No More Learning

It is a
remarkable fact that the chief of this party was a peer who had been
a vehement Tory, and who afterwards died a Nonjuror, Clarendon. The
rapidity, with which, at this crisis, he went backward and forward from
extreme to extreme, might seem incredible to people living in quiet
times, but will not surprise those who have had an opportunity of
watching the course of revolutions. He knew that the asperity, with
which he had, in the royal presence, censured the whole system of
government, had given mortal offence to his old master. On the other
hand he might, as the uncle of the Princesses, hope to be great and
rich in the new world which was about to commence. The English colony
in Ireland regarded him as a friend and patron; and he felt that on the
confidence and attachment of that great interest much of his importance
depended. To such considerations as these the principles, which he
had, during his whole life, ostentatiously professed, now gave way. He
repaired to the Prince's closet, and represented the danger of leaving
the King at liberty. The Protestants of Ireland were in extreme peril.
There was only one way to secure their estates and their lives; and that
was to keep His Majesty close prisoner. It might not be prudent to shut
him up in an English castle. But he might be sent across the sea and
confined in the fortress of Breda till the affairs of the British
Islands were settled. If the Prince were in possession of such a
hostage, Tyrconnel would probably lay down the sword of state; and the
English ascendency would be restored to Ireland without a blow. If, on
the other hand, James should escape to France and make his appearance
at Dublin, accompanied by a foreign army, the consequences must be
disastrous. William owned that there was great weight in these reasons,
but it could not be. He knew his wife's temper; and he knew that she
never would consent to such a step. Indeed it would not be for his own
honour to treat his vanquished kinsman so ungraciously. Nor was it quite
clear that generosity might not be the best policy. Who could say what
effect such severity as Clarendon recommended might produce on the
public mind of England? Was it impossible that the loyal enthusiasm,
which the King's misconduct had extinguished, might revive as soon as it
was known that he was within the walls of a foreign fortress? On these
grounds William determined not to subject his father in law to personal
restraint; and there can be little doubt that the determination was
wise. [601]

James, while his fate was under discussion, remained at Whitehall,
fascinated, as it seemed, by the greatness and nearness of the danger,
and unequal to the exertion of either struggling or flying. In the
evening news came that the Dutch had occupied Chelsea and Kensington.
The King, however, prepared to go to rest as usual. The Coldstream
Guards were on duty at the palace. They were commanded by William Earl
of Craven, an aged man who, more than fifty years before, had been
distinguished in war and love, who had led the forlorn hope at
Creutznach with such courage that he had been patted on the shoulder
by the great Gustavus, and who was believed to have won from a thousand
rivals the heart of the unfortunate Queen of Bohemia. Craven was now in
his eightieth year; but time had not tamed his spirit. [602]

It was past ten o'clock when he was informed that three battalions of
the Prince's foot, mingled with some troops of horse, were pouring down
the long avenue of St. James's Park, with matches lighted, and in full
readiness for action. Count Solmes, who commanded the foreigners, said
that his orders were to take military possession of the posts round
Whitehall, and exhorted Craven to retire peaceably. Craven swore that
he would rather be cut in pieces: but, when the King, who was undressing
himself, learned what was passing, he forbade the stout old soldier to
attempt a resistance which must have been ineffectual. By eleven the
Coldstream Guards had withdrawn; and Dutch sentinels were pacing the
rounds on every side of the palace. Some of the King's attendants asked
whether he would venture to lie down surrounded by enemies. He answered
that they could hardly use him worse than his own subjects had done,
and, with the apathy of a man stupified by disasters, went to bed and to
sleep. [603]

Scarcely was the palace again quiet when it was again roused. A little
after midnight the three Lords arrived from Windsor. Middleton was
called up to receive them. They informed him that they were charged with
an errand which did not admit of delay. The King was awakened from his
first slumber; and they were ushered into his bedchamber. They delivered
into his hand the letter with which they had been entrusted, and
informed him that the Prince would be at Westminster in a few hours,
and that His Majesty would do well to set out for Ham before ten in the
morning. James made some difficulties. He did not like Ham. It was a
pleasant place in the summer, but cold and comfortless at Christmas,
and was moreover unfurnished. Halifax answered that furniture should
be instantly sent in. The three messengers retired, but were speedily
followed by Middleton, who told them that the King would greatly prefer
Rochester to Ham. They answered that they had not authority to accede to
His Majesty's wish, but that they would instantly send off an express to
the Prince, who was to lodge that night at Sion House. A courier started
immediately, and returned before daybreak with William's consent.

