Sometimes he loitered
alone, from sunrise to sunset, in the dreary and rugged wilderness
which surrounds the Escurial. The hours which he did not waste in
listless indolence were divided between childish sports and childish
devotions. He delighted in rare animals, and still more in dwarfs.
When neither strange beasts nor little men could dispel the black
thoughts which gathered in his mind, he repeated Aves and Credos; he
walked in processions; sometimes he starved himself; sometimes he
whipped himself. At length a complication of maladies completed the
ruin of all his faculties. His stomach failed; nor was this strange;
for in him the malformation of the jaw, characteristic of his
family, was so serious that he could not masticate his food; and he
was in the habit of swallowing ollas and sweetmeats in the state in
which they were set before him. While suffering from indigestion he
was attacked by ague. Every third day his convulsive tremblings, his
dejection, his fits of wandering, seemed to indicate the approach of
dissolution. His misery was increased by the knowledge that every
body was calculating how long he had to live, and wondering what
would become of his kingdoms when he should be dead. The stately
dignitaries of his household, the physicians who ministered to his
diseased body, the divines whose business was to soothe his not less
diseased mind, the very wife who should have been intent on those
gentle offices by which female tenderness can alleviate even the
misery of hopeless decay, were all thinking of the new world which
was to commence with his death, and would have been perfectly
willing to see him in the hands of the embalmer if they could have
been certain that his successor would be the prince whose interest
they espoused. As yet the party of the Emperor seemed to
predominate. Charles had a faint sort of preference for the House of
Austria, which was his own house, and a faint sort of antipathy to
the House of Bourbon, with which he had been quarrelling, he did not
well know why, ever since he could remember. His Queen, whom he did
not love, but of whom he stood greatly in awe, was devoted to the
interests of her kinsman the Emperor; and with her was closely
leagued the Count of Melgar, Hereditary Admiral of Castile and Prime
Minister.
Such was the state of the question of the Spanish succession at the
time when Portland had his first public audience at Versailles. The
French ministers were certain that he must be constantly thinking
about that question, and were therefore perplexed by his evident
determination to say nothing about it. They watched his lips in the
hope that he would at least let fall some unguarded word indicating
the hopes or fears entertained by the English and Dutch Governments.
But Portland was not a man out of whom much was to be got in that
way. Nature and habit cooperating had made him the best keeper of
secrets in Europe. Lewis therefore directed Pomponne and Torcy, two
ministers of eminent ability, who had, under himself, the chief
direction of foreign affairs, to introduce the subject which the
discreet confidant of William seemed studiously to avoid. Pomponne
and Torcy accordingly repaired to the English embassy; and there
opened one of the most remarkable negotiations recorded in the
annals of European diplomacy.
The two French statesmen professed in their master's name the most
earnest desire, not only that the peace might remain unbroken, but
that there might be a close union between the Courts of Versailles
and Kensington. One event only seemed likely to raise new troubles.
If the Catholic King should die before it had been settled who
should succeed to his immense dominions, there was but too much
reason to fear that the nations, which were just beginning to
breathe after an exhausting and devastating struggle of nine years,
would be again in arms. His Most Christian Majesty was therefore
desirous to employ the short interval which might remain, in
concerting with the King of England the means of preserving the
tranquillity of the world. Portland made a courteous but guarded
answer. He could not, he said, presume to say exactly what William's
sentiments were; but this he knew, that it was not solely or chiefly
by the sentiments of the King of England that the policy of England
on a great occasion would be regulated. The islanders must and would
have their government administered according to certain maxims which
they held sacred; and of those maxims they held none more sacred
than this, that every increase of the power of France ought to be
viewed with extreme jealousy.
Pomponne and Torcy answered that their master was most desirous to
avoid every thing which could excite the jealousy of which Portland
had spoken. But was it of France alone that a nation so enlightened
as the English must be jealous? Was it forgotten that the House of
Austria had once aspired to universal dominion? And would it be wise
in the princes and commonwealths of Europe to lend their aid for the
purpose of reconstructing the gigantic monarchy which, in the
sixteenth century, had seemed likely to overwhelm them all?
