of Heaven, and I have yielded with pleasure.” And, turning to his

grandson, “Be a good Spaniard,” he said; “that is from this moment your

first duty; but remember that you are French born in order to keep up the

union between the two nations; that is the way to render them happy and

to preserve the peace of Europe.” Three weeks later the young king was

on the road to Spain. There are no longer any Pyrenees,” said Louis

XIV., as he embraced his grandson. The rights of Philip V. to the crown

of France had been carefully reserved by a formal act of the king’s.

[Illustration: “Here is the King of Spain.”----475]

Great were the surprise and wrath in Europe; William III. felt himself

personally affronted. “I have no doubt,” he wrote to Heinsius, “that

this unheard-of proceeding on the part of France has caused you as much

surprise as it has me; I never had much confidence in engagements

contracted with France, but I confess I never could have supposed that

that court would have gone so far as to break, in the face of Europe,

so solemn a treaty before it had even received the finishing stroke.

Granted that we have been dupes; but when, beforehand, you are resolved

to hold your word of no account, it is not very difficult to overreach

your mail. I shall be blamed perhaps for having relied upon France, I

who ought to have known by the experience of the past that no treaty has

ever bound her! Would to God I might be quit for the blame, but I have

only too many grounds for fearing that the fatal consequences of it will

make themselves felt shortly. I groan in the very depths of my spirit to

see that in this country the majority rejoice to find the will preferred

by France to the maintenance of the treaty of partition, and that too on

the ground that the will is more advantageous for England and Europe.

This opinion is founded partly on the youth of the Duke of Anjou. ‘He is

a child,’ they say; ‘he will be brought up in Spain; he will be

indoctrinated with the principles of that monarchy, and hee will be

governed by the council of Spain;’ but these are surmises which it is

impossible for me to entertain, and I fear that we shall before long find

out how erroneous they are. Would it not seem as if this profound

indifference with which, in this country, they look upon everything that

takes place outside of this island, were a punishment from Heaven?

Meanwhile, are not our causes for apprehension and our interests the same

as those of the peoples of the continent?”

William III. was a more far-sighted politician than his subjects either

in England or Holland. The States General took the same view as the

English. “Public funds and shares have undergone a rise at Amsterdam,”

wrote Heinsius to the King of Englaiid; “and although this rests on

nothing solid, your Majesty is aware how much influence such a fact has.”

Louis XIV. had lost no time in explaining to the powers the grounds of

his acceptance. “The King of Spain’s will,” he said in his manifesto,

“establishes the peace of Europe on solid bases.” “Tallard did not utter

a single word on handing me his sovereign’s letter, the contents of which

are the same as of that which the states have received,” wrote William to

Heinsius. “I said to him that perhaps I had testified too eager a desire

for the preservation of peace, but that, nevertheless, my inclination in

that respect had not changed. Whereupon he replied, ‘The king my master,

by accepting the will, considers that he gives a similar proof of his

desire to maintain peace.’ Thereupon he made me a bow and withdrew.”

William of Orange had not deceived himself in thinking that Louis XIV.

would govern Spain in his grandson’s name. Nowhere are the old king’s

experience and judgment more strikingly displayed than in his letters to

Philip V. “I very much wish,” he wrote to him, “that you were as sure of

your own subjects as you ought to be of mine in the posts in which they

may be employed; but do not be astounded at the disorder you find amongst

your troops, and at the little confidence you are able to place in them;

it needs a long reign and great pains to restore order and secure the

fidelity of different peoples accustomed to obey a house hostile to

yours. If you thought it would be very easy and very pleasant to be a

king, you were very much mistaken.” A sad confession for that powerful

monarch, who in his youth found “the vocation of king beautiful, noble,

and delightful.”

“The eighteenth century opened with a fulness of glory and unheard-of

prosperity; “but Louis XIV. did not suffer himself to be lulled to sleep

by the apparent indifference with which Europe, the empire excepted,

received the elevation of Philip V. to the throne of Spain. On the 6th

of February, 1701, the seven barrier towns of the Spanish Low Countries,

which were occupied by Dutch garrisons in virtue of the peace of Ryswick,

opened their gates to the French on an order from the King of Spain.

“The instructions which the Elector of Bavaria, governor of the Low

Countries, had given to the various governors of the places, were so well

executed,” says M. de Vault in his account of the campaign in Flanders,

“that we entered without any hinderance. Some of the officers of the

Dutch troops grumbled, and would have complained, but the French general

officers who had led the troops pacified them, declaring that they did

not come as enemies, and that all they wanted was to live in good

understanding with them.”

The twenty-two Dutch battalions took the road back before long to their

own country, and became the nucleus of the army which William of Orange

was quietly getting ready in Holland as well as in England; his peoples

were beginning to open their eyes; the States General, deprived of the

barrier towns, had opened the dikes; the meadows were flooded. On the

7th of September, 1701, England and Holland signed for the second time

with the emperor a Grand Alliance, engaging not to lay down arms until

they had reduced the possessions of King Philip V. to Spain and the

Indies, restored the barrier of Holland, and secured an indemnity to

Austria, and the definitive severance of the two crowns of France and

Spain. In the month of June the Austrian army had entered Italy under

the orders of Prince Eugene of Savoy-Carignano, son of the Count of

Soissons and Olympia Mancini, conqueror of the Turks and revolted

Hungarians, and passionately hostile to Louis XIV., who, in his youth,

had refused to employ him. He had already crossed the Adige and the

Mincio, driving the French back behind the Oglio. Marshal Catinat, a man

of prudence and far-sightedness, but discouraged by the bad condition of

his troops, coldly looked upon at court, and disquieted by the aspect of

things in Italy, was acting supinely; the king sent Marshal Villeroi to

supersede him; Catinat, as modest as he was warmly devoted to the glory

of his country, finished the campaign as a simple volunteer.

The King of France and the emperor were looking up allies. The princes

of the north were absorbed by the war which was being waged against his

neighbors of Russia and Poland by the young King of Sweden, Charles XII.,

a hero of eighteen, as irresistible as Gustavus Adolphus in his impetuous

bravery, without possessing the rare qualities of authority and judgment

which had distinguished the Lion of the North. He joined the Grand

Alliance, as did Denmark and Poland, whose new king, the Elector of

Saxony, had been supported by the emperor in his candidature and in his

abjuration of Protestantism. The Elector of Brandenburg, recently

recognized as King of Prussia under the name of Frederic I., and the new

Elector of Hanover were eager to serve Leopold, who had aided them in

their elevation. In Germany, only Maximilian, Elector of Bavaria,

governor of the Low Countries, and his brother, the Elector of Cologne,

embraced the side of France. The Duke of Savoy, generalissimo of the

king’s forces in Italy, had taken the command of the army. “But in that

country,” wrote the Count of Tesse, “there is no reliance to be placed on

places, or troops, or officers, or people. I have had another interview

with this incomprehensible prince, who received me with every

manifestation of kindness, of outward sincerity, and, if he were capable

of it, I would say of friendship for him of whom his Majesty made use but

lately in the work of peace in Italy. ‘The king is master of my person,

of my dominions,’ he said to me, ‘he has only to give his commands; but I

suppose that he still desires my welfare and my aggrandizement.’ ‘As for

your aggrandizement, Monseigneur,’ said I, ‘in truth I do not see much

material for it just at present; as for your welfare, we must be allowed

to see your intentions a little more clearly first, and take the liberty

of repeating to you that my prescience does not extend so far. I do him

the justice to believe that he really feels the greater part of all that

he expresses for your Majesty; but that horrid habit of indecision and

putting off till to-morrow what he might do to-day is not eradicated, and

never will be.’”

The Duke of Savoy was not so undecided as M. de Tess supposed; he managed

to turn to good account the mystery which hung habitually over all his

resolutions. A year had not rolled by, and he was openly engaged in the

Grand Alliance, pursuing, against France, the cause of that

aggrandizement which he had but lately hoped to obtain from her, and

which, by the treaty of Utrecht, was worth the title of king to him.

Pending the time to declare himself he had married his second daughter,

Princess Marie Louise Gabrielle, to the young King of Spain, Philip V.