That consent, indeed, was most gladly given: for there could be no doubt
that Rochester had been named because it afforded facilities for flight;
and that James might fly was the first wish of his nephew. [604]

On the morning of the eighteenth of December, a rainy and stormy
morning, the royal barge was early at Whitehall stairs; and round it
were eight or ten boats filled with Dutch soldiers. Several noblemen and
gentlemen attended the King to the waterside. It is said, and may well
be believed, that many tears were shed. For even the most zealous friend
of liberty could scarcely have seen, unmoved, the sad and ignominious
close of a dynasty which might have been so great. Shrewsbury did all in
his power to soothe the fallen Sovereign. Even the bitter and vehement
Delamere was softened. But it was observed that Halifax, who was
generally distinguished by his tenderness to the vanquished, was, on
this occasion, less compassionate than his two colleagues. The mock
embassy to Hungerford was doubtless still rankling in his mind. [605]

While the King's barge was slowly working its way on rough billows down
the river, brigade after brigade of the Prince's troops came pouring
into London from the west. It had been wisely determined that the duty
of the capital should be chiefly done by the British soldiers in
the service of the States General. The three English regiments were
quartered in and round the Tower, the three Scotch regiments in
Southwark. [606]

In defiance of the weather a great multitude assembled between Albemarle
House and Saint James's Palace to greet the Prince. Every hat, every
cane, was adorned with an orange riband. The bells were ringing all
over London. Candles for an illumination were disposed in the windows.
Faggots for bonfires were heaped up in the streets. William, however,
who had no taste for crowds and shouting, took the road through the
Park. Before nightfall he arrived at Saint James's in a light carriage,
accompanied by Schomberg. In a short time all the rooms and staircases
in the palace were thronged by those who came to pay their court. Such
was the press, that men of the highest rank were unable to elbow their
way into the presence chamber. [607] While Westminster was in this state
of excitement, the Common Council was preparing at Guildhall an address
of thanks and congratulation. The Lord Major was unable to preside. He
had never held up his head since the Chancellor had been dragged into
the justice room in the garb of a collier. But the Aldermen and the
other officers of the corporation were in their places. On the following
day the magistrates of the City went in state to pay their duty to their
deliverer. Their gratitude was eloquently expressed by their Recorder,
Sir George Treby. Some princes of the House of Nassau, he said, had been
the chief officers of a great republic. Others had worn the imperial
crown. But the peculiar title of that illustrious line to the public
veneration was this, that God had set it apart and consecrated it to
the high office of defending truth and freedom against tyrants from
generation to generation. On the same day all the prelates who were in
town, Sancroft excepted, waited on the Prince in a body. Then came the
clergy of London, the foremost men of their profession in knowledge,
eloquence, and influence, with their bishop at their head. With them
were mingled some eminent dissenting ministers, whom Compton, much to
his honour, treated with marked courtesy. A few months earlier, or a few
months later, such courtesy would have been considered by many Churchmen
as treason to the Church. Even then it was but too plain to a discerning
eye that the armistice to which the Protestant sects had been forced
would not long outlast the danger from which it had sprung. About a
hundred Nonconformist divines, resident in the capital, presented a
separate address. They were introduced by Devonshire, and were received
with every mark of respect and kindness. The lawyers paid their homage,
headed by Maynard, who, at ninety years of age, was as alert and
clearheaded as when he stood up in Westminster Hall to accuse Strafford.
"Mr. Serjeant," said the Prince, "you must have survived all the lawyers
of your standing. " "Yes, sir," said the old man, "and, but for your
Highness, I should have survived the laws too. " [608]

But, though the addresses were numerous and full of eulogy, though the
acclamations were loud, though the illuminations were splendid, though
Saint James's Palace was too small for the crowd of courtiers, though
the theatres were every night, from the pit to the ceiling, one blaze
of orange ribands, William felt that the difficulties of his enterprise
were but beginning. He had pulled a government down. The far harder
task of reconstruction was now to be performed. From the moment of his
landing till he reached London he had exercised the authority which, by
the laws of war, acknowledged throughout the civilised world, belongs
to the commander of an army in the field. It was now necessary that he
should exchange the character of a general for that of a magistrate; and
this was no easy task. A single false step might be fatal; and it was
impossible to take any step without offending prejudices and rousing
angry passions.

Some of the Prince's advisers pressed him to assume the crown at once as
his own by right of conquest, and then, as King, to send out, under
his Great Seal, writs calling a Parliament. This course was strongly
recommended by some eminent lawyers. It was, they said, the shortest
way to what could otherwise be attained only through innumerable
difficulties and disputes. It was in strict conformity with the
auspicious precedent set after the battle of Bosworth by Henry the
Seventh. It would also quiet the scruples which many respectable people
felt as to the lawfulness of transferring allegiance from one ruler to
another. Neither the law of England nor the Church of England recognised
any right in subjects to depose a sovereign. But no jurist, no divine,
had ever denied that a nation, overcome in war, might, without sin,
submit to the decision of the God of battles. Thus, after the Chaldean
conquest, the most pious and patriotic Jews did not think that they
violated their duty to their native King by serving with loyalty the new
master whom Providence had set over them. The three confessors, who
had been marvellously preserved in the furnace, held high office in the
province of Babylon. Daniel was minister successively of the Assyrian
who subjugated Judah, and of the Persian who subjugated Assyria. Nay,
Jesus himself, who was, according to the flesh, a prince of the house
of David, had, by commanding his countrymen to pay tribute to Caesar,
pronounced that foreign conquest annuls hereditary right and is a
legitimate title to dominion. It was therefore probable that great
numbers of Tories, though they could not, with a clear conscience,
choose a King for themselves, would accept, without hesitation, a King
given to them by the event of war. [609]