Portland answered that, on this subject, he must be understood to
express only the opinions of a private man. He had however now
lived, during some years, among the English, and believed himself to
be pretty well acquainted with their temper. They would not, he
thought, be much alarmed by any augmentation of power which the
Emperor might obtain. The sea was their element. Traffic by sea was
the great source of their wealth; ascendency on the sea the great
object of their ambition. Of the Emperor they had no fear. Extensive
as was the area which he governed, he had not a frigate on the
water; and they cared nothing for his Pandours and Croatians. But
France had a great navy. The balance of maritime power was what
would be anxiously watched in London; and the balance of maritime
power would not be affected by an union between Spain and Austria,
but would be most seriously deranged by an union between Spain and
France.
Pomponne and Torcy declared that every thing should be done to quiet
the apprehensions which Portland had described. It was not
contemplated, it was not wished, that France and Spain should be
united. The Dauphin and his eldest son the Duke of Burgundy would
waive their rights. The younger brothers of the Duke of Burgundy,
Philip Duke of Anjou and Charles Duke of Berry, were not named; but
Portland perfectly understood what was meant. There would, he said,
be scarcely less alarm in England if the Spanish dominions devolved
on a grandson of His Most Christian Majesty than if they were
annexed to the French crown. The laudable affection of the young
princes for their country and their family, and their profound
respect for the great monarch from whom they were descended, would
inevitably determine their policy. The two kingdoms would be one;
the two navies would be one; and all other states would be reduced
to vassalage. England would rather see the Spanish monarchy added to
the Emperor's dominions than governed by one of the younger French
princes, who would, though nominally independent, be really a
viceroy of France. But in truth there was no risk that the Spanish
monarchy would be added to the Emperor's dominions. He and his
eldest son the Archduke Joseph would, no doubt, be as ready to waive
their rights as the Dauphin and the Duke of Burgundy could be; and
thus the Austrian claim to the disputed heritage would pass to the
younger Archduke Charles. A long discussion followed. At length
Portland plainly avowed, always merely as his own private opinion,
what was the opinion of every intelligent man who wished to preserve
the peace of the world. "France is afraid," he said, "of every thing
which can increase the power of the Emperor. All Europe is afraid of
every thing which can increase the power of France. Why not put an
end to all these uneasy feelings at once, by agreeing to place the
Electoral Prince of Bavaria on the throne of Spain?" To this
suggestion no decisive answer was returned. The conference ended;
and a courier started for England with a despatch informing William
of what had passed, and soliciting further instructions. William,
who was, as he had always been, his own Secretary for Foreign
Affairs, did not think it necessary to discuss the contents of this
despatch with any of his English ministers. The only person whom he
consulted was Heinsius. Portland received a kind letter warmly
approving all that he had said in the conference, and directing him
to declare that the English government sincerely wished to avert the
calamities which were but too likely to follow the death of the King
of Spain, and would therefore be prepared to take into serious
consideration any definite plan which His Most Christian Majesty
might think fit to suggest. "I will own to you," William wrote to
his friend, "that I am so unwilling to be again at war during the
short time which I still have to live, that I will omit nothing that
I can honestly and with a safe conscience do for the purpose of
maintaining peace."
William's message was delivered by Portland to Lewis at a private
audience. In a few days Pomponne and Torcy were authorised to
propose a plan. They fully admitted that all neighbouring states
were entitled to demand the strongest security against the union of
the French and Spanish crowns. Such security should be given. The
Spanish government might be requested to choose between the Duke of
Anjou and the Duke of Berry. The youth who was selected would, at
the utmost, be only fifteen years old, and could not be supposed to
have any very deeply rooted national prejudices. He should be sent
to Madrid without French attendants, should be educated by
Spaniards, should become a Spaniard. It was absurd to imagine that
such a prince would be a mere viceroy of France. Apprehensions had
been sometimes hinted that a Bourbon, seated on the throne of Spain,
might cede his dominions in the Netherlands to the head of his
family. It was undoubtedly important to England, and all important
to Holland, that those provinces should not become a part of the
French monarchy. All danger might be averted by making them over to
the Elector of Bavaria, who was now governing them as representative
of the Catholic King. The Dauphin would be perfectly willing to
renounce them for himself and for all his descendants. As to what
concerned trade, England and Holland had only to say what they
desired, and every thing in reason should be done to give them
satisfaction. As this plan was, in the main, the same which had been
suggested by the French ministers in the former conference, Portland
did little more than repeat what he had then said. As to the new
scheme respecting the Netherlands, he shrewdly propounded a dilemma
which silenced Pomponne and Torcy.