“Never had the tranquillity of Europe been so unstable as it was at the

commencement of 1702,” says the correspondence of Chamillard, published

by General Pelet; “it was but a phantom of peace that was enjoyed, and it

was clear, from whatever side matters were regarded, that we were on the

eve of a war which could not but be of long duration, unless, by some

unforeseen accident, the houses of Bourbon and Austria should come to an

arrangement which would allow them to set themselves in accord touching

the Spanish succession; but there was no appearance of conciliation.”

Louis XIV. had just done a deed which destroyed the last faint hopes of

peace. King James II. was dying at St. Germain, and the king went to see

him. The sick man opened his eyes for a moment when he was told that the

king was there [_Memoires de Dangeau,_ t. viii. p. 192], and closed them

again immediately. The king told him that he had come to assure him that

he might die in peace as regarded the Prince of Wales, and that he would

recognize him as King of England, Ireland, and Scotland. All the English

who were in the room fell upon their knees, and cried, “God save the

king!” James II. expired a week later, on the 16th of September, 1701,

saying to his son, as his last advice, “I am about to leave this world,

which has been to me nothing but a sea of tempests and storms. The

Omnipotent has thought right to visit me with great afflictions; serve

Him with all your heart, and never place the crown of England in the

balance with your eternal salvation.” James II. was justified in giving

his son this supreme advice the solitary ray of greatness in his life and

in his soul had proceeded from his religious faith, and his unwavering

resolution to remain loyal to it at any price and at any risk.

“On returning to Marly,” says St. Simon, “the king told the whole court

what he had just done. There was nothing but acclamations and praises.

It was a fine field for them: but reflections, too, were not less prompt,

if they were less public. The king still flattered himself that he would

hinder Holland and England, the former of which was so completely

dependent, from breaking with him in favor of the house of Austria; he

relied upon that to terminate before long the war in Italy, as well as

the whole affair of the succession in Spain and its vast dependencies,

which the emperor could not dispute with his own forces only, or even

with those of the empire. Nothing, therefore, could be more incompatible

with this position, and with the solemn recognition he had given, at the

peace of Ryswick, of the Prince of Orange as King of England. It was to

hurt him personally in the most sensitive spot, all England with him and

Holland into the bargain, without giving the Prince of Wales, by

recognition, any solid support in his own case.”

[Illustration: News for William III.----481]

William III. was at table in his castle of Dieren, in Holland, when he

received this news. He did not utter a word, but he colored, crushed his

hat over his head, and could not command his countenance. The Earl of

Manchester, English ambassador, left Paris without taking leave of the

king, otherwise than by this note to M. de Torcy:--

“Sir: The king my master, being informed that his Most Christian.

Majesty has recognized another King of Great Britain, does not consider

that his dignity and his service will permit him to any longer keep an

ambassador at the court of the king your master, and he has sent me

orders to withdraw at once, of which I do myself the honor to advertise

you by this note.”

“All the English,” says Torcy, in his Memoires, “unanimously regard it

as a mortal affront on the part of France, that she should pretend to

arrogate to herself the right of giving them a king, to the prejudice of

him whom they had themselves invited and recognized for many years past.”

Voltaire declares, in the “Siecle de Louis XIV.,_ that M. de Torcy

attributed the recognition of the Prince of Wales by Louis XIV. to the

influence of Madame de Maintenon, who was touched by the tears of the

queen, Mary of Modena. “He had not,” he said, “inserted the fact in his

Memoires, because he did not think it to his master’s honor that two

women should have made him change a resolution to the contrary taken in

his council.” Perhaps the deplorable state of William III.’s health, and

the inclination supposed to be felt by Princess Anne of Denmark to

restore the Stuarts to the throne, since she herself had lost the Duke of

Gloucester, the last survivor of her seventeen children, might have

influenced the unfortunate resolution of Louis XIV. His kingly

magnanimity and illusions might have bound him to support James II.,

dethroned and fugitive; but no obligation of that sort existed in the

case of a prince who had left England at his nurse’s, breast, and who had

grown up in exile. In the _Athalie_ of Racine, Joad (Jehoiada) invokes

upon the impious queen:

“That spirit of infatuation and error

The fatal avant-courier of the fall of kings.”

The recognition of the Prince of Wales as King of England was, in the

case of Louis XIV., the most indisputable token of that fatal blindness.

William III. had paid dear for the honor of being called to the throne

of England. More than once he had been on the point of abandonhig the

ungrateful nation which so ill requited his great services; he had

thought of returning to live in the midst of his Hollanders,

affectionately attached to his family as well as to his person. The

insult of the King of France restored to his already dying adversary all

the popularity he had lost. When William returned from Holland to open a

new Parliament, on the 10th of January, 1702, manifestations of sympathy

were lavished upon him on all sides of the house. “I have no doubt,”

said he, “that the late proceedings of his Most Christian Majesty and the

dangers which threaten all the powers of Europe have excited your most

lively resentment. All the world have their eyes fixed upon England;

there is still time, she may save her religion and her liberty, but let

her profit by every moment, let her arm by land and sea, let her lend her

allies all the assistance in her power, and swear to show her enemies,

the foes of her religion, her liberty, her government, and the king of

her choice, all the hatred they deserve.”

This speech, more impassioned than the utterances of William III.

generally were, met with an eager echo from his people; the houses voted

a levy of forty thousand sailors and fifty thousand soldiers; Holland had

promised ninety thousand men; but the health of the King of England went

on declining; he had fallen from his horse on the 4th of March, and

broken his collarbone; this accident hastened the progress of the malady

which was pulling him down; when his friend Keppel, whom he had made Earl

of Albemarle, returned, on the 18th of March, from Holland, William

received him with these words: “I am drawing towards my end.”

He had received the consolations of religion from the bishops, and had

communicated with great self-possession; he scarcely spoke now, and

breathed with difficulty. “Can this last long?” he asked the physician,

who made a sign in the negative. He had sent for the Earl of Portland,

Bentinek, his oldest and most faithful friend; when he arrived, the king

took his hand and held it between both his own, upon his heart. Thus he

remained for a few moments; then he yielded up his great spirit to God,

on the 19th (8th) of March, 1702, at eight in the morning. He was not

yet fifty-two.

In a greater degree perhaps than any other period, the eighteenth century

was rich in men of the first order. But never did more of the spirit of

policy, never did loftier and broader views, never did steadier courage

animate and sustain a weaker body than in the case of William of Orange.

Savior of Holland at the age of twenty-two in the war against Louis XIV.,

protector of the liberties of England against the tyranny of James II.,

defender of the independence of the European states against the unbridled

ambition of the King of France, he became the head of Europe by the

proper and free ascendency of his genius; cold and reserved, more capable

of feeling than of testifying sympathy, often ill, always unfortunate in

war, he managed to make his will triumph, in England despite Jacobite

plots and the jealous suspicions of the English Parliaments, in Holland

despite the constant efforts of the republican and aristocratic party,

in Europe despite envy and the waverings of the allied sovereigns.

Intrepid, spite of his bad health, to the extent of being ready, if need

were, to die in the last ditch, of indomitable obstinacy in his

resolutions, and of rare ability in the manipulation of affairs, he was

one of those who are born masters of men, no matter what may at the

outset be their condition and their destiny. In vain had Cromwell

required of Holland the abolition of the stadtholderate in the house of

Nassau, in vain had John van Witt obtained the voting of the perpetual

edict, William of Orange lived and died stadtholder of Holland and king

of that England which had wanted to close against him forever the

approaches to the throne in his own native countiy. When God has created

a man to play a part and hold a place in this world, all efforts and all

counsels to the contrary are but so many stalks of straw under his feet.

William of Orange at his death had accomplished his work: Europe had

risen against Louis XIV.

The campaigns of 1702 and 1703 presented an alternation of successes and

reverses favorable, on the whole, to France. Marshal Villeroi had failed

in Italy against Prince Eugene. He was superseded by the Duke of

Vendome, grandson of Henry IV. and captor of Barcelona, indolent,

debauched, free in tone and in conduct, but able, bold, beloved by the

soldiers, and strongly supported at court. Catinat had returned to

France, and went to Versailles at the commencement of the year 1702.

