Chapter XXXII: William And Mary (3)

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

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

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

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

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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.

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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.

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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."

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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."

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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.

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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."

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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.
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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."

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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."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

{86}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

{91}

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

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

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