If renunciations were of any value, the Dauphin and his posterity
were excluded from the Spanish succession; and, if renunciations
were of no value, it was idle to offer England and Holland a
renunciation as a guarantee against a great danger. The French
Ministers withdrew to make their report to their master, and soon
returned to say that their proposals had been merely first thoughts,
that it was now the turn of King William to suggest something, and
that whatever he might suggest should receive the fullest and
fairest consideration.
And now the scene of the negotiation was shifted from Versailles to
Kensington. The Count of Tallard had just set out for England as
Ambassador. He was a fine gentleman; he was a brave soldier; and he
was as yet reputed a skilful general. In all the arts and graces
which were priced as qualifications for diplomatic missions of the
highest class, he had, among the brilliant aristocracy to which he
belonged, no superior and only one equal, the Marquess of Harcourt,
who was entrusted with the care of the interests of the House of
Bourbon at Madrid.
Tallard carried with him instructions carefully framed in the French
Foreign Office. He was reminded that his situation would be widely
different from that of his predecessors who had resided in England
before the Revolution. Even his predecessors, however, had
considered it as their duty to study the temper, not only of the
Court, but of the nation. It would now be more than ever necessary
to watch the movements of the public mind. A man of note was not to
be slighted merely because he was out of place. Such a man, with a
great name in the country and a strong following in Parliament,
might exercise as much influence on the politics of England, and
consequently of Europe, as any minister. The Ambassador must
therefore try to be on good terms with those who were out as well as
with those who were in. To this rule, however, there was one
exception which he must constantly bear in mind. With nonjurors and
persons suspected of plotting against the existing government he
must not appear to have any connection. They must not be admitted
into his house. The English people evidently wished to be at rest,
and had given the best proof of their pacific disposition by
insisting on the reduction of the army. The sure way to stir up
jealousies and animosities which were just sinking to sleep would be
to make the French embassy the head quarters of the Jacobite party.
It would be wise in Tallard to say and to charge his agents to say,
on all fit occasions, and particularly in societies where members of
Parliament might be present, that the Most Christian King had never
been an enemy of the liberties of England. His Majesty had indeed
hoped that it might be in his power to restore his cousin, but not
without the assent of the nation. In the original draft of the
instructions was a curious paragraph which, on second thoughts, it
was determined to omit. The Ambassador was directed to take proper
opportunities of cautioning the English against a standing army, as
the only thing which could really be fatal to their laws and
liberties. This passage was suppressed, no doubt, because it
occurred to Pomponne and Torcy that, with whatever approbation the
English might listen to such language when uttered by a demagogue of
their own race, they might be very differently affected by hearing
it from a French diplomatist, and might think that there could not
be a better reason for arming, than that Lewis and his emissaries
earnestly wished them to disarm.
Tallard was instructed to gain, if possible, some members of the
House of Commons. Every thing, he was told, was now subjected to the
scrutiny of that assembly; accounts of the public income, of the
public expenditure, of the army, of the navy, were regularly laid on
the table; and it would not be difficult to find persons who would
supply the French legation with copious information on all these
subjects. The question of the Spanish succession was to be mentioned
to William at a private audience. Tallard was fully informed of all
that had passed in the conferences which the French ministers had
held with Portland; and was furnished with all the arguments that
the ingenuity of publicists could devise in favour of the claim of
the Dauphin.
The French embassy made as magnificent an appearance in England as
the English embassy had made in France. The mansion of the Duke of
Ormond, one of the finest houses in Saint James's Square, was taken
for Tallard. On the day of the public entry, all the streets from
Tower Hill to Pall Mall were crowded with gazers who admired the
painting and gilding of his Excellency's carriages, the surpassing
beauty of his horses, and the multitude of his running footmen,
dressed in gorgeous liveries of scarlet and gold lace. The
Ambassador was graciously received at Kensington, and was invited to
accompany William to Newmarket, where the largest and most splendid
Spring Meeting ever known was about to assemble. The attraction must
be supposed to have been great; for the risks of the journey were
not trifling. The peace had, all over Europe, and nowhere more than
in England, turned crowds of old soldiers into marauders.12 Several
aristocratical equipages had been attacked even in Hyde Park. Every
newspaper contained stories of travellers stripped, bound and flung
into ditches. One day the Bristol mail was robbed; another day the
Dover coach; then the Norwich waggon. On Hounslow Heath a company of
horsemen, with masks on their faces, waited for the great people who
had been to pay their court to the King at Windsor. Lord Ossulston
escaped with the loss of two horses. The Duke of Saint Albans, with
the help of his servants, beat off the assailants. His brother the
Duke of Northumberland, less strongly guarded, fell into their
hands. They succeeded in stopping thirty or forty coaches, and rode
off with a great booty in guineas, watches and jewellery. Nowhere,
however, does the peal seem to have been so great as on the
Newmarket road. There indeed robbery was organised on a scale
unparalleled in the kingdom since the days of Robin Hood and Little
John. A fraternity of plunderers, thirty in number according to the
lowest estimate, squatted, near Waltham Cross, under the shades of
Epping Forest, and built themselves huts, from which they sallied
forth with sword and pistol to bid passengers stand. The King and
Tallard were doubtless too well attended to be in jeopardy. But,
soon after they had passed the dangerous spot, there was a fight on
the highway attended with loss of life. A warrant of the Lord Chief
justice broke up the Maroon village for a short time, but the
dispersed thieves soon mustered again, and had the impudence to bid
defiance to the government in a cartel signed, it was said, with
their real names. The civil power was unable to deal with this
frightful evil. It was necessary that, during some time, cavalry
should patrol every evening on the roads near the boundary between
Middlesex and Essex.
