[Transcriber's notes:
This work is derviced from
http://www.archive.org/details/popularhistoryeng04guiz
This quote sums up this last volume:
"The bitter time of revolutions had ended for England."—pg. 16]

Napoleon Received On The Bellerophon.

A Popular
History Of England
From the Earliest Times
To The Reign Of Queen Victoria

by
M. Guizot
Author OF "The Popular History of France," etc.
Authorized Edition
Illustrated
Vol. IV

New York
John W. Lovell Company
150 Worth Street, corner Mission Place

List Of Illustrations.
Volume Four.

Table Of Contents.

Guizot's
History Of England,
Vol. IV.

From the Accession of William and Mary
to the Reign of Queen Victoria,
1688-1837.

History Of England.

Chapter XXXII.
William And Mary.
Establishment Of Parliamentary Government.
(1688-1702).

King James had abandoned England, fleeing from the storm which he had raised, obstinate in his ideas and holding persistently to the hope of a return, which his people was resolved to prevent at any price. William of Orange had entered London; but he had not established his quarters at Whitehall, and he refused to take the crown by right of conquest. Shrewd and far-seeing, he did not wish to belie the promises of his declaration, or, by parading its defeat, to irritate the English army, which he hoped soon to command. He had not conquered England, which had called him to her aid and had voluntarily submitted to him; and he desired to keep the supreme power with her free consent. A provisory assembly was formed of those lords who were in London, as well as of members of the House of Commons who had sat in Parliament under the reign of King Charles II.; and the aldermen of London and a deputation of the City Council were invited to participate in the proceedings. At his departure, King James had left a letter: some peers asked to be informed of its contents. "I have seen the missive," said Godolphin, "and can assure your Lordships that you would find nothing in it which could give you any satisfaction."

Aware of the blind obstinacy of the fugitive King, the peers of the realm presented their address to the prince on the 25th of December; some days later the Commons followed their example. "Your Highness, led by the hand of God and called by the voice of the people, has saved our dearest interests," said the addresses—"the Protestant religion, which is Christianity in its primitive purity, our laws, which are the ancient titles on which rest our lives, liberties and possessions, and without which this world would be only a desert in our eyes. This divine mission has been respected by the nobility, the people, and the brave soldiers of England. They have laid down their arms at your approach." The same thanks and same requests were presented by the Scotch lords who happened to be in London; the Earl of Arran alone, son of the Duke of Hamilton, had proposed to treat with King James. "All cry, Hosanna! to-day," said the Prince of Orange to Dykvelt and his Dutch friends, who brought him the congratulations of his native country, and were delighted at the enthusiasm shown everywhere in England; "but in a day or two perhaps they will repeat quite as loudly: 'Crucify him! crucify him!'" Resolved as he was to govern England, William caught a glimpse, though he did not foresee their extent, of the difficulties and obstacles which the great enterprise he was asked to attempt would meet with in England itself. Nevertheless he accepted his mission without wavering.

On the 22nd of January, 1689, a Convention, which soon declared itself Parliament, assembled at Westminster, elected arbitrarily on circular letters sent forth in the name of the Prince of Orange. The parties were already beginning to divide; the great national unanimity which had willed and accomplished the revolution was yielding to different passions and opinions. In this supreme crisis of the government of England, the Tories, numerous in the House of Lords, weak in the House of Commons, hesitated, according to their political and religious complexions, between negotiations with King James, the establishment of a regency, leaving to the fugitive monarch the vain title of king, or the declaration that the throne was vacant, and the calling of the Princess Mary to the crown as its natural heiress. No one dared to assert the legitimacy of the Prince of Wales. Some of the Whigs, a party which included in its ranks a number of dissenters, proposed that Parliament should proclaim the nation's right to depose a prince guilty of bad government; the others, less involved in revolutionary schemes, though just as firmly resolved to deliver England from the misgovernment of King James, sought to cover the national will with a legal form. "It is said that kings have a divine right of their own," cried Sir Robert Howard; "nations also have their divine right."

On the 26th of January the House of Commons ended by passing a resolution couched as follows: "King James II., having undertaken to overthrow the Constitution of the realm by not fulfilling the original contract of King and people, has broken the fundamental laws of the Kingdom by the advice of Jesuits and other corrupt counsellors; by his voluntary retirement he has abdicated the government, in consequence of which the throne has become vacant." The form of the resolution was open to criticism; only its gist was important. The Commons soon added to their declaration of the vacancy of the throne a second equally grave resolution: "The reign of a Catholic monarch is incompatible with the security and welfare of this Protestant nation." The two resolutions were sent up to the Lords.

The Protestant declaration was unanimously voted. The King of England, head of the Anglican Church, should naturally belong to that Church. In regard to the vacancy of the throne, the Tories insisted on previously debating the question of a regency, proposed some time before by Bancroft, Archbishop of Canterbury, and now advocated by Lord Rochester and Lord Nottingham. Divided between their conviction of the dangers that King James caused the country to incur, and their sentiments of loyalty, the members of this fraction of the Tory party hoped to remain faithful to their oath of allegiance by treating the truant monarch like an invalid incapable of governing, and hence obliged to delegate his powers to the Prince of Orange. This course having been rejected, Lord Danby admitted the throne to be vacant, and demanded that the Princess Mary be declared queen, according to the principle that the throne could not remain unoccupied. The Whigs, with Halifax at their head, loudly maintained the right of the nation to choose its monarch. King James was alive, and the princess could not then be his heiress; the throne became elective, and the Prince of Orange alone was worthy of being called to it.

The discussion between the two houses, as well as that inside the House of Lords, was waxing hot; the crowd was pressing to the gates of the palace. Lord Lovelace informed the peers that he was charged with a petition demanding the immediate proclamation of the Prince and Princess of Orange as King and Queen of England. "By whom has the petition been signed?" was asked. "No man has yet put his hand to it," answered the bold nobleman, the first to meet the Prince of Orange when he landed; "but when I shall bring it here, there will be signers enough." The same threats were made to the House of Commons. The princess was detained in Holland by the state of the sea, encumbered by ice. Danby was zealously pleading her cause before the Lords, without William, who remained faithful to his promise of committing to the Convention all grave political questions, interfering in any way in the debate. One of his friends, a Dutchman, probably Dykvelt, accidentally was present at the debate; he was pressed to say what he might know of the prince's sentiments. The Dutchman held out for a long time. "I can only guess his Highness's state of mind," he said at last; "but since you want to know what I fancy, I think he would scarcely care to be his wife's gentleman of the bedchamber; but I actually know nothing at all." "I know enough, and even a little too much," retorted Danby.

Finally Burnet made up his mind to reveal what the princess had lately confided to him. "I know, for a long time," he said, "that she had determined, even in case she should have mounted the throne in the regular order of succession, to hand over her power to her husband, with the sanction of Parliament." At the same time Mary wrote to Danby: "I am the prince's wife, and I have no other desire than to remain subjected to him; the greatest wrong that could be done me would be to put me forward as his rival; and I shall never hold as friends those who would follow such a course."

In a moment the impetuous Tories maintained the rights of Princess Anne, threatened by the elevation of William of Orange; the Churchills were enlisted in her cause, though the princess was making no objections to the exaltation of her brother-in-law, when the prince summoned the leaders of both parties to the House of Lords. He summed up in a few words the various alternatives agitated in Parliament. "I have kept silent hitherto," he added; "I have used neither solicitation nor threats; I have not even let my views or desires transpire. I have neither the right nor the inclination to impose anything on the Convention. I only reserve the privilege of refusing functions which I could not perform with honor to myself or advantage to the country. I am resolved never to be regent, and I shall not accept that fraction of administrative power which the princess, raised to the throne, could entrust to me. I esteem her as much as a man can esteem a woman; but I am not so made that I can be tied to the apron-string of the best of wives. There is but one rôle which I can honorably fill: if the Houses offer me the crown for my life, I will accept it; if not, I will return without regret to my native land." The prince ended by saying that he thought it just to secure the succession to the Princess Anne and her children, in preference to the posterity which he might have by another wife than Princess Mary.

The question was decided: William and Mary were to reign together as sovereigns of England, and the government was entrusted to William. A conference between the two houses soon resulted in a vote. Lord Nottingham demanded a modification in the oaths of allegiance "I don't approve the acts of the Convention," he said, "but I want to be able to promise to obey the new sovereigns faithfully." The House of Commons had charged Somers with drawing up the Declaration of Rights. The jurist's name had for the first time resounded with éclat during the trial of the bishops, and already his rare abilities, the power and subtilty of his mind, as well as his masculine eloquence, had placed him in a high rank, destined soon to be the highest. After a firm and plain statement of the people's rights, Parliament declared William and Mary, Prince and Princess of Orange, King and Queen of England, during their lives. After them the crown devolved upon Princess Anne and her children; in their default, it reverted to the issue of William.

Princess Mary had just landed in England; she had hardly arrived at Whitehall, and already people criticised her attitude and the first indications of her character. Those who had seen her had found her in high spirits, determined to enjoy her new grandeur, forgetful of the catastrophe which hurled her father from the throne she was about to occupy. Burnet himself was shocked. "I had always noticed so much good feeling in her whole conduct," said he, "that my surprise was extreme to see her deficient in it on this occasion. Some days later I took the liberty of asking her, how it could be that the misfortunes of a father had made so little impression on her. She took my frankness in good part, as usual, and assured me that it was not for want of having felt them keenly, if she had had the air of not thinking of them; but because she had been directed in a letter to affect much gayety. It was possible that she had overdone the rôle they had made for her, so strange was it to her true disposition." On the 13th of February, the two houses betook themselves formally to Whitehall, to offer the crown to the Prince and Princess of Orange. Halifax was spokesman. "We accept with gratitude what you offer us," said William. "For my own part, I can assure you that these laws of England which I have already defended, will be the rule of my conduct. I shall apply myself constantly to develop the prosperity of the realm; and, to aid me in the task, I count upon the counsel of the two Houses, which I am inclined to put before my own." The public proclamation before the great gate of the palace was hailed by the acclamations of the crowd. The revolution was consummated; a new reign was commencing.

With the new reign began a new era. The revolution of 1688 had been singularly moderate and reasonable; it had not claimed a new right, it had not added a liberty to the rights and liberties which England then enjoyed; it had not changed a custom; it did not renounce one of the forms or ceremonies observed in the old times, and dear to the veneration of the people; it had simply proclaimed in principle and established in fact that the nation regarded its rights and liberties as its most precious treasure, that it placed them above hereditary titles and the rights of the throne. Liberal as well as legal, it demanded from the prince a certain measure of good government and of respect for the national wishes, at the same time that it unrolled from the mists of the past those grand principles of the compact of sovereign and people, which England had known how to keep and guard through perils and through oppression. The work of liberty was not yet complete; all its seeds rested in the Declaration of Rights drawn up by Somers, and solemnly accepted by the new sovereigns. The bitter time of revolutions had ended for England.