“M. de Chamillard had told him the day before, from the king, that his

Majesty had resolved to give him the command of the army in Germany; he

excused himself for some time from accepting this employment; the king

ended by saying, ‘Now we are in a position for you to explain to me, and

open your heart about all that took place in Italy during the last

campaign.’ The marshal answered, ‘Sir, those things are all past; the

details I could give you thereof would be of no good to the service of

your Majesty, and would serve merely, perhaps, to keep up eternal

heart-burnings; and so I entreat you to be pleased to let me preserve a

profound silence as to all that. I will only justify myself, sir, by

thinking how I may serve you still better, if I can, in Germany than I

did in Italy.’” Worn out and disgusted, Catinat failed in Germany as he

had in Italy; he took his retirement, and never left his castle of St.

Gratien any more: it was the Marquis of Villars, lately ambassador at

Vienna, who defeated the imperialists at Friedlingen, on the 14th of

August, 1702; a month later Tallard retook the town of Landau. The

perfidious manoeuvres of the Duke of Savoy had just come to light. The

king ordered Vendome to disarm the five thousand Piedmontese who were

serving in his army. That operation effected, the prince sent Victor-

Amadeo this note, written by Louis XIV.’s own hand:--

“Sir: As religion, honor, and your own signature count for nothing

between us, I send my cousin, the Duke of Vendome, to, explain to you my

wishes. He will give you twenty-four hours to decide.”

The mind of the Duke of Savoy was made up, from this day forth the father

of the Duchess of Burgundy and of the Queen of Spain took rank amongst

the declared enemies of France and Spain.

Whilst Louis XIV. was facing Europe, in coalition against him, with

generals of the second and third order, the allies were discovering in

the Duke of Marlborough a worthy rival of Prince Eugene. A covetous and

able courtier, openly disgraced by William III. in consequence of his

perfidious intrigues with the court of St. Germain, he had found his

fortunes suddenly retrieved by the accession of Queen Anne, over whom his

wife had for a long time held the sway of a haughty and powerful

favorite. The campaigns of 1702 and 1703 had shown him to be a prudent

and a bold soldier, fertile in resources and novel conceptions; and those

had earned him the thanks of Parliament and the title of duke. The

campaign of 1704 established his glory upon the misfortunes of France.

Marshals Tallard and Marsin were commanding in Germany together with the

Elector of Bavaria; the emperor, threatened with a fresh insurrection in

Hungary, recalled Prince Eugene from Italy; Marlborough effected a

junction with him by a rapid march, which Marshal Villeroi would fain

have hindered, but to no purpose; on the 13th of August, 1704, the

hostile armies met between Blenheim and Hochstett, near the Danube; the

forces were about equal, but on the French side the counsels were

divided, the various corps acted independently. Tallard sustained

single-handed the attack of the English and the Dutch, commanded by

Marlborough; he was made prisoner, his son was killed at his side; the

cavalry, having lost their leader and being pressed by the enemy, took to

flight in the direction of the Danube; many officers and soldiers

perished in the river; the slaughter was awful. Marsin and the elector,

who had repulsed five successive charges of Prince Eugene, succeeded in

effecting their retreat; but the electorates of Bavaria and Cologne were

lost, Landau was recovered by the allies after a siege of two months, the

French army recrossed the Rhine, Elsass was uncovered, and Germany

evacuated. In Spain the English had just made themselves masters of

Gibraltar. “This shows clearly, sir,” wrote Tallard to Chamillard after

the defeat, “what is the effect of such diversity of counsel, which makes

public all that one intends to do, and it is a severe lesson never to

have more than one man at the head of an army. It is a great misfortune

to have to deal with a prince of such a temper as the Elector of

Bavaria.” Villars was of the same opinion; it had been his fate, in the

campaign of 1703, to come to open loggerheads with the elector. “The

king’s army will march to-morrow, as I have had the honor to tell your

Highness,” he had declared. “At these words,” says Villars, the blood

mounted to his face; he threw his hat and wig on the table in a rage.

‘I commanded,’ said he, ‘the emperor’s army in conjunction with the Duke

of Lorraine; he was a tolerably great general, and he never treated me in

this manner.’ ‘The Duke of Lorraine,’ answered I, ‘was a great prince

and a great general; but, for myself, I am responsible to the king for

his army, and I will not expose it to destruction through the evil

counsels so obstinately persisted in.’ Thereupon I went out of the

room.” Complete swaggerer as he was, Villars had more wits and

resolution than the majority of the generals left to Louis XIV., but in

1704 he was occupied in putting down the insurrection of the Camisards in

the south of France: neither Tallard nor Marsin had been able to impose

their will upon the elector. In 1705 Villars succeeded in checking the

movement of Marlborough on Lothringen and Champagne. “He flattered

himself he would swallow me like a grain of salt,” wrote the marshal.

The English fell back, hampered in their adventurous plans by the

prudence of the Hollanders, controlled from a distance by the grand

pensionary Heinsius. The imperialists were threatening Elsass; the

weather was fearful; letters had been written to Chamillard to say that

the inundations alone would be enough to prevent the enemy from investing

Fort Louis. “There is nothing so nice as a map,” replied Villars; “with

a little green and blue one puts under water all that one wishes but a

general who goes and examines it, as I have done, finds in divers places

distances of a mile where these little rivers, which are supposed to

inundate the country, are quite snug in their natural bed, larger than

usual, but not enough to hinder the enemy in any way in the world from

making bridges.” Fort Louis was surrounded, and Villars found himself

obliged to retire upon Strasburg, whence he protected Elsass during the

whole campaign of 1706.

The defeat of Hochstett, in 1704, had been the first step down the

ladder; the defeat of Ramillies, on the 23d of May, 1706, was the second

and the fatal rung. The king’s personal attachment to Marshal Villeroi

blinded him as to his military talents. Beaten in Italy by Prince

Eugene, Villeroi, as presumptuous as he was incapable, hoped to retrieve

himself against Marlborough. “The whole army breathed nothing but

battle; I know it was your Majesty’s own feeling,” wrote Villeroi to the

king, after the defeat: “could I help committing myself to a course which

I considered expedient?” The marshal had deceived himself as regarded

his advantages, as well as the confidence of his troops; there had been

eight hours’ fighting at Hochstett, inflicting much damage upon the

enemy; at Ramillies, the Bavarians took to their heels at the end of an

hour; the French, who felt that they were badly commanded, followed their

example; the rout was terrible, and the disorder inexpressible. Villeroi

kept recoiling before the enemy, Marlborough kept advancing; two thirds

of Belgium and sixteen strong places were lost, when Louis XIV. sent

Chamillard into the Low Countries; it was no longer the time when Louvois

made armies spring from the very soil, and when Vauban prepared the

defence of Dunkerque. The king recalled Villeroi, showing him to the

last unwavering kindness. “There is no more luck at our age, marshal,”

was all he said to Villeroi, on his arrival at Versailles. “He was

nothing more than an old wrinkled balloon, out of which all the gas that

inflated it has gone,” says St. Simon: “he went off to Paris and to

Villeroi, having lost all the varnish that made him glitter, and having

nothing more to show but the under-stratum.”

The king summoned Vendome, to place him at the head of the army of

Flanders, “in hopes of restoring to it the spirit of vigor and audacity

natural to the French nation,” as he himself says. For two years past,

amidst a great deal of ill-success, Vendome had managed to keep in check

Victor-Amadeo and Prince Eugene, in spite of the embarrassment caused him

by his brother the grand prior, the Duke of La Feuillade, Chamillard’s

son-in-law, and the orders which reached him directly from the king; he

had gained during his two campaigns the name of taker of towns, and had

just beaten the Austrians in the battle of Cascinato. Prince Eugene had,

however, crossed the Adige and the Po when Vendome left Italy.

“Everybody here is ready to take off his hat when Marlborough’s name is

mentioned,” he wrote to Chamillard, on arriving in Flanders. The English

and Dutch army occupied all the country from Ostend to Maestricht.

The Duke of Orleans, nephew of the king, had succeeded the Duke of

Vendome. He found the army in great disorder, the generals divided and

insubordinate, Turin besieged according to the plans of La Feuillade,

against the advice of Vauban, who had offered “to put his marshal’s baton

behind the door, and confine himself to giving his counsels for the

direction of the siege;” the prince, in his irritation, resigned his

powers into the hands of Marshal Marsin; Prince Eugene, who had effected

his junction with Victor-Amadeo, encountered the French army between the

Rivers Doria and Stora. The soldiers remembered the Duke of Orleans at

Steinkirk and Neerwinden; they asked him if he would grudge them his

sword. He yielded, and was severely wounded at the battle of Turin, on

the 7th of September, 1706; Marsin was killed, discouragement spread

amongst the generals and the troops, and the siege of Turin was raised;

before the end of the year, nearly all the places were lost, and Dauphiny

was threatened. Victor-Amadeo refused to listen to a special peace: in

the month of March, 1707, the Prince of Vaudemont, governor of Milaness

for the King of Spain, signed a capitulation, at Mantua, and led back to

France the troops which still remained to him. The imperialists were

masters of Naples. Spain no longer had any possessions in Italy.