On the other side, however, there were reasons which greatly
preponderated. The Prince could not claim the crown as won by his sword
without a gross violation of faith. In his Declaration he had protested
that he had no design of conquering England; that those who imputed
to him such a design foully calumniated, not only himself, but the
patriotic noblemen and gentlemen who had invited him over; that
the force which he brought with him was evidently inadequate to an
enterprise so arduous; and that it was his full resolution to refer
all the public grievances, and all his own pretensions, to a free
Parliament. For no earthly object could it be right or wise that he
should forfeit his word so solemnly pledged in the face of all Europe.
Nor was it certain that, by calling himself a conqueror, he would have
removed the scruples which made rigid Churchmen unwilling to acknowledge
him as King. For, call himself what he might, all the world knew that
he was not really a conqueror. It was notoriously a mere fiction to say
that this great kingdom, with a mighty fleet on the sea, with a regular
army of forty thousand men, and with a militia of a hundred and thirty
thousand men, had been, without one siege or battle, reduced to the
state of a province by fifteen thousand invaders. Such a fiction was not
likely to quiet consciences really sensitive, but it could scarcely
fail to gall the national pride, already sore and irritable. The English
soldiers were in a temper which required the most delicate management.
They were conscious that, in the late campaign, their part had not been
brilliant. Captains and privates were alike impatient to prove that they
had not given way before an inferior force from want of courage. Some
Dutch officers had been indiscreet enough to boast, at a tavern over
their wine, that they had driven the King's army before them. This
insult had raised among the English troops a ferment which, but for the
Prince's prompt interference, would probably have ended in a terrible
slaughter. [610] What, in such circumstances, was likely to be the
effect of a proclamation announcing that the commander of the foreigners
considered the whole island as lawful prize of war?

It was also to be remembered that, by putting forth such a proclamation,
the Prince would at once abrogate all the rights of which he had
declared himself the champion. For the authority of a foreign conqueror
is not circumscribed by the customs and statutes of the conquered
nation, but is, by its own nature, despotic. Either, therefore, it was
not competent to William to declare himself King, or it was competent to
him to declare the Great Charter and the Petition of Right nullifies,
to abolish trial by jury, and to raise taxes without the consent of
Parliament. He might, indeed, reestablish the ancient constitution of
the realm. But, if he did so, he did so in the exercise of an arbitrary
discretion. English liberty would thenceforth be held by a base tenure.
It would be, not, as heretofore, an immemorial inheritance, but a recent
gift which the generous master who had bestowed it might, if such had
been his pleasure, have withheld.

William therefore righteously and prudently determined to observe the
promises contained in his Declaration, and to leave to the legislature
the office of settling the government. So carefully did he avoid
whatever looked like usurpation that he would not, without some
semblance of parliamentary authority, take upon himself even to convoke
the Estates of the Realm, or to direct the executive administration
during the elections. Authority strictly parliamentary there was none
in the state: but it was possible to bring together, in a few hours, an
assembly which would be regarded by the nation with a large portion
of the respect due to a Parliament. One Chamber might be formed of
the numerous Lords Spiritual and Temporal who were then in London, and
another of old members of the House of Commons and of the magistrates of
the City. The scheme was ingenious, and was promptly executed. The Peers
were summoned to St. James's on the twenty-first of December. About
seventy attended. The Prince requested them to consider the state of
the country, and to lay before him the result of their deliberations.
Shortly after appeared a notice inviting all gentlemen who had sate in
the House of Commons during the reign of Charles the Second to attend
His Highness on the morning of the twenty-sixth. The Aldermen of London
were also summoned; and the Common Council was requested to send a
deputation. [611]

It has often been asked, in a reproachful tone, why the invitation was
not extended to the members of the Parliament which had been dissolved
in the preceding year. The answer is obvious. One of the chief
grievances of which the nation complained was the manner in which that
Parliament had been elected. The majority of the burgesses had been
returned by constituent bodies remodelled in a manner which was
generally regarded as illegal, and which the Prince had, in his
Declaration, condemned. James himself had, just before his downfall,
consented to restore the old municipal franchises. It would surely have
been the height of inconsistency in William, after taking up arms for
the purpose of vindicating the invaded charters of corporations, to
recognise persons chosen in defiance of those charters as the legitimate
representatives of the towns of England.

On Saturday the twenty-second the Lords met in their own house. That day
was employed in settling the order of proceeding. A clerk was appointed:
and, as no confidence could be placed in any of the twelve judges, some
serjeants and barristers of great note were requested to attend, for the
purpose of giving advice on legal points. It was resolved that on the
Monday the state of the kingdom should be taken into consideration.
[612]

The interval between the sitting of Saturday and the sitting of Monday
was anxious and eventful. A strong party among the Peers still cherished
the hope that the constitution and religion of England might be secured
without the deposition of the King. This party resolved to move a solemn
address to him, imploring him to consent to such terms as might remove
the discontents and apprehensions which his past conduct had excited.
Sancroft, who, since the return of James from Kent to Whitehall, had
taken no part in public affairs, determined to come forth from his
retreat on this occasion, and to put himself at the head of the
Royalists. Several messengers were sent to Rochester with letters
for the King. He was assured that his interests would be strenuously
defended, if only he could, at this last moment, make up his mind
to renounce designs abhorred by his people. Some respectable Roman
Catholics followed him, in order to implore him, for the sake of their
common faith, not to carry the vain contest further. [613]