Yet the day of rest had not come. The reign of William III. was to remain constantly troublesome, disputed, stormy. The reasons of this were various and complicated. In the first place stood his birth; he was a Dutchman in heart as in race, a stranger in his tastes as in his manners to England, which never forgot the fact. Both free and Protestant, the two countries were nevertheless separated by wide divergencies. In England the Whigs and Tories divided among them the upper classes; the tendencies toward republicanism existed in the dark among a certain number of dissenters; the Anglican Church, the Presbyterians, the Catholics, were royalists by taste as by principle. In Holland, on the other hand, the mercantile patriciate remained nearly everywhere zealously attached to the republican form; the partisans of the stadtholdership of the house of Orange were counted in the army and among the great property-holders: and part of the provinces of Guelders and Friesland was equally devoted to it.

Brought up in Holland in the midst of parties which he understood and whose springs he had moved for a long time, sympathizing with the very persons there who hereditarily opposed his family and his policy, William III. found himself in England as much a stranger as he was generally considered. Cold and reserved, like a man surrounded by enemies or critics, he only had confidence in the Dutch; he lavished his personal favors on Dutchmen alone; he only opened his heart and unbent his countenance for Dutchmen. This marked preference for his native land and this eagerness to flee from the soil of his new country so soon as the summer could bring him back to Holland, were a constant reproach and source of weakness to the King of England. In Holland alone he breathed at ease; there, alone he freely spread the wings of his grand policy, more European than English, difficult to be imported by a foreign prince into a new kingdom still entirely peopled for him with secret or open enemies.

For a long time England had remained isolated from the combinations of continental politics; lowered in her own eyes and those of Europe, she had submitted, under Charles III. and James II., to the yoke of France, against which William III. proudly stood erect, demanding from England, as from Holland, the last sacrifices to sustain the cause of European independence. It was not without disquiet and a certain insular jealousy that the English saw themselves drawn into all the political complications on the continent; they had given themselves to William of Orange, but they preserved towards him a secret distrust, silently nursed by the persistent distrust of the Church of England. William was a Protestant; but, a Calvinist by conviction, accustomed to the widest toleration in his own country, which had become the refuge of all persons suffering persecution, he found himself in England confronted by the Anglican Church, which was divided in regard to him, and had partially remained faithful to the fugitive monarch he had dethroned; obliged to struggle at once against the anti-Catholic spirit which had carried him to the throne and against the intolerance towards dissenters, which was contrary to all his principles. Dutchman, European statesman, tolerant Calvinist, he met throughout England distrust and impediments which all the success of the revolution of 1688 could not dispel, and which the personal superiority of the new king never wholly succeeded in repressing.

The Church silent and sombre, the army sad and humiliated, parties keenly exasperated—such was the domestic situation of William on the morrow of his triumph, when the uprising of Ireland menaced the peace of the kingdom, and the whole government still remained to be organized. Responsible and concordant ministers did not exist then: William called around him counsellors from different sides—Whigs, Tories, trimmers; Danby, Nottingham, Halifax, Shrewsbury, Herbert, Mordaunt. Disagreements were not slow to display themselves. The Tories had alone exercised power for some years. They were more experienced and skilful in public affairs than the Whigs; the latter were for the most part sincerely devoted to the new government, jealous and suspicious toward their adversaries, who had now become their colleagues. Traps and intrigues, sometimes violent scenes, succeeded one another without intermission, fettering and retarding the march of the government, sapping the popularity of the King, to whom all parties appealed, and who tried in vain to calm them all. An attack of John Hampden on Halifax appeared so violent that somebody cried in the House of Commons: "This is called a speech: it is a libel!"

William was weary of parliamentary struggles and eager to return to the camp life, which he always preferred to politics, when he pronounced, on the 27th of January, 1690, the dissolution of Parliament. The state of his affairs in Ireland imperatively demanded his presence.

Fleeing from England and the dangers which there threatened, as he thought, his liberty and life, King James had found in France, at the court of Louis XIV., the most generous and splendid hospitality. Lodged by the king at the castle of Saint-Germain, and in every respect treated as a sovereign and equal, James II. had asked and obtained from his royal host the aid which he needed not only to exist in France, but to undertake the conquest of rebellious and Protestant England by means of Ireland, which remained Catholic and true. Civil war had already broken out in this little kingdom; the cession by James of all the civil power to the Catholics and indigenous inhabitants disquieted knots of Protestants, scattered as colonists over certain districts. The small town of Kenmore, the cities of Enniskillen and Londonderry, were filled with refugees of their religion and race, driven by the tyranny exercised upon them to that refuge which the Scotch Presbyterians had lately founded in Ulster. Tyrconnel had tried in vain to maintain an appearance of order; the Irish population, whose passions had been long aroused, would not yield to his influence. Ireland was in flames, when James II. landed at Kinsale on the 12th of March, 1689. He had embarked at Brest, accompanied by a small body of French officers under the orders of the Count de Rosen. With him Louis XIV. had sent Count d'Avaux, charged with the diplomatic part of the expedition, and with plans to be tried among the English malcontents. From the start, this clever politician, familiar with complicated continental intrigues, foresaw the trouble that the fallen monarch, whose cause he was to plead, would occasion him. "It will not be an easy thing to keep any secret with the King of England," wrote Count d'Avaux to Louis XIV.; "he has told before the sailors of the St. Michel, what he ought to have reserved for his most confidential friends. Another thing which will give us trouble is his irresolution, for he often changes his mind and does not always settle on the best course. He frequently dwells upon little things, on which he employs his whole time, and passes lightly over most essential matters. Moreover he listens to everybody, and one has to spend as much time in removing the impressions which bad advice has produced on him, as in inspiring him with correct ones." "All the troops Tyrconnel had been able to raise, were occupied with the Protestant rising in Ulster," says King James in his Memoirs; "the Catholics of the country had no arms, while the Protestants had an abundance, and the best horses in the kingdom; there were only eight small field-pieces in condition to accompany the army; no provisions or ammunition in the magazine, little powder or balls, no money in the chest, and all the officers gone to England."

To this gloomy picture of the condition of his forces in Ireland, James might have added the embarrassments about to be caused by an intractable Parliament, and the pretensions, as immoderate as they were absurd, of partisans, who thought they had a right to lay down the law for the sovereign they persisted in serving. The indigenous Irish claimed the entire independence of their country, threatening, if James refused it, to appeal to France, and place themselves thenceforth under her protection. The English exiles who accompanied the king, despising Ireland and the Irish, only aspired to reseat their sovereign on the throne of England.

"My Lord Melford is neither a good Frenchman nor a good Irishman," said Count d'Avaux; "he only thinks of England." Despite a proclamation of toleration by James, there was a general understanding to re-establish the absolute supremacy of Catholicism in Ireland; the act of establishment of Charles II. was repealed; the lands of Catholics, lately confiscated to the benefit of Protestants, returned to their original owners; one law of proscription embraced all the fugitive or refugee Protestants in the northern counties; the endowments of the Anglican Church were taken from it. The fanatics triumphed; the King was anxious and disgusted. He estimated better than his advisers, the strength of Protestantism, even in Ireland; he glanced at the effect of his measures in England. After long hesitation, which still followed him after starting and made him turn back for a moment, James set out to besiege the town of Londonderry in person.

The place was small, badly fortified, and encumbered with refugees, who had brought no provisions there. Its governor, Lundy, proved a traitor to the garrison and citizens. Before flying pusillanimously, he attempted several times to betray them to the enemy. The religious and patriotic zeal of the inhabitants triumphed over all obstacles. An Anglican clergyman, George Walker, and Major Henry Baker, had taken command of the troops in the town by the natural and legitimate ascendancy of their characters. Determined to accept no capitulation, they were braving the repeated attacks of the Irish army, as well as the cruel assaults of famine, when Lord Strabane was instructed to offer the inhabitants the royal pardon. "The people of Londonderry have done nothing that requires a pardon," replied Major Murray; "they recognize no other sovereigns but King William and Queen Mary. Your lordship might not find yourself safe, if you stayed here much longer, or if you repeated the same offers; allow me to accompany you outside our lines."

King James II. returned to Dublin. The town held out a hundred and five days, in spite of the cruelties of the Count de Rosen, who had roused the indignation of James himself, when, on the 30th of July, upon receipt of a formal order from London, Colonel Kirke, lately dispatched from England to the aid of Londonderry, made a last effort to force the barricade constructed by the enemy across the river. "If we don't deliver the brave citizens of Londonderry, the whole world will rise against us," cried Birch, in the House of Commons. "A barricade! well, let it be forced! Shall we let our brothers perish almost before our eyes?" The barricade was forced, and the population of Derry, decimated, dying, but still indomitable, at last saw the vessels, which brought the aid so long expected, advance majestically by the narrow channel which alone the drought had left navigable. Thanksgivings and cries of joy were still echoing in the town, when a line of flames already indicated the retreat of the Jacobite army. The siege of Londonderry was raised.

The same day the inhabitants of Enniskillen, who had spiritedly held their town in face of the enemy's troops, pursued the Irish in retreat to the village of Newtown Butler. There, at the foot of a hill, in front of a bog, the battle took place. "Advance or retreat?" their leader Wolseley, detailed by Kirke, had asked his improvised soldiers. "Advance! advance!" shouted the Protestants. The rout of King James's partisans was complete, and the massacre frightful. Nothing could check the violence of religious and political hatreds among a half civilized population. "The dragoons, who had fled in the morning, retreated with the rest of the cavalry without firing a pistol," wrote the Count d'Avaux, "and they all ran away in such a panic that they threw away muskets, pistols, and sabres, and most of them having run their horses to death, took off their clothes, to go quicker on foot."

While the arms of King James met with these severe checks in Ireland, he received news from England which for a moment disquieted his counsellors; but soon reanimated, by the very imminence of the danger, the natural courage of the Irish race. The illustrious Marshal Schomberg, who was driven by the revocation of the Edict of Nantes from the adopted country he had gloriously served, the lieutenant of William III. when he first set foot in England, had just embarked for Ireland at the head of a numerous body of troops. Other alarming intelligence was added to this: the last efforts of the Scotch insurrection had miscarried; and all hope of a Jacobite restoration was dying out in the hereditary kingdom of the Stuarts.

A tyranny which England had never endured had long been pressing on Scotland: an oppressive and corrupt government had met little opposition in a timid or venal Parliament; a religion hateful to the nation had been imposed on it by law. The Revolution of 1688 lent to the condition of things and of feelings in Scotland a wholly different character from that which it had assumed in England. There King James had been dethroned in the name of violated law. All legal forms had been observed in the election of the Parliament which proclaimed William and Mary. At Edinburg the reaction was violent, and passions were destructive; the Anglican pastors were maltreated and insulted. The first act of the Convention convoked by the Prince of Orange was the abolition of episcopacy. Everywhere the Presbyterians recovered power as well as liberty; everywhere the Covenanters, long kept down with an iron hand, proudly held up their heads. At the same time, at the moment when the Parliament of Scotland, after a lively debate, decided to recognize the legitimacy of the revolution by proclaiming in its towns the new sovereigns of England, an insurrection broke out in the Scottish Highlands under the conduct of Viscount Dundee, lately celebrated under the name of Graham of Claverhouse. He was sustained in his campaign in favor of King James by the Earl of Balcarras. Both had visited the Prince of Orange at London, both had claimed the protection of the government. "Take care, my lord," William had said to Balcarras, who was excusing himself for not voting for the deposition of James. "Remain inside the limits of the law; if you violate it, expect to be given up to it." Balcarras and Dundee had received the last orders of James II. "I commit to you my affairs in Scotland," the monarch had said, as he made ready to fly; "Balcarras will take care of my civil affairs and Dundee will command my troops." It was with great difficulty that the latter had been able to escape from the Convention where he had had the audacity to present himself. "Where do you purpose going?" Balcarras had asked him. "Where the shade of Montrose shall lead me," replied the intrepid partisan; and he disappeared at the head of fifty dragoons, the remnant of the famous regiments which had lately cut the Covenanters in pieces. The latter had not forgotten the fact.