Philip V. had been threatened with the loss of Spain as well as of Italy.

For two years past Archduke Charles, under the title of Charles III.,

had, with the support of England and Portugal, been disputing the crown

with the young king. Philip V. had lost Catalonia, and had just failed

in his attempt to retake Barcelona; the road to Madrid was cut off, the

army was obliged to make its way by Roussillon and Warn to resume the

campaign; the king threw himself in person into his capital, whither he

was escorted by Marshal Berwick, a natural son of James II., a Frenchman

by choice, full of courage and resolution, “but a great stick of an

Englishman, who hadn’t a word to say,” and who was distasteful to the

young queen, Marie-Louise. Philip V. could not remain at Madrid, which

was threatened by the enemy: he removed to Burgos; the English entered

the capital, and there proclaimed Charles III.

This was too, much; Spain could not let herself submit to have an

Austrian king imposed upon her by heretics and Portuguese; the old

military energy appeared again amongst that people besotted by priests

and ceremonials; war broke out all at once at every point; the foreign

soldiers were everywhere attacked openly or secretly murdered; the towns

rose; a few horsemen sufficed for Berwick to recover possession of

Madrid; the king entered it once more, on the 4th of October, amidst the

cheers of his people, whilst Berwick was pursuing the enemy, whom he had

cornered (_rencogne_), he says, in the mountains of Valencia. Charles

III. had no longer anything left in Spain but Aragon and Catalonia. The

French garrisons, set free by the evacuation of Italy, went to the aid of

the Spaniards. “Your enemies ought not to hope for success,” wrote Louis

XIV. to his grandson, “since their progress has served only to bring out

the courage and fidelity of a nation always equally brave and firmly

attached to its masters. I am told that your people cannot be

distinguished from regular troops. We have not been fortunate in

Flanders, but we must submit to the judgment of God.” He had already let

his grandson understand that a great sacrifice would be necessary to

obtain peace, which he considered himself bound to procure before long

for his people. The Hollanders refused their mediation. “The three men

who rule in Europe, to wit, the grand pensionary Heinsius, the Duke of

Marlborough, and Prince Eugene, desire war for their own interests,” was

the saying in France. The campaign of 1707 was signalized in Spain by

the victory of Almanza, gained on the 13th of April by Marshal Berwick

over the Anglo-Portuguese army, and by the capture of Lerida, which

capitulated on the 11th of November into the hands of the Duke of

Orleans. In Germany, Villars drove back the enemy from the banks of the

Rhine, advanced into Suabia, and ravaged the Palatinate, crushing the

country with requisitions, of which he openly reserved a portion for

himself. “Marshal Villars is doing very well for himself,” said

somebody, one day, to the king. “Yes,” answered his Majesty, “and for me

too.” “I wrote to the king that I really must fat my calf,” said

Villars.

The inexhaustible elasticity and marvellous resources of France were

enough to restore some hope in 1707. The invasion of Provence by Victor-

Amadeo and Prince Eugene, their check before Toulon, and their retreat,

precipitated by the rising of the peasants, had irritated the allies; the

attempts at negotiation which the king had entered upon at the Hague

remained without result; the Duke of Burgundy took the command of the

armies of Flanders, with Vendome for his second; it was hoped that the

lieutenant’s boldness, his geniality towards the troops, and his

consummate knowledge of war, would counterbalance the excessive gravity,

austerity, and inexperience of the young prince so virtuous and capable,

but reserved, cold, and unaccustomed to command; discord arose amongst

the courtiers; on the 5th of July Ghent was surprised; Vendome had

intelligence inside the place, the Belgians were weary of their new

masters. “The States have dealt so badly with this country,” said

Marlborough, “that all the towns are ready to play us the same trick as

Ghent, the moment they have the opportunity.” Bruges opened its gates to

the French. Prince Eugene advanced to second Marlborough, but he was

late in starting; the troops of the Elector of Bavaria harassed his

march. “I shouldn’t like to say a word against Prince Eugene,” said

Marlborough, “but he will arrive at the appointed spot on the Moselle ten

days too late.” The English were by themselves when they encountered the

French army in front of Audernarde. The engagement began. Vendome, who

commanded the right wing, sent word to the Duke of Burgundy. The latter

hesitated and delayed; the generals about him did not approve of

Vendome’s movement. He fought single-handed, and was beaten. The excess

of confidence of one leader, and the inertness of the other, caused

failure in all the operations of the campaign; Prince Eugene and the Duke

of Marlborough laid siege to Lille, which was defended by old Marshal

Boufflers, the bravest and the most respected of all the king’s servants.

Lille was not relieved, and fell on the 25th of October; the citadel held

out until the 9th of December; the king heaped rewards on Marshal

Bouffers: at the march out from Lille, Prince Eugene had ordered all his

army to pay him the same honors as to himself. Ghent and Bruges were

abandoned to the imperialists. “We had made blunder upon blunder in this

campaign,” says Marshal Berwick, in his Memoires, “and, in spite of all

that if somebody had not made the last in giving up Ghent and Bruges,

there would have been a fine game the year after.” The Low Countries

were lost, and the French frontier was encroached upon by the capture of

Lille. For the first time, in a letter addressed to Marshal Berwick,

Marlborough let a glimpse be seen of a desire to make peace; the king

still hoped for the mediation of Holland, and he neglected the overtures

of Marlborough: “the army of the allies is, without doubt, in evil

plight,” said Chamillard.

The campaign in Spain had not been successful; the Duke of Orleans, weary

of his powerlessness, and under suspicion at the court of Philip V., had

given up the command of the troops; the English admiral, Leake, had taken

possession of Sardinia, of the Island of Minorca, and of Port Mahon; the

archduke was master of the isles and of the sea. The destitution in

France was fearful, and the winter so severe that the poor were in want

of everything; riots multiplied in the towns; the king sent his plate to

the mint, and put his jewels in pawn; he likewise took a resolution which

cost him even more; he determined to ask for peace.

“Although his courage appeared at every trial,” says the Marquis of

Torcy, “he felt within him just sorrow for a war whereof the weight

overwhelmed his subjects. More concerned for their woes than for his own

glory, he employed, to terminate them, means which might have induced

France to submit to the hardest conditions before obtaining a peace that

had become necessary, if God, protecting the king, had not, after

humiliating him, struck his foes with blindness.”

There are regions to which superior minds alone ascend, and which are not

attained by the men, however distinguished, who succeed them. William

III. was no longer at the head of affairs in Europe; and the triumvirate

of Heinsius, Marlborough, and Prince Eugene did not view the aggregate of

things from a sufficiently calm height to free themselves from the

hatreds and, bitternesses of the strife, when the proposals of Louis XIV.

arrived at the Hague. “Amidst the sufferings caused to commerce by the

war, there was room to hope,” says Torcy, “that the grand pensionary,

thinking chiefly of his country’s interest, would desire the end of a war

of which he felt all the burdensomeness. Clothed with authority in his

own republic, he had no reason to fear either secret design or cabals to

displace him from a post which he filled to the satisfaction of his

masters, and in which he conducted himself with moderation. Up to that

time the United Provinces had borne the principal burden of the war. The

emperor alone reaped the fruit of it. One would have said that the

Hollanders kept the temple of peace, and that they had the keys of it in

their hands.”

The king offered the Hollanders a very extended barrier in the Low

Countries, and all the facilities they had long been asking for their

commerce. He accepted the abandonment of Spain to the archduke, and

merely claimed to reserve to his grandson Naples, Sardinia, and Sicily.

This was what was secured to him by the second treaty of partition lately

concluded between England, tine United Provinces, and France; he did not

even demand Lothringen. President Rouille, formerly French envoy to

Lisbon, arrived disguised in Holland; conferences were opened secretly at

Bodegraven.