The advice was good; but James was in no condition to take it. His
understanding had always been dull and feeble; and, such as it was,
womanish tremors and childish fancies now disabled him from using it. He
was aware that his flight was the thing which his adherents most dreaded
and which his enemies most desired. Even if there had been serious
personal risk in remaining, the occasion was one on which he ought to
have thought it infamous to flinch: for the question was whether he and
his posterity should reign on an ancestral throne or should be vagabonds
and beggars. But in his mind all other feelings had given place to a
craven fear for his life. To the earnest entreaties and unanswerable
arguments of the agents whom his friends had sent to Rochester, he had
only one answer. His head was in danger. In vain he was assured that
there was no ground for such an apprehension, that common sense, if not
principle, would restrain the Prince of Orange from incurring the guilt
and shame of regicide and parricide, and that many, who never would
consent to depose their Sovereign while he remained on English ground,
would think themselves absolved from their allegiance by his desertion.
Fright overpowered every other feeling. James determined to depart; and
it was easy for him to do so. He was negligently guarded: all persons
were suffered to repair to him: vessels ready to put to sea lay at no
great distance; and their boats might come close to the garden of the
house in which he was lodged. Had he been wise, the pains which his
keepers took to facilitate his escape would have sufficed to convince
him that he ought to stay where he was. In truth the snare was so
ostentatiously exhibited that it could impose on nothing but folly
bewildered by terror.

The arrangements were expeditiously made. On the evening of Saturday the
twenty-second the King assured some of the gentlemen, who had been sent
to him from London with intelligence and advice, that he would see
them again in the morning. He went to bed, rose at dead of night, and,
attended by Berwick, stole out at a back door, and went through the
garden to the shore of the Medway. A small skiff was in waiting. Soon
after the dawn of Sunday the fugitives were on board of a smack which
was running down the Thames. [614]

That afternoon the tidings of the flight reached London. The King's
adherents were confounded. The Whigs could not conceal their joy. The
good news encouraged the Prince to take a bold and important step. He
was informed that communications were passing between the French embassy
and the party hostile to him. It was well known that at that embassy all
the arts of corruption were well understood; and there could be little
doubt that, at such a conjuncture, neither intrigues nor pistoles would
be spared. Barillon was most desirous to remain a few days longer in
London, and for that end omitted no art which could conciliate the
victorious party. In the streets he quieted the populace, who looked
angrily at his coach, by throwing money among them. At his table he
publicly drank the health of the Prince of Orange. But William was not
to be so cajoled. He had not, indeed, taken on himself to exercise
regal authority: but he was a general and, as such, he was not bound
to tolerate, within the territory of which he had taken military
occupation, the presence of one whom he regarded as a spy. Before that
day closed Barillon was informed that he must leave England within
twenty-four hours. He begged hard for a short delay: but minutes were
precious; the order was repeated in more peremptory terms; and he
unwillingly set off for Dover. That no mark of contempt and defiance
might be omitted, he was escorted to the coast by one of his Protestant
countrymen whom persecution had driven into exile. So bitter was the
resentment excited by the French ambition and arrogance that even those
Englishmen who were not generally disposed to take a favourable view of
William's conduct loudly applauded him for retorting with so much spirit
the insolence with which Lewis had, during many years, treated every
court in Europe. [615]

On Monday the Lords met again. Halifax was chosen to preside. The
Primate was absent, the Royalists sad and gloomy, the Whigs eager and in
high spirits. It was known that James had left a letter behind him. Some
of his friends moved that it might be produced, in the faint hope that
it might contain propositions which might furnish a basis for a happy
settlement. On this motion the previous question was put and carried.
Godolphin, who was known not to be unfriendly to his old master, uttered
a few words which were decisive. "I have seen the paper," he said;
"and I grieve to say that there is nothing in it which will give your
Lordships any satisfaction. " In truth it contained no expression of
regret for pass errors; it held out no hope that those errors would for
the future be avoided; and it threw the blame of all that had happened
on the malice of William and on the blindness of a nation deluded by the
specious names of religion and property. None ventured to propose that
a negotiation should be opened with a prince whom the most rigid
discipline of adversity seemed only to have made more obstinate in
wrong. Something was said about inquiring into the birth of the Prince
of Wales: but the Whig peers treated the suggestion with disdain. "I did
not expect, my Lords," exclaimed Philip Lord Wharton, an old Roundhead,
who had commanded a regiment against Charles the First at Edgehill, "I
did not expect to hear anybody at this time of day mention the child who
was called Prince of Wales; and I hope that we have now heard the last
of him. " After long discussion it was resolved that two addresses should
be presented to William.
One address requested him to take on
himself provisionally the administration of the government; the other
recommended that he should, by circular letters subscribed with his
own hand, invite all the constituent bodies of the kingdom to send up
representatives to Westminster. At the same time the Peers took upon
themselves to issue an order banishing all Papists, except a few
privileged persons, from London and the vicinity. [616]