The English Jacobites belonged almost entirely to the Anglican Church, being passionately and ancestrally devoted to its cause, as well as to the House of Stuart. The Irish Jacobites were Catholics and separatists, convinced that the greatness of their native country, like that of the Roman Church, depended on the restoration of King James. The Scotch Jacobites actively engaged in the struggle were Episcopalians, lately triumphant, but now oppressed in their religion, or Highlanders uniting against the power of the Clan Campbell and its chief, the Earl of Argyle, Mac Callum More, as he was called in the mountains. It was Argyle who, standing before the throne at Whitehall, had pronounced the words of the royal oath, repeated after him by the new sovereigns. At its last clause William had paused for a moment: its purport was that he should destroy all heretics and enemies of God. "I could not engage to become a persecutor," said the king aloud. "Neither the tenor of the oath nor the laws of Scotland impose this obligation on your majesty," replied one of the delegates. "It is on this condition that I swear," returned William; "and I beg you, my lords and gentlemen, to be witnesses of this."

So much moderation and prudence remained without effect upon the Highlanders. Argyle was employed in the new government. However unimportant his part in it was to be, from the capacity and character of the earl, the traditional foes of his clan, the Camerons, the Macleans, the Macgregors, naturally, went over to the other camp. When Dundee, threatened with arrest, left the little castle where he had quartered himself since fleeing from Edinburg, he found the Highlanders already risen under the command of Lochiel, chief of the Camerons, and Colin Keppoch, one of the Macdonalds. Bringing in his suite some Lowland gentlemen, capturing some Whigs, whom he carried with him as prisoners, sending the fiery cross before him, and accompanied everywhere by the terror of his name, Dundee soon found himself at the head of an army of five or six thousand men, all brave, hardy, inured to fatigue, undisciplined and tumultuous, incapable of fighting according to the ordinary rules of war, and, consequently, of making a long resistance to regular troops. "We would not have time to learn your mode of fighting," said Lochiel, "and we would have time to forget our own."

Dundee was uneasy; he asked King James to send him considerable reinforcements. He waited through the month of June, encamped at Lochaber, until the forces of General Mackay, tired of pursuing him without coming up to him, retreated into the Lowlands. The castle of Edinburg, long held by the Duke of Gordon for King James, had just capitulated. The numerous dependents of the Marquis of Athole were waiting for him to declare himself; his eldest son, Lord Murray, had embraced King William's party; the confidential agent of the marquis, Stewart of Badenoch, served King James. Lord Murray had presented himself before Blair Castle. The garrison which occupied it, in behalf of his father, refused him admittance to the fortress. He had laid siege to it, when Dundee and all the Highland chiefs descended impetuously from the mountains to the relief of the garrison.

The siege was raised when they arrived. Murray's soldiers had abandoned it; filling their caps with the water of a spring, they had drunk to the health of King James, and dispersed. But Mackay and his troops already occupied the defile of Killiecrankie, which led to the fortress. Dundee resolved to attack them. The aged Lochiel moved to and fro among the ranks of the Highlanders, whose fierce cries the echoes repeated; while the tone of the enemy was feeble and faint. "We shall carry the day," said Lochiel; "that is not the cry of men about to conquer." He charged the enemy at the head of his clan with sword in hand, and bare feet, like his soldiers.

A first discharge had not checked the forward motion of the Highlanders, and Mackay's soldiers were reloading their pieces, when the torrent of mountaineers came down upon them. Reeling, overthrown, deafened by the shouts, dazzled by the sheen of swords, the men threw away their muskets and began to fly. Mackay, intrepid in defeat, called to his aid his cavalry, dreaded by the mountaineers. Only Dundee could have rallied his troops, carried away by their eagerness to plunder. Dundee was dead in his glory, struck, it was told afterwards, by a silver button used as a ball and discharged at him by the superstition of the soldiers. "He is invulnerable to lead and iron," said the covenanters, who had not long ago seen him urging on his soldiers in the middle of a rain of balls. The intrepid soldier, the bold and skilful leader, the pitiless persecutor, had been mortally wounded while leading a small body of horse to the front. Falling from his charger, a soldier had received him in his arms. "How goes it?" asked Dundee. "Well for King James," answered the trooper, "but I grieve for your lordship." "Small matter about me, if things go well for him," murmured Dundee. These were his last words. His body, wrapped in the plaids of the Highlanders, was borne to Blair Castle.

The death of Dundee was in truth the end of the Scotch rising. Irregular and indecisive actions were continued for some time between the Highlanders and the Cameronian regiments, inflamed against each other by religious and political passions. Meantime the mountaineers returned gradually to their flocks. On separating, their chiefs declared that they remained the faithful subjects of King James, always ready to serve him.

They had ceased fighting for him when Marshal Schomberg landed at Antrim, on the 13th of August. Soon master of Carrick-Fergus, he had much difficulty in protecting the Irish regiments against the rage of the Protestant colonists. The courage of the Jacobites revived a little: twenty thousand men were assembled under the walls of Drogheda. After one day's march, Schomberg had entrenched himself in a strong position near Dundalk.

The inexperienced zeal of the Irish, as well as of the English recruits brought by Schomberg, led them to desire immediate battle; but Rosen and Schomberg were old commanders, accustomed to weigh the chances of war and the valor of armies; and neither was eager to give battle. In spite of the maladies which ravaged his army, of the bad quality of the provisions, and of the injurious rumors circulated against him in England as well as Ireland, Schomberg remained shut up in his camp at Dundalk without the enemy's daring to attack him. When he returned to the north, at the beginning of November, the Irish had taken up their winter quarters and did not disturb themselves about his retreat. "I declare," wrote the marshal, from Lisburn to William III., "that if it were not for the profound obedience I have for your majesty's orders, I should prefer the honor of being inactive at your court to the command of an army in Ireland composed as was that of the past campaign; and if I had hazarded a battle, which would have been hard to do if the enemy wished to remain in his camp, I should perhaps have lost all that you possess in this kingdom, without speaking of the consequences which might have resulted from it in Scotland, and even in England."

Europe was again in flames when Schomberg wrote thus to King William; but the true chief of the coalition against Louis XIV. was not able to leave his kingdom or to place himself at the head of the forces which he had sent to the assistance of his allies; the difficulties of parliamentary government and the war in Ireland kept him in his own dominions. The new Parliament had met on the 20th of March, 1690. The Tories were numerous, energetic and confident in it. The king committed the direction of his affairs to Danby, whom he had just made Marquis of Caermarthen. He then announced formally to the Houses his intention of crossing into Ireland. The parties had for a short time thought of interfering with this resolution. "I find they are beginning to be much distressed at my journey to Ireland," wrote William to his friend Bentinck whom he had made Duke of Portland, and who was then in Holland; "especially the Whigs, who fear to lose me too soon, before they have made what they want of me; for, as for their friendship, you know one must not count upon that in this country. I have said nothing as yet of my design to Parliament, but I propose to do so next week. Meantime I have begun to make my preparations, and everybody speaks publicly of them."

The new Commons voted that they would sustain and maintain the government of their majesties, King William and Queen Mary, with all their power, as well by their counsels as by their assistance. "I thank you for your address, gentlemen," replied William. "I have already had occasion to expose my life for the nation; rest assured I shall continue to do so in future." Yet the two Houses had resolved to subject the royal revenues to the necessity of a repeated vote. William was hurt at this; the civil lists granted to Charles II. and James II. had been granted for their lives. "The gentry of England have had confidence in King James, who was the enemy of their religion and laws," he observed to Burnet; "they distrust me, who have preserved their religion and laws." The discontent which he was quick to feel and bitter in expressing, never disturbed the justice and loftiness natural to the spirit of William III. When the Whigs proposed a bill of abjuration, intended to disquiet the consciences of a large number of moderate and honorable Tories, the king let his friends know that he had no desire to impose a painful test upon his subjects. The motion, much modified, was brought before the House of Lords. "I have taken many oaths," said old Lord Wharton, formerly colonel in the service of the Long Parliament, "and I have not kept them all: I ask God not to impute to me this sin; but I should not like to spread anew a snare into which my own soul or that of my neighbor might fall."

The Earl of Macclesfield, who had accompanied William of Orange at the time of his arrival in England, supported the words of Lord Wharton. "I am surprised," said Churchill, who had lately become Earl of Marlborough, "that your Lordship has any objection to the bill, after the part you have played in the revolution." "The noble earl exaggerates the part I have had in the deliverance of my country," retorted Macclesfield: "I have always been ready to risk my life in defence of her laws and liberties, but there are things that I should not have liked to do, even in this cause. I have been a rebel against a bad king; others have gone further than I."

Marlborough was silent; the King, who was present, became grave. Some days later, before bidding farewell to the Parliament, he transmitted to it by Lord Caermarthen an act of pardon, a free and spontaneous amnesty, to which the practice of preceding reigns had not accustomed England. The regicides who were still alive and a certain number of the most guilty satellites of King James, were alone excepted from the general pardon. These had, for the most part, sought safety upon the continent; those who were in England were informed that new crimes alone could expose them to the vengeance of the laws. The act of pardon was passed on the 20th of May; on the same date the king prorogued the Parliament, committing to the queen the cares of government. A council composed of nine persons was to assist in this important task. Four Whigs and five Tories sat in this confidential ministry. William had provided with far-seeing tenderness for all the wants of his wife. "I put my trust in God," he said to Burnet, whom he had made Bishop of Salisbury, and to whom he unveiled the melancholy state of his soul, in presence of so many troubles and dangers. "I shall complete my task or fall in its performance. The poor queen alone distresses me. If you love me, see her often; give her all the aid you can. As for myself, separated from her, I shall be very glad to find myself on horseback and under canvas once more; I am fitter to command an army than to direct your Houses of Parliament. But though I know I am doing my duty, it is hard for my wife to feel that her father confronts me on the field of battle. God grant that no harm may befall him. Pray for me, doctor."

William embarked at Highlake on the 11th of June; three days later he landed at Carrick-Fergus. The same evening he reached Belfast. Schomberg had arrived before him. At the same time James left Dublin for his camp on the northern frontier of Leicester. He was accompanied by Lauzun, who had recently come from France with four Irish regiments, equipped and drilled at the expense of Louis XIV. "For the love of God," Louvois had said to Lauzun, of whom he had a rather poor opinion, "Don't let yourself be carried away by your desire to come to blows; endeavor to tire the English, and above all maintain discipline." Careless and venturous as he was, Lauzun was astonished at the disorder which he found everywhere in Ireland. "It is a chaos like that described in Genesis," he wrote to Louvois; "I would not spend another month here for the whole world."