The treaties of partition negotiated by William of Orange, as well as

the wars which he had sustained against Louis XIV. with such persistent

obstinacy, had but one sole end, the maintenance of the European

equilibrium between the houses of Bourbon and Austria, which were alone

powerful enough to serve as mutual counterpoise. To despoil one to the

profit of the other, to throw, all at once, into the balance on the side

of the empire all the weight of the Spanish succession, was to destroy

the work of William III.’s far-sighted wisdom. Heinsius did not see it;

but led on by his fidelity to the allies, distrustful and suspicious as

regarded France, burning to avenge the wrongs put upon the republic, he,

in concert with Marlborough and Prince Eugene, required conditions so

hard that the French agent scarcely dared transmit them to Versailles.

What was demanded was the abdication, pure and simple, of Philip V.:

Holland merely promised her good offices to obtain in his favor Naples

and Sicily; England claimed Dunkerque; Germany wanted Strasburg and the

renewal of the peace of Westphalia; Victor-Amadeo aspired to recover Nice

and Savoy; to the Dutch barrier stipulated for at Ryswick were to be

added Lille, Conde, and Tournay. In vain was the matter discussed

article by article; Rouille for some time believed that he had gained

Lille. “You misinterpreted our intentions,” said the deputies of the

States General; “we let you believe what you pleased; at the commencement

of April. Lille was still in a bad condition; we had reason to fear that

the French had a design of taking advantage of that; it was a matter of

prudence to let you believe that it would be restored to you by the

peace. Lille is at the present moment in a state of security; do not

count any longer on its restitution.” “Probably,” said the States’

delegate to Marlborough, “the king will break off negotiations rather

than entertain such hard conditions.” “So much the worse for France,”

rejoined the English general; “for when the campaign is once begun,

things will go farther than the king thinks. The allies will never unsay

their preliminary demands.” And he set out for England without even

waiting for a favorable wind to cross.

Louis XIV. assembled his council, the same which, in 1700, had decided

upon acceptance of the crown of Spain. “The king felt all these

calamities so much the more keenly,” says Torcy, “in that he had

experienced nothing of the sort ever since he had taken into his own

hands the government of a flourishing kingdom. It was a terrible

humiliation for a monarch accustomed to conquer, belauded for his

victories, his triumphs, his moderation when he granted peace and

prescribed its laws, to see himself now obliged to ask it of his enemies,

to offer them to no purpose, in order to obtain it, the restitution of a

portion of his conquests, the monarchy of Spain, the abandonment of his

allies, and forced, in order to get such offers accepted, to apply to

that same republic whose principal provinces he had conquered in the year

1692, and whose submission he had rejected when she entreated him to

grant her peace on such terms as he should be pleased to dictate. The

king bore so sensible a change with the firmness of a hero, and with a

Christian’s complete submission to the decrees of Providence, being less

affected by his own inward pangs than by the suffering of his people, and

being ever concerned about the means of relieving it, and terminating the

war. It was scarcely perceived that he did himself some violence in

order to conceal his own feelings from the public; indeed; they were so

little known that it was pretty generally believed that, thinking more of

his own glory than of the woes of his kingdom, he preferred to the

blessing of peace the keeping of certain places he had taken in person.

This unjust opinion had crept in even amongst the council.”

The reading of the Dutch proposals tore away every veil; “the necessity

of obtaining peace, whatever price it might cost, was felt so much the

more.” The king gave orders to Rouille to resume the conferences,

demanding clear and precise explanations. “If the worst comes to the

worst,” said he, “I will give up Lille to the Hollanders, Strasburg

dismantled to the Empire, and I will content myself with Naples without

Sicily for my grandson. You will be astounded at the orders contained in

this despatch, so different from those that I have given you hitherto,

and that I considered, as it was, too liberal, but I have always

submitted to the divine will, and the evils with which He is pleased to

afflict my kingdom do not permit me any longer to doubt of the sacrifice

He requires me to make to Him of all that might touch me most nearly. I

waive, therefore, my glory.” The Marquis of Torcy, secretary of state

for foreign affairs, followed close after the despatch; he had offered

the king to go and treat personally with Heinsius.

“The grand pensionary appeared surprised when he heard that his Majesty

was sending one of his ministers to Holland. He had been placed at that

post by the Prince of Orange, who put entire confidence in him. Heinsius

had not long before been sent to France to confer with Louvois, and, in

the discharge of that commission, he had experienced the bad temper of a

minister more accustomed to speak harshly to military officers than to

treat with foreigners; he had not forgotten that the minister had

threatened to have him put in the Bastille. Consummate master of

affairs, of which he had a long experience, he was the soul of the league

with Prince Eugene and the Duke of Marlborough; but the pensionary was

not accused either of being so much in love with the importance given him

by continuance of the war as to desire its prolongation or of any

personally interested view. His externals were simple, there was no

ostentation in his household; his address was cold without any sort of

rudeness, his conversation was polished, he rarely grew warm in

discussion.” Torcy could not obtain anything from Heinsius, any more

than from Marlborough and Prince Eugene, who had both arrived at the

Hague: the prince remained cold and stern; he had not forgotten the

king’s behavior towards his house. “That’s a splendid post in France,

that of colonel general,” said he one day; “my father held it; at his

death we hoped that my brother might get it; the king thought it better

to give it to one of his, natural sons. He is master, but all the same

is one not sorry sometimes to find one’s self in a position to make

slights repented of.” “Marlborough displayed courtesy, insisting upon

seeing in the affairs of the coalition the finger of God, who had

permitted eight nations to think and act like one man.” The concessions

extorted from France were no longer sufficient: M. de Torcy gave up

Sicily, and then Naples; a demand was made for Elsass, and certain places

in Dauphiny and Provence; lastly, the allies required that the conditions

of peace should be carried out at short notice, during the two months’

truce it was agreed to grant, and that Louis XIV. should forthwith put

into the hands of the Hollanders three places by way of guarantee, in

case Philip V. should refuse to abdicate. This was to despoil himself

prematurely and gratuitously, for it was impossible to execute the

definitive treaty of peace at the time fixed. “The king did not hesitate

about the only course there was for him to take, not only for his own

glory, but for the welfare of his kingdom,” says Torcy; he recalled his

envoys, and wrote to the governors of the provinces and towns,--

“Sir: The hope of an imminent peace was so generally diffused throughout

my kingdom, that I consider it due to the fidelity which my people have

shown during the course of my reign to give them the consolation of

informing them of the reasons which still prevent them from enjoying the

repose I had intended to procure for them. I would, to restore it, have

accepted conditions much opposed to the security of my frontier

provinces; but the more readiness and desire I displayed to dissipate the

suspicions which my enemies affect to retain of my power and my designs,

the more did they multiply their pretensions, refusing to enter into any

undertaking beyond putting a stop to all acts of hostility until the

first of the month of August, reserving to themselves the liberty of then

acting by way of arms if the King of Spain, my grandson, persisted in his

resolution to defend the crown which God has given him; such a suspension

was more dangerous than war for my people, for it secured to the enemy

more important advantages than they could hope for from their troops. As

I place my trust in the protection of God, and hope that the purity of my

intentions will bring down His blessing on my arms, I wish my people to

know that they would enjoy peace if it had depended only on my will to

procure them a boon which they reasonably, desire, but which must be won

by fresh efforts, since the immense conditions I would have granted are

useless for the restoration of the public peace.

“Signed: Louis.”

In spite of all the mistakes due to his past arrogance, the king had a

right to make use of such language. In their short-sighted resentment

the allies had overstepped reason. The young King of Spain felt this

when he wrote to his grandfather, “I am transfixed at the chimerical and

insolent pretensions of the English and Dutch regarding the preliminaries

of peace; never were seen the like. I am beside myself at the idea that

anybody could have so much as supposed that I should be forced to leave

Spain as long as I have a drop of blood in my veins. I will use all my

efforts to maintain myself upon a throne on which God has placed me, and

on which you, after Him, have set me, and nothing but death shall wrench

me from it or make me yield it.” War re-commenced on all sides. The

king had just consented at last to give Chamillard his discharge. “Sir,

I shall die over the job,” had for a long time been the complaint of the

minister worn out with fatigue. “Ah! well, we will die together,” had

been the king’s rejoinder.