The Lords presented their addresses to the Prince on the following day,
without waiting for the issue of the deliberations of the commoners whom
he had called together. It seems, indeed, that the hereditary nobles
were disposed at this moment to be punctilious in asserting their
dignity, and were unwilling to recognise a coordinate authority in an
assembly unknown to the law. They conceived that they were a real
House of Lords. The other Chamber they despised as only a mock House
of Commons. William, however, wisely excused himself from coming to
any decision till he had ascertained the sense of the gentlemen who had
formerly been honoured with the confidence of the counties and towns of
England. [617]

The commoners who had been summoned met in Saint Stephen's Chapel, and
formed a numerous assembly. They placed in the chair Henry Powle, who
had represented Cirencester in several Parliaments, and had been eminent
among the supporters of the Exclusion Bill.

Addresses were proposed and adopted similar to those which the Lords
had already presented. No difference of opinion appeared on any serious
question; and some feeble attempts which were made to raise a debate on
points of form were put down by the general contempt. Sir Robert Sawyer
declared that he could not conceive how it was possible for the Prince
to administer the government without some distinguishing title, such as
Regent or Protector. Old Maynard, who, as a lawyer, had no equal, and
who was also a politician versed in the tactics of revolutions, was at
no pains to conceal his disdain for so puerile an objection, taken at
a moment when union and promptitude were of the highest importance.
"We shall sit here very long," he said, "if we sit till Sir Robert can
conceive how such a thing is possible;" and the assembly thought the
answer as good as the cavil deserved. [618]

The resolutions of the meeting were communicated to the Prince. He
forthwith announced his determination to comply with the joint request
of the two Chambers which he had called together, to issue letters
summoning a Convention of the Estates of the Realm, and, till the
Convention should meet, to take on himself the executive administration.
[619]

He had undertaken no light task. The whole machine of government was
disordered. The Justices of the Peace had abandoned their functions. The
officers of the revenue had ceased to collect the taxes. The army which
Feversham had disbanded was still in confusion, and ready to break out
into mutiny. The fleet was in a scarcely less alarming state. Large
arrears of pay were due to the civil and military servants of the crown;
and only forty thousand pounds remained in the Exchequer. The Prince
addressed himself with vigour to the work of restoring order. He
published a proclamation by which all magistrates were continued in
office, and another containing orders for the collection of the revenue.
[620] The new modelling of the army went rapidly on. Many of the
noblemen and gentlemen whom James had removed from the command of the
English regiments were reappointed. A way was found of employing the
thousands of Irish soldiers whom James had brought into England. They
could not safely be suffered to remain in a country where they were
objects of religious and national animosity. They could not safely
be sent home to reinforce the army of Tryconnel. It was therefore
determined that they should be sent to the Continent, where they might,
under the banners of the House of Austria, render indirect but effectual
service to the cause of the English constitution and of the Protestant
religion. Dartmouth was removed from his command; and the navy was
conciliated by assurances that every sailor should speedily receive
his due. The City of London undertook to extricate the Prince from
his financial difficulties. The Common Council, by an unanimous vote,
engaged to find him two hundred thousand pounds. It was thought a great
proof, both of the wealth and of the public spirit of the merchants of
the capital, that, in forty-eight hours, the whole sum was raised on
no security but the Prince's word. A few weeks before, James had been
unable to procure a much smaller sum, though he had offered to pay
higher interest, and to pledge valuable property. [621]

In a very few days the confusion which the invasion, the insurrection,
the flight of James, and the suspension of all regular government
had produced was at an end, and the kingdom wore again its accustomed
aspect. There was a general sense of security. Even the classes which
were most obnoxious to public hatred, and which had most reason to
apprehend a persecution, were protected by the politic clemency of the
conqueror. Persons deeply implicated in the illegal transactions of the
late reign not only walked the streets in safety, but offered themselves
as candidates for seats in the Convention. Mulgrave was received not
ungraciously at St. James's. Feversham was released from arrest, and was
permitted to resume the only office for which he was qualified, that of
keeping the bank at the Queen Dowager's basset table. But no body of men
had so much reason to feel grateful to William as the Roman Catholics.
It would not have been safe to rescind formally the severe resolutions
which the Peers had passed against the professors of a religion
generally abhorred by the nation: but, by the prudence and humanity of
the Prince, those resolutions were practically annulled. On his line of
march from Torbay to London, he had given orders that no outrage should
be committed on the persons or dwellings of Papists. He now renewed
those orders, and directed Burnet to see that they were strictly obeyed.
A better choice could not have been made; for Burnet was a man of such
generosity and good nature, that his heart always warmed towards
the unhappy; and at the same time his known hatred of Popery was a
sufficient guarantee to the most zealous Protestants that the interests
of their religion would be safe in his hands. He listened kindly to
the complaints of the Roman Catholics, procured passports for those
who wished to go beyond sea, and went himself to Newgate to visit the
prelates who were imprisoned there. He ordered them to be removed to
a more commodious apartment and supplied with every indulgence. He
solemnly assured them that not a hair of their heads should be touched,
and that, as soon as the Prince could venture to act as he wished,
they should be set at liberty. The Spanish minister reported to his
government, and, through his government, to the Pope, that no Catholic
need feel any scruple of conscience on account of the late revolution
in England, that for the danger to which the members of the true Church
were exposed James alone was responsible, and that William alone had
saved them from a sanguinary persecution. [622]