William III. urged on his preparations and hurried his advance, eagerly desiring to attack the enemy. Schomberg wanted to hold him back. "I have not come here to let the grass grow under my feet," said the King of England. "This country is worth making one's own," he added, as he gazed upon the beautiful, though semi-civilized places he was passing through. The valley of the Boyne, on the confines of the counties of Lowth and Meath, reminded him of the rich meadows of England. The tents of the enemy were pitched beneath Drogheda; the standards of the houses of Stuart and Bourbon floated over the walls of the town. "I am very glad to see you at last, gentlemen," said William of Orange, viewing the motions of the Jacobite army from afar; "if you escape me now, it will be my fault." One part of the army of King James was concealed by the undulations of the ground. "Strong or weak," said William, "I shall soon know which they are."

The two armies were almost equal in numbers: twenty-five or thirty thousand were mustered on either side. "Although it is true that the soldiers seem determined to do their best and are exasperated against the rebels," wrote d'Avaux, who had just returned to France with Rosen, who was superceded by Lauzun, "yet that is not the only requisite for fighting a battle. The subaltern officers are bad; and, excepting a very few, there are none to take care of the soldiers, the arms and the discipline. More confidence is placed in the cavalry, the greater part of which is good enough." William had brought with him his veteran Dutch and German regiments; representatives of all the Protestant churches of Europe were there in arms against the enemies of their liberties. None were more impetuous than the Irish Protestants, burning to avenge their recent injuries, and the French Huguenots, who flocked from all quarters against the monarch whom Louis XIV. sustained. "I am sure," the Baron d'Avejon, lieutenant colonel in King William's service, had written to Geneva, "that you will not fail to have published in all the French churches of Switzerland the obligation which rests on all refugees to come and help us in this campaign, in which the glory of God, and, consequently, the reestablishment of his Church in our country are at stake." Vain hopes! which explain the zeal of the French Protestants against the Irish and King James. Two refugees—Marshal Schomberg, and M. de Caillemotte, younger brother of Ruvigny—led them at the battle of the Boyne, exclaiming: "Forward, my children, to glory! Forward! behold our persecutors!"

On the morning of the first of July, King William, who was wounded on the shoulder the evening before while making a reconnaissance, was on horseback from daybreak. The armies joined battle in the river. At first Schomberg had remained on the bank, directing the movement of his troops. He rallied around him the Huguenot regiments, shaken by the death of their leader Caillemotte. The moment the marshal stepped aground, after crossing the Boyne, a detachment of Irish cavalry surrounded him; he was dead when his friends succeeded in rejoining him. The native infantry had promptly taken to flight; nevertheless the regiments from France and the Irish gentlemen fought furiously. King William had entered the river at the head of the left wing, with difficulty guiding his horse with his wounded arm. He drew his sword with his left hand, and, charging at the head of the Enniskillen Protestants, he dashed upon the enemy. "You will be my guards today," he had said to the brave settlers; "I have often heard of you, let us see what you can do." The heat of battle expanded the heart of the grave and silent prince, whose unconquerable reserve his best friends frequently deplored: he moved about in every direction, receiving bullets on his pistol-butt and the top of his boot, following up the victory which at every point declared itself for him. King James had taken no part in the action; he had remained afar, viewing the combat from the heights of Dunmore. When he was certain that fortune was against him, he turned bridle, accompanied by some horsemen. In the evening he reached Dublin, bearing the news of his own defeat. Irritated and humiliated, he bitterly reproached his partisans with the cowardice of their countrymen. "I shall never in my life command an Irish army," said he. "I must now think of my safety alone; let each man do the same." Next day at sunrise he left Dublin, and on the 3d of July he took ship at Waterford. He soon landed at Brest, and related the history of the battle in detail. "From the account of the battle that I have heard the king and several of his suite give," wrote one of his first hearers, "it does not seem to me that he was very well informed of what took place in the action, and that he only knows the rout of his troops." "Those who love the King of England ought to be glad to know of his safety," said the Marshal de Luxembourg, in Germany; "but those who love his glory have to deplore the part he has played."

King James at the Battle of Boyne.

Queen Mary was more pre-occupied about her father's safety than her own glory. She wrote to her husband on the 5th of July: "I was uneasy to know what had become of the king, my father; I only dared to ask Lord Nottingham, and I have had the satisfaction of learning that he was safe and sound. I know I have no need of asking you to spare him; but add this to your clemency—let the world know that for love of me you wish no harm to befall his person."

The joy in England was complete when it was known that King William had entered Dublin on the 6th. The rumor of his death had been spread for a short time in Paris, where it had given rise to popular rejoicings. The governor of the Bastile had even had cannon fired. King James set about undeceiving the court and city. His royal illusions were not yet dispelled. "My subjects love me still," he used to say; "they await me impatiently in England." When he arrived at Versailles, his first care was to press Louis XIV. to send an army of invasion at once. "All the forces of England are in Ireland," said he; "my people will rise in my behalf." Tourville had just attempted a descent on the coasts of Devonshire, but the peasants had taken arms and the Cornish miners had emerged from the bowels of the earth to repel the invasion. The French sailors contented themselves with burning Teignmouth, and took to sea again more proud of the triumph they had lately gained (July 10) over the united English and Dutch fleets at Beachy Head, than humiliated at their check on the English coast. One cry re-echoed in all the southern countries: "God bless King William and Queen Mary!"

King William had felt deeply the disaster of his fleet. The news had reached him a few days after that of the battle of Fleurus, which had been won by the Marshal de Luxembourg from the Prince de Waldeck, commanding the allied forces. "I cannot express to you," wrote William to Heinsius, "how I am distressed at these two great great disasters which almost simultaneously have fallen upon the arms of the Republic. That of the fleet affects me the more deeply, because I have been informed that my vessels have not properly assisted those of the States, and left them in a critical position. I have ordered an inquiry to take place; the queen has given similar orders; no personal consideration shall prevent my rigorously punishing the guilty." William had a right to feel in the bottom of his soul a secret pride for his native country. The Dutch vessels had born the whole weight of the contest at Beachy Head, while the Marshal de Luxembourg wrote after the battle of Fleurus: "Prince de Waldeck will never forget the French cavalry, and I shall remember the Dutch infantry. It has done still better than the Spaniards at Rocroi."

The indignation of England was great against Admiral Herbert, created Lord Torrington, who was wrongfully accused of treason. An inquiry was held upon his conduct, and many people were found to be compromised in a Jacobite plot. Lord Clarendon, the queen's uncle, was of the number. Before his departure to Ireland the king had already had proof of his intrigues. The queen interceded for him. William had summoned Lord Rochester. "Your brother has plotted against me," he had said, "I am assured. I have been advised to except him from the amnesty, but I have been unwilling to cause this grief to the queen. It is for her sake that I forgive the past; but let Lord Clarendon take care in future; he will perceive that I am not jesting." This kind advice had not sufficed; Lord Clarendon's name was connected anew with Jacobite plots. The advisers of the queen hesitated to accuse him in her presence. "I know," said Mary, "and everybody knows as well as I, that Lord Clarendon is accused of things too grave to suffer him to be excepted from the precautionary measures." A warrant was signed for Clarendon's arrest. "I am more grieved for Lord Clarendon than people will believe," the queen wrote to her husband.

William returned to England, after meeting with a repulse before the walls of Limerick, defended by the Irish with the patriotic and sectarian zeal which had before animated the Protestant citizens of Londonderry. Lauzun and the auxiliary regiments, after withdrawing to Galway, had just embarked for France. King William bid Marlborough to make a descent upon Cork and Kinsale. The two places fell into the hands of that able general, and five weeks from his departure from Portsmouth he paid his respects to the king at Kensington. "There is not in Europe a general, having so little experience in war, who is worthier of great commands than the Earl of Marlborough," William said generously, for he did not like him. The return of the king, and his journey from Bristol to London, had been greeted with national transports of joy. He had left in Ireland the Dutch general Ginckel, a resolute and prudent man, at the head of an army, well disciplined, well equipped, and well victualled. Before the close of the following year, Ginckel had completed his task of pacifying Ireland. On the 20th of June, 1691, in spite of the presence and exertions of Saint-Ruth, who had come with reinforcements from France, he carried by storm the town of Athlone, the true key of Connaught, and the strongest place in Ireland. "His master should have him hanged for attempting to take Athlone," said the French general, "and my master can do the same to me, if I lose it." On the 12th of July Saint-Ruth was killed at the battle of Aghrim, and the Irish signally defeated. On the 26th of August, Ginckel laid siege to Limerick.

Tyrconnel had just breathed his last, old and prematurely worn out by fatigue and debauches. King James's troops were commanded by Lord Sarsfield, the most able and brilliant of the Irish officers. On the 1st of August a capitulation was signed, and was soon followed by a treaty. The Irish regiments were permitted to choose between the service of William and that of Louis XIV. A large number of soldiers went over spontaneously to France, forming in the armies of Louis XIV. and Louis XV. that Irish brigade, whose name has become famous. "Has this last campaign altered your opinion of our military qualities?" asked Sarsfield of the English officers. "To tell the truth," answered they, "we think almost the same of them as we have always thought." "Well," replied Sarsfield, "whatever bad opinion you may have of us, only let us change our king and begin again, and you will see." Ginckel was raised to the dignity of Earl of Athlone and Aghrim. King William and Parliament had ratified the terms offered by the general to the Irish; the struggle was over, the conquest consummated; the Protestant colonists, lately oppressed, became the masters, and often the oppressors of the indigenous race, which was dejected and decimated. Scotland was absorbed with the triumph of the Presbyterians, who had just legally recovered the religious supremacy in their country, to the great detriment of Episcopalians and Cameronians. The English Parliament had voted supplies generously, the Jacobite plots were exploded; the trial of Lord Torrington had ended in an acquittal, which never succeeded in erasing from the king's mind a distrust, which was merited by the dissolute life and known intemperance of the admiral. William had not waited for this first interval of domestic peace to respond to the needs of his soul, and the imperious call of political necessity. On the 18th of January, 1691, in spite of the severity of the season, he had embarked at Gravesend for Holland. "I yearn for this moment more than I can express to you," he wrote six months before to Heinsius.

The English fleet had arrived in sight of the coasts of Holland. The voyage had been unpleasant; disembarkation seemed impossible: enormous blocks of ice encumbered the channel, while a thick fog hid the land. For eighteen hours the four little ships were obliged to keep to sea. The king was, as usual, weak and suffering, yet he had wished to put off in an open boat, to gain his natal soil the quicker. The whole night was spent before he could step on dry land; the cold was intense, and the danger serious. Some of the sailors were in despair. "Fie!" said William to them, "are you afraid to die with me?" Some great British noblemen, the Dukes of Ormond and Norfolk, the Earls of Devonshire, Dorset and Monmouth, were with him; Portland and Zulestein were glad to accompany their beloved sovereign to Holland. It was only at daybreak, by the feeble light of a winter's morning, that they were able at last to land on the island of Goree. The king rested there some hours before taking the road to the Hague.