The state of those roads, however, though contemporaries described
it as dangerous beyond all example, did not deter men of rank and
fashion from making the joyous pilgrimages to Newmarket. Half the
Dukes in the kingdom were there. Most of the chief ministers of
state swelled the crowd; nor was the opposition unrepresented.
Montague stole two or three days from the Treasury, and Orford from
the Admiralty. Godolphin was there, looking after his horses and his
bets, and probably went away a richer man than he came. But racing
was only one of the many amusements of that festive season. On fine
mornings there was hunting. For those who preferred hawking choice
falcons had been brought from Holland. On rainy days the cockpit was
encircled by stars and blue ribands. On Sundays William went to
church in state, and the most eminent divines of the neighbouring
University of Cambridge preached before him. He omitted no
opportunity of showing marked civility to Tallard. The Ambassador
informed his Court that his place at table was next to the royal arm
chair, and that his health had been most graciously drunk by the
King.
All this time, both at Kensington and Newmarket, the Spanish
question was the subject of constant and earnest discussion. To
trace all the windings of the negotiation would be tedious. The
general course which it took may easily be described. The object of
William was to place the Electoral Prince of Bavaria on the Spanish
throne. To obtain the consent of Lewis to such an arrangement seemed
all but impossible; but William manoeuvred with rare skill. Though
he frankly acknowledged that he preferred the Electoral Prince to
any other candidate, he professed. himself desirous to meet, as far
as he honourably or safely could, the wishes of the French King.
There were conditions on which England and Holland might perhaps
consent, though not without reluctance, that a son of the Dauphin
should reign at Madrid, and should be master of the treasures of the
New World. Those conditions were that the Milanese and the Two
Sicilies should belong to the Archduke Charles, that the Elector of
Bavaria should have the Spanish Netherlands, that Lewis should give
up some fortified towns in Artois for the purpose of strengthening
the barrier which protected the United Provinces, and that some
important places both in the Mediterranean sea and in the Gulf of
Mexico should be made over to the English and Dutch for the security
of trade. Minorca and Havanna were mentioned as what might satisfy
England.
Against these terms Lewis exclaimed loudly. Nobody, he said, who
knew with how sensitive a jealousy the Spaniards watched every
encroachment on their colonial empire would believe that they would
ever consent to give up any part of that empire either to England or
to Holland. The demand which was made upon himself was altogether
inadmissible. A barrier was not less necessary to France than to
Holland; and he never would break the iron chain of frontier
fastnesses which was the defence of his own kingdom, even in order
to purchase another kingdom for his grandson. On that subject he
begged that he might hear no more. The proposition was one which he
would not discuss, one to which he would not listen.
As William, however, resolutely maintained that the terms which he
had offered, hard as they might seem, were the only terms on which
England and Holland could suffer a Bourbon to reign at Madrid, Lewis
began seriously to consider, whether it might not be on the whole
for his interest and that of his family rather to sell the Spanish
crown dear than to buy it dear. He therefore now offered to withdraw
his opposition to the Bavarian claim, provided a portion of the
disputed inheritance were assigned to him in consideration of his
disinterestedness and moderation. William was perfectly willing and
even eager to treat on this basis. The first demands of Lewis were,
as might have been expected, exorbitantly high. He asked for the
kingdom of Navarre, which would have made him little less than
master of the whole Iberian peninsula, and for the duchy of
Luxemburg, which would have made him more dangerous than ever to the
United Provinces. On both points he encountered a steady resistance.