There was, therefore, little alloy to the satisfaction with which the
princes of the House of Austria and the Sovereign Pontiff learned that
the long vassalage of England was at an end. When it was known at Madrid
that William was in the full career of success, a single voice in the
Spanish Council of State faintly expressed regret that an event which,
in a political point of view, was most auspicious, should be prejudicial
to the interests of the true Church. [623] But the tolerant policy of
the Prince soon quieted all scruples, and his elevation was seen with
scarcely less satisfaction by the bigoted Grandees of Castile than by
the English Whigs.

With very different feelings had the news of this great revolution been
received in France. The politics of a long, eventful, and glorious reign
had been confounded in a day. England was again the England of Elizabeth
and of Cromwell; and all the relations of all the states of Christendom
were completely changed by the sudden introduction of this new power
into the system. The Parisians could talk of nothing but what was
passing in London. National and religious feeling impelled them to take
the part of James. They knew nothing of the English constitution. They
abominated the English Church. Our revolution appeared to them, not
as the triumph of public liberty over despotism, but as a frightful
domestic tragedy in which a venerable and pious Servius was hurled
from his throne by a Tarquin, and crushed under the chariot wheels of
a Tullia. They cried shame on the traitorous captains, execrated the
unnatural daughters, and regarded William with a mortal loathing,
tempered, however, by the respect which valour, capacity, and success
seldom fail to inspire. [624] The Queen, exposed to the night wind and
rain, with the infant heir of three crowns clasped to her breast, the
King stopped, robbed, and outraged by ruffians, were objects of pity and
of romantic interest to all France. But Lewis saw with peculiar emotion
the calamities of the House of Stuart. All the selfish and all the
generous parts of his nature were moved alike. After many years of
prosperity he had at length met with a great check. He had reckoned on
the support or neutrality of England. He had now nothing to expect from
her but energetic and pertinacious hostility. A few weeks earlier he
might not unreasonably have hoped to subjugate Flanders and to give law
to Germany. At present he might think himself fortunate if he should be
able to defend his own frontiers against a confederacy such as
Europe had not seen during many ages. From this position, so new, so
embarrassing, so alarming, nothing but a counterrevolution or a civil
war in the British Islands could extricate him. He was therefore
impelled by ambition and by fear to espouse the cause of the fallen
dynasty. And it is but just to say that motives nobler than ambition
or fear had a large share in determining his course. His heart was
naturally compassionate; and this was an occasion which could not fail
to call forth all his compassion. His situation had prevented his good
feelings from fully developing themselves. Sympathy is rarely strong
where there is a great inequality of condition; and he was raised
so high above the mass of his fellow creatures that their distresses
excited in him only a languid pity, such as that with which we regard
the sufferings of the inferior animals, of a famished redbreast or of
an overdriven posthorse. The devastation of the Palatinate and the
persecution of the Huguenots had therefore given him no uneasiness which
pride and bigotry could not effectually soothe. But all the tenderness
of which he was capable was called forth by the misery of a great King
who had a few weeks ago been served on the knee by Lords, and who was
now a destitute exile. With that tenderness was mingled, in the soul of
Lewis, a not ignoble vanity. He would exhibit to the world a pattern
of munificence and courtesy. He would show mankind what ought to be
the bearing of a perfect gentleman in the highest station and on the
greatest occasion; and, in truth, his conduct was marked by a chivalrous
generosity and urbanity, such as had not embellished the annals of
Europe since the Black Prince had stood behind the chair of King John at
the supper on the field Poitiers.

As soon as the news that the Queen of England was on the French coast
had been brought to Versailles, a palace was prepared for her reception.
Carriages and troops of guards were despatched to await her orders,
workmen were employed to mend the Calais road that her journey might be
easy. Lauzun was not only assured that his past offences were forgiven
for her sake, but was honoured with a friendly letter in the handwriting
of Lewis. Mary was on the road towards the French court when news came
that her husband had, after a rough voyage, landed safe at the little
village of Ambleteuse. Persons of high rank were instantly despatched
from Versailles to greet and escort him. Meanwhile Lewis, attended by
his family and his nobility, went forth in state to receive the exiled
Queen. Before his gorgeous coach went the Swiss halberdiers. On each
side of it and behind it rode the body guards with cymbals clashing and
trumpets pealing. After the King, in a hundred carriages each drawn by
six horses, came the most splendid aristocracy of Europe, all feathers,
ribands, jewels, and embroidery. Before the procession had gone far it
was announced that Mary was approaching. Lewis alighted and advanced
on foot to meet her. She broke forth into passionate expressions of
gratitude. "Madam," said her host, "it is but a melancholy service that
I am rendering you to day. I hope that I may be able hereafter to render
you services greater and more pleasing. " He embraced the little Prince
of Wales, and made the Queen seat herself in the royal state coach on
the right hand. The cavalcade then turned towards Saint Germains.