Joy beamed on the face which the English were accustomed to find stern and haughty. Heart was responding to heart; England had accepted its deliverance from the hand of William III., without affinity for him and through necessity. The Dutch loved the heir of the greatest name in their nation and of their race, the liberator of their country, the man who had carried to the throne of England the glory, the name and the manners of his Dutch fatherland. The people pressed upon his steps. "Let them alone," said the king; "let them come near me and all be my friends." A splendid reception had been prepared at the Hague: he was opposed to the pageant and the ceremonies, and murmured against this useless expenditure. "It is quite enough to have to bear the cost of the war," he observed. His countrymen spared him neither a speech nor a salvo of artillery; the joy of the population was at its height. "It would be quite another thing if Mary had accompanied me," said the king to those who congratulated him upon his triumph; "she is more popular than I."

The States-General were solemnly convened. William was more moved than he had been formerly on leaving his native country. "When I took leave of you," he said, "I informed you of my intention to cross over to England, to save, thanks to your aid, that kingdom from a deluge of evils present and to come. Providence has blessed my enterprise, and the nation has offered me the crown of the three kingdoms. I have accepted it, not from ambition, God is my witness, but to put the religion, the welfare, the peace of Great Britain beyond the power of any assault, and to be able to protect the allies, the republic in particular, against the supremacy of France. I have loved this country from my earliest youth, and, if anything could increase this love, it is the certainty that I have found a reciprocal attachment in the hearts of my countrymen. If it pleases God that I should become the instrument which Providence may deign to use in order to restore repose to Europe and re-establish security in your state, I shall have lived long enough and shall go down tranquilly to the grave."

It was at the Hague that the Congress of the Grand Alliance had met. Having become King of England, and controlling the forces of a great kingdom, William of Orange remained its chief, notwithstanding princely jealousies and rivalries, by that ascendancy of genius which had carried him to the first rank when he was as yet but the stadtholder of a petty republic. The assembled princes or their envoys were not used to hear such bold language employed against the all-powerful king of France as that of William at the opening of the Diet. "The states of Europe," said the king, "have been too long given up to a spirit of division, indolence, or attention to their private interests. We may rest assured that the interest of each is inseparable from the general interest of all. The King of France's forces are great; he will sweep away everything like a torrent. It will be vain to oppose him with murmurs and protests against injustice. It is not the resolutions of diets, or hopes founded on fanciful rumors, but powerful armies, and a firm union among the allies which can stay the common enemy in his triumphant career and in the effervescence of his power. It is with the sword that we must wrest from his hands the liberties of Europe which he aims at smothering, or we must endure the yoke of slavery forever. For my part I shall spare neither my credit, my forces nor my person, to attain this glorious result, and I shall come in the spring at the head of my troops to conquer or die with my allies."

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

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

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

Duke And Duchess Of Marlborough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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."

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."

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. 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. 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. 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. "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. 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. "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. 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. 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."

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.

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. 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."

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.

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.

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."

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."

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.

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."

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. 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."

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."

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. 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."

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. 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. "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?"

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."

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. 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. 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." 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.

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.

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

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."

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.

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. 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."

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." 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.

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.

Chapter XXXIII.
Queen Anne
War Of The Spanish Succession
(1702-1714).

"The master workman was dead," says Burke, "but his work had been conceived according to the true principles of art, and it had been executed in his mind." William of Orange was dead; after a reign incessantly contested, unpopular and stormy, scarcely had he breathed his last, when all he had done, and desired, was attacked, censured and disputed on every side. The edifice, however, was too firmly constructed, was founded upon moral principles too true, and based upon political necessities too serious, for the storms of party passion to overthrow. The coalition of Europe was to survive the loss of its chief; the liberties of England were forever delivered from the yoke of the Stuarts.

Queen Anne was proclaimed without opposition, and but few even of the Jacobites affected any astonishment at seeing her ascend the unoccupied throne. Their prince was still a child, and the last act to which William III. had put his hand was a bill of attainder against the Pretender, as King James III. of the Court of St. Germain began to be called in England. The queen had successively lost her seventeen children; the hope of the Jacobites changed its nature, and henceforth they confidently awaited the future.

Anne was thirty-seven years old, her health was poor and her intelligence limited; she was honest, and sincerely attached to the Church of England. Although naturally good and universally popular, grand views or great political and moral considerations were foreign to her; she never comprehended them, and allowed herself constantly to be controlled by some favorite that she frequently changed for frivolous reasons or caprices of management. These favorites were of both parties, but she showed a marked predilection for the Tories. The Whigs long governed during her reign, and to them belongs the honor of having continued the work begun by William III. Queen Anne, however, always regarded them with aversion and distrust. In the depths of her soul she had remained attached to the house of her father; her Protestant faith alone separated her from that brother whose birth she had stigmatized. She was timid, yet at the same time obstinate, indolent, and passionately attached to her royal prerogatives; unable to strike a great blow against public sentiment, but henceforth the mistress of England by the preponderant action of the House of Commons. Her favorites, all powerful while they were around her, had to learn the limit of their influence; their personal faults, and the grave errors of their conduct, were not the only reasons that led to the fall of the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough. Soon constrained to rely upon the Whigs, as they alone seriously desired the war, Marlborough, but recently Tory and half Jacobite, was to fall with them.

Queen Anne.

Marlborough was still counted among the Tories, when Anne ascended the throne; he shared with Lord Godolphin the political confidence of the queen. The Duchess of Marlborough, haughty, violent and avaricious, naturally powerful and domineering, as well over her husband as over the queen, was the intimate friend of this little council. The influence of the Duke of Marlborough, as well as public sentiment, induced Anne to favor the war and fulfil England's engagements. The first speech from the throne clearly announced her resolution to continue, on this subject, the policy of King William III. "We cannot encourage our allies too much in their efforts to destroy the enormous power of France." Marlborough was sent as envoy extraordinary to the Hague, to assure the States-General of the intentions of the queen. As skilful a negotiator as he was great as a general, he knew from the first how to gain the confidence of Heinsius, and to give to the European powers a firm assurance of the maintenance of the Grand Alliance. On the 4th of May, 1702, a declaration of war was simultaneously promulgated at London, Vienna, and the Hague. Marlborough was appointed general-in-chief of the combined English and Dutch forces. After his first campaign upon the Meuse, although the successes were very insignificant, Anne raised him to the rank of Duke. She overwhelmed her favorite with the most lucrative offices. Finally, to perpetuate the splendor of his house, she demanded that parliament confer, with the title which she had given to the illustrious general, a pension of £5,000. The houses refused. The queen multiplied her personal favors; accepted with repugnance, or magnanimously refused at first, and subsequently reclaimed with avidity. When, in 1712, the Duchess of Marlborough had forever lost the favor of the queen, she demanded and obtained all the arrears of a pension of £2,000 that she had refused from the privy purse of the queen in 1702.

I have not endeavored to recount in detail the campaigns of the Duke of Marlborough, and the continual efforts that he made to obtain the assistance of the allied powers, as well as to control and harmonize their diverse and contradictory wills. Under an amiable and seductive exterior, Marlborough possessed by nature a character calm and impassive. He had not only to struggle against the obstinacy and patriotic restlessness of the Dutch, which all the zeal and authority of Heinsius could not control, but also against the slowness of the emperor and the intestine quarrels of the empire. The campaign of 1703 was constantly hindered by these petty jealousies. At the beginning of the year 1704, the general wrote to Godolphin: "I augur so ill of this campaign that I am extremely discouraged. May God's will be done, but I have great reasons for anxiety. In all the other campaigns I saw something definite for the common cause; this year all that I am able to hope is that some fortunate accident may permit me to arrive at a good result." Nevertheless it was in the same year, 1704, that Marlborough, in the 54th year of his age, laid the foundations of his glory.

The French commander, Marshal Villars, a braggart and a boaster, but bold, ingenious and resolute, had gained some successes in the preceding campaign. In 1704 he was detained in France by the Camisard insurrection. Marshals Tallard and Marsin commanded the French armies in Germany, and these were reinforced by the Elector of Bavaria. The emperor, threatened by a new insurrection, recalled Prince Eugene from Italy, where the Duke of Savoy had abandoned Louis XIV. and joined the Grand Alliance; and Marlborough united his forces with those of the prince by a rapid march, that Marshal Villeroi endeavored in vain to intercept.

On the 13th of August the hostile armies encountered each other between Blenheim and Hochstardt, near the Danube. The opposing forces were nearly equal, but on the part of the French the command was divided, and the corps acted separately. It was to the honor of both the Prince Eugene and the Duke of Marlborough, that during this long war they always combined their operations without jealousy or personal intrigue. "We, the Prince Eugene and I, will never quarrel about our share of the laurels." The prince had with great difficulty succeeded in conducting his troops to their assigned post. While this movement was in progress, public prayers were begun in the allied army. "The English chaplains," says Lord Macaulay, "read the service at the head of the English regiments. The Calvinistic chaplains of the Dutch army, with heads on which hand of Bishop had never been laid, poured forth their supplications in front of their countrymen. In the mean time, the Danes might listen to their Lutheran ministers, and capuchins might encourage the Austrian squadrons, and pray to the Virgin for a blessing on the arms of the Holy Roman Empire. The battle commences. These men, of various religions, all act like members of one body."

Marshal Tallard had sustained alone the attack of the English and Dutch under Marlborough; he was made prisoner; his son was killed at his side; the cavalry, deprived of their leader and driven by the enemy, fled in the direction of the Danube. Many officers and soldiers perished in the stream; the massacre was frightful. Marsin and the Elector repulsed five successive charges of Prince Eugene, and succeeded in securing their retreat; but the electorates of Bavaria and Cologne were lost. Landau was recaptured by the allies after a siege of two months. The French army recrossed the Rhine. Alsace was gained, and Germany was evacuated. "If the success of Prince Eugene had equalled his merit," said Marlborough, "we would have ended the war in this campaign."

The return of the Duke of Marlborough to England was a veritable triumph. Parliament and the queen vied with each other in generosity towards him. He received as a gift the estate of Woodstock, which took the name of Blenheim. The foundations of a magnificent palace were laid. In vain did the Tories, already envious of the duke, seek to rival his victorious campaign, by the maritime successes of Sir George Rooke; all eyes were fixed upon the general, all hope centered on him; his influence in England was equal to his power upon the continent. "If the duke gains the same successes in 1705 as he has gained in 1704," said the Tories, "the constitution of England will be lost." The discontented were reassured.

The brilliant results of the campaign of 1705, in Spain, under the Earl of Peterborough (formerly Lord Mordaunt), were counteracted, in Germany, by the internal discords of the Grand Alliance. Masters of Gibraltar since 1704, the English, in 1705, seized Barcelona. Bold, enterprising and peculiar, but of brilliant personal valor, Peterborough had taken possession of Barcelona in spite of his lieutenants and his soldiers. He rallied and led back to the assault the flying troops. Galloping to meet them and flourishing a half broken pike in his hand, he cried, "Return, and follow me, if you do not want the eternal infamy of having deserted your post and abandoned your general."