France was dying, and Chamillard was by no means a stranger to the cause.

Louis XIV. put in his place Voysin, former superintendent of Hainault,

entirely devoted to Madame de Maintenon. He loaded with benefits the

minister from whom he was parting, the only one whom he had really loved.

The troops were destitute of everything. On assuming the command of the

army of the Low Countries, Villars wrote in despair, “Imagine the horror

of seeing an army without bread! There was none delivered to-day until

the evening, and very late. Yesterday, to have bread to serve out to the

brigades I had ordered to march, I made those fast that remained behind.

On these occasions I pass along the ranks, I coax the soldier, I speak to

him in such a way as to make him have patience, and I have had the

consolation of hearing several of them say, ‘The marshal is quite right;

we must suffer sometimes.’ ‘_Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie_’

(give us this day our daily bread), the men say to me as I go through the

ranks; it is a miracle how we subsist, and it is a marvel to see the

steadiness and fortitude of the soldier in enduring hunger; habit is

everything; I fancy, however, that the habit of not eating is not easy

to acquire.”

In spite of such privations and sufferings, Villars found the army in

excellent spirits, and urged the king to permit him to give battle.

“M. de Turenne used to say that he who means to altogether avoid battle

gives up his country to him who appears to seek it,” the marshal assured

him; the king was afraid of losing his last army; the Dukes of Harcourt

and Berwick were covering the Rhine and the Alps; Marlborough and Prince

Eugene, who had just made themselves masters of Tournay, marched against

Villars, whom they encountered on the 11th of September, 1709, near the

hamlet of Malplaquet. Marshal Boufflers had just reached the army to

serve as a volunteer. Villars had intrenched himself in front of the

woods; his men were so anxious to get under fire, that they threw away

the rations of bread just served out; the allies looked sulkily at the

works. “We are going to fight moles again,” they said.

There was a thick fog, as at Lutzen; the fighting went on from seven in

the morning till midday. Villars had yielded the right wing, by way of

respect, to Bouffiers as his senior, says the allies’ account, but the

general command nevertheless devolved entirely upon him. “At the hottest

of the engagement, the marshal galloped furiously to the centre attacked

by Prince Eugene. It was a sort of jaws of hell, a pit of fire, sulphur,

and saltpetre, which it seemed impossible to approach and live. One shot

and my horse fell,” says Villars. “I jumped up, and a second broke my

knee; I had it bandaged on the spot, and myself placed in a chair to

continue giving my orders, but the pain caused a fainting-fit which

lasted long enough for me to be carried off without consciousness to

Quesnoy.” The Prince of Hesse, with the imperial cavalry, had just

turned the intrenchments, which the Dutch infantry had attacked to no

purpose; Marshal Boufflers was obliged to order a retreat, which was

executed as on parade. “The allies had lost more than twenty thousand

men,” according to their official account. “It was too much for this

victory, which did not entail the advantage of entirely defeating the

enemy, and the whole fruits of which were to end with the taking of

Mons.” Always a braggart, in spite of his real courage and indisputable

military talent, Villars wrote from his bed to the king, on sending him

the flags taken from the enemy, “If God give us grace to lose such

another battle, your Majesty may reckon that your enemies are

annihilated.” Boufflers was more proud, and at the same time more

modest, when he said, “The series of disasters that have for some years

past befallen your Majesty’s arms, had so humiliated the French nation

that one scarcer dared avow one’s self a Frenchman. I dare assure you,

sir, that the French name was never in so great esteem, and was never

perhaps more feared, than it is at present in the army of the allies.”

[Illustration: Bivouac of Louis XIV.----503]

Louis XIV. was no longer in a position to delude himself, and to

celebrate a defeat, even a glorious one, as a victory. Negotiations

recommenced. Heinsius had held to his last proposals. It was on this

sorry basis that Marshal d’Huxelles and Abbe de Polignac began the

parleys, at Gertruydenberg, a small fortress of Mardyk. They lasted from

March 9 to July 25, 1710; the king consented to give some fortresses as

guarantee, and promised to recommend his grandson to abdicate; in case of

refusal, he engaged not only to support him no longer, but to furnish the

allies, into the bargain, with a monthly subsidy of a million, whilst

granting a passage through French territory; he accepted the cession of

Elsass to Lothringen, the return of the three bishoprics to the empire;

the, Hollanders, commissioned to negotiate in the name of the coalition,

were not yet satisfied. “The desire of the allies,” they said, “is, that

the king should undertake, himself alone and by his own forces, either to

persuade or to oblige the King of Spain to give up all his monarchy.

Neither money nor the co-operation of the French troops suit their

purpose; if the preliminary articles be not complied with in the space of

two months, the truce is broken off, war will recommence, even though on

the part of the king the other conditions should have been wholly

fulfilled. The sole means of obtaining peace is to receive from the

king’s hands Spain and the Indies.”

The French plenipotentiaries had been recommended to have patience.

Marshal d’Huxelles was a courtier as smooth as he was clever; Abbe de

Polignac was shrewd and supple, yet he could not contain his indignation.

“It is evident that you have not been accustomed to conquer!” said he

haughtily to the Dutch delegates. When the allies’ ultimatum reached the

king, the pride of the sovereign and the affection of the father rose up

at last in revolt. “Since war there must be,” said he, “I would rather

wage it against my enemies than against my grandson;” and he withdrew all

the concessions which had reduced Philip V. to despair. The allies had

already invaded Artois; at the end of the campaign they were masters of

Douai, St. Venant, Bethune, and Aire; France was threatened everywhere,

the king could no longer protect the King of Spain; he confined himself

to sending him Vendome. Philip V., sustained by the indomitable courage

of his young wife, refused absolutely to abdicate. “Whatever misfortunes

may await me,” he wrote to the king, “I still prefer the course of

submission to whatever it may please God to decide for me by fighting to

that of deciding for myself by consenting to an arrangement which would

force me to abandon the people on whom my reverses have hitherto produced

no other effect than to increase their zeal and affection for me.”

It was, therefore, with none but the forces of Spain that Philip V., at

the outset of the campaign of 1710, found himself confronting the English

and Portuguese armies. The Emperor Joseph, brother of Archduke Charles,

had sent him a body of troops commanded by a distinguished general, Count

von Stahrenberg. Going from defeat to defeat, the young king found

himself forced, as in 1706, to abandon his capital; he removed the seat

of government to Valladolid, and departed, accompanied by more than

thirty thousand persons of every rank, resolved to share his fortunes.

The archduke entered Madrid. “I have orders from Queen Anne and the

allies to escort King Charles to Madrid,” said the English general, Lord

Stanhope; when he is once there, God or the devil keep him in or turn him

out; it matters little to me; that is no affair of mine.”

Stanhope was in the right not to pledge himself; the hostility of the

population of Madrid did not permit the archduke to reside there long;

after running the risk of being carried off in his palace on the Prado,

he removed to Toledo; Vendome blocked the road against the Portuguese;

the archduke left the town, and withdrew into Catalonia; Stahrenberg

followed him on the 22d of November, harassed on his march by the Spanish

guerrillas rising everywhere upon his route; every straggler, every

wounded man, was infallibly murdered by the peasants; Stanhope, who

commanded the rearguard, found himself invested by Vendome in the town of

Brihuega; the Spaniards scarcely gave the artillery time to open a

breach, the town was taken by assault, and the English made prisoners.

Stahrenberg retraced his steps; on the 10th of December fighting began

near Villaviciosa; the advantage was for a long time undecided and

disputed; night came; the Austrian general spiked his guns and retreated

by forced marches; the Spaniards bivouacked on the battle-field, the king

slept on a bed made of the enemy’s flags; the allies had taken refuge in

Catalonia; Spain had won back her independence and her king. There was

great joy at Versailles, greater than in the kingdom; the sole aspiration

was for peace.

An unexpected assistance was at hand. Queen Anne, wearied with the

cupidity and haughtiness of the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough, had

given them notice to quit; the friends of the duke had shared his fall,

and the Tories succeeded the Whigs in power. The chancellor of the

exchequer, Harley, soon afterwards Earl of Oxford, and the secretary of

state, St. John, who became Lord Bolingbroke, were inclined to peace.