At Saint Germains, on the verge of a forest swarming with beasts of
chase, and on the brow of a hill which looks down on the windings of the
Seine, Francis the First had built a castle, and Henry the Fourth had
constructed a noble terrace. Of the residences of the French kings none
stood in a more salubrious air or commanded a fairer prospect. The huge
size and venerable age of the trees, the beauty of the gardens, the
abundance of the springs, were widely famed. Lewis the Fourteenth had
been born there, had, when a young man, held his court there, had added
several stately pavilions to the mansion of Francis, and had completed
the terrace of Henry. Soon, however, the magnificent King conceived an
inexplicable disgust for his birthplace. He quitted Saint Germains for
Versailles, and expended sums almost fabulous in the vain attempt to
create a paradise on a spot singularly sterile and unwholesome, all sand
or mud, without wood, without water, and without game. Saint Germains
had now been selected to be the abode of the royal family of England.
Sumptuous furniture had been hastily sent in. The nursery of the Prince
of Wales had been carefully furnished with everything that an infant
could require. One of the attendants presented to the Queen the key of
a superb casket which stood in her apartment. She opened the casket, and
found in it six thousand pistoles.

On the following day James arrived at Saint Germains. Lewis was already
there to welcome him. The unfortunate exile bowed so low that it seemed
as if he was about to embrace the knees of his protector. Lewis raised
him, and embraced him with brotherly tenderness. The two Kings then
entered the Queen's room. "Here is a gentleman," said Lewis to Mary,
"whom you will be glad to see. " Then, after entreating his guests to
visit him next day at Versailles, and to let him have the pleasure
of showing them his buildings, pictures, and plantations, he took the
unceremonious leave of an old friend.

In a few hours the royal pair were informed that, as long as they
would do the King of France the favour to accept of his hospitality,
forty-five thousand pounds sterling a year would be paid them from his
treasury. Ten thousand pounds sterling were sent for outfit.

The liberality of Lewis, however, was much less rare and admirable than
the exquisite delicacy with which he laboured to soothe the feelings
of his guests and to lighten the almost intolerable weight of the
obligations which he laid upon them. He who had hitherto, on all
questions of precedence, been sensitive, litigious, insolent, who had
been more than once ready to plunge Europe into war rather than concede
the most frivolous point of etiquette, was now punctilious indeed, but
punctilious for his unfortunate friends against himself. He gave orders
that Mary should receive all the marks of respect that had ever been
paid to his own deceased wife. A question was raised whether the Princes
of the House of Bourbon were entitled to be indulged with chairs in
the presence of the Queen. Such trifles were serious matters at the old
court of France. There were precedents on both sides: but Lewis decided
the point against his own blood. Some ladies of illustrious rank omitted
the ceremony of kissing the hem of Mary's robe. Lewis remarked the
omission, and noticed it in such a voice and with such a look that the
whole peerage was ever after ready to kiss her shoe. When Esther, just
written by Racine, was acted at Saint Cyr, Mary had the seat of honour.
James was at her right hand. Lewis modestly placed himself on the left.
Nay, he was well pleased that, in his own palace, an outcast living on
his bounty should assume the title of King of France, should, as King of
France, quarter the lilies with the English lions, and should, as King
of France, dress in violet on days of court mourning.

The demeanour of the French nobility on public occasions was absolutely
regulated by their sovereign: but it was beyond even his power to
prevent them from thinking freely, and from expressing what
they thought, in private circles, with the keen and delicate wit
characteristic of their nation and of their order. Their opinion of
Mary was favourable. They found her person agreeable and her deportment
dignified. They respected her courage and her maternal affection;
and they pitied her ill fortune. But James they regarded with extreme
contempt. They were disgusted by his insensibility, by the cool way in
which he talked to every body of his ruin, and by the childish pleasure
which he took in the pomp and luxury of Versailles. This strange apathy
they attributed, not to philosophy or religion, but to stupidity and
meanness of spirit, and remarked that nobody who had had the honour to
hear His Britannic Majesty tell his own story could wonder that he was
at Saint Germains and his son in law at Saint James's. [625]

In the United Provinces the excitement produced by the tidings from
England was even greater than in France. This was the moment at which
the Batavian federation reached the highest point of power and glory.
From the day on which the expedition sailed, the anxiety of the whole
Dutch nation had been intense. Never had there been such crowds in the
churches. Never had the enthusiasm of the preachers been so ardent.
The inhabitants of the Hague could not be restrained from insulting
Albeville. His house was so closely beset by the populace, day and
night, that scarcely any person ventured to visit him; and he was afraid
that his chapel would be burned to the ground. [626] As mail after
mail arrived with news of the Prince's progress, the spirits of his
countrymen rose higher and higher; and when at length it was known that
he had, on the invitation of the Lords and of an assembly of eminent
commoners, taken on himself the executive administration, a general
cry of pride and joy rose from all the Dutch factions. An extraordinary
mission was, with great speed, despatched to congratulate him. Dykvelt,
whose adroitness and intimate knowledge of English politics made his
assistance, at such a conjuncture, peculiarly valuable, was one of the
Ambassadors; and with him was joined Nicholas Witsen, a Burgomaster of
Amsterdam, who seems to have been selected for the purpose of proving to
all Europe that the long feud between the House of Orange and the chief
city of Holland was at an end. On the eighth of January Dykvelt and
Witsen made their appearance at Westminster. William talked to them
with a frankness and an effusion of heart which seldom appeared in his
conversations with Englishmen. His first words were, "Well, and what do
our friends at home say now? " In truth, the only applause by which his
stoical nature seems to have been strongly moved was the applause of his
dear native country. Of his immense popularity in England he spoke with
cold disdain, and predicted, too truly, the reaction which followed.
"Here," said he, "the cry is all Hosannah today, and will, perhaps, be
Crucify him tomorrow. " [627]