"We have been the object of a miracle," wrote he to the Duchess of Marlborough. "I know what was the temper of our nation, especially during the month of November. I believe, however, that one ought not to complain, but we are as poor as church mice, without money, and miracles are not sufficient."

In 1706 alternate successes and reverses had successively delivered Madrid to the princely competitors who disputed the throne of Spain. Peterborough found at the head of the troops of King Philip V., his compatriot, the Duke of Berwick. This nobleman was often engaged, for the service of his party or his family, in enterprises which did not become his taciturn honesty. He was faithfully devoted to the service of King Louis XIV., although never a favorite with his grandson, and still less pleasing to the young Queen, Marie Gabrielle, second daughter of the Duke of Savoy.

Lord Peterborough shared in the same manner the dislike of the Archduke Charles. "I would not accept my safety from the hands of my Lord Peterborough," said the Austrian Prince.—"What fools we are to fight for such imbeciles!" bitterly replied the English General.

The defeat at Blenheim, in 1704, was a first and terrible blow to the power of Louis XIV., as well as to the military prestige of France. The defeat at Ramillies, on the 23rd of May, 1706, was a second step towards ruin. The personal attachment of the king had always blinded him regarding the military talents of Villeroi. Defeated in Italy by Prince Eugene, Villeroi, as presumptuous as unskilful, hoped to distinguish himself before Marlborough. "All the army long for battle. I know that it is the wish of your Majesty," wrote the marshal to Louis XIV., after his check. "How can I prevent exposing myself to an engagement which I believe expedient?" His lieutenants differed with him; they conjured him to change his order of battle. The troops engaged without confidence. The Bavarians fled within an hour; the French, heroic as at Blenheim, realizing the blunders of their commander, soon followed their example. The rout was complete, the disorder indescribable. Villeroi did not stop until he was under the walls of Brussels. He was soon obliged to evacuate that place. The Duke of Marlborough entered it in the middle of October, master of two-thirds of Belgium. The emperor offered to the victorious general the government of the Low Countries. Marlborough greatly desired to accept it, but the visible opposition of the Hollanders prevented him. "Assure the States that I have no desire to give them any embarrassment," wrote he to Heinsius; "since they do not think it expedient, I willingly decline to accept this commission." Marshal Villeroi was recalled. "No more happiness at our age," said the king with great kindness. The Duke de Vendôme was charged with the command of the army in Flanders, "in the hope that he would infuse that spirit of strength and audacity natural to the French nation," said Louis XIV. "All the world here is ready to take off its hat when the name of the Duke of Marlborough is mentioned," wrote Vendôme; "if the soldiers and the cavaliers are of the same mind, then one might as well take leave at once; but I hope to find better material."

All the efforts of Vendôme were not able to prevent the loss of Ménin, of Ath, and of Dendermonde. Prince Eugene defeated the Duke of Orleans before Turin on the 7th of September. Marshal Marsin was killed. "It is impossible to express the joy that I feel," said Marlborough, in a letter to his wife, "for I more than esteem, I love the Prince Eugene. This brilliant action ought to place France low enough to permit us, if our friends consent to continue the war for another year, to conclude a peace which will give us repose to the end of our days. But for the present I do not comprehend the Dutch."

The States-General had, in fact, received overtures from Louis XIV., which inclined them towards peace. "It is said publicly at the Hague," wrote Godolphin, "that France is humbled as much as is desirable, and that if the war is prolonged, it will end in making England stronger than she ought to be. All that they have as yet proposed, is a treaty of partition, dishonorable to the allies and deplorable for the future." War made the glory, the fortune and the power of the Duke of Marlborough, as well as of Prince Eugene; both influenced Heinsius, who had remained faithful to the policy of William III., but without that grandeur and breadth of mind which knows how to measure advantages with justice and moderation. The disputes of the States finally ended in the republic remaining faithful to the allies, and deciding not to accept any negotiation without their concurrence. Public opinion was nevertheless modified in Holland. "The Burgomasters of Amsterdam have passed two hours at my house this morning, endeavoring to convince me of the necessity of a prompt peace," wrote Marlborough, in 1708; "this, on the part of the most zealous Hollanders, has greatly disturbed me."

For a time the affairs of France, closely allied to those of Spain, appeared to improve in that kingdom; the victory at Almanza, won on the 13th of April, 1707, by Marshal Berwick over the Anglo-Portuguese army, and the taking of Lerida, which capitulated on the 11th of November, to the Duke of Orleans, revived the hopes of the partisans of Philip V., and turned popular sentiment in his favor. Lord Peterborough, dissatisfied and irritated, returned to England. Lord Galway, son of the old Marquis of Ruvigny, and like him a refugee in England, took command of the English troops. The campaigns of the Duke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene had not been brilliant. The Prince and the Duke of Savoy had been repulsed before Toulon, and the uprising of the peasants compelled them to precipitately evacuate Provence. Marshal Villars had driven back the Margrave of Bayreuth from the banks of the Rhine, and had advanced into Swabia; he also ravaged the Palatinate. All the negotiations of Marlborough in Sweden, at Vienna and at Berlin, had not been able to bring about, in time, a combined action of the allied forces; murmurs of dissatisfaction were heard in England as well as in Holland. The enemies of Marlborough accused him of designedly prolonging the war, by his insatiable avariciousness. The popularity of the duchess with the queen was visibly declining; all the audacity and cleverness of the great general were scarcely sufficient to turn aside parliamentary attacks. Godolphin was threatened in his power. "I am discouraged," wrote Marlborough to his wife, "and I am astonished at the courage of the Lord Treasurer. If I was treated as he is—and I probably will be—and was always upon the point of seeing myself abandoned by the Whigs, I would not remain at my post for all that the world might offer; I would not be the first to repent. When I say this I know well that while the war lasts, I ought to retain my command; but I do not wish to put my hand to another thing."

The campaign of 1708 opened badly. Ghent and Bruges opened their gates to the young prince, the Duke of Burgundy. "The States have used this country so ill," said Marlborough, "that all the towns are disposed to follow the example of Ghent when the opportunity offers."

Prince Eugene advanced to support Marlborough, but he set out too late; the Elector of Bavaria obstructed his march. "I do not wish to speak ill of Prince Eugene," said Marlborough, "but he will arrive at the rendezvous on the Moselle ten days too late." The English were unsupported when they encountered the French army in front of Kidenarde. The battle commenced without the presence of the Duke of Burgundy, who received the news too late. Vendôme, the commanding general, was defeated. Marlborough proposed to carry the war into France. Prince Eugene, and the deputies of the States-General, did not approve of the boldness of the project. The allies besieged Lille. Marshal Boufflers held the city until the 23rd of October, and the citadel until the 9th of December, without receiving any succor. When he surrendered. Prince Eugene permitted him to march out, with all the honors of war. Ghent and Bruges were delivered into the hands of the imperialists. "We have committed folly upon folly in this campaign," says Marshal Berwick, in his Memoirs, "but notwithstanding even this, if we had not abandoned Ghent and Bruges we would have had easy work the next year." The Low Countries were lost, and the French frontiers were encroached upon by the loss of Lille. The Duke of Orleans, weary of his forced inactivity in Spain, and suspected at the court of Philip V., resigned his command: he returned to France. The English Admiral Leake, and General Stanhope, took possession of Sardinia, the island of Minorca, and Port-Mahon. The archduke was master of the islands and of the Mediterranean sea. For a year past Philip V. had not possessed an inch of land in Italy. The exhaustion and misery of France were extreme, and Louis XIV. finally decided to negotiate for peace.

He first addressed himself to Holland, where there existed a general desire for peace; the war could bring the Dutch no other profit than a guarantee of security. The king offered this. "In the midst of the sufferings that hostilities had inflicted upon commerce, there was reason to hope," wrote the Marquis of Torcy, in his Memoirs, "that the grand pensionary, regarding principally the interests of his country, would desire the end of a war, the burden of which fell upon his own country. Authorized by the republic, he had no reason to fear any secret intrigue, nor any cabal to displace him from a post which he occupied to the satisfaction of his masters, and in which he conducted himself with moderation. Although the united provinces bore the principal weight of the war, the emperor alone gathered the fruits. It is said that the Dutch guarded the Temple of Peace and held the keys in their hands."

Torcy had counted too much upon the moderation of Heinsius. In vain President Rouillé, charged with the secret negotiations, proposed to abandon Spain, provided Naples, Sardinia and Sicily were assured to Philip V.: Louis XIV. thereby came back to the second treaty of partition, but recently concluded with the United Provinces, as well as with England. Heinsius, faithful to the Grand Alliance, ardent to avenge the past injuries of the republic, and justly suspicious regarding France, did not comprehend that he was destroying the work of William III., and the European equilibrium, if he assured to the house of Austria the preponderance of which he deprived the house of Bourbon; the conditions that he exacted, through his delegates, were such that Rouillé scarcely dared transmit them to Versailles. Each of the allies desired a share of the spoils. England claimed Dunkirk, Germany desired Strasbourg and the re-establishment of the Peace of Westphalia; Victor Amadeus wanted to recover Nice and Savoy, and the Dutch demanded that to the barrier stipulated at Reyswick should be added, Lille, Condé and Tournay. "The king will break off the negotiations, sooner than accept such exorbitant conditions," said the deputy of the States-General to Marlborough.—"So much the worse for France," replied the English general; "for the campaign once begun, things will go further than the king thinks. The allies will never relax their first demands."

The Duke was assured of the fidelity of his allies—he had made a trip to England. When he returned to the Hague, the Marquis of Torcy himself had arrived to pursue the negotiations, and was the bearer of new concessions. The king offered to recognize Queen Anne, to cede Strasbourg and Lille, and to content himself with Naples for his grandson. Marlborough protested his pacific intentions: "You also ought to desire peace for France," said he to the minister of Louis XIV.; "it is necessary to conclude it as soon as possible. But if you seriously desire it, be assured that it is necessary to renounce absolutely the Spanish monarchy; on this point my compatriots are unanimous. The English will never permit Naples and Sicily, or even one of those two kingdoms, to remain in the hands of a Bourbon. An English minister would not dare even to propose it."

The Duke insisted that the Pretender should be compelled to leave France. An attempted descent upon Scotland, assisted by Louis XIV., although unsuccessful, owing to the bad weather, had excited the anger of the Whig ministry, and they demanded, in the negotiations, that France should cease to give her support to the young prince. "I would like to serve him," said Marlborough to Torcy—who had not left him in ignorance of the intrigues that were taking place at the Court of St. Germain; "he is the son of a king for whom I would have given my life," and he added: "my colleague Lord Townshend is a Whig: in his presence I am obliged to speak as the most of the English; but I would like, with all my heart, to serve the Prince of Wales. I sincerely believe it would be to his advantage, at this time, to leave France. Is not the success of the allies a miracle of Providence? When has it happened before that eight nations have spoken and acted as one man?"