The impression which, throughout these transactions, the firmness
and good faith of William made on Tallard is remarkable. At first
the dexterous and keen witted Frenchman was all suspicion. He
imagined that there was an evasion in every phrase, a hidden snare
in every offer. But after a time he began to discover that he had to
do with a man far too wise to be false. "The King of England," he
wrote, and it is impossible to doubt that he wrote what he thought,
"acts with good faith in every thing. His way of dealing is upright
and sincere." "The King of England," he wrote a few days later, "has
hitherto acted with great sincerity; and I venture to say that, if
he once enters into a treaty, he will steadily adhere to it." But in
the same letter the Ambassador thought it necessary to hint to his
master that the diplomatic chicanery which might be useful in other
negotiations would be all thrown away here. "I must venture to
observe to Your Majesty that the King of England is very
sharpsighted, that his judgment is sound, and that, if we try to
spin the negotiation out, he will very soon perceive that we are
trifling with him."
During some time projects and counterprojects continued to pass and
repass between Kensington and Versailles. Something was conceded on
both sides; and when the session of Parliament ended there seemed to
be fair hopes of a settlement. And now the scene of the negotiation
was again changed. Having been shifted from France to England, it
was shifted from England to Holland. As soon as William had
prorogued the Houses, he was impatient to be again in his native
land. He felt all the glee of a schoolboy who is leaving harsh
masters and quarrelsome comrades to pass the Christmas holidays at a
happy home. That stern and composed face which had been the same in
the pursuit at the Boyne and in the rout at Landen, and of which the
keenest politicians had in vain tried to read the secrets, now wore
an expression but too intelligible. The English were not a little
provoked by seeing their King so happy. Hitherto his annual visits
to the Continent had been not only pardoned but approved. It was
necessary that he should be at the head of his army. If he had left
his people, it had been in order to put his life in jeopardy for
their independence, their liberty, and their religion. But they had
hoped that, when peace had been restored, when no call of duty
required him to cross the sea, he would generally, during the summer
and autumn, reside in his fair palaces and parks on the banks of the
Thames, or travel from country seat to country seat, and from
cathedral town to cathedral town, making himself acquainted with
every shire of his realm, and giving his hand to be kissed by
multitudes of squires, clergymen and aldermen who were not likely
ever to see him unless he came among them. It now appeared that he
was sick of the noble residences which had descended to him from
ancient princes; that he was sick even of those mansions which the
liberality of Parliament had enabled him to build and embellish
according to his own taste; that he was sick of Windsor, of
Richmond, and of Hampton; that he promised himself no enjoyment from
a progress through those flourishing and populous counties which he
had never seen, Yorkshire and Norfolk, Cheshire, Shropshire and
Worcestershire. While he was forced to be with us, he was weary of
us, pining for his home, counting the hours to the prorogation. As
soon as the passing of the last bill of supply had set him at
liberty, he turned his back on his English subjects; he hastened to
his seat in Guelders, where, during some months, he might be free
from the annoyance of seeing English faces and hearing English
words; and he would with difficulty tear himself away from his
favourite spot when it became absolutely necessary that he should
again ask for English money. Thus his subjects murmured; but, in
spite of their murmurs, he set off in high spirits. It had been
arranged that Tallard should speedily follow him, and that the
discussion in which they had been engaged at Kensington should be
resumed at Loo.
Heinsius, whose cooperation was indispensable, would be there.
Portland too would lend his assistance. He had just returned. He had
always considered his mission as an extraordinary mission, of which
the object was to put the relations between the two great Western
powers on a proper footing after a long series of years during which
England had been sometimes the enemy, but never the equal friend, of
France. His task had been well performed; and he now came back,
leaving behind him the reputation of an excellent minister, firm yet
cautious as to substance, dignified yet conciliating in manner. His
last audience at Versailles was unusually long; and no third person
was present. Nothing could be more gracious than the language and
demeanour of Lewis. He condescended to trace a route for the
embassy, and insisted that Portland should make a circuit for the
purpose of inspecting some of the superb fortresses of the French
Netherlands. At every one of those fortresses the governors and
engineers had orders to pay every attention to the distinguished
stranger. Salutes were everywhere fired to welcome him. A guard of
honour was everywhere in attendance on him. He stopped during three
days at Chantilly, and was entertained there by the Prince of Condé
with all that taste and magnificence for which Chantilly had long
been renowned. There were boar hunts in the morning and concerts in
the evening. Every gentleman of the legation had a gamekeeper
specially assigned to him. The guests, who, in their own island were
accustomed to give extravagant vails at every country house which
they visited, learned, with admiration, that His Highness's servants
were strictly forbidden to receive presents. At his luxurious table,
by a refinement of politeness, choice cider from the orchards round
the Malvern Hills made its appearance in company with the Champagne
and the Burgundy.