Advances were made to France. A French priest, Abbe Gautier, living in

obscurity in England, arrived in Paris during January, 1711; he went to

see M. de Torcy at Versailles. “Do you want peace?” said he. “I have

come to bring you the means of treating for it, and concluding

independently of the Hollanders, unworthy of the king’s kindnesses and of

the honor he has so often done them of applying to them to pacificate

Europe.” “To ask just then one of his Majesty’s ministers if he desired

peace,” says Torcy, “was to ask a sick man suffering from a long and

dangerous disease if he wants to be cured.” Negotiations were secretly

opened with the English cabinet. The Emperor Joseph had just died (April

17, 1711). He left none but daughters. From that moment Archduke

Charles inherited the domains of the house of Austria, and aspired to the

imperial crown; by giving him Spain, Europe re-established the monarchy

of Charles V.; she saw the dangers into which she was being drawn by the

resentments or short-sighted ambition of the triumvirate; she fell back

upon the wise projects of William III. Holland had abandoned them; to

England fell the honor of making them triumphant. She has often made war

upon the Continent with indomitable obstinacy and perseverance; but at

bottom and by the very force of circumstances England remains, as regards

the affairs of Europe, an essentially pacific power. War brings her no

advantage; she cannot pretend to any territorial aggrandizement in

Europe; it is the equilibrium between the continental powers that makes

her strength, and her first interest was always to maintain it.

The campaign of 1711 was everywhere insignificant. Negotiations were

still going on with England, secretly and through subordinate agents:

Manager, member of the Board of Trade, for France; and, for England, the

poet Prior, strongly attached to Harley. On the 29th of January, 1712,

the general conferences were opened at Utrecht. The French had been

anxious to avoid the Hague, dreading the obstinacy of Heinsius in favor

of his former proposals. Preliminary points were already settled with

England; enormous advantages were secured in America to English commerce,

to which was ceded Newfoundland and all that France still possessed in

Acadia; the general proposals had been accepted by Queen Anne and her

ministers. In vain had the Hollanders and Prince Eugene made great

efforts to modify them; St. John had dryly remarked that England had

borne the greatest part in the burden of the war, and it was but just

that she should direct the negotiations for peace. For five years past

the United Provinces, exhausted by the length of hostilities, had

constantly been defaulters in their engagements; it was proved to Prince

Eugene that the imperial army had not been increased by two regiments in

consequence of the war the emperor’s ambassador, M. de Galas, displayed

impertinence: he was forbidden to come to the court; in spite of the

reserve imposed upon the English ministers by the strife of parties in a

free country, their desire for peace was evident. The queen had just

ordered the creation of new peers in order to secure a majority of the

upper house in favor of a pacific policy.

[Illustration: The Grand Dauphin----505]

The bolts of Heaven were falling one after another upon the royal family

of France. On the 14th of April, 1711, Louis XIV. had lost by small-pox

his son, the grand dauphin, a mediocre and submissive creature, ever the

most humble subject of the king, at just fifty years of age. His eldest

son, the Duke of Burgundy, devout, austere, and capable, the hope of good

men and the terror of intriguers, had taken the rank of dauphin, and was

seriously commencing his apprenticeship in government, when he was

carried off on the 18th of February, 1712, by spotted fever (_rougeole

pourpree_), six days after his wife, the charming Mary Adelaide of Savoy,

the idol of the whole court, supremely beloved by the king, and by Madame

de Maintenon, who had brought her up; their son, the Duke of Brittany,

four years old, died on the 8th of March; a child in the cradle, weakly

and ill, the little Duke of Anjou, remained the only shoot of the elder

branch of the Bourbons. Dismay seized upon all France; poison was spoken

of; the Duke of Orleans was accused; it was necessary to have a post

mortem examination; only the hand of God had left its traces. Europe in

its turn was excited. If the little Duke of Anjou were to die, the crown

of France reverted to Philip V. The Hollanders and the ambassadors of

the Emperor Charles VI. recently crowned at Frankfurt, insisted on the

necessity of a formal renunciation. In accord with the English

ministers, Louis XIV. wrote to his grandson,--

“You will be told what England proposes, that you should renounce your

birthright, retaining the monarchy of Spain and the Indies, or renounce

the monarchy of Spain, retaining your rights to the succession in France,

and receiving in exchange for the crown of Spain the kingdoms of Sicily

and Naples, the states of the Duke of Savoy, Montferrat, and the Mantuan,

the said Duke of Savoy succeeding you in Spain; I confess to you that,

notwithstanding the disproportion in the dominions, I have been sensibly

affected by the thought that you would continue to reign, that I might

still regard you as my successor, sure, if the dauphin lives, of a regent

accustomed to command, capable of maintaining order in my kingdom and

stifling its cabals. If this child were to die, as his weakly complexion

gives too much reason to suppose, you would enjoy the succession to me

following the order of your birth, and I should have the consolation of

leaving to my people a virtuous king, capable of commanding them, and one

who, on succeeding me, would unite to the crown states so considerable as

Naples, Savoy, Piedmont, and Montferrat. If gratitude and affection

towards your subjects are to you pressing reasons for remaining with

them, I may say that you owe me the same sentiments; you owe them to your

own house, to your own country, before Spain. All that I can do for you

is to leave you once more the choice, the necessity for concluding peace

becoming every day more urgent.”

The choice of Philip V. was made; he had already written to his

grandfather to say that he would renounce all his rights of succession

to the throne of France rather than give up the crown of Spain. This

decision was solemnly enregistered by the Cortes. The English required

that the Dukes of Berry and Orleans should, likewise make renunciation of

their rights to the crown of Spain. Negotiations began again, but war

began again at the same time as the negotiations.

The king had given Villars the command of the army of Flanders. The

marshal went to Marly to receive his last orders. “You see my plight,

marshal,” said Louis XIV. “There are few examples of what is my fate--to

lose in the same week a grandson, a grandson’s wife and their son, all of

very great promise and very tenderly beloved. God is punishing me; I

have well deserved it. But suspend we my griefs at my own domestic woes,

and look we to what may be done to prevent those of the kingdom. If

anything were to happen to the army you command, what would be your idea

of the course I should adopt as regards my person?” The marshal

hesitated. The king resumed: “This is what I think; you shall tell me

your opinion afterwards. I know the courtiers’ line of argument; they

nearly all wish me to retire to Blois, and not wait for the enemy’s army

to approach Paris, as it might do if mine were beaten. For my part, I am

aware that armies so considerable are never defeated to such an extent as

to prevent the greater part of mine from retiring upon the Somme. I know

that river; it is very difficult to cross; there are forts, too, which

could be made strong. I should count upon getting to Peronne or St.

Quentin, and there massing all the troops I had, making a last effort

with you, and falling together or saving the kingdom; I will never

consent to let the enemy approach my capital. [_Memoires de Villars,

t. ii. p. 362.]”

God was to spare Louis XIV. that crowning disaster reserved for other

times; in spite of all his defaults and the culpable errors of his life

and reign, Providence had given this old man, overwhelmed by so many

reverses and sorrows, a truly royal soul, and that regard for his own

greatness which set him higher as a king than he would have been as a

man. “He had too proud a soul to descend lower than his misfortunes had

brought him,” says Montesquieu, “and he well knew that courage may right

a crown and that infamy never does.” On the 25th of May, the king

secretly informed his plenipotentiaries as well as his generals that the

English were proposing to him a suspension of hostilities; and he added,

“It is no longer a time for flattering the pride of the Hollanders, but,

whilst we treat with them in good faith, it must be with the dignity that

becomes me.” “A style different from that of the conferences at the

Hague and Gertruydenberg,” is the remark made by M. de Torcy. That which

the king’s pride refused to the ill will of the Hollanders he granted to

the good will of England. The day of the commencement of the armistice

Dunkerque was put as guarantee into the hands of the English, who

recalled their native regiments from the army of Prince Eugene; the king

complained that they left him the auxiliary troops; the English ministers

proposed to prolong the truce, promising to treat separately with France

if the allies refused assent to the peace. The news received by Louis

XIV. gave him assurance of better conditions than any one had dared to

hope for.