Torcy had gone to the last limits of concession; he had renounced Sicily as well as Naples. The allies claimed Alsace, certain towns in Dauphiné and Provence, and they exacted that the conditions of the peace were to be executed during the truce of two months, that they were about to accord; besides Louis XIV. was to deliver immediately, to Holland, in case Philip V. refused to abdicate, three fortified cities. To this dishonorable proposition, the young king replied: "God has given me the crown of Spain; and while there remains a drop of blood in my veins, I will defend it."

The demands of the allies passed all reasonable bounds; imprudent even for the interests of Europe as well as for the maintenance of a durable peace, their propositions deeply wounded royal honor and patriotic sentiment in France and Spain. The prudent sagacity of William III. would have preserved the powers from this grave error, but the political obstinacy of Heinsius, the decided hatreds of Prince Eugene, and the avidity of the Duke of Marlborough for glory and fortune, served the cause that they at heart desired to ruin forever. Louis XIV. broke off negotiations and made a final effort. "If I must continue the war," said he, "I will contend against my enemies rather than against my own family." He wrote to all the governors of the provinces and cities:

"Gentlemen: The hope of an early peace has been so generally spread abroad in my kingdom, that I believe it due to the fidelity that my people have testified towards me, during the entire course of my reign, that I inform them of the reasons which still prevent their enjoying that repose which I had designed to procure for them. In order to re-establish peace, I would have accepted conditions strongly opposed to the safety of my frontier provinces; but the more readiness I have shown, and the more desire I have manifested to dissipate the fears of my power and of my designs that my enemies affect to entertain, the more they have multiplied their pretensions, refusing to make any other engagement than to discontinue all acts of hostility until the first of August, and reserving to themselves the liberty of then appealing to arms, if the King of Spain, my grandson, persists in his resolution to defend the crown which God has given him. Such a resolution is more dangerous to my people than war, for it assures to the enemy advantages more considerable than they would be able to gain by their armies. As I put my confidence in the protection of God, and as I hope the purity of my intentions will draw his benediction upon my arms, I wish my people to know that they would immediately enjoy peace if it depended only upon my will to procure for them a blessing that they so reasonably desire; but that it is necessary to acquire it by new efforts, since the enormous concessions that I would have accorded are useless for the re-establishment of the public peace.

Louis."

France might have reproached Louis XIV. for the arrogance which had drawn her, with him, to the borders of an abyss. Intoxicated as well as the monarch by an insensate ardor for glory, the French people had long served the royal passions. They cruelly expiated their faults, without however allowing themselves to be overwhelmed by their misfortunes. In France, as well as in Spain, the people and the army nobly responded to the appeals of the sovereigns. "It is a miracle that the firmness and the virtue of the soldier survives the sufferings of hunger," said Marshal Villars, who took command of the French army in the Low Countries. He encountered near Malplaquet, on the 11th of September, 1709, Prince Eugene and Marlborough, who had just taken possession of Tournay. In vain did Villars, for many days, implore the king for permission to give battle. When finally, to his great joy, the orders were given to engage the enemy, his troops were so eager for the combat that they threw away the rations which had just been distributed to them. "Vive le Roi! Vive le marechal!" cried the soldiers. Villars intrenched himself outside of a woods. "So we have still to fight against moles," angrily said Prince Eugene.

During the action Marshal Villars was seriously wounded. "I had my wound dressed upon the field, and placed myself upon a chair to give my orders," wrote he in his Memoirs, "but the pain caused me a swoon, which lasted so long that I was borne unconsciously to Quesnoy." Prince Eugene, also wounded, while attacking the centre of the French army, refused all care. "There will be time enough for that this evening, if I survive," said he calmly. He remained on his horse. Marshal Boufflers, who had served thus far as a volunteer, took the command of the French army. Its defeat was complete, although glorious. The retreat was conducted like a parade. The allies lost twenty thousand men. "If God vouchsafe that we should lose such another battle," wrote Villars to Louis XIV., "your Majesty could count your enemies destroyed." The king was not deceived; but he sadly renewed the negotiations by sending Marshal Uxelles, and the Abbé Polignac to Gertruydenberg.

This new victory elated the allies. Heinsius, charged with the conduct of the conferences, maintained his propositions. "The States-General were then the arbitors of Europe," wrote Torcy, in his Memoirs, "but they were so dazzled by the excess of glory to which the allies had raised them that they would not suffer it to be said to them that they were working for the aggrandizement of Austria and England."—"It is evident that you are not accustomed to conquer," bitterly remarked the Abbé Polignac to the Holland delegates. The king consented to give guarantees to engage his grandson to abdicate; he promised, in case of refusal, not only to sustain him no longer, but to furnish the allies a monthly subsidy of a million francs, and to grant a passage over French territory. He accepted the cession of Alsace and Lorraine, and the return of the three bishoprics to the empire. The abdication of Philip V. was to be assured, or else Louis XIV. was to aid, by force of arms, in dethroning him. The just pride of the king and of the father, revolted against this impudence, and severe ultimatum. The King of Spain absolutely refused all concessions. "Whatever may be the misfortunes which await me," wrote he to his grandfather, "I prefer to submit myself to whatever God may decide for me in battle, to deciding for myself by consenting to an accommodation which would force me to abandon a people upon whom my reverses, up to this time, have produced no other effect than to augment their zeal and their affection for me." Louis XIV. withdrew his propositions; the conferences at Gertruydenberg were abandoned on the 25th of July, 1710. The king was no longer able to assist his grandson, but he sent Vendôme.

On the 10th of December, the French general, constantly defeated during the first part of the campaign, gained over the Austrian contingent of the archduke, a disputed victory, at Villa Viciosa. Count Staremberg, who commanded, spiked his cannon, and retired, while the young king slept upon the field of battle. The allies now held only Cattalona. In vain had General Stanhope recently led the archduke to Madrid. "I was ordered to conduct him there," said he; "when he is once there, may God, or the devil maintain him there, or drive him out—that is not my business."

Stanhope had judged well the sentiments of the Spanish people, more and more attached to Philip V., and faithful to his cause; neither was he deceived regarding the position that the military and political successes—that England owed, above all, to the Duke of Marlborough—had assured to her in Europe. Long charged with the burden of the war, England had become, by her close alliance with the Dutch, as well as by her proper predominance, the veritable mistress of peace or war in Europe. "Our Henry and our Edward have left behind them an immortal renown," said Stanhope to the House of Lords, "because they humiliated and conquered the power of France. It is the glory of Queen Elizabeth to have humbled the pride of Spain. Turn by turn these two great monarchies have aspired to an universal domination in Europe; both have been upon the point of obtaining it, in spite of their mutual hostility, but no one had foreseen that an effectual resistance could be opposed to them in Europe, if the two monarchies were united. We have lived long enough to see these two formidable powers threatening, at the same time, all the liberties of Europe. Your Majesty was destined to struggle against these united forces. They have been attacked and compelled to ask for peace."

It was in fact from England that this peace, so desired by France and Spain, and now become indispensable to both powers, was to emanate. The great Whig ministry had been, for a long time, losing favor; the Queen was at length weary of the avidity and hauteur of the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough. New favorites cleverly alienated her and led her back to the friends of her youth. The Tories replaced the Whigs in power. I will soon tell by what maneuvres this cause was served. I wish here only to indicate the political modifications which already made peace foreseen. The Chancellor of the Exchequer, Harley, subsequently Duke of Oxford, recently become a Tory, with no other passion than personal ambition; and the Secretary of State, St. John, known in history under the name of Bolingbroke, Jacobite to the depth of his soul, by restlessness of mind and taste for intrigue, equally urged England forward in the road to peace. The Abbé Gautier, but recently chaplain to Marshal Tallard, and now residing in England, was charged with a mission to Torcy at Versailles. "Do you wish for peace?" said the abbé to him. "I come to bring you the means of obtaining it, and of concluding it, independently of Holland—unworthy of the kindness of the king, and of the honor he has shown in addressing her regarding the pacification of Europe." "To ask a minister of his Majesty, if he desires peace," replied Torcy, "is to ask a dying man whether he would wish to be cured."

Negotiations were secretly opened with the English cabinet, and were often more confidential on the part of Harley and Bolingbroke than seemed compatible with the fidelity due to their sovereign, or with the engagements of England with her allies.

The end was as reasonable as just; but the means employed to arrive at it were not indisputable. The Emperor Joseph had just died, leaving only daughters; the elevation of the Archduke Charles thenceforth threatened Europe with the preponderance of the house of Austria. England had the honor of first comprehending the danger, and of playing that part of moderator, which Holland had so recently exercised, and which had given her so much grandeur. The natural taste of Harley for secret intrigues prolonged the mystery for some time; inferior agents went back and forth between London and Versailles. The poet Prior, and a deputy from Rouen, named Mesnager, had the honor of seeing the queen in person. The fatal effects of the war had oftened saddened her. "It is a good work," said she, to the modest French plenipotentiary; "I pray God to give you his assistance; I hold the shedding of blood in horror."

The war, nevertheless, continued, and Marlborough remained at the head of the allied forces, notwithstanding the disgrace of his friends, and the withdrawal of his wife, who had definitively left the court, not however without efforts, as audacious as violent, to regain the influence which she so recently exercised over the queen. The campaign of 1711 had been unimportant; conferences were opened at Utrecht, and preliminaries were signed with England: they assured to English commerce immense advantages, besides the cession of Newfoundland and the remainder of the French territory in Acadia. When the communication was made to Holland, the negotiators prudently withheld some articles. Public feeling at the Hague was nevertheless aroused; the States-General sent a delegate to officially protest. "England has borne the brunt of the war," bluntly replied St. John; "it is but just that she should be at the head of the parleys for peace." The Count of Gallas, ambassador of the emperor at London, was so incensed by the tone of the articles that he had them published immediately, in one of the daily journals. Queen Anne forbade his appearance at court. The preliminaries were unpopular, and the guarantees offered by France did not appear sufficient.

"On Friday the peace will be attacked in Parliament," wrote St. John, on the eve of the opening of the session. "I am very easy. I detest the remote dangers which threaten me; we will receive their fire and put them to rout once for all." The speech from the throne announced the opening of the conferences, "in spite of the efforts of those who take pleasure in war."

The queen created twelve new peers, in order to assure, in the upper house, a pacific majority.