Portland was welcomed by his master with all the kindness of old
times. But that kindness availed nothing. For Albemarle was still in
the royal household, and appeared to have been, during the last few
months, making progress in the royal favour. Portland was angry, and
the more angry because he could not but perceive that his enemies
enjoyed his anger, and that even his friends generally thought it
unreasonable; nor did he take any pains to conceal his vexation. But
he was the very opposite of the vulgar crowd of courtiers who fawn
on a master while they betray him. He neither disguised his ill
humour, nor suffered it to interfere with the discharge of his
duties. He gave his prince sullen looks, short answers, and faithful
and strenuous services. His first wish, he said, was to retire
altogether from public life. But he was sensible that, having borne
a chief part in the negotiation on which the fate of Europe
depended, he might be of use at Loo; and, with devoted loyalty,
though with a sore heart and a gloomy brow, he prepared to attend
William thither. Before the King departed he delegated his power to
nine Lords Justices. The public was well pleased to find that
Sunderland was not among them. Two new names appeared in the list.
That of Montague could excite no surprise. But that of Marlborough
awakened many recollections and gave occasion to many speculations.
He had once enjoyed a large measure of royal favour. He had then
been dismissed, disgraced, imprisoned. The Princess Anne, for
refusing to discard his wife, had been turned out of the palace, and
deprived of the honours which had often been enjoyed by persons less
near to the throne. Ministers who were supposed to have great
influence in the closet had vainly tried to overcome the dislike
with which their master regarded the Churchills. It was not till he
had been some time reconciled to his sister in law that he ceased to
regard her two favourite servants as his enemies. So late as the
year 1696 he had been heard to say, "If I had been a private
gentleman, my Lord Marlborough and I must have measured swords." All
these things were now, it seemed, forgotten. The Duke of
Gloucester's household had just been arranged. As he was not yet
nine years old, and the civil list was burdened with a heavy debt,
fifteen thousand pounds was thought for the present a sufficient
provision. The child's literary education was directed by Burnet,
with the title of Preceptor. Marlborough was appointed Governor; and
the London Gazette announced his appointment, not with official
dryness, but in the fervid language of panegyric. He was at the same
time again sworn a member of the Privy Council from which he had
been expelled with ignominy; and he was honoured a few days later
with a still higher mark of the King's confidence, a seat at the
board of Regency.
Some persons imagined that they saw in this strange reconciliation a
sign that the influence of Portland was on the wane and that the
influence of Albemarle was growing. For Marlborough had been many
years at feud with Portland, and had even--a rare event indeed--been
so much irritated as to speak of Portland in coarse and
ungentlemanlike terms. With Albemarle, on the other hand,
Marlborough had studiously ingratiated himself by all the arts which
a mind singularly observant and sagacious could learn from a long
experience in courts; and it is possible that Albemarle may have
removed some difficulties. It is hardly necessary, however, to
resort to that supposition for the purpose of explaining why so wise
a man as William forced himself, after some delay caused by very
just and natural resentment, to act wisely. His opinion of
Marlborough's character was probably unaltered. But he could not
help perceiving that Marlborough's situation was widely different
from what it had been a few years before. That very ambition, that
very avarice, which had, in former times, impelled him to betray two
masters, were now sufficient securities for his fidelity to the
order of things which had been established by the Bill of Rights. If
that order of things could be maintained inviolate, he could
scarcely fail to be, in a few years, the greatest and wealthiest
subject in Europe. His military and political talents might
therefore now be used without any apprehension that they would be
turned against the government which used them. It is to be
remembered too that he derived his importance less from his military
and political talents, great as they were, than from the dominion
which, through the instrumentality of his wife, he exercised over
the mind of the Princess. While he was on good terms with the Court
it was certain that she would lend no countenance to any cabal which
might attack either the title or the prerogatives of her brother in
law. Confident that from this quarter, a quarter once the darkest
and most stormy in the whole political horizon, nothing but sunshine
and calm was now to be expected, William set out cheerfully on his
expedition to his native country. |