Villars had not been able to prevent Prince Eugene from becoming master

of Quesnoy on the 3d of July; the imperialists were already making

preparations to invade France; in their army the causeway which connected

Marchiennes with Landrecies was called the Paris road. The marshal

resolved to relieve Landrecies, and, having had bridges thrown over the

Scheldt, he, on the 23d of July, 1712, crossed the river between Bouchain

and Denain; the latter little place was defended by the Duke of

Albemarle, son of General Monk, with seventeen battalions of auxiliary

troops in the pay of the allies; Lieutenant General Albergotti, an

experienced soldier, considered the undertaking perilous. “Go and lie

down for an hour or two, M. d’Albergotti,” said Villars; “to-morrow by

three in the morning you shall know whether the enemy’s intrenchments are

as strong as you suppose.” Prince Eugene was coming up by forced marches

to relieve Denain, by falling on the rearguard of the French army. It

was proposed to Villars to make fascines to fill up the fosses of Denain.

“Do you suppose,” said he, pointing to the enemy’s army in the distance,

“that those gentry will give us the time? Our fascines shall be the

bodies of the first of our men who fall in the fosse.”

“There was not an instant, not a minute to lose,” says the marshal in his

Memoires. “I made my infantry march on four lines in the most beautiful

order; as I entered the intrenchment at the head of the troops, I had not

gone twenty paces when the Duke of Albemarle and six or seven of the

emperor’s lieutenant generals were at my horse’s feet. I begged them to

excuse me if present matters did not permit me to show them all the

politeness I ought, but that the first of all was to provide for the

safety of their persons.” The enemy thought of nothing but flight; the

bridges over the Scheldt broke down under the multitude of vehicles and

horses; nearly all the defenders of Denain were taken or killed. Prince

Eugene could not cross the river, watched as it was by French troops; he

did not succeed in saving Marchiennes, which the Count of Broglie, had

been ordered to invest in the very middle of the action in front of

Denain; the imperialists raised the siege of Landrecies, but without

daring to attack Villars, re-enforced by a few garrisons; the marshal

immediately invested Douai; on the 27th of August, the emperor’s troops

who were defending one of the forts demanded a capitulation; the officers

who went out asked for a delay of four days, so as to receive orders from

Prince Eugene; the marshal, who was in the trenches, called his

grenadiers. “This is my council on such occasions,” said he to the

astonished imperialists. “My friends, these captains demand four days’

time to receive orders from their general; what do you think?” “Leave it

to us, marshal,” replied the grenadiers; “in a quarter of an hour we will

slit their windpipes.” “Gentlemen,” said I to the officers, “they will

do as they have said; so take your own course.” The garrison surrendered

at discretion. Douai capitulated on the 8th of September; Le Quesnoy was

taken on the 4th of October, and Bouchain on the 18th; Prince Eugene had

not been able to attempt anything; he fell back under the walls of

Brussels. On the Rhine, on the Alps, in Spain, the French and Spanish

armies had held the enemy in check. The French plenipotentiaries at

Utrecht had recovered their courage. “We put on the face the Hollanders

had at Gertruydenberg, and they put on ours,” wrote Cardinal de Polignac

from Utrecht: “it is a complete turning of the tables.” “Gentlemen,

peace will be treated for amongst you, for you and without you,” was the

remark made to the Hollanders. Hereditary adversary of the Van Witts and

their party, Heinsius had pursued the policy of William III. without the

foresight and lofty views of William Ill.; he had not seen his way in

1709 to shaking off the yoke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene in order to

take the initiative in a peace necessary for Europe; in 1712 he submitted

to the will of Harley and St. John, thus losing the advantages of the

powerful mediatorial position which the United Provinces had owed to the

eminent men successively intrusted with their government. Henceforth

Holland remained a free and prosperous country, respected and worthy of

her independence, but her political influence and importance in Europe

were at an end. Under God’s hand great men make great destinies and

great positions for their country as well as for themselves.

The battle of Denain and its happy consequences hastened the conclusion

of the negotiations; the German princes themselves began to split up;

the King of Prussia, Frederic William I., who had recently succeeded his

father, was the first to escape from the emperor’s yoke. Lord

Bolingbroke put the finishing stroke at Versailles to the conditions of a

general peace; the month of April was the extreme limit fixed by England

for her allies; on the 11th peace was signed between France, England, the

United Provinces, Portugal, the King of Prussia, and the Duke of Savoy.

Louis XIV. recovered Lijle, Aire, Bethune, and St. Venant; he

strengthened with a few places the barrier of the Hollanders; he likewise

granted to the Duke of Savoy a barrier on the Italian slope of the Alps;

he recognized Queen Anne, at the same time exiling from France the

Pretender James III., whom he had but lately proclaimed with so much

flourish of trumpets, and he razed the fortifications of Dunkerque.

England kept Gibraltar and Minorca; Sicily was assigned to the Duke of

Savoy. France recognized the King of Prussia. The peace was an

honorable and an unexpected one, after so many disasters the King of

Spain held out for some time; he wanted to set up an independent

principality for the Princess des Ursins, _camerera mayor_ to the queen

his wife, an able, courageous, and clever intriguer, all-powerful at

court, who had done good service to the interests of France; he could not

obtain any dismemberment of the United Provinces; and at last Philip V.

in his turn signed. The emperor and the empire alone remained aloof from

the general peace. War recommenced in Germany and on the Rhine. Villars

carried Spires and Kaiserlautern. He laid siege to Landau. His

lieutenants were uneasy. “Gentlemen,” said Villars, “I have heard the

Prince of Conde say that the enemy should be feared at a distance and

despised at close quarters.” Landau capitulated on the 20th of August;

on the 30th of September Villars entered Friburg; the citadel surrendered

on the 13th of November; the imperialists began to make pacific

overtures; the two generals, Villars and Prince Eugene, were charged with

the negotiations.

[Illustration: Marshal Villars and Prince Eugene----512]

“I arrived at Rastadt on the 26th of November in the afternoon,” writes

Villars in his Memoires, “and the Prince of Savoy half an hour after me.

The moment I knew he was in the court-yard, I went to the top of the

steps to meet him, apologizing to him on the ground that a lame man could

not go down; we embraced with the feelings of an old and true friendship

which long wars and various engagements had not altered.” The two

plenipotentiaries were headstrong in their discussions. “If we begin war

again,” said Villars, “where will you find money?” “It is true that we

haven’t any,” rejoined the prince; “but there is still some in the

empire.” “Poor states of the empire!” I exclaimed; “your advice is not

asked about beginning the dance; yet you must of course follow the

leaders.” Peace was at last signed on the 6th of March, 1714: France

kept Landau and Fort Louis; she restored Spires, Brisach, and Friburg.

The emperor refused to recognize Philip V., but he accepted the status

quo; the crown of Spain remained definitively with the house of Bourbon;

it had cost men and millions enough; for an instant the very foundations

of order in Europe had seemed to be upset; the old French monarchy had

been threatened; it had recovered of itself and by its own resources,

sustaining single-handed the struggle which was pulling down all Europe

in coalition against it; it had obtained conditions which restored its

frontiers to the limits of the peace of Ryswick; but it was exhausted,

gasping, at wits’ end for men and money; absolute power had obtained from

national pride the last possible efforts, but it had played itself out in

the struggle; the confidence of the country was shaken; it had been seen

what dangers the will of a single man had made the nation incur; the

tempest was already gathering within men’s souls. The habit of respect,

the memory of past glories, the personal majesty of Louis XIV. still kept

up about the aged king the deceitful appearances of uncontested power and

sovereign authority; the long decadence of his great-grandson’s reign was

destined to complete its ruin.

“I loved war too much,” was Louis XIV.’s confession on his death bed.

He had loved it madly and exclusively; but this fatal passion, which had

ruined and corrupted France, had not at any rate remained infructuous.

Louis XIV. had the good fortune to profit by the efforts of his

predecessors as well as of his own servants: Richelieu and Mazarin, Conde

and Turenne, Luxembourg, Catinat, Vauban, Villars, and Louvois, all

toiled at the same work; under his reign France was intoxicated with

excess of the pride of conquest, but she did not lose all its fruits; she

witnessed the conclusion of five peaces, mostly glorious, the last sadly

honorable; all tended to consolidate the unity and power of the kingdom;

it is to the treaties of the Pyrenees, of Westphalia, of Nimeguen, of

Ryswick, and of Utrecht, all signed with the name of Louis XIV., that

France owed Roussillon, Artois, Alsace, Flanders, and Franche-Comte. Her

glory has more than once cost her dear; it has never been worth so much

and such solid increment to her territory.