On the following day the first members of the Convention were chosen.
The City of London led the way, and elected, without any contest, four
great merchants who were zealous Whigs. The King and his adherents had
hoped that many returning officers would treat the Prince's letter as
a nullity; but the hope was disappointed. The elections went on rapidly
and smoothly. There were scarcely any contests. For the nation had,
during more than a year, been kept in constant expectation of a
Parliament. Writs, indeed, had been twice issued, and twice recalled.
Some constituent bodies had, under those writs, actually proceeded to
the choice of representatives. There was scarcely a county in which the
gentry and yeomanry had not, many months before, fixed upon candidates,
good Protestants, whom no exertions must be spared to carry, in defiance
of the King and of the Lord Lieutenant; and these candidates were now
generally returned without opposition.

The Prince gave strict orders that no person in the public service
should, on this occasion, practise those arts which had brought so much
obloquy on the late government. He especially directed that no soldiers
should be suffered to appear in any town where an election was going on.
[628] His admirers were able to boast, and his enemies seem not to have
been able to deny, that the sense of the constituent bodies was fairly
taken. It is true that he risked little. The party which was attached
to him was triumphant, enthusiastic, full of life and energy. The party
from which alone he could expect serious opposition was disunited and
disheartened, out of humour with itself, and still more out of humour
with its natural chief. A great majority, therefore, of the shires and
boroughs returned Whig members.

It was not over England alone that William's guardianship now extended.
Scotland had risen on her tyrants. All the regular soldiers by whom she
had long been held down had been summoned by James to his help against
the Dutch invaders, with the exception of a very small force, which,
under the command of the Duke of Gordon, a great Roman Catholic Lord,
garrisoned the Castle of Edinburgh. Every mail which had gone northward
during the eventful month of November had carried news which stirred
the passions of the oppressed Scots. While the event of the military
operations was still doubtful, there were at Edinburgh riots and
clamours which became more menacing after James had retreated from
Salisbury. Great crowds assembled at first by night, and then by broad
daylight. Popes were publicly burned: loud shouts were raised for a free
Parliament: placards were stuck up setting prices on the heads of the
ministers of the crown. Among those ministers Perth, as filling the
great place of Chancellor, as standing high in the royal favour, as
an apostate from the reformed faith, and as the man who had first
introduced the thumbscrew into the jurisprudence of his country, was
the most detested. His nerves were weak, his spirit abject; and the only
courage which he possessed was that evil courage which braves infamy,
and which looks steadily on the torments of others. His post, at such
a time, was at the head of the Council board: but his heart failed him;
and he determined to take refuge at his country seat from the danger
which, as he judged by the looks and cries of the fierce and resolute
populace of Edinburgh, was not remote. A strong guard escorted him safe
to Castle Drummond: but scarcely had he departed when the city rose up.
A few troops tried to suppress the insurrection, but were overpowered.
The palace of Holyrood, which had been turned into a Roman Catholic
seminary and printing house, was stormed and sacked. Huge heaps of
Popish books, beads, crucifixes, and pictures were burned in the High
Street. In the midst of the agitation came down the tidings of the
King's flight. The members of the government gave up all thought of
contending with the popular fury, and changed sides with a promptitude
then common among Scottish politicians. The Privy Council by one
proclamation ordered that all Papists should be disarmed, and by another
invited Protestants to muster for the defence of pure religion. The
nation had not waited for the call. Town and country were already up in
arms for the Prince of Orange. Nithisdale and Clydesdale were the only
regions in which there was the least chance that the Roman Catholics
would make head; and both Nithisdale and Clydesdale were soon occupied
by bands of armed Presbyterians. Among the insurgents were some fierce
and moody men who had formerly disowned Argyle, and who were now
equally eager to disown William. His Highness, they said, was plainly a
malignant. There was not a word about the Covenant in his Declaration.
The Dutch were a people with whom no true servant of the Lord would
unite. They consorted with Lutherans; and a Lutheran was as much a child
of perdition as a Jesuit. The general voice of the kingdom, however,
effectually drowned the growl of this hateful faction. [629]

The commotion soon reached the neighbourhood of Castle Drummond. Perth
found that he was no longer safe among his own servants and tenants. He
gave himself up to an agony as bitter as that into which his merciless
tyranny had often thrown better men. He wildly tried to find consolation
in the rites of his new Church. He importuned his priests for comfort,
prayed, confessed, and communicated: but his faith was weak; and he
owned that, in spite of all his devotions, the strong terrors of death
were upon him.