In less than one year, from the 14th of April, 1711, to the 8th of March, 1712, the royal house of France was overwhelmed by sad afflictions of Providence. Louis XIV. lost by violent and rapid sicknesses his son, the Grand Dauphin; and the Duke of Burgundy, his grandson. Six days later the Duchess of Burgundy, the charming Marie Adelaide of Savoy; and finally his great grandson, the Duke of Brittany, four years of age. The little Duke of Anjou, only an infant in the cradle, and feeble and sickly, now represented the eldest branch of the House of Bourbon, and was to become the King, Louis XV. The allies became troubled, and added to their diplomatic exactions the renunciation by Philip V. of the crown of France. The good offices of England were not lacking to the old king, now overwhelmed by the weight of so many misfortunes, and who attracted the admiration of even his enemies, by the courageous firmness of his attitude. Louis XIV. wrote to his grandson: "You will be informed of the proposals of England, that you renounce the rights of your birth to preserve the crown of Spain and the Indies, or renounce the monarchy of Spain to preserve your rights to the succession of France, and receive in exchange for the kingdom of Spain, the kingdoms of Sicily and Naples, the states of the Duke of Savoy, Mont Ferrat and Mantua, permitting the Duke of Savoy to succeed you in Spain. I avow that notwithstanding the disproportion of the states, I have been sensibly touched by thinking that you would continue to reign, and that I might always regard you as my successor; assured if the Dauphin lives, of a regent accustomed to command, capable of maintaining order in my kingdom, and of stifling cabals. If this child should die, as his feeble appearance gives me but too much reason to believe, you will receive the succession according to the order of your birth, and I would have this consolation of leaving to my people a virtuous king, capable of commanding them, and who, on succeeding me, would unite to the crown of France, states as considerable as Naples, Savoy, Piedmont and Mont Ferrat. If gratitude and tenderness for your subjects are powerful motives inducing you to remain with them, I can say that you owe me the same sentiments. You owe them to your house, and to your country, before you owe them to Spain. All that I am able to do is to leave you the choice; the necessity of concluding the peace becomes each day more urgent."

The English negotiators were without doubt assured in advance of the choice of the King of Spain, when they allowed Louis XIV. to expect such enormous concessions. Philip V. did not hesitate an instant. He renounced all his rights to the succession of the throne of France, and the Cortes solemnly ratified his decision. "I will live and die a Spaniard," said the young king.

The English required that the Duke of Berry and the Duke of Orleans abandon their rights to the crown of Spain. The peace was the object of violent attacks in the English Parliament, above all in the House of Lords. Marlborough vigorously defended himself from having been hostile to it. "I can declare with a safe conscience," said he, "in the presence of her Majesty, of this illustrious assembly, and of the Supreme Being, who is infinitely above all the powers upon earth, and before whom, according to the ordinary course of nature, I must soon appear, to give an account of my actions, that I was ever desirous of a safe, honorable and lasting peace; and I was always very far from any design of prolonging the war for my own private advantage, as my enemies have most falsely insinuated. But at the same time, I must take the liberty to declare, that I can by no means give in to the measures that have lately been taken to enter into a negotiation of peace with France, upon the foot of the seven preliminary articles. I am of the same opinion with the rest of the allies, that the safety and liberties of Europe would be in imminent danger, if Spain and the West Indies were left to the House of Bourbon."

The enemies of Marlborough were powerful around the queen, and also in the House of Commons. His military successes had given him a strength that it was necessary to take from him, at all hazards; his pecuniary avidity and the malversations of which he was suspected furnished a ready arm against him. He was accused before Parliament, and was at the same time deprived of all his offices, "in order," said the official note, "that the inquiry might be impartial and free." The Duke of Ormond, honest but feeble, and popular but without great military talents, was given the command of the army. The commotion was great among the allies. Prince Eugene himself came to England, eager to assist his companion-in-arms. The queen received him coldly, would accord him no private interview, excusing herself on the plea of ill-health, and sent him to her ministers. When the great Austrian general returned to the continent, recalled by the necessities of the war, which had recommenced in the spring of 1712, in spite of the negotiations, he soon learned that the Duke of Ormond had received orders to take no part in the military operations. St. John wrote to the duke, on the 10th of May: "Her Majesty has reason to believe that we shall come to an agreement upon the great article of the union of the two monarchies, as soon as a courier, sent from Versailles to Madrid, can return. It is therefore the queen's positive command to your grace, that you avoid engaging in any siege, or hazarding a battle, till you have further orders from her Majesty."

The duke was informed, at the same time, that these instructions were to be kept secret from Prince Eugene, but were nevertheless known to Marshal Villars.

It was virtually an armistice that England accorded to France, and this could not long be concealed. Prince Eugene began the siege of Quesnoy, and urged Ormond to take part; the latter finally consented. "My Lord Ormond was not authorized to risk a battle," said the Lord Treasurer Harley to the House of Commons, "but he could not refuse to sustain a siege." Marlborough arose: "I ask," said he, "how it is possible to reconcile the declaration of my Lord Treasurer with the laws of war, for it is impossible to undertake a siege without risking a battle; in case the enemy sought to succor the place, there would remain no other alternative than to shamefully raise the siege."

An armistice was signed with France. Orders were given to the Duke of Ormond to withdraw from the allied army, and to take possession of Dunkirk—placed as security in the hands of the English. The auxiliary regiments, recently in the pay of England, declared their intention of remaining in the service of the emperor. A certain discontent manifested itself among the English troops. The queen solemnly communicated to the two houses the conditions upon which she hoped to conclude peace. "I will neglect nothing to bring the negotiations to a happy and prompt issue," said her Majesty, "and I count upon your entire confidence and loyal co-operation."

The clever maneuvres of Harley and St. John, in Parliament, were crowned with success. Notwithstanding a protest from Marlborough, Godolphin, and some other peers, addresses favorable to the peace, were passed in both houses.

Louis XIV. had confided to Marshal Villars the last army and the last hopes of the French monarchy. When taking leave at Marley, the old king said: "You see my state. There are few examples such as mine, where one has lost in the same week, a grandson, a grand-daughter, and their child, all of very great promise and very tenderly loved. God punishes me, and I have well merited it. But I must suspend my griefs concerning my domestic misfortunes and see what can be done to prevent those which threaten the kingdom. If reverses happen to the army which you command, listen to what I propose; afterwards give me your opinion. I would go to Peronne or St. Quentin, mass there all my troops, and with you, make a last effort to save the state, or perish together. I will never consent to allow the enemy to approach my capital."

Louis XIV. was not deceived regarding the plans of his adversaries. Although enfeebled by the withdrawal of the English, Prince Eugene, who had taken Quesnoy on the 3rd of July, proposed to follow the former plan of the Duke of Marlborough, and to resolutely advance into the heart of France. Marshal Villars placed himself before him upon the road from Marchiennes to Landrecies, "the road to Paris," said the imperialists. He threw bridges over the Escaut, and on the 23rd of July, 1712, crossed the stream between Ponchain and Denain. The Duke of Albemarle, at the head of seventeen battalions of auxiliary troops, commanded this small town. Prince Eugene advanced by forced marches to relieve Denain. Villars lost no time in preparation: "We have only to make fascines," said he; "the first body of our men who shall fall in the trench, will hold the place for us."

Prince Eugene was unable to cross the Escaut, guarded by the French. Denain was taken under his very eyes. "I had not taken twenty steps in the town, when the Duke of Albemarle, and six or seven lieutenant-generals of the Emperor, halted my horse," says the Marshal in his Memoirs. The allies retreated. Marchiennes was invested by De Broglie, and Prince Eugene was unable to save it. His troops raised the siege of Landrecies. The Marshal seized Douai and recaptured Quesnoy and Ponchain. The imperialist, who had been unable to accomplish anything, retired towards Brussels. The fortune of war had once again inclined victory to the side of France; she profited by it to obtain an honorable peace. "The time to flatter the pride of the Dutch is past," wrote Louis XIV. to his plenipotentiaries at Utrecht; "but it is necessary, in treating with them, in good faith, that it be with a becoming dignity."

The delegates of the States-General themselves comprehended the necessities of the situation, and henceforth they also desired peace. "We take the position that the Dutch held at Gertruydenberg, and they take ours," said Cardinal Polignac: "it is a complete revenge."—"Gentlemen, we will treat for peace in your country, for you, and without you," said the French to the Dutch deputies. Heinsius had not known, in 1709, how to shake off the influence of Marlborough and of Prince Eugene, in order to take the initiative in a peace necessary to Europe; and in consequence of this ignorance he had delivered this power into the hands of Harley and St. John. Henceforth the history of Holland, as a great power, was ended. She owed her liberty, her independence, and her influence in Europe, to the superior men who had so long directed her destinies. William the Silent, John De Witt, and William III. were no more; able and faithful as Heinsius had been, he nevertheless was compelled to arrest the progress and glory of his country at that threshold of grandeur which God alone is able to pass. With the development of material resources, the day of small countries passes forever.

The peace which was signed at Utrecht on the 11th of April, 1713, and of which St. John—recently made Viscount Bolingbroke—determined the final conditions, in a journey which he made to Paris, has been often and bitterly attacked. It was concluded by France, England, the United Provinces, Portugal, the King of Prussia, and the Duke of Savoy. Louis XIV. consented to recognize the Protestant succession in the House of Hanover, although the Elector still refused to separate himself from the Emperor, and the Pretender was to leave France. This was a great bitterness for the king; the difficulty was aggravated by the obstinacy of the Chevalier St. George, who desired to live at Fontainebleau. "Let M. de Torcy recall his journey to the Hague," said Bolingbroke, "and let him compare the plans of 1709 and 1712."

England kept Gibraltar and Minorca; the fortifications of Dunkirk were to be razed. Sicily was given to the Duke of Savoy. Louis XIV. regained Lille and some cities in Flanders, by fortifying the barriers of the Dutch. The King of Spain protested for some days, but finally signed. The Emperor and the Empire alone resisted; the taking of Speyer, of Kaiserlautern, of Laudan and of Friburg—seized one after the other by Villars, triumphed over the anger and pretensions of the Germans. Villars and Prince Eugene negotiated together at Radstadt. On the 6th of March, 1714, peace was finally signed. All Europe was once more at peace. The terms of the treaty were more favorable to France than had been expected, and were glorious and profitable for England, notwithstanding the attacks of the Whigs and their violent protestations against the Treaty of Commerce.

The peace assured for a time the equilibrium and liberties of Europe, as well as the preponderance of England in the councils of Europe. It had been concluded by a bold decision on the part of the English ministry, to the detriment and against the will of their allies. The dangers which were permitted to still remain, were more apparent than real, but the Treaty of Commerce was unmistakably favorable to France. French wines threatened to replace the Portuguese. The city of London was violently agitated, and the bill for the execution of the treaty was rejected, on the 18th of June, 1713, by a majority of nine.

The address of the Queen, on the dissolution of Parliament, showed great anger. Triumphant in war with the Whigs, and in politics with the Tories, Queen Anne nevertheless failed on a commercial question before her Parliament. It was the precursory symptom of a great disquietude and profound distrust.

The general elections took place in August, 1713. The country vaguely felt, without fully realizing the serious reasons, the danger concealed under the indolence of the Earl of Oxford and the intrigues of Lord Bolingbroke, which threatened one of the questions which had gravely occupied it for fifteen years.

I have desired to recount without interruption the events of the continental war, and that series of successes which carried England to the summit of power and influence in Europe. I have shown her powerful enough to sustain the struggle against Louis XIV., and wise enough to put an end, for a time, to the evils which her people endured, without exacting the ruin of her enemies. I have not wished to mix in this recital the complications of her internal policy: active and powerful regarding the military affairs of Europe, while the Whigs remained and Marlborough was at the head of the armies, but without serious effect upon the fate of Europe. The Tories gave peace to France; this was their supreme effort and triumph. The two great internal questions which agitated the reign of Queen Anne: the Protestant succession and the political union of Scotland with England, were regulated at the foundation, by a tacit accord between the moderates of